As we were leaving, Figueras tried to brush me off, but I insisted on seeing that intriguing letter of Ito. "I am representing many families," I said, "I do not want anyone to say I didn't look after their interests." OK, said Figueras, and off we went in his car back to City Hall.

In the car, he patted me fraternally on the knee (after all, he had just earned 5% on our house and 3% on our furniture) and said: "You have a car? Better let Tashiro use it. It'll be taken anyway later." Muy bien. House, furniture, car ... let's see what else we've got. The car sped on as Figueras puffed on his long cigar, looking all the world like J.P. Morgan himself after receiving all of his dividend checks for the year. "That's what I like about the Military Police," he added, "clean and quick; no trouble." No trouble for Figueras, I thought, cursing him.

At his office, the secretary finally found the letter — actually three or four documents in one. It was from Fukushima to Figueras, informing him that the "matter" had been taken up with Ito, who had "definitely agreed" that our house be used. There were three or four lines of Japanese characters under his signature, with a handwritten translation: "I hereby agree and duly authorize the above — Captain Ito," then a small seal that Figueras said was from the Kempeitai. For all I knew, it was simply permission for Fukushima to come and use our toilet once a week. I doubted the handwriting was Ito's; presumably he couldn't write English. The seal could be anyone's too ... then I noticed it was dated November 27 and there was no reference to Manga Avenue or any family's name for that matter.

I pointed out the lack of address and name. That's in the ORDER of evacuation there, he said, bluntly pointing to the other papers. What was the use of looking? No doubt Figueras had been using that same letter to bluff a number of people. The odds were stacked against us. My last card was the Military Police, and I presumed that Lombek was playing it at that very moment. If we called the bluff and Ito's signature was genuine, then all we've lost was time to vacate in an orderly manner.

So I left, walked in the rain to Quiapo and hailed a carretela for the dismal ride home. I decided to ditch my GE radio while I could — at lunchtime when the Kempeitai would be busy eating. At 1210 Maurice unlocked the left gate and I walked my bike out. As I began mounting the bicycle, to my horror I heard a car approaching from our left — the only usable car in the street belonged to the Kempeitai! Standing in front of my bike to shield the radio, I bestowed my best bow at the three MPs in the back seat as the car passed. They bowed right back. Maurice whistled and exclaimed: "What luck!" Six minutes later, the radio was at the Sotelo house, where I convinced a reluctant Georgie to hide it "for a short period." There'd be hell to pay if his dad found out, he warned, not to mention the Japanese. We placed it above the porch ceiling and hoped for the best.

continues...