Ibagué, Colombia, September 1969
Pat was always in a better frame of mind to talk business after he’d played a game of golf – especially if he won. The Club Campestre, Ibagué, was one of his favourite haunts. The tropical climate, some two hundred kilometres west of Bogotá, was more intense but away from the city and his usual Colombian contacts he didn’t feel the heat so much. He and his CIA counterpart, Manuel Noriega, the agent he knew as JB, were confident that no one would be eavesdropping.
‘How is business?’ Pat inquired when they had changed and were sitting on the terrace, sipping their drinks.
‘Booming,’ JB laughed.
‘For who, exactly?’ Pat was always suspicious when he encountered over-confidence.
‘For everyone.’ JB laughed again.
Pat preferred straight-talking but he’d known this Panamanian long enough to let him have his fun. He had always been aware that his agent friend was working for the CIA, providing intelligence on the latest drug shipments. Noriega had been key to helping De La Rue’s armoured car division obtain the right contracts. Now the legitimate cash transportation routes from Colombia through Central America had been established, it would be easy to add a few extra shipments of smuggler cash every now and then, to gain the confidence of the drug gangs. That was the plan at least. However, although they had worked successfully together – most notably on the raid to recover the stolen money – Pat still had his suspicions that JB was double-dealing, manipulative and a self-serving character. Even though they were both in the business of trading intelligence, JB didn’t do anything unless he was also compensated financially. Already on the payroll of the CIA, he also expected to be paid by British intelligence – and that meant by Pat – for anything that benefitted De La Rue and, ultimately, the UK’s interests in Colombia. Maybe that just went with the territory. After all, JB was providing a service. Shouldn’t he be compensated? Probably, but what made Pat uncomfortable was the feeling that JB was looking to make money from everyone he came into contact with – and that included the drug gangs. JB was to introduce him to the heads of these gangs in Colombia and Pat suspected that this would mean another significant contribution being made to JB’s private fund. But would he also be paid by the gangs as well? And, if so, where would JB’s primary loyalties lie?
In Pat’s experience, the best allies were those that had a joint interest in the success of an operation. He believed that his personal relationship with Noriega, close as it might be, might not be enough to secure JB’s complete loyalty. The drug gangs benefitted from JB pulling strings, allowing them access into America and they would not want anything upsetting this little arrangement. Pat knew he would have to keep an eye on JB.
‘So they are already seeing a return on their investment?’ Pat asked of JB’s contacts.
‘Most definitely.’
‘And is the source Pablo Escobar and his gang?’
JB nodded and took a sip of his favourite Scotch. ‘It’s all happening in Medellín.’
‘They’re taking advantage of the opportunities presented to them?’
‘They certainly are. They are nothing if not ambitious. And quite ruthless.’
Pat didn’t need reminding. He might not have had concrete evidence that the incident involving his son was a genuine kidnap attempt rather than someone sending a message or making a bid to get a photo but, even with the added security he had put in place, he wasn’t taking anything for granted. And it didn’t take much for him to think of the attacks on the armoured cars.
‘Can we control them?’ he said.
JB shrugged. He took another swig. ‘I don’t see why not. Control the money and you control —’
‘Yes, I know,’ Pat said, looking out over the golf course as the sun started to dip over the mountains. ‘And we have leverage.’
‘Exactly. We always have leverage,’ JB said.
Pat agreed. It was important to have the means to apply pressure when required. He made sure that leverage existed in all his foreign assignments, particularly when dealing with those who believed they had nothing to lose. He had to admit to himself, however – never had he known it to be so personal. ‘I think it’s time to set up a meeting,’ he said.
JB nodded and drained his glass. ‘With Pablo Escobar?’
Pat took a moment to consider the consequences once again. He’d already given the matter more thought than he ever believed possible. Would he live to regret reaching out to the man who was the natural father of his adopted son? Maybe but, as he always thought, it was better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
He nodded. ‘Yes, with Pablo.’