by John Moore
“Hmmm. Let me retrace my steps,” Sophia said. “We decided to go to your condo. I remember having that conversation. Did I ride with you?”
“No. You wanted to have your car with you, so you followed me to my condo. You didn’t like the look Rogan gave me in the courtroom. You wanted to make sure I was safe. You felt that both of us riding in the same car made us more vulnerable,” I said.
“I remember now. My ankle holster and gun were locked in the trunk of my car. I strapped on the holster and took the VHS tape and hid it under the spare tire in the trunk. Did anyone search the trunk of the car?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Where is the car now?”
Juan piped up, “It was a rental car. Interpol sent an agent from Houston to check Sophia out of the Marriott and return the rental car. The agent rented a storage unit and locked her clothes and luggage in it. The rental car was returned to the car company.”
“I wonder if the VHS tape is in the storage unit,” I said.
Juan excused himself to make some calls tracking down the storage unit and the car. He learned that the storage unit was on Veteran’s Highway in Kenner, not too far from the airport. We left Sophia and made our way there. Rush hour traffic made the journey to the storage unit slow. Time seemed to creep by as we inched our way toward Kenner from downtown New Orleans. Once we exited the Interstate, traffic thinned a bit. We found the storage facility next to a drive-by daiquiri shop. The line to purchase daiquiris wound around the building. Only in New Orleans.
The agent had given him the combination and Juan opened the lock on the unit without any trouble. This storage unit was used as a general junk room by Interpol, we surmised after viewing the contents. We sorted through the garage sale type contents until we found Sophia’s belongings. We rifled through them, anxious to find the missing tape. Our efforts went unrewarded. The tape was not there.
We left the storage unit and headed to the car rental company close to the airport. The less than helpful agent finally found the correct rental in the computer and told us that the car Sophia rented was out on rental but due back anytime. It was a shame that Juan had no authority as a cop in New Orleans. If he did, I would have asked him to arrest the car rental agent for aggravated assholeism. Juan and I camped in the plastic seats in the car rental lobby like hunters in a duck blind. We watched every car returned to find the one we needed. Finally, the car arrived. Juan and I bolted from our perches and headed to meet the car. The driver popped the trunk to retrieve his luggage and looked at us suspiciously.
“We rented this car before you,” I said. “I think I lost my rings in the trunk.”
The driver grabbed his luggage and headed to the airport bus. Juan and I dove into the trunk at the same time, nearly bumping our heads together. We lifted the spare tire and the mat under it. There it was! The VHS tape. We’d found it at last.
Now to see what was on it.
Chapter Thirty-One:
Going Back Home
Juan called Sophia’s room to tell her the good news. She was ecstatic, once again having energy in her voice. Always thinking like a cop, she suggested we call Detective Baker immediately and tell him we’d found the video. Baker was in his office when I called, working on the Quarter serial killer case determined the mystery and trap the killer. He asked Juan and me to bring the tape to his office. Detective Baker was one of those old school guys who never throw old technology away. He probably had a drawer full of old cell phones, transistor radios and Pacman games that he thought he’d use some day. Of course, he’d found his old VCR player and brought it to his office, plugged it in and tested it, just in case the missing tape was found. Juan and I headed straight to his office to watch the tape.
On the trek to Detective Baker’s office, Juan told me about what life was like in Colombia before drug cartels sprouted in his country. Most communities were built around some form of agriculture. Coffee had always been a cash crop for Colombians but when Juan Valdez was adopted as the image of coffee from Colombia, coffee took over as the major export crop. Coffee was a crop suited for the Colombian landscape since it could be grown on hillsides throughout the country. Many Colombians made their living growing coffee plants. Life was rural, safe, and family-oriented. It was the rise of cocaine consumption in the United States that fueled the growth of the cartels, destroying the fabric of Colombian society and creating cartel monsters. Garcia worked closely with American DEA, Department of Defense, and CIA agents to eradicate the drug from Colombia and the United States.
We arrived at the precinct and rushed the tape to Detective Baker’s office much like you’d rush a woman in labor to the delivery room. Bakers’ VCR was connected to a television in his office positioned so the three of us could view the tape without obstruction. I shoved it in the machine and took my seat to view the tape that El Alacran had threatened to cut off my head to get his hands on.
The recording was made on a boat pushing a barge in a large body of water. It was clear that the camcorder was hidden, the sound slightly muffled. The placement of the camcorder allowed a view of the entire control cabin of the boat. The view was partially obstructed by a towel or rag covering the lens, still allowing a complete view of the cabin. The boat’s captain was talking to someone on the radio about a boat engine being disabled.
“You are unable to proceed? You are dead in the water? There are no other boats available and the storm will be on us if we don’t head to shore now,” the captain said. “What’s that, you are coming on board? OK, but hurry,” his word crowded together conveying the urgency of the moment.
The camcorder was turned off for a few minutes then turned back on by the captain. He looked into the camera, his whiskered face inches from the lens, and said, “I am making this video to record the orders I am given. I don’t want to get blamed for making decisions that endanger my crew.”
Bart Rogan walked into the cabin with a tattooed man I recognized. It was El Serpiente. Rogan yelled orders at the captain. “You are going to sink the barge you are pushing. Its hold contains water instead of herbicide and no one must ever know that there are no chemicals in this barge. You going to offload the water, as if you were dumping chemicals in the Gulf and scuttle the barge. Then you will rig this tug to the other barge and the disabled tug and push them both into port. The other barge contains Agent Orange. It is going to make me a great deal of money, and we are not going to lose it in this storm. If you don’t do what I just said, my friend here will cut your throat and throw you overboard. Do I make myself clear?”
Rogan left the cabin with the tattooed man and the captain said into the hidden camcorder, “I know we should call the Colombian Coast Guard and get all of these vessels safely into port, but Mr. Rogan doesn’t want anyone snooping around, finding what cargo we are moving. The U.S. Coast Guard is working with the Colombians interdicting ships carrying cocaine in a joint task force operation. Rogan is afraid the Americans will impound these barges and discover their contents. That guy with Rogan is a cartel killer and he will cut off my head if I don’t do what he says. I am making this tape to protect myself.”
That was it. The tape ended. Juan turned to me and gave me a high-five slap and said, “This is what Rogan didn’t want us to see. The tape shows he ordered the captain to scuttle the barge. It also ties him to Agent Orange and the Scorpion Cartel...”
Detective Baker broke in. “I hate to rain on your parade, Juan, but this tape isn’t good enough evidence to prosecute Rogan. The statute of limitations has run on the contract fraud as well as the maritime crime of intentionally sinking a vessel. He did threaten the captain, but the statute of limitations has run on that too. We don’t have jurisdiction over the ship sinking or the threats anyway. We can’t touch him.”
“Holy shit, you mean he’s skated out of this?” I asked.
“Nothing on the tape I can arrest him for,” Baker said. “I do want my lab tech folks to make a digital
copy of the tape before you take it with you though.”
“Here is my email address. Please send me a digital file of the tape when it’s completed,” I said as I wrote my email address on one of Detective Baker’s cards and handed it to him.
We were all disappointed, my stomach churning and my mind whirling, seeking to find an angle to pursue to nail Rogan. Juan and I drank a cup of coffee while we waited for the tape to be copied. Once the process was completed, we headed back to the hospital to see Sophia. I was reluctant to tell her what was on the tape, but there was no way around it. She would want to know.
When we got to Sophia’s room, she was propped up with a pillow behind her head, smiling at her brother and me as we walked into her room. She was recovering quickly. I hoped that the news we brought wouldn’t cause a setback for her. We described the contents of the tape to her. Surprisingly, she wasn’t too disappointed.
Sophia just looked at me and said, “Let me handle this.”
I left Juan and Sophia and headed back to check on Tom. He had already made our travel reservations to go to Indian tomorrow. For the rest of the day and evening we hung out together and blogged about our adventures in Colombia. The conversations on the blog about ACC were getting more intense, and I loved it. There was obviously a large community of people who were suspicious of big chemical companies and had personal stories to tell about how their lives had been impacted by the herbicide and pesticide chemicals. I checked my email. Detective Baker had already sent me the digital copy of the VHS video. I decided to post it on my blog for all to see. Once again the blog lit up with comments. I felt like a child who planted a magic seed and stood back to watch it grow into a mighty oak tree.
Tom and I left for Indiana the following day. We had an appointment with the lawyers for the two pollution victim families the following day. We were booked at the same hotel I stayed in when my father died, New Castle Garden Inn Hotel. Tom suggested we get some Chinese takeout and a bottle of wine. That was the best idea I’d ever heard. I needed a little down time with Tom. Hanging together was effortless, and we talked about everything and nothing at the same time. ? Of course, the sex was great too. I looked up and whispered “Sorry, Mom!” to myself. Where had this man been all of my life
When we awakened the next day, I pulled out my computer and looked at my blog. There were pages and pages of comments about ACC and Bart Rogan’s actions on the tape. Most people wanted Rogan put in jail. They wondered how he got away with his scam. They didn’t know the half of it. I hadn’t put anything on the blog about El Serpiente or El Alacran. Had I included those stories, a lynch mob may have been looking for Rogan.
We met with the attorneys, played the tape, and told them the entire story of Rogan, Sophia, the scorpion cartels and the events in Colombia. They were amazed that Rogan had the balls to do the things he’d done. I let them read my mother’s letter. They said ACC had taken advantage of my mother’s illness but understood why she settled out of court. Unfortunately they were powerless to do anything about it. Their concern was proving their clients’ claims and were fearful they would have to strike a similar deal. While we were with the lawyers the ACC attorneys called and wanted to meet.
Tom and I went to the meeting with the claimants’ attorneys at their request. The attorneys felt our presence would help their negotiating positions. I really didn’t understand why; after all, ACC was very hostile to me. Now that my blog had thousands of people bashing them daily, their anger must have reached the boiling point. Tom and I prepared ourselves for a very hostile meeting. This time, not with scorpions, but full-grown vipers in $5,000 suits. When we arrived at ACC’s lawyers’ offices they’d borrowed from a local attorney, the receptionist offered us beverages and showed us to a large conference room. She was very sweet. I wonder if she knew what the firm’s clients did to innocent people. Shortly after we were seated, ACC’s attorneys entered the room. I tensed much like the only sober person in a bar about to get in a fight.
ACC’s attorneys looked at me and said, “Welcome, Alexandra, we are happy you are here.”
What the hell? Happy I was there? You’ve got to be kidding me. What type of ploy was this? Were they going to roast me like a pig and eat me? Why the hell would they be happy I was here?
“Let’s get down to business,” the senior lawyer representing ACC said. “As you know, our client has and continues to deny any responsibility for any of the damages caused to the unfortunate families affected by Mr. Rogan’s pesticide mixing with our herbicide.”
The claimant’s attorneys stood up to leave.
“Hold on, please hear me out before you say anything,” ACC’s attorney continued. “Bart Rogan is not now, nor has he ever been an employee of ACC. However, there have been contractual relationships between Mr. Rogan, several of his companies and ACC over the past 30 years. Our client has never participated in or condoned Mr. Rogan’s activities outside the scope of those contracts. Nonetheless, ACC does feel it bears some responsibility for the series of unforeseen and unfortunate events that led to each of the five families’ damages. Therefore, ACC has will do the following.”
“Wait a minute,” the claimants’ attorney said. “We only represent two of the families and can’t speak for anyone else.”
“I understand,” ACC’s lawyer said. “I am going to lay out what my client is offering you and then we will speak to Alexandra. We will contact the other two families ourselves to make them offers individually.”
I whispered in Tom’s ear, “My case is already settled. Why would they offer me anything? Something weird is going on here.”
ACC’s attorney went on to make a deal to completely clean up the properties of the two families no matter how much it cost them and pay them any damages the families could document. They also agreed to pay the attorney fees and other costs of litigation incurred in bringing their claim against ACC. The lawyers for the claimants called their clients and they accepted ACC’s offer. Just like that ACC caved. The claimants had been waging a lengthy and expensive court battle with a doubtful outcome. Now they’d won.
Then ACC’s attorney turned to me. “Alexandra,” he said. “ACC will clean up your entire property and remediate the groundwater, making certain it is free from any chemical contamination. We estimate that the costs of performing the cleanup to be in excess of one million dollars. We will need for you to grant access to your property for the cleanup crews to accomplish this task.”
“Wait just one minute,” I said. “Forgive me for being a little suspicious, but I have some questions. Less than a month ago, ACC was fighting me tooth and toenail in court preventing me from finishing my friend Sarah’s succession. Now ACC wants to clean my family farm? What the fuck is going on? What is the catch? I know there’s a catch.”
“No, Alexandra, there’s no catch,” ACC’s lawyer said. “There is, however, one small consideration my client has asked for. They would like you to eliminate discussions about them on your blog.”
The blood rushed to my face. Tom grabbed my arm to hold me in my chair. I wanted to punch that pious bastard in his over-sized, alcohol-reddened nose. I glared at him, much like a bull looks at a rodeo clown he is about to gore.
“I ought to kick you in the balls for suggesting such a thing!” I yelled. “You can try all you want to distance ACC from Rogan but we both know he’s been their dirty-tricks guy for decades. He has ruined lives all over the planet and killed to cover his tracks. Your client is the Devil, and I will make no deals with the Devil!”
A meek and guilty look occupied the lawyer’s face. He moved his chair back a bit, I guess to make sure I didn’t have a shot at his balls. He said, “I am sorry if I have insulted you. I didn’t mean to make you angry. You do not have to make any deals with ACC. I respect your position and understand your anger. However, without making any deals with ACC, would you allow a contractor of your choosing to clean up your family’s la
nd? I think it is in your best interest.”
Tom asked the lawyers if they would allow him and me to talk for a few minutes in private. They graciously agreed, collected their papers, and left the conference room. The turn of events had me confounded. These lawyers weren’t acting like a pack of lionesses pursuing prey. They weren’t even being vultures descending on decaying animal carcasses. They were more like subservient monkeys seeking approval from the dominant, alpha male before they ate.
Tom said, “Alexandra. I know what these dirty bastards have done to you and thousands of others. But the lawyers were right. You should allow a contractor you choose to clean up your land. If not, the pollution could be there for years.”
“Tom, I don’t trust them,” I said. “Why would they clean up my land when I can’t make them do it?”
“Not sure, but my guess is that your blog is killing their public image and costing them in ways we don’t know. Like I said before, cockroaches hate the light. They come out in the dark and sneak around. Cockroaches have been around since the dinosaurs roamed the earth. They survive by staying out of sight. You have exposed them. They want to be able to say they’ve cleaned up the mess that Rogan made. They want to say they had nothing to do with it but cleaned it up anyway. You should let them get their pollution off of your property. Video it and put in on your blog. It will empower others to stand up to them.”
“OK. I’ll pick my own contractor, though,” I said. We went back in the room, and I told the lawyers I’d let them know the name of the contractor I chose to clean up ACC’s mess within one month. They agreed and Tom and I left.
“Tom, I’d like to check on Sophia,” I said.
Tom and I headed to the bank to pay off the loan on my family’s farm. I called Sophia’s hospital room.
“Hello,” Sophia answered.
“Hi, Sophia, it’s Alexandra.”
Before I could say another word Sophia said, “When can you come back to New Orleans? I had Bart Rogan arrested last night.”
