IMBERADO
Chapter Sixteen
It was still before dawn and stars could still be seen clearly in the sky overhead by the four men loading gear into the Cessna T303. Dave had the flight plan filed and confirmed with the tower. Their take off time was in less than thirty minutes and the plane’s twin engines were warmed up and purring. Dave, Rick, Travis and John had just finished with the last bag and took one last look at the sky before climbing onto the plane and buckling themselves in, Dave and Travis in the front with Rick and John behind them. Dave called the tower and got clearance to taxi out onto the tarmac.
Once they reached 20,000 feet they would cruise until they started to land in Miami for refueling probably around eight thirty depending on the weather, which was supposed to be fair all the way. Gliding along through the clear dark sky all but Dave looked over the new passports and assorted documents, memorizing necessary grains of knowledge about their news characters, just in case they were quizzed by customs agents or airport police.
The sky had turned to that early pink rim in the east on the horizon and then to orange and the yellow of the dawn before they landed in Miami. Ponce Airport was not exactly buzzing with planes taking off and landing, so their time here was brief. As the ground crew refueled the plane, all four of them stretched their legs and took advantage of the meager facilities. They all ended up with fresh cups of coffee, or at least what was available as coffee. When all of them made it back into the Cessna Dave called the tower and was given the okay to pull the plane out onto the tarmac, taxi to the runway and take off into the skies once again. It would be about one pm when they landed in Puerto Rico, so far everything was going according to plan. If there were no delays, they would make it into Aruba before dark.
During the next four hours each of them took turns asking the others typical questions someone might ask them, Travis spent some of that coaching Dave, since he had been unable to study his new identity as freely as John and Rick had. Then all four could take turns picking out styles or variants they could dream up, until they all felt they had their identities locked down.
It was a beautiful day for flying with very little turbulence, no impending storms on the horizon anywhere. They remarked about their good progress as they could make out one island or the other below them along the flight path. The time went so quickly with their concentrated involvement, which it scarcely seemed like four hours had passed as Dave started his decent into Aer Puerto Mercedita. Only Dave had taken specific notice as they cruised over the island until he started his preparations as he neared the south side of this city on the western edge of Puerto Rico. Since Puerto Rico was a U.S. Territory there would be no entry customs and at this airport, which catered to smaller aircraft they could likely have no issues during refueling as to their destination either. Aruba was a popular vacation spot, especially for Americans from the eastern Atlantic seaboard.
Everything went like clockwork with the light midday air traffic here. The men made sure again to relieve themselves regardless of any real need and bought snacks for lunch and bottles of water to wash down the sandwiches. Within less than an hour they were back in the sky and cruising at 20,000 feet, three more hours and they would land in Oranjestad on Aruba, this leg of the trip would be concluded. The next leg would be up to what John’s friend, Bob, already had orchestrated for them between Aruba and Venezuela.
Although a mecca for American tourists mainly from New England, Aruba is an almost desert island. Only 26 miles long at it’s longest and 6 miles wide at it’s widest. Except for the narrow strip along the southern coast, where the only two towns existed and the refinery stood out, the island was mostly sand and rock with only cactus and Divi-Divi trees for foliage. There was the American colony at the islands far western point, but even that was small in comparison. The only paved road ran from the American colony through the two towns and ended at the refinery, all other roads were dirt, and even the golf course was devoid of the usual greenery. There was a joke on Aruba that no one could get lost here, if you found yourself disoriented; just follow the points of the Divi-Divi trees, they all pointed south because of the trade winds, toward the paved road.
After the plane touched down and taxied to the space the ground crew directed them, all four men came down the steps and disembarked. Robert “Bob” Franks was standing close by to great them. John Little Horse walked straight to him and shook hands with a broad smile on his face. Then John turned around for introductions.
“Bob, this is Travis Cody, Dave Askew and Rick Chesterton. Gentlemen this is, Bob Franks, an old comrade-in arms.”
Everyone shook hands and then turned to get their gear off the plane.
“I’ll take you through customs here and then we’ll get in the bus and drive to the refinery. Don’t concern yourselves about customs, it will be just a formality. I’ve already talked to the airport manager.”
Twenty minutes later all of them were on the small bus and driving up the coastline toward the refinery. Along the way they passed a road crew working along the paved road, it looked as if they were working on a small pipeline of some sort. But working seemed to be an exaggeration.
“It doesn’t look like these guys are too worried about how long this takes?” Rick said as the bus passed the location.
“On Aruba there are two things you find out. One is if it can’t be done with a beer in your hand, then it can’t be done. Two, there are two speeds here; slow and stop.”
All four from the plane chuckled at the joke.
After driving through the gate and getting to the dock at the refinery, Bob pulled the bus to a stop near the dock. They could see the oil barge docked at its berth.
“There she is, gents. Let’s get your gear on board. Then we’ll go back into Oranjestad and have some dinner. There’s a great New York style deli on the second floor of a building sharing the parking lot with one of the two casino’s here on the island. I never miss a chance to eat there, when I get to the island.”
“Sounds good to me, Bob. When do we leave for Venezuela?”
“Early in the morning. The tides are better then.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“When we get back tonight, we can talk about the trip into Lake Maracaibo, and what you can expect at Maracaibo itself. Shouldn’t be any issue, the entry people there are used to me bringing people in and out fairly often.”
They ordered their sandwiches at the counter and all agreed if you didn’t know you were on Aruba, you would think you were in a New York City deli. Absolutely everyone behind the counter was middle aged and without a doubt a Big Apple native. Once they picked up their sandwiches, they went outside and down the exterior stairway to a patio behind the building that was no more than fifty yards from the lapping waves along the beach.
Rick was the first one to speak, in between bites.” Holy crap, this is delicious. What are those people doing here, they could be making a killing in the City.”
“They were some years back. They got tired of the rat race and moved here, lock stock and barrel.”
“I see why you said you come here whenever you’re on the island.”
After that the only sounds were, sighs of appreciation and the occasional deep throated burp until all five had finished eating, chasing their food with whatever beverage each one had and leaning back in their chairs. As if they needed to give their stomachs more room.
“If everyone is ready let’s get back to the refinery. We can board the barge and sit out on the deck awhile where we can talk about the next couple of days, in private. Then we need some shut eye, the barge will be shoving off before dawn.”
Dave, John, Travis and Rick rose from their chairs as Bob did and walked back to the bus. Twenty minutes later they were all relaxing on the deck of the barge while Bob went down his schedule for the next two days. It was only a day’s travel by the barge to mouth of Maracaibo’s outlet to the Caribbean at Punto Fido and then down to the straights at Maracaibo itself. He explained that the straights were so shallow that, this was why barges were used to ship the oil form the lake to Aruba. He also explained that they had started having seismic trouble in the area, due to the amount of oil being pumped and parts of the area in and around the lake itself suffering from subsidence issues.
Once at Maracaibo, he would get them through customs and admittance. He said they would spend the night there, so he could show them the Casino Maruma on the south side of the city. He explained that from what John had told him about their reason for coming here, he thought that this casino would work well into their plans, and that he had people more than willing to help. Many, he said, in this part of Venezuela harbored deep hatred for the Medellin Cartel. Afterwards all five men adjourned to their sleeping berths the morning would come soon enough and crossing this stretch of sea on a barge would not be anything like a cruise ship.
Before going to sleep, Travis sent Andy an email letting her know they were in Aruba and going to sleep for the night. He also told her that he would email her in a couple of days when they were settled in at the oil company compound on Lake Maracaibo. He also told her he loved and missed her before hitting the send icon. Then he went to his berth and climbed in for the night.
The trip from Aruba to Punto Fido was slow but pretty uneventful. The sea was calm that morning and once they rounded the point into the long bay it was even better. Bob had been right the straight was much shallower and Travis could well understand the need to use barges. They were now going against the current that now flowed against them as this was Lake Maracaibo’s outlet to the Caribbean. After passing under the bridge, separating the east and west side of the city, the barge docked at the pier. Bob led the other three and the crew to the port’s entry personnel.
It took almost an hour to get everyone through the process, it had been a good thing that everyone practiced on their new identities as the officials asked each one various questions; such as name, where they were from reason for coming to Venezuela. But when they were all done, Bob took everyone to a hotel where he had made their reservations for that night. The next morning they would all meet back at the barge for the trip down the lake to his headquarters.
That evening the five men took a shuttle to the casino, it was the most noted one in this area, and was frequented by Juan Correro, the man Travis was looking for. Correro was one of the Medellin enforcers and the one Donna Gustafson had told him ordered the hit on Congressman Whiteside, as well as his daughter Susanna.
The casino was impressive with elaborate décor and even on a week night very crowded, men and women from all walks of Venezuelan society were walking around and standing or sitting at different tables playing slot machines, and drinking at various bars scattered wherever you looked. It was also easy for these five to pick out many casino bosses and guards. Many men in uniforms were mixed in with the other patrons, some with very beautiful young women on their arms.
Travis and the others walked around for an hour and stopped occasionally to place a bet here and there, not wanting to draw any suspicion on themselves. Eventually they all drifted back out front after Bob called the hotel for a shuttle bus pick up.
The next morning all of them were back at the barge early, on board and ready for departure. It would take the barge three hours to get to Bob’s headquarters. Once there the crew went to work as usual, while Bob and the other four followed him to accommodations he had prepared for them in the company compound. Once they had unloaded their gear, they joined him at his office.
There was nothing opulent in Bob’s office, it was functional at best. But here were stacks of maps, computers and shelves of books, record logs and reams of paper records.
“Travis, I have a couple of my employees here who would like to volunteer to help you. I know both of them extremely well and trust them both, which is why I took the liberty of talking to them both.” Bob paused for just a moment as he turned slight to motion in the direction of a twentyish, rather tall dark skinned young woman in a print dress with a moderately low cut both in front and back. Then he spoke again. “This is Ximena Camila Gomez, but everyone here calls her Zemmy. And this rather burly roughneck is Alejandro Perez. Both of them work for me in the compound. They are both Columbian and for very good reasons, they both hate everything Medellin.” Bob paused once again as he gestured in the direction of Travis. “This is Travis and with him are Dave, Rick and my old friend John. But when we are not alone, just the seven of us. You will call them by the names they will tell you.”
Zemmy and Alejandro walked closer shook everyone’s hands and told them all that were not only glad to meet them, but that they would be very grateful to help them catch anyone of the Medellin, or help kill them if that was their wishes.
The mutual greetings took a little longer than usual because Zemmy and Alejandro needed to get familiar with the fake identities of each one. Surely they might forget them a couple of times, but before any of them would be together away from the compound, these had to be the only names that anyone heard being used, that was a tantamount necessity.
Travis was somewhat leery of this new and unrequested development. He agreed that they would have a much better chance of success with local assistance, but would have liked to be involved in the selection of who was brought into their confidence. It could be that Ximena sensed his unease, as she spoke openly next without being asked anything.
“Mr. Travis, I can sense you are less than enthusiastic about Mr. Franks having us here, before you knew who exactly we are. For myself, I will tell you this much, both my father and brother were killed by the Medellin, or at least that is what I believe. Contrary to what you Americans hear, most Columbians do not want to work for the Medellin, or any other cartel. But, most have no choice, we are poor and opportunities almost nonexistent. My father worked in their fields, like he has worked in fields all of his life. My brother did the same, but he began to question why. Questions make the Medellin question ones loyalty, and loyalty is demanded, totally demanded. There was some trouble with a rival cartel, and much fighting. As happens here, my father and brother disappeared, and when you disappear here, no one ever sees you again. My mother told me to run, run far and never come back. So I did as she said. I ended up here in Venezuela, and then working for Mr. Franks. He knows my story, just as he knows all our stories here. I would gladly die to revenge my family, can you say the same?”
“I can, that is why I am here as well. Not for a blood relative, but for a man I consider family. And not just him, for his wife and daughter as well. The Medellin killed them all, just because the man was one of our politicians, one who wanted to strengthen our drug laws.”
Alejandro spoke before Zemmy could answer. “Then you should know how we feel. My brother was a dreamer, he joined the Columbian Army. He thought there he could make a difference. But the difference he was trying to make, made him a target for others in our Army getting rich off the Medellin. It was he who died in a fire fight with some Medellin. But he was shot in the back, they said he was a coward and started to run. I knew my brother better than anyone, he never ran. Here we can trust no one; not the police, not the Army, not the politicians, sometimes not even our own family members after they start to work for the Medellin, no one. So we come here hoping we can trust you, trust you to do what you say. But you are an American, and the American CIA have been untrustworthy. So to us it is not you who should need guarantees about us, it is us who need to believe you. But here we are, and we want to trust you and here trust is dear, here trust can get you killed.”
“So you tell us, tell us both, what it is you plan to do. Mr. Franks says you want to kidnap Correro, kidnap him and take him back to America. Take him back and try him for murder. Mr. Franks says he knows that one, the one you call, John that he fought with him years ago. That he trusts him with his life. But I tell you this, going after the pig, Correro, is dangerous. Most who think like you, die and are never heard from again, and most who would try, would try to kill him not kidnap him. Killing him would be easier, if you could get close enough. Taking him alive, I do not think that could be done.” Zemmy almost spat this out like an accusation.
Alejandro interrupted again. “Mr. Franks told us you have killed one of Correro’s killers, and that you know it was Correro who gave the order. So why not just kill Correro? Why this grand jester to take him back to America?”
“I will kill him, if there is no other way. But we are not that kind of killers. We want it proven that the cartel ordered my friend, his wife and daughter, all killed to stop our lawmakers from making our drug laws harder. I want an outcry from the public to get tougher with drug lords and dealers, who are killing our children with drugs. To me that is the best kind of revenge for my friend, James Whiteside. So now you tell me, if you think this is so impossible, why are you here?”
“We are here because, Mr. Franks thinks you can and will do what no one else is trying to do. If our help can make that possible then it is better than doing nothing.” There was a hint of finality in Zemmy’s voice.
“I cannot promise either of you that we will succeed in getting Correro out of the country, or killing him. I can promise you that we will do everything in our power to get him back to America. If I am cautious, then that is because getting ourselves captured or killed is not going to do anyone any good. But yes, we will need any help you can give us. I need to know as much about Correro as I can find out; habits, weaknesses, where he is or goes regularly. The more we know, the better our chances are. The slightest detail could be the difference between success and failure. It was not my intention to insult anyone. So what do we know?”
Over the next three hours the seven of them discussed what each knew about Juan Correro, the Medellin and the town of Medellin itself. Travis gave Bob Franks, Ximena and Alejandro a rundown of Sergeant Davis’s capture (but left out the fact that he was still alive and in custody at Travis’s house in Virginia), he also left out any mention of Donna Gustafson or her daughter Maria. He did tell them what had been discovered about Correro’s involvement in the three killings.
Robert Franks pulled out maps he had of the area in Columbia. Zemmy and Alejandro explained to them all about the cartels operation (as they knew it). Zemmy went over the many areas where the plants were grown and how the processing locations were hidden from view. Alejandro told them of the extensive corruption of the military, police and government officials who worked with the cartel. Helping them avoid being shut down or caught. Both expressed again the frustration of there being a feeling that you could not trust anyone in authority, and that human life was cheap to the Medellin.
Then the conversation turned to the areas around Lake Maracaibo and the city itself. Here they had both found a tenuous sanctuary from their former lives. But there was still the necessity for secrecy here as well. Corruption was just as evident here as it was back home. Bob agreed with this fact, he knew first hand of the payments that had to be made to grease the wheels for anything. There was also the fact that members of the different cartels were known to frequent Maracaibo on an irregular basis. Maracaibo itself had a long history of rivalry with Caracas and Merida. Each jockeying for status over the other. Maracaibo’s main draws were the port and safer harbor with Punto Fido and the oil production on the lake itself.
This prosperity is what had, in part, allowed for the flourish of activity and thus the popularity of Casino Maruma with the wealthy and some members of the cartels as a place to show off and play. Many flew in and out of here without much trouble at all. There was also an underbelly of smuggling Columbian cocaine through Maracaibo to other countries, especially the United States.
Juan Correro was no exception, he was well known at that casino. His two favorite passions were gambling and young beautiful women. This was where Zemmy had concentrated her efforts recently, she had made herself familiar with some of the employees there as a new regular at the bars and gaming tables. Not a big loser, just a frequent customer, known to enjoy the Casino, but certainly not a “Working Girl”.
Alejandro on the other hand had recently made trips to Maracaibo with other roughnecks and frequented some of the local bars during their off shift hours. He had watched the crews leaving the airport in the evenings to know where some went to drink after work. Then he had started being seen in the same bars, in time he had met a couple of them and now shared drinks at their tables on a regular basis. This had been informative and yet not suspicious, because as men do, they spent part of their time drinking complaining about their daily drudgery. They also joked about some of the other people who it seemed showed up on a regular basis.
After hearing all this Travis needed to get to a point where he could process exactly what had been done and when. So he could get a feeling of where a plan needed to start and eventually how it could be made successful.
“So let me understand just what you have been doing. After John talked with Bob, he talked to the two of you. Then on your own, Zemmy started going to the Casino and Alejandro started watching the airport to find men to talk to as they drank after work?”
“Not exactly, Travis.” Bob answered, but with a tone that he could understand Travis’s confusion. “Actually, I talked to Zemmy and Alejandro, because I knew that both of them had already been keeping tabs on the casino and airport. We rather left that part out, maybe because the three of us knew that part. But after John called, I talked to them to see if they had come to any patterns or ideas about who or when anyone from the Medellin were in Maracaibo.”
“So, why were they doing that in the first place?”
“Because most people here don’t trust that anyone is ever going even try and stop the drug cartels. It’s too powerful and has far too many politicians, military and police officials in its pocket.” Bob’s face visibly drooped as he put his hands in the air with a shoulder shrug. “So Zemmy and Alejandro had just decided to start looking around on their own time, just in case they could see an opportunity. It gave them hope. But after the call from John, and I talked to them, they have picked up the pace some.”
“You’re right, I missed that little gem. Alright you two, what have you come up with?”
“The thing I know for certain is that Correro visits the casino for two or three days every month. It is always in the middle of the week, never on weekends when they are the most crowded. One of the regulars told me a few days ago that she expected to see him and the man who always travels with him next week. She had mentioned him once or twice before, because she had hoped that eventually he would pick her out to spend some time with. She said he is a big spender and treats the women with him very well, of course you have to be willing to make it worth his time for that two or three days.” Zemmy answered the question quickly, but in a tone of hinted at sexual favors. “She also said it is never with the same woman on any visit he makes here. She said he likes his women young and dark, but never approaches one who looks like a hooker. She also said he doesn’t like to be approached, he wants to be the one doing the asking, but also doesn’t like to be turned down either. She told me that she saw that happen once a year ago or so and his reaction was vindictive.”
“That fits real close to what a couple of men I now know from the airport have said recently. Except that there are three of them, not two. One of them stays at the airport with his helicopter. He doesn’t even go to the casino with them, instead he takes a room at the hotel close to the airport. They said he is a strange man, an American and he is the pilot. He hangs around the airport, tinkers with the helicopter while the other two are gone. But he doesn’t file a flight plan for leaving until maybe an hour before the other two get back. Even though he has the ground crew do the refueling the very next morning after they land.”
“What kind of helicopter does he have?”
“It’s a Huey. The guy I know says its American too, even though it has been repainted for sure, it is black with no insignia on it, except the required registration number. He also said it still has the mounting brackets for a machine gun near the side doors, even though they have never seen the gun itself.” Alejandro paused just for a second as if this would draw a question but continued. “I remember my cousin saying once that the Medellin had some copters, said they got them from an Army General a few years ago. Said he gave them two that he got from the CIA before that, ones they had left over from Vietnam.”
Travis turned slightly to look at Dave, a small grin was on Dave’s face as he nodded in assent. Then Travis looked back at Alejandro. “Now that is a very interesting bit of information that I believe we can use to our advantage. So, you say this third man stays at the airport tinkering with the Huey while the other two are at the casino?”
“That’s what my friend says. He said he stays there until after dark on the day they land. Then he comes there early on the next day and does checks and messes with it until dark. Says he won’t let any at the airport do anything but refuel it on the day they land, then he just hangs around like he’s waiting on something or someone until after dark, when he guesses he goes to the hotel and sleeps. The next morning he’s back early again, and usually the other two come back that day and they all get in and leave.”
“What do you think, Dave?”
“Depending on your plan, that has lots of possibilities.”
“I think so too.” Then Travis looked to Zemmy. “Zemmy, what do you think our chances are of getting close to Correro at the casino, without sounding any alarms to his body guard or casino security?”
“Not too good. His Guard stays close to him all the time, except when he is in his room. Even then his guard has the room next door. The woman who wants to be his pick someday, said she heard that the rooms they are in are like a suite, they have an adjoining door. I heard from some others that sometimes the women who go with him are never seen again after he leaves. Some are seen leaving that same day but never come back to the casino. But a few are there occasionally, but never around the time of the month when he usually is there.”
“I would really like to find one of them, just to talk to. Do you think you could find out one of their names, so we could find her, before he’s due in next week?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t tried to ask that, I was afraid it might look too suspicious.”
Bob interrupted before Zemmy could continue. “That could be risky, Travis. But I might know someone who could, if they don’t know one of their names already.”
“Good, lets try and find out. It could make all the difference. We’ve been at this long enough for today. Let’s get some sleep.”
