Offshore Islands

by John Francis Kinsella

Chapter 52

  Baranquilla

  The American Airlines’ 727 made its approach from the sea and then after overflying the river swung back in a wide curve to the north and Kennedy caught his first glimpse of South America. From a distance Baranquilla looked a modern city, it was surrounded by broad spaces of flat land with a few farms separated by broad swaths of uncultivated land, to the right flowed the broad mud coloured river.

  As plane taxied to its parking place they passed the carcasses of old DC8’s and 707’s abandoned to the elements. The terminal building was fairly modern. After having their passports stamped and their baggage checked with a cursory glance they were met at the arrivals gate by Dan Oberman and a driver who took them their hotel in the city centre.

  Kennedy had read that a German Jew, who introduced steam navigation on the Magdelena River in the early part of the 19th century, had developed the city. Immigrants came from the Lebanon, European Jews, Palestinians, Germans, Italians, Spanish, French, English, North Americans, Syrians, and Africans, they had all flowed in joining the local populations of Colombian Indians.

  The Magdelena River that lay to the east of city was a huge fast flowing river, transporting to the sea its masses of floating vegetation as all tropical rivers seem to do, its waters were a greyish brown heavily laden with silt carried from the mountains and jungles not so far to the south.

  Kennedy was booked into the El Prado hotel, in the Zona Norte, a residential area away from the old city centre. The hotel was built in classical Spanish colonial style surrounded by manicured palms and luxuriant gardens, here and there were huge buttressed tropical trees. In the open spaces and terraces were potted plants in large terra cotta jars.

  The El Prado had been opened in 1930, its Spanish colonial architecture adapted to the tropical climate, ventilated by natural openings. It was of an open rectangular form surrounding large gardens, in the centre of which was a fine swimming pool lined with chaise longue and low tables.

  It was entirely in harmony with the exuberant vegetation of the gardens and protected from the noise of the outside traffic and the view of the passers-by. El Prado was a refined hotel, meticulously maintained, with old fashioned lift attendants and porters in resplendent uniforms.

  That evening, a Sunday, Kennedy dined alone in the hotel restaurant, its cuisine was excellent a mixture of North American, European and South American styles. He ate an excellent Caesar salad followed by a grilled Langosta and going against his teetotaller rule, which seemed to be becoming a habit, ordered a half bottle of Chilean Chablis. The waiters were old professionals watched over by a caring maitre d’hôtel.

  The broad tree lined avenues of the Zona Norte with its fine villas and fashionable apartment buildings gave an appearance of easy going prosperity. The population was rich and good looking. But the proximity of the very poor neighbourhoods made a dangerous mix.

  The next day he was met by Oberman for a visit to Salgado Industrias. Dan Oberman was an Argentinean Jew. His family had originated in Poland and had fled to Argentina at the outbreak of World War II. As a young man he had had a great admiration for his fellow countryman, Che Guevara, and he still had. At eighteen years old he left for Israel full of young men’s ideas of revolution and kibbutzim.

  The Salgado plant was located in the suburbs ten kilometres from the city. The traffic in Baranquilla appeared to be without any apparent rules but was somehow orderly. The elegant quarter gave way progressively to less affluent areas. Here and there was a horse or a donkey drawn cart. Then there were small factories, oily garages, broken down pavements and wild vegetation trying to reclaim its territory.

  The centre of the old town in contrast with the Zona Norte was without interest, there were cheap cafes, shops, trucks, buses and no particular point of architectural interest, they were two different worlds.

  The dirt-poor suburbs reminded Kennedy of Cuba, without the rich centre of Baranquilla and the filth that generally pervaded in the presence of poverty. Poor peasants immigrated to the city in search of work, moving into the slum areas of the old city centre near the river port.

  Overhead was a tangle of wires and electrical cables. The houses and streets became more and more dilapidated, lined with heaps of rubble. Overloaded American style trucks rumbled past like mechanical monsters belching thick black smoke. It was dry and dusty; the rivers were empty as a result of El Niño. Open flood drainage canals were dry and looked surprisingly clear of garbage, but that did not prevent water leaking from broken mains or drainage pipes, leaving damp green streaks on the slopes.

  On the outskirts of the city there were grimy warehouses and plants, vacant sites, rubble, plastic bags, pylons and power cables. Roadside vendors displayed their wares outside factory gates. Here and there were open-air makeshift cafes struggling for survival in the dust and heat.

  It was hot and dirty like the outskirts of the cities of many underdeveloped countries. Soldiers and hard looking overweight cops menacingly observed the traffic and the coming and going of the workers. Even the dogs were the basic back to nature animals. Overfull buses resembled US school buses and probably were, recycled for a second life.

  Oberman chain smoked some kind of foul smelling local cigarettes, he looked like a typical bearded Spaniard as he drew on a cigarette and deeply inhaled the smoke, with his throaty smokers voice, the half swallowed words poured out in a stream of barely intelligible words with heavily rolled r’s as he spoke to the driver. Oberman wore a white Panama hat, it was not that he affected a particular style, but he obviously felt comfortable with his hat under the hot tropical sun.

  Oberman’s fortunes were finally looking up after a long downer. Until he had met Ortega the brave new world of Israel had become a tarnished dream, a routine of job and family in a consumer society surrounded by hostile Arabs, in a never ending conflict that was not about to go away. He was forty-seven and decided that he could no longer wait to take action if he were to seek a better life. At least there were opportunities in the Americas and a future to be made for his family.

  Dan worked a twelve-hour day and had travelled most weekends; Sunday was a working day back in Israel. His life had become a grind of airports, planes, and hotels and in between nothing but a small stuffy small office, breathing the acrid fumes of a chemical plant, writing reports and looking after the endlessly uninteresting paperwork.

  The influx of Russians immigrants into Israel had changed many things for him; life had become more competitive with an oversupply of highly qualified people. More than eight hundred thousand Russian Jews lived in Israel by the sacred ‘Right of Return’. The Russians were often highly qualified in science, engineering and economics.

  At the same time Russian money poured into the country. Israel too was an offshore haven for money laundering. Israeli banks accepted large cash deposits and it was said that suitcases of money were exchanged with impunity at the Dan Hotel that overlooked the beach in Tel-Aviv. Israel also offered an added encouragement…it did not extradite its own citizens.

  Israel was a halfway base, between the USA and Russia, for Russian Jewish Mafiya activities, where Jews holding Israeli passports came and went as it pleased them.

  Very late Oberman had realised that he had been blinded for a good part of his life by unrealistic idealist visions. He lived with his wife and two children in a small apartment in a not very attractive suburb of Ashdod in Israel. His future did not look brilliant whilst around him he saw the new arrivals making fortunes and living in a style that his salary at Ashdod Chemical Industries could never give him.

  A young woman, an economist, one of the many Russians that had joined Ashdod Chemicals, had introduced him to Ortega in Tel-Aviv. Ortega’s English was poor and his Hebrew was unsurprisingly nonexistent. Oberman whose mother tongue Spanish and who spoke perfect Hebrew and English would assist for as a translator. Ortega was meeting banks and businesses concerning investments in Israel and the introduction of foreign capital.

 
Ortega in his long experience as a military and intelligence officer recognised Oberman’s talents and discontent, his knowledge of Latin America and his background in Israel could be exploited for his own benefit. He had invited Oberman to visit him in Florida hinting at the opportunity for better things.

  Oberman had no misgivings about Ortega. His assistance at Ortega’s meetings in Israel left him in no doubt as to his real business. He nevertheless decided that he would throw his lot in with him in spite of the risks involved, such occasions were rare.

  He had accepted a job that Ortega had proposed to him as Business Development Manager with Salgado Industrias in Baranquilla, a nebulous role where he worked for Salgado and undertook various tasks for Ortega’s organisation.

  He regularly arranged for the transport of the products Salgado Industrias manufactured, detergents powders and fertilisers. Goods manufactured under licence at the Salgado plant were delivered in 500 and 1,000 kilo plastic big bags from their plant by container loads to their customers in Central America, the Caribbean and the USA.

  Jaime Salgado had built his new plant under licence from Ashdod Chemical Industries that Dan Oberman represented. Oberman’s role was ostensibly to develop the marketing of its products in the Americas.

  Kennedy together with Dan Oberman arrived at the country club of Salgado, in a clean, green and rich suburb of Baranquilla. A chauffeur driven Mercedes had picked them up at the hotel.

  Salgado was the perfect host. He ordered grilled lobsters followed by the best Argentinean filet steaks accompanied by excellent Chilean wines. They talked of business, international affairs and then turned to exchanging stories of their respective countries, Colombia and Ireland.

  “We are pleased to have you visit our country Pat and we hope we can visit you in Dublin in the near future.”

  Kennedy was flattered by the attention of his hosts. The music played in the background and he wondered if maybe he would be able to invite one of the girls he had seen at the bar in the background to dance.

  “Dan has explained to you a little about our business?”

  “Yesh,” he replied as he attacked a tropical fruit salad topped with mango-flavoured ice cream.

  “We export chemical products mainly to the regional market but also to the USA. We are thinking seriously about setting up an operation on Europe and according to Dan and Señor Ortega, Ireland looks like a good strategic place.”

  “I see,” he replied politely.

  Salgado had been given a detailed report by Oberman on Kennedy and his business activities that Ortega had investigated in Ireland. It was clear that Kennedy was experienced but not that worldly in certain matters, which suited their needs. Ortega had been right, the Irish link seemed to have the all-necessary qualifications for the extension of their business into Europe.

  “What are your plans for the weekend Pat?” asked Salgado.

  “Well, I thought I would relax a little before I return to Miami…”

  “Let me see, what I suggest is that you spend the weekend in Cartagena, its not far from here, a beautiful historical city, built by the Conquistadores.”

  “It sounds nice.”

  “It would give you an opportunity to meet one of our shareholders, a very good personal friend of mine, Jose Delrios.”

  It sounded fine to Kennedy, he was delighted at the idea of exploring further afield, it was his first visit to South America, and the opportunity to investigate the no doubt hidden delights of these unknown cities alone, on the southern edge of the Caribbean, was not to be missed. Meeting new people opened new doors and led to new opportunities. He was pleased with the way his relations Ortega had permitted him to spread his wings, it had also given him an unexpected independence from Castlemain and Arrowsmith in the New World.

  The system was simple, the new detergent powder packing line filled ‘big-bags’ of 500 and 1,000 kilos. It was an easy matter to introduce twenty kilos packs of pure cocaine into the core of a 'big-bag' filled with detergent powder. Twenty big bags would be loaded into each container for shipment to Tampico, Mexico, where it was transported by road to Matamoros then run over the border to Brownsville on the US side.

  The earnings from drug running were recycled by Ortega’s organisation into property development and tourism in the Caribbean with the help of Alberto Vasquez of Salgado Industrias. Vasquez lived in Bogota where he controlled all the local political and financial arrangements, travelling frequently to Tampico in Mexico and Florida to ensure the smooth running of their distribution system.

  Chapter 53

  Cartagena de los Indias