The Infiltrator, page 13
Agents from each city reported on evidence gathered so far, and everyone agreed not to compromise the operation. Then the bosses from D.C. and each region met privately to mull our fate. Agency guidelines mandated that, as long as operatives were cultivating new contacts and uncovering new crimes, operations would continue for at least another quarter. The cartel’s invitation to Costa Rica, the developing relationship with Alcaíno, and BCCI’s offers of introduction to key players in Europe, all meant the fate of the operation wouldn’t be up for discussion — or so I thought.
After a closed-door meeting, our new boss, Bonni Tischler, convened the Tampa personnel. She and I had disagreed as contending peers on cases overlapping Miami and Tampa in the past, and, apparently because I had had the audacity to disagree with her, she disliked me. She made her decisions, I was warned, based on how a case could best serve her career, not what was best for the case, and (a cardinal sin in law enforcement) she personalized her decisions. If you benignly supported her, she ruled in your favor. If she didn’t like you, your case was already over.
Tischler had run the fast track since leaving Miami as an agent, cultivating strong personal friendships with top dogs in Washington like George Corcoran, the godfather of Customs and the assistant commissioner of enforcement, and Customs commissioner William von Raab. Now she was the special agent in charge of Tampa, and I was still working the street. I was no match for her and her friends from D.C.
Tischler gathered the Tampa personnel in one of the hotel rooms, where, in a subtle sign of her disparagement of us, we sat on beds, chairs, or the floor. With no discussion, she pronounced her ruling.
“I monitored this case in D.C., and I’ll tell you that I never liked it from the start. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve worked yourselves inside the bank, I’d end this thing tomorrow. Against my better judgment, you’ve got from now until the first week of October to end this case. That’s when it’s going down.” She glared directly at me. “And on the bank, stick to the bank’s dealing in drug money, and keep your nose out of whatever else they’re doing.”
I didn’t challenge her, but I sure as hell was going to ignore her. Learning about other crimes would give us either ammunition or leverage against the bankers. BCCI had friends in high places, secret interests in American banks, and who knew what else. It sounded to me like “whatever else the bank is doing” involved the CIA, and Washington didn’t want those details getting out.
“Bonni,” I said, “given the progress we’re making meeting new targets every week and documenting new crimes, would it be possible for us, in accordance with policy, to evaluate our progress every quarter and determine the best course of action based on the facts at that time? Why October?”
Tischler’s eyes turned to daggers. “Listen, Mazur, you’re lucky you’re getting that much time. Everything has a beginning, middle, and end. The end of this operation is further off than I’d like, but you’re not getting a day past the first week of October. End of story.”
No sense in debating. I had nine months to do two years of work, and the only way to do that was to immerse myself completely in my role. Before I even left that hotel room, the gears in my head were spinning.
Around the time of the conference, indictments hit Noriega — and then the front page of every major newspaper. The story led every national news broadcast, and from behind the scenes I knew that Massachusetts senator John Kerry’s subcommittee on terrorism, narcotics, and international operations was homing in on the BCCI–Noriega connection.
Less than two weeks after Noriega’s indictment, I walked through the large glass doors at BCCI Miami with a smile and another red rose for the receptionist. Bilgrami was always on edge, but, as he processed paperwork routing $1.2 million through Geneva to Panama, he revealed that he was feeling more skittish than ever. He said that the U.S. was pushing European countries to sign amended mutual legal assistance treaties that could lead to sharing bank information from countries like Luxembourg and Lichtenstein that otherwise had strict bank-secrecy laws.
I laughed nervously. “Boy, if those two havens are affected, I would be just shocked. There would be no place left to go. Where would you — what would we do?”
Bilgrami looked at me as though I were a child. He always coughed up more when I played the naive student to his experienced professor. “Unless we go to the Far East — Hong Kong and Bahrain would be sort of … Bahrain is also pretty safe, I would think…. Bahrain, they’re good, you know. One thing: the laws are very simple, and there’s no laws there basically. I mean, it’s a good center.”
Good. If he thought I was a narc, he wouldn’t suggest that he hide my funds in safer places.
Pushing business out of Panama minimized future BCCI problems there. Influenced by its Saudi ownership, BCCI had substantial branches throughout the Middle East, including the micro-kingdom of Bahrain, nestled between Saudi Arabia and Qatar. I wondered how many other clients moving tens of millions in hot money were getting the same pitch to move their operations to the Middle East.
Then Bilgrami asked me to limit my borrowing of funds in Panama to $9 million at a time because, when my loans went over that amount, “the board will ask all kinds of funny questions … which you don’t have any answers for.” He also addressed the topic of my clients. “We are not interested in your clients. You are the one dealing with them, so we’re doing everything according to the book, as you might say…. It is clear-cut, defined policy of the bank, like all other banks, to keep an arm’s length from these transactions.”
And then he backed himself into admitting that he knew my clients’ funds came from drug sales. “It’s very clear,” he said. “I mean, the law in the States is that if you’re taking cash from a, from an individual, any of your offices … then you have to advise. You have to advise the authorities immediately. Even if it’s five thousand, if you have any inkling that the money is somewhat, uh, not clear.”
Apparently he was having doubts and hedging his bets with me. I had to put him at ease. “As far as I’m concerned, as far as you gentlemen are concerned, as far as the bank is concerned, you’re dealing with me, and that’s the end of the line. But I have a lot of responsibilities to some people who aren’t as reasonable…. And so when you say some of the things … it scares the hell out of me.”
“I, I have to, I have to be, uh, uh,” Bilgrami nervously explained himself. “You see, uh, you, later on when we get to know each other better … I have to, uh, also protect the interest, the interests of the institution. And for various reasons we have to be very careful of what we commit and what we say.”
He admitted, though, that he was only trying to cover his tracks, so I squinted, offered a small smile, and nodded my head while he went on. “Now, as time goes by, and once we are really in tune, you have enough confidence in us and we have in you, you will have found a fine situation. This be different… But I, I have to, I have to protect the institution at all times, and this is … and, uh, that’s what I’m doing.”
“I understand.” I nodded and smiled. “Well, then I feel better. No, that’s all that needs to be said.”
Bilgrami laughed. “Very good.”
A week later in Miami, Awan helped me bounce another $750,000 from the U.S. through Geneva to Panama, but details needed to change, he said. “For the next few weeks we’d like to slow down a little, if that’s all right with you.”
Because of substantial loans from the Panama branch, the bank’s board had a policy of reviewing such account relationships before authorizing additional loans there. To circumvent that policy, Awan suggested he structure future transactions through BCCI Paris. He knew the top officers in Paris well, and besides, France maintained bank secrecy laws unaffected by the upcoming EEC treaty. Plausible, but something else had to be making him and Bilgrami so tense.
I told Awan that I read between the lines of my last conversation with Bilgrami, and it was apparent that “it would be best for us” — my Colombian clients and me — “to get into a posture of allowing some funds to sit for a period of time with you, so that we aren’t dealing with a situation as we have it right now.”
“That’s exactly right,” he said.
In other words, BCCI didn’t mind taking millions in dope money as long as I increased the bank’s balance sheet and left substantial deposits in their vaults. Easier said than done, though. I was lobbying with Mora to convince the cartel to leave some of their money on deposit, but I couldn’t count on that. I’d have to pressure Customs to get authorization for government funds for deposit. If that didn’t happen soon, Awan and Bilgrami might discount me. Real international money launderers have a massive bankroll and can accommodate such a request easily, and they know how one hand washes the other. I needed to play that game, especially since the heat was on BCCI for their escapades in Panama.
Awan explained why things were particularly difficult. “You may have been reading the press about this Noriega indictment. And for some reason, BCCI has been named as one of the banks which were doing all sorts of things…. We’re in good company because we’re named along with Bank of America, Citibank, Chase … you know, the big boys.” Given these events, he and Bilgrami thought they “might be asked more questions than usual … that we might slow down for the next couple of months. Let the dust die down a little bit.”
I agreed, and he again suggested Europe. “If you happen to be in Paris, let me know. I’d like you to meet some of our people there, because, if you start doing any business from there, their general manager and the manager of the branch, they’re both very good friends of mine…. The general manager is an ex-boss of mine, but he’s, you know, he’s a laid-back sort of person.”
I couldn’t satisfy Awan with deposits, so I offered him the only other thing I had: my understanding of the game. “All I want to do is see to it that I enhance the clear understanding of the perfectly normal business needs for the matters that we are handling, and therefore I will do whatever it is that I need to do in order to assist you in that regard.”
“Thank you very much.” Awan smiled. “I appreciate that.”
Each time I demonstrated loyalty to BCCI, he rewarded me with new information about the bank’s role in the underworld. “One can foresee especially if the bank’s name is summonsed. One could foresee a subpoena … you know, and I’m being hauled up before the Congress or before a grand jury, and this, we don’t want that to happen.” He had just been in New York and was trying to put out a fire related to a subpoena for records of transactions carried out by BCCI Monte Carlo for Adnan Khashoggi, a billionaire Saudi arms dealer allegedly involved with Oliver North in the Iran-Contra affair. BCCI Monte Carlo had wire transferred $100,000 for Khashoggi, but they were attempting to spin the transaction as business as usual.
At the end of the meeting, Awan and I agreed to slow down the pace of our transactions; I would bring no more than $2 million per month to him for Panama accounts controlled by my clients in Medellín. I had to produce stable, long-term deposits before BCCI provided me with the first-class treatment normally offered to the underworld.
On a quick side trip to Philly, after leaving Miami, I called Steve Cook, my supervisor. “Like I told everyone during our last weekly meeting, we need to get D.C. to loosen the purse strings. We need $5 million we can offer BCCI to be placed in safe interest-bearing accounts. That’s what they want. Their quid pro quo to launder money is deposits. I never wanted headquarters running this case, but as long as they’re now supposedly leading this operation, they need to do the right thing. Between you and Mark [Jackowski], you guys should be able to convince Tischler to sign off on this, and she has friends in D.C. who can make it happen. If we can get this money, the doors at BCCI will open, and we’ll get a front-row seat to watch what they do for people like Noriega.”
I paused to let the name sink in.
“Besides this $5 million, there are a few other things that would really help. I’ve been spending a lot of time in Miami, and the cost of hotels is more than it would be for a high-end rental. I’d like the okay to rent something on Key Biscayne so we can wire the house and get good-quality recordings of discussions with the bankers — Alcaíno and anyone else who comes through Miami.
“The other thing that would help a lot is some expensive jewelry. Alcaíno is a jeweler. Wearing a big-ticket watch and ring would go a long way. I understand there’s a men’s five-carat diamond ring and a Rolex President that were seized, and they’re just sitting in our evidence vault. Would you work things out so I can use that from now until the end of the operation?”
Steve took a long hard drag on his cigarette. “I hear you. I’ll get Ladow” — Joe Ladow, the assistant special agent in charge in Tampa — “on board. We’ve already got the support from the regional office in Miami. Between them, me, Ladow, and Jackowski, we’ll get it done. But you need to slow your ass down, Mazur. You’re not making a lot of friends in the front office.”
“I never wanted to be one of them anyway. This case is more important than a career. As long as friends like you watch my back between now and October, I’ll deal with payback later.”
As soon as I got back to Tampa, Alcaíno called to say he was coming to Miami and wanted to get together. I hopped a flight, rented a Jaguar, and met with Kathy Ertz and the Miami coordinating agent, Matt Etre. I had discouraged Matt from surveilling our targets when I met with them in the area, but this was an exception. Alcaíno was flying from New York with a contact from Argentina who was going to catch a flight back to Buenos Aires. It was a perfect chance to identify one of Alcaíno’s South American connections.
Alcaíno had told me he would be staying at the Hilton Hotel near the airport and to meet him there at 10:30 P.M. Kathy and I arrived, but there was no sign of him. I called Joaquín Casals, Alcaíno’s right hand, who confirmed Alcaíno was staying at the Hilton. A tense half hour later, Alcaíno called to say he was at the Marriott Miami Airport because the Hilton didn’t have any rooms.
Something was up.
Before Kathy and I got back in the car, I asked the Hilton receptionist if they were booked up.
“No, sir, we have plenty of rooms this evening.”
Something’s definitely up.
“Okay,” I whispered to Kathy, “Alcaíno just lied to us. There could be a reason he wanted us to hang out in this lobby for a half hour. We’re headed to the Marriott to meet him. I’ll get word to Matt where we’re going, but we may be on our own. Matt and the other guys may still be at the airport trying to identify Alcaíno’s friend flying to Argentina.”
At the Marriott, Alcaíno was waiting outside, all smiles. Every detail, every hair on his head was perfectly in place. You’d never think he had just flown down virtually the whole eastern seaboard. After a warm welcome, I excused myself to make a quick call and asked him to keep Kathy company. At a lobby pay phone, I told Matt where we were, and, by the time I rejoined Alcaíno and Kathy, surveillance had us in their sights.
We hit one of Alcaíno’s favorite spots, Cats nightclub at the Mayfair in Coconut Grove. Kathy got him on the dance floor and talked his ear off, showering him with compliments that pandered to his intelligence and wit. Business would come the following day when I pressed him to allow me to manage some of his fortune.
We partied until 3 A.M., then worked our way back to Alcaíno’s hotel. Just before parting, I pulled him aside. “Roberto, I value your friendship and wisdom. I’d like to talk privately with you tomorrow about something very important to me. I appreciate our business, but your friends down south are putting me at risk by asking me only to move money from here to their accounts. I know you can help to keep this thing going. Right now I need more from you than promises.”
“Don’t be so serious, Bob.” He smiled. “You have much to be happy about. You have a beautiful and cordial wife and a wonderful future with us. Meet me here tomorrow morning by ten, and I’ll bring good news that will have you smiling again.”
There was that unorthodox definition of “wife” again.
The next morning, at a palm tree–shaded table by the pool — recorder rolling — I gave him an accounting of the money I had laundered for him during the last month.
“Roberto, I’d definitely like to get more of your business…. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out we did a million dollars last month, divide that by 12.5 per unit” — $12,500 per kilo of coke — “that’s only eighty [kilos], and I know that’s not where you’re coming from….
“Number two, I absolutely have got to do something to bring back into balance the requirements that have been put on me by some of my friends, one of the more important banks that I’m dealing with, and so I look to you for some action in the way of doing something on an investment — and not just talking about doing it…. Why don’t you leave 20 percent of this money to sit for six months, and then we’ll continue to take care of you. Otherwise, I don’t know. We’re gonna have to close the volume down a little bit.”
For a few seconds, Alcaíno stared away, his head tilted. He was weighing my request. “Okay. Let’s say, let’s start doing — whatever money that I give you, you can put 10 percent aside for that.” He would have gone for a higher percentage, he said, but he had $5.7 million of cocaine hidden in Spain because someone in that operation had been arrested, and no one knew if the worker was talking. Even though he had eager buyers, he couldn’t risk moving it. “You have to be very careful. Europe is very delicate. That’s why the money’s better there…. Here it’s twelve right now” — the wholesale price in thousands of dollars per kilo. “It’s twenty-seven in Europe.”
Then more good news. Alcaíno was dumping a lot of his drug money into an apartment project in downtown L.A., and he had decided to funnel all of it through me. He would immediately give me $600,000 to put in certificates of deposit as collateral for a loan to finance the work, with more to follow, as well as another half million to disguise as a construction loan for improvements on his Pasadena Hills home.
