The Infiltrator, page 20
He gave Howard even greater praise and explained that his faith in his two assistants was such that he let them independently manage more than a billion dollars of client funds at the Paris branch.
I explained how for the past year other BCCI branches had taken millions in funds, placed them in CDs, and let us borrow the bulk of the value of the CDs in another name, and that we’d like to continue that practice.
“No problem,” he said.
Chinoy asked Hassan to join the meeting to handle the paperwork, which I handed to him. Hassan quickly assured me that he would prepare the signature cards and other forms to get the accounts up and running.
“You will find,” Chinoy said after Hassan left, “that we will be much more understanding. If some of your clients have a problem, we will try our best to hide it from the authorities, to give you as much cover as we can. It is in our interest to assist you and your clients.”
As important as it was to bring in big-dollar accounts, Chinoy explained, it was equally important to manage accounts like mine to minimize the risk. He had experience doing just that at Bank of America and Citibank.
Convinced we were approaching the final hook, I gave Emir a prearranged sign for him to leave so Chinoy wouldn’t spook when I went in for the kill. Emir announced that he needed to make a call to Colombia. If anyone was listening or followed up on the call, Emir did in fact call a bona fide money broker in Medellín.
“Nazir,” I said when Emir had left. “The sensitivity with which the funds must be handled, and the confidentiality, is of the most extreme nature. I don’t have to talk any of this, you know, drug dealers in Colombia are the types of people that —”
“Yes, I understood you,” Chinoy interrupted. “I didn’t ask, okay, but I followed the deal.”
For a terrible moment, I sat stupidly trying to remember what I had been saying before he cut me off. Chinoy knew the source of the funds, but a jury had to assess that there was no mistake, that he was willingly laundering drug money. Had he said enough? I wasn’t sure.
“Listen, Nazir, we’re big boys, and you need to know how sensitive these things are. My clients are professionals. The only difference between them and Lee Iacocca is that Iacocca sells cars and they sell coke.” I stressed that I’d like my discussion about their business to remain confidential.
“That’s how it should be,” Chinoy said.
And we had him.
“Well, what do you think?” Emir asked as we walked back down the Champs-Elysées.
“The guy never blinked,” I said. “He admitted that he already realized our money came from Colombian dopers.” As we turned down a narrow cobblestone street, we quietly high-fived each other. We had done it, and we both felt the rush of success — but a dark undercurrent of anger surfaced.
“Those motherfuckers,” Emir snarled after a while. “If it wasn’t for them, the cartel would be powerless. Those assholes are bigger crooks than Escobar and the other killers we’re dealing with. At least they don’t hide behind a lie and claim they are something other than what they are. These guys make me sick.”
“That’s why we’ve got to see this thing through,” I said, visually sweeping the area. “As bad as what this bank is doing, their officers didn’t invent this; they learned it while they worked for other big banks in the world. This is just the beginning.”
Back at the hotel, I took the tape out of the recorder, marked it with my initials and date, and popped the tabs so it couldn’t be erased. Then I loaded a new cassette in case someone decided to pay me a surprise visit.
In an attempt to escape the tension, Emir, Kathy, Linda, and I changed and headed out to see a few sights. We had dinner at a quaint café in the shadow of Sacré Coeur, that strange, beautiful church standing sentinel over the City of Light. This same tiny patch of Montmartre had played host to Modigliani, Monet, Picasso, and Toulouse-Lautrec. As a street musician wandered past playing his tattered accordion, we all exhaled. I couldn’t help but wonder at our luck.
The next day, we took a quick tour of the Louvre. Kathy was resolutely passionate about the art, but by the second hour Emir and I began to flag. As we walked through a collection of Egyptian artifacts, Emir disappeared behind a large statue of Anubis and emerged, serenading us with a distinctly Puerto Rican version of the Bangles’“Walk Like an Egyptian,” flailing his hands like Steve Martin. We all doubled over laughing.
Chinoy had invited us to drinks that evening at his home, a high-end loft in the heart of the city. It was Chinoy’s weekday home. He and his family spent weekends at a house in the countryside. Chinoy’s teenage son, who had the manners and presence of a man, answered the door and escorted us to the living room. While Chinoy was running late, his son engaged us in a conversation about Paris that you would expect from a diplomat.
Five minutes later, Chinoy emerged, sporting a blue-and-red silk paisley ascot and a scarlet silk shirt. He introduced his wife and two children and opened a bottle of wine while asking how we were enjoying our stay. As casual conversation took over the living room, I signaled to Chinoy that I wanted to speak with him privately. We strolled to an adjoining room.
“Some important clients of mine will be arriving tomorrow from Colombia,” I said. “It is possible that I may need a little help to convince them to join the BCCI family. Would you be willing to meet with me and the clients, if I feel they are on the fence?”
“Of course I will help,” he said, as though I had asked a foolish question. “You should know that I have an account executive in my Paris office whom I routinely assign to manage affairs for clients in Colombia. He travels there once every three months and slips into the country with account records that detail the status of client accounts. We encourage the client to allow us to hold those records after they’re reviewed, for their own security. Otherwise they run the risk of their financial picture being discovered by the authorities. If you’d like, I will assign this person to assist you and your clients.”
“Thank you, Nazir,” I said — and I meant it.
No wonder BCCI Paris attracted more than a billion dollars in deposits. The bank not only laundered money but took extra precautions to prevent the feds from intercepting or seizing incriminating records.
As we departed later, Chinoy and his wife asked us to join them, Howard, Hassan, and their families for dinner the following night. We had to accept. He was the key to our new system around the logjam in Panama and the man who would open new doors at the bank.
Time to hit the pay phones. I needed to brief Steve Cook and call home.
Ev was tired of hearing about the case of the century that warranted endless sacrifice. Like Tischler, she was counting the days until October. Government agents prepared for this work in undercover schools, but no one prepared our families, and in the War on Drugs the families of undercover agents often become collateral damage. We had infiltrated the underworld at a level never seen before by undercover agents, and nothing could stop me from doing as much as I could before headquarters pulled the rug out. Silence, pain, and frustration often filled our calls.
“I miss you,” I said.
“I know,” she sighed. “When will you be back?”
“We’ll be in Paris for a few more days, but then we’re off to London. I’m not sure — but we should be back in the States in a week or so — but then I’ve got to hang out with some guys in Miami for a while. How are you and the kids?”
“We’re okay. We’re doing our usual things — work, school, gym meets, dentist appointments, car repairs, and everything else…. Plus, it’s near the end of the school year, so it’s pretty crazy.
“Listen,” she continued after a pause. “I’m done with this case. When you get back, Scott will be at the regional gym meet with the team, and Andrea will be staying with friends. I won’t be here. I’m going to a hotel on Redington Beach for a few days. When I decide which hotel, I’ll let you know. You can meet me there if you want to and if you have the time.”
“Of course I’ll meet you at the hotel. I’m sorry I’m putting you through this.”
“It is what it is,” she said. “When this is over, we’ll see if we can put things back together again.”
After a long silence, we said our goodbyes and hung up.
I stared at the phone for what felt like hours, then shook myself from the sadness overwhelming me. I had to. I was about to face the biggest test of Robert Musella’s credibility yet. What happened next could redefine the War on Drugs.
14
MEDELLÍN INVADES PARIS
* * *
Hôtel de la Trémoille, Paris
May 22, 1988
THE SMELL OF SCOTCH POURED INTO MY ROOM as Mora and Ospiña burst in, all smiles and bloodshot eyes. They had celebrated all the way from Medellín to Paris. Despite the fact that I’d partied with them before, this was behavior hardly fitting two men guarding the gateway to a deadly cartel. Which didn’t stop Ospiña from asking to attack my minibar — the man needed more.
In slurred Spanish, as he rummaged, Ospiña explained that Don Chepe’s people would invest a million dollars at BCCI Paris and four more at a German bank controlled by Armbrecht’s uncle. These investments were little more than a drop in the bucket. The Scotch had lowered his guard, and Ospiña was wagging his tongue, announcing that it was important I convince Don Chepe’s representatives that I had the resources to clean and invest the organization’s money securely. He warned that Armbrecht had a lot of authority. The other man to participate in our meetings on behalf of Don Chepe, Santiago Uribe, a lawyer and consigliere, oversaw much of the cartel’s operations.
Ospiña planned that we all join Armbrecht and Uribe for dinner that night, but Chinoy had already asked us to join him, Howard, Hassan, and their families for dinner. Meeting Armbrecht and Uribe would have to wait. Ospiña fumed. How could I keep Armbrecht waiting? I’d flown to Paris for many reasons, I told him, but he shouldn’t have assumed that I traveled 8,000 miles exclusively for their business. Ospiña needed to know he wasn’t the only act in town.
The Colombians had balls but not scruples — a dangerous combination. But we couldn’t show fear. I had to be as confident, cold, and calculating as them. They sensed fear, always alert to signs that a person wasn’t what he seemed. But at this point friendly fire was more likely to kill us than they were.
Because most of the cartel’s money that was in banks normally flowed through Panama, los duros direly needed alternatives. Money was backing up, and Noriega’s fight with the U.S. was creating a banking logjam. If we could sell our alternate system, we could get a big chunk of their business. It all made sense, but Ospiña was drunk, and we had plans.
Emir took Ospiña and Mora back to their hotel and returned with Mora and Lucy. Other people from the cartel, including Don Chepe, Mora said, would join Armbrecht and Uribe. An important detail. We would be outnumbered, and I needed more intel on their entourage. Don Chepe wouldn’t be traveling without muscle.
Mora also worried that Ospiña’s behavior didn’t sit well with Armbrecht and Uribe. We had to distance ourselves from his stupidity. Mora helped us develop a strategy to deal with Don Chepe’s men. Although Armbrecht, a pilot, normally didn’t involve himself in money matters, his opinions carried considerable weight with the cartel, who held his integrity and intelligence in high regard. His report on our operation would go a long way. We needed to win Armbrecht as we had Alcaíno.
A competitor — a man known as El Costeño Mama Burra — was also arriving with Don Chepe tomorrow. Emir burst out laughing. Roughly translated, the nickname meant “Donkey-Fucker from the North Coast.” The man, known to the DEA at the time as Eduardo Martinez, was considered one of the most influential launderers servicing the cartel. In return for payments to Banco de Occidente officers in Panama, Martinez was laundering tens of millions of cartel money. And he was surely going to try to undermine Don Chepe’s confidence in our every move. According to Mora, if we could convince Armbrecht to keep $1 million at BCCI Paris, then we had become a trusted source for Don Chepe and a threat to Martinez. Mora had put everything on the line for us — including his head. He needed me to win Armbrecht’s trust.
Seven of them and only two of us. Not a good ratio. But we couldn’t afford to ask for backup. If they detected surveillance, we died. We had no guns, no badges, and no authority in France. Only a handful of people at our embassy and French Customs even knew we were in Paris, and they weren’t keeping tabs on us. We had to feel our way through it, one meeting at a time.
While Ospiña passed out at his hotel, Emir, Kathy, Linda, and I joined Chinoy, Howard, Hassan, and their families for dinner. As with every other feast, Chinoy arranged a five-star meal in one of the many exquisite restaurants in Paris. Between courses, Chinoy whispered, “I intend to travel to the U.S. in two months, and I would very much like to meet with you and whoever you think would be appropriate in your group. I think we can do good things for one another.”
“I’m sure we can,” I said. “I would very much like to introduce you to a few members of my ‘family’ who share the responsibility I have with our organization to maintain the security of our financial affairs…. It would be a pleasure to have you as our guest. You’ve been so kind to us…. I feel like we’ve known each other for years.”
“Thank you, Bob.” Chinoy smiled. “The feeling is mutual.”
Time to test a plan Kathy and I had been discussing. We eventually needed to get all our targets to Tampa to end the case. If we didn’t grab them on our turf, they’d run beyond the range of extradition — to Colombia or Pakistan. We didn’t have to set a date now, but we could test the reaction to an event planned for five to twelve months out. All the targets seemed to like us. They thought we were engaged….
“We’re beginning to make plans for our wedding,” I said to Chinoy. “It will be a lavish celebration over a couple of days, and every important person of authority in my family will be there. This will include all the members of our board, if you know what I mean. I know we’ve just met, but I see you not only as a friend but a very important person in the life of our organization. I would be truly honored if you and your family would accept our invitation to join us at this celebration. We haven’t set a date yet, but it could be as early as October.”
“Why, thank you very much,” he replied, seeing a golden opportunity. “We would be honored to attend and wouldn’t miss it for the world. Munira, the children, and I will be there.”
That was easy. Perhaps staging a fake wedding made sense.
After dinner, Howard drove us on a short tour of Paris and through the Bois de Boulogne, the 2,100-acre park on the western edge of central Paris. As we cruised along narrow roads, he pointed out dozens of hookers, who smiled and waved. After an extra long drag on his cigarette, in his proper British accent, Howard said, “You’ll find this amazing, Bob. These are transsexuals, and they migrate to certain areas of the park based on their nationality. So if you’re interested in a he/she from Venezuela, this is your section. Over there, you can find them from various parts of Africa and so on. Utterly amazing, isn’t it?”
Indeed.
The following day, Mora informed Emir that Armbrecht was ready to begin discussions with me. Best to meet him privately first. Ospiña had created a lot of distractions, and Armbrecht needed to focus on the issues most important to us. Six people in a room pushing the conversation in their direction wasn’t going to work. And naturally cautious people tend to withdraw even more when they meet new people in a crowd. Armbrecht needed to know that I, too, was cautious. If he was a real player, he would understand. With Mora’s help, I coordinated a rendezvous in the lobby of the George V hotel, where Armbrecht was staying, a seventeenth-century palace a few blocks from the Trémoille.
Mora had warned me that Armbrecht dressed simply, but he still deserved my best business outfit. Armbrecht knew what I would be wearing, so it was up to him to find me. I found a secluded alcove on the first floor, turned on the recorder, and waited, studying the massive ceiling-to-floor seventeenth-century tapestry a few feet from the Victorian couch on which I was sitting. Armbrecht would have to sit on my right, facing open space. I didn’t want us opposite one another — too confrontational. On the loveseat, my body would be open to him, no legs or arms crossed, nothing to hide.
An unassuming, confident man dressed in blue jeans, cowboy boots, plaid shirt, and brown suede jacket strolled toward me. He sat down next to me wordlessly and offered a smile and a nod of his tilted head.
“I’m sorry we had so much confusion that prevented me from meeting you sooner,” I said.
“Nothing personal,” he replied, after a long pause. “They’re making things a little difficult to get here…. It’s somebody that’s, like, in the middle, and I don’t like him over there.”
He meant Ospiña. His English offered a hint of an accent from his German and Colombian heritage.
“I apologize,” I said. “There was a lack of communication by the people between me and you … but thank goodness we are together now, and that’s what counts.”
“There is somebody that has been in the middle, that’s been in the middle of Mora … and the guy who I wish wasn’t, he has some big personal problems, at best. But he’s letting that go in the middle of the business, and I came over here not to look around, I came over here to get to business.”
“Hopefully we’ll have the pleasure of your company this evening for dinner,” I said. “If you haven’t got plans already, we’d love to —”
“Wonderful,” he said.
“Emilio works with all my South American clients,” I said, diving in. “He helps in translation, as well as for assisting in actually receiving those things we need to receive and ultimately get for the client’s benefit back in the States” — code speak for money for wire transfers.
“Well, Bob, I would like to know a little bit more of the type of arrangement your financial corporation has over there. What are the mechanisms that function, how do they function, and what are the guarantees that could be given to us, one way or the other? Because, if the arrangement is good, and it seems to be very good, the amount of money that we can generate and remove is quite considerable.”
