Читать книгу Hidden Agendas - Paul Boardman - Страница 11

Eduardo Fernandez was without question the third most powerful man in Colombia. He stood a slim six feet tall. At forty-eight years old, his hair was dark with only a touch of grey showing. He wore it combed straight back and it showed only a slight sign of receding at the temples. His face revealed little character but otherwise he might be considered handsome. Unfortunately, with rare exception, his face was devoid of all emotion and evoked the same, unemotional response from those whom he encountered. If Fernandez had one physical characteristic that gave any indication of his character, it was his lips. They were extraordinarily thin, a characteristic often seen in selfish, egocentric people.

Fernandez had few vices or character flaws that were visually apparent. Nevertheless, he did have an uncanny eye for detecting particular flaws in others. The people he determined had the flaws he required were easily found and hired as needed. He was neither cruel nor sadistic personally but the nature of his business required him to keep on payroll a man who had no moral qualms and could skillfully inflict pain on others to achieve whatever necessity was required. Although he was the second most powerful drug lord in Colombia, he had not been bitten by the coca plant. He had seen it destroy too many people. Occasionally he would drink a beer or a cocktail to subdue the equatorial sun but liquor was not one of his vices. Nor were women. He used them as the need arose, without attachment.

As a manager of a huge international network Fernandez was decisive, had an excellent memory and was exceedingly good at devising master plans which he skillfully concealed from others. Always introverted, that characteristic only grew as he aged. Other people were of little consequence to him other than as commodities. The majority of them drifted from one day and one endeavor to the next. Once they had been given an instruction, he left them alone, refusing to micro-manage. When they succeeded, they were well paid. Rewards for success were doled out with a good deal of generosity. Fernandez was not a greedy man. He viewed greed as just another human weakness that was easily found and manipulated. If they failed, another solution was required.

Fernandez had no friends and his enemies had shorter lives than his. He had no hobbies which gave him pleasure, beyond his work. Winning was merely a product of a good plan and not a thrill in itself. The only thing he strove for and derived satisfaction from, perhaps even pleasure, was the manipulation and resultant growth of his empire.

Though he rated above average in competency and intelligence he had only one extraordinary trait. That trait gave him an ability that was honed to a perfect enigma capable of confounding any who attempted to challenge him. He was an organizer extrordinaire. His network of people and companies functioned independently but all played a part in his grand scheme, known only to him.

His empire, primarily focused in the United States, had originally taken the form of real estate. Now it was growing and expanding. He had one tool that other corporate moguls would envy. Cash. The cash required for expansion had never been a problem. His cocaine empire provided that. Although he was known both inside Colombia and to the DEA as a very high ranking drug lord the truth was he had little interest in the drug trade itself. That end of the business, he had outgrown years ago and delegated it to others. In his mind, he was an extremely gifted, robber baron businessman. In fact, he rated as one of the most successful money launderers the world had ever seen.

In recent years, other than making regular trips to Bogotá, he seldom left the splendor of his house. Surrounded with a military force capable of taking over a small country, his home might have been considered by others to be a prison. He never thought it like that. To Eduardo, it was simply a consolidation of his office, his place of business, his headquarters, and his living quarters. From it he could organize and orchestrate any task that his business required.

The house was luxurious, of course. It had been designed by world famous architects. The engineers who built the shell had all come with military backgrounds and only a prolonged air strike could inflict serious damage. No ground force could reasonably penetrate the defenses. Even an air attack would be costly to an invader. Similar to the castles of medieval Europe, despite the architectural splendor, the house was a fortress. In it, Eduardo Fernandez directed his empire. Every task he demanded was performed by the best, whether it required lawyers, accountants or thugs. His drones, as he thought of them, could be counted on to perform any task Eduardo commanded. If they failed, in his legitimate businesses, they were fired and often financially ruined. In his less than legitimate endeavors, failure was rewarded by a permanent solution.

Although his business had expanded exponentially, pure growth was not the motivating force. It only measured the quality of his organization. The power that came with controlling the empire, although useful, meant little to him. It too was only a product of cause and effect. The pleasure came from organizing, creating a machine so skillfully planned that no external force could threaten it.

Yet Eduardo Fernandez was not without a dream, which, like his intricate plans, he hid from the drones he employed. He craved recognition. He wanted to be idolized as the truly great businessman he was. On a higher level. He yearned for the kind of recognition that had been awarded to the first Rockefellers, Carnegies, and Fords. Those were the men who single handedly controlled entire industries. Oil, railroads, the automobile industry. His personal favorite was Howard Hughes. Fernandez reveled in the wit, the subterfuge and the skullduggery that had been required to control Trans World Airlines. For a while, at least, Howard Hughes had controlled the sky. That was an achievement!

The men Eduardo Fernandez respected most were all “Robber Barons.” They had all been great organizers. And the world fell at their feet as they claimed their rewards. Eventually, other groups had been able to overpower them with unimaginative, wolf-pack mentality and copy-cat tactics. But while they had ruled, they had ruled supreme. Alone. Worthy of recognition.

Eduardo Fernandez visualized his reward. He dreamed of living in a massive penthouse in New York City, standing on his balcony, overlooking his kingdom. Duplicating the style of Howard Hughes, he had already selected a site and purchased the entire building. Following his coronation, the existing four penthouse tenants would be evicted and he would take over the entire floor. He would, of course, continue to be a recluse even though he occasionally dreamt of stepping outside the front door of his building, only to be met by paparazzi and adoring subjects. Surely he would be recognized, loved by some and hated by others. But he would be admired by all. His crowning achievement would be the most brilliant take-over in American history.

“Senor Fernandez, there is a call for you on a secure line. Do you wish to answer it?”

“Gracias, Alicia. Put it through”.

Eduardo sat at an oversized desk of carved mahogany, supported by sculptured legs, embossed with gold filigree. Carved lions paw feet, with claws of real gold, rested on the thick Persian carpet. The drawer handles were solid gold. The desk, although only a few years old, resembled a priceless antique. To him, it was proof that craftsmanship of old was over-rated. It could be duplicated and improved upon, by modern, computer driven machinery, programmed to cut and fit with greater accuracy than the finest craftsman of yesteryear. Why buy an antique when something even better was available? The artisan meant nothing to him. Only the end result counted.

Every detail of the thousand square foot room exuded extreme wealth and power. The mahogany conference table with its dozen chairs, soft leather couches on either side of an inlaid coffee table, the rich mahogany and ebony parquet floor, paneled walls with a variety of sculptures carved into them were all illuminated by priceless chandeliers. There was no sign of vulgarity. The total effect exuded a certain warmth, despite its over-powering impression of grandeur. Relatively few people ever entered this inner sanctum. When they did, they were overwhelmed, and in that state, Fernandez was able to easily manipulate them.

Behind his desk, the entire East wall of the office held an array of computer equipment superior to any office in Colombia. It was entirely built into the wall and trimmed with rich Cyprus molding. The gadgetry and capabilities of the array were barely short of Star Trek’s bridge, yet the entire display had been crafted like fine furniture. It was from that assembly of wizardry that Eduardo controlled his empire. The technical designers who had created the set-up had gained experience through contracts with the White House, the Pentagon and a number of Dow-Jones corporations and Fernandez had been taught to use it to perfection.

Eduardo picked up the telephone. “Yes.”

“This is Michael Farris.”

“Aahh, Mr. Farris. It has been a very long time.”

“Yes it has. I trust everything is well.”

“Everything is satisfactory. What is the purpose of your call?”

“I would like to make an appointment with you to discuss business.”

“Call back and speak to Alicia. She will arrange an appointment.”

Without other formalities, Eduardo hung up the phone. He immediately resumed the work he was doing, studying financial statements generated by his numerous holding companies. But a separate compartment of his brain began to analyze the reason for the call. A few minutes later he set aside his work, spun his chair to face the computer array and punched in ‘Michael Farris’, then clicked on ‘profile’. Why would Farris call him after six years of silence? They had made a deal to have no further contact with each other. It had been a costly deal for Farris, who, in return for a safe retirement, had foregone payment on a very large delivery which would normally have netted him at least two million dollars.

Farris was very wealthy. It was hard to conceive that he would have made such bad investments that he now needed money. Furthermore, as his wife, Linda, came from a wealthy family her situation was also secure. So why would Farris call?

Eduardo continued his search. As a retired associate, the Farris file had been maintained fully open and updated regularly. Perhaps there was a change in lifestyle recently. A death or divorce. Yes, Michael Farris had recently purchased a boat in the Mediterranean through a corporation of four shareholders. Farris, his wife, Phil Harrison and Judy Simpson. This was odd. Farris had always been an independent, operating without partners. Very interesting. An icon flashed on his screen. New information was incoming. There it was. Farris and a man by the name of Phil Harrison had arranged an appointment for two weeks from today.

It was time for lunch and Eduardo was hungry. He closed off his computer screens and moved over to a round table resting inside a bay window. Here, overlooking the Colombian mountains, was where Eduardo usually dined, alone. Pressing a hidden button underneath the table brought his chef to the door, where he had been waiting. He entered pushing an elaborate cart, on which was an entire meal. A calamari salad, a small steak and a few vegetables, all of which were exquisitely arranged on a gleaming silver platter. There was a Sterno warmer beneath the steak and crushed ice beneath the salad. Accompanying the meal was a thin slice of cheesecake for desert and a silver thermos of fine Colombian coffee. The meal was placed on the table by the chef himself who, after receiving a quick nod of approval, left. Eduardo ate, gazing out the window over a magnificent tropical garden, resplendent with every tropical bush, flower, fountain and waterfall imaginable. The garden was truly a work of art, designed by a brilliant Brazilian landscape architect. It required a full time gardener, just for the one hundred by one hundred foot area that was visible between the castle-like wall surrounding the house and the window where Eduardo sat. He had only one rule pertaining to the garden. No one was to enter it while he ate and there were no exceptions.

Opposite the door to Eduardo’s office sat a striking Spanish beauty, a Colombian woman of twenty-seven years. Though born and raised in a farming village less than a mile away, Alicia had graduated from Florida State University with a Masters in Business Administration placing third in her class. Following graduation she had been given a one month holiday to anywhere she chose in the United States. Alicia had chosen California. For her it was a wonderful month. She swam and attempted surfing. She hiked in the lower ranges and tried skiing in the mountains but having found skiing too cold she returned to the beach house that was her home base for the month.

Although Alicia did not develop any strong relationships during her holiday she had been invited to a few parties along the beach where she did meet one man with whom she had spent most of the last two weeks. He was an assistant professor at Berkley. There was enough physical attraction for the couple to be lovers, but there was no strong emotional fascination. The relationship, at least for Alicia, had been mainly intellectual. Consequently, when the couple parted, Alicia returned to Colombia with more questions about her life than she had ever asked herself before.

Alicia had been raised by loving parents. Her father was a farmer who had a magical, green thumb. He seemed to be able to preach to the multitude of plants in a field, coaching and coxing the entire field to be stronger and more fruitful. His specialty was the coca plant. Although Alicia had spent five years in Florida, she had never questioned the moral issues that surrounded the life of a coca farmer. To her, it had been her father’s work and as she loved her father, she never questioned his morals. But the assistant professor from Berkley instilled within her a tiny grain of doubt.

With her degree firmly settled, as was the arrangement, she returned home and began working for Eduardo’s company and he soon capitalized on Alicia’s skills. He needed an executive administrator whom he could trust with sensitive material. Who better than Alicia? A local farm girl who had excelled in school. She was not the first person whom Eduardo had educated in the States but she appeared to be amongst the most successful of his choices. While studying, Eduardo had provided Alicia with a salary, enough to live on comfortably, and paid all her expenses. There was no written contract. On completion of her schooling, it was understood that she would return and work for him, at a salary commensurate with his opinion of her.

Her father, as a result of his skills, was wealthy enough to drive his own Dodge Ram pick-up truck, and live with his wife and daughter in a spacious ranch house. Now, only two years after graduating, Alicia’s income had doubled her father’s. Their lives may have lacked some freedom but they were both formidable people who had power. That was an important quality in the Colombian psyche.

During the first year, following her graduation, Alicia’s employment had taken the form of an office managerial position in a converted hacienda, half a mile from the Fernandez estate. It had been built twenty years ago, adjacent to an abandoned gold mine and had formerly been the home of the owner of the mine. Additions had been added and there were now roughly fifty people working at that site. Although the décor was different if compared to offices in a high end American business park, the office equipment was state of the art.

It was Alicia’s job to review financial statements of dozens of companies that owned real estate throughout North America. Alicia, who had been fortunate enough to be in school during the high tech meltdown in the USA, had witnessed, from the classroom, the strategies that high tech firms had used to become leaner and meaner, slicing jobs and cutting back on R&D that did not have any short term benefit. She had studied the mergers and acquisitions as the high tech industry survivors ate up the less affluent competition, in the same manner that the big three auto makers had swallowed up competition fifty years earlier. Back in Colombia, she began to implement the same strategies amongst the group of companies under her domain. She had organized a couple of real estate swaps, cutting out duplication of unnecessary jobs. Combined with the real estate boom that followed the high tech meltdown, her success had been extraordinary. She advised Fernandez to sell off his bad properties at huge profits, a result of the real estate boom and use the profits to accumulate larger, more virile acquisitions. Within a year Alicia had been moved into Eduardo’s personal office on his estate, with a huge increase in her salary. Now she drove to work in a BMW, from her parent’s home, a mile away.

Immediately on assuming her new position, Alicia had been given a new group of ten companies, much larger and more complex. She began to appreciate the intricacies of Eduardo’s mind and how his companies, though independent entities, were taking on a common theme.