The Accountant's Story

by David Fisher

  Los Pepes would come out of the night, unexpected. Five sicarios very close to Otto were staying in a house, along with a sixth person who worked for them at his house. Supposedly nobody knew they were there. These were tough men who had been involved in a lot of violence. One night they were having a party with five lovely girls. The house man was upstairs, and he just happened to look out the window when as many as ten cars suddenly appeared. The doors flew open and maybe forty men, all of them carrying guns, all of them with their faces covered, came running out. The house man climbed out the window and went onto the roof to hide. There was a lot of shooting. Probably two of the sicarios were killed right there. The others were alive, maybe shot, and dragged into the cars. The house man lay still on the roof for at least five hours. When he came inside he found the women tied up.

  No question the sicarios were tortured to provide information about where Pablo was. Their bodies were thrown into the street the next morning.

  But this was just typical, almost every day about six bodies would be in the streets, usually with notes on them telling everyone that this was the work of Los Pepes and taunting Pablo. Los Pepes attacked everyone and everything touched by Pablo Escobar. Pablo would denounce these acts on repeated occasions without any response from the government.

  This was a war, I understand that, but so much was not necessary. I owned a championship horse, Terremoto, meaning earthquake, that was the joy of Colombia. Our country takes pride in its beautiful horses and this was a pure Colombian horse. I was the only person who would ride Terremoto, and he was softer than a Rolls-Royce. He was easily worth $3 million, but his value as a horse to breed other Colombia champions was even greater. I knew the police were looking for this horse to take it like the rest of my property, so it was hidden on a farm in Manizales. One evening the trainer of the horse was at a restaurant when gunmen showed up. They took him outside and put a gun to his head. They demanded, “Where is the horse? Where is the horse?” He didn’t want to tell them, but they threatened to kill his whole family right there. So finally he told them where the horse was kept. Then they killed him.

  They kidnapped the horse. A few days later the horse was returned, tied to a post on Las Vegas Street. But the horse had been castrated, its value to the nation as the father of champions destroyed. Its worth in dollars was gone. And then they had starved the horse so he was just bones.

  They destroyed beauty without caring. Terremoto, fortunately, survived. But his promise to the Colombia horse business was never fulfilled.

  But Los Pepes’ biggest target was our families. If they couldn’t catch Pablo, they would try to kill those people he loved the most. Two of the houses owned by our mother were bombed, our sister’s house was set on fire—so badly that a priceless Picasso was destroyed. The fear was so strong and our mother so scared she would sleep in the bathtub because it was the safest place in the house against bombs.

  The most loyal of our sicarios fought back hard, but the circle of people around Pablo was getting smaller. It became safer for us to move around with very few people. Once I had thirty bodyguards, now I lived with only one. The main protection we had came from the people of Medellín, who believed in Pablo. At times we stayed with different people in the poorest sections of the city and these people shared with us whatever they had. The inner city was the safest place for us now. Once Pablo was staying in an apartment when there was a lot of noise outside. The soldiers had entered the area and were searching house by house. Pablo didn’t panic. Instead he sat with the resident of the apartment on the balcony, both of them leaning over a chessboard. The soldiers came closer and closer. Pablo was wearing a hat to keep the sun off him and had changed his appearance with his usual disguise of wig, beard, and glasses. Also, as I’ve mentioned, because he was not getting exercise he had gained a lot of weight eating fried rice and plantains and his whole body looked much heavier than in pictures. As a soldier passed directly below the balcony Pablo asked him, “What’s going on?”

  The soldier responded, “Somebody called in that Pablo Escobar was staying around here.”

  Pablo laughed at that. “Pablo Escobar! I hope we’re all safe from him.”

  “Don’t worry,” the soldier told him. “If he’s here we’ll find him.”

  We found out later that more than seven hundred men spent all their time searching for Pablo. They looked at thousands of houses and apartments. The Centra Spike, Search Bloc, and Delta Force listened to conversations all around the city, but particularly to our family, and still they couldn’t find Pablo. Meanwhile, the drug trafficking to the United States didn’t even slow down, the product was just coming from different people. Pablo Escobar had become a symbol of drugs to the United States, but stopping him was not a solution to the problem.

  Was I afraid? For myself, no. I was resigned to the situation. I had lived under the possibility of immediate death for so many years now that it just didn’t make me worry. But for our family, yes I was afraid. Los Pepes was making targets of completely innocent people without any interference from the government. We took every possible step to protect them. In November of 1992 plans were made for the family to go to Bahía Solano on the Colombian Pacific Ocean, where they would be safe. Pablo made arrangements for a helicopter to take them there. When it arrived they loaded everything they needed and climbed on board. Finally they were going to be safe. When the helicopter took off I think they all breathed deeply.

  And that was when this helicopter tangled in the telephone wires, and everything suddenly went crazy and it started dropping fast. There was a lot of screaming. It hit the ground hard. Everybody was hurt; there was blood all over the place. When it hit the ground the helicopter burst into flames and the people on board were afraid the fuel was going to catch fire and explode. But they got out as fast as they could. Nobody knew why this helicopter had gone down and their fear was that the police or Los Pepes had shot at it and were waiting for them to come to the ground. A dump truck was coming down the road and my son Nico stopped it and pushed the family in the back, so if shooting started they would be protected by the truck’s metal sides. The driver was so frightened he peed in his pants. But he drove them away from the site and later Nico gave him $3,000. With that he was so happy he told Nico, “If you come around again and I can help you, please call me.”

  Later I was able to send my wife and some of my family to Argentina, some others to Chile, and some of the others went to Germany. In those countries they were safe.

  Pablo knew the situation had to be changed. The president had continued to say that if we surrendered and stopped all the violence he would guarantee our safety. Finally Pablo and I realized that the best thing would be for me to surrender again and in custody I could negotiate for him the terms by which he would give himself up. We were having discussions with high people in the government and they told me, “Fine, fine, Roberto, we will protect you. We’ll provide what you need and take it from there.” The only promise they gave me was that I would be treated with respect.

  The plan was that I would surrender first and then two days later Pablo would follow me. The night before my surrender Pablo and I met with our mother and other family at a farm outside Medellín named La Piñata. They were brought there in a van disguised as a bakery truck. We wanted to tell them about this decision, rather than letting them hear it on the news. “This is the safest for all of us,” I explained. “And you can visit me without having to make all these secret arrangements.” When they had left, Pablo and I reviewed all of the houses and caletas I had in place so that he might use them if necessary.

  We spent our last few hours together the next morning. I was to surrender with Otto. Pablo and I walked to the garage door. At that time we believed this was only a temporary parting; we would be together again soon in confinement. I gave Pablo two mobile phones that we would use. We hugged each other as brothers and I drove away at about 4 A.M. I left very sad, Pablo and I were inseparable. I did not want to
leave him alone, just like he too had the same feelings, but that was the road that was inevitable. That was the last time I would see him.

  It was always a possibility to me that the government would kill me rather than accept my surrender. In the arrangements I told them that Otto and I would surrender at a place more than a hundred kilometers outside the city, but that was never the plan. Instead the day before I had called a news reporter, Marcela Durán, and informed her that she should be waiting at a furniture store called Deco: “The people from the attorney general’s office will pick you up and bring you to where we are. We want you to be a witness.”

  The government men went to the supposed meeting place way out of the city while we went to the furniture store. Marcela Durán was in shock when she saw us, and pleasantly complimented me, saying I looked snappy. I always have been a good dresser. I cared about my appearance and wore brand names, but nothing too fancy. Together on October 7, 1992, she went with us to the jail, which was only about one mile away, and watched as we surrendered safely.

  I wanted to help make the arrangements for Pablo’s surrender, but no one would speak to me about that. Without a deal he would not come in, knowing what was waiting for him.

  I was put into a small prison cell by myself for the first ten days. Most of the time I was treated like a dog. I slept on the floor, but at least the food was decent. The agreements we made were forgotten. If it would not have been for the mobile phone I had smuggled inside the jail in a radio I would not have been able to communicate with Pablo. I called him and told him how everything had gone out. The Colombian justice system did not allow me to have a lawyer, and I had to sue them to acquire one. It took the government a long time to determine what charges I should face, although everyone knew my real crime was being Pablo’s brother. I was never charged with any drug crimes or crimes of violence. Instead they claimed that I was involved in stealing a horse to use in terrorist actions, which did not make sense as I had more than a hundred horses, and carrying guns without legal permission. Also they had passed a law that made it necessary for the first time in our history to provide proof where your money had been earned and they charged me with that, and finally they charged me with escaping illegally from the Cathedral. They were making up all of these cases—except the escape, which I did, but only because we believed they were coming to kill us that day. The proof of that was that we immediately tried to make arrangements to surrender again. Originally they wanted me to be in prison for twenty-five years, and then they decided I should be in prison for forty years, and then it was fifty-eight years. So from the first day in prison I had to start fighting for my life.

  After a month I was moved to a maximum security prison and my life changed forever. I was treated more like a normal prisoner. My attorney, Enrique Manceda, was allowed to bring a TV for me—although no one knew that inside that TV was a mobile phone. Unfortunately before my case could go forward Enrique was murdered. After having the mobile phone I spoke often with Pablo. I was one of the very few people he still could trust. Mostly he was traveling by himself, no driver, no security, and no friends. The people who got close to him now too often got killed. He moved around the city like a breath; he was never seen, but the government knew he was there. He had to stay away from all the places we knew because they were being watched; he had to stay away most of the time from all members of his family, as they were also being watched. They wrote letters to each other every day. Just getting his letters to them and from them required secret plans and secret codes. A good friend of Gustavo’s known as Carieton came to work for Pablo after Gustavo was killed, mostly just to carry this mail to Pablo. Carieton was the only one who knew where the family was hiding. When Carieton wanted to meet with the person who would get the mail for Pablo he would say to them, “All right, let’s meet at your mom’s house.” Since this person’s mother had died that meant they would meet at the cemetery. Another favored meeting place was the entrance to the biggest rum maker in Colombia. When they were to meet there Carieton would say, “Let’s have a shot of rum at three o’clock.” In this way Pablo was able to communicate with his family.

  He was like a phantom; people would meet him and not know it it at all. One day he was wearing a costume and was going to a soccer game at the stadium. In the taxi he talked to the old driver. The driver told him he was struggling. “It’s tough. I’m worried because I’m behind on my payments and they’re trying to take away my taxi. It’s all I have and my family is huge.”

  Pablo told him, “If you don’t mind, give me your phone number and address. Don’t be scared but I know somebody who might be able to help you.” The next day he sent some money for his debts to this old man’s home.

  From the days of beautiful living at Napoles and taking helicopter rides with Frank Sinatra in Las Vegas, Pablo was now staying secretly with regular people in their homes, and never for more than one or two days. For example, Pablo told an assistant whose name I would not use in order to respect him and the good deeds he did, “Don’t be scared if I show up at your house one night because I’m staying in different places in the city.”

  “That’s not a problem,” this man said. Then he informed his wife that Pablo Escobar might stay over for one night only and she shouldn’t be scared. Perhaps a week later he came home to find Pablo sitting in his living room watching the television alongside the man’s seven-year-old daughter. Later they were having dinner with the TV still on when a public announcement showed a picture of Pablo and offered a $5 million reward to anyone “If you tell us where Pablo Escobar is.”

  The seven-year-old child looked at Pablo and laughed. “Oh, sir, you look just like him.”

  They all laughed. The man explained to his daughter that Pablo was his uncle who had come to visit him. But she shouldn’t tell anybody.

  There were some very close escapes. One time Pablo was staying outside Medellín and the American planes intercepted a phone conversation and sent men to the house to grab him. Pablo and a bodyguard escaped into the forest and hid. While they watched from above the house as the soldiers searched for them, Pablo listened on a small transistor radio to the big game between Medellín and Nacional. Suddenly he whispered urgently to the bodyguard, “Listen, listen.” The bodyguard got very nervous. Then Pablo explained, “Medellín just scored!”

  In another situation Pablo was staying for a few days at a farm outside the city. I had warned him many times to never spend more than a few minutes on the mobile phone, but sometimes he couldn’t stop himself. He spoke with his son, Juan Pablo, or myself, almost every day trying to find terms of surrender that would be acceptable. But he had learned not to make calls from the exact place he was staying. This time he had walked up into the woods to make his call and could watch from there as the army raided the main house. As always he was listening to a soccer game between Medellín and Nacional on his small transistor radio. Just as his bodyguard approached Pablo and whispered that the police were close and they had to go, Medellín was awarded a penalty kick. Pablo said, “Let’s just wait for the penalty kick.” When Medellín scored Pablo looked up and said calmly, “Now where did you say the police were?”

  Several times Pablo had to run away from his life of only a few minutes earlier, leaving everything he possessed behind him. The newspapers would run stories about how close the Search Bloc had been to catching him, finding hot food or making him leave without shoes. That’s what they claimed, but they couldn’t catch him. More than a year went by since my surrender and still the world was looking for Pablo Escobar.

  In prison there was little I could do to help him. I know I was watched carefully, hoping that something I did or said would give away his hiding places. But I had my own difficulties. I was trying to fight my legal case while also caring for the safety of my family.

  The hardest part of it all was the feeling that in jail I could have no control over my own life. In the Cathedral we had to stay in that one place, but within the fence we could
do what we wanted. In this prison my life was controlled completely.

  Those feelings I had about not being able to help Pablo were magnified many times when my son, my beautiful son Nicholas, was kidnapped. Nico was never involved in the business, until later when he risked his life to make peace with Cali and Los Pepes. But on this day in May 1993, he was driving with his wife and son, as well as an employee and a bodyguard, from his farm to Medellín. They stopped at a restaurant on the road called Kachotis. Almost instantly after they sat down police cars surrounded the place, and the police yelled for everybody to get down on the floor. Then they came in with guns and took Nico out. Nobody else. So it was clear this was their plan from the beginning.

  While this was happening I knew nothing about it. There was little I could have done anyway, and it made me crazy when I found out.

  These police put Nico in the back of a car and drove away. As Nico remembers; “Within a few minutes we reached a police checkpoint. They were stopping cars asking drivers for ID. When our car stopped I started screaming, ‘I’m kidnapped! I’m being kidnapped!’ Nobody paid any attention to me, so obviously they were part of the corrupt police group.

  “We kept driving. I didn’t think about what was going to happen to me. They drove me to a farm in Caldas, a town near Medellín, and there they tortured me trying to get information to find out where my uncle Pablo was. They tied me to a chair and started kicking me. That was the beginning. I didn’t have a clue where he was so I couldn’t tell them anything. Honestly I was never afraid. Maybe that’s part of my blood, but I was not afraid of death. They returned me to the same neighborhood where they had caught me. I don’t know why they didn’t kill me. But soon after I got back Pablo called me. He had me picked up and we spent two hours together as he asked me questions.”