Coincidence - Alan May [8]
“How many guardia?”
“Six. Always the same. A pickup in front with two, the cocaine in the van with two more, then another pickup behind with two more. They all got rifles.”
“So how you gonna take the stuff from six armed guardia?”
“My secret! I been working on it for three years. Juan says they take the same route every two weeks—says there’s a place close to ocean there where we can do it. We do it with five guys and one more on the boat.”
“Okay. Say you get cocaína on boat, how you gonna keep the cartel off your back?”
“We ain’t gonna leave no witnesses. And by time they find out the coke’s missing, we gonna be over sixty miles out to sea. They’re not gonna be looking for us in the ocean.”
“But they gonna be looking for a stolen boat, no?”
“No.”
Stefano shook his head, smiling.
“That’s the beauty of the whole thing,” he said. “We gonna take the boat from somewhere in Costa Rica or Nicaragua. They won’t know nothing about it in Colombia. So, Esteban, you in or not?”
“Stefano, you still loco. If the cartel finds out, we dead meat. I mean goners. I gotta ask some questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“You got six hombres working the job. Who are these guys—can we trust them?”
“It’s my idea. I’m the boss. Juan’s gonna take care of all the details, so you know that’s gonna be okay. You gonna be a gun. Then Severo Carrillo and Polo del Valle, two more guns. Severo, he’s strong as an ox, and Polo—well, you know Polo. Phillip Ransburg—he’s a gringo, but he’s okay. I worked with him before. He’s gonna handle the boat, and he knows boats.”
“Hermano, how big this barco gonna be?”
“At least sixty feet long, and fast, too, eighteen, twenty knots maybe. It’s gonna have everything.”
“How far is this island?”
“Easter Island, it’s about nineteen hundred miles west of South America.”
“Just one more thing, hombre. How we gonna split up the money?”
“The stuff is worth somewhere around a hundred million. Me and Juan get half—that leaves fifty million divided by four for the rest of you.”
Esteban let out a low whistle. Twelve and a half million—tax free—wouldn’t be a bad start for his new life.
“What if we get mareado?” he asked.
He started to snicker. He could see the six of them hanging over the railing of the boat, too sick to care that they were brand-new millionaires. His wife had always told him he had a weird sense of humor.
“Juan and I been sailing all our lives—Phillip, too. No problem. If you get sick it’ll only be for a couple days.”
Stefano decided to press the question again.
“That’s it. You in or not?”
“Give me a day.”
“No! I gotta know now. Juan’s coming at eleven and we gotta make plans. Last time: Sí or no?”
“It’s chalado to go against the cartel, but what the hell—why not? Sí, I’m in.”
Promptly at eleven o’clock Stefano was called to the meeting room, a small room with a table and two chairs where an inmate and his visitor could sit and do paperwork. A bored-looking guard stood at the door but he couldn’t hear anything provided you kept your voice low.
Juan visited Stefano every month, always on the fifteenth, always at eleven in the morning. Detail was an obsession with him. Everything had to be in place and had to be perfect. Stefano knew the planning part of the job was in the best possible hands.
You could tell the two men were related. Juan had the same profile as Stefano, the same long, pointy nose. He was a couple of years younger than Stefano, early forties, and his hair was still very black. He was sitting at the table when Stefano entered the meeting room at a couple of minutes past the hour.
“Hey, Juanito, cómo estás?”
“Great. Everything’s cool. How’s with you?”
“It’s good; we gonna do it.”
“I was hoping you say that. Last Thursday was exactly the same again, same time, same route, same everything. Esteban is in?”
“He’s in. Thinks we nuts for taking on the cartel, but he’s in. You talk to the others?”
“Talked to all three yesterday and they all in. Severo, he needed a little persuading, but I got him to come around.”
“I bet you did. Tell me about last week’s run.”
“They still