The Times Bureau

The Time's Bureau was situated in a recently constructed modern building in the heart of the city along Ayala Avenue. They took the elevator up to the third floor, then strode along a narrow long hallway. JC counted three doors before they reached the office.

Without knocking Tommy led the way. When they entered, JC was relieved to see it was indeed spacious for a staff of five. He heard the humming of the air conditioner on the wall which was recently painted white and saw it was bare. He had the impression that the office was recently set up.

All of them were busy with their reports for the day, some to be sent to the main office. There were five desks and one was newly installed for the newcomer. JC was pleased to see that there was enough legroom for a tall person like him if he was working in it for most of his time. Then Tommy introduced him to everybody.

"Mr. Martin, this is Louisa and Carlo. She's my assistant and Carlo is our cameraman," Tommy said, introducing the others who were all eyes and smiling at him. Louisa had dark straight hair and a tanned complexion. When she stood up, she showed her wonderful figure above her high-heeled shoes. Carlo was young at twenty-three, well-trimmed, and with a darker complexion than Louisa.

"It's nice to see everybody here. So, this is our team!"

"Hi Mr. Martin," they all replied in chorus.

"Call me JC, please . . . short for John Carlos."

"Whatever you wish, sir."

"Not even sir, simply JC. Now let me see if we have everything here to work with. A fax machine is what I need."

While he was checking, an impromptu invitation from Louisa came as a welcome gesture. "Breakfast, JC?"

He smiled at her and saw a young secretary, which reminded him of Kate. "Thank you. We had that at the hotel. Can you give me an update, Louisa?"

She promptly presented him with the information. "There's a plan to conduct a massive demonstration from the opposition. I gathered that the military will be lenient on this, to appease the anger of the people. Daily there's a seven-kilometer marathon being organized by the senator's brother and some famous personalities. He hopes it would gain momentum and more people would join, thereby catching the attention of the whole world."

"I'd like to be in that marathon, Tommy, starting tomorrow. Do we have any news from the family?"

"They are preparing to come for the funeral. They'll be here in no time."

"Good. We'll cover that as well."

"Our interview with General Ver is set for tomorrow after lunch. And the one for the opposition leaders will be this afternoon."

"Thanks, buddy," said Tommy.

JC nodded.

"Your flat, by the way, is ready, JC," said Louisa.

"Thanks. I'll have to check out of the hotel before lunchtime today."

They had been busy. Carlo was at the side cleaning his camera. He said he needed a new one. Rob Pelage, the senior correspondent was taking calls at his desk and Louisa was taking notes.

JC heard a ring on the phone, and Louisa excused herself to pick it up.

"Hello. The Times, Makati Bureau," she said.

"Hello. Can I speak to your boss, please?" a little voice came out.

"Yes. Who's calling?" Louisa asked.

"It's not important but I have something that would be of interest to you. I'll call you back."

The phone clicked then a buzzing sound followed. They noticed the perplexity on Louisa's face after hanging up. Her smile changed into a frown.

"She said she'd call back," Louisa said.

"What's it about, buddy?" asked Tommy.

"She said that there´s something that would be of interest to us. Nothing more and she hung up."

"Don't worry. It must be one of those phony ones. If she's real she'll call again."

"Louisa buddy, if she calls back, don't let her escape again. I'll bring Mr. Martin to his flat. We'll be back in a jiffy."

Louisa made a thumbs-up.

Before they left, there was a call again from the same voice and Tommy picked it up. "Hello, Mr. Lopez on the line." He made himself sound authoritative. Not so friendly, but he wanted to impress the caller.

"Hello," the voice said, almost in a stammer. "If you can make it to the wake, I will slip it to you. I will be among the crowd, and I'll feel safer there. Be there at eight pm. It's a tape of the assassination."

"A tape?"

"Yes."

"Okay, but how will I know who you are?" insisted Tommy.

"I want to know how you look first," the voice said. Tommy answered, "I'll be wearing a white polo barong. I'll be with another, who's tall, handsome, and wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. You . . . how will I know you?"

"It's not important. My only desire is for you to have it." And the voice hung up without waiting for him to say anything.

Three minutes passed and the voice called again. Tommy took it.

"Don't forget. At eight pm at the wake, Time Square Avenue."

They flew to the hotel and JC checked out. Then they went next to his apartment. The flat was small, not too attractive, but clean and comfortable for one person of his standard. It was a perfect place after a day's work. JC ambled around and inspected the facilities, and opened the faucet and the lights to see if they were working. The few furnishings matched the tone of the walls where two paintings hung. A chair and a side table were antiques of high quality. No division walls and the largest piece of furniture was the bed with white linen recently changed, ready for him to occupy. The shelf on one wall was covered with books and a nineteen-inch television set sat on a table. There was a fridge in the corner. He turned on the air conditioner which worked perfectly well to cool the small space that it was intended for.

Tommy followed him up to his flat with one bag slung over his shoulder. He heard him come in.

"How is it?" he asked as soon as he entered.

"I like it."

"Good, because I can't offer you an alternative," he said while putting the bag down on the floor.

"Sincerely, I like it, Tommy. I love the view from up here where you could see most of the city," JC assured him, his eyes were all over the apartment.

"You could take your meals in one of the restaurants at the malls. They're all over the place."

"I need a telephone and a fax machine here. Could you get them for me?"

"You have an old line. All we have to do is install the phone and the fax and you'll have them ready by tomorrow.

"Thanks."

There was silence. JC paced around while Tommy flopped on the chair.

"What if that caller was real?" JC asked him.

"It will be a windfall. I'm hoping she was real. She said she would give it to us at the wake," said Tommy.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything in this world now that we need some hard facts."

"Shall we go back to the office? She might call again."

They left the apartment after putting out the air-conditioning unit and the lights. Then they took the stairs down to the lobby. On the way to the parking lot, they passed a chapel which was located in a university annex building. The door was open and they heard the priest talking about the political situation of the country. They went inside and stayed. The atmosphere was solemn and JC noticed that everybody had tears in their eyes. The mass ended with the song 'My Native Land', which made the whole chapel vibrate with sadness. It was moving and JC felt it too.

Somewhere not far from the center of the city the family of Senator B. Aquino Jr. was mourning. The house was a bungalow, with a green gate. Tonight, it was open for people to pay their last homage to the person whom they thought would release them from the clutches of the monster. It was located on Times Square Avenue and a long queue that stretched several blocks away was controlled and disciplined to a certain extent by the people themselves.

There must be thousands of them here, calculated Doctor Tessa Lopez while making the line toward the glass coffin. Truth was that more than a million people lined the streets to have a last glimpse of the man who would have become the next leader of the country. People from all walks of life were there to see him: students, men, and women, even children tugged by their parents, young and adults. These people must be mourning for themselves, too, for having lost their ultimate hope, their future, and their children's future. It died with him. All these poor ordinary people . . . what will happen to them? What would happen to the country? Will there be anarchy? Certainly, life will be worse for these people.