by Don Donovan
She swiped the call closed, deleted it from her call log, and returned to the dining room to her waiting family.
"Who was that?" Nick asked, as he dug into his blackened grouper. Francesca watched him and tried to imitate his movements with her knife and fork.
"Oh, just a little problem that came up at the store. Nothing to worry about."
33
Alicia
Panama City, Panamá
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
11:15 AM
ALICIA AND AMY XING CLEARED CUSTOMS in Tocumen International Airport in no time at all, as usual. The only wait was the short immigration line ahead of her. She never liked waiting in line for anything … movies, supermarket, Post Office. The Post Office. If ever there was a fucking business that needed major surgery, brother, that was it. She couldn't recall a single time in her life when she'd ever seen more than two or three Post Office windows manned with workers. The vacant six or seven windows were just there for decoration, she was certain. Or maybe to keep customers thinking they arrived at the wrong time. You know, like if they had only gotten there a little earlier, all the windows would've been full, doting Postal employees crisply handling all the packages and money orders and pickups for an eager public.
Once they exited the Customs area, they spotted Felix Calderón looking sharp in a navy blue suit. Alicia also wore a suit, one of tan linen, with a pencil skirt, a very expensive purchase from her favorite boutique in Miami Beach. The ensemble was fresh from the dry cleaners, as was every other suit she wore on these weekly or biweekly trips. Amy wore a gray, high-necked dress, which she confided on the plane ride had cost her two thousand dollars.
She was nice-looking and petite, Amy was, and her breasts were large, but she lacked the glamor pizzazz Asian women often bring to the table. Her eyes were shallow-set, removing any notion of mystery, and her face tended toward the flat side. Soft-spoken and reserved, she revealed a startling level of intelligence. She gave her age as twenty-four, but Alicia could clearly see her knowledge and life experience carried her far beyond those few years. Alicia liked her.
To all observers, they were just two more businesswomen arriving in Panamá to meet a colleague, each of them carrying briefcases. No need for any eyebrows to raise at such a common sight in this crossroads world capital. You walk up to immigration looking like you just stepped out of Margaritaville at two AM and tell them you're here on business, you're going to get a second look. And second looks were not desirable in Alicia's line of work. There was, after all, the clear element of risk.
Calderón was a little taller than Alicia and a lot taller than Amy, maybe around five-nine, and quite handsome. A full head of thick, dark hair framed a delicate, almost-unlined face which looked like it hadn't been down too many roads. Even though he looked much younger, Calderón was somewhere north of forty and one of the sharpest lawyers in Panamá. He and Alicia greeted each other with broad smiles and shook hands. She introduced Amy as "her colleague from the East". They all exchanged small talk as they stepped out into the tropical heat.
Fortunately, they didn't have time enough to work up a sweat. Calderón's BMW appeared instantly, as if by magic, and they slid into its air-conditioned leather interior. The driver pulled away and they headed out on the highway toward downtown.
"So what do we have today?" Calderón asked in English, aware that his driver spoke only Spanish.
"I'm taking the van to Colón to pick up the money," she said, referring to the white minivan she kept in a parking garage in Panama City year-round, and which she used for trips to Colón, fifty miles from the capital. "Arrange for the security to go with me. I'll be back later this afternoon. While I'm gone, set up two new companies and have them ready when I return. Bring Panamá Building Supplies, too. Call the bank and have them ready to open accounts for us and take the deposits. Meet me there at …" She looked at her watch. "… three o'clock."
Calderón nodded and instructed the driver to head for the garage on Vía España, then called the security agents on his cell phone.
Alicia turned to Amy. "Felix is my Panamanian attorney. He takes care of setting up the companies that will hold the money. He registers them, and each one gets a nominee director. Do you know what those are?"
"No," said Amy.
"That's someone who is the contact person for the company. The company's human link to the outside world. It's usually one of his secretaries or someone like that. They don't actually have any role in the company other than their name being listed as nominee director. There's one for every company."
"Where are your clients' names in all this?"
"They don't appear anywhere in the official paperwork. If the companies are investigated for any reason, the clients' names never show up."
Amy smiled at the beauty of the setup. "Very clean. Very smooth," she said.
"There is a record of the clients' names in separate paperwork in Felix's files, so they can have access to the money. Those files are completely unrelated officially to the papers of the shell companies."
Amy appeared to note it all in her mind. No paper, no cell phone notes, all straight to her memory, which Alicia figured was extensive and proficient.
Alicia then said, "Felix is going to establish two new companies today and he's going to bring along paperwork of a company that is already established. The two new companies will get one-third of the money between them, or one-sixth apiece. The third company, Panamá Building Supplies, gets the other two-thirds. That company has already been set up and they already have a bank account here in Panamá."
"What's the difference between the building supply company and the two new companies?" Amy asked.
"Panamá Building Supplies money stays in Panamá, where the cartel has a big presence in the real estate market. We start off by depositing this money today into an account held by Panamá Building Supplies. Later, we take it to another local bank into another account and later into still another. Under the names of different shell companies, of course."
"Do they all sound like they're connected to the construction business?"
"Absolutely. And their names are all in English to make them sound like they're owned by English-speaking people instead of Colombians."
Amy nodded and gave a sly grin. "Nice touch," she said. "You have to think of everything."
"Damn right," Alicia said. "Eventually, that money winds up back at the original bank in an account under the name of Panamá Global Development. These are all cartel companies, but Panamá Global develops office buildings and condo buildings and other big real estate projects here in Panamá and in Miami, too."
"You said we're going to Colón? Is that where that Free Zone is?"
"Yes," Alicia said. "We're going to pick up the cash there, then bring it back to the capital. We take it to a bank and open two new accounts, one for each of the two new companies." She shifted in her seat. "So, Amy … what is your situation back in Taiwan?"
Amy said in her breathy voice, "My father passed away two years ago and his brother — my uncle — took over his business. He is in a sort of cartel with his counterparts in Hong Kong and Macau. He used to launder all their money, but since my father died, he hasn't been able to run the operation and take care of the money, so he wants me to step in. He knows Rafael Flores, so he reached out for help and here I am with you."
"Are you married?" Alicia was liking this girl more and more.
"No," Amy said. Alicia thought she caught a fleeting smirk on Amy's face when she answered, but she wasn't sure.
"A pretty girl like yourself? Not married yet? You must have guys falling all over themselves to get to you." Of course, she knew Amy was not that gorgeous, but it was a nice compliment in any case and Amy took it the right way.
"My work keeps me occupied. I … I don't really have time for men, you know?"
That smirk again.
34
Alicia
Colón, Panamá
Wednesda
y, April 11, 2012
1:10 PM
PANAMA CITY IS A DAZZLING CAPITAL CITY, noisy and swaggering, bursting with money, much of it provided by Alicia López's clients. Monstrously tall buildings stretch on for miles along the Pacific Ocean and well inland. International visitors, who arrive regularly and in high numbers, can be seen in all of the big hotels and fine dining restaurants. The capitalinos, the residents, enjoy the presence of a robust middle class and display a great deal of optimism about their future. The city also hosts the Pacific entrance to the Panamá Canal, the world's most important waterway. The Canal accommodates thousands of ships annually, all of whom pay dearly for the privilege of transiting from one ocean to another, and the lion's share of that money stays in the capital.
Colón, on the other hand, sits at the Caribbean entrance to the Canal and collects token handouts from the Canal authority. A ramshackle town of one and two-story buildings, it is a third world city in every respect. Poverty visible on every street corner and in every tumbledown cantina where they wash the glasses once a week. People in makeshift kiosks hawk fruit and trinkets on the street to uninterested passersby. Colón has very little going for it. Except …
… it is the site of La Zona Libre, the Free Zone.
The Free Zone is a bubbling cauldron of capitalism in its rawest form. Walled in like some sprawling city of an ancient empire, it spreads out over dozens of city blocks, one storefront after another, on and on, crisscrossing the zone, almost as far as the eye can see. The streets are thick with traffic and the pedestrians are a mix of tourists looking to pick up retail items on the cheap and representatives of foreign retailers scouring the stores for deals on bulk purchases. The whole place resembles another city altogether, wholly apart from Colón.
The items themselves are shipped in great containers from around the world, transiting the Panamá Canal and unloaded in Colón, where they make their way to the stores and warehouses in the Free Zone. There they await buyers who come with cash to negotiate their best price. Theoretically, tourists are not allowed to leave the area with any goods. Their purchases are sent to Tocumen Airport where they may be picked up just before boarding their flight out of the country.
But that's the theory.
As with most things in Panamá, the reality is quite different.
≈ ≈ ≈
Because of unbearably thick traffic while leaving Panama City, Alicia's two-car convoy didn't reach Colón until a little after one o'clock. A black SUV had shadowed her since her exit out of the parking garage in downtown Panama City. Three men rode in it, bearing all manner of semi-automatic weapons.
Amy asked, "Have you ever had any problems? I mean, with carrying the money? Ever been attacked?"
"Never," Alicia replied. "But having these guys along ups my chances of survival considerably if we ever are attacked."
"Do you employ the same security team on every trip?" Amy asked, gesturing toward the SUV behind them.
"I have a deal with the security company," Alicia said. "We try to get the same three guys every time, you know, because you get used to them. Comfortable." Amy nodded. "But you never want to schedule your trips too far in advance, because you don't know when you'll be getting the money. It never arrives at the same time or the same day or anything like that. You have to avoid the appearance of patterns. Otherwise, the authorities can spot it. And believe me, they're looking for it."
"So what happens when you book a quick trip and get different guys? Does it make a difference?"
"The first couple of times it happened it made me a little nervous," Alicia said, "but I got over it. The guys are always hard and efficient. Hell, the security company's getting ten thousand dollars for about three hours work. They better be efficient."
"And hard," Amy said with a giggle.
Upon entering Colón, Alicia called Nando, her contact at the Free Zone gate. Here groups of men congregate daily just outside the gate, waiting for tourists who want to enter, but may not do so by themselves, according to law. A "security agent" must accompany them inside and stay with them until they exit and their car is searched for purchases. A typical agent will generally demand fifty dollars for performing this service, which he cuts up with the gate attendant, but Alicia pays her man two hundred. For that, she enters and exits without incident, with her own security following in the SUV, and without any vehicle search.
Ten minutes later, she spotted Nando as her convoy approached the gate. He leaped up from his plastic chair he brought to the gate every day and ran over to the minivan. Alicia slid the window down.
"Buenas tardes, Señorita," he said. He saw Amy in the passenger seat and uttered a greeting to her as well. She responded and he smiled.
"Get in," Alicia said. She slipped him the two hundred, all in twenties.
As usual, Nando climbed in the back seat of the minivan. When they arrived at the gate, he spoke to the guard in vernacular Spanish, palming a couple of twenties on him. He waved them through.
They went straight to a building on the northern edge of the complex. Unlike most of the other Free Zone establishments, this one was not a storefront. Rather it was a large, grayish, windowless structure taking up most of the block and looming over the rest of it like a permanent shadow. The battered sign read:
LA ENCRUCIJADA DEL MUNDO
IMPORTADORES
The "Crossroads of the World" statement was not as grandiose as it might have seemed, since the country of Panamá in general, and La Zona Libre in particular, upheld that title very efficiently. All corners of the world did indeed meet up in this frantic little zone of global commerce.
La Encrucijada was in fact a giant warehouse, holding imports — mostly electronic gear — from China, Korea, Taiwan, and other countries where such items are manufactured. From there they were sold in quantities to retailers worldwide.
Alicia pulled her van up to a loading dock extending from a large door. She and Amy got out and went to a smaller door next to it while Nando remained inside the van. They rang the bell and were asked to identify themselves. Alicia asked for Señora Cruz. The SUV sat motionless alongside the van and the dock. Engines continued running on both vehicles.
Seconds later, a short, hefty woman of about fifty appeared in the doorway.
"¡Alicia!" she cried, opening her arms into a welcome embrace. "¿Cómo estás? Te ves muy bien."
"Thank you," replied Alicia, "I am well. And you look wonderful, too … Has Señor Cruz recovered from his dengue? … And your grandchildren? Little Rosita and Teodoro? …"
These items were covered in detail and then Amy was introduced. Señora Cruz remarked on how beautiful she was, but Alicia knew what she was really commenting on was her exotic Asian appearance. Even though many Asians did business with La Encrucijada, Señora Cruz still gaped at them, at their foreign-ness, as though they were zoo animals.
Finally, Alicia said, "You have a shipment for me?"
"Yes, of course," Señora Cruz replied. "Right this way."
Alicia and Amy entered the warehouse and followed her to a far corner, past pallets with boxes and crates piled high, all having journeyed in shipping containers across great oceans to arrive at this spot. Soon, Alicia saw her large box custom-made for her by the Hialeah Box Company. The one containing her computers and all that cash. It sat on a pallet all by itself.
"Are you ready to take delivery?" Señora Cruz asked.
"Yes. Please bring it to the dock and load it into my van."
Señora Cruz barked rapid orders at a worker and within moments, a forklift appeared and began maneuvering the pallet toward the loading dock. Alicia reached into her briefcase and extracted an envelope containing two thousand dollars. She slipped it to a grinning Señora Cruz who thanked her with a wink and a silent squeeze of her hand.
The workers carefully slid the box through the rear doors of the van, and following her goodbyes to Señora Cruz, headed for the Free Zone exit. Nando greased the palm of the exit guard who was there
to make sure no one took anything out of the Zone, then the van cleared the exit. Nando got out and blew a kiss to Alicia. He returned to his plastic chair, where he resumed shooting the breeze with his fellow "security agents".
≈ ≈ ≈
When the minivan-SUV convoy arrived back in Panama City, they headed straight to the storage facility Alicia rented on an annual basis. Situated on the outskirts of downtown, it contained some fifty individual units, all eight feet wide by ten feet deep. Hers rested at the end of one of the three rows. She inserted her keys into the two locks that secured the door, unlocked them and slid the door upward.
The two women started sweating the instant they walked in. The facility sat on the rim of a residential neighborhood and by an open field, unshaded, and the year-round tropical heat made the units' interiors unbearable. Nevertheless, she and Amy sliced open the large box and unloaded the computers into the unit. The three security men stood by at the door on high alert, rifles at port arms, their SUV nearby.
Alicia plugged in the power screwdriver she kept in the storage unit and set about removing the tops of the computers, twelve in all. She and Amy carefully transferred the cash to the five waiting carry-on suitcases, zipped them up and reloaded them back into her van. The computer shells would later be sold for scrap.
After locking up the unit, she threw a quick nod to security, and the two vehicles rolled out of the storage complex and headed for the Banco de la República de Panamá.
35
Alicia
Panama City, Panamá
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
3:05 PM
ALICIA, AMY, AND THE THREE SECURITY MEN pulled the carry-on bags into the bank and were immediately greeted by Felix Calderón.
"Did everything go all right in Colón?" he asked.
