I didn’t have an immediate response. This Cuban exile, Sephardic Jew, CIA intelligence assassin, ex-Army paratrooper, Errazuriz operations manager, murderer of Ernesto Guevara, illegal arms dealer, and who knows what else he had done…I was terrified of him.
However, I will admit, I was impressed by his international accomplishments as an intelligence officer putting himself in the line of fire, even though he could have remained comfortable in the family business. Left-wing liberals were celebrated for the same thing―Ernesto Guevara as a doctor from the University of Buenos Aires, Subcomandante Marcos as a professor in Mexico City, Fidel Castro as an attorney, Peter Kropotkin as a geographer and zoologist, Michael Bakunin as an aristocrat, Salvador Allende as a physician and dedicated Marxist, and many others…all putting their lives on the line for a cause when they didn’t have to.
Many political and philosophical thinkers came from privileged backgrounds, whether from the left or the right. Igor Jáuregi Errazuriz was the same. It was understandable from the perspective of nurture as an exiled anti-Castroist running rampant throughout Florida. That demographic flourished there, I could imagine what it must have been like for their family after supporting Fidel Castro to only be double-crossed after the revolution triumphed.
I know that Castro had many supporters in the U.S., even accepting massive donations from wealthy elites from New York City and big businesses. He turned his back on them as well. I guess everyone uses their resources to their benefit. I do the exact same thing as a reporter with my sources. But this guy was on a personal crusade. On a vendetta to make the Governor’s life miserable until he decided to murder him in a way it wouldn’t be suicidal. I suppose he needed a lot of careful planning.
Still, I couldn’t judge him as an intelligence or military officer murdering in the name of some ideology. Back in Los Angeles I was surrounded by gangsters and mafia-types who murdered in the name of capital and the street social contract. It was the same I guess. Some of those people were my best friends. His ideology wasn’t far off the spectrum, in fact, it had more integrity, even though I considered myself a liberal. But, I understood. I even had some Bulgarian art thief house-sitting my apartment. So how hypocritical would I be if I turned Igor Errazuriz away?
Helena looked rather flummoxed. Clandestine information had arrived through a furtive source and it was enough to incite mass hysteria amongst Texan citizens if we could prove this flagrant violation of the public’s confidence. She too reposed in silence pondering this man’s story. More important, perhaps she concerned herself with the truthfulness of what had just been conveyed and how she would fit in the grand scheme of things. Igor Errazuriz needed me to write the story and I was the one who needed to be convinced. She looked at me with sharpened eyes as her nose wrinkled upwards and her face tightened. I couldn’t read her expressions.
She could sit this out, but as in any situation, people often want to drag others into the vastness of emptiness. I was no different. Helena had a significant role to play because we had followed the story together. Earlier I wanted out after what had happened to Emma Marlowe, Jay Jacobs, the shooting in Canada, and that whole incident with U.S. Customs. But after what I heard, this was colossal. Front page status, suckers! We were a working hard to uncover a monopoly, it had taken an unexpected course but we could assist in the prevention of the supercorridors. If we sparked the flame, it could all come crashing down now. I know she believed that, despite her husband being absent.
“I’m in!” I said, “…you can count me in the plan…if you have one. If Jay Jacobs trusted you, then I guess I can trust you. I got a good vibe from the commissioner, right from the start I felt like he was a real class act, like he shot straight from the hip―you know. No violence though. Whatever you plan on doing to the Governor, that’s your own business, I want the exclusive on the story. Words are my sword, alright, that’s how I slay. I don’t get my hands dirty. But what about that whole situation with the U.S. Customs, aren’t they going to be looking for us once they’ve figured out you’re not with the FBI? In fact, how did you pull that off―the whole FBI swindle? That agent called the field office, how’d that work out?”
“I’m in as well,” maintained Helena.
“Please…call me Igor.”
He hadn’t used his birth name with colleagues for many years now, since his university days. He considered us colleagues, I felt privileged for that. Errazuriz was for the family business, the doctor title was for the intelligence community―amongst other countless aliases, thus his real name gave his fictitious character an honest integrity of virtue, for the first time in a long time.
The government suburban exited out of the storage unit. Igor wore black leather gloves with a pistol still tucked away under his leg.
Without turning he said, “That whole FBI ruse was simple. I’ve worked in intelligence for many years, impersonating all types of law enforcement agents is commonplace. I fit the description of the special agent James Robertson here in Houston, so if anyone were so inclined to verify through a simple phone call, they would speak to a staff assistant that wouldn’t have information to the whereabouts about upper-level management or a person of that rank anyway. It would be above their pay-grade, you understand. I simply called earlier to advise a staff assistant that I would be in the field on a case related to counterterrorism in Houston. I advised the staff assistant she might receive a phone call from airport security or local law enforcement. That was it, as simple as pie. I don’t know what they were planning for you though, but it didn’t look too agreeable. As far as the violence is concerned, I’ll take care of that, it’s already begun. But first, we need to relocate to my headquarters. Michael, you’ll recognize the streets I’m sure. Please forgive me, but we had to plan this strategically.”
We began approaching the historical area of the Houston Heights neighborhood. The art-deco architecture, antique shops, the art galleries, and vintage clothing stores allowed me to appreciate the neighborhood from a bird’s eye view.
I said, “Hey, I think you’re headquarters is really close to my apartment.”
“Michael, it’s around the block from your apartment. I can see your apartment from my window. This is not a coincidence, Jay Jacobs and I set it up this way to keep a close eye on you and guide you along. To make sure you steered in the right direction. We have been looking for the right reporter for a while now. You’re perfect for this―you’re an outsider, you’re honest, and you’re reputable. That’s what we’ve been looking for.”
“That sounds like a bunch of nonsense, you know. My apartment was broken into last week, they made a mess and trashed the place. Whoever it was, they left a note on the refrigerator and stole my pistol. How come you didn’t prevent that if you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on me? Huh?” I asked with sarcasm turning towards Helena.
“Do you recognize this?” He pulled the pistol from underneath his leg, he handed an unloaded 9mm semi-automatic Berretta to me. He pulled the suburban over and parked in front of an apartment complex about a block from where I lived.
“That’s your pistol Michael. I broke into your apartment to disarm you―to prevent you from doing something very stupid, something out of character like shooting at someone. That day before you came home after meeting Mary Jacobs in Barton Hills you were wound up. You wanted to get your pistol and tote it around like a classic Texan cowboy. I left you that note.”
“Son of a bitch! You broke into my apartment and took my gun? You’re the one that did that? Wait, how did you know about Mary Jacobs and Barton Hills anyway?”
“Intelligence, I just told you―I’m keeping an eye on you alright. I didn’t steal anything from your apartment. I just gave it back to you. Don’t get carried away. I just handed you your pistol, and believe me, there was nothing worth taking from that apartment. I did it as a distraction, to prevent you from snooping around
in Barton Hills. I have that angle covered…I’ll show you soon enough. You’ll know what I’m talking about. But, you use that tone with me again sport and I’ll kick your fucken teeth in, you got it gaucho? Now, let’s go up to the office―play nice and we’ll get along just fine. Or else, you can walk away right now, it’s your call. Take it or leave it. But leave the pistol in the vehicle, you can take it home later.”
We walked four flights of stairs in the White Oak Apartment complex without uttering a word. There was a long railing that guided us to the far end of a hallway with mountain laurel branches hovering over the railing, while violet leathery blossoms were scraped across the floor smelling of a frothy grape. I thought about having a glass of Lambrusco. I needed a drink during all this animosity…bad.
The entrance into his apartment was accessed by a fingerprint control system and a fingerprint hand lock. This guy was the real McCoy, I snarled at him when his back was turned but only because he was so thorough. After Helena and I walked into the apartment and glanced around at the emptiness of solitude, Igor shut the door and peeled off his blazer.
“Make yourselves at home, I know it’s not that comfortable, but pull up a chair here by the monitors. First order of business, let’s take a look on any news channel…let’s see if the story was picked up yet.”
He switched channels until a breaking news report started barging in on the monitors. Helena and I looked at each other and shrugged. It came through on Spanish language networks first. A seventeen year-old dancer in Tijuana, Mexico was coerced into having a late-term abortion, causing severe health risks. The Governor of Texas was implicated. He was allegedly having an affair with a foreign exotic stripper while away on business dealing with a new deepwater port throughout the region. Investigators began scrutinizing how often the Governor traveled to the area on business in order to conclude the validity of the claim.
The seventeen year-old was shown sobbing on the monitor. She spoke about the development of their relationship, about the times they met at a nearby hotel where she worked as a dancer, about how he asked if he could penetrate her without using protection. The young dancer ended up pregnant. However, when she tried contacting the Governor about her condition, he became scarce. She left numerous messages for him with a secretary to no avail and a few months later two government henchman from the United States invaded her apartment. At gunpoint, they forced a pill down her throat inducing a late-term abortion. The next clip was a reporter in Texas trailing after the Governor, whose social conservative policy included a pro-life position. The Governor had no comment to make.
The next clip showed the Governor signing an abortion bill in the gymnasium of the Calvary Christian Academy in Fort Worth last year that stipulated limited late-term abortions and a requirement for girls under the age of eighteen who procure abortions to notify their parents. This was bad-timing for the Governor, who is running for president on the GOP ticket, and who earlier in the year had suffered other controversies including claims about receiving campaign donations from a Columbian cocaine cartel, and about making anti-Semitic and anti-Muslim remarks.
Then there was the controversy surrounding an innocent man who was executed by lethal injection while the governor was in office. Even though forensic scientists and fire investigators concluded no evidence of foul play and appealed to the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals and the Board of Pardons and Paroles seeking clemency with a writ of habeas corpus. But the Governor rejected it.
“You see that, that’s a stroke of genius! The claim brings light to that crooked dick. It causes controversial policies to be investigated, it brings severe marital friction, and it opens up avenues of investigation to his business dealings out of the country―shedding light on the NAFTA corridors and the monopoly. Do you see that? The moment is now, Michael. I’ve begun the social, economic, and political nightmare, you can carry the torch down the line. The next step will be a bloodbath.”
“Are you saying you had something to do with that?” I asked.
“Don’t be so naïve, look, the less you know the better. I know that sounds trite, but you have to trust me on this. I’ve just cleared the path for you to write the story. You know about the Punta Colonet deepwater port in Baja California already. You know about the Governor and other Texas politicians and businessmen meeting with Hudson Port Ltd executives in Mexico and buying up the railroads, the seaports, the supercorridors. This is what you’re trying to expose. Are you kidding me, this is front page material, it’s laid out on a platter for you!”
“I have a few questions before we get started though. I want to know how much you know about me. Like when you started monitoring me, and why Errazuriz wanted to be part of that whole Texan elite crowd dealing with the NAFTA supercorridors. Just answer that and I’ll write the story ASAP―you have my word. Just be honest that’s all I ask, please.” I said it apprehensively, something was still unsettling.
“Okay, first of all, the Errazuriz family wanted to be part of the NAFTA supercorridors because of the water pipelines coming from Canada to the United States. Dealing with distilled spirits and wine wasn’t enough for the family. We wanted to move into the Great Lakes compact in Canada by striking a deal with the Canadian government about funneling water through the supercorridors into a Texas-based facility where we could launch our own brand, our own bottling company. It was genius, in this age of multi-national mergers you have to learn how to diversify. After that plane crash we didn’t want anything to do with them anymore. The revenge plot was left in my hands. Errazuriz supports this but I’m working as a solo agent. When you met with Jay at the park across the library, I was waiting nearby monitoring the vicinity, making sure everything was kosher. After that, you went to Kansas City to meet with that spokesperson for the Kansas City Rail Project. You know something, I’m really surprised,” he laughed with pleasure, “you still don’t recognize me do you. I’m Roth, the Jewish businessman you rode with in the limousine―the Hebrew-speaking real estate tycoon. That was me! That’s when I bugged you, when I reached over to shake your hand. I bugged your bag. Take a look.”
I reached over to my bag, a microscopic device was located on one of the straps. I hadn’t even noticed, “Oh my God, are you serious? That was you?”
“Of course. The Sephardic real estate investing Jew was our in with this whole NAFTA crowd. I spoke the language, dressed the part, used my family’s assets as background―I walked the walk and talked the talk…to a tee, nobody suspected anything. I think it’s been my best cover in all my years of working intelligence because I’m doing it against Americans, which feels like treason. I met with the Kansas City Rail Project CFO that afternoon, to make a property purchase around the Kansas City rail center. Their plans for infrastructure and railroads around that area will never materialize. Forget about it, not on my watch. That Mexican Customs checkpoint in Kansas City, that place won’t even be standing by tomorrow. The whole compound is covered in explosives. It won’t be long before that area will be used as a dump site after it’s been blemished. The Roth Trust can lease the property as we see fit. That property will never be used as anything else.”
His genius was daunting. He had concentrated endless time and effort into this project, his whole life’s work prepared him until this very moment of administrating a cataclysmic political scandal that would result in an assassination of a high-level political figure. The Governor had his big day coming up. Igor Jáuregi Errazuriz would ensure the road to perdition would be a lengthy arduous journey. Since the U.S. Customs concern, Helena maintained an unprecedented silence that fixated on physical aloofness. I was vexed as to my approach towards her but I ignored it, she wasn’t my concern. Her best interest was not my concern. We could part ways at any moment and I’d be dandy with the very thought of it.
Igor interrupted my thoughts about Helena, “When you contacted that reporter about the autopsy report, I had t
o step in to thwart your plans, to prevent you from pursuing that angle. It didn’t work. You see, like I mentioned earlier, Jay Jacobs had a rare health condition. It was in his medical file that he suffered something similar decades ago in a London hotel that could’ve been related to being poisoned or the blood infection in his heart and kidneys―nobody knew for sure. If the Governor had anything to do with that, he would’ve had to cover his tracks well. If he was poisoned, the perpetrator would’ve known that his blood condition wouldn’t be so thoroughly examined because of his medical history and the cancer. Jay Jacobs and I were aware of this phenomenon, so we anticipated such foul play. We bugged his house and put surveillance cameras around the medicine cabinet in his restroom, which was the only place he would take his meds. You won’t believe what I found on that camera, but I’ll come right back to that. So, I contacted that reporter from your e-mail address and advised him I would pick the document up from him at his office. I hacked into your IP address, sent him the e-mail, and then deleted it from your sent box―simple. After that, I knew you were still planning on meeting him at the coffee shop in Austin, so I went into character again and slipped you that file. You still don’t recognize that was me, huh? Most people never notice what’s right under their noses. Both of you were too buried in your conversation to assess your surroundings. I left you that note in hopes you would avoid pursuing the NAFTA angle through a murder, but then you ended up in Barton Hills―you were far more resourceful than I had suspected. I raced to Barton Hills in that Lincoln but you had already arrived, so I played the role of a menacing government agent under surveillance, to scare you off. I clipped your mirror but I wasn’t trying to harm you. After that I rushed back here to break into your apartment because you sounded so foreboding when you left Barton Hills. I didn’t want you to do anything worth regretting or to jeopardize the story.”
“All that was you? Wow, I’m so confused right now. I need to think for a second.”
Helena paced around the apartment looking up into the ceiling, down on the floor, then all around her. She placed her palms into her face and buried them for a moment until she decided to speak again.
“What did you find on that camera footage?” asked Helena with coyness.
“Here, let me play a taped conversation first, and then I’ll show you the video,” said Igor.
It was a transcript of the widow speaking with an unknown perpetrator on a phone call placed after we left her home in Barton Hills.
“This conversation opened a can of worms, you see, it alerted the right people in the position of power. Perhaps you don’t recognize that voice, but it’s the Executive Assistant to the Governor, his baritone voice is striking―he’s the Governor’s right-hand man. Let me show you what I have on camera.”
Igor stepped over around one of the monitors, “This is what I was afraid of. I didn’t want them to know anyone was sniffing around Jay Jacobs’ death. I knew it would put them on edge causing defensive tactics, which now makes my job more difficult. No big deal, they’re just bigger stakes. When you two appeared at their doorstep with an autopsy report in hand inquiring about medical conditions, well let’s just say it provoked the widow to implement the contingency plan. She panicked. Everything is moving quicker now, more than I expected. Now they know your name Michael, not yours Helena, I think you’re in the clear unless they’ve started pulling phone records. It’s just a matter of time before they figure it out. When you decided to go to Massachusetts to meet with Emma Marlowe I thought it a great escape because of its randomness, at best they would be following up in Houston to send you a message. That would be sufficient time for me to intervene, I would’ve been there waiting, but then you left, so I waited around here. It was a good call, but then you got that Soviet in your apartment so I had to monitor the apartment for intrusion.”
“Yeah, Pencho, that’s my boy! He’s visiting me from Los Angeles, I asked him to keep an eye on the apartment while we traveled to Massachusetts and Canada…because of the break-in, you know. I just needed someone I can trust. I don’t know too many people in Texas. It’s strange though, he hasn’t answered his phone for a few days. Here, let me give him a call, he hasn’t―”
“How close were you to him Michael? Are you related?” interrupted Igor while I looked out of the window towards my apartment trying to steal a glimpse of Pencho strutting about.
“Let me show you that video first,” said Igor with fierce determination. He was adamant about showing it at once.
He grabbed the phone from my hand quite respectfully, “Please Michael, this first.”
Eerily, we witnessed Mary Jacobs on a black and white monitor tamper with a peach-colored medicine bottle. You could see her reluctant expression in the mirror. Her mouth was sealed tight with her lips trembling, the thick-hollowed wrinkles around her eyes vibrating, faint discharge from her eyes plunging. It was all followed by whimpering reverberation as she looked at herself in the mirror while she unscrewed the medicine bottle.
“Please forgive me my lord. Please forgive me for this cruel act of violence against my husband. Give me the strength and courage to do this,” she rehearsed. He shut the video off. Jay Jacobs was speaking from the grave.
“Alright, I need to call Pencho okay. I’m really worried about him. It’s not like him to avoid my phone calls.”
“I’m sorry Michael, but Pencho is no longer with us,” said Igor Errazuriz.
17.
The NAFTA Blueprint Page 33
