by Jerold Last
“As I mentioned, we are potentially interested in buying ranchland and farmland down here in Uruguay or Argentina as an investment. Suzanne inherited a considerable amount of money recently after her father died, which is what brings us to you while we're visiting Montevideo for the next week or two. Suzanne is currently on maternity leave from UCLA and our son is 6-months old, so this seemed like a good time for travel and checking out our dream."
The old man finally got around to acknowledging our companions. "And your friends here are whom?"
Our plan to have Eduardo blend into the background seemed to have been unsuccessful. He usually dominated a room because of his huge size and general demeanor, and this seemed not to be an exception. Martin and Eduardo introduced themselves. Martin identified himself as a police lieutenant and acquaintance of Bernardo, who knew Suzanne as a scientific colleague of Bernardo's former wife Patricia. He also implied that he was here in another capacity as our local protection while we were in Uruguay.
Eduardo explained that he was a small business owner in Asuncion, as well as a distant cousin of Suzanne's, a plausible cover story we had used previously, and that he was visiting us here in Montevideo to see his even more distant cousin Robert for the first time while we were as tourists.
An invisible switch was flipped and the old man went from genial host to serious banker in a few milliseconds. "OK, I think we can talk a little business now."
We all nodded in agreement. I indicated that while I would still be the contact point for this part of the discussion Suzanne would also be participating since it was her money that would be invested.
"What sort of investments are you looking for here in Uruguay?" he asked us, looking directly at the two of us and excluding Martin and Eduardo from this part of the discussion by his body language. Suzanne and I exchanged a look, which told me that she would take over from here.
Suzanne acknowledged the banker's exclusion of our two friends by looking directly at him and subtly shifting her position to also exclude our two friends from the conversation. "I was thinking of land, preferably well watered, large acreage, grazing land for cattle or sheep or possibly land suitable for farming. And I'm open to acreage in Uruguay, Argentina, even Paraguay if the price is right and it is likely to appreciate in value over the next decade or two."
"That's an interesting choice of investment so far from your home. May I ask why you chose such a specific and unusual type of investment for a Norte Americano?"
"Land down here seemed to be a good choice because I think this part of the world is a lot more stable politically than most of the alternative developing countries in places like Asia, Africa, Eastern Europe, and the Middle East. Economically I think this region is ready to take off in the global economy---there's an educated workforce, low population density, temperate climate, and a pretty good quality of life. Farmland or grazing land because I hope we can generate the carrying costs for the land---mortgage, taxes, whatever else---by leasing it or hiring people to farm it or ranch it for us. I'd like this investment to pay me, not me to have to keep paying it."
I thought Suzanne did a great job of sounding naive enough and ignorant enough to be an attractive client for a banker of dubious honesty and integrity, while at the same time sounding like she had spent some time thinking about all of this.
Suddenly Andres Sanchez turned halfway towards me and I was being included in the conversation again. He was of an age and culture to be sexist enough to assume that I had the last word on any family financial decision no matter whose money it was legally. "What do you think about all of this, Roger?"
It was my turn to try to sound stupid in a half-smart way. "This all sounds pretty good to me. It's Suzanne's money since she inherited it, so I think it should be her decision how to invest it. But I've got to admit that I like the idea of growing our own cattle that we can eat steaks and hamburgers from and maybe even growing our own grapes and making our own wine."
The old man began to pontificate. “Montevideo is the Zurich of South America, and Uruguay is the Switzerland. We have many banks here that can handle large sums of money safely and discretely, a stable government so your money is still going to be here next year, and banking laws that guarantee confidentiality of all transactions and accounts. We’ll never ask you about whether you paid all of the taxes due on your money to the Internal Revenue Service in your country. That’s your problem, not ours. A surprisingly large number of your wealthier countrymen choose to do all of their banking and financial transactions with us and with the other banks here in Montevideo. If you want to take money out of your accounts or put more money into them, you can accomplish all of this by wire transfer from California. As long as each transaction is for less than $10,000 we do not have to report it to your Internal Revenue Service. The whole banking process here is quite convenient. I think we can certainly help you with what you propose.”
Son of a gun! He was assuming that we were looking for an outlet to launder dirty money. Suddenly, I was very pleased that we had decided to make this visit. I snuck a quick glance over at Martin and Eduardo. Both had their professional poker faces on and were being careful not to reveal what they were thinking. Yes, they had picked up on the same things I had.
Mercifully, we were interrupted at that point. A door opened and closed, and one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen walked into the room. She was in her mid- to late twenties, dark hair down to her shoulders, perfect cheekbones, tall for a South American woman at about five foot nine inches, and positively radiated pheromones. Andres Sanchez introduced us to his daughter Maria-Elena, who had obviously invited herself to join us.
She sat down next to Eduardo on the sofa and radiated heat, sexual attraction, and a 100-watt smile directly at him. "My mother and brother will join us with cakes and coffee in a few minutes. Why don't you just continue with whatever you were discussing and pretend that I'm not here and didn't interrupt you."
Andres Sanchez took over the conversation saying, "I think I understand more or less exactly what you are looking for. Let me look over what is on the market and get back to you in a day or two to show you what is available and to give you some idea of what it would cost. For now I'd like you to accept my hospitality and to meet the rest of my family."
As if on cue, Mrs. Sanchez and her son entered the room. All of the men except Andres stood up and introductions ensued. Roger, Suzanne, Eduardo, and Martin were introduced to Graciela and Ernesto before everyone sat down, a maid materialized from somewhere to serve the coffee and pastries, and the conversation resumed.
Ernesto, who had been introduced to us as a student, was staring directly at Suzanne and obviously planning to show her his coolest pickup moves. Looking directly at her he told us what a great stud he was.
"I'm studying for my Master's degree in business administration, so will be making a lot of money in a few years. Money is good since I like fast cars and fast horses. You might enjoy watching me play polo and soccer (football in Uruguay) at school." Overall, he conveyed the impression that he did his fair share of partying and that he also liked fast women. He also either didn't know, or didn't care, that Suzanne had a 6 month old baby she was nursing and was almost 10 years older than he was. He seemed to be striving to match the stereotype of the hyper-macho Latino lover
Graciela was kind of quiet and seemed content to just be proud of her family. She was obviously following the conversation, but let the others do the talking.
Maria-Elena was up next. She was a few years older chronologically than her brother Ernesto but seemed to be a lot older than him experientially.
"I graduated a few years ago from the university with a degree in business administration, roughly the equivalent of your MBA degree in the United States, and presently work in my father's bank as an account manager."
She very carefully explained to us (especially to Eduardo) "I live in my own apartment in Montevideo and came here to visit the family today. I'm a workaholic
who spends very long hours at the bank, but I can still find time to have a little fun." This last comment was made directly to Eduardo.
Ernesto obviously decided that he wasn't happy with his sister being the center of attention. "You don't have to come on to every man you meet, Maria-Elena. Give him a chance to decide for himself who he wants to be seduced by."
"Look who's talking, my brother. Are you planning to nurse on those big tetons of Suzanne's you keep staring at?"
The butler-bodyguard came into the room, approached the banker, and whispered something in his ear. His host's smile changed to something else. The old man sent polite signals that the meeting was over and it was time for us to go. We excused ourselves, said our good-byes, and left the same way we had arrived. We didn't have much to say until we were out of the elevator, which we assumed was under some sort of electronic surveillance by the guards upstairs. As we walked over to where Eduardo had parked the SUV, Martin asked the group what we thought had actually occurred during our visit.
The first to answer was Suzanne. "I think the old man believes that he has a wealthy fish on the hook and that we'll hear from him tomorrow about some property he's found for sale that should be perfect for me. And I think that Eduardo will be hearing from Maria-Elena pretty soon, too."
Eduardo responded gallantly, "A South American gentleman would never let the lady make the first move. I plan to call her this evening if I can find her phone number listed in the directory. I'll be quite surprised if I can't."
"Eduardo, I'm shocked," replied Suzanne. "You're a married man!"
"I'm also a spy, and this is what spies do. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it."
This seemed like an ideal time to change the subject, and I made a mental note to discuss cross-cultural sensitivity with Suzanne in private.
Martin seemed relieved when I changed the subject. “What did you think of all the security at that apartment?” I asked him.
“There’s a tendency these days for the very rich to have a bodyguard because of fear of kidnapping for ransom all over South America. But that trend hasn’t hit Uruguay yet. This is traditionally a very peaceful country, and usually our crime isn’t violent. You can walk around most districts of Montevideo at night in perfect safety. I see our top politicians, the vice-president, senators, even the president, eating at local restaurants or attending parties and special events without any security guards all of the time.
"I’d say the butler with the gun under his armpit is within the range of normal for a very wealthy old man with a little bit of paranoia, but the rest of the security is blatant overkill. Steel doors on an apartment, armed guards in the hall---that’s too much for an innocent old banker in this country. He's into something that brings him into contact with some pretty serious criminals, most likely from Argentina or Chile but not from here.”
I walked a little faster to keep up with Martin. “What did we learn about Andres Sanchez today? Do you think Suzanne was able to sell us as innocent sheep looking to be shorn by an astute investment advisor?”
“To answer the first question, I believe we learned he’s hiding something, probably something criminal,” responded Martin. “I think your suspicions about large scale money laundering may be warranted.”
“And to answer the second question with another question,” added Eduardo, “What did you guys think was going on with the whispered message from the butler-bodyguard followed by our abrupt invitation to leave?”
Suzanne was the first to answer. “One possibility is that someone was coming there to visit that he didn’t want us to meet, or perhaps even didn’t want us to see. It seemed to be a surprise to the old man, so we can assume it wasn’t a visitor with an appointment.”
It was my turn next. “Another possibility is that our cover wasn’t all that good or that he doesn’t trust Bernardo Colletti. Maybe he needed some time to set up surveillance on us and the message was that it was ready to go. I suspect that whatever the right answer may be, we’d do well to keep alert for someone trying to follow us when we leave here.
"Let's stay off the Rambla and use the city streets to drive back downtown to the hotel, Eduardo. It'll be easier to pick up whether anybody is trying to tail us."
By that time we had reached the SUV. I looked around for anything suspicious as we climbed in and didn’t see much of anything except a busy street in a wealthy residential neighborhood. We started off, heading back downtown on Espana Boulevard to Constituyente Avenue.
Chapter 7. Follow that car!
Somebody in a small 4-seater car, which looked like a Fiat, followed our SUV from Sanchez’ apartment back into town. Eduardo and I spotted the car behind us shortly after we turned onto Espana Avenue to drive towards our hotel.
Eduardo downshifted and gave the SUV some additional acceleration. It had a reasonably powerful engine and surged forward. “Should I lose him?”
I checked that my seatbelt was firmly fastened. “No, I think we may do better inviting him into a conversation where we can figure out what button we pushed and whose button it was. We might be able to get some idea of what’s going on here.”
“What’s the drill when we get to the hotel?” asked Suzanne from the back seat
“We’ll drop you and Martin off in front of the movie theater as if you’re going to get tickets for all of us. Martin can grab a bus and head back to work once the coast is clear. You make sure that the driver is alone and that he follows us while we look like we're going to continue driving a few blocks to find a parking space. You can duck into the hotel after you’re sure you aren’t being watched and head up to the room. Explain what’s going on to Bruce so he can be on guard, relax, feed Robert, and wait for us to come up to the room after we have a chat with our new friend in the Fiat. Can you do all of that?”
“Of course. I’ll see you when you get back to the room.”
We stopped in front of the movie theater across from our hotel, which fortunately is on the south side of La Avenida Diez y Ocho de Julio, the broad avenue that our hotel faces. Eduardo dropped Suzanne and Martin off to a chorus of frustrated sounding horns honking behind us on the crowded street, and continued driving east past the corner to the next cross street. A quick right turn onto a relatively narrow side street running north and south called Rio Branco got us away from the worst of the traffic on the broad Avenue. This was the perfect opportunity for us to make a convincing show of looking for a parking space as we drew the Fiat driver, who was alone in the car, into a suitable place where we would be able to switch from hunted to hunter.
Four and a half blocks north of the avenue, between Paysandu and Cerro Largo streets, we found the perfect spot in a semi-commercial neighborhood, an alley that ran between two rows of run-down buildings that looked deserted. Eduardo turned the SUV into the alley, went about half way down the length of the block, and stopped the SUV where it completely blocked the alley. We both jumped out of either side of the SUV and walked swiftly back to the Fiat. The driver obviously thought he was a tough guy and wasn’t afraid of us. Yet.
I got back to the Fiat several steps ahead of Eduardo. The driver, who had the arrogance typical of a small-time crook and a bully, jumped out to meet me. He seemed for some unfathomable reason to be prepared to ignore my five inches of greater height and my 25-pound weight advantage. Suddenly there was a loud click and he was brandishing a large switchblade knife at me. Eduardo, a few steps behind me, stopped abruptly and put an "I don't want to get involved" expression on his face. As large as Eduardo is, several inches taller and 80-odd pounds heavier than I am, that had to be good news for the Fiat driver. The bad news for the driver, which he didn't know yet, was that I am pretty proficient in several martial arts and very proficient in a couple of others. Since I have been working out with Suzanne, and more recently with Bruce, one of those very proficient areas is karate, which nicely complements the other area, Gracie Jiu-Jitsu.
The driver snarled a few insults at me and advanced with
the knife in constant motion in front of him. He looked and acted like an experienced knife fighter, so I decided to make this quick and not take any chances. I started to turn as if I was going to run away from him, and sensed him starting imperceptibly to relax. Then I launched a kick at his arm holding the knife. I could hear the crack as my shoe broke the ulna bone at his elbow. My follow-through knocked him staggering into a wall bordering the narrow alley. As he bounced off the wall I kicked him again, this time destroying his left knee. He screamed in pain as he fell to the ground. I used a soccer-style kick to direct the knife, which now lay harmless on the ground, towards Eduardo, then kicked the damaged hoodlum hard in the ribs.
It seemed safe to bend over him and remove the wallet from his hip pocket, and to check out the ID card and driver's license from his wallet. Our newest acquaintance was Norberto Hernandez from Santiago, Chile and his occupation indicated on the ID card was construction worker. It might just as well have said hired muscle or cheap crook. "What are you doing here in Montevideo, Norberto?"
Norberto was a tough guy. Despite the intense pain he must have been in, he opted to call me several unflattering names.
