“Uh, Mister… Mister…”
“Battles,” I said. “It’s Battles.”
“Yes, Mr. Battles… please don’t
misunderstand me. I was not even aware we had an American in
custody until now. So you can believe I will do everything to make
sure his case is handled properly.”
“We appreciate that, Governor,” Palmquist
said, flashing me an annoyed look. “I am sure there has been some
kind of mistake.”
Augustín then wrote a letter instructing the
officials at the prison to allow us access to Manfred. He signed it
and stamped it with his official seal.
“If you have any problems, please let me
know,” he said, handing the letter to Palmquist.
The gate leading into Bilibid Prison on
Oroquieta Street was inside thick fifteen-foot-high gray concrete
walls. Two round towers looked down on the road leading i
