by Rusty Young
3
LOS PERROS
‘What’s going on, Mario?’ I asked him again. ‘Colonel Lanza?’ Now that there were only the two of us in the room, I expected that he would drop the pretense of not knowing me, but he didn’t.
‘Los perros han encontrado una sustancia controlada,’ he answered, pretending not to know how poor my Spanish was.
He was behaving strangely, but at that stage I still believed it was in case someone overheard us talking. I assumed that it was customs agents who had found something and that the colonel had called me down to his office to save me. I asked him what we were going to do, but he continued writing his report. He wouldn’t tell me anything more.
For the next ten minutes, police and customs officials entered and left the office. The colonel’s telephone rang a few times. I couldn’t understand what was being said, but I kept hearing ‘positivo’ and ‘los perros’. Whenever anyone came in, I pretended not to know the colonel. But we were running out of time. I looked at my watch again. It was now five minutes after my original take-off time.
‘How much money do you need?’ I asked. Colonel Lanza looked like he was about to answer, but there was another knock on the door. This time the police brought in all my luggage and placed it on the desk, saying ‘Positivo.’ Outside, the sound of a plane’s engines warming up became louder.
As his men started to open my bags, I continued trying to persuade the colonel to help me. By that point, I didn’t care if his men worked out that we knew each other. There was no time left to play games. I now suspected that the colonel might be the one setting me up, but I still thought there was a chance I could get out of it, if I played it right. Sometimes these officials get greedy and want more money at the last minute. I knew I had a bit of extra time before take-off, because of the delay, but it wouldn’t be much. I pulled out all my remaining cash and put it on his desk. I told him he could take the lot; I just needed two hundred pounds to pay for my hotel and taxi when I got to Europe. The colonel took all the money and put it in his drawer, then nodded to his men to proceed with the search.
When I saw the way his men were searching for the merchandise, I knew for certain that there were no dogs. They clearly didn’t know which piece of luggage the drugs were hidden in. They began by opening my briefcase and the three suitcases. When the policemen discovered women’s clothing in two of them, they looked at each other in complete confusion. They held up some bras and underwear to show the colonel.
‘Are these your suitcases, Señor McFadden?’ he asked me, trying not to let on that he might have made a mistake.
I shook my head and pointed to the case with my clothes in it. ‘Only that one.’
The colonel frowned and inspected my plane ticket again. I had removed two of the luggage stickers, only leaving the one that matched the suitcase containing my clothes. When we’d made our agreement the previous day, I hadn’t told him how many suitcases I would bring, but he had obviously been expecting there would only be one. He was also confused by the hair dryer and steamer.
I knew it wouldn’t take too much effort for the colonel to confirm how many pieces of luggage I’d checked in, but in the meantime he told his men to start searching the suitcase with my clothing in it. They began by placing my clothes in a pile and inspecting the pockets and lining of each item. Next they took apart the hair dryer and steamer with a screwdriver. Although there was still confusion about whether the two suitcases with women’s clothing were mine, they eventually searched through them as well. Once more, they found nothing. Then they started tapping the bottoms of all three suitcases, trying to find secret compartments.
There was no longer any doubt that Colonel Lanza was behind the whole thing. I still didn’t get angry. There might still be time. I promised to send him more money when I got to Europe. I could send him any amount he wanted. I could give him half the profits. I became desperate. I could give him all the profits. Colonel Lanza continued writing his report while his men continued searching. But they couldn’t find the merchandise. It was too well hidden. The only way the colonel knew there was anything was because I had told him in the first place.
When the policemen produced knives and looked like they were about to cut my suitcase open, I got angry and told the colonel that it was very expensive. I would call my embassy and he would have to pay for any damage caused. I pretended not to care about the other two cases. He hesitated and then ordered his men to search everything all over again.
Eventually, the colonel nodded his head and gave the order to start breaking open the suitcase that had had my clothes in it. Outside, the plane engines increased to a deafening pitch. The policemen completely destroyed the lining of my suitcase, but found nothing. The colonel looked worried. He hesitated before nodding to his men to do the same to the other two cases. The noise of the plane engines gradually faded as the plane ferried out onto the tarmac for take-off.
‘¡Mira! Aquí está. ¡Mira!’ called one of the police excitedly. He had broken one of the spines and was holding up a package. The search had taken over half an hour. He licked the knife and pushed it through the plastic, then tasted the tip.
‘Sí, sí. Positivo.’ His colleague took the knife to test for himself and then confirmed the result to the colonel. In the distance, I heard the distinctive sound of the plane taking off. I finally accepted that I was busted.
I knew that the colonel must have been pleased to have finally found the merchandise. However, he didn’t allow himself even so much as a smile. He sat there writing his report with the packets of cocaine on the desk in front of him. I sat in my chair, staring at him with absolute hatred. Any remaining chance that he would let me go became more and more remote with each additional phone call he made and every additional policeman who came to the door to look at me.
‘Mario?’ Colonel Lanza looked up at me. His face gradually began to show his good mood. ‘Can I go to the toilet, please?’
‘Yes. You can,’ he nodded to the guard who had been stationed behind my chair to escort me to the bathroom.
The guard led me down the corridor. They still hadn’t handcuffed me because they knew I wouldn’t get very far if I tried to escape. I would have been lucky to make it back up the stairs. There were no windows in the bathroom, but the guard insisted on accompanying me into the cubicle and watching me urinate anyway. I pulled the chain and noted that the toilet flushed properly. On the way back to Colonel Lanza’s office, I counted the number of paces.
The cocaine was still on the desk in front of me when I sat back in my chair. The guard stationed himself behind me as before. I sat patiently, pretending to look casually around the room. There was another guard against the wall who was smaller. Someone knocked at the door.
At the exact moment that the colonel and the two guards looked over to see who it was, I snatched the bags of cocaine from the desk and charged towards the door. The colonel was seated behind his desk and couldn’t do anything. The guard behind my chair was too slow to react; I was at least two metres ahead of him before he realised what was happening. The only guard I had to get past was the one against the wall. He was small and I threw him to the ground when he tried to stop me. But what I hadn’t counted on was that the policeman who had just arrived would try to play the hero.
He grabbed hold of the doorframe and when I tried to push him out of the way, I bounced off him and into the wall. I regained my balance for another attempt, but the others were on me immediately. I was taller and stronger than they were and managed to break free. I only had to make it through the doorway to have a clear run to the bathroom where I could flush the coke. However, one of the guards locked his arms around my ankles and wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t kick him off, but my hands were still free. I ripped one of the packages open with my teeth and sprayed the cocaine everywhere. They tried to grab my arms, but I held the packet above my head and continued to shake it. I then ripped open the other packets and twirled them around until they were al
so completely empty. Suddenly, more police arrived. They knocked me to the ground and overpowered me. It was all over.
Colonel Lanza was furious. Most of his office was covered in white powder. Five kilos of cocaine doesn’t seem like much when it’s tightly compacted. But it’s a lot when broken up. Much of the merchandise had come out in small clumps and sailed across the room, then broken up on impact with the walls or furniture or people. There was a layer of cocaine spread over everything and everyone in the room. Hardly anything had escaped the impact.
‘¡Límpien todo!’ the colonel shouted angrily at his men, pointing around at the mess I’d made. I was expecting to be beaten for what I’d done, but the police didn’t harm me. They handcuffed me and lifted me back onto the chair with two guards watching me closely.
Then they brought in dustpans and brooms to begin the cleanup operation.
I had succeeded in reducing the amount of cocaine significantly. There was a lot embedded in the carpet and in the guards’ clothes. None of the police had the courage to tell Colonel Lanza that his hair was completely white. He sat back down behind his desk and glared at me. I glared back at him.
‘Señor McFadden, I thought you were intelligent. You now make things more worse for yourself.’
From then on, my file listed me as peligroso – a ‘dangerous’ prisoner, who was to be considered violent and an escape risk. I was to be handcuffed at all times. And, according to Colonel Lanza, the judges would take my attempted escape into account when sentencing me.
I continued staring at him long after he had gone back to writing his report. I was no longer in shock about what had happened. I was past shock. I was shaking with anger. This man had invited me to his house. I had played with his children. I had eaten lunch with his wife. He had accepted my money. And then he had betrayed me. I wanted to kill him.
When he finished writing his report, the colonel stood up and ordered his men to take me away. As they lifted me out of my seat, I felt a sudden surge of anger come over me. ‘Look me in the eyes, you bastard!’ I hissed angrily, ‘Look me in the fucking eyes!’
The guards were holding me very tightly, so Colonel Lanza felt safe enough to come out from behind his desk. He came up quite close and raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes. I’m looking you in the eyes, Señor McFadden,’ he said sarcastically.
I lowered my voice and spoke very calmly this time. ‘I’m going to kill you. It is now my mission in life to kill you. Do you understand? You are going to die.’
Then I tried to head-butt him, but the gap between us was too great and I didn’t reach. It gave him a shock, though, and he jumped back. He tried not to show any fear in front of his men, but I could tell from his expression that he had taken my threat seriously. And so he should have. I was serious. I was going to have him killed. I didn’t care what it took. Even if I had to do it myself after twenty years in jail, I would kill him.
‘You’re dead! Do you hear me? Dead!’ I yelled again, as the police pulled me away from him and out into the corridor.
4
THIRTEEN DAYS IN HELL
I was taken to the FELCN building back down the hill in La Paz. FELCN stood for Fuerza Especial de Lucha Contra el Narcotráfico – Special Force in the Fight Against Drug Trafficking. There, I was introduced to the capitán who was to be in charge of the investigation. He undid my handcuffs, shook my hand and was very kind to me until he realised that I wasn’t going to cooperate. When he asked me to sign an official statment – known as a declaración – admitting my guilt, I refused. I said I wanted a lawyer. The capitán laughed.
‘This is not the United States of America. You are in Bolivia now, Señor McFadden.’
He asked me over and over again where I had bought the cocaine, who I’d bought it from, when, and how much it had cost. He told me he wasn’t after me. He wanted the sellers. If I gave him the information he needed, he would let me go.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I answered every time. He pointed at the suitcases, which had been placed on the desk in front of me. Most of my possessions, including my business papers, as well as the various items of women’s clothing, were spread out beside them.
‘But here is the evidence.’
‘Those bags aren’t mine,’ I answered. ‘I have never seen them before.’
‘Who is this man, please?’ he asked, holding up the business card Tito had given me. It had the colonel’s phone number on the back but there was no way I could dob in the colonel without admitting my guilt and getting Tito in trouble. I had stupidly forgotten to take it out of my briefcase the night before. ‘He is your principal, yes?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not mine.’
‘We will see,’ he said, placing Tito’s card back on top of the pile of fruit juice documents.
Eventually, the capitán gave up on me and began to weigh what was left of the cocaine. While he was busy balancing the scales, I leaned forward and retrieved Tito’s business card, which I then slipped into my underwear without anyone noticing. Later, in the cell, I tore it into tiny pieces and swallowed them. When the scales balanced, the capitán read the weight out to the other officer, who wrote down the figure, and then they both signed it. The capitán saw that I was listening.
‘Eight hundred and fifty grams,’ he repeated in English for my benefit, sealing up the merchandise in an official evidencia bag and handing it to the other officer to take away. ‘You had a lot of cocaine, no?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s not mine.’ What was I supposed to say – ‘No, there was actually five kilograms’? Anyway, I thought that being charged with a smaller amount would be to my advantage.
‘Yes. Of course it is not yours, Señor McFadden,’ the capitán said sarcastically. ‘I understand. The police planted it in your suitcase, yes?’ He nodded to the guards to take me down to the underground cell. And that cell was where I spent the next thirteen days.
Those thirteen days were the toughest of my life. I honestly thought I was going to die. For that whole time the police fed me only a piece of bread each morning and a cup of unsweetened tea made with cold water. The bread was always stale. When I complained about being hungry, the guards just shook their heads because they were under strict instructions not to talk to prisoners.
By the third day, I was so hungry that I pounded my fists on the door all morning until the guard on duty got sick of the noise and came to quieten me down.
‘Food. I am hungry. Food,’ I begged him, as soon as his face appeared at the observation window in the door. He looked at me blankly, so I put my hand to my mouth and pretended to chew, then patted my stomach. He shook his head sadly and said something back to me in Spanish. When he realised that I didn’t understand him, he fetched another guard who spoke a little English. This second guard had a kind face, but he also looked at me sadly.
‘My friend. We no have money to buy the food for you.’ He explained that prisoners under investigation were supposed to provide their own food.
‘But how can I eat, then?’ I asked. The other prisoners in the interrogation cells had families that could bribe the guards to give them food, but I didn’t know anyone in La Paz and the police had stolen my money. The guard shrugged his shoulders.
‘Sorry. No money. No eat.’
He did, however, go upstairs and find my carton of cigarettes for me. I didn’t even smoke before then – I’d bought the cigarettes at the airport just to take up some time and do a final check for specialists. When I lit the first cigarette and inhaled, I could feel the smoke ripping at my lungs. I started coughing, but I forced myself to keep going; it was the only way to stop feeling hungry.
The cigarettes suppressed my appetite, but they didn’t stop my body from slowly starving. I had to get food somehow. Every time I heard the guards change shifts, I banged on my cell door in the hope that one of them might feel sorry for me. The nicer ones sometimes brought me an extra piece of bread to keep me quiet. However,
most of them wanted money.
‘Dólares, my friend,’ they said, rubbing their fingers together. I promised to pay them hundreds when I got out, but when they realised that I didn’t have anything on me, none of them would help.
‘Food,’ I begged repeatedly, making gestures so they would understand.
‘No hay,’ they said, while stretching one hand out in front, palm down, and rocking it from side to side, like people do in England when they’re telling a friend that a movie they have seen is only OK. I worked out very quickly what this meant in Bolivia: ‘There is none.’
The seventy grams of cocaine that I had swallowed came out a few days after I was arrested. The guards always waited outside the bathroom whenever I went in, so I had no choice but to wash the balls and reswallow them.
After several days with no food and smoking a lot of cigarettes, my stomach had shrunk and I felt only a tight pain in my abdomen. Then, I didn’t notice it so much. I only knew that I was weak. Besides, there was something worse than the hunger: the cold. It was colder than you could ever imagine in those FELCN cells. La Paz is the highest major city in the world. It’s in a kind of valley, so the cold gets trapped at night. The walls and floors of the cell were made of concrete, and there was nothing to keep me warm. Absolutely nothing. Not even a blanket or a mattress to lie on. The police had taken everything I owned: my clothes, my jewellery, my money. Everything. The only thing I had been allowed to keep was the suit I was wearing at the airport, although they confiscated my shoelaces, socks and belt so that I couldn’t hang myself.
Because of the cold, I took to sleeping during the day, when the floor was slightly warmer. I was not allowed any exercise time on account of being listed as ‘peligroso’. At night I remained standing or crouching on the spot, shifting my weight from foot to foot. My muscles and joints constantly ached from remaining in the same position for hours on end. I would have paced up and down in an attempt to keep warm, but I had no energy left. I couldn’t even lean against the wall for support because it was too cold. Even with my shoes on and changing feet all the time, the cold still got in. It penetrated through the leather soles of my shoes and started by attacking my toes until they were frozen. Next, I could feel the blood in my feet getting colder and the cold then travelled through my veins into my ankles, up my legs and then worked its way around my body, chilling it bit by bit. Each night I shivered so much that I didn’t think I’d live to see the morning.