The Carducci Convergence

by Nicolas Olano

  Mexico was no exception and the management of the logistics of the northbound bales of marijuana became easier and much less expensive as the volume kept all the greedy hands well-greased. The Lorenzana side of the business had continued under the watchful eye of Ian Carlo’s lieutenants and had so far run smoothly. A major development was going to take place in New Orleans. The first evacuated air pipeline from an offshore rig to a pumping station in the river port was to be inaugurated in a few days. The Lorenzana did not know of its existence and would only perceive the increased volume which they would have to spread in the southeast of the US. This tube was going to be used for cocaine and not for marijuana because the technology used here was somewhat different and could only handle capsules with about ten kilos of cargo. The investment in the experiment had cost close to a billion dollars including the part that moved the liquid gas. If successful it would breakeven in a year or less.

  Since Joseph Delany had moved to DC he and Terry Taylor had avoided each other at all costs, but unfortunately the wives of both had joined the same gym and become friendly. They had in common busy mates who were out or away a lot of the time and had found it easy to be in each other’s company. Both were aware that their husbands had no lost love for each other and had kept the friendship limited to the gym and an occasional lunch with lots of wine…until now.

  “Are you crazy, I don’t want that son of a bitch in my house,” shouted Terry to Marla, “he has been nothing but trouble for me.”

  “May I remind you that he is my brother and I can have him and Rita to dinner whenever I want without asking for your permission. You also might want to mend those bridges; Joey has done brilliantly at the FBI and Uncle Archie asked me to bring you two together, so that’s that. I had lunch with Rita last week and the kids get along just fine. We don’t need your petty little feuds.”

  “Well, I won’t be here.”

  “Oh yes you will. Rita’s father is a big donor to the party and you need the support. Don’t think for a moment that you’re going to use my father’s hard-earned money for your campaign, so buck up and be real nice to them.”

  Terry was fuming. Not only was that bastard once again Washington’s pretty boy, he had done it on his own. Since his father died he had fallen out of grace but with amazing luck the son of a bitch had scored a few busts and now the buzz was that he would make deputy director in no time. And that two-timing jackass Mason was trying to play tootsie with the guy when just a few months ago he wouldn’t give him the time of day. Shit! He needed to do something, but for crying out loud…what? Then he remembered something; when he was DA in La Belle, Texas, he had done a kid a favor because his dad had made a big contribution to his campaign for a seat in the House. He and the young man had become kind of friends and had some good times together. Well, it was time to reacquaint with Gene Barco. He located him through Facebook and made an appointment to see him in Dallas. It was a good ol’ boys reunion and they painted the town red recalling younger, wilder days. Gene was working full time with his dad who, according to rumors, was connected and ran West Texas for the Mob. After the appropriate amount of drink and getting rid of the girls that Gene had rounded up, they were having a nightcap in Terry’s hotel suite when he broached the subject of his pain-in-the-ass brother-in-law.

  “Hey Gene, how would you deal with a guy like that? He makes your life miserable even without trying.”

  “I would whack the fucker,” answered the more than half drunk Gene responding off the top of his head.

  “Easier said than done, I wouldn’t know how to go about it.”

  “If you got the dough, anything is possible”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “A real pro that leaves no trail, about fifty to a hundred grand…or you can go for a Mexican gangbanger and they do it for almost nothing, but they are unreliable and if they get caught they sing like birdies. Fortunately they generally get killed themselves in the process.”

  “I still wouldn’t know who to go to,” said Terry.

  “You got the cash?”

  M&M was on the phone with Francisco Lujan. He had just received notice that Sheik Faruk Al-Enezi was on his way to Geneva for a meeting with the prince and apparently he had told him that he now had an asset on The Board. He knew that Francisco would compensate him well for this intelligence, but most of all he was happy to stick it to Lord Humphrey Houghton who was the latest best buddy of the sheik. The Brit had purposely shunned M&M at a meeting with Senator Joseph Delany some years ago and M&M had a long memory.

  “I think we have confirmation that our friend Cartwright is more than what he appears to be,” said Francisco to Marco and Patricia during a break in their meetings. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure but I’ll have a confirmation by tomorrow.”

  “We will have to tell Airy,” said Patricia.

  “I don’t know about that. Let’s sleep on it and make a decision tomorrow once we have confirmation,” suggested Francisco. “It can be to our advantage to have this guy on the hook for a short time. We will have to re-convene the meeting anyway, but in the meantime some good can come of this. Just keep the conversation light. No solid figures. I’ll give the others a heads-up without giving anything away. Be particularly careful not to mention our banking assets.”

  “I’ll juggle the figures so it’s believable and he won’t suspect a thing,” said Marco.

  That evening was the closing dinner so there would be wine and other drinks if desired, but everyone was looking forward to the “house wines,” which were sure to be superb. Both Arquiza and Francisco would want to have the members of The Board enjoy the best of their vintages. The meal was a typical gaucho fare with huge steaks the size of a dictionary, grilled trout, and piles of fresh greens, carrot salad, tomatoes, grilled provolone with oregano and paprika, breads and ricotta cheesecake for dessert. The wines left nothing to be desired. They were the best from Mendoza, Patagonia, and Salta.

  Cartwright felt flush with success; the sheik had promised that after a year on The Board his debt would be wiped out and he would no longer be at his command. He had a bit more wine than the others, was a bit more loquacious, laughed louder and went to sleep earlier. When Cartwright was off to bed, Marco convened the others, none of whom were even a bit tipsy. He explained the situation now that confirmation had come from M&M that Cartwright was beholden to the sheik and that the figures and plans presented during the meeting were a diversion. They all agreed to postpone their departure the following day without letting Cartwright notice the changes.

  The next morning, in the fog of a considerable hangover, Edmund Cartwright was chauffeured over to Bariloche from where he would depart via Cape Town to Perth. All the others, who had apparently departed also, were back at the estancia within an hour. The meeting was immediately called to order and the first point of discussion was obviously Edmund Cartwright and what to do with him. After a short debate, and a thousand excuses from Airy for having been taken in by Cartwright, it was agreed that he would be fed information that would derail the sheik’s plans and damage their European opponents, particularly Humphrey. What to do about the IOR continued to be a very difficult issue and no specific ideas were put forward.

  The next point was over a report Marco received from Leon Goddard that he, Ernie, and Patricia had agreed to share with the other members of The Board without saying where it was obtained. Goddard had sent an extensive investment program into a relatively new technology based on a carbon product called graphene. Apparently there was enough evidence that graphene would replace silicon in many computer functions and would be, together with gold covered fibers, the mechanism by which light, instead of electricity, would power the world.

  Again, the “local factor” so preached by Marco would come into play. Transporting electricity is expensive and very wasteful. If sufficient energy could be generated at venues close to the consumer the cost would be a fraction of the electricity brought from hundreds and even thou
sands of miles away. In a more ambitious future the “Tesla Effect” could be used to capture light, convert it to energy, and transmit it wirelessly to any point on earth from a power station in space. In the meantime hundreds of applications for graphene were being studied and developed all over the world. It was their gamble to choose the right ones to invest in.

  Goddard had suggested that they create a think tank exclusively dedicated to locate, evaluate, and recommend which applications were the most commercially viable. The corporation had been created and Marco put to vote the investment of the Board and/or its members into the graphene venture. There was a general aye with particular interest from Airy, whose silicon ventures were involved already with some graphene applications as nano-capacitors, and so she was particularly enthused about the idea. The meeting went on all day, with the correct figures and the proposals that Marco presented approved without debate because the track record for the year he had been on The Board was astonishingly positive. That evening a new closing dinner took place, featuring a whole red stag, two lambs and several geese roasted on an open quincho. It had taken all day for five of Arquiza’s gauchos to prepare. This feast was for The Board, all the security people, and workers at the estancia.

  The next day everyone departed except for Marco and Patricia who accepted Antonio’s invitation to stay at the estancia for a few days of fishing and hunting. Antonio brought waders, boots, and gear for Marco and Patricia and he took Marco apart to teach him the basics of casting for trout; a different affair from the power cast required in ocean fishing. The rods and lines were lighter; the flies minuscule by comparison, and the rhythm of the exercise in general was slower, softer, and calmer. This favored Marco’s shoulder, which, even after all this time, still gave him trouble on occasion. With the light fly rod, a 3-weight with corresponding line, it was easier for him. It was an older Sage model, an RPLX, but it was the perfect weapon for the feisty browns in that stretch of the Rio Malleo.

  After a couple of hours’ instruction on the basics that Luigi and Pete had taught him in Sarasota, Marco was casting up to forty feet of line without difficulty. By the time they got to the river it was almost noon but the day was overcast and there was still some activity in several pools and runs. Antonio had pointed to several rising fish but walked on until they reached a small run at the end of a pool. The tail water formed a nice feed line where splashes of feeding fish could be seen. Antonio explained that when the trout splash taking the fly it’s because they’re eating caddis flies, trichoptera common to the Malleo more than to other rivers in the area. Antonio told Marco to cast a few times away from the feeding fish until he felt comfortable with the distance and control of the line.

  When Marco was ready, Antonio told him to cast to the last trout along the feed-line so he wouldn’t disturb the other fish. Marco was short on the first two casts, an error typical of neophytes. Then he overcast and “lined” the fish, which promptly skedaddled out of sight. They rested the water a few minutes and then Marco cast to the next fish up. The fly landed perfectly on the feed line but the trout put its nose right up to the offering and rejected it. Antonio decided to change the fly to a smaller one and thinner tippet to accommodate. The fly he chose was a #18 green body, elk hair caddis imitation that he covered with silicon, which he also spread onto the tippet. They repeated the exercise as before and this time the fish did not hesitate in taking the fly. Seconds later Marco was fighting the first trout ever to take his offering. The fight was not long as the half pound fish, after jumping a couple of times, came quickly to the net. Soon afterwards the hatch ebbed and eventually no fish were rising. It was getting close to lunch time and they went to a spot upriver where they met with Patricia, Luigi, Pete and one of the gauchos who was guiding them. They were all smiles and pointed to a fire where several trout were spread out on sticks, roasting slowly over the embers. A cooler with white and sparkling wine invited the thirsty. A chickpea salad, bread, and provolone completed the light riverside fare.

  After lunch, with sated hunger and thirst, Marco lay down on the thick aromatic grass, leaned his head on a log, and with Patricia curled up against him had the best two hours of deep, undisturbed sleep that he could ever remember. He woke up refreshed but remained still to not disturb Patricia, who was still asleep. Gazing at the breaking sky, he saw the fantastic lenticular clouds common in this part of the world. They looked like huge flying saucers hovering over the undulated landscape. As he watched, a huge bird glided onto a hill across from where they were and seconds later another two came in for landing. They were condors, Andean Condors to be precise, the largest flying birds in the world. They came to pick on the carcass of a guanaco, a relative of the camel and the llama. Herds of these herbivores can be seen all over Patagonia and constitute the main meal for all types of scavengers and of the only predator of size, the Patagonian puma. Other wildlife in the region include the huge Patagonian hare and large partridges. These are the prey of a ubiquitous little devil called zorrito, or small fox in English.

  When Patricia woke up they decided to take a walk along the river and Luigi, Pete, and the gaucho went with them. Antonio had to go back to the estancia to take care of some business. Francisco was probably doing the same and would not show up until cocktails late in the day. Pete pointed out a big curve in the river that he fancied for nymph fishing. This is done with imitations of insects in their larval stage and today by proof of record, the fly of choice would be the larva of the caddis fly. This bug creates a shell for itself made of tiny stones and twigs glued around its body by a secreted natural polymer. To imitate this bug, Pete chose two small flies – just barely dressed hooks, really – covered in sparkly dubbing and weighted by a small bead where the head was supposed to be. He tied the two, one brown, one olive green, in line onto the tippet. About two feet up from the fly, just above the knot that joined the tippet to the leader he placed a small styrene ball that acted like a bobber and would indicate when there was a strike.

  Patricia preferred to fish without the strike indicator and with a larger fly than those used by Marco and Luigi. They spread out along the long curve of the river and each began their quest for trout. Pete went with Marco and helped him “mend” the cast by raising the rod and doing a small flip against the current so that the fly did not drag. In a short time Marco was casting and mending correctly and was rewarded by the sudden disappearance of the strike indicator. Pete told him to simply raise the rod to set the hook, but it was too late and the fish spit the fly. After a few casts more the small bobber disappeared again and this time Marco properly set the hook and the trout raced upriver, taking line at an alarming rate and making the small Hardy reel scream with delight. Pete stayed next to Marco and coached him how to use the flex of the rod to fight the fish, how to recover line and when to put the fight on the reel. The fish was not ready to give up like the one Marco caught that morning and it took line several times. It never broke the surface and neither Pete nor Marco could guess the size. Obviously it was bigger than the earlier one. After about fifteen minutes the big fish tired and let the weight of the line and Marco’s retrieval bring it to the shore a few feet downriver where Pete waited with the net. It was a beautiful brown trout, a little over twenty inches long and about three pounds. Pete taught Marco how to take the hook out without hurting the fish by using long surgical hemostats. Then he held the fish in the water with its mouth facing the current that flowed through its gills with life giving oxygen. Eventually the powerful fish that had remained calm in Pete’s careful hold began to move its body and elegantly took to the river on its own, leaving behind only the memory of his valiant struggle.

  Marco was hooked; far more than the fish had ever been. His whole body shook with an emotion of communion with nature that he had never felt before. The landscape, the light, the water in its crystalline rush and the infinite sky above took on a different dimension, ever so larger, ever more beautiful, and now an inseparable part of him. Pete realized the sacre
dness of the moment and kept silent seeing the new light in his boss’ eyes.

  A little later Patricia and Luigi joined Marco and Pete. They all continued fishing down river for a few hours, without hurry, enjoying the beauty that surrounded them and listening to the holiest of hymns as nature rejoiced in itself. They took turns fishing in several spots, Marco and Patricia differing most of the water to Luigi and Pete who were more than delighted to take advantage of this rare opportunity. Pete, the most capable angler of the four, landed the trophy of the day, a 28-inch rainbow trout that jumped several times out of the water in great somersaults, splashing back and throwing liquid diamonds into the waning light of the afternoon. They kept no fish, releasing every brave contender back to its home in the unforgettable waters of the Malleo.

  The following day the group woke up at four in the morning for a day of hunting. On the land that belonged to Antonio, and the adjacent land that belonged to The Board, there were red stag and wild boar. Both, like the trout that populated these waters, brought from abroad by early English settlers. The red stag, very close to the American elk, was an imposing animal with proud antlers upon a large strong body. The boars were true jabalí – black, big-shouldered, humpbacked beasts whose character matched their countenance. Six-inch tusks stuck out the side of their snouts, promising swift death to any foe that crossed their path; but my goodness, they are delicious roasted on a spit over quebracho embers!

  The hunters were Francisco, Patricia, and Antonio. Marco had no interest in hunting and the others came along only as guides or as part of the security detail. A paraglider was going up as a spotter and everyone left on horseback, riding up into the hills where a group of animals had been seen last week by the gauchos from the estancia. It was a two-hour ride and when they reached the location dawn was breaking into a luminescent, clear day with the Lanin Volcano as spectacular backdrop to the view. A thousand feet up above their heads the paraglider was making lazy circles no different from those made by the condors as they rode the thermals for hours waiting for a whiff of carrion that would guide them to their next meal.