by Owen Parr
Garces laughed. “Well,” he said, “while its main cargo had been new vehicles delivered to Central America, the Karlovy is now headed back to Europe with a stop in Jacksonville, Florida, after picking up additional cargo in Venezuela in the form of old trucks. These trucks are a ruse for what is the real cargo that is about to be off-loaded in the Atlantic Ocean.”
“And the cargo is worth how much?” Naviles asked.
“Sixty-five millones de dólares worth of cocaine destined for Florida, Georgia, Alabama, and Louisiana,” he said.
They both laughed while keeping their eyes on the monitors.
****
At about ten thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean and just due east of Miami, a private jet was monitoring the SS Karlovy. The seas were calm and the night was bright with the full moon.
Rick Ramirez was aboard one of MonteCarlo Industries Fairchild-Dornier 328Jets. The fleet of eight 328s was part of a subsidiary known as Carga Latina, an air cargo company owned by MonteCarlo based in Panama.
“Mr. Ramirez, we are within range of the satellite feed and have a clear view from the UAV,” said Captain Art. “Please, go ahead and join Jackie at the monitors.”
Art McIntosh was a retired U.S. Air Force Pilot who had served during ‘Operation Desert Storm’ over Baghdad and Kuwait. Art thought of himself as very fit, very professional, and he liked to keep himself at the ready. What Ramirez found most important was that Captain McIntosh minded his own business.
Rick removed his headset and undid his harness. He could now see in the monitors and almost hear the sound of six low profile powerboats known in the drug trade as
super smugglers and as go-fasts, also. Their sound would be deafening—quite a contrast, he knew, against the still cool night and calmness of the ocean thirty miles due east of South Beach. Having done this himself in years past, he remembered how the white foam would be pushed out from the bow of the boats as these go-fasts carved their way in the ocean to their rendezvous point.
Aboard the 328, they could all hear the communication between the go-fast boats and the SS Karlovy.
“Marlin, Marlin, this is Dolphin One, over. Marlin, this is Dolphin One, over,” repeated Carlos Alvarez who was aboard one of the six go-fast boats.
“Dolphin One, this is Marlin. Go ahead,” responded someone aboard the Karlovy.
“Marlin, we are twenty minutes from the fishing spot. Over.”
“Dolphin One, we’ll start chumming the waters. We are in position and it’s a beautiful night for fishing. Over.”
Ramirez sat behind the monitors and was amused that the electronic gear, satellite screens, and equipment installed in this plane could be the envy of a James Bond spy novel. He liked toys and had as many as he wanted. This 328 was one of them, and Jackie Allison in a very short time had become another. He knew that Ms. Jackie Allison was a fairly new employee of MonteCarlo Industries. She was in her early thirties. She spoke three languages, had been trained as a flight engineer, and was licensed as a pilot fully capable of flying the 328, if the occasion arose. She was piloting the UAV tonight. Beside all her qualifications, she was a knockout with legs that would not quit, medically enhanced breasts, and long brown hair that caressed her sensuous neck and shoulders. Her dark eyes were warm and inviting to him, as was her demeanor. He put down his Coke, one of twelve he would drink during the day, and placed his Cuban Macanudo cigar in a deep ashtray next to the console. As he sat to the right of Jackie, he made sure his left leg rubbed against Jackie’s right leg, and both exchanged naughty looks. Jackie went ahead and placed her right hand on Ramirez’s left leg and began working her hand up his thigh.
Art’s voice came over the headset. “You should see the ship now on the screen and the other boats. It may be too dark for the UAV to pick up anything at this point.”
“What? No night vision?” Ramirez asked.
“I am afraid it’s a bit too high for the UAV,” said Jackie.
Now, he could see that the satellite screen was showing seven other smaller boats nearing the Karlovy. “Jackie, do you know what they call these power boats nearing the Karlovy?” He asked.
“Six of these boats are known as go-fast boats,” she said.
“You are correct, my dear,” he said. “In the past these had various nicknames. Known as rum runners during the Prohibition Era, these deep V-hulled fiberglass boats with multiple engines for a total of one thousand horsepower were capable of traveling at speeds exceeding eighty knots. Later, they became known as cigarettes boats when the smuggling of cigarettes became the preferred cargo. However, since the 1960s, the go-fast boats have been the workhorse of the drug smugglers.”
“The seventh ship nearby and visible via satellite. What is it?” Jackie asked.
“A fishing boat. A sixty foot Hatteras yacht registered out of Key Biscayne, Florida named Lady Jane,” he said.
“Mr. Ramirez, I can’t get over the precise execution of these operations,” Jackie said. “This is only my second time viewing the entire procedure. Can I ask you some questions about how you manage this whole process?”
“Jackie, Jackie,” he started, “remember curiosity killed the cat. But, hey, I think you’ve earned some explanations.”
They both laughed as her hand which had been moving up his thigh earlier. She began stroking him and he was getting aroused.
“In a minute, Jackie, let’s look at this,” he said.
The Karlovy had unloaded a series of drums into the calm waters of the Atlantic Ocean. A total of twenty-four barrels were now floating. Each series of six was one color, and all barrels had strobe lights the color of the barrels. Each barrel was equipped with a minor device that could be picked up by a Global Positioning System known as a GPS.
Also, visible to them were the go-fast boats. Each had a crew of three men. One piloting the boat and two in charge of retrieving the drums from the ocean. Each crew was to retrieve six barrels that were assigned to them by color. Upon the conclusion of the successful retrieval of their drums, each boat had an assigned entry point along the coast of Florida. All at different locations. Barring the possibility of bad seas, this operation was simple and efficient and could be accomplished quickly.
“Jackie, let me give you an idea of what’s going on,” he said, as he was getting more aroused.
“You mean with the boats?” Jackie said.
“Yes, as best I can understand the circumstances,” he said.
They laughed.
“The fishing vessel, this one?” Jackie said, pointing to the satellite screen.
“Yes, exactly,” he responded. “The Lady Jane is one of ours. This morning she is acting as the controller. Aboard her is a crew who reports to Juan, a good friend of mine and fellow associate. He is in charge of the operation and is monitoring the unloading and pickup of the drums by the go-fast crews. Once the go-fasts get on their way fully loaded, The Karlovy continues her journey to Jacksonville, Florida, with her regular cargo, and the go-fast boats follow a predetermined destination for each.”
“But, how do you know the crews will follow the agreed-upon destinations?” She asked as she continued her stroking.
Before taking off his headset, he clicked on the microphone. “Art, Jackie and I are moving to the back of the plane. Keep an eye on the rest of the operation. It all looks as if it’s wrapping up.”
“Yes, Mr. Ramirez,” Art said.
“Head back to Miami when you see fit,” he said, as he removed his headset.
“Are we done with the UAV?” asked Jackie.
“Yes, ditch it,” he said.
He took Jackie’s hand and walked to the back of the plane where a comfortable sofa and living room area were waiting for them. He dropped his pants and sat on the sofa.
“Jackie, kneel here,” he said, pointing to the area in front of him. Kneeling, Jackie continued to stroke him. “So, your question is how do we protect ourselves from the crews taking our stuff, right?”
“Exact
ly,” Jackie responded.
“Well, Jackie, we buy insurance,” he said.
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“Each of the go-fast boats has a crew chief just like Juan is aboard The Lady Jane. All of these men have wives, children, or other family. Just prior to the start of the operation, our associates picked up the significant others of these crew chiefs. We hold a pool party, a sleepover, and barbecue in Key Biscayne for their families.”
“A pool party?” Jackie asked.
“Let me be quick,” he said.
“No, don’t do that,” said Jackie.
“With the story,” he said, laughing.
“As the operation ends on the high seas,” he continued. “the Lady Jane does a little fishing and then returns to Key Biscayne. As soon as we have confirmation of the various drops by the go-fast boats, we wrap up the sleepover, and everyone gets to go on their merry way. You got it?” He asked.
“Oh, yeah. I got it,” she said. She moved down on him.
In turn, he relit his Macanudo cigar and inhaled deeply while looking at the ceiling of the plane. He smiled. “Jackie, remember Bill and Monica?” He said.
“And the Macanudo?” Jackie asked.
“Exactly,” he said.
Jackie began undoing her own pants, and Ramirez worked on her blouse.
As ‘Operation Drum Roll’ was ending, visible on the satellite screen—which only Art McIntosh was now monitoring—a Coast Guard vessel could be seen approaching the Karlovy from the north. Over a speaker on the plane, Art called out, “Mr. Ramirez, I need you to see this.”
Annoyed, Rick put on and pulled up his pants and moved quickly to the monitors. “Jackie, stay there. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. “Art, what are you looking at?”
“Mr. Ramirez, the Karlovy is in international waters, but it seems the last go-fast boat is about to run into the Coast Guard,” said Art.
“Have you heard any communications from The Lady Jane?” He asked,
“No, sir, I have not,” responded Art.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he said. At that moment Rick could hear Juan aboard The Lady Jane.
“Marlin, Marlin, this is Grouper. Do you copy?”
Someone aboard the Karlovy responded, “We hear you, Grouper. Go ahead.”
“There is a ‘puddle pirate’ going after a dolphin. Can you engage, Blackie?” Juan asked.
“Affirmative, Grouper. Blackie on its way,” someone on the Karlovy responded, as Art and Ramirez were listening to this whole exchange.
“What the hell is Juan doing?” Rick asked.
“Mr. Ramirez, may I ask, who is Blackie?” Art said.
“Shit,” he said. “It’s a effen UH-60 Black Hawk armed with twin M60 machine guns. What was Juan going to do? Start a war with the Coast Guard?”
“Mr. Ramirez, I see the Black Hawk, do you?” Art asked.
“Yes, I do, Art, but what the hell are the other three new dots on the radar near the Coast Guard?” he asked.
“Can’t tell exactly. My guess, Sir, is that they are Coast Guard helicopters,” said Art.
“Shit!” He screamed.
Ramirez and Art could now hear new communication.
“Marlin, this is Grouper. Call back Blackie. Marlin, this is Grouper. Call back Blackie,” said Juan aboard The Lady Jane.
“Grouper, this is Marlin. Confirming Blackie coming home,” someone aboard the Karlovy said.
“Grouper is done, adiós, amigos,” Juan could be heard saying.
“Shit! I thought Juan was about to make a drastic mistake. Let’s get the hell out of here and back to Miami. I’m sure we’ll hear the news tomorrow about the Coast Guard intercepting a cocaine shipment headed for Miami,” he said. “How long before we land?”
“About twenty minutes, Mr. Ramirez,” responded Art. He turned and walked to the back of the aircraft.
“Now, Jackie, where were we?” said Ramirez, as he walked to the back of the plane where Jackie was waiting on the sofa in a somewhat inviting pose.
He was very conflicted. At the moment he was about to lose about ten million dollars from the cocaine shipment that the Coast Guard was about to seize. At the same time, he was preparing for a more legit part of his life. A meeting set as a party in his home tomorrow for owners of prospective firms to be acquired by MonteCarlo Industries. He was trying to balance between his roles serving as the CEO of MonteCarlo Industries and managing a major drug smuggling operation for Generals Garces and Naviles.
CHAPTER SIX
CHICAGO
1,329 MILES FROM HAVANA, CUBA
“Katherine, Kate,” called out Jonathan, as he saw Katherine Adams on her way out of the hall. She stopped at the sound of his voice to look around and find the person calling her.
When she made eye contact with Dr. Muller, she said, “Doctor, how good to see you. Did you enjoy the performance?”
“Katherine, you are looking wonderfully radiant tonight,” said the doctor, as he ignored the question.
“Well, thank you, but you had a lot to do with that,” she responded, smiling.
Jonathan smiled nervously, as he looked around to see who was in earshot. Spotting no one he knew in the crowded lobby of the hall, he asked in a soft voice, “Are we on for tomorrow?”
“Well, of course, darling. You know where,” Katherine said.
He smiled and winked. “I’ll be coming from playing tennis,” he said.
“Well, then,” she responded, smiling cautiously, “we’ll have to start with a shower, won’t we?’
“Not a cold one, I hope,” he said, opening his eyes wide.
As Katherine turned and briskly walked away, Jonathan turned to go out another way, only to have his heart skip a beat and feel an icy vacuum rush up his stomach when he saw Julia just five feet away from him.
Julia looked at Jonathan without saying a word. She turned and began heading out of the hall with Doctor Muller following her.
The car ride was quiet on the way back to their townhouse on Rush Street. After almost having a coronary in the lobby of the hall, Jonathan had not dared to speak to Julia on the ride home. As in most negotiations after a quiet tense moment, the rule is ‘he who speaks first loses’. The doctor, however, could not take the silence any longer, so he began, “Julia, whatever you may think happened between me and Katherine is strictly in your imagination. Why do you always jump to conclusions?”
Julia responded without looking at Jonathan. “Imagination is what you think you have. I know you too well to have to jump to any conclusion. What bothers me the most is your lack of respect towards me in front of our friends, and the fact you keep doing it over and over.”
“Jules, Jules, Katherine is a patient. She is delighted with the result of her surgery, and I was just paying her a compliment,” he said.
“Give it a rest. I am tired of your lies and machinations and not in the mood for this,” she said.
Jonathan turned his head to look out the window and smiled. The skirmish was over. Still looking out the window and attempting to change the subject, he said, “You know, we should have gone out with Fran and David after the performance.”
Ignoring the comment, Julia looked out her window and closed her eyes as she accepted, yet again, another incident of infidelity courtesy of her husband. She now felt like canceling the little soirée at her home to celebrate her birthday tomorrow. She would have to think about it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHICAGO
Alex had thought of a plan. His mission would be accomplished tonight. He had put on a white polo shirt, khaki colored pants, and white sneakers. As he got to the lobby of the hotel, he told the doorman he needed a taxi. Entering the car, he said to the driver, “I need to go to a bakery on Clark Street called ‘A Taste of Heaven’.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the driver.
On the way to the bakery, he could not help but equate this little escapade with some of his many covert operations as a non-official
cover, known as an NOC operative with the CIA. He had been on many assignments as an NOC, but none had given him the level of anxiety he was feeling at this moment.
At the bakery, he ordered a whole white chocolate raspberry cheesecake and asked for a ‘Happy Birthday’ decoration on top of the cake. With his persuasive capabilities and a fifty dollar bill to seal the deal, he also took a white baker’s hat with him.
Additionally, he requested a note be placed inside the box, which read, “Best Birthday Wishes from Chico and the Gang. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
Back in the taxi, which had instructed to wait for him, he gave the driver the address of Julia’s townhouse on Rush Street. He was very nervous, but he knew that if Julia answered the door, after a moment of panic she would agree to meet with him the next day—if only to get rid of him immediately.
But, what if her asshole husband answered the door? He had never met Dr. Muller, so her husband would not recognize him, and so, he thought, he could deliver the cake without incident. He supposed it would be best if Julia answered the door, but if not, she would know that it was from him from the note.
“Mister, we are here,” said the taxi driver.
“Very well,” said Alex. “I should not be more than five minutes.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be here. The meter is running,” answered the taxi driver.
“I understand,” he said.
He entered the building where he was confronted with a front desk and a security guard. The sprawling lobby had marble floors and was decorated with green plants and colorful flowers. Blue and green hand-woven wool oriental rugs accentuated the white marble floors which complemented a local artist’s blue and green oil on canvas abstract original paintings that hung on the walls. Alex took in the serene atmosphere of the lobby, but his heart was racing. He confirmed with the security guard that the Mullers were in and requested that he be allowed to deliver the cake himself. “It’s a birthday surprise for Mrs. Muller,” he said.