by Mia Flores
“Mia, I have bad news. I really need to tell you something.”
At that instant, I just knew.
“He’s been kidnapped.”
I fell to the floor and began crying hysterically.
Olivia
Adrian and Daniela drove Mia back to our house later that night. As soon as I saw her, I couldn’t hold back my tears. I just held her tightly and tried to comfort her, even though I was just as scared as she was.
She was distraught. “What are we going to do?” she asked over and over. I tried to reassure her as best as I could, saying, “It’s okay, Mia. Don’t worry. They’re going to let him go. Junior has a plan,” but I was just making it up. Junior was just as confused as we all were.
Turns out, though, he did have a plan. It took him all day to come up with it, but he sure as hell made things happen when he did.
CHAPTER 9
El Chapo
Mia
It had been a few days since Peter was kidnapped, and I was still a wreck. I couldn’t sleep; I’d stay up all night worrying about him. I’d cry in the shower, and I didn’t eat at all. I grew up in a religious family, so I got on my knees and prayed for hours a day. I kept thinking, I could have been sweeter to him. I could have listened a little better. I remembered all the times I shouldn’t have been a brat, or selfish. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. To Peter.
But Junior said he had a plan, and I believed him.
Olivia
Unfortunately, Junior’s plan was to meet with Joaquín Guzmán Loera, aka El Chapo, the head of the Sinaloa Cartel. It sounded like a freakin’ suicide mission to me.
“The only reason Peter could have been kidnapped was because of our debt to Chapo,” Junior told me. “Peter and I have been repaying it. Pablo knows we’re good for the money, and he should be telling Chapo.”
“So you’re just going to march up to the world’s biggest drug lord and tell him that?” I wasn’t just skeptical; I was terrified for him.
“It’s the only way to prove that we’re on track, that there was no cause for Peter’s kidnapping.”
He was right. Junior loved Peter to death and was willing to do whatever it took to get him back, even if it meant jeopardizing his own life. Peter was worth every risk, and this was the only choice Junior had if he ever wanted to see his brother alive.
Mia
The Sinaloa Cartel is one of the most sophisticated, powerful, and dangerous criminal enterprises in the world. Its main function is procuring narcotics like cocaine, heroin, marijuana, and methamphetamines from their original source, shipping them into Mexico, then smuggling and distributing them into the United States and around the world.
Olivia
At the time, El Chapo was the most wanted man in the world next to Bin Laden. He was worth billions, all of it from his massive trafficking network, which was more sophisticated and extensive than Pablo Escobar’s.
Chapo wasn’t that different from my father-in-law. He’d been born into poverty and had entered the drug trade in his youth, when he began growing opium poppies. By the time he was fifteen, he had his own marijuana plantation, and by his twenties, he’d started trafficking across the US border. But unlike my father-in-law, his special skill was violence, and he used it to increase his power until, in the mid-1980s, he gained control of the Sinaloa Cartel. El Chapo had airplanes, rocket launchers, submarines, and a vast army of dedicated workers at his disposal.
Mia
He was the most powerful man in Mexico, but he remained hidden.
The Sinaloa Cartel’s base of operations was in Culiacán, a city of just under a million, the largest city in the state of Sinaloa. It’s hard to run a criminal enterprise in the middle of an urban area, however, so much of Chapo’s business was conducted in the Sierra Madre just to the east of Culiacán. He could hide in the peaks, concealing drugs, prisoners, and millions in cash, and slip into a neighboring state if trouble seemed to be brewing.
Olivia
That’s where Junior hoped to meet him, but the question was how to get to him. That April, Junior and Peter were just names on a piece of paper to Chapo. They were American boys who seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves, distributing a lot of his cartel’s drugs into the States. He hadn’t met them, though; he had suppliers like Pablo do that for him.
Not just anyone could meet with Chapo. Being in the business wasn’t enough; you had to have a personal connection, then they’d ask the boss himself. If Chapo liked the idea, you’d fly into the mountains to see him. If he didn’t like what he was hearing, you might not make it back.
Luckily, Junior’s best friend was a guy named Tomas Arevalo, who I’d met a few times through K back in the day. Tommy was K’s connect after Adrian went to prison. He was from Sinaloa, and he knew a lot of major players in the cartels. When I first started dating Junior, I remember seeing Tommy at a dinner party Junior and P were throwing at Ruth’s Chris Steak House.
“What are you doing here, Tommy?” I said.
“I’m working for Junior and Peter now,” he said.
I remember thinking. If Tommy works for them, they’re on another level.
Apparently Tommy had a brother-in-law who knew a lot of the bosses in Culiacán. Junior’s plan was to fly to Culiacán with Tommy, meet with the brother-in-law who had connections, and pay his way to meet with Chapo.
Letting Junior go was torture, and I’ve never been more scared. But the decision was made, and we didn’t even have to discuss it. We both loved Peter very much, and we knew that if he had to bring Peter back from the dead, he was going to find a way to do it.
The day he left, I stood in front of him, and with no idea if I’d ever see him alive again, I tried to reassure him.
“You’re strong, and I believe in you. Just make sure you come back to me, okay?”
He looked at me, kissed me hard on the lips, and said, “I promise.”
I just let the man of my dreams go, I thought. I just let the father of my unborn baby head out the door to be killed. If something happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.
Mia
I was so grateful to Junior, but like Olivia, I just didn’t see how this was going to work. Cartel bosses don’t do you favors. For all we knew, Junior was going to be tortured and shot in the head right beside Peter, and then Olivia and I would both be alone.
Olivia
When Junior got to Culiacán with Tommy, he started meeting with key players in the cartels immediately. Tommy’s brother-in-law knew all of them, and pretty much everybody had some close connection to Chapo. Junior was telling his story to anyone who’d listen, even offering a half mil to anyone who could just set up a meeting for him. Unfortunately, things didn’t work like that, but he was desperate. He knew Peter was suffering; he could just feel it.
One day he was out with Tommy, and a familiar face approached him.
“Hey, Cuate!” That translated to “twin.” “It’s Omar. Remember we met at the bullfight in San Juan? I was with your cousin Tony. I was partying with you and your girlfriend, Liv.”
Junior stopped short. “Yes, of course. I have bad news, though. Someone kidnapped my brother, Uncle Pablo, and Tony. That’s why I’m here.”
Omar didn’t even pause. “I can help you.”
Sure enough, Omar made some calls, and just like that, he set up a meeting with his boss, Alfredo Beltrán Leyva, aka Mochomo. This was a big deal. You didn’t fuck around with Mochomo because he and his brother Arturo were the heads of the Beltrán Leyva Organization, and at the time, the BLO was part of the Sinaloa Cartel. Meeting with Mochomo was basically the next best thing to meeting with Chapo himself.
The next morning, a guy named Paco picked Junior and Tommy up in a bulletproof SUV and started driving. As they approached the plaza in Culiacán, in broad daylight, probably a hundred guys, all holding semiautomatic weapons, stood around the perimeter. They were protecting Mochomo, who was sitting in his pickup. One of the guards sea
rched Junior for weapons, then nodded and let only him through. When Junior walked toward Mochomo, he introduced himself.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Margarito Flores.”
Junior was intimidated by his army of men. Mochomo was big and serious looking, even though he was known to be the friendliest capo ever. “What’s the reason for this meeting?” he asked.
“My brother’s been kidnapped, and I’m here trying to get him back.”
“Well, who do you owe?” Mochomo asked.
For the next few minutes, Junior talked big numbers and spoke his language. They discussed a shipment Junior had just received, and soon realized he was in debt to Mochomo because of it.
“I don’t want you to use my money to pay for your brother,” Mochomo said.
Junior then made it clear that his money was good, and that he could make payments fast. Mochomo liked what he heard and warmed up to him quickly.
“I’m impressed with how fast you move,” he said.
Then he signaled for his radio and began making calls.
After he hung up, he looked Junior in the eyes and lowered his voice. “I know where your brother is. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t die, and from now on, you’ll work directly with me.”
Junior’s mouth dropped wide open, and it wasn’t because the cartel boss had just handed him the key to expanding his business. Making deals was the last thing on his mind. All he cared about was getting Peter home safely, and Mochomo knew how to do that. But it wasn’t just him he was concerned with. “What about my Uncle Pablo and my cousin?”
Mochomo looked straight at him, confused. “What are you talking about? I don’t have them. Pablo’s the one behind this.”
“Pablo?” Junior stopped for a second and began considering what he’d just heard. Of course Pablo’s behind this, he realized. He’s keeping the money for himself and telling Chapo we haven’t made good. Now he’s kidnapped Peter for the ransom, and that’s what he’s going to pay Chapo with. He put greed before us, his own family.
Mochomo interrupted his thinking and motioned toward two men. “This is Juan and Chapillo Lomas. They’ll pick you up tomorrow and take you to see Mi Papá.”
In Mexico, everyone knows that Chapo’s name is not to be said out loud. He’s like the Lord Voldemort of Mexico, but everyone respects and fears him. There was no mistaking it; Mi Papá was Chapo, and Junior was in.
The next day, a caravan of forty sicarios in eight armored SUVs picked up Junior. He’d never seen anything so crazy in his life. He called me from the hangar where they kept all of Chapo’s planes, including the one that would take him into the mountains, and told me he was terrified. Growing up, it was every drug dealer’s ultimate dream to meet Chapo, and here he was, about to meet the boss himself to plead for his brother’s life.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I said. “Please be careful, Junior.”
“Liv, I have to do this. I’m so sorry. It’s the only chance Peter has.”
He hung up the phone, and I burst into tears. Then Junior boarded a single-engine Cessna and flew deep into the heart of the Sierra Madre Mountains.
Mia
I’d never heard of Chapo when I was growing up. When I watched the news or read anything pertaining to drugs, his name never came up. So it never dawned on me that there was a single person who controlled the flow of drugs. When I moved to Mexico, I’d hear Peter and Junior mention him every now and then, but I didn’t really pay attention. He was a ghost, this guy who had a lot of power but may or may not have really existed. So when Olivia said, “Junior’s getting on a plane to meet with El Chapo and to convince him to release Peter,” all I heard was “release Peter.”
“He’s alive?” I asked.
“Yes. Junior’s going to call us when he’s back from the meeting. He has no idea how long it’s going to take.” I must have been so out of it that it wasn’t even clear what she said. Liv grabbed my shoulders. “Mia, Junior’s not coming back without Peter. I promise you.”
Olivia
When Junior boarded the Cessna in Chapo’s hangar, he was greeted by the pilot, who couldn’t have been more than seventeen and was wearing sandals and a T-shirt.
Junior looked at Chapillo Lomas and asked, “You sure he knows how to fly this thing?”
The pilot answered. “Don’t worry. I know every single valley in these mountains. This is what I do all day. The military will never find us.”
Junior was actually more worried about the kid crashing on takeoff, but when he looked around the plane, he realized he should be more concerned about being taken down. Judging from the ten radios, dozen grenades, rocket launcher, and a military-grade M-50 that were lying in the seat next to him, it must’ve happened before. So clearly, they were prepared to retaliate.
“Who’s going to use these things if we’re spotted?” Junior asked Chapillo.
“We are, of course.”
They took off, and probably twenty minutes into the flight Junior heard a bunch of random numbers being called out on the radios.
“There’s a Black Hawk headed our way,” said Chapillo. “Grab the M-50 and point it out the window.”
Junior had never shot at anyone before, much less with an M-50. What the hell have I gotten myself into? he thought. But sure enough, when he heard the kid cut off the Cessna’s engine and begin hovering as the whir of a chopper came toward him, he wasn’t going to argue. He cracked the window, picked the weapon up, struggled to turn it because there was literally no room, and began praying his plane wouldn’t go down that day.
Mia
Thankfully, within seconds the radio bleeped out a bunch of other numbers, and the baby pilot started the engine back up. Feeling so much adrenaline he thought he was going to vomit, Junior put the gun down and tightened his seat belt as the plane began to descend.
“Where the fuck is the landing strip?” Junior yelled to the pilot.
The kid pointed out the window to a manmade strip that had been dug into the base of a mountain. “Right there.” Then he cut off the engine again.
Junior was positive they were going to collide into the mountain. He thought, This is it. It’s all over. But sure enough the plane touched down and rolled up that mountain just a bit, slowing down until it started to roll backward. Finally, it stopped completely. Chapillo opened the door, and Junior jumped out of the plane like it was about to catch fire. When his feet hit the ground he looked around and saw a crowd of men dressed in military-style garb. They were looking at him like he was from another planet. After all, he was young and American, and they weren’t used to seeing his kind up in those mountains.
Olivia
A Hummer edged up to him, driven by yet another guy decked out in army gear. Surrounding it were dozens of armed men on ATVs all carrying grenades in their military-style jackets. They drove twenty minutes down bumpy trails that you’d be hard pressed to actually call roads, and as he looked out the window he noticed the bulldozers and excavators that must have been used to clear the mountains for Chapo’s compound. Finally, they arrived at Chapo’s palapa. It was open on all sides, with spectacular views of the surrounding mountains.
Chapo was wearing a black snapback hat with a military logo. He looked right at Junior and extended his hand. “I’m Joaquín Guzmán Loera.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Junior said. “My name is Margarito Flores.”
“Mucho gusto,” Chapo replied in a powerful voice, meaning “Nice to meet you.” Then he continued, “What do you want?”
Chapo’s right eye doesn’t move very much, so Junior felt like his stare was going right through his body. But he quickly pulled himself together and responded, “I’m here for my brother.”
“You know people that come up here don’t go back. I could kill you and your brother right now and go about my day.”
Junior responded, “Yes, Señor. I’m very aware. But I am here because I only have my word.”
Mia
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br /> Junior spent the next ten minutes explaining the deal he’d had with Uncle Pablo. But before going into the specifics, Junior brought up a valid point: Why would Pablo act like he’d been kidnapped, too, if Peter and Junior actually owed him money? Then Junior revealed that, yes, he had a $10 million debt to Chapo, but he’d been paying it back to Pablo in steady increments. In fact, he was right on schedule, only a few million shy, and he had the ledgers to prove it.
It was a miracle Junior had been smart enough to take his ledgers with him to Sinaloa. They didn’t just save Peter’s life; they saved his that day, too.
The ledgers were these thick, worn books, like big, old Bibles. For their entire career, he and Peter had been meticulous about keeping track of every single penny that was collected and every single payment they’d made to a supplier, and they’d marked it all in those books. It didn’t matter if Peter was dead tired or coming home from a night of partying; he’d always walk into the kitchen, grab his binders, and sit there with his calculator adding and subtracting millions of dollars. You couldn’t alter them—all the numbers were tiny, so there was no room to add anything, and absolutely nothing was scratched out. They were flawless.
Their notes and numbers indicated the debt payments they’d made to Pablo, with dates. When you added up the numbers, there was no question they’d made their payments, right on time. There was no way he couldn’t prove to Chapo that Uncle Pablo was totally fabricating the story for his own benefit.
