Colombian Betrayal by
Randall Krzak
Chapter 1
Medellín, Colombia
Spring
2004
Three
armored Chevrolet Suburbans raced through the hacienda’s open gates. Dust
billowed in their wake as guards took up defensive positions on top of the high
brick and concrete wall facing strategic areas of the driveway. Two unarmored
SUVs escorted the procession. One raced ahead to take the lead while the other
brought up the rear.
Seventy-year-old Jesús Pedro Zapata and his forty-five-year-old
son, Oscar, relaxed in the middle vehicle. The Medellín Country Club’s weekly
buffet luncheon drew father, son, and Zapata’s thirty-five-year-old daughter,
Olivia, along with numerous local dignitaries and powerful landowners. On this
rare occasion, Olivia missed the gathering due to a prior commitment in Panama
City, where she and their lawyers sought to close a deal for the purchase of a
sugar cane plantation.
As the convoy approached the road
leading to the club, they slowed.
Zapata dropped the inner glass
partition. “Why are we stopping? We’ll be late.”
“Sorry, Jefe.” The chauffeur pointed
through the windshield. “An accident or construction is blocking the way.”
Ahead, yellow lights and trucks
emblazoned with Interconexión Eléctrica S.A. blocked the road. A man
dressed in white coveralls waved the convoy onto a side street.
The chauffeur stopped again.
Additional vehicles impeded progress through the next intersection.
Before the convoy could reverse,
more trucks cut off their escape.
Zapata spotted the movement and
became suspicious. “Hijueputa!
Get us out of here! Hurry, before it’s too late!”
Men wearing blue coveralls jumped out of the
blocking vehicles, aimed anti-tank weapons at the front and rear escort
vehicles.
Passersby screamed and ran for any
shelter they could find—the nearest trees and vehicles became temporary
refuges.
The attackers fired their
rocket-propelled grenades, and the escort vehicles soared into the air,
plummeting back to earth as burning hulks. One of the SUVs flipped end over end
before landing on top of a parked car. Thick, black smoke billowed upward as
the stench filled the air. Shrapnel and smoldering pieces of metal from the
destroyed vehicles littered the area.
Zapata’s guards returned fire but
were overwhelmed by the firepower of the attacking force.
One by one, the defenders succumbed
to the withering fire when the remaining escort vehicles and two of the armored
SUVs met the same fate. Gunfire waned, while moans from the injured and the
crackling of burning vehicles grew in intensity. Random shots echoed throughout
the area as the attackers rendered a coup de grâce to the few survivors.
The assailants approached Zapata’s
SUV through the thickening smoke. They lined up along the driver’s side and
glared at Zapata and his son.
Defiant stares greeted them.
Two men rushed away from the
vehicle, shouldered their rocket-propelled grenades, and aimed.
Zapata’s reign died as he and his
son were immolated.
*
* *
Francisco Tomas Kruz, Zapata’s long-time friend and confidant,
replaced the receiver without a word. He rubbed his hand through his dyed black
hair as he strolled to the windows and gazed across the mountainous expanse. A
smile flickered across his face, not reaching his cold, hazel eyes. At last.
He returned to his desk,
lifted the phone, and placed a call. “This is Kruz. Give her the phone.” He
spoke for a moment.
Olivia screamed.
* * *
Moreno Hacienda
Barranquilla, Colombia
Present Day
Dawn broke with birds twittering outside Olivia’s
country estate. She opened blue-green eyes and focused on the view through the
open window. Tinges of red and orange stretched across the horizon, seeking the
deep blue heavens. More songbirds joined in, their melodious voices adding to
the morning’s chorus. Nearby, a rare Colombian screech owl hooted. Other birds
shrieked, their wings beating the air as they scattered.
Olivia
yawned and crawled out of bed. Twinges cascaded through her aching muscles
caused by overexertion in yesterday’s intense personal security training. Time for some fresh air while it’s quiet.
She slipped a purple velvet robe over her slender athletic body and pulled on
matching slippers. Padding toward the balcony, she opened the doors and stepped
outside. She gazed at the tranquil countryside and smiled.
Craack! Craack!
Bullets ricocheted off
the stonework, missing her head by inches. She dropped to the floor amid a hail
of flying rubble and dust. Hunched like a hermit crab, Olivia crawled inside
and slammed the doors.
“Madre de Dios!”
Stomach lurching, chest
heaving, she rolled across the floor to the bedside table. Her hands shaking,
she grabbed the handle, opened the drawer, and removed her FN Five-SeveN
handgun. She fumbled for a second magazine and stuffed it into a pocket on her
robe. Keeping out of view, she crept back to the side of the balcony and slid
down the wall.
She peered through a
small opening, looking for signs of intruders.
Nothing. All seems normal.
Pushing through the
doors, she dashed around the corner, squatted, and fired three times without
aiming. An incoming round smashed into the wall in front of her. She leaned
into the stone for cover as rough-edged shards whirled toward her face.
Startled by the fast-approaching slivers, Olivia ducked and dropped the pistol.
Blood trickled from a cut above her right eye. She sucked in her breath and
wiped it away as anger replaced fear.
“Alto.” A man of medium height climbed
over the railing from the patio. Piercing dark eyes shone beneath a mop of
black hair as he plopped into a chair at the small bistro table, and helped
himself to a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“Diablo.” Olivia spat the word as the man with the physique of a
bodybuilder stood and helped her into the other chair. “Ramon, one day you’ll
cause my death. The training becomes more intense every day.” She grabbed his
goblet. “Salud.” She drained the
glass.
“Doña Olivia, you hired me to provide
protection. When I’m not here, you must do this for yourself and your family.
Your enemies will give you no warning, which is why the lessons must become
more realistic.”
Olivia nodded. “Si, you are correct. I want to live a
long time and enjoy my fortune—unlike my father, brother, and first husband,
who died before their time.”
Ramon Cristobal Alvarez
and Olivia Perfecta Moreno gazed at each other.
Bam! Bam!
Ramon rose. His
movements panther-like, he approached the door. He turned the knob in minor
increments while the thudding continued.
“Shhh.” Someone outside the room cautioned and
received a snigger in response.
Ramon yanked the door
open. Caught off guard, two girls tumbled into the room. Laughing and giggling,
they fell into a disheveled stack of limbs. He grabbed an arm of each child and
helped them to their feet.
“Ramon, be careful!
You’ll wrinkle my pretty dress.” Olivia’s ten-year-old daughter, Maria, stomped
her foot and straightened the folds of her pink frock.
“Maria, stop it.”
Silvina, her nine-year-old sister, dressed in blue, squirmed out of Ramon’s
clutches.
Together, the two girls
darted across the Spanish tile, color-coordinated ribbons holding their long
hair in place as they melted into Olivia’s embrace for a much-needed hug.
Preferring the clothing
of a tomboy, Olivia’s darling, Silvina, fidgeted with her dress.
“Mamá, breakfast is
ready. Papá says to come now, or you can’t eat.” Maria delivered the message in
a serious tone, before bursting into infectious laughter.
Olivia smiled. “Sí.
Let’s not keep Papá waiting.”
Ramon led Olivia and her
daughters to the dining room, where Pedro Moreno sat reading a local
newspaper. Once Olivia and the girls took their seats, Ramon headed to the
kitchen. Breakfast remained a private affair, a chance for parents to interact
with their children.
“Good morning, Pedro.
Where’s Alonzo?”
“Morning, dear. He
called and said he’d be here—”
The door flew open, and
Alonzo rushed into the room. Without uttering a word, he heaped a plate with
beans, rice, and eggs from the buffet and joined the others. “Sorry I’m late.
There was a union issue at the plant.” He glanced at his mother, who gave him a
knowing glance. “I must return after breakfast to ensure the problem remains
resolved.”
“Don’t forget the party
tonight,” Olivia reminded him. “There will be ladies lined up to dance with
you.”
“How can I forget?
You’ve reminded me every day since the staff hand-delivered the invitations.”
“Only because our
family’s survival is at stake.”
Alonzo frowned at his
mother. “What if I don’t find a suitable bride this time?”
“You must.”
He sighed. “Sí, Mamá.”
Olivia changed the
subject. “Pedro, what are your plans for this morning?”
“I’m going horseback
riding when we finish breakfast, and before lunch, Alonzo and I are playing
tennis.”
* * *
After breakfast, Pedro strolled from the dining
room to the covered porch. Olivia allowed him one Cuban cigar per day, as long
as he smoked outside. Before he sat, Ramon appeared.
“Tonight’s party should be interesting.”
Pedro exhaled a column of smoke and glanced up at him. “The mayor, chief of
police, and the local military commander are among those attending.”
“Why were they invited?”
“Olivia wants
legitimacy. This will be our first party since we moved here. Their attendance
will demonstrate we are part of the community’s elite. The wealthy and
important will approach us, wanting their daughters to marry Alonzo.”
Ramon nodded. “I
understand, Pedro. My men and I will remain in the shadows, available if a
situation arises. Please advise if you require anything else. Anything at all.”
Pedro nodded, snuffed
out his cigar, and strolled down the steps into the brilliant sunshine. He
gazed around their new estate. A palatial mansion on 500 acres, the property
boasted a six-stall stable, Olympic-size swimming pool, two all-weather tennis
courts, and a helipad. A ten-foot concrete wall stood guard over five acres
surrounding the house—home, at least for now.
He waited outside the
stable for a saddled horse to be brought to him. This morning, Shadow, an
all-black Arabian stallion, became the ride of choice. Pedro mounted and reined
the horse toward the stone arch built into the perimeter wall. He put Shadow
into a canter and traveled along one of the paths crisscrossing the estate.
* * *
Alonzo and his mother took their coffee to her
office. They sat on matching easy chairs in front of her Italian oak desk. The
cozy room was once the refuge of the previous owner. Its Brazilian cherrywood
floor contrasted with the two walls lined with floor-to-ceiling oak bookcases.
A stack of hardwood in a
stone fireplace waited to be ignited when the evening weather turned cool. The
outer wall boasted glazed windows, with two sets of French doors opening onto
the veranda. A massive portrait of her father seated on a brown quarter horse
took center stage on the wall behind the desk.
“What happened at the
plant, Alonzo? I thought you could manage without needing my intervention.” Olivia
leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“Mamá, I thought when I finished university, I
would run the legitimate businesses and let you know if I needed your help.”
“You shall, but as my
eldest, you must also learn about what provides us with real money.”
“My MBA will help me run
the shopping malls in Miami and Madrid, the restaurant chains in North America
and Europe, and the hotels in the Caribbean. But, I understand nothing about
the drug trade.”
“I didn’t either when I
first started. Government troops killed your abuelo in Medellín, but
before he died, he taught me both sides of the business. Now you must prepare
in the event something happens to me.”
“What about Pedro?”
“I married him for
love.” Alonzo can’t know the truth—I
didn’t really marry for love. I needed to replace his dead father, and Pedro
was willing to raise someone else’s son. It’s unfortunate he ill-treated Alonzo when he was growing up. No
wonder he hates Pedro. Still, Alonzo
does well to cover up his feelings. “He’s useless in our business and wants
no part.”
Alonzo frowned. “Sí,
Mamá.”
“Tell me what happened
at the plant this morning.”
“Two of the guards
grabbed a woman, pulled her into the bushes, and raped her. The woman’s husband
was unloading a truck when the attack occurred. When he intervened, the guards
killed them.” Alonzo’s forehead puckered. “Although I abhor the use of
violence, in this instance, we can’t allow this behavior to go unpunished.”
Olivia rubbed her hands
through her long, violet-black hair.
“Tomorrow morning, find
out the names of the two guards. Have them stripped and tied to poles outside
the plant. Let them suffer overnight. The next day, assemble the workers. Make
this a lesson to all. Render the same punishment to them as they bestowed upon
the couple. This will send a clear warning.”
Alonzo considered her
comments for a moment. “Yes, Mamá.” He grimaced. When will she stop treating me like a child?
* * *
Throughout the afternoon, guards searched the
arriving trucks as they ferried the necessities for the Morenos’ party. Additional
security personnel poked through the flower arrangements, examined tables for
hidden objects, and removed fine linens from their protective coverings to
ensure nothing had been slipped between the folds.
As
the day wore on, cleared caterers appeared, bringing their own special
implements for creating sensational regional and local dishes for the buffet.
The staggering menu included Valluna cutlets, milanesa, arroz de
lisa, mamona, lechona, and tamales. Others brought cases of champagne,
whiskey, vodka, and rum. In the corner of the mansion’s ballroom, a
twelve-piece orchestra worked through their repertoire, selecting pieces
designed to awe their audience.
Everything and everyone
was in position by seven thirty in the evening.
Eight p.m. Still no
guests. Olivia’s outward calm crumbled, and a frown replaced her smile. She
paced back and forth from the entranceway to the ballroom, her grimace
deepening with each circuit.
Eight fifteen. A taxi
arrived—false alarm, a waiter late for work.
Eight thirty. Pedro
strolled toward his over-anxious wife and smiled.
“A long string of fancy
cars passed through the perimeter gate. Your guests are sticking to an
old-fashioned tradition—arriving late.” He sighed. At last, they’ve arrived—for Olivia’s sake.
“As long as they come,
that’s the important thing. For Alonzo. And us.”
Ricardo Natanael Vasco,
the current mayor of Barranquilla, his wife, Camila, and daughter, Josephina
entered first. Introductions ensued as Olivia, Pedro, and Alonzo created a
short reception line. Ricardo and Camila joined them to welcome the rest of the
guests.
The chief of police and the
local military commander, their spouses and daughters, followed by a cluster of
other local dignitaries, crossed the threshold and joined the festivities. The
guests’ bodyguards remained outside the house, augmenting those at the front
and around the perimeter. By nine, everyone on the invitation list sipped
champagne and chatted in small groups while the orchestra provided various
classical and modern compositions.
Tall, with a well-toned
body, black wavy hair, and chiseled features, Alonzo found himself the center
of attention, each beauty vying for recognition. From their actions, every
unattached woman hoped he would choose her.
Danced off his feet
since he wouldn’t decline any request, Alonzo sought one particular woman
whenever possible throughout the evening. Gabriela Sofia, the graceful
five-foot-ten-inch daughter of Colonel Bautista Enrique Santiago, military
commander of the Atlántico department, captivated him. Chocolate hair with a
natural curl fell in elegant locks around her perfectly-formed face and down
her shoulders and back. There was a hypnotic quality to her deep brown eyes,
framed with thick lashes.
Above the buzz of polite
conversation, the clink of crystal, and subdued laughter, the orchestra’s
conductor proclaimed the final dance. Alonzo threaded through the tables. Hands
grazing his arms, he dodged every grasp and made excuses to young women who
tried to engage him in small talk. On the other side of the room, Gabriela
stood talking with Josephina.
“Señorita, may I have the honor of the last dance?”
Gabriela gave a small
curtsy. “Of course, señor. My
pleasure.”
Alonzo led her to the
center of the dance floor and signaled the orchestra to play. As they danced,
other couples joined them. Gabriela snuggled her head on Alonzo’s shoulder,
enjoying his closeness.
“May I call upon you
next week?”
“You may, but first,
you’ll need el coronel’s permission.”
Alonzo laughed, twirling
Gabriela in time with the music. “I thought so. Everything is arranged. I took
the liberty of speaking with el coronel earlier this evening.”
Cheeks reddening,
Gabriela pulled Alonzo closer.
* * *
After the last guest departed, Olivia, Pedro,
and Alonzo sauntered onto the veranda for a nightcap. While they sat sipping
single malt whiskey, a myriad of night creatures serenaded them.
“So, Alonzo. What do you
think about the lovely ladies who visited tonight?” Pedro drained his glass. “Did
any stand out?”
“Pedro, it’s not a
cattle market,” Alonzo grinned, glancing upwards. “But, one or two caught my
attention.”
“Make sure you marry for
money and power. Love can wait.”
Olivia rolled her eyes
but held her tongue. Sounds like his
personal creed. What did I see in him? At least he gave me two beautiful
daughters.
Arm in arm, Pedro and
Olivia ascended the grand staircase. Midway down the corridor, they kissed and
separated, each going to their individual apartments.
After removing her
makeup, Olivia shed her clothes and jewelry as she prepared for sleep. Wonder if Gabriela is the right woman for
Alonzo? He seemed to enjoy her company more than the others.
She sat at her dressing
table, am antique silver hairbrush in her hand. She began her nightly ritual of
100 strokes through her thick hair. It’s
so hard to know who to trust. She stared into the mirror, refusing to shed
a tear. I must be ruthless—as unforgiving
and cold as my father and brother before someone murdered them.
Finished, she climbed
into bed and turned out the lights. I
hope I get a good night’s sleep.
Olivia tossed and turned
for a long time. At last, sleep took her. Two hours into an uneasy slumber, she
sensed someone’s presence. Her eyes shot open, searching the darkness for any
hint of an intruder. Her hand slid over to the nightstand as a voice distracted
her.
“Olivia.” The voice,
distant, yet familiar, seemed to come from within.
“Yes, Papá?” Confused,
she rubbed her eyes, unsure if she was awake or dreaming.
“You must build new
alliances. Our business is suffering. Americans consume less product, and
foreign competitors are encroaching upon our territories, stealing our fields
and our workers. More security is required—tougher measures. You may not want
to go to war, but a storm is on the horizon, my child, and the wind blows ill
for those unprepared. Reach out to Días. He will help you.”
The voice faded. Olivia
waited, but she remained alone. Did I imagine this? She drifted off to
sleep, a smile on her face. She understood her dead father’s edict.
* * *
The following morning, Olivia woke again to the
hoot of the owl. She rushed to the balcony to find the bird’s hiding place. Two
shots rang out. Following her training, she crashed to the floor and squirmed
back into the bedroom.
She grunted and laughed,
thinking Ramon had upped the training. A moment later, a loud thump resounded
against the door as Ramon forced his way inside, gun drawn.
“Olivia, this isn’t
training—it’s real.”
Ramon pushed aside a
balcony door. He crawled outside, peeked between ornate pillars, and scanned
the area for would-be assassins. After completing his sweep from the balcony,
he returned inside.
“They’re gone.” He
twirled his right index finger in the air several times. “Stay here. The guards
will scour the full perimeter for those seeking to harm you, while I check on
Pedro, Alonzo, and the girls.”
Olivia nodded. Shaking,
she wrapped her arms around herself.
Ramon walked to the
door. Before he opened it—
A gunshot echoed in the
corridor.
“Madre de Dios!” Ramon leaped toward Olivia, shoving her to the
floor with one hand, a weapon in the other.
A high-pitched scream
pierced the air, followed by a second.
Silence.
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