Chapter 4. Alex

Jose surveyed the hideout with growing impatience. “Hey, Alex, have you got nothing better to do with your time than throwing that knife.” Alex said nothing, he seemed only to add another degree of force to the throw. The hunting knife he threw had a seven inch blade, and an handcrafted bone handle. It glinted in the moonlight as it sank two inches into the trunk of the mahogany tree which grew in the center of the clearing which was their home. As he wrenched it from the tree he grunted with the effort, then stepped back the five paces to throw again. As he did so he wiped the blade with care and smiled at the beauty of the weapon.

“What’s the point in us having all this money we are making if we can’t do anything with it. Seems we got to change something.” Jose spoke as if not expecting any one to be listening when Frankie leant out of the hut that was their only shelter from the frequent rainstorms that pelted the area almost daily. “Yea, and we need to get some girls, you got Greta, me and Alex we got nothing.”

It was true. He certainly had Greta, and had claimed her the very night they had taken over this camp from the cadre’s, and he made certain she would remain his girl. He was not sure this was exactly what Greta wanted, but he found her resistance to his sexual advances truly exciting, and their lovemaking intensely satisfying, the more so the more she objected. Both knew she had nowhere else to go, and both knew nothing would change as long as he wanted it that way.

 “You seemed to have no trouble satisfying your needs with that girl you picked up last month.”  Jose was referring to a girl from the nearby village who had been encouraged to stay over at the camp when she had been discovered during a foraging expedition. Both Frankie and Alex had spent time with her before she had been released with a generous gift, and a warning that she would die if she made any trouble. The fact that she reappeared some days later with a friend suggested that she was not a totally unwilling participant even if it was out of fear and the lure of a few dollars, which was wealth beyond her comprehension

“Yea, but we need something more.”  This time it was Alex, “and those shits on the plane really piss me off.”  As out of context as the comment was, it seemed to strike a chord, as all three of the young men stiffened and looked at each other. Clearly they had all been having the same thoughts.

“Yea, we do all the hard work, and they pick up the prize.” It was Greta, who had been silently listening in on the interchange as she always did. “We should be doing their thing as well. Jose looked at his three compatriots and knew what they were urging him to do. “OK, if that is what you want, but it is risky, and we are only four.”

“We were only four before, and that didn’t stop us then.” Greta’s comment seemed to sum up the views of all, and there was nothing more to say.

They laid their plans carefully. When the plane arrived at the next full moon, Frankie, who had become most friendly with the crew, sidled up to the leader, “You guys in a hurry tonight. We got a couple of girls in the camp.”

“As a matter of fact, we can’t go on to our next stop anyway, “there is a big storm in the area. Let me ask the others.”  There must have been little resistance to the idea from the rest of the crew, because in less than a minute the leader returned with the response that everyone except the pilot would be happy to spend the night at the camp.

This is exactly what Jose had expected, as it had appeared that the pilot was not an eager member of the gang. “Good. Alex will stay here with the plane, and the rest of us will have a party.” Alex feigned dismay, but accepted that he had an important job to do, as did the other three.

 

Back at the camp, the scene was set; the food was good, the liquor plentiful and the girls receptive. It was not long before tongues were wagging freely, and Frankie, unlike Jose, was an excellent conversationalist. In just a few hours they learned that this crew was part of a gang who were based in a small town on the banks of the Cauca river, near Medellin in the north of the country. Their leader had three other planes working other routes, and was able from his key location there to ship the drugs down the river via the Caribbean routes to the markets in the US. As the night progressed, Jose determined to his satisfaction that the leader of this group, whose name turned out to be Emanuel Costa, was sufficiently approachable, and that he was not overly loyal to his boss Sergio, who it seemed was excessively domineering and vicious. He also determined that another member of the party referred to by them as Segundo, was apparently the second in command but was somewhat separated from the others. He would find out later that Sergio, to ensure that everything went smoothly on the missions, planted Segundo as his “man”.

In the mean time, back at the landing strip, Alex wasted no time to befriend the pilot whose name turned out to be Alex also, and who prided himself in the fact that he was not a member of the gang, but simply a paid servant. He said all the other pilots were as well. This it seems made them feel superior to the other gang members, or perhaps it salved their consciences of the dirty work that they were doing.  By the time the party was ready to go on their way the following evening, Alex had secured himself a ride and had sufficiently wormed his way into the pilots confidence to be seated in the co-pilots seat, and to be being instructed on the operation of the plane.

As they left, Jose promised an even finer spread on the next trip, and secured a promise that they would all return to partake, and to bring Alex safely back.  Alex for his part, said nothing, but watched and listened to everything. Although he had never previously left the area in which he was born, his innate sense of direction, and animal cunning quickly made him conversant with the routes they took and the area around the base. Given several opportunities to fly with his new friend, he even became a passable pilot, and felt quite confident that in an emergency, he would be able to handle the plane.

When, at the next full moon, Alex returned to Jose’s encampment, he felt they were ready. While Emanuel and the rest of his crew, were again enjoying the spread of wine women and abandon set before them at the camp, he and Jose exchanged ideas and put the final details of their plan in place. They would act at sunset the next day, just before the plane would be due to leave. Quietly, so as not to alert their guests, they confided the plan to Frankie and Greta, and as soon as the last of the visitors had fallen into a drunken sleep, they sent the local girls on their way with the usual mix of cash and threatened consequences to ensure they would cause no problems.

The next afternoon, the visitors were gathered in a group under the mahogany tree in the center of the clearing, preparing to make their departure, still totally unsuspecting. Jose appeared suddenly out of the hut, an AK47 hanging casually at his side.  Alex stepped forward from behind the giant tree, and grabbed Segundo holding his hunting knife to his throat. Simultaneously Frankie and Greta, also carrying guns, moved into the clearing.  Without a word, Alex motioned to Jose, who nodded. With a single smooth action, Alex drew the knife across Segundo’s protruding windpipe, and, as if without effort, slit his throat from left to right. As the column of blood squirted from his severed jugular, Jose calmly said, “Nobody move. This is a takeover. Emanuel, you have two choices, work with me and become rich as we kill Sergio and take over his operation, or die here now while the rest of us kill Sergio and take over his operation and become rich.”

Emanuel looked quickly at his comrades. Clearly there was no resistance there. “OK, put that way I guess we would be happy to work with you. You probably realized there is no love lost between us and Sergio, nor Segundo for that matter. But you must realize that Sergio is tough.”

“That is our problem. I assure you, if we fail you will be free to claim that we took you by force. Just remember this, I too am tough, fair but tough. If you come with us you stay with us, to do otherwise is to choose an end like Segundo. If you are not with us, you are against us, and I will not accept that.” There had been no expression in his voice but Jose’s meaning was very clear.

The party moved off towards the landing strip. Unobtrusively Jose paired himself with Emanuel, while Frankie and Greta stayed close to the other two members of Emanuel’s group. When they got to the plane Alex skirted carefully around to the other side so that Alex the pilot would not be encouraged to do anything stupid. The precaution proved unnecessary, as, when it was explained to him that Segundo would not be accompanying them as he had become permanently indisposed, Alex the pilot was unconcerned. He would just do his job, as always.

So it was set. Frankie was to return to the camp with one of Emanuel’s men, and they with the help of a couple of carefully chosen recruits from among their growers, would run the mountain operation until Frankie was confident the new crew was trustworthy. He was left with a large bag of cash with instructions that, should the plane not arrive the next month, he should disappear into the forest with the cash, and somehow distribute it to the families of the others, as they would certainly be dead. Frankie had objected to his assignment, but he was the largest of the four, and the small plane would already be heavily loaded with its six occupants, not to mention the cartons of crude cocaine already stashed in the cargo compartment.

When the plane took off and headed north towards Medellin, there was silence among the passengers, each being wrapped in their own thoughts and fears. Emanuel and his cohort were decidedly edgy, and even the normally unflappable pilot showed signs of unease. Only the always expressionless Jose, and steely Alex were unperturbed. As they neared the gangs home strip in the early hours of the morning, the tension was raised by the appearance of great flashes of lightening illuminating towering thunderheads. The plane began to bounce frantically in the turbulence, and Alex the pilot instructed them all to strap themselves in.

A relaxed Alex the pilot broke the silence, “If we had enough fuel I would try to divert to the main airport in Medellin, but we don’t, so we are going in.” His comment was punctuated with a great bang, and a flash so bright everyone was almost blinded. At the same time, the air under the plane seemed to disappear, and the small craft fell like a stone for what seemed like hundreds of feet, but was probably only seventy. When the fall ended, each occupant was ground down into their seats, reversing the travel of their internal organs very dramatically. “One more like that” said Alex the Pilot dryly, and the wings will break off.

This time it was Jose’s turn to break the tension, “This storm will ensure we have no welcoming party, so be grateful.”

Greta, who like Jose had never flown before, was heard to mumble through her clenched teeth, “I will remember that as I meet St Peter.” She was grateful that she was right at the rear of the plane, so no one could see the grip she maintained upon the seat.

Both Alex the pilot and the other Alex who occupied the two front seats, strained to pick up the lighter patch of black which was the landing strip from the darker black which was the forest surrounding it like an unending sea. Their task was aided by the frequent bolts of lightening, which if they did not blind them, gave just a second of illumination. Luckily the storm was moving just behind them, and the almost strobe effect of the flashes helped pick out the landmarks. “There”, Said Alex pointing, “the saddle hilltop, and there, the church spire.” “I see them,” responded Alex the pilot somewhat dismissively, although secretly he was happy to have someone along to confirm his observations. Then suddenly, right in front of them the forest fell away, and the strip was plain to see. Alex the pilot touched back on the steering column, simultaneously edging back on the throttle and the plane sank gratefully to the soaked earth in what, had the conditions been better, would have been a perfect three point landing. In these conditions, however, they hit the strip hard, bounced once, then hard down a second time, right into an enormous puddle of rainwater.

The water braked the plane violently, and it nearly catapulted nose over tail. As it righted itself, it slewed sharply to the left, leaving the short cropped strip, and careening into the untrimmed edge, coming eventually to rest almost submerged in tall grass just short of the forest line. The engine stalled being unused to the additional stress of beating the grass, and silence punctuated by thunder engulfed the plane.

Several minutes passed before Jose broke the spell. “That was a stroke of luck, no one could have heard us land, and we are completely hidden.” They all realized he was right. Serendipity out of chaos, that was Jose’s kind of luck.

Slowly the party emerged from the plane, “You stay here and don’t move till we come to fetch you,” Jose pointed to Alex the Pilot, “no need for you to get involved, but be quiet. One warning sound and you will regret it. Emanuel, you stay where I can see you, you double cross me I will kill you first.” With that they moved off towards the hut just visible at the far end of the strip. They stayed in the tall grass close to the forest which gave them the double benefit of shielding them from both the pouring rain and the illuminating effect of the lightening.

As they approached the hut, Alex whispered, “there should be one guard and he should be over there by the other planes, but I cant see him. Damn, he must have gone into the shack to get out of the storm. There is only one entrance, and if we make any noise killing the guard, it will arouse everyone.”

“Then we will have to kill everyone, not just Sergio,” said Jose quietly.

They slowly opened the door of the shack. It made no sound as it swung wide, and, there, sitting on a chair in front of a glowing fire was the guard with his rifle cradled on his lap. He was fast asleep. They left him as he was, and Greta took up her station at the door. On the wall facing the fire were two bunks, occupied by other cadre’s, also fast asleep. Just to the left of the fireplace was a door leading to the second room  which was occupied by Sergio and his girl, a buxom somewhat aging sometime beauty. Luckily they did not sleep entwined with each other, so she did not stir when Alex’s blade plunged into Sergio’s bare chest and severed his aorta. He died without even a gurgle disturbing the sleep of the rest of the gang.

Jose motioned to Emanuel and his companion to sit in the corner near the fire, and within minutes both were asleep. Meanwhile Alex and Jose leant calmly against the wall watching and waiting. The small fire was enough to slowly dry their sodden clothes, and warm their chilled bodies.

It was an hour before the first cadre stirred, and when he did, Alex moved quickly to his bedside. The man’s first realization was that the long blade hanging five inches above his chest was a real threat, and not just a dream, and that the hand holding it was connected to the face that was staring him straight in the eye. He quickly opted for the obvious course and lay motionless while he was trussed like a chicken.

The next to stir was the guard, and after he briefly toyed with the concept of resistance, he too surrendered his weapon and allowed himself to be tied to the chair. He was secretly relieved that Sergio was already dead, as he had no doubt that his transgression as the night guard would have seen him dead instead.

Feeling no further threat, Jose woke the last sleeping cadre with a poke in the ribs from his rifle, while Greta slapped the bare buttocks of the girl to bring her to a sudden realization of her nakedness being exposed to several pairs of strange eyes. When all were safely tied, Alex wakened Emanuel, “Ok sleepy head, that’s enough rest. Now you stay here with Jose, Greta and I will take up positions outside. It is essential no one suspect anything until they are right near the door of the shack. As we bring in each group, you tie them and keep them quiet in the back room.”

The early dawn light was just permitting the outline of the forest to appear out of the gloom as Alex and Greta took up the positions which he had been scoped out during his stay over the previous month. From them one or the other could survey the only path of access to the shack, and keep an eye on the three planes parked on the edge of the strip nearby. From his observations, Alex knew that each of the three crews would arrive separately in groups, and they would probably pose no problem, but there were also four or five gang members who usually straggled in in pairs or alone. These were likely to be the bigger threat, as well as the source of major resistance, if there was to be any.

All was quiet and ready as the first crew appeared on the path through the forest. They were laughing amongst themselves quite unconcerned. Jose waited until the first member was right at the door before he barked, “Not a movement if you choose to live. Only one of the group made as if to raise his weapon, but he fell dead with Alex’s knife protruding from between his shoulder blades before the weapon had even reached sixty degrees. The rest were quickly herded into the shack. Just in time, as the second crew could be heard approaching.

The second and third crews were subdued just as simply. The lack of resistance demonstrated that there was little love between Sergio and his crews. However  when the fourth of the expected five cadres arrived before as the previous two were completely subdued, he must have realized something was happening. As he cleared the trees, he dropped to the ground and leveled his gun. He had time to get off one shot which whistled uncomfortably close to Jose’s head before Greta lined up her sights on his almost hidden forehead. Her shot was true, and the cadre’s head jerked back as the bullet struck home. He would no longer be a problem, but what of the last man. If he was close enough, he would certainly have heard the commotion, and may arrive prepared for a fight.

They waited quietly, ready for any eventuality. Five minutes, ten, nearly fifteen. Alex was on the brink of speaking when a voice emerged from the trees, “Don’t shoot, it’s me Alex, I have him covered.” Seconds later two figures emerged into the clearing, first the last cadre followed by Alex the pilot who held a small pistol trained at the man’s back. “I got lonely in the plane,” said Alex “ and was just there at the entrance path when I saw the other guy shoot at you. I hid in the trees and waited. If you can believe it, this guy who was creeping up and didn’t see me, moved right in front of me. I just stuck my pistol in his back and it was all over.”

“Good for you Alex” said Alex, and he thought that there was no longer any doubt whose side he was on.

With everyone now accounted for Jose had the group brought out into the sunlight. “OK, listen good. I am now in charge here. I need men, but I only need faithful men. Here is my deal. You stay, you work for me, you get twenty percent more than you were getting before. If you don’t like that you can leave and you had better never come back.”

At first nobody took up the offer, then one of the members of the first group to arrive rose slowly, and shuffled off towards the path. He had taken five steps when the shot rang out. A tiny red spot appeared at the base of his neck, but his chin and much of his cheek exploded. “Any one else want to leave?” Jose lowered his rifle as he spoke. Nobody else moved.

 

It was several months before Frankie was able to join the group in Medellin, and it was nearly a year before Jose felt he was sufficiently in charge to move against another operation that was based on the other side of the city. His reputation was by then widespread, so when he issued an invitation for a meeting with the leader of the other gang, it was accepted with apparent alacrity.

Yes, they could see the benefits of working together, and yes, a much smaller share of a bigger pie did seem a fair offer, particularly when compared to nothing at all and probable death. So they became the first of many of the small independent operations to join Jose. Most of his subsequent mergers were just as peaceful as this one, but regretfully some were not, to the everlasting regret of those targets as they lost both their livelihoods and their lives. By the time Jose was twenty five he controlled the majority of the cocaine traffic along the river Cauca. He was also one of the richest and most feared and hated men in Columbia.

 

The evening of his birthday, Greta threw him a party at his new compound, a villa near the top of Saddleback Hill overlooking the airstrip from which he still operated. The villa would have impressed a Rockefeller, never mind the local villagers who were still nearly as poor as the rest of the population of this impoverished nation. As he basked in the many gifts and greetings he received, Jose was musing to Frankie, “We still only get a couple of nickels for every dollar of street value of our product in America.”

“Why should we bother,” replied Frankie, “We’re wealthy beyond our wildest dreams.”

“And anyway, America is controlled by the Italians, they will snuff us out in a flash if we try to muscle in on them.”  Alex who still flew often with Alex the pilot who sometimes made delivery drops to Mexico and even Texas and New Mexico was the resident expert on the US scene.

“You got it wrong,” interjected Greta, “you don’t want to cross the Cosa Nostra, just get a little closer. Cut out the Mexicans, the Cubans, and the Haitians. Import directly into America from inside America, then sell direct to the Italians. They will love you for it, it cuts down their risk, and could even cut down their cost.”

Jose was pensive, “Import from inside, huh. Say Frankie, you want to live in New York. You speak the best English. Me and Alex can go to Miami where a guy can speak Spanish and still get by. Maybe we will reduce their price a little, at least at first till we get established - and just a very little. That will still almost double our take.” He sat silent for a few minutes looking up at the stars that were appearing in the darkening sky. Then, as if the decision had been made, “You think Emanuel can handle Colombia.”

“With Alex the pilot as our eyes and ears, yes. He I trust, Emanuel switched sides once, who says he won’t again.” Always the pragmatist, Alex’s comment sealed the deal, and the plan was set. It would not be long before it would be in effect, and many people in both countries, and on both sides of the law would have cause to regret this day.