The Accountant's Story (12 page)

We ran away, not wanting to answer questions about the cash we were carrying. Maybe running wasn’t such a good idea. The police stopped us half a block away. “Somebody told us you were involved in the accident,” they said. They frisked us, but just casually. They didn’t find the money. Pablo denied we had been in the van. He explained innocently that we were just plain tourists from Colombia. The police locked us in the back of their police car and returned to the scene. This was a dangerous situation for us. The police did not know who we were and definitely we did not want them to check our identities. We didn’t know what the government had on file about us. We had to get out of there.

The police made the mistake of leaving a nightstick in their car. We were able to use that to reach into the front and open the locks. We opened the door and got out of the patrol car. We ran. We took a taxi back to the hotel and got out of there with our belongings, spending the night at the home of a friend. Otto and Pinina stayed at the accident and paid the owner about $10,000 cash, much more than the cost of repairs. But to be careful we left Florida the next morning.

We went to Washington, D.C., and did the tour of the FBI Building, we visited President Kennedy’s grave, and we had our pictures taken in front of the White House. I remember that Pablo was fascinated by the FBI museum, particularly the guns belonging to the famous criminals like Al Capone and Pretty Boy Floyd. From there we went to Memphis to see Elvis Presley’s house, Graceland. Pablo Escobar and Elvis Presley, the two kings! Pablo loved Elvis’s music. He played his tapes all the time and used to try to dance like him. “Look at me, Colombian Elvis!” While we were there he bought the entire collection of Elvis’s music—and years later when we submitted ourselves to arrest that collection was one of the things he took into the prison with him. When we left prison we couldn’t take it with us, which Pablo always regretted. Somebody stole it.

Our families went home and Gustavo, Pablo, and I went to Las Vegas. We had arranged for more than $1 million in cash to be waiting there for us. We stayed at Caesars Palace for five days, and I actually won $150,000 playing blackjack. We had an American friend who made all the arrangements for us, and he was the one who introduced us to Frank Sinatra, who was singing at the hotel. Supposedly our friend, who did big real estate deals, told him that we were important real estate investors from Colombia. It quickly became obvious that Sinatra thought we were involved in the Mafia, but I don’t know if he knew of our involvement in the drug business. I have absolutely no knowledge if Pablo and Sinatra did any business. There are stories, but I don’t know the facts.

I know that we had dinner one night with Sinatra and our translators in a private room in the back of a restaurant. It was an honor for us. When I met him I actually had goose bumps, but I had to be cool to maintain my position. During dinner Pablo told Sinatra that we were going to make a helicopter tour the next day and Sinatra asked to come with us. The next day Frank Sinatra became our guide as we spent about an hour and a half flying all over the area. This is the Colorado River, this is the Grand Canyon. He showed us all the scenery.

We got some of his albums signed by him—and lost those too when we escaped from the prison.

Supposedly, after Pablo became infamous our friend who had arranged this got a phone call from Sinatra. “I’ve been watching TV,” he said. “Is that Pablo Escobar the guy we met in Las Vegas?” I don’t know what happened after that, but I guess Sinatra said very firmly that he didn’t want to be associated with Pablo. And until now he never has.

It was a great life we were leading. We had to be careful with our actions, but nothing like what it would soon become. Although none of us knew it at the time, the wars had actually begun in 1979, when the United States and Colombia signed a treaty that declared drug trafficking a crime against the United States and permitted Colombian traffickers to be extradited to the U.S. It was that law that changed everything.

Four

I
KNOW THAT AS THE PRESSURE ON
P
ABLO INCREASED
, as people who had profited from him betrayed him, to protect himself and his family and the business, Pablo became vengeful against those who deceived him or his organization. But for as many people who will tell you that Pablo killed someone himself there are as many who say that he only gave the orders. Pablo wouldn’t kill anybody himself, and of that I am sure. The Lion remembers being there when Pablo made his decisions. “When Pablo talked it was an order. Everybody knew that what he said was going to happen. So he would say, ‘You have to kill this guy,’ like it was nothing. He would say it as if he was asking for more water. But I never saw Pablo doing anything himself. None of the executives ever saw that.”

There are people who tell stories about things they supposedly saw at the Hacienda Napoles. George Jung, the original partner of Carlos Lehder, said that he was at Napoles when a man was brought there by two bodyguards. Later Jung was told the man had been caught providing information for the police. This man believed that if he had escaped his whole family would have been killed so instead he gave himself up. Jung claims that as he watched, Pablo got up from the table, walked over to the man, and from a few feet away shot him in the chest.

This is typical of the stories told about Pablo, but like most of them I don’t believe it to be true. I know what the world believes about my brother and I know his legend has been built on tales of brutality like this one. People have their reasons for telling these stories. And I know that when I protest against them people think that I am protecting my brother. But I am telling the truth as I know it to be.

The violence was always part of it, but it was never the soul of Napoles. Napoles was Pablo’s favorite home, it was his finest possession, it was loved by the family and all our friends, and it was a place unlike any that had ever been built in Colombia.

Hacienda Napoles was a drive of several hours or a brief flight from Medellín. Far enough away from the problems, and the people, of the city. Pablo and Gustavo bought the land and began building their dream kingdom in the late 1970s. It was ready in 1980, almost 7,500 acres of beautiful land, with a river running through the property. The land was spread over two departments, or political regions. Eventually it would contain several houses in addition to the large main house, a complete zoo opened for free to the people, as well as some runways for airplanes to do business. For someone who had been raised as simply as he had, Pablo somehow understood and appreciated great quality in all parts of his life. And Napoles was the fulfillment of all his material passions.

There are two things that everyone who was ever there remembers: Above the entrance gate he had mounted that first Piper airplane that he used in the business. He believed that airplane had started his fortune. After passing through the strong security at the gate, people would drive on a winding road past fields of lime trees, lemon trees, and all sorts of tropical fruit past the open meadow with several thousand grazing purebred Braham cattle, for almost two miles until they reached the zoo. The zoo was another crazy dream of Pablo’s that came true. Who builds a zoo at his house?

This was a real zoo with many big animals, including hippopotamuses, rhinoceroses, giraffes and ostriches and elephants, emus, a pink dolphin, zebras, monkeys, and a kangaroo that liked to kick soccer balls. There were also many types of exotic birds. Pablo loved birds, especially parrots, and wanted to have a male and a female of every species. He had a favorite parrot, Chinchón, who could name most of the great soccer players of Colombia. However, Chinchón also liked to sip whiskey and would fall asleep. Unfortunately, one evening she fell asleep on a table and one of the cats ate her. After that Pablo prohibited cats from Napoles—even big cats like lions and tigers.

Pablo bought the animals from the circuses that performed in Colombia as well as from the United States. It was legal to buy them in America, but not legal to import them into Colombia without a special license. Bringing those animals in from America was a big problem, a very big problem. How do you smuggle a rhinoceros? Pablo was careful, and a veterinarian traveled with each animal to advise our keepers about the proper care of the animal. Usually they were landed on our business runways and transported by our disguised trucks to Napoles. One time, though, a rhino arrived illegally in Medellín but it was too late to drive it to Napoles. The journey would take them through guerrilla territory and they did not want to make that trip at night. That left Pablo with a great problem—how do you hide a rhino overnight? Even in Medellín where people have become used to some unusual sights that was hard to do. It was suggested they put it in a private car garage and so that’s what they did. The truck put the cage inside this garage and a keeper stayed with it. The family kept its car on the street that night, although they could not explain to anyone that it was necessary to do so because there was a rhinoceros in their garage. The next morning it was put on a truck and driven to Napoles where it joined the herd. There was a whispered saying that came from that: “If he is willing to hide an illegal rhinoceros there is no question he would hide cocaine anywhere.”

The only animals that I kept at Napoles were my horses, my beautiful horses. From the time I was a boy I have loved riding and when it became possible I started buying horses to ride and to breed. Pablo didn’t share my passion for them, he never bought one for himself, only for the ranch. But he would often joke with me, “Oh, what a beautiful horse. You spend all your money on these expensive horses. That’s a crazy thing to do.”

I would respond to him, “You know, Pablo, at least I enjoy riding my horses, but you and all those animals . . . You don’t enjoy the animals. Try to ride a hippo and see what happens.”

Pablo did keep some horses at Napoles. He had four horses that pulled a silver carriage slowly around the property, and he also had miniature ponies to entertain the children who visited.

The zoo at Napoles was open for the public to enjoy. Pablo explained to a Medellín newspaper, “Napoles zoo belongs to the Colombian people. We built it so that children and adults, rich and poor, can enjoy it, and owners cannot pay for what is already theirs.”

One day three years after the zoo had been open an official document from the Institute of Renewable Resources arrived and told Pablo he possessed eighty-five animals and he did not have the proper license: “This is all illegal. You have these animals without permits. What are you going to do about it?”

Pablo was polite. “Please, if you want, take them,” he said casually. “But you know the government doesn’t have the money to feed them all and take care of them. So you should sign this paper and I’ll take care of them.” The government fined Pablo about $4,500 but left the animals at Napoles.

In addition to his real animals, Pablo had five full-size cement prehistoric animals, including a T. rex and a woolly mammoth, all constructed for the children to play on them.

Beyond the zoo were the houses. There was intense security on every part of the property, some of it easily seen, but more of it concealed. No one could get through the gates to the house unless they were cleared personally by Pablo. If you didn’t have an invitation the armed guards turned you away. Even if people did have invitations the guards faxed them to the house for Pablo to check. Near the house was a lighted runway for the transportation planes to land. By the runway was Pablo’s collection of cars, and among them was an old bullet-holed car that he told everyone had belonged to Bonnie and Clyde and an old Pontiac that supposedly had belonged to Al Capone. The Bonnie and Clyde car had been sold to him by our friend in the United States who introduced us to Frank Sinatra. Frank Sinatra was real, I wasn’t so certain about those cars.

By the main house were the lighted tennis courts, swimming pool, and basketball courts, the outdoor dining areas, and the game room. Everything for pleasure that could be wanted was there. The river on which we often held races with wave runners, spaces to play soccer, and long open pastures for my horseback riding and hiking. There were stables where the riding horses were kept, even a bullring where visiting matadors entertained our guests. For transportation and to race we had cars and motorcycles, some of them with sidecars for passengers, we had Jet Skis, boats, even hovercraft.

The houses offered even more pleasures, swimming pools, Jacuzzis, large dining rooms, a theater for watching recently released movies, even a discotheque for parties. The professional kitchen was always open and if we wanted a special meal in the middle of the night it was prepared for us. The meals were so nicely prepared that for each meal there was a menu. During the meals Pablo would move among the tables, sitting with his workers, his guests, his bodyguards, and the family. He would stand up and recite poems, which he loved, or even sing tango music from Argentina to the music that seemed to be always playing, just like he always loved to sing opera in the shower.

Every member of the family had their own bedroom and bathroom on the first floor, which were named for the letters of the alphabet. The second floor was the private floor where Pablo and Gustavo lived. There was always noise and life going on in the house. It was always fun. Pablo liked to have people around. He would sit with Gustavo or the Mexican relaxing and sometimes they would bet a lot of money. They would bet 50 or 100, but that meant thousands of dollars and they would not bet on the usual winning or losing, but instead it would be $100,000 if at 1:27 of the first half Nacional had the ball. The money meant nothing to any of them. There was more than they could spend.

The parties were like those of Hollywood or even better. The performers would be the best singing groups from Colombia as well as all over South America. The most beautiful women were at these parties, the beauty contest winners. People from business. Artists. And, always, the people he worked with in the business. There was no better place for the politicians of Colombia to raise money for their campaigns. But remember, at that time Pablo’s true business was still hidden and he was accepted by the public as a successful real estate investor.

There was also business done at Napoles. When those public crowds were gone, Pablo quietly entertained important people for the business. This included Colombian politicians, government leaders from nearby countries, people on the upper levels of the operation. This was one place where everyone could relax in complete privacy and safety. Flights to transit points took off from the runways. One incident I remember well was the afternoon an old friend named Walter came to visit. When Pablo was just starting out in contraband he had earned $10,000. This was right at the very beginning. “Do me a favor,” he had told Walter in 1973. “Hold this money for me. I’ll ask you for it in a couple of weeks.”

When Pablo needed the money he reached out for Walter—who had taken the money and moved to the United States. He had disappeared. Ten years later Pablo was informed that Walter had returned to Medellín. Pablo said to a friend who knew them both, “Tell Walter you’re going to invite him to a nice farm for the weekend. Tell him it’s going to be a great party. But don’t tell him it’s me.”

Walter came to Napoles. When he learned he was on the ranch of Pablo Escobar he was shaking worse than leaves in a hurricane. They brought him to the dining room, which easily sat fifty people. But only Pablo, myself, Walter, and the person who brought him there, our cousin Jaime, and an aunt and two daughters were there in the big room. “Long time no see,” Pablo said. “How are you?”

We were laughing to ourselves to see this guy shaking. He’d stolen money from the wrong person.

Walter could barely speak. “I’m sorry for the $10,000. I’ll find a way to pay you back. Just give me time, please.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Pablo said casually; his whole attitude was not angry. Then Pablo asked one of the bodyguards, “Hey, please bring me my gun.” Pablo’s favorite gun was a big Sig Sauer. When the bodyguard returned Pablo stuck the gun in the waistband of his jeans.

Walter’s eyes popped open. “Are you going to kill me?”

Pablo’s exact words were, “No, listen. I don’t kill anybody for money, and especially you because you were my friend when we were kids.”

They ate lunch, but naturally Walter didn’t eat too much. After, Pablo offered to show him around the ranch. “That’s okay,” Walter said. “I already saw around.”

“Come,” Pablo said.

“I don’t want to go, Pablo.” He was afraid to leave the dining room.

Pablo insisted, and when they stood up Pablo touched his gun. We thought Walter was going to jump through the ceiling. Pablo showed him his collection of beautiful cars, but still sometimes touching his gun. When they finished Pablo said, “Come to my bedroom upstairs. I want to show you something.”

Walter was convinced that was where he was going to be killed. As they walked up the stairs Pablo asked him what he was doing. “I have a taxi in Medellín that I drive. I just bought a house. I promise, Pablo, I’ll pay you the money little by little.”

Instead, when they reached the bedroom Pablo opened up a suitcase filled with cash. He reached and took a pack of bills. I don’t know how much it was, but a lot. “Here,” he said, handing it to Walter. “But listen to me. Don’t ever ever steal anything from me again, because I won’t take it.”

Walter was crying, but he wanted to get out of there. He couldn’t believe Pablo would let him go. He did a kind of walk that was really running, and went back to Medellín with the money Pablo gave him. We never heard a word about him again.

What made our lives change forever was Pablo’s decision to run for the Congress of Colombia. This was to be the beginning of his campaign to become the president of our country. At no time did he believe his business would prevent him from having a political career. The tradition of corruption was very strong in Colombian politics, many of the country’s elected officials had accepted his money without complaint, and he also knew from experience that the leaders of other Central and South American countries were doing business. Even in America it was well known that the father of the beloved JFK had made a fortune from the sale of illegal alcohol. What all of these men had in common was that they had power before they were elected, military or financial. Pablo had the financial power. He believed that once he had the political power his career in the drug business could be put away. The whole idea of getting involved in politics seemed very bad to both me and Gustavo. We were very much against it. In the business we were in, the last thing you want is attention; in politics, attention is first and necessary. I predicted it would cause us great problems. “Don’t do this, Pablo,” I told him. “That’s the biggest mistake you are going to make. We should stay calm and quiet.”