Bogotá, summer 1971
The first I knew something was happening was when Otilia shook me awake.
‘Hurry, get up and get dressed. You’re going out with your father.’
I didn’t need telling twice. I had come to learn very quickly that this must mean something exciting would happen and I wasn’t disappointed at missing my lie-in. I jumped out of bed and got ready as fast as I could.
Dad, as usual, kept his cards close to his chest, only offering just the hint of a smile when I asked what we were doing. I imagined he didn’t want to tell me in case I let something slip to Mother and she put a stop to it. We jumped in the Chevrolet with Martinez and Barandiga, while the team of security officers provided their escort.
As we headed out of Bogotá, I sensed something special was in the offing. We rarely drove out of town and I started to feel my excitement build. We drove for a few minutes until we arrived at a small airfield not far from the city’s perimeter. We drove into a fenced-off area and at the sight of two helicopters five hundred metres away, their rotor blades slowly turning, I jumped forward.
‘Are we going in those?’
Dad just smiled. The first helicopter was a small machine that had room for two passengers squeezed next to the pilot. The second chopper was much bigger, a UH-1 ‘Huey’ green army helicopter with the Colombian flag on the tail. It was soon full and started to take off. I sat, transfixed, mesmerised by the noise. A soldier opened the car door, reached in and picked me up with both hands. Dad and the bodyguards were already hurrying towards the helicopter. By the time the soldier had carried me across the grass, battling the wind, my father was already in position by the pilot. The door slammed shut and, in seconds, we were airborne. The ground rapidly retreated as we rose, effortlessly, towards the clouds. There was a small window in the floor, and I loved looking at the tiny houses below us. The pilot and Dad had communication devices and it was obvious that they were engaged in a conversation. I didn’t care, I was just transfixed by the world whizzing by beneath my feet. The bigger army helicopter was ahead of us and one of the soldiers rested his feet on the exterior machine gun mounting. His helmet with the dark visor made him look like a giant insect.
Soon we left the urban sprawl of Bogotá far behind us and were soaring over the mountains. There was little time to admire the view. The chopper lurched down into a deep valley, plunging us into thick, low cloud. The precarious descent was no fun, and I clung to my seat, though the blind-flying only lasted a few seconds before we broke through the cover and, to my relief, we were soon almost clipping the tops of the trees as a seemingly endless carpet of green stretched out into the distance.
The tone of our machine changed to a much deeper sound, and I watched as the ground closed rapidly. A small clearing was now visible and some small figures waved orange flags at us. Suddenly, we were on the ground, in what looked like a large garden with a white, bungalow farmhouse at the end of a path that led to our landing area. As everyone jumped out I was nervous about following, scared that the blades would take off the top of my head. I needed a little encouragement to climb down. Dad was already on the grass, striding to meet several men who appeared from the farmhouse carrying a large, tin box.
I watched as the men noisily crammed the box under the seat I had just vacated.
‘What’s that?’ I shouted at Dad.
‘Just something we have to collect.’
That was typical of Dad – answering the question while still keeping me in the dark.
The bungalow, I could now see, was surrounded by landscaped gardens and thick shrubbery. Two men directed us away from the path to the side of the bungalow and a little walled garden. We were obviously expected, as our host, who did not readily identify himself, introduced us to a man and a woman waiting in the garden. As soon as I saw them, I recognised the man. I had met him in Medellín . . . not the one I’d spoken with a year before but his friend, Silvio.
‘Ah, it is so good to see you, young Felipe.’ The woman I assumed to be his wife was slim, with bouffant dark hair. She had a warm smile. ‘Do you remember being here before?’ Silvio said.
I looked blankly at Dad. ‘Where even are we?’ I said.
‘Girardot,’ Silvio replied. ‘You like flying here? I nodded. ‘It is a lot better than those mountain roads. Probably safer too,’ he said, looking at our armed guards.
‘He is too young to remember. It was a long time ago,’ Dad said to Silvio. To me, he added: ‘I drove you out here once before. You were very little.’
‘Not so any more,’ Silvio said, stepping back as if to admire me. ‘My friend will want to know how big you have grown. Let me take a photo.’
I knew that Silvio was one of Dad’s people and I was used to a fuss being made but, as Silvio got his camera there was something strange about it all. He asked me to pose for a picture. I looked at Dad for reassurance and he nodded. I did as I was told but it felt a bit set up.
I could tell when Dad’s meetings were for pleasure as well as for business. On the golf course or at the house he was content to while away the hours over a whisky once the work was concluded, but not today. He was now plainly itching to get out of here. Almost as soon as Silvio had taken his picture, Dad motioned for us to head back to the helicopters. This time we departed before our military escort and, in a few moments, we were heading back into the clouds.
As soon as we landed at the airfield, two men wearing the familiar, dark-blue uniform of De La Rue approached and took the box to an armoured truck. Our little convoy headed into Bogotá and I noticed the truck veer off in the direction of Avenida de Las Américas and De La Rue’s head office. I could only guess at what was inside that box but it struck me that it was another successful pick-up for what must surely have been the world’s most extravagant courier service.
Once we were back at the house I peppered Dad with questions. Why did he take me on that trip? Why did we meet Silvio and why had Silvio wanted to take a photo of me?
Dad sighed and sat down beside me. ‘One day I will explain all of this to you,’ he said. ‘For now, just know that I had to fulfil a request from someone I do business with, which meant meeting Silvio. I knew it was a trip that would be safe enough for you to make and I thought you would enjoy having a trip on a helicopter.’ I nodded vigorously. ‘As for the picture, Silvio met you some time ago, with some other people, who will be surprised to see how much you’ve grown.’ He paused before adding, ‘Sometimes you have to do things in business that you’re not entirely comfortable with but it will help in the long run.’
‘But who were the people who want to see my picture?’
Dad stood up and raised his hand. The conversation was over. I bit my tongue. I would have to wait for the time, as Dad said, when he would explain to me the significance of all this.