THE ALCATRAZ OPTION

by Jay Begler

  “It’s a great deal to take in, but in fairness to you and Isabella, I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes either”

  “Well, we will let you out of your marriage commitment and you can keep the money, the apartment and get the new car. I realized that I should have told you first. I am sorry, Hector, but don’t dismiss this opportunity. Stay for the party and sit in on the meeting in the morning. I would really consider it another big favor.”

  Morales thought of saying, “Next you’ll want me to kill someone,” but out of respect he kept his tongue. Besides, he thought, Chula would probably say “Later.”

  As he looked at the upper-crust nature of those in attendance, whose dress and behavior seemed no different from those society types that attended the opening season of the opera, he thought to himself about the incongruity of the moment. “These people who have the aura of being so civilized are criminals of the worst sort, truly the scum of the earth with the man calling me “son” at the head of the pack.”

  A conflicting thought imposed itself. “You don’t really give a shit about laws or morality, so why are you using who they are to reject Chula’s offer?” He thought about a quote attributed to Ken Lay who, considering things he would not do said, “Even sociopaths have their limits.” As he paused on that thought Isabella approached.

  “Where is my father?”

  “I think he has a long meetings with our entire money laundering team, which he heads up. It turns out that while your father is a great financial advisor, his true genius is money laundering.”

  His worry was palpable, “Is my mother is involved in this?”

  “No. Not directly, at least, but all spouses know about the business and come to the party, but not the management meeting.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous? Suppose one of your people gets divorced.”

  “Like any business, we have a strict and very comprehensive set of rules and some specifically covering divorce. If a member of the Cartel wants to divorce his or her spouse, we set up that spouse financially. We kill spouses that want to divorce Cartel members. Everyone knows all the rules, and so far, we’ve not had any requests for divorce.”

  “And you are ok with killing otherwise innocent spouses?”

  Isabella smiled slightly and said in a manner just short of condescension, “As I’ve said Hector, its business.”

  The meeting began promptly at ٨:٣٠ the following morning. Chula opened with, “I want to welcome you to our meeting.”

  From behind, Morales’ father approached and slipped into a seat next to him and said to him in the same way as if he were greeting him in the bank’s cafeteria, “Hi Hector. How’s it going?” Morales nodded his head in acknowledgment. At breakfast with Isabella before the meeting, he confessed, “You know, when you told me that my father was head of your money laundering section it was the first time that I was proud of him.”

  Isabella smiled and replied, “That’s a good thing.”

  Chula addressed those in attendance. “Isabella, our very able COO will summarize our financial situation and then we’ll have several department reports.” A large television monitor descended from the ceiling. Isabella stood near the screen, held a small device in her hand and made the equivalent of a PowerPoint presentation.

  “Thank you. As you all know, three years ago I supervised a restructuring of our entire organization. You probably also know that our efforts have been quite successful and have added significantly to our bottom line and will continue to do so over the long term. The goal was to treat our organization as a corporate entity. We have issued shares in our corporation, Pico de Orizaba S.A. Everyone in this room now has a direct interest in the organization›s profitability. The extent of your shares will reflect your earnings. Twice a year we will issue dividends based on income from our various operations. I’m pleased that everyone in the organization has agreed to their number of allocated shares. Obviously, this goes only to the core group, namely the directors and managers. The structure for the shares in the corporation permits us to offer incentives to some outlying smaller Cartels to join us.” She paused for a beat, smiled and continued, “other than killing them.” Laughter erupted, and she continued, “As I said, to offer incentives to some smaller cartels that have still been reluctant to join us.”

  “In this connection, I’m pleased to advise that the Tiburón Blanco Cartel has agreed to buy into our organization. They will pay us eight billion for an appropriate number of shares and will fully integrate their people into our group. Thus, no more battles with them.”

  Her remark provoked murmurs of approval and a smattering of some applause. Isabella spent the next hour, in a manner typical of a COO, reviewing income and expenses, but in this case these items related to illegal drugs. With extensive data and graphs, she set out gross sales of heroin, cocaine, meth, ecstasy, and a variety of other drugs.

  “One thing I’ve found really interesting is that the mix of drugs we are producing and selling has changed, as have the profit margins. You can divide our products into three groups, hardcore drugs, for example heroin and meth. Group two covers counterfeit therapeutic drugs like Oxycontin or Fentanyl. The profit margins on these drugs are as good if not better than our hard-core drugs. About fifteen percent of our sales are for legitimate therapeutic drugs. We expect that this segment will grow and have a research team looking for new therapeutics to add to our product list.”

  Morales thought, “She could just as well be talking about golf balls.”

  She concluded: “This afternoon the heads of each of our departments, security, intelligence, research and development, human resources, transportation, and manufacturing will give their reports. The growth of these departments over the last five years is a measure of our success as an organization.”

  “Over a decade ago, for example, we started a small five-person intelligence department, with the goal of spying on other cartels and both the Mexican and American governments. Now that group numbers over four-hundred. The level of that department’s technology equals that of the NSA, and we should know since we spy on that agency. All of our departments have moved ahead in a similar fashion. I believe we owe this great progress to my father who had the vision of building our organization into to what it is today.”

  Simultaneously, everyone in the room rose, looked towards Chula and applauded. It may have been the first time in his life that he blushed. Chula rose and said, “And I applaud all of you. Isabella, even if you were not my daughter, I would say that was a superb presentation, and that you are doing a magnificent job. Now, before we break for lunch, I have the distinct pleasure of having Angel Morales, our esteemed banker and head of our money laundering department, make his presentation.”

  Morales’ father rose. “Thank you. As you all know, we have invested money heavily in various stocks and mutual funds which in combination are producing dividend and interest income of about ten percent. The net worth of our investments has gone up twelve percent. That return puts us at the top of the performance levels of all hedge funds and investment houses in the states. We channel our investments and excess cash through multiple sources, though principally through two Swiss banks owned by the organization. There are also several front companies throughout the globe, so that no one can trace the investments back to us. Cryptocurrency has provided us with additional avenues to hide our financial holdings. “

  “One thing I’m particularly proud of is how investments in legitimate companies have grown. We now have about ten billion invested in various technology companies. Our hedge fund, supervised by Isabella and run on a day-to-day basis by young geniuses from MIT and Stanford, has increased over the years to around eight billion dollars. This is largely due to backing technology startups and taking a sizable chunk of their stock. The directors of the fund do not know that they are working for Aztec. They interface via Zoom with Isabella and bring her up to date weekly on new technological developments and acquisition opportunities. She is
the ultimate arbiter on whether we buy or sell. And I must say Isabella, you are doing an amazing job.”

  When Angel finished and the group broke for lunch, Morales, genuinely impressed, approached his father, put his arm around him and said, “Dad, I’m really proud of you.” It was one of the best things his son ever said to him.

  Morales did not mind that at the cocktail party just before a banquet dinner, Isabella had latched on to his arm and guided him from couple to couple, giving gossip along the way, some of which struck Morales as bizarre. “That it is Oscar Ortiz. He is the head of the Zacatecas region. He has six wives and fourteen children. Bigamy is the least of his problems. The tall and beautiful woman in the very elegant Armani suit is the fashionista in the organization. She loves Armani and goes to his studio in Rome twice a year. She is our number one assassin. That elderly and plump couple who look like two retired school teachers are our poison specialists. The pleasant-looking woman over there is in charge of what we call ‘implicating.’ In certain cases, we will set people up for blackmail. A politician who is not cooperating with us, will suddenly find photos of himself with an underage girl. Occasionally, we frame people for murder when it suits us. We’re extremely good at that.”

  “It’s all so incredible.”

  She didn’t want to say, “It’s just business,” again. Instead, in a serious tone she said, “Hector, please think about this. I know it would be an unusual relationship, but we would have a wonderful and exciting life together and ultimately, we’ll run the organization. As you know, that has its rewards.”

  “But we would always have the risk of being caught.”

  “This is true, but if you are clever and follow the protocols of our security group, that is unlikely.”

  “Couldn’t we do something in-between; get married, get a chunk of money and live like normal people, away from the organization?”

  “I can’t, Hector. The organization is my life. The big question Hector is whether you can get past the illegal and immoral nature of what we do. If you do, then it seems like a no brainer.” They took two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and sat at an empty table. “Hector, I think it’s time for you to decide.”

  “I need a little more time, Isabella.”

  He realized his request disappointed her. “How much more time, Hector?”

  Not long, maybe an hour. I’ve been thinking about it a great deal. So, in fairness to you and to your father, I need to decide. I’ll just go for a brief walk. I’ll be back soon.”

  Daylight was surrendering to darkness, and stars were just starting to populate the sky. Morales realized that except for sleeping, this was the first time since he arrived at the hacienda that he was alone. As he walked, he replayed all the pros and cons of the strange offer, possibly for the hundredth time, and reached no conclusion. He found himself at the pool of the guest house. Lights within the pool illuminated the area itself. Very little had changed since his sixteenth summer. He sat on a beach chair and recalled the moment he had fallen in love with Rebecca, and with sadness fully understood that the only reason holding him back was not the illegal or immoral nature of the Cartel or the associated risks working for it. It was the hope of somehow getting Rebecca back, though he realized with absolute clarity, his hope was nothing more than a pipe dream.

  Morales turned and walked to the hacienda. When he entered, relieved that he had finally came to a decision. Isabella approached him, but before she could say, “Well?” he kissed her on the cheek and said, “You know Isabella, you are one hundred percent right. The fact is I don’t give a shit about Aztec’s illegality or immorality or the risks. I’m in.”

  And then in a move that shocked but delighted Isabella, he took her hand, wrapped a spoon on his glass to get everyone’s attention and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I just wanted to say what a pleasure it was for me to meet all of you and look forward to seeing you at our wedding.”

  Genuinely moved, Isabella said, “Thank you.”

  Morales turned to her and said laughing, “I guess I’m like Ken Lay after all.”

  It was time for him to shock Isabella. He spent the next three hours revealing the dark side of his life, concluding most recently with beating a man to death, an event that came back to him when the news did a story on the incident.

  Her only response was an upbeat, “Well, you’ll probably fit right in.”

  Eleven

  •

  The Trainee

  Three years passed. Morales was no longer viewed as the lucky son-in–law who married his way into Aztec Cartel. In the beginning, whenever he went on kill raids with trained mercenaries, they would address him only as “son-in-law,” or a more demeaning “sonny boy,” but their attitude about him soon changed. From the very beginning, he volunteered to go on dangerous missions against those peripheral outlaws who broke away from, or refused to join, the Cartel. In one venture, he was stabbed in hand-to-hand fighting and still managed to kill three men, slashing one man’s throat with the ring that Jeb gave to him many years before. Once, he protected one of the men by jumping in front of him and taking a bullet in his shoulder. After that incident, as a medic was extracting the bullet from his wound, one of the mercenaries handed him a beer and said, “Nice work, Hector.” The other men lifted their beer bottles as a way of saluting him.

  Word spread throughout the Cartel that Morales was fearless, and showed little compunction about killing when necessary. The inherent personality disorder that he once wondered about blossomed and became an important part of his persona. A sociopathic personality was no longer an undesirable characteristic considering his line of work, but a necessary component of it.

  Typical of many entry-level employees in most large corporations, Morales also spent much of his first two years as a trainee. On a regular basis, he spent time with each of the operational directors of the Cartel, reviewed all daily organizational reports, and took part, along with Isabella, in key committee meetings. Killing missions was just another facet of his training. While Chula realized that these missions were dangerous, he knew that they were necessary for Morales to gain credibility and respect within the Cartel.

  As he entered his fourth year in the Cartel, the head of logistics, a department responsible for shipments of illegal drugs to the United States, died. Morales volunteered to take his place. While Chula was reluctant at first, because of Morales’ age and inexperience, Isabella argued his case and convinced her father to give him a chance. “And you know,” she said, “I’ll be working behind the scenes with him every step of the way.” This last piece of information convinced Chula to lobby with the various directors of the Cartel to appoint Morales to the position. Though some voiced reservations similar to those of Chula, the Directors appointed Morales on a trial basis.

  The transportation of drugs across the border was complex and difficult. While the use of Chula’s cattle had been enormously successful, it accounted for only about twenty percent of all drugs sold by the Cartel. Years after Trump’s presidency, ironically under a Democratic administration, an imposing and virtually impenetrable wall now ran along the Mexican border, with well-guarded entries into the country. Surveillance techniques by the Americans were ultra-sophisticated and challenging. Certain old standbys, for example trucks with hidden compartments, human “mules,” and drones, were no longer an option for illicit drug transportation. All of the Cartel’s drug tunnels were destroyed by earth penetrating bombs. The Mexican-American efforts negatively impacted drug entry into the country and reduced the Cartel’s gross revenues for the first time in ten years.

  At Morales’ urging, Chula agreed to let him create a “Technology Section” to address this growing problem. Morales planned to use the best engineers and scientists he could find to develop superior counter technologies. Working with two former employees of the DEA’s technology section, Morales and Isabella, evaluated the technologies used by various drug enforcement and police agencies in the United States incl
uding unpublished data that they found through the United States’ Freedom of Information Act. They augmented their research with information gleaned from DEA and FBI data banks hacked by Aztec’s professional hackers, some of whom were formerly with the Russian APT29 or Cozy Bear, the group that had penetrated important United States agencies decades earlier.

  Using this information, Morales and Isabella prepared a 200-page report, including overviews of each method Aztec used to transport goods into the United States, their respective interdiction rates, financial implications flowing from each interdiction, trend analysis, successes and failures. When Morales and Isabella working in tandem presented their findings via a PowerPoint to the principal players in the Cartel, they received high praise. Morales heard several people say “remarkable.” Morales’ trial run was over; he was the recognized head of logistics.

  Morales sometimes joked, “Running a criminal enterprise is easy; marriage is hard.” It was a bit of an exaggeration by Morales. In his case, saying “marriage is strange” was more accurate. While their marriage was unconventional in the conjugal sense, in all other respects, except for the illegal context in which they operated, it was a normal marriage. They adapted quickly and easily to their separate bedroom lifestyle and fell into a marital routine. Morales, while not a Lothario, needed to have sex on a more or less regular basis. In the beginning he would travel weekly to Mexico City, to spend afternoons with a beautiful and intelligent woman, Sasha, the young widow of a former director who had died of cancer.

  His visits to Sasha, however, became less frequent as the Cartel became the center of his life. The memories he had of Rebecca dimmed and on those rare occasions when he thought of her, prompted by a place he had passed on the ranch, he would shake his head at his immaturity. Rebecca’s only presence in his life was the small photo of them, the selfie taken at the pool their summer together on the ranch. Gone was the scarf she left at the hacienda. It was the last relic of Rebecca he had in his possession. Ridding himself of the scarf was not a symbolic gesture, but reflective of a decision that both Rebecca and her artifacts were no longer important to him. The ghost of Rebecca was exorcized from him, not by another woman, but by work. He would look occasionally at the photo and feel a tinge of regret, but not for lost love but the loss of his youth and for that indelible perfect moment with Rebecca when he was 16 and happy.