by Jay Begler
Morales wanted to retaliate, but doing what was acceptable in the 1980s, namely committing multiple acts of terrorism, was no longer the Cartel’s style. He would opt for embarrassing the Mexican and United States authorities for what the press would later call a “blunder of incalculable proportions.” He’d see that the story would go public before governmental officials could put any spin on it.
Morales called on his longtime friend, Luis Escobedo, now head of the Reforma’s investigative reporting unit. In the world of investigative journalism, Luis had become a superstar. It was through his efforts that the Reforma had become one of the most influential newspapers of Mexico. They stayed close friends over the years with each helping the other with bits of intelligence, though Luis never knew the source of Morales’ information and vice versa.
The full story about Armando’s escape would give the Reforma a major scoop. The following day, headlines in the newspaper proclaimed ARMANDO DIAZ ESCAPES. With a grainy photograph showing Armando being supported by two men wearing ski masks, the paper ran a story of Armando’s kidnapping by the American government and tortured until he was freed by a “daring raid.” It was an enormous embarrassment to both the American and Mexican governments. Several days later Luis sent a thank-you note to Morales with a copy of the cover of the New York Post, which showed the same photograph of Armando and photos of the American and Mexican presidents imposed above the headline, “THE DOPE PEDDLER AND THE DOPES” Escobedo accepted Morales’ representation that he received the information passed onto Escobedo from an “anonymous source.”
At a follow up meeting with Harrison several weeks later, one attended by Armando who looked significantly older and frail and who refused to discuss his torture, because it was too traumatic for him to even describe it, Morales asked Harrison, “Are we safe?”
“For the moment, but it looks like every major country wants to close down our operation. The FBI, CIA, MI-5, Interpol and even Russia’s FSB, have devoted substantial resources to achieving this goal. Russia is cooperating because Clarity has replaced Vodka as the drug of choice. We are monitoring all of their activities and, for now at least, see no immediate or specific threats, but there are specs of information that suggested that the discovery of key players is certainly possible, if not likely. The problem is that we are very much like a house of cards. All it takes is one person to talk and the house comes tumbling down.”
“Not the best of news,” Morales whispered from his seat.
While the Directors clamored for more procedures to assure that history would never repeat itself, Morales focused on an exit plan. At this time of his life, he viewed himself as having everything he had ever wanted. First and foremost, there was Rebecca. She finally decided to be with him in favor of Daniel and her daughters. Once she made that decision, she wrote a terse letter to Daniel:
“Dear Daniel,
I am truly sorry about this, but I’m never returning despite my deep affection for you and love of the girls. I’ve made a life choice. I needn’t tell you why. I truly hope by this time, you have gotten on with your life and even met someone else. You will always be special to me.
Fondly,
Rebecca
Morales explained that the letter would go by courier to Los Angeles and mailed from there. Rebecca understood the reasons for this cautious approach. When she was out of sight, he fed the letter into his paper shredder.
Thirty-Three
•
The Exit Plan
Now, more than anything else, Morales wanted a normal life, one where he did not need to worry about being discovered. He considered the possibility of living with Rebecca in a country that had no extradition laws, but that did not appeal to him. He loved Mexico, and did not want to leave it. There had to be another solution, an exit strategy, but the nature of that strategy eluded him.
His plan took shape in early December. Morales, the head of his bribery section and two directors, were reviewing the long lists of people to whom they would give extravagant Christmas presents, the Cartel’s purchase price for continued loyalty. The computerized list contained the names of judges, police officials, non-elected government officials, members of The Center for Investigation and National Security (CISEN), members of the Mexican Chamber of Deputies and Senate and about 200 Americans in key positions with the FBI and other law enforcement agencies. Occasionally, Morales would scratch a name off the list and ask, “Didn’t we kill him?”
One director said, “You know sixty-five percent of the Mexican Chamber of Deputies are on our gift list.” Morales replied, “Interesting,” and continued perusing the list and making small notations, mostly pluses and minuses.
He asked, “Suppose the Chamber passed a law, and the President vetoed it. How many votes would it take to override the veto?” Morales already knew the answer. “By my count, if we wanted a law passed, we would need four-hundred fifty votes. Right now, we have three hundred and forty politicians in our pocket. That means we are shy by one hundred ten votes.”
“What are you getting at, Hector?” one director asked.
“With enough votes, we can have a perfect exit strategy. What I’m about to suggest to you may sound crazy, but just hear me out. We can give the Mexican government and the American’s something they always wanted but never achieved, despite their war on drugs. We will give them the end of illegal drugs. Aztec will agree to not only get out of the drug business but to end all of its illegal activities. We will undertake to give the government all of our drug assets and secrets, for example how and where we ship our drugs and where our tunnels are located. We will cease to exist. In exchange, there would be a general amnesty for everyone in or associated with the Cartel. For amnesty to work the government needs to do three things. First, it must grant each of us and all the Cartel’s employees, which includes all of our foot soldiers and contractors, complete immunity. Second, we get to keep all of our money. Third, they must keep our identities secret. We don’t want the families of our victims seeking revenge. These are the big thoughts; our lawyers can work out the details.”
“We can’t control drugs entering the United States from other countries, but that’s not our problem. To sweeten the deal, however, we’ll give them all of our intelligence on the Columbian drug cartels. The timing of this is as good as it gets. Mexico, like the United States, is in a frenzy over the Clarity epidemic. Law enforcement on both sides of the border is no closer to uncovering who we are than prior to Armando’s capture. If our government grants amnesty, the Clarity epidemic will be over immediately.”
At a special Board of Directors meeting three weeks later, Morales explained all the details of the plan, including what he called “severance pay.”
“Everyone in Aztec, top to bottom, will receive a handsome compensation package, the minimum payment for our foot soldiers being $250,000. A man like Jeb would receive about a million dollars; Johnson three million; Harrison five million. All the directors would receive billions, tax free. Once they grant immunity, no one in Aztec will be prosecuted for any crime committed prior to the legislation approving the amnesty plan. There would be a highly confidential list of everyone in the Cartel who is granted immunity. Each member of the Cartel would be given a certificate of immunity which he or she could keep secret or make public. Anyone in the Cartel who reveals the identity of those the list would be subject to imprisonment of no less than twenty years, and all of their financial holdings would be confiscated. If someone outside of the Cartel learns of the identities of Cartel members on their own, that person would not be subject to the law and not prohibited from making the identities of Cartel members public.”
“To get this legislation passed,” Morales continued, “we need some additional Senators and members of the Chamber of Deputies to back it. We are working on buying the votes.”
Eight months later, one of the highest-ranking officials of the Senate, richer by ten million dollars deposited in a Swiss bank, and his bribed counte
rpart from the Chamber introduced the amnesty legislation. The hue and cry against the plan was swift and vociferous. Mexico’s president in a televised broadcast claimed that the proposal was a “cynical piece of legislation, and those who voted for it were no better than common criminals.” He told the television audience that he would use all of his influence to defeat the law and, if passed, would veto it. Editorials across the country and in the United States called it a travesty. Congress passed a resolution condemning the proposed legislation and many of its members, and the President called for a break in diplomatic relations with Mexico if the law passed as well as a complete boycott of all goods and services emanating from Mexico. The outspoken President of the United States wrote a private note to Mexico’s President, a personal friend, and copied every member of the Mexican Chamber and Senate. Putting aside all the usual diplomatic jargon, but reflective of the mood of the American people, his brief note read: “Re: Amnesty Plan- Enrique-I know you fought against the amnesty plan. Are all the rest of you fucking crazy?” The Cartel never mounted a counterattack to thwart the mounting criticism. They had bought all the votes they needed.
After it the passage of the Amnesty Plan seemed inevitable, Morales met with his old friend Luis, an outspoken critic of the Plan. Morales, as a public figure who always spoke up against the Cartel, would be a great person to interview for his reaction to the plan. For Morales, the irony of the interview was too great to pass up. He greeted his old friend warmly, and with a manly hug. “Luis, you look good. Been working out?”
“Yes, a bit. Unfortunately, Maria and I separated and later this year our divorce will become final. So, I’m back in the singles marketplace. I’ve got to look good; lots of competition in the fifties plus category.”
“Are we that old already? It’s hard to believe.”
“And how is Isabella?”
“She’s wonderful; vacationing in Paris. She bought a small apartment in the Marais overlooking the Place De Vosges. And she’s started painting again; taking lessons in Paris. She’s quite good. Here, take a look.”
Morales directed Luis’ attention to a painting which was a view from a window overlooking the Place De Vosges. “It’s excellent.” Morales knew by Luis’ voice, that he was impressed by its quality.
The misleading implication of Morales’ statement was that Isabella was visiting Paris, but that was not the case. A week after Louisa’s death, Isabella came to Morales and told him she could not bear to remain at the hacienda because it was too painful. She planned to move to Paris to study painting and devoting all of her free time to art, in her words, “to lose herself in art.”
Morales fixed drinks, and said, “Let’s go into my den; it’s much more comfortable in there and we can watch soccer while we talk.”
A man entered the room and whispered into Morales’ ear. Morales neither frowned nor smiled and said, “I just received an urgent phone call that I need to take. I’ll be back in about ten minutes. Make yourself comfortable.” Ordinarily, he would not interrupt any meetings for a phone call, but this was from a key player in the Mexican government and Morales expected to hear good news.
With his drink in his hand, Luis walked onto a large terrace outside the hacienda’s living room. The terrace had with an expansive view of most of Morales’ property. A telescope once owned by Chula stood in the terrace’s corner. Using it, Luis scanned the property and then focused on the guest house. A woman had just emerged from the pool and was toweling herself off. Luis brought the telescope into sharp focused and, startled, said, “What the fuck?”
For Luis, a man who Morales once described as one who never forgot a face, there was no doubt that it was Rebecca Levy. He remembered her from their brief meeting at Pedigree and thought she had hardly changed. Because of that meeting, Luis followed news of her disappearance and Daniel’s subsequent arrest and incarceration. He always thought that Daniel was not guilty. Something just didn’t add up. He brought the lens into perfect focus just to make sure.
“This is crazy,” he thought. “What does this mean?” He answered his own question. “For one thing it means that and innocent man was framed for murder” He took his iPhone, and using its ultra- powerful telephoto lens, and snapped several photographs and a burst shot. His intuition as an investigative reporter was not to say anything to Morales, but to go back into the large living room and wait for him to return. Luis positioned himself far from the door on the terrace and pretended to be absorbed in an old map hanging on a wall between two bookshelves of equally old books.
“You like it, Luis? It dates back to 1806; made by William Bligh. Yes, that Captain Bligh, of the famous Mutiny on the Bounty. It turns out that he was a very well- known and respected free hand cartographer. I purchased it at an auction from Sotheby’s. I don’t think anyone realized its value.”
Morales kept up the pretense of being adamantly against the amnesty plan, though he knew from the phone call that passage was imminent and that there were enough votes to overcome the veto of Mexico’s President. He would be free to spend the rest of his life with Rebecca; free of any potential risk of his exposure and free of looking over his shoulder. He had won.
Thirty-Four
•
Daniel’s Quest
When he was back in his office in Mexico City, Luis located Daniel, still incarcerated in Floyd Bennet.
“Hello. This is Daniel.”
“Daniel, you don’t know me. My name is Luis Escobedo. I’m head of the investigative reporter group of the Reforma in Mexico City.”
Daniel received phone calls like this before, though not recently. The man on the phone was either legitimate, a reporter, or a scam artist who promised, for a payment, to reveal the whereabouts of his wife.
Skeptically he asked, “How can I help you?”
“Look, I met your wife a month before she disappeared. She was at Pedigree with Hector Morales.”
Daniel stiffened. Adrenalin coursed through his body. Luis had his full attention. “Yes?”
“She was having dinner with Hector Morales at Pedigree. I met them for a drink.”
“Well, I was at Hector Morales’ ranch the other day. I think you know him. I wanted to get his views on the new amnesty legislation in Mexico. Are you familiar with it?
“Yes. It is ridiculous. The Cartel probably bribed everyone. But, what about my wife?”
“I saw her at the hacienda.” Luis told Daniel of how he came to see Rebecca. “She was swimming; doing laps in a pool. She’s an excellent swimmer, and when she got out of the pool, I recognized her immediately.”
“But are you sure it’s her?”
“I’m certain. Look, do you have a cell phone? I can text you her photo.”, The photos of Rebecca arrived almost instantly. Daniel gasped when he saw them.
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. This is something I’ve got to do myself. The only way I can get out of here is to exercise the Option. I’ll be down in Mexico City in two weeks. Sit tight.”
The day before Daniel was to exercise the Option, was not unlike the day before the execution of a prisoner on death row. Prison officials encouraged friends and families to spend time with the Optionaire and to assure him that “nothing would change,” except everything would change. Miriam was the last person to visit Daniel. It used to be that their conversations were always lively and often humorous, but now they were just making small talk. As she got up to leave, she said, “Daniel, I’m so sorry, but I won’t be seeing you anymore, despite my feelings for you.”
“Feelings?”
She sobbed uncontrollably, and he put his arm around her but her sobs did not abate. Finally, after he stroked her hair and kissed her head, she gained control. “Daniel, I love you, but I can’t bear to see you after your transformation. It would be too painful for me.”
He responded quietly without hesitation, “I understand.”
They embraced spontaneously and passionately. “I mean it, Daniel.
I love you.” She turned and walked away. He wanted to say, “I love you too,” but felt that it would be like cheating on Rebecca.
The last step in the option process was a video made on Daniel’s iPhone as the Atrax was being administered. The video was mandatory and part of a now a much more well -developed protocol than when the Option was first exercised. The initial shot on the video showed the Floyd Bennet Facility. There followed a message from the Warden in which he explained the nature of the Option, and how it would impact the party receiving the drug. Daniel, looking worse for wear, appeared on the screen and began by showing his cell and in two or three sentences talked about his case, how someone framed him and his life in prison. Those taking the Option could say anything they wanted. The next frames showed him on a bed with an IV drip going into his arm. The video focused on his face and depicted him morphing from his present age to a person in his eighties. Part of protocol strongly encouraged inmates to keep the video to when communicating with people who didn’t recognize them.
Daniel watched his reflection in a small mirror as he aged. The mirror was also part of the protocol because officials believed that if an inmate waited to look at himself until the process was over, the shock could have profound psychological effects. It was as if Daniel was watching some weird horror movie. Bags formed under his eyes and deep crevices formed along his brow. Age spots appeared on his skin. The shape of his mouth changed, and he sensed one or two of his teeth loosen. Large clumps of hair fell out. Near the end of the process, the center of his head was bald. What remained was entirely grey. When he asked how he was doing, he responded in a high shaky voice, “Not so good.” He didn’t recognize his voice. Once the procedure was over, he attempted to stand but needed some help to do so. And. more than anything else, Daniel had an overwhelming feeling of fatigue. He was told “that was normal,” but wondered, “For who?”
