I love you. All I want is to be with you.
Until then.
RA
TEN
Carlos Manuel Salinas, one of the wealthiest men in the southern hemisphere, lay on the straw mat of his bunk and swatted at the insects that continually bit his legs. Colombia’s Harada prison had not only the most aggressive roaches in the world, but also the only ones that were known to bite, burrowing deep into the skin in an effort to find a nest for their tiny eggs. He swatted the flies that buzzed around the open hole that he used for a toilet and listened to the sounds of the prison.
It was past midnight and except for the occasional barking of the guard dogs as they prowled the perimeter fence, no other sound could be heard. So it surprised Salinas to hear his cell door being opened. He had not heard the footsteps coming nor the turn of the key, but the ancient hinges on the huge oak door creaked quietly, and there was the shadow of a guard standing in the darkness.
“Salinas, are you awake?” the guard whispered.
“Yes, what is it? What do you want?”
For a moment Salinas thought it might be Juan, a guard who favored Salinas when it came to sharing a game of chess, but as he studied the figure in the doorway he realized it wasn’t. Instead, it was a guard he had never seen before. He immediately became suspicious.
“Quickly sir, come with me. There is someone here to see you.”
The guard had already turned and was standing aside, waiting for Salinas to get up. Salinas peered through the darkness and into the hall. He could see that the guard was alone. Usually the prisoners were escorted by at least two guards. And he had never been allowed to leave his cell or see a visitor at night. What was going on?
“Who is it? I am not expecting anyone. Perhaps you have the wrong cell.” Salinas replied. He didn’t move from his bunk.
“Oh, no Mr. Salinas, I am sure it is you that I need. Please, come quickly. We don’t have much time. And be quiet. We don’t want to disturb the other prisoners.” The guard then stepped back into the cell and pulled out his night stick, beckoning to the open door.
Salinas got up from his bunk and slipped on some shoes. He walked through the door and made his way down the hall, followed by the guard. A few minutes later he found himself entering one of the prisoner conference rooms. It was a dimly lit cubicle of unpainted gray cinder block, the only furniture a small table in the middle of the floor with two wooden chairs beside it.
The guard left him alone, and several minutes passed before the door opened again. In walked a man Salinas had never seen before. He was dressed in a tailored suit, and as he entered the room, he extended his hand to Salinas.
“Señor Salinas, it is a pleasure to meet you,” the stranger spoke in English. “My name is Ivan Morozov. You’ll have to forgive me, my Spanish is very poor.”
Salinas remained seated, and didn’t extend his hand to shake. He studied the stranger for a moment, trying to place him. He looked about forty-five. Medium build. Short hair, dark skin, and eyes like a sickly cat, yellow and mean. Salinas studied the eyes and face. He knew he had never seen this man before. If they had ever met, he would have remembered. And he wasn’t an American. He spoke with an odd accent that Salinas couldn’t place.
“What do you want?” Salinas asked, shifting his eyes away from his visitor to look at the door. He could see through the small glass window, and he noticed that the guard had left them unattended. Never before had he been allowed to talk to anyone, not even his private attorneys, without a guard standing inside the room.
“Señor Salinas, I will ask the questions for now. And please, don’t be offended, but I must be brief and get straight to the point.”
Morozov pulled back a chair and sat down across from Salinas before he continued. “I have come to make you an offer. It will involve a great deal of money. More than you could imagine, and unfortunately, all of it will come from your accounts.
“But,” he continued, “if you agree, then I am offering you something that only we can give you.”
“And what is that?” asked Salinas, as he impatiently thumped the table.
“Your freedom,” Morozov replied. “You will walk out of this prison with me. Right now. Tonight. And we will provide certain guarantees to ensure your freedom in the future. You will never fear being hunted down and captured by either your government or the Americans. You will be free to go about your business, including your trade in cocaine.”
Salinas didn’t change his expression. Morozov leaned forward across the tiny table and lowered his voice. “How much would that be worth to you, Señor Salinas? How much would you pay to get back your life? One million, five million, maybe even ten?
“How much is it worth to you not to spend the rest of your life bathing in your sweat? How much would you pay to eat a meal that wasn’t prepared by a prisoner with a contagious disease? How much to enjoy the beautiful things of this world?
“Can a man put a price on his freedom? Tell me, Señor Salinas. How much would that be worth?”
Two days later, Salinas walked into the central office of the Banco de las Americas He was dressed in a business suit with a wide-brimmed straw hat. The only piece of clothing he wore that wasn’t glaring white was a smooth yellow silk tie that hung below his belt. In tow was his assistant, Mr. Ivan Morozov, carrying his leather briefcase. Salinas walked across the marble floor to a small reception area tucked away in the back of the enormous lobby. Although he had never been here before, he knew this was the office of a Señor Gorge Arellano.
“May I help you?” he was asked by the secretary who guarded the office door. She was a large woman who sat behind an imposing teak desk. She didn’t smile as she examined her unwanted guest.
“I would like to wire some money,” Salinas replied.
“And the name on the account?”
“Señor Juan Analla Cormona. You’ll find it in file eighteen.”
The woman keyed the information into the computer. Salinas watched the computer screen as it momentarily went blank. Within a few seconds a single line displayed across the screen: “File eighteen access denied. Dorado account. Return to main menu.” was all it said.
The secretary hesitated only a moment, then reached over to her multilined telephone and dialed a two-digit number. Without speaking into the receiver, she replaced the hand piece back onto its cradle and turned again to face Salinas.
“Señor, please come with me,” she said as she got up and led the two men back through the office door. There Gorge Arellano was waiting to receive them.
“What can we do for you, Señor Cormona?” he asked as he walked across the office to meet them. He was a short, fat man who looked remarkably like his secretary. They must be brother and sister, Morozov observed.
“As I told your receptionist, I would like to transfer some money,” Salinas answered cooly.
“Certainly, sir. Do you have the access number of the required account?”
Without speaking, Salinas passed a folded sheet of paper to Arellano, who unfolded the paper as he walked back to his desk and sat at his own computer. It took him several minutes of typing before he looked up again at the waiting men.
“And the daily code?” he asked with just a hint of suspicion in his voice.
“Dial three two — four five six — three two — two seven eight. Ask for Mr. Dante. Tell him Cormona authenticates Bravo Bravo. He will reply with two seven eight four and today’s date.”
Arellano scribbled furiously as Salinas gave him the instructions. He dialed the international number and waited for the call to go through.