Mr Nice: an autobiography (63 page)

The next time we met, Juan and I were running low on hashish. He suggested that I arrange to get some sewn into a pair of trousers and mailed to him. I asked Marcus to do it. A couple of nights later, some
funcionarios
marched into Juan’s cell. A scuffle broke out. There was the hiss of teargas spray, and whines of pain echoed down the metal corridors. Other prisoners banged their doors with their shoes. The
funcionarios
marched back, still scuffling.

‘Juan, Juan.
Qué pasa
?’ I yelled.

‘
No lo se, Marco Polo. Son unos hijos de puta. Todos. Pero no se preocupe. Así es la vida. Adiós, mi amigo, y suerte
.’

Poor Juan. They’d obviously busted the dope, and he’d given the
funcionarios
some lip when he’d been confronted. I never saw him again.

My first wife, Ilze, had a friend, Gerard E. Lynch, who was Professor of Law of Columbia University, New York. He was an expert on RICO and had published extensively on the subject. He sent me articles. I understood RICO. For an appropriate consideration, he would be delighted to come to Madrid and explain RICO to the Audiencia Nacional.

Katz brought in the documents of evidence from Miami. There were over ten thousand papers, two thousand of which were transcripts of telephone taps on my phone. It didn’t make for comforting reading, but there didn’t seem anything there that clinched it for the prosecution. The evidence made it obvious that most of those charged had been up to some sort of skulduggery, but exactly what was open to interpretation. No major player was grassing, and I felt sure that none would. Numerous defences were leaping to mind. This could even be fun. Let’s beat them again.

At the beginning of December, I was called in front of the
junta
. Although my walks with Juan had made my Spanish quite proficient, a Nigerian junkie prisoner had been summoned to act as my interpreter. Each member of the
junta
rose and shook my hand.

‘
Ah. Señor Marks. El Marco Polo de las drogas. El famoso. Cómo está?
’

‘I am well,’ I replied, ‘but why have I been put on Artículo 10, and why am I still on it?’

‘Because, Señor Marks, the DEA say you are the leader of an armed gang.’

‘I am not,’ I protested, ‘and never have been. I hate violence.’

‘We have made our own investigation and drawn our own conclusions,’ said the head of the
junta
. ‘We agree with you. In one week you will be released from Artículo 10 and sent to a normal cell block. Good luck, Señor Marks.’

I was thrilled. I wrote excitedly to my children and my parents. No more visits through glass. The tide was beginning to turn.

Well, it was trying to, but the elation was short-lived. Just before Christmas, Gustavo came to see me. In an unprecedented and deeply suspect move, the judges appointed to hear our extradition had all been replaced. Gustavo’s friend was no longer on the panel of three. The head judge would now be Orbe y Fernandez Losada, a strongly pro-American
look-alike to General Francisco Franco, whose daughter had lost her life through a drug overdose. We couldn’t have been landed with anyone worse. Gustavo explained that Judy should still get bail, but he had lost much of his confidence. He suspected that the Americans were somehow behind the appointment of Judge Orbe y Fernandez Losada.

Judy’s bail was denied. She and the children would not be able to share Christmas together. Deep sadness threatened again, but instead I was besieged by furious anger, the like of which I’d never experienced. I could understand the DEA wanting to give me a hard time: I had decided to pit my wits against them, and I was fair game. But why do this to my children and to my wife, whose only crime was to be mine? Why is the DEA so sadistic and inhuman? How can they happily and deliberately cause innocents to suffer? In the name of what? I must always remember that the DEA are evil. They began as President Nixon’s Mafia, in many cases not even agreeing with the crazy drug laws they so zealously enforced. But these laws gave them, and continue to give them, the excuse to be cruel and powerful bullies. Lock up the women and make them cry. Make the little children scream.

The DEA can’t be forgiven for this. They know what they’re doing. I hate them. I’ll fight them until I fucking die.

My children came to visit me. I could touch them, hug them, and kiss them. They seemed to be holding up so well and displaying such resilience. They gave me strength. Masha and her boyfriend, Nigel, were with them. There was something strange in Nigel’s eyes. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he was just unhealthily stoned or tired.

I was out of Artículo 10 and housed in a clean cell in a normal cell block. There was a view of fields and mountains and fences and gun towers. Daylight poured through, and there was a light to use at night. I knew no one, but many of the prisoners and
funcionarios
had heard of me, and I quickly made friends. There was plenty of hashish. Personal
possessions of all kinds were permitted. Each day I’d spend a few hours walking in the
patio
, improving my breathing and my Spanish. Most of the time I spent doing yoga and examining the ten thousand pages of evidence from Miami. Marcus and Gustavo came to see me frequently. These visits were always through glass. Once Gustavo came accompanied by someone I’d not met.

‘Howard, this is the lawyer of Roger Reaves. This visit of ours gives you and Roger the opportunity to talk to each other. He will be here any second.’

Roger ran up to me.

‘Boy, I wanna snitch on you. Do you mind if I snitch on you? I’m sorry to come out with it just like that. Lord! I’m sorry, Howard. It’s so good to see you. Man! You look healthy. Thank the Lord. How’s Judy and the kids? I think Marie’s going out with another fella.’

‘Everything’s okay, I guess, Roger, but Judy didn’t get bail.’

‘She didn’t! Man, those sons of bitches ought to meet their Lord.’

‘What’s this about snitching?’

‘Here, let me explain to you. I’m going to tell you right now. I’m going to be extradited to Germany before the US can put a finger on me. Thank the Lord. It’s true. Ask my lawyer. That’s good for me. I’ve been talking to some Germans here in my cell block and once I’m convicted there, provided I plead guilty and get a light sentence, I get put into a prison that’s real easy, I mean real easy, to escape from.’

‘So why do you need to snitch on me?’

‘To get a light sentence. I’ll snitch on McCann too. I’d like to do that. You could do the same deal, Howard. Get extradited to Germany, and snitch on me and McCann. We could escape together and go to South Africa to grow pot. Then we could sail it to Canada. Forget the US. I have good buddies in Canada. We’d get a good price. That’s for sure.’

‘But I didn’t really do anything in that scam, not that
concerns Germany, anyway. I haven’t been charged by the Germans.’

‘You will be once I snitch on you.’

I burst out laughing.

‘Okay, Roger, snitch on me, but only if none of my other plans work.’

‘What! You have a plan to escape from here! Funnily enough, I’ve been thinking the same thing. Ain’t that something? We need to get some jewellers’ string, that stuff which cuts through bars. I asked Marie to put one in the next food parcel. I don’t know if she will. She’s weird these days.’

‘I was thinking of my plans to beat extradition in court, not escape.’

‘You won’t beat it, Howard. Not the US. You have to deal with them. Make them think you’re giving them something. Then they give you something. That’s the way it goes. The Feds don’t lose. They get whomever they want. Believe me.’

Gustavo, who was unashamedly listening to all this conversation, interrupted.

‘Mr Reaves is wrong, Howard. The Americans do not always succeed in extraditing who they want. They did not get Ochoa. They will not get you. And (this is good news for you, Howard, I know) they will not get Balendo Lo. I have just called Bernard Simons. A partner in his firm represents Mr Lo. The British authorities have refused to extradite Mr Lo. Today, Mr Lo is a free man.’

‘That’s great news, Gustavo. Is it for sure?’

‘Bernard himself told me. Bernard is, of course, only too glad to testify for you at the extradition hearing.’

‘I still think the Feds will get him,’ said Roger. ‘They always do.’

Gustavo indicated he wanted to see me privately. Roger and his lawyer went their separate ways.

‘The Audiencia Nacional have agreed to allow you and Judy to have a conjugal visit. She will be brought to this prison at the beginning of next month. She will stay two hours.’

Every Monday at about 11 a.m., a prison van brings five or six female prisoners from Centro Penitenciario de Yeserias to Alcala-Meco to meet their incarcerated husbands and boyfriends. The males patiently wait in a holding cell, clutching a pair of freshly laundered sheets, a pack of prison-issue condoms, and a thermos flask. Each couple is taken to a bedroom and left to their own devices. Judy looked well and wonderful. The cancer of despair had gone, and her humour had returned. She seemed fairly optimistic about her chances of beating extradition, and daily life in Yeserias had been made more bearable by her having made a couple of good friends. Marcus’s visits were keeping her in touch, as well as providing her with what comforts were allowed. Much was discussed but little decided. We made love. It was amazing. Just as well. It was going to have to last for several years.

Gustavo came to see me the same evening. I was still full of my visit with Judy and didn’t notice his glum demeanour at first.

‘We might have to try completely different tactics, Howard.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘The
acción popular
has been denied. It is possible to appeal, of course, and I have asked my friend to do so, but no one understands how the court could have ruled against us. During the proceedings it emerged that the DEA had formally complained about the way you were manipulating the Spanish press for your own ends. The Audiencia Nacional responded by making an order preventing you from being interviewed by journalists. So much for the freedom of the press.

‘As if that isn’t enough, the Audiencia Nacional have refused to allow Professor Lynch, the RICO expert, to address them at our extradition hearing and are not permitting Bernie Simons to testify that you have already served a sentence for one of the charges. The Audiencia Nacional have even refused my most harmless and reasonable request to have a
stenographer present to transcribe the proceedings at our expense. We are appealing, but the situation is quite outrageous. You are not being given the protection of the extradition law of this land. I have never heard of such a thing before in all my years of practising law in Spain.’

‘That means I’ve had it, Gustavo. I’m going to be extradited, aren’t I? And Judy. There’s nothing else to do.’

‘Howard, as I’ve said all along, Judy’s case is very different from yours. These court rulings do not significantly affect her position. And you must not lose hope. We still have much we can try.’

‘Like what?’

‘We must initiate an
antijuicio
. This is a formal denunciation of the judges who have denied your constitutional rights by not allowing you to present evidence to dismiss the extradition warrant and by not protecting you from being questioned by the DEA in their own courtroom last November. Once you commence the
antijuicio
, provided it’s not frivolous (and this certainly isn’t), the court is legally bound to call its proceedings to a halt. Eventually, the higher courts at least will rule that you must have your constitutional rights and be allowed to present your case against being extradited. It will take time, but in the meantime you cannot be extradited, and if we can keep the courts tied up until two years after your arrest, you will be set free anyway.’

‘It sounds good, Gustavo, I agree. Is it bound to work?’

‘No. There is a chance that the
antijuicio
won’t be looked at by the courts in time. If that happens, you must publicly refuse to recognise the jurisdiction of the court. This will give you another avenue of appeal against any decision of the Audiencia Nacional to extradite you. Please don’t worry, Howard. We will win. But I must admit, there’s an awful lot of pressure from the Americans, and they are corrupting our justice system. It won’t be easy.’

‘Why doesn’t Spain have the balls to stand up to the Americans?’

‘It’s not just Spain, Howard. I am leaving some papers with you, and you will see what has happened in Pakistan, the Philippines, Holland, and your own country. The Americans are having it all their own way in this case. No country has the balls to stand up to them. But don’t lose hope. We will do whatever has to be done.

‘I will probably not see you again until the extradition hearing, which takes place at the Audiencia Nacional in one week. Remember not to recognise the court’s authority to deal with you. Oh, by the way, the Audiencia Nacional has ordered Roger to be extradited to Germany.’

Gustavo was right. The Americans were really throwing their weight around. The
Sunday Times
reported that Benazir Bhutto, Pakistan’s newly elected prime minister, had explained the country’s problems as a legacy of the previous Zia ul-Haq regime’s tolerance and encouragement of drug trafficking. The United States was considering giving Bhutto a $4.02 billion aid package. Robert Oakley, the United States Ambassador to Pakistan, met Benazir Bhutto and emphasised America’s desire to put Salim Malik on trial. America wanted him to be the first man ever extradited from Pakistan to the United States. Benazir knew the deal: no Malik, no aid. In a shameful abandonment of its justice system, Pakistan agreed to give up Malik. Those DEA megalomaniacs Harlan Lee Bowe and Craig Lovato had got their own way.