Free Brown, Dale - Independent 02 by Hammerheads (v1.1) Page A

Now we are strong, and
smarter. We state our new rates for the other members of the cartel—inflation
is two, three hundred percent in Cuba, correct? Things are bad all over, eh?”
Hermosa was riding high. Salazar was happy, he was happy. “The members of the
cartel will not allow Gachez to continue to enjoy contract rates better than
theirs—he will either have to subsidize the cartel’s payments or raise his own
contract payments ...”
                 “Or
if he is stupid enough,” Salazar added, “he will lie about his rates and try to
swindle the other families. Then we will have enough leverage on him to dictate
our own terms.”
                 “Sir,
I would caution against trying to extort Senor Gachez or any member of the
cartel,” Hermosa said. “They are, after all, powerful men. If we ask for a
reasonable mark-up for our services it will be considered nothing more than the
price of doing business. There are none better than we. They will pay.”
                 “You’re right they will pay.” Salazar
resisted the urge to take another shot of llaho in front of Hermosa.
                 Hermosa
was silent for a moment as Salazar turned over the plans for sending his bull
to the Medellin cartel. Then: “We do have another option, commandante. Perhaps this game has gone on too long. We do Gachez’s
bidding because he could have destroyed you . . .” “What are you saying?”
                 “I
am saying that you have more than enough savings to escape Haiti and get out of
this business. Gachez can’t hold a firing squad or life at hard labor over your
head. Not anymore. You can free yourself of this ...”
                 Hermosa
had hit too close to home, Salazar thought. It was true.
     
             Two
years earlier he had taken a bribe from Gachez worth thousands of American
dollars to fly a load of cocaine on a training mission from Cartagena and drop
it north of Cuban waters. He had been offered the typical Colombian bribe, plomo o plata —lead or silver, a piece of
the action or a bullet in the head—an offer he could not refuse.
                 He
had wanted to make the drop himself but it would have appeared too suspicious
for him to take a plane out over Cuba at night. So he had planned an overwater
navigation training leg and a practice tactical mine-laying mission for student
training. His students performed well, dropping the six bundles of cocaine
sealed inside harbor mine canisters dead on target, dead on time.
                 For
accepting this offer he could not refuse, he was paid well, all in untraceable
money in numbered accounts. But it was a bittersweet pay-off, knowing it put
him in Gachez’ employ. And there was no way to resign or retire from service
with the Medellin cartel. You could take the money and run, but until you tried
to spend the money. Then you were dead. The cartel, and in particular Gonzales
Gachez, were just too powerful.
                 But
he had reversed that now. Or was about to . . .
                 “How
is it you’re so familiar with my savings, field captain?” Hermosa wisely chose
not to say what everyone in the cadre knew: Salazar skimmed a percentage of the
profits for himself and was not averse to skimming a few kilos off each
shipment to sell via his own connections in Haiti, the Bahamas and Mexico.
Certainly, Hermosa thought, he could not think that no one, including the
cartel, noticed such activities . . .
                 “I
am a soldier, field captain. Remember
that.”
                 “Please
excuse me, sir,” Hermosa said. “I did not mean to imply—” “Get out of here.”
The cocaine hit was beginning to affect him. He felt lighter, more powerful.
“Have my helicopter made ready. I will inspect the camp and make an area
patrol.”
                 Hermosa
was happy to get out of there and