Читать книгу Hidden Agendas - Paul Boardman - Страница 12

The foursome clambered out of the rented Peugeot, everyone dressed in short pants and hiking shoes and each carrying a small shoulder bag or pack-sack.

“The guide book says it’s about an hour and a half walk from here,” stated Linda.

“There’s the first sign post with the reflective tape on it,” said Judy. “That’s what the brochure said to watch for.”

Phil and Michael took the lead, talking occasionally and setting a brisk pace. The women fell behind a few hundred feet and maintained a steady conversation about almost everything. Within a hundred feet of the parking lot, the path entered a tropical jungle. The air, dank with moisture from the rain and dew smelled of rotting vegetation one minute, then the sweet smell of some variety of flora in full bloom, the next. The trees were a hundred feet tall with massive trunks and their foliage formed a canopy but small bushes, ferns and shrubs made the forest dense on either side of the path. The rock formations were black lava rock, thick with lichens and moss. It was cool, almost chilly, damp and always devoid of direct sunlight.

Suddenly the path turned and a bubbling stream opened up before the travelers. The water was crystal clear, tumbling over the lava rock. Vines hung from the huge trees and the scene was so similar to that of a Tarzan movie that everyone except Linda opted for a photo shoot of themselves swinging on a vine over the water. Then it was back into the jungle and a steady uphill climb. As they climbed higher, the vegetation grew thinner until the land before them became desert like. The sun beat down on the now weary hikers, sapping most of their energy. The acrid smell of sulfur, with its characteristic smell of rotten eggs, denied the travelers pleasure. The cloud that hung over the peak seeped down the mountain, smothering out the sunlight and assaulting the party with its stench.

“I can’t see a damn thing but this stinking cloud,” complained Phil as he peered over the edge of “La Soufriere”, Guadeloupe’s famous volcano.

“The guide book says to wait for a breeze to blow the cloud away. Then we will be able to see right down into the crater,” answered Judy.

“That’s the way it was a half hour ago. It was really spectacular. Molten rock oozing around all over the place,” said a familiar voice.

Phil grinned. “Sounds like Mr. Tom Barrens found his way up here. It’s really a great choice of place for a clandestine meeting.”

A skinny Tom Barrens, dressed much like the others but looking geeky with his odd shaped glasses, descended from a ledge above the travelers.

“I told you I was an analyst, not a field man. I just wanted to make my first assignment as dramatic as possible. I thought it would improve my James Bond image.”

The self depreciating attitude and the sheepish grin worked wonders, and Linda and Judy’s first impression of DEA Agent Barrens was therefore favorable. Phil and Michael, who had already seen the way Tom could surface from a dumping in the harbor, fully clothed and immediately say, “See you tomorrow”, waited smiling as the DEA agent climbed down from the ledge.

“Since you are not supposed to know me we will dispense with handshakes etc. We might as well start on the basis that I’ll stay in the background as much as possible. Our meetings will be brief and only when necessary. But since the operation hasn’t really started yet, I am reasonably certain that we are not under surveillance, right here and now. It is a pleasure to meet you two ladies who racked up some pretty fair scores at our training facilities.”

“Heck, it was fun. We learned a lot. For example this cloud does provide pretty fair cover. Get it …. Cloud cover?” said Judy.

Tom Barrens smiled while the others groaned.

“So I gather the trip here was pleasant. You made excellent time.”

“Captain Phil works his crew like we’re indentured servants,” said Linda. “But in a nice way,” she added, reaching over and squeezing his hand.

“Have you made contact yet?”

Farris answered. “We have an appointment in Bogotá for a week from Monday.”

“Excellent. Any difficulties?”

“None.”

“According to the plan you ladies stay in Guadeloupe while the men fly to Colombia. Correct? ” Tom looked around for confirmation.

“Right,” stated Phil. “But we decided to sail rather than fly.”

Linda spoke up. “Another minor change.”

Farris and Phil immediately swung their attention to Linda.

“Please explain, for all of us,” said Farris, dryly. He knew his wife well enough to know the change might not be so minor.

“Judy and I already talked it over. We felt that as the boat travels at six or eight knots that might be a bit slow, in an emergency.”

“Victor will be close at hand with the cigarette boat.”

“That’s true, but if you have to move faster, for any reason, we thought it would be nice to have a plane.”

“You have a plane, darling. The bi-plane.”

“The bi-plane is a two-seater. There are four of us. So I ordered a Cessna 182 before we left. Judy and I are going to fly back to Florida to pick it up, while you’re sailing to Colombia.”

Tom Barrens turned pale beneath his sunburned face. He was amazed. How could these people live like this? They had a million dollar sailboat with a dinghy which alone would satisfy his watery aspirations, and now, Linda buys an airplane just as a back-up. He could see that Michael Farris was clearly upset but noted that he was containing himself. Tom thought about his beat-up Toyota. Another wave of jealousy passed over him but he fought to ignore it.

Farris glared at Linda but Phil got his attention and winked at him. “Not a bad idea if you think about it.”

“So we are now simply tourists, traveling by boat, with our own private plane, island hopping behind us?” Farris stated.

“We are not the only ones in the Caribbean doing just that,” stated Linda.

“You don’t think it’s a bit pretentious.”

“Not by Caribbean standards. Heck, some of the cruisers down here have helicopter pads.”

“I like it”, said Tom. He resented the fact that they could afford to do it, but he liked the idea of quicker transportation.

Farris was sorely tempted to say “Well I don’t!” He kept his mouth clamped shut in stead.

“Since everything is under control, I’m not going to hang around. It was nice meeting you. You have my number. It’s secure and open, twenty-four, seven. Adios amigos!” said Tom and he started to retreat down the trail. “Hey, I think I feel a bit of a breeze,” he called over his shoulder.

As Tom disappeared into the fog a small wind blew by and the clouds over La Soufriere opened up, revealing an active volcano gurgling in the crater. The four people stared in awe at the wonder that could heat rock to the melting point.

“That’s something you don’t see every day,” said Phil.

“That’s for sure,” Judy responded. “Thank God I’m not a virgin!”

“No sacrifices today,” said Linda.

“Yes, that would be very hard on Phil’s reputation,” drawled Farris.

For fifteen minutes there was no difficulty in the foursome playing out their cover as excited tourists, while the sunlight glistened on the molten lava below.

When the two couples left the rim, Michael walked with Linda while Phil and Judy lingered behind, holding hands.

“You already have a plane, dear. I thought you liked it,” said Farris.

“I do, Mike. But it’s a two-seater. Besides, how many boats do you have?”

“That’s different. That’s business.”

“So is the Cessna,” stated Linda, ending the conversation with a peck on Michael’s cheek.

The trip to Guadeloupe had taken the two couples six hundred miles east of their destination. In fact it would have been easier to sail to Jamaica and then on to Cartagena but Michael had insisted in setting up a land base on French soil to distance them as much as possible from the US presence.

A double suite condo in a time share development had been rented for a month. The girls went out grocery shopping and returned with a massive collection of delicacies, fresh French bread, filet mignon, French roasted coffee, pate, French cheeses, fresh fruit, two cases of Beaujolais and two bottles of Dom Perignon. A second load from the taxi produced fresh cream, Benedictine liqueur, a local Banana liqueur, a case of Perrier water and more French pastries.

“This looks too much like the good life. Maybe Phil and I ought to put off leaving a few more days,” suggested Farris.

“You get one good meal …. All you can eat! … then you get back on Iron Pyrate and lose the five pounds you just put on,” stated Linda. “The rest of the food is for Judy and me to share with the Frenchmen we’ll meet on the beach, who all wear Speedos.”

“Will you be on the beach with the top on, or the top off,” countered Farris.

“You know me, dear. I’m usually modest. I won’t speak for Judy, though,” she teased.

Judy grinned but said nothing.

“While you were gone Mike and I watched a fashion show down by the water. A gorgeous model set up two suitcases, about a hundred feet apart, with a little rug in front of each. She would put on one outfit and parade across the beach. When she reached the other suitcase she would change her clothes or her swim suit, and then parade back to the first suitcase. Quite a show. Had to sit down to watch.”

“This place is so different!” exclaimed Judy.

“One word of warning”, explained Michael. “In this country, which is a colony of France, if you are arrested, you are automatically Guilty until proven Innocent. Beware the gendarmes! The other thing is … Avoid the post office! The French can take more time to put a stamp on a letter than any other civilization known to man, including the Pygmies who haven’t even invented stamps yet!”

“It’s those ball hugging Speedos that really gross me out!” mocked Phil. “Why would real men wear those things?”

“Becausssse they are verrry Francois”, mocked Judy.

“Enough chit-chat,” said Michael. Then doing his own imitation of the French he placed a towel over his arm and in a heavy accent said, “May I take your drink order, Mademoiselle.”

Two days later, Phil and Farris were under full sail, headed for Cartagena, Colombia, one of the most formidable and successful strongholds during the fifteen and sixteen hundreds, while the Caribbean was being settled.

“Think we’ll have to stop before we get there?” asked Farris.

“Not if these winds keep up! But if the weather turns nasty we can always stop in Aruba. If it gets really bad we can pull into Maracaibo, but that is in Venezuela. Still, it’s about the same driving distance to Bogotá.”

“Let’s shoot for Cartagena, but if the weather turns, this is too big a boat for two people to handle.”

“You’re right but the boat is fully automated. Besides, if the weather stays like this … it’s damn near heavenly.”

A hundred miles from their destination, well past the Gulf of Venezuela, the weather did change dramatically. Twenty-foot swells rose up and the wind came from exactly the direction they wanted to go, forcing Phil to decide whether to sail much further north-west or attempt to motor into the wind. For an hour they furled in the sails and tried to motor but the experience was miserable with the boat pitching and yawing and sleep would be impossible in these conditions.

“Next plan,” decided Phil. “We’ll set a storm sail on each mast and head east”. Half an hour later, with the sails set, Iron Pyrate carved through the water, making good time … but in the wrong direction.

“Better get some sleep while you can,” he cautioned Farris. “It might be a long night”.

“OK. Call me in two hours and I’ll take over.”

Thirty-six hours later they were safely tied up in Cartagena, both men exhausted but both feeling a sense of pride, having proven their competence and seamanship in adverse conditions. In many ways this harbor was similar to those in the Bahamas. It was reasonably clean and there was a good selection of larger boats. The real difference, however, was the old security guard who wandered up and down the dock. Phil was not used to having their boat watched by a guard, even an old one, with a sub-machine gun. But this was Colombia, and things were different here.

Phil and Farris ate supper and drank a few beer at a local restaurant where only Spanish was spoken. At eight-thirty in the evening, exhausted and with stomachs full, they headed back to the boat and each to their stateroom, Farris’ in the forward cabin and Phil’s in the stern. Before sacking out, they agreed to meet for breakfast, in about twelve hours.

The following morning over breakfast Farris said, “We have two choices. We can either drive to Bogotá ourselves, or hire a driver.”

“What about flying?”

“It would probably be OK, but this is a war zone. I’d feel safer on the ground.”

“Fine by me. Let’s hire a driver. You could pass as a Colombian. My blue eyes are a dead give-away. I’ll wear sun glasses but let’s get some new clothes so that we can blend in as much as possible. Should we carry guns?”

“Everyone else does, here. Might as well,” answered Farris.

“We are well ahead of schedule. We don’t need to be in Bogotá for three days. Let’s buy what we need and acclimatize ourselves. I speak about ten words in Spanish which I learned in boot camp. Maybe I can learn a few extras.”

“Let’s make sure our driver speaks English. We’ll also need Colombian currency.”

“I think I should talk to the guard. He probably knows a driver. I’ll give him a few dollars to keep a special eye on our boat and a promise to give him more if everything is OK when we return.”

“Sounds good. We can also check out a few taxi drivers. See if we can find one we like.”

Two days later, at five o’clock in the morning, Phil and Michael Farris piled into a private car with a bad muffler and two spare tires. Fully dressed in Colombian clothes they attracted no attention whatsoever, as they drove through downtown Cartagena. Farris blended in perfectly. Phil’s dark hair and deep tan fit in as long as he kept his sunglasses on. Although the scenery in the mountains was magnificent, by noon they were already exhausted, having suffered the constant turns and pot holes. Phil carried a hand held GPS and both men carried snub nosed thirty-eight caliber pistols. The GPS gave the estimated time-of-arrival as five o’clock in the evening.

The mountain dropped off over a thousand feet at the shoulder of the road. A flimsy guardrail made out of two inch piping and cement posts might have provided some protection, had large portions of it not been previously ripped out by unfortunate travelers. Every few miles some good Catholic had erected a sepulcher where a loved one had exited the highway and this world. At one point they came to a traffic jam where a single axel truck had lost its entire rear end, axel, differential and wheels. They passed four military checkpoints where the driver paid a twenty-five dollar fine and they were back on the road. SOP! Standard Operating Procedure.

“What exactly was it you had against flying?” asked Phil, about three o’clock.

“Whatever it was, I’ve forgotten about it. How much longer?”

“The GPS now says six hours to go, but my bet is seven hours before we actually arrive.”

Farris slouched in the back seat, pulled his hat over his eyes and tried to go to sleep. Their driver was very competent. He drove quickly but not recklessly. He seemed to have complete trust in the vehicle which, considering the shape the tires alone were in, was a stretch. He had proved he could speak English but said little. Every few hours he would pull over to buy a drink, or fruit, or one time, some excellent fried chicken. To anyone observing it seemed certain that he knew everyone he encountered, as if he only bought food from relatives and close friends. When he encountered road blocks he said only the minimum and handed over his traveling papers with the tip money neatly folded up inside. Why waste words in a land where money talks?

The driver was solidly built, about forty years old, with all of his hair, bushy and black and a full moustache with a tiny triangle of hair below his lower lip. He wore sunglasses and looked for all the world like a Time Magazine revolutionary. He didn’t carry a gun, though Phil had seen one in the glove box. At times, he seemed to have infinite patience with traffic and at other times he seemed to take extreme offence at a farmer and his cow, blocking one lane of traffic. Phil, to pass the time, tried to determine who would be the next to encounter the driver’s wrath and the impotent blare of his worn-out horn. In his imagination he installed a horn button on his knee. When he thought the driver would honk, he pressed his kneecap. Nothing. Then, out of the blue, for no apparent reason at all, the driver would blast someone. Whatever the determining factors were to invoke an angry response completely eluded Phil’s logical mind.

At twenty minutes past seven the driver deposited Phil and Farris on the steps of the Hotel Grande, in Bogotá. He promised to meet with them at nine the next morning and he would drive them anywhere they wished.

A porter carried the two, small travel bags to the front desk.

“Buenas noches, Senors. Your wives have already checked in. They are in the dining room. Eeff you like I can send your bags to your rooms and you may join the Senoras.”

Phil and Farris looked at each other, both surprised and angry, their eyes demanding if the other knew of this plan.

Phil recovered quickly. “We weren’t expecting them until tomorrow.”

“Si Senor. Thees ees a pleasant surprise, no?”

“Very pleasant. Which way is the dining room?”

The desk clerk clapped his hands, officiously. “Escort these gentlemen to the dining room.”

Judy and Linda had already finished dinner and were drinking coffee. They stood to exchange hugs and kisses.

“So exactly why are you here?” said Farris, smiling politely at his wife.

Judy fanned her face in her familiar gesture and started talking before Linda could open her mouth. “What an adventure! First we picked up the plane in Miami. They treated us like royalty, paid for our hotel, took us out to lunch, provided a car …. The works! Then we took a brief flight to check it out. Linda signed the papers and bang, we’re island hopping all the way to Jamaica. We spent a night in Montego Bay, fueled up and presto, here we are. Great hunh!”

Phil had already given up trying to discourage the girls from participating. Michael had not.

“Why exactly was it you didn’t want to fly up here?” Phil asked of Farris. Farris glared at him maliciously.

“Let’s sit down, have a drink, you boys can eat and we’ll swap stories about what happened in the last week. Two waiters appeared and held the ladies chairs as they sat down.

The next morning at breakfast, it was decided that Phil and Michael would go to their meeting and send the driver back to chauffeur the women around for the day. The meeting was in a large office tower only a few blocks away from the hotel.

They were in the tower’s lobby no longer than ten seconds when a husky male voice, emanating from an even huskier looking Colombian said, “Please follow me Mr. Farris and Mr. Harrison.”

The emissary used a key to lock the elevator and the machine sped to the penthouse office suite. There was a receptionist stationed opposite the elevator but there was little sign of office work going on. Although there were a few offices in view, a large portion of the floor seemed to be more like a living room than office space. At least ten men lounged around, playing pool or cards, reading magazines or talking idly as Phil and Farris were escorted in.

“Please leave any weapons you have on the table and it will be necessary for me to frisk you. I hope you understand, Senors?”

Both Phil and Michael wore tropical weight suits with open neck shirts. They each withdrew their handguns and stood patiently while the guard frisked them with a metal detector. “Senor Fernandez is waiting for you. This way, please.”

Eduardo Fernandez stood up from behind an oversized, modern, smoked glass and marble desk. There were an number of files on the desk, some on the right, one open in the center and another pile on the left. Fernandez closed the open file, placed it on the pile on the right. He turned the files so that the names on the tabs would be hidden. If his men were lounging and playing pool, Fernandez was working but he was not about to reveal what he was working on.

“I wonder what’s in those files?” thought Phil. He surmised if drug lords received written production reports on their fields or profit and loss statements from their distributors. “Not too likely!” he thought. “So what’s in there?”

If Fernandez was pleased to see his old associate, it was not evident from either his expressionless face or his semi-limp, perfunctory handshake.

“Please sit down,” said Fernandez, offering a leather couch and matching chair.

When everyone was seated Fernandez wasted no time in coming to the point. “Please explain what it is you wish to purchase and why you are reversing our previous agreement to refrain from doing any future business together.”

“Our previous agreement still holds. This is a one time proposal that will not be repeated. My partner and I,” Farris waved at Phil, “wish to purchase five million dollars worth of cocaine and one million dollars worth of emeralds. These products will be delivered to the States but other than that, their destination needs be of no concern to you.”

Phil felt a rolling sensation in his stomach. “For Christ’s sake, Farris,” he thought. “Tom Barrens authorized us to buy five hundred thousand dollars worth of cocaine, not five million. And nothing was said about emeralds!”

“Certainly I can do that, but the second question is “why?”

Farris grinned sheepishly. “As you know, Eduardo, when I married I made a concession to my wife to get out of the trade. You probably know that my wife likes to fly. Until now she has satisfied herself with a Cessna, which of course is no problem. Recently, however, she has been talking about a small Lear jet. This is an extravagance I could not permit … unless she were to make a small concession to me.”

Uncharacteristically, Eduardo Fernandez laughed. “Michael Farris! I would not have believed it! I wonder whether I should laugh or cry!”

Farris put such a silly expression on his face that Phil had to contain his own laughter.

“Naturally, such an endeavor would require serious planning and participation and that is where my friend comes in.” He waved at Phil and Fernandez looked him over, long and hard. Phil remained pokerfaced, meeting Fernandez’ gaze head-on.

“This will take about two weeks. Go back to Guadeloupe and someone will contact you. He will ask for a Banana Daiquiri.”

The meeting was over. Eduardo Fernandez returned to his desk. There were no handshakes or goodbyes. On the way out the guard returned the weapons to the men and escorted them to the lobby exit. A light green Chevy Impala waited at the curb.

“This man will drive you back to the hotel.”

As they walked into the hotel lobby Farris said quietly. “Meet me in the pool in ten minutes. The rooms will have bugs.”

Despite the fact that nothing untoward had happened, Phil Harrison was running on more adrenalin than he could ever remember. He had entered into a new game with higher stakes than he had ever dreamt of … and he was experiencing a few, not so minor misgivings.

“Whoever came up with the idea of installing swim-up bars in hotels should get the Nobel Peace Prize. God, look at that! That beats anything I’ve ever seen on a reality TV show.”

Phil was already on his third rum punch and apparently beginning to loosen up. He hooked a forearm around Michael’s neck without taking his eyes off a yellow bikini that was traveling poolside. Farris, who had also noticed the voluptuous mammaries, was expecting an appraisal report but got something a bit different.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Five million, plus a million in emeralds and all to pay for a Lear Jet? We had a half-million dollar limit!

Farris continued to stare at the gorgeous creature who pretended not to notice that every pair of male eyes in the pool area was focused on her.

“It’s kind of like Miss Yellow Bikini. Our friend would have seen through a half-million dollar deal in about half a second. That’s why the drug trade has higher gross sales than General Motors. The bad guys aren’t stupid but sometimes … usually, in fact … the good guys are! Fernandez knows I can do five million. If you got it, sometimes you have to flaunt it. Hey! Check out that brunette! The emeralds? That’s personal. It’s also a deterrent to the DEA to never try to recruit us again. They’ll find out about it, but if we pull off the other part they won’t dare to mess with us about the emeralds. But you can bet your brass bippy that we’ll not be invited back to play again!”

“OK, Mike. This is your department. Frankly I can’t wait to get back on the boat. Did you see those decrepit shacks that people live in only a block or two from that office tower?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Linda.”

“It’s my first time here. I guess the poverty and the machine guns come as a bit of a surprise even though I knew to expect it.”

“Well at least we can fly back to Cartagena.”

“In a brand new plane, no less! Do you think Lyn and Jude would mind if we brought back a couple of Colombian pool beauties?”

“You ask Judy, yourself.”

“Up until you turned a five hundred thousand dollar job into a six million dollar one I was having fun.”

Phil swallowed the last of his rum, and unhooked his arm from around Farris’ neck.

Mike grinned. He felt he knew his friend very well. Regardless of Phil’s reaction to the deal, he knew Phil was more committed now than he had been earlier this morning. There was one thing about fighting a concept or a conviction or a cause. But fighting a cause could never be compared to fighting a face. Perhaps that was where George Bush had gone wrong. He forgot about Bin Laden and his support collapsed. Phil would not forget about Eduardo Fernandez.