HE WANTED REVENGE AT ALL COST...HE GOT REVENGE AT NO COST
He took a well calculated step to get out of South Africa into the goodness of Europe using his Nigerian paaport but was arrested at Johannesburg International Airport and sent to wallow in the degrading filth of Johannesburg 'Sun City' prisons.
BENSON OKAFOR
Tall, handsome, athletic built and full of gusto for life. He learnt the hard way how South African laws operate and discovered to his chagrin that the law in South Africa is worse than an ass. He took advantage of every loophole available within the framework.
JUST BEFORE NOONis an explosive, high inventory story of a young Nigerian man who came into South Africa from a humble background but was forced into a life full of scams: 419 advance fee frauds and the colorful import/export business of narcotic drugs. This story crisscrosses from Johanesburg to Lagos, to the cultural city of Edinburgh, to London, to Sao Paolo in Brazil called 'Pele' and Medellin in Colombia, the narcotic drugs capital of the world climaxing in an unbelief that will leave the reader dumbfounded.
Excerpt
LESSON TWENTY THREE
The flight to Sao Paolo on Varig Air took almost sixteen hours. Benson noted that most of the people on board were women and the racks were filled with their female materials.
Sao Paolo’s Guarulhos International Airport was bubbling with tourists from around the world.
Benson was taken aback to think that majority of the people might be drug mules from different organizations around the world.
When he reached the baggage carousel he looked deep into a woman’s eyes and it told the “drug mule” story.
He moved quickly towards the “NOTHING TO DECLARE” exit.
As he pushed his trolley into a waiting crowd he saw a man of average height and slight built standing there with a placard, which had his name on. ‘I’m Alberto Gonzales. Sorry I’m a bit late. Getting to the airport is like getting into heaven. I have been sent to see you to your hotel.’
Alberto Gonzales was in his late thirties, red-haired with a broad smile. He said, ‘I have a car waiting for you outside,’ as he took the trolley from Benson. ‘I understand you’ll be here for a couple of days.’
‘That’s correct.’
The drive into Sao Paolo was like driving into central Lagos from the mainland. To Benson, it was like the whole city was a jungle of concretes on the one side and tin cubicles on the other.
‘This is a beautiful jungle of concrete buildings, I mean skyscrapers.’ Benson said.
‘You like the place? Sometimes this place can be a little crazy…how much do you know about Sao Paolo?
‘Not much! Actually, almost nothing.’ Okay. The area you called the concrete jungle is known as the Triangulo. There are residential districts on the outskirts surrounding it; among them is the Jardim Europa, Jardim America, Cantareira, and Brooklyn. It is noted as an educational and cultural centre.’
He looked out the window to have a further look at the subject matter then continued. ‘It was founded by Jesuit priests from Portugal in 1154 on the site of an Indian settlement. During the 15th and 16th centuries, it was a base for expeditions sent from Portugal to obtain Indian slaves and precious metals. It was the site for proclamation of the independence of Brazil from Portugal.’
‘What a great history.’
‘If you say so.’ With a look of worry, he said, ‘Things are different these days…the Government seem to be unable to deal with various situations as the mob are running this asylum.’
Sprawled before them was Hotel Santa Marta and Alberto came to a stop. ‘Here we are.’
Benson looked around and asked ‘How’s this place…is it secure?
‘It’s just your normal right in the way tourist hotel. Not too much luxury.’ There were more black heads on the street than he had expected. They went into the hotel lobby and Benson was overwhelmed.
‘My goodness this is impressive.’ Motioning to the grandeur of the reception and waiting area. The lobby was large and ornate and filled with different shades of people. The reception desk had three clerks working behind it. Benson walked up to one of them.
The clerk looked up and said ‘Buenas tardes…how can I help you?
‘My name is Benson Okafor. I have a reservation.’ The clerk looked at him momentarily and as he looked through the reservation sheet said ‘Ah! Yes. Kindly fill this out please.’ And he handed him a reservation card. ‘And I need your pasaporte.’
As Benson finished filling the card he handed it back and at that moment a bellboy arrived to help him with his luggage up his room.
The room was more luxurious than what Alberto had promised. The furniture was slightly depreciated though not stale. Benson looked out the window at the environmental spectacular surrounding him. He could see the crowd of people hustling to and fro in the unforgiving burning sun.
He took few steps and put on the air conditioner.
Beside the telephone, set on a side table was a list of telephone numbers. He picked it up and dialed reception.
‘Please connect me to the Nigerian Embassy.’
‘Numero please…’ He gave a number.
After some few seconds a new voice came on.
‘Hello.’
‘This is Benson Okafor. I would like speak with the ambassador please.’
‘What would that be about, please?’
‘It’s personal. Please let him know.’
‘One moment.’
After something that looked like eternity, Biddy Wright came on.
‘Mr. Okafor?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Welcome to Brazil! It’s nice to have you here.’
‘Thank you.’
All the rest was diplomatic niceties and an appointment was fixed.
Benson looked towards the beckoning door of the bathroom and reckoned that a nice dip in the bathtub would do him well.
The Nigerian Embassy was situated at a plush suburb of the Triangulo lined with ornamental trees.
A small number of people were seated at the lobby waiting patiently to be attended to. Benson told the security guard at the reception of his appointment. He gave a quick run down of a list on the paper before him and waived Benson to a sit as he spoke into the phone.
After close to five minutes, an exciting looking lady showed her face at the lobby and said, ‘I’m Yetunde Allen, the ambassador’s secretary. He is now ready to see you, Mr. Okafor. Please do come with me.’
Benso followed her through the lift to the fourth floor.
The ambassador was seated at the inner recess of a magnificently decorated office at the end of a long hallway. He rose as the secretary approached his desk.
‘Good morning, Mr. Okafor.’
‘Good morning, Mr. Ambassador, said Benson. ‘Thank you for seeing me within the grand constraints of your schedule.’
‘Not a problem.’
The ambassador was a medium height, slightly balding, metro-sexual man with a cunning eye set of a seasoned diplomat.
‘I was expecting someone within the diplomatic circle…I hope you’re not a politician?’
‘I wish I was.’
‘Please take a seat.’
‘Thank you.’
Benson sat down and was more relaxed.
‘I was kind of expectant when my old friend Augustinho told me to expect your visit. You are visiting a wonderful country that is a typical example of an emerging economy that is working a miracle before our very eyes. Just look around, does this look like a third world country to you?
‘It’s great.’
‘Fine. Yet, its economy has no trickle down effect, so the poorest of the poor have taken to all forms of criminal activities for survival.’ He tried to look sideways as if making sure no one was eavesdropping and said, ‘Between me and you, the politicians from the highest hierarchy down are all corrupt…Well, how can I be of service to my countryman?’
‘As you would have been briefed I now stay in South Africa…and a host of South African citizens especially women have been jailed here for various drug related reasons.’
‘It’s a shame, even many Nigerians. Our understanding is that most South Africans are been used by supposedly Nigerian drug lords operating from yonder.’
‘The Non-Governmental Organization that I work for has sent me to visit some of the inmates with a view to seeing how social help can reach them.’
‘Okay, I see. You want a diplomatic link to the prisons’ authorities to smoothen things out.’
‘That’s my mission.’
‘I would link you with a couple of people who might be helpful.’
‘That would be great. Thanks.’ He rose.
‘Please be a little bit careful in Sao Paolo. The place is saturated with drugs. Stay clear of Hotel Ibis in Barra Funda, most of the drug mules use there. You might be mistaken for one and be tailed.’
Two days later he was speaking to Angelina Francolin, head of Penitenciaria Feminina da Capital; the Female Prisons in Sao Paolo.
She intimated Benson with the ruthlessness in the international drug syndicates’ use of female mules.
‘We are winning the war but, it’s very tough as the mobs are getting more sophisticated.’
They took a tour of the penitentiary and Benson spoke to some of the South African and Nigerian inmates. He encouraged them to take heart as help was on the way to them. Many listened to him as a visiting VIP.
It was the same story at Ajruja and Santana prisons. Inmates suffered untold hardship. To worsen the situation, gangsters run most of the prisons and inmates got killed or maimed when there is a major eruption between corporate gangsters group like First Command of the Capital and the army.
Benson listened and learned first hand from inmates why they were caught. He planned to use all their information as a weapon for his own success and for his future mules.
To crown it all he never mingled with any of the Nigerians living the drug life in Brazil. He had cut a genuine corporate identity for himself. It was a great diversionary tactic.
Alberto Gonzales was waiting for him at the Restorante D’Angelis situated at a busy shopping arcade in the city when he arrived for their rendezvous.
‘My friend, I believe you’ll love what you find here. Nobody comes to Sao Paolo without visiting D’angelis except maybe you’re short cashed. This is the place for the crème de la crème of our VIPs.’
‘I am delighted to be here.’
The dinner turned out to be more delicious than what Benson had expected. It started with duxelles and tarragon and followed with stiphado, beef stroganoff and steak au poivre vert, spiced rice and chocolate-swirled rum crèmes for desert.
‘This is great,’ said Benson ‘I never knew that Brazilians can make wonderful food. I thought all they stood for was samba and football.’
‘You’re almost right.’
‘Tell me more about Brazil.’
‘Ah! Brazil…wonderful country! So good. The economic recovery is a miracle but majority of the people cannot find the benefits. The people in power are like criminals handed the keys to the central bank. They busy themselves offloading the country’s goodies into their pantry while the rank and file of the citizenry starves. It’s a hell of a situation. It gives the future generation no hope and had rewritten our values.’
After then there was silence between them. Benson was cautious on how to broach the drug issue.
They headed for a nightclub that was patronized by well-dressed and lavish looking people of the topmost order. The club was very avant-garde and comfortable with well put together leather chairs and couches. They had a lot of fun and junketing. They danced, frolicked and drank the best of Brazilian wine.
At close to four o’clock in the morning they left out of exhaustion. It had been a long day.
Lesson Twenty-four
At about twelve o’clock, Alberto phoned Benson. ‘Are you feeling strong enough to meet me at the Triangulo?’ Alberto asked.
‘I’m fine.’
‘All right! Take a taxi and meet me at Bambina club on avenida Antropolis. The driver will know.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Benson stepped outside into a furnace heat-like afternoon. A sign at the hotel had informed him that the temperature was 42 degrees Celsius. He boarded a taxi and headed towards the centre of town. They snail through avenues fretted with slow moving vehicular and pedestrian traffic somewhat in a hurry to leave the presence of the burning sun.
Bambina club was a direct opposite to the other club they had visited the previous night. There wasn’t much to write home about its comfort. Benson did not bother. I just want to get down to issues here.
Alberto started without preamble. ‘I believe someone is already spying on you here. Any foreigner seen too often with me will be classified a suspect. It’s that bad.’
‘Why should that be?’
‘We’ve got a queer kind of reputation here; people are just kind of jealous of how we can get along without them.’
‘I see.’
‘You need to see Don Fabio Ochoa.’
‘Who is Don Fabio?’
‘He is the great Don; father of the Medellin billionaire, Jorge Ochoa.’
‘Does he stay around the Triangulo or a close-by suburb?’
Alberto fell down and laughed at Benson’s naivety. He was surprised that Benson did not even know the great don. Benson just stood by, not knowing what had brought about Alberto’s uncontrollable laughter. But he was amused too. On resumption of his full faculty, Alberto said, ‘Why did Augustinho say that you know everything about our trade when you don’t even know the names of some of our great people.’
This was the only moment that gave Benson the hope of getting down to issues.
‘I’ve worked with Augustinho in different other areas. This is my first time in this sector and I am more than willing to learn. In the past, Augustinho had described to me some of the tutelage he went through in Turkey but there’s nothing like firsthand knowledge. I can assure you that I wont let you down and Augustinho knows that I am duly capable that’s why he had sent me and no one else on this mission.’
‘Okay.’ And the meeting came to an end.’
That night Alberto telephoned Augustinho. They talked and discussed strategies at length. It was agreed that Benson should head to Colombia so as to make whoever had been tailing him feel he had returned to Africa.
The assumption was that if he was not seen around for some couple of days he would be written out of contention.
Once Alberto dropped the phone he called his associates in Colombia and started to set things rolling.
Benson had been out on a jolly walk. He was thinking of what Alberto had discussed with him and he was desperate for action.
When he got back to his room, his phone was ringing, and his heart skipped a beat.
‘Benson…’
‘Can you meet me at Bambina club at seven o’clock?’
‘Yes, I will.’ The phone went off.
At fives minutes to seven Benson was entering the reception area of Bambina as he looked out for Alberto. A shadowy figure came out of nowhere behind him frightening him in the process. There he was in top-to-bottom blue jeans grinning. They had a bear hug and then moved to a private section at the back.
‘My friend Benson, I am happy to work with you. I’m told you’re very intelligent. I like intelligent and fearless people. My associates are waiting for you at Medellin. They are called the magicos and nobody messes with them. They have assured me they are willing to work with you…but first we need to get you a brown wig.’
‘A brown wig! What for?’
‘You need to look like a black suffering South American…for the journey.’
‘Oh! I see.’
‘Part of the overall strategy; we should be ready in two days.’
‘I’d be glad. I was almost thinking I’ve come to the wrong guy.’
‘Not too fast my friend. We have a style here. A kind of modus: learn how to swim before jumping into the river…’
Benson started to say something but Alberto hushed him up and continued.
‘…I need to tell you a little bit about where you’re heading. Medellin is an incredible place on earth where money has the ability to do infinite things that make people always say, El poderoso Senor Don Dinero puede hacer todo-which means money can do anything. Indeed everything.
The drug you’re going to be involved with is a forbidden item under United States law and a 1961 treaty ratified by 125 nations. But the illicit dealing in it brings stupendous quantities of money with positive and negative consequence.
It means economic growth for entire regions in for example Peru and economic survival for countries like Bolivia. To some people it means life and death. You see when you go to a place like that you need to be properly introduced lest people take you for a police agent. And you get killed.’
He looked aside to make sure no one was watching them and then looked directly into Benson’s eyes making sure he comprehends the import of what he was saying. Benson nodded in affirmation to prod him on.
‘Don Fabio will introduce you to some reputed members of the Medellin cartel and you’ll get to know the secret behind the secrets. I’ve already told them your mission and you do not need to carry any money as the desired amount had been paid for through an Irrevocable Letter of Credit, ILC to our company that will in turn send in some useless merchandise to the port of Durban, South Africa.’ Benson’s mouth was agape, not comprehending this time around.
‘Everything has been paid for? But Augustinho never told me anything of such.’
‘Just relax.’
Lesson Twenty-five
It all started in the 16th century. The Spanish expansionist regime had conquered South America and found a ubiquitous habit of coca leaves that gave a peculiar unequaled power to stimulate the pleasure centers of the human brain could also bring unequaled monetary fortune. Instead of repressing the attitude, the Spanish conquerors made huge profits of it.
The riches accruable to cocaine apart from those that find their way to the United States are concentrated I Colombia, where the drug is the principal foreign exchange earner.
The big boys who run the Medellin and Cali cartels are hell bent on protecting their profits and would never mind eliminating anyone who stood in their way. They have been implicated in the assassination of several judges, attorney generals and hundreds of other public servants and the rank and file of the citizenry.
The flight to Eldorado International airport near Bogota was very smooth and uninteresting. Benson had disguised in a fashion that he needed no one to chat with on board.
His mind was filled with thoughts of the upcoming events and he kept to himself. As he tried to drift momentarily the flight attendant’s voice came over the loudspeaker. ‘We shall be landing in Bogota in just a few minutes. Please fasten your sit belt and return back to the upright position and please observe the “No Smoking” sign.’
Benson started to concentrate more on what was ahead of him.
In Medellin, Don Fabio, a white-haired man with a grotesque physique and an equestrian owner of several Paso Fino horses awaited Benson’s arrival with some reservation. He had never dealt with any African on this trade before and he bided his time to discover this foreigner.
The only assurance he had was from members of an extended cocaine dealing family in Brazil. He decided against introducing the subject to his son and another respected family member, Pablo Escobar.
He busied himself as he watched his horses racing and winning prizes at a horse show in suburban Envigado.
When Benson disembarked, a man, average height, dark skinned and athletic looking with a lot of vigor approached him.
‘Buenas tardes! You Bensun? Me, name Vasco Nunez de Souza. Me, come from Don Fabio. ‘Ow’re yu? He showed a very dirty undulating set of teeth as he produced Benson’s photograph. He continued with a grin on his face, ‘See! Picture…yu okay.’
Benson didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded, surprised, wondering how his photograph had been sent over to the family. He followed Vasco to a waiting cab.
They traveled mostly in silence for several hours on treacherously dangerous roads. They passed many poverty stricken villages. He was observant of the sharp curves, very undulating in nature.
They passed an ancient church and other monumental historical places of interest that dot the landscape until they reached Medellin nestled among mountains, but blessed with eternal spring. And finally Benson heaved a sigh of relief.
Medellin was a bit surprising to Benson. At first sight, it did not look like a place with a potential for making drugs. It looked to be a little bit of a large town, but the narrow, completely rickety, rock filled, potholed, terrible and winding untarred roads, gave the place a semblance of an awkward village stored up in a forgotten wilderness. Yet, it was a place that had created so many revered Billionaires.
Benson was well received at the Ochoas’.
‘You are in time for a great family get-together and reunion, Fabio Ochoa had said after Vasco Nunez de Souza had done the introduction. ‘We’re going to have a bundle of a good time.’
‘Thank you very much for receiving me in your family…I’m honored.’ Fabio hugged him one more time and urged him to feel at home.
In Johannesburg, Augustinho was on the phone, talking to Alberto on the situation of things, as it seemed to him that Benson had forgotten the need to communicate.
‘Don Fabio wants you to call Benson as their decision is to initiate him spiritually into the scheme of things before taking him through their inner recess. His full acceptance by the family will depend on his willingness…you’ll understand that the spiritual initiation is the voodoo stuff and you know it’ll be the first time that a complete foreigner would be brought into the full secret of the Medellin cartel’s inner secret. I was even surprised when the old man told me his intention.’
Augustinho listened with disbelief but extremely excited at the possibility. ‘Alberto, I thank you. I know that there is no smoke without fire. The level of acceptance of Benson so far could not have been possible without a very good score sheet from you. Thank you.’
They spoke for a couple of minutes more and he promised to call Benson and discuss the development with him. Alberto gave him a number.
In the morning, a domestic helper who told him there was a call for him awakened Benson. It jolted him. He had almost forgotten the world of telephone as he preoccupied himself with the issue at hand.
Augustinho had had a lengthy discussion with Don Fabio several minutes before Benson was called on.
‘My great Don, I respect and will revere your opinion till death. Your decision about the subject is well taken as delivered to me by our associate, Alberto Gonzales. I want to further assure you that I know Benson inside-out and truly believe that he is someone to be fully trusted and would be useful to our course in South Africa.
He’s not a lily-livered black man. He is a full blooded “Biafran” as he likes to describe himself; meaning he is very courageous and will fear no fear.’
In response, Don Fabio said, ‘what I intended to do would still have to be discussed with my lieutenants especially my son. I will recount your input to them. Anyway, you did a wonderful job of your stay in prison. We will do anything for you to recoup the lost time. We shall keep you informed.’
When eventually Benson took the phone Augustinho had a very long talk with him; intimating him about his discussion with Alberto and Don Fabio. He waited for Benson’s response and he was not disappointed.
‘I’m excited. They are not only going to get me the drugs but will also initiate me into their inner circle. I’m delighted. Oh, I’m delighted. Things are just getting too good. Thank you very much.’
Augustinho was also happy that he was willing to get involved with all the ceremonies. Every body will benefit.
It was a calm and practical ceremony. A priest and priestess called Oungan and Mambo respectively were summoned in to make the purification, atonement and initiation.
Their own peculiar Colombian Loa or spirit was invoked in a spectacular manner by the beating of ethnic drums, singing and feasting.
All forms of magical paraphernalia were made available. Some were very scary and could provoke convulsion in a child.
Jorge Ochoa was explaining to an excited and ready-to-take all it takes Benson, ‘this practice was inherited from the Fon people of Benin republic and the Egbas of Abeo-
kuta in Nigeria by my forebears as essentially a cult of the spirits.
We as members of what people call the Medellin cartel have brought this practice into our set up as an addendum to our pronounced Omerta because of our spiritual and ancestral belief.’
Benson was all ears and it was all soulful music to his ear. ‘I’ll observe everything that should be observe and keep strictly to the code I have been opportune to take on today. I’m too glad and excited. I don’t even know the proper words for my level of appreciation.’
‘Towing the line is no longer an option once you’re in it. It becomes the only route as you are now compelled.’
‘I understand.’
‘Just look, even the priest and priestess, all their appendages with all their spiritual power cannot disclose to anyone living what will transpire here today. Shooting off their tongue for whatever reason carry dare consequences and they know it, both spiritual and physical. It’s also important for you to know that henceforth you are not allowed to threaten anyone. As members of a Mafia family we do not believe in issuing threats but only in action.’
‘I’ll live with that credo.’
Benson in full regalia was escorted to the base of an oak tree at the back of the mansion consecrated to Legba, Loa of communications and master of roads and pathways. Legba is always the first Loa to be contacted during voodoo rites otherwise other benevolent spirits, which he dominates, may not respond.
A multitude of multi-colored candles was burning at the base of the tree. As the initiators started to speak in very audible spiritual tongues that would not make sense to the uninitiated, Benson started to fall into a trance. And the small crowd of devotees and the Mafia group gave an excited chant.
His eyes were fixed on the flames of the candles with palms outstretched and the initiators hammered down more spiritual mumbo-jumbos and Benson went into a sudden gait and fell on his knees. He screamed, then staggered, trembling from head to toe. He then collapsed like a baby doll.
The priestess spoke at the top of her voice, ‘The Loa has answered his call.’
The devotees shouted in unison, ‘Vivo Loa, Vivo Loa.’
His body was then washed in a mixture of water, corn, cassava and coffee. This is to remove any form of bad omen from his psyche thereby engendering success in all his endeavors.
After the ceremony he had a cool bath from water taken from Rio Magdalena, a spiritually endowed river that runs north vomiting its content into the Caribbean Sea. When the ceremony finally came to an end everybody agreed that it was a glorious occasion that ended gloriously.
Lesson Twenty-six
Exactly three days and twenty minutes after the voodoo ceremonial encounter and engagement Jorge Ochoa was ready to take Benson into the place clandestinely called Canaan land.
First of all they went into some of the rocky surroundings to experience the poverty nature of the area and what drives every one to be involved one way or the other in the cocaine deal.
On a typical farm slashed and burned out of the jungle, Benson saw firsthand six acres of land prepared for subsistence growing of food crops: manioc and maize; fourteen acres for coca.
Jorge was explaining to Benson, ‘the altitude in this area is a thousand feet with adequate heat and humidity, with some 110 inches of rainfall. With this kind of condition coupled with careful fertilizing and weeding, coca leaves will be ready for stripping every thirty five days or thereabout, or ten times in 365 days.’
In their presence some already stripped coca leaves were dipped into a plastic pit containing a solution of water and a little sulfuric acid. Seeing Benson’s interest in the dipped leaves, Jorge said, ‘In three days time there would be a succession of mixing and stirring of the solution and the materials. It will include lime water, gasoline, more sulfuric acid, potassium permanganate and ammonia until a reddish brown liquid filters through a piece of cloth and then finally ivory-colored granules, la merca, the merch-
andise, 75 percent pure is achieved. This area is controlled by the VII front of FARC, the far-left Revolution Armed Forces of Colombia.’
Benson was in the University of New Knowledge. He discovered that everyone benefited; the owners of the farm who sold to the merchants who in turn sold to other players with another 25 percent markup. The person who takes it uptown gets a defined amount of stuff.
The Cocaine base could possibly go through more middlemen before reaching a laboratory in Miraflores or Villavicencio to be turned into cocaine hydrochloride, the white or cream-colored crystalline powder that is the final product.
After ten hours of reconnaissance they returned back to Medellin. On their way they saw on a hillside, scores of brick houses, a church, a football field built by Pablo Escobar and Jorge pointed out the accomplishment to Benson, ‘All these have been done by a member of the family to benefit the poor and helpless in our midst.’
On a nearby wall was the slogan “Afuera Extradicion-Down with Extradition. Fuck America!!”
Benson pointed to the slogan and asked, ‘What’s that?’
‘Agh! The American government is crazy you know. They have indicted my best friend Pablo as a leading cocaine trafficker, along with people like me calling us the runners of the Medellin cartel and demanding that our government give up Pablo for trial in the U.S. it would never happen. The man is a stereotypical paisa, a man from Antioquia, very hardworking, smart, ambitious and aggressive. The Paisas are great people who have provided the entrepreneurial spirit for the development of coffee and the textile industries…Sometime ago in 1991 when the government formulated a new constitution prohibiting the extradition of Colombians wanted for trial in other countries Pablo surrendered to the authorities. But, tell you what, when the government started to be funny Pablo escaped in July, 1992. You’ll meet him.’
‘Is he still alive? We read sometime back that he was shot dead while resisting arrest.’
Jorge ignored the question and explanation and suddenly asked, ‘Have you heard of Canaan land?
‘Yes, in the Bible.’
Jorge started to laugh uncontrollably. ‘I’m not talking about the Bible or anything of the sort. I mean our own very Canaan land. I wouldn’t blame you for ninety-nine percent of our people have not heard of it. It’s not on any known map. It makes ‘El Dorado’ lok like a child’s play. Even, as mighty as the U.S Drug Enforcement Administration is they do not know of it and if any of its operatives finds out and tried to get there he would face immediate execution.’
‘I am sorry. Never heard of it.’
Next day Jorge and Benson were at Kevins, a discotheque overlooking the brightly lit city. It was a joint where millionaires, young aspirants and the neuvamente rico, the newly rich spend their enjoyable time.
Benson and his host were immaculately dressed. There was a lot of back slapping and hugging and the like. Everybody seemed to know Jorge Ochoa and they showed him reverence and love.
He looked Benson over once again and his nod showed his appreciation. Nobody bothered about Benson’s presence as a foreigner; they only showered some form of reverence on him. A friend of the Ochoas is a friend of everyone. No one can afford enmity with them.
He put his large arm around Benson’s shoulder and whispered, ‘The time for action has arrived. No one should know of or hear of what you’re going to see and experience today.’
‘My lips are tightly zipped.’
Exactly forty-five minutes later they headed for Canaan land. It was just after midnight. They traveled in silence towards the hillside with scores of brick houses they had seen the previous day. As they moved closer Jorge said, ‘Canaan land is a whole new city promised to us by our ancestors and manifested through a joint effort of all the leaders of our various families. Not everyone has access to the joint; just a select few.’
Just at the bottom of the hill came a surprising out-of-sight heavily fortified trench-like zone with a rugged twenty-five ton mountainous rock stone roughly positioned at the unmarked entrance.
Jorge brought out a miniature apparatus from his pocket. It was the size of an eraser on a pencil. He pressed it twice and the rock stone started to make way for a long winding drive into an almost bottomless part, squarely beneath the brick houses built for the poor of Medellin. As they drove inside he pressed the apparatus once and the rock shut against them. The shutting of the rock stone brought instant illumination to the tunneling passage. There were Kogi mural art on both sides of the rocky walls. Benson watched on in fascinated silence.
As they got deeper and lower they suddenly jerked to a stop. There was another rocky stone and Jorge repeated the same process and they proceeded.
‘Are you having fun?’ Jorge asked.
‘I’m dumbfounded. How far down are we going?’
‘One thousand feet’
‘WOW! Incredible.’
After many more minutes of driving in what looked more like a controlled free fall they got into a flat level and eventually drove into a packing lot. It was a lot brighter than Medellin.
There were many functioning industries engaged in different endeavors. It had been aptly named Canaan land. It was no mistake. People were going about their chores even at 2o’clock a.m. The sight was overwhelming. Everything to make a city hip was available.
Jorge and Benson got out of the car. ‘Welcome to Canaan land; a land full of milk and honey.’
‘I bet only God will know about this place,’ said Benson.
‘Not him alone, also you and other people who work here; a lot of them with their families.’
Benson thought of the land’s magnificence and the amount of energy, time and money that would have gone into its delivery.
Jorge continued, ‘Here we have defied mother earth. We know for sure that you need an altitude of at least a thousand feet and plenty of controlled rainfall for cocaine to thrive we did exactly the opposite to that rule in other to beat America in their own game, and this is the marvel we came up with.’
‘How do you generate electricity for this giant project?’ Benson asked.
‘It is very simple and cost effective…we turn to mother earth through wind mills.’
‘How do we accomplish our mission here?’
‘Don’t be in a hurry…have you heard of hydroponics before?
‘I’m not very sure I have heard of that also.’
‘You a’int leaving until everything is prepared and you’ll head from here to the airport at Bogota on your way to France and onward transportation to Johannesburg. Everything has been arranged.’
They went through an alley and when they got out at the other end they were at the entrance of a greenhouse facility.
On the outside, it looked small because of the arch-nature of the design of the entrance but as they moved inside through a do-it-yourself electronic doorway system the greenhouse turned out to be an elaborately enormous four hundred thousand acre facility.
Benson followed Jorge and looked around in awe. He had been completely consumed by the greenness of the whole place. There was no sour mash smell of any sort and it looked like a spinach growing point.
There were countless giant drums of specially prepared mineral salts or nutrient solutions for the soil less cultivation of coca plants. The green vegetation was almost infinite as the entirety of the four hundred thousand acres had been cultivated through hydroponics.
Jorge was going on. ‘This is hydroponics in action. This joint is completely controlled without any side effects on those working here. There are several techniques to it and we employ various forms of them.
We use the sub-irrigation system whereby the coca plant is grown in multi-level trays filled with gravels, cinders or other coarse materials and periodically flooded with nutrient solution; we also make use of the water-culture method; the slop and the drop methods.’ He paused to look around, almost making a hundred and eighty degrees turn as he stared at their handiwork and continued. ‘As you can see, this is a completely successful project in which the coca plant is been produced in an area where either the soil or the climate is not suitable for it to be grown…this is pure ingenuity…’
Benson asked, Don Jorge, how many times in a year do you have to harvest here?’
‘Almost every week…all known varieties of the stuff are grown here: Erythroxylum coca var. coca, Erythroxylum coca var. ipadu, Erythroxylum novogranatense var. novogranatense and Erythroxylum novogranatense var. Truxillense.
These are varieties suited for various conditions ranging from high moist forest situation to drier area situation. But they all grow here under one controlled condition.
‘How do you get people working here to observe omerta?
‘They do. You don’t even have to bother about it. We protect our investment and profits. And we would not hesitate in the slightest to eliminate anyone at variance to our venture. At least we offer such people the choice of plata o plomo-silver or lead. Don’t forget that the peces gordos, the big fishes put this place together and own it. So far we have handled everything nicely.
Everyone here has been militarily trained to meet any emergency. Even the fucking U.S DEA cannot match our weaponry…believe me. The amount of merchandise stored here is worth billions of dollars…we would protect it with whatever it takes. Let’s go.’
With such deadly look in his eyes Benson believed him.
They went out of the greenhouse as Benson tried hard to digest everything he was been told. As they moved out into the laboratory and factory sections Benson saw giant manufacturing plants comparable to any in the United States. On one entrance a sign read “Laboratorio d’Original” and the other “Posibilidad Industria Ltda.” Both of them had another sign; “Entrada prohibido”, Entry prohibited.
The Laboratory was a sophisticated state-of-the-art facility boasting all wicked forms of equipment and paraphernalia for the production of cocaine out of whatever came out of the greenhouse. Lab workers number up to two hundred at any point in time. It was a complete designer unit.
Benson asked absent mindedly, ‘What have we here?’
Jorge answered, ‘this is the best laboratory money can buy. It’s well suited for the current advances in Biotechnology and Materials science that help to define the frontiers of chemical research.
It’s got very sophisticated analytical instruments that make it possible to sequence the make-up of the different species of the coca plant.’
He continued, ‘Do you know why I and you are still business?’
‘Because we need big time money and …’
‘You’re hundred percent wrong. It’s because the fucking Americans and Europeans are in high demand of the stuff. OK! You tell me, how many black people can afford the cocaine habit in South Africa…very, very few: few foolish ones. The sale thrives there because of the Europeans who reside over there. They dig the stuff, damn it! And goddamnit, they can afford it. Our annual production here is about four thousand tones, and the bastards still make demand greater than supply.’
‘Four thousand what?’
‘My friend this show is not for the lily-livered. This is the reason I suppose they should refer to us as a cartel, but they don’t even know about this joint. Yet, the U.S government is spending millions of dollars in different funny sounding operations against our trade; names like “Operation Lightning”, “Operation Snowcap” and operation this or that. It’s all bullshit. They can’t beat us.’
They entered the manufacturing and packaging plant. Jorge called the foreman for the night shift aside. They spoke for a couple of minutes and Benson was cordially introduced.
Jorge was taking him around amidst deafening blasting sound emanating from different machines. He pulled Benson close to himself and said, ‘This factory produces goods that make Europe and America go merry-go-round.’
‘I see…they export goodies.’
‘You can say that…but, real goodie-goodies. Tomorrow you shall be out of this country with goods from here.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Let me tell you; the greenhouse cultivates the plants, the Laboratory with its formulation gets the stuff into its proper shape and the factory here packages them into various forms of household products in tins, plastic containers, carton products like detergents and even bed and body covering woolen blankets that are later converted through a special chemical dissolving process too elaborate for me to divulge to you now.
You will leave tomorrow with ten, tinned food items of different brands of leading products imported from America…all with an equivalent of five hundred grams of cocaine per tin. Call when you sail back safely then we would make more plans. As we leave, I will show you where my great friend Pablo Escobar stays in a great mansion here. Let America try, they will never ever get him.’
‘The pieces seemed to be falling into place.’ said Benson.
‘We are done! Thank my father; the great Don Fabio Ochoa, I listen to him a lot. Nothing on earth would have made me take you on this tour. The next time you come, come with old white men who would have to use blankets on board the airplane, then we would give you the formula to help dissolve the blankets into ninety percent cocaine. It would be a pure compound: C17H21NO4.’
Lieutenant Fay Kincaid has plenty on her plate with being commander of the Rockland PD Support Division which included two of the most prestigious units there, SWAT and the Bomb Squad as well as CSU, SRO and Dispatch. Not only that, but she is the si
The Fight Begins!
Retired! New start! Murder!
Todd, detective lieutenant, has retired from St. Louis, Missouri and has moved to Ford Valley, Arizona. When Todd’s ex-wife is killed in a car accident, Todd fights for custody of his teenage
