by Austin Galt
The Comba brothers managed Jabón’s business while he was in hiding in Venezuela. Mistrust began to creep in around the beginning of 2007 when the brothers were nearly captured by authorities. It is believed their boss ratted them out, which was a common tactic employed during the internal war. This turned them against their boss.
It is speculated that Jabón staged his own death, which he had attempted unsuccessfully a couple of times previously, including in 2004 when a photo of his alleged corpse was circulated, and in 2006 when a Venezuelan with very similar characteristics was found shot dead. Those that saw Jabón’s corpse in Venezuela in 2008 have said his appearance had changed and that he looked younger and slimmer, didn’t have a moustache and was bald. Venezuelan authorities refused to hand over his body, which was apparently buried in an unmarked grave.
Jabón’s death (or faked death) was essentially the end of the Norte del Valle Cartel, which had been responsible for supplying over 50 percent of the world’s cocaine, and the beginning of the Rastrojos as an independent drug-trafficking organisation. Led by the Comba brothers and Diego Rastrojo, it formed a powerful alliance with El Loco Barrera, Cuchillo and Los Mellizos. However, by the end of 2012 the group was on its knees.
Beginning in 2010, Javier Calle Serna tried to set up a negotiation between the drug traffickers and the Colombian government, and reportedly gave $12 million to a government advisor to take the offer to the president. The proposal, which was signed by Javier along with Diego Rastrojo, Cuchillo and El Loco Barrera, was rejected by the government. The money went missing too. Frustrated by these efforts, Javier decided to turn himself over to American authorities in May 2012, while Luis turned himself over in October 2012. Their brother Juan Carlos had already been captured earlier in the year in Ecuador, where he had been posing as a businessman in the clothing and textile sector, and deported back to Colombia. With Diego Rastrojo also already captured, the organisation was left seriously weakened and without an obvious successor.
Along with the Comba brothers, another couple of drug traffickers considered as potential successors of Jabón were Jaime Alberto ‘Beto’ Marín and Ramón ‘RQ’ Quintero. Beto Marín came up under Iván Urdinola before going out on his own, dispatching cocaine from the Atlantic coast hidden in export containers. He was arrested on Margarita Island in Venezuela in 2010 and extradited to the United States where he was sentenced to 16 years in prison. RQ built his power base in Buga, a municipality to the north of Cali, and he was also nicknamed ‘Señor de Buga’ or ‘Lord of Buga’. He had been in the cocaine smuggling business for two decades when he was captured in Ecuador in 2010. He was extradited to the United States the following year and isn’t due for release until 2025.
One of the longest surviving big hitters from the Norte del Valle Cartel was Carlos Alberto ‘Beto’ Rentería, known as ‘El Padrino de Tuluá’ or ‘The Godfather of Tuluá’ after the municipality in Valle del Cauca where he grew up. He had several plastic surgeries to make it difficult for authorities to catch him but eventually they did. With the help of British intelligence, he was captured in Venezuela in 2010 and extradited to the United States.
Beto was one of the last remaining first-generation drug traffickers and a respected figure among other narcos. He managed to steer clear of the internal war and often played a mediator role in disputes. He had attended the same school as Don Diego, although he was closer to Jabón. Beto Rentería and Orlando Henao were the only people Jabón respected and called patrón. Beto invested in many legitimate businesses in Tuluá, including its football team Cortuluá. It was added to the Clinton List in 2006 and was only taken off in 2012 once its mafia benefactor was out of the picture.
Salomón Camacho, known as ‘Papá Grande’ or ‘Big Daddy’, was one of Beto’s associates and another first-generation Colombian narco to be captured in Venezuela in 2010 and extradited to the United States where he was sentenced to 11 years in jail. Camacho began his career with Pablo Escobar and Gonzalo Rodríguez Gacha who he let hide on one of his farms when authorities were searching for him. He then aligned himself with the Rodríguez Orejuela brothers before teaming up with the Norte del Valle Cartel behind Jabón, while also linking with Alberto Orlandez Gamboa from the North Coast Cartel of which he was second-in-command. While not widely known, Salomón Camacho was a very influential figure behind the leaders of each of the country’s major cartels – a true big daddy of Colombia’s cocaine industry.
*
‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you and think you’d be good for Marco’s business.’ I looked over to where Marco was seated and immediately realised the business in question was drug trafficking and I had just spent the last hour talking to his right-hand man, a hard-looking fellow from the Netherlands. I immediately changed the subject, not wanting to consider becoming a traqueto. If I wasn’t going to do it with Pedro, I certainly wasn’t going to do it with someone I had just met.
I was shortly introduced to Marco who was a moderately dark-skinned, tall and heavyset man. I later discovered his father was from Aruba while his mother was Colombian. Aruba is part of the Netherland Antilles island chain which also includes Curaçao and Bonaire, and known to be a hub for cocaine on its way to both the United States and Europe.
The setting for this small and intimate party was my friend Ally’s apartment. It wasn’t difficult to come in contact with some serious narcos back in those days as things were much more out in the open. Ally had also been invited to enter Marco’s organisation but had chosen not to. While we may have found that world mildly fascinating, the thought of going to jail or ending up dead wasn’t completely enticing.
The good times were rolling as Marco and I hit it off too. He also told me he enjoyed talking with me because I was a ‘real person’, as he put it. I understood what he meant as Pedro had once made a similar comment to me. Marco felt comfortable talking to me and I enjoyed listening to some of his stories.
He liked to gamble in Caribbean casinos and after betting large and losing large he would confront the manager and demand his money back. They usually returned his money which wasn’t hard to believe as he was very intimidating given his solid build and 6 foot 4 inch stature, and he had a gangster look to boot! Funnily enough, he tried pulling the stunt at a casino in Las Vegas and was laughed out the door.
Marco mentioned a trip he once made to Sydney as he was looking to make connections there. While sitting in one of the main bars in the nightlife area of Kings Cross, another big fellow approached him and asked him if he wanted a ‘blue’. Marco thought that was a very generous offer of what he thought to be a cocktail drink. Unbeknownst to him, the word blue in Australia is slang for a fight! Big men often like to challenge other big men in a test of their strength. Marco wasn’t there to make a scene and turned down the offer.
As the night wore on, he showed me his various bullet wounds from an assassination attempt as well as a large scar on his left hand from when he held a knife that someone tried to murder him with. He beat his attacker senseless with his right hand. Marco then told me a story a bit heavier in substance.
‘This motherfucker betrayed me and I had my gun to his head,’ he began.
My heart started to race a little more. I did not want to hear about anybody being killed as listening to such a confession from someone I hardly knew would put my own life in danger.
‘Normally they are crying and begging for their lives,’ he continued. ‘This guy was laughing and telling me to pull the trigger. I just couldn’t do it!’
I was grateful for that!
Careful not to mention any names, I told Marco that I knew someone in Cali, to which he immediately replied with a touch of braggadocio, ‘Ask anyone in Cali about Holyfield and they will know me. That is my nickname.’
He did indeed look just like the American boxer Evander Holyfield and, while he wasn’t as black as the real Holyfield, he was even bigger and more scary-looking. After arriving home, I mentioned his nickname to Lily who hit the ro
of, saying she had seen a news report on him which stated he was a large-scale drug trafficker wanted by the DEA for extradition. (Her scandalous reaction made me glad I hadn’t mentioned who Pedro was before she got to know him.) I wasn’t surprised as he surely seemed a big hitter and, along with his right-hand man I had chatted to, he had a military officer moonlighting as his bodyguard.
Not long after, Lily and I made a decision to go to Australia to live so we had some farewell drinks with friends at the Irish Pub. (It was something we had discussed before getting married and I also wanted Lily to experience living in my country.) Ally pulled me aside and mentioned he recently received a call from his friend Marco who said he and his partners were getting out of ‘the business’ after a few deals had gone bad but they still had enough money to ‘buy out British Airways’. Heavy players, for sure!
As part of my farewell tour, I flew down to Cali to say goodbye to Pedro. After telling him about meeting Holyfield, he looked up at me with a concerned look on his face and stated, ‘Stay away from him. He’s a really dangerous motherfucker.’
A chill ran up my spine. I knew it was true but coming from Pedro said a lot. He confirmed Holyfield had been involved with both the Cali Cartel and its successor the Norte del Valle Cartel.
Pedro suggested we hit one of the local casinos. It was a Monday around midnight and there wasn’t much else to do. As we entered a casino located a couple blocks from Avenida Sexta, I noticed plain-clothed men with submachine guns stood at each side of the entrance. I assumed they were regular casino security. It was Cali, after all.
There weren’t many people in the casino, despite a large contingent of taxis outside. Apart from several young men milling around, there was one white man playing blackjack and we sat down either side of him. He didn’t seem very friendly and flatly ignored my greeting to him. Pedro and I received free beers for playing and the man soon grabbed Pedro’s beer to take a sip. That was odd behaviour. Pedro immediately told the dealer he wanted a new beer and one was shortly brought out to him. There was clearly some tension brewing and it was about to increase big time.
Our unfriendly gambler had a double-up opportunity and instead of using his gambling chips for the bet, he reached into my stack. Whoa! The casino dealer saw everything but did absolutely nothing. I knew better than to quibble over $20 and I let it go as I didn’t know who I was dealing with. This was a power play and I was out of my league. Pedro wasn’t, however, and he immediately grabbed the chips and returned them to me. He followed up by saying directly to the man, ‘Tu no puedes hacer eso!’ You can’t do that!
Suddenly we were surrounded by the young men who had been milling around the casino; some sat in the spare seats at the table, while others stood behind us. Several casino personnel also converged on our table with one of them asking for Pedro’s name. I found that curious as it was the man in between us who was causing the problems. Why didn’t casino management confront him instead?
Pedro spoke forcefully to the head casino manager telling him his name and his surname twice, adding, ‘No se equivoque’. Don’t get it wrong.
The manager and one of his assistants scurried off out the back obviously to check the name in the computer. In the meantime, the game continued and I drew a king and a six – 16. The dealer drew a nine so I had to hit it, which I did, drawing a five – 21! Feeling pleased with myself I turned to one of the fellows standing right behind me who smiled and nodded his head, acknowledging my good play.
The casino manager shortly returned and began apologising profusely to Pedro, saying there is no problem at all and they are very sorry for the inconvenience. It was almost overdone and I could sense the manager was somewhat worried.
After that, Pedro decided that we were leaving and upon exiting the casino we found his car had been blocked off by a taxi. Pedro told the taxi driver to move the car, to which he replied, telling us to wait a moment while he went inside to check. What on earth is going on? Why doesn’t he just move the taxi? I wondered. He soon returned saying everything was okay and he promptly moved the taxi.
I was confused by everything that had just happened but Pedro filled me in as soon as we got back to his place. He knew exactly who the rude man at the blackjack table was. Known as ‘El Ruso’ or ‘The Russian’, he was a Russian gangster in town who had the casino under his control and the young men who had surrounded us were his bodyguards and sicarios as were the men standing guard at the entrance with submachine guns. The taxi driver who blocked off Pedro’s car was also part of the crew. (Many crime figures travel by taxi as it helps them to go unnoticed due to the large number of taxis in operation.) The casino personnel had only realised who they were dealing with after going out the back to check Pedro’s identity in their computer. Pedro and his family were powerful forces to be reckoned with in Cali and the casino manager knew it!
After a gripping evening, we followed up the next night by going to the home of one of Pedro’s friends who was having a party. It was a spacious house located close to where Pedro lived. We arrived to find five men and the same number of girls who were undoubtedly prepagos or prostitutes. A big bag of cocaine was also sitting on a nearby table. This was a good old-fashioned mafia hoedown.
Carlos, the owner of the house, soon retreated to his room with one of the girls and didn’t reappear for another hour. In the meantime, the good stuff flowed freely as the rest of us men played billiards. There was also a dart board but instead of playing with darts we played with knives. They were all very friendly to me but I never asked them questions about themselves. I knew better than that by now. I’d been in Colombia for long enough and knew to mind my own business. They didn’t ask me personal questions either.
The girls were all very friendly too, of course. It wasn’t long before another girl, a lightly-tanned brunette, arrived and it was clear someone had called her with me in mind. She gave obvious signals that she was for me if I wanted. It got to the point where she was just staring at me, waiting for me to make a move. The pressure was on. She was smoking hot, too. I wasn’t interested, though, having just got married and I tried to explain that to Carlos. I wasn’t sure if he understood and Pedro also chimed in on my behalf.
Eventually, Carlos turned to me and said in perfect English, ‘Just fuck her’.
I didn’t.
Carlos, a man of solid build especially for a Colombian, was an avid collector of weapons and he brought out the best of his guns and knives as well as a crossbow. He seemed to have everything imaginable, but I told him he didn’t have one weapon – the traditional weapon of Indigenous Australians, a boomerang. The first thing I did when I got back to Australia was to buy one and send it to him through Pedro. I didn’t know if I would ever see Carlos again but it was my way of thanking him for his hospitality. He may well be the only Colombian capo with a boomerang in his weapons collection. A conversation piece only!
Before saying farewell to Pedro, he told me that if I ever wanted someone whacked back home I should come to him first and organise it in Colombia so that it could not be traced by Australian authorities. A couple of sicarios would travel to Sydney for a ‘vacation’ before carrying out the hit and getting on the first plane out of the country. He was quite serious about it and I’m not sure he totally understood I was from a completely different background and I would never contemplate such a thing. I appreciated the gesture, though!
With that, another era had come to pass. I had achieved what I wanted to by not being just another tourist in the country. I had lived Colombia.
PART THREE
21
THE URIBE YEARS
Lily and I may have left the country but scandal certainly hadn’t left Colombia. In fact, arguably the biggest political scandal in Colombia’s history was just getting started. The parapolitics scandal had already been brewing before we left but the real action was still to come.
The former M-19 guerrilla-turned-senator and later to become mayor of Bogotá, Gustavo Petro, was on
e of the first people to start denouncing the ties between paramilitaries and politicians in 2002. Salvatore Mancuso had even claimed the AUC controlled at least 30 percent of politicians leading into the 2002 presidential election. However, it wasn’t until 2005 that this paramilitary infiltration was denounced before the Supreme Court.
The parapolitics scandal really began to heat up after an investigative report was published in September 2005 which outlined voting anomalies in regional elections. It also didn’t help that Vicente Castaño, in his first ever media interview a few months earlier, had boasted that the paramilitaries have ‘more than 35 percent of the Congress as friends’. Both he and Salvatore Mancuso confirmed this before the court a couple of months later, although they toned down their pronouncements, saying it didn’t mean that the paramilitaries had any legislative power. They also stayed silent on the identities of their so-called friends.
It was the discovery of a computer belonging to Jorge 40 in 2006 that blew the case wide open. The computer, which was found in possession of a close associate of Jorge 40, held information about murders, extortions, municipal contracts and who was on the payroll of the AUC’s Northern Bloc. Many of these crimes occurred after the Justice and Peace Law was passed, meaning those involved would be unable to obtain legal benefits. Adding fuel to the fire was the leaking of the secret Ralito Pact in early 2007.
The parapolitics scandal was like Case 8000 on steroids. Dozens of politicians were convicted and sent to jail while thousands more politicians, bureaucrats and businessmen are suspected of ties to the right-wing paramilitaries.
