The Accountant's Story (21 page)

On this particular night Pablo had eaten dinner with his family. After putting his children to sleep he went secretly to a farm about ten miles away. At 5:30 in the morning a bomb was exploded, destroying Monaco. It was a huge bomb and woke up half the city. This was the first bomb of the war that was to shake Colombia. I was staying about two miles away. After the explosion awakened me I went immediately to the building in which my mother lived. The police there told me, “Nobody knows exactly what’s going on. Everything here is fine, but people are saying it’s a bomb.” We had all seen bombs on TV, but the experience for us was new. From there I went right to Monaco. A policeman stopped me a few blocks away and told me a bomb had exploded at Pablo Escobar’s building. I was stunned. A bomb? That was not the way the government worked.

When I got to the building it was destroyed. I started helping the police move broken doors and windows and debris. We found María and the two children, all of them safe, but crying and afraid. The ceiling had collapsed around the baby crib in which Manuela was sleeping, and it took rescuers some time to reach her. I called the bodyguards and they took the family to safety.

I went to see Pablo. “I’m going to tell you something,” I said. “But don’t worry, everything is fine.”

“I already know everything,” he said. How so quickly, I wondered. And then he told me, “And I already know who did it.”

He explained. Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela of the Cali cartel had called on a special phone number about a half hour after the explosion. “Pablo,” he said, “I just heard somebody put a bomb in your building.” This was the first news about the bombing that Pablo had received, but he didn’t give that away. I know, he said. Rodríguez said, “I already sent somebody to see if you’re okay and your family’s okay. Are you at the building?”

On the streets people were already saying this bomb was the work of the DAS, but Pablo knew the truth. Cali had planted this bomb. This bombing attack on his family was something that shook him. But all he said was that he was going to confirm what he believed.

It didn’t make sense to me. At times we would be doing business with Cali. We had even kept money in a bank they owned. Some people had worked without problems for the organizations in both Medellín and Cali. But Pablo felt certain about this.

Later he was able to confirm this claim. Knowing the country as well as he did, Pablo felt very definitely that it was impossible for the bomb to have been built in Colombia without him knowing about it. It had to have come from elsewhere. He remembered that a good friend of his that I will call Reuben had been in jail in Spain at the same time as Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela, one of the Cali leaders. So Pablo made contact with Reuben, who told him that a member of the Basque guerrillas, the ETA, this person I will call the Maker, was also in jail at the same time. “I remember Orejuela talking to him all the time,” Reuben said. “The Maker was well known for being part of the ETA and he was a specialist in bombs and weapons.”

Reuben said that “after I got out of jail I was in Cali to pray at the town of Buga. I was in Cali and I saw this guy in the dining room of the hotel and he didn’t even say hello.”

For Pablo, Reuben agreed to try to get in contact with him. It was discovered that the Maker was in Colombia trying to make contacts to buy cocaine to bring to Spain. Anybody who wanted to be in the cocaine business knew about Pablo Escobar. So when the Maker got invited to Napoles he was happy to come. Pablo started talking to him. Definitely the Maker was having a nice time in that wonderful place. Finally Pablo said to him, “I heard you were in jail with a friend of mine. I need you to do me a favor. I need you to train some of my crew.” In return, Pablo offered to give him good prices on cocaine, telling him, “I will put more merchandise in Spain very cheap, cheaper than anybody else, but please help me out training my people with the bombs.”

And then Pablo asked easily, “Do you have any experience working in Colombia? You ever work for anyone here?”

The Maker replied, “Yes, as a matter of fact I met somebody in jail a couple of years ago and he brought me to Colombia to train some guys. I told them all the materials that were needed, how to put it in cars, how to activate them.” Pablo asked the name of the man he had worked for. “I trained the Indian, some guy called the Indian, ordered from a guy in Cali. They said they were going to do it against somebody in the government.”

“All right, I’m going to tell you what,” Pablo answered. “I’m going to help you with the drugs. You’re going to train my people. Here is $200,000 in cash to pay your expenses in Colombia. I’ll give you more money, but that bomb was against me.” The Maker was shocked. His face went white seeing he was surrounded by so many armed men, and he thought it was his last day on earth. “Yeah, it was against me, but don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything to you because you didn’t know. What I need you to do is work for me.”

The Maker agreed to do this, because he saw that Pablo was a serious person, and he started training the bomb makers that Pablo was to use in this war. Later he went back to Spain with a different identity and did many deals with Pablo to put merchandise in Spain.

The Orejuela brothers, Gilberto and Miguel, found out that Pablo knew it was the Cali cartel that had moved against him. Gilberto called Pablo saying something like, “Please, patrón, I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Pablo told him. “Come on, it’s too obvious. You called me right away when you put down the bomb. Do you remember your friend”—he said the name—“when you were in jail? We spoke with each other in an honest way. You did it. You started the fight so now be ready to get hit!”

Cali continued the fight. A couple of months after Monaco they did another bombing, this one coming against our mother’s home. At 4
A.M.
they detonated a car bomb. My mother was in bed on the third floor and from the impact a huge picture of the Baby Jesus came down from the wall behind her, protecting her face and stomach, but her feet were uncovered. Some glass came down and cut her. She was brought to the emergency room by her friend Guillermina, who was always with her.

My sister Marina lived on the fourth floor with her husband and kids. She was six months pregnant and was rushed to the hospital where she gave birth to a premature baby. The baby had to live in an incubator for many weeks, but survived. One of the people who worked for her was killed.

On the fifth floor my older sister, Gloria, was wounded with shrapnel and was taken to the hospital. It was fortunate that no one in our family was killed. They destroyed the building and everything our mother owned. All the windows from the surrounding buildings were blown out. Pablo denounced the attack to the media, but the government looked away. The government prohibited the newspapers from printing stories about anything done to Pablo or his family so the people of Colombia did not know what was really happening.

When the war with Cali was starting Gilberto Orejuela hired a gang of very ruthless people of Medellín called Los Briscos. These guys were more into killing for the drug traffickers than dealing with the drugs. The head of this group got in touch with Pablo and said to him, “We are from Medellín so we have nothing against you. But Mr. Orejuela told me he wants to pay me $5 million for your head.”

Pablo said okay, “But you’re going to work for me from now on.” He said he had to get together an army and wanted them to be part of it. Then he said, “Here is your $5 million. I’m going to prove to you how weak Orejuela is. Tell him you need $1 million for the guns to kill me and show him pictures of me getting in my car from a long distance. That way you can tell Orejuela you have tracked me and easily can kill me.” The man was nervous but Pablo told him to go ahead, don’t worry. So he met with Orejuela in Cali and showed him the pictures, and the Cali cartel offered him only $5,000. “See,” Pablo said, “if he promised you $5 million if you were to kill me he would pay you only $2 million or something.” That was when Los Briscos started working for Medellín. Los Briscos realized that Pablo didn’t care about saving money like Cali did. And that made them want to work for Pablo.

But for Pablo that was also the last evidence he needed that the Cali cartel wanted to kill him. The question that never was answered completely was why Cali started this war. There are many who believe it was simple business: Pablo was making so much money and Cali wanted more for themselves. The American DEA said Medellín controlled 80 percent of the cocaine going into America. But other people believe it was the opposite; Cali controlled New York and Chicago and Medellín had Miami and Los Angeles. Then Pablo decided to do business in New York. So he sent Champion, the Lion, and Jimmy Boy to open up New York for Medellín. Maybe that started it.

Or maybe the war was started because Jorge Ochoa was arrested going to Cali and in return Rafael Cardona from Cali was killed.

Or maybe it was because Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela had made strong relationships with powerful government officials. The government never went after the Cali people; instead they were considered
los caballeros,
the gentlemen of the drugs, while we of Medellín were
los hampones
, the thugs, because we used weapons to protect our property. It was said that Pablo liked to fight but Gilberto liked to pay bribes. Even the head of the DEA in New York said to the newspapers, “Cali gangs will kill you if they have to, but they prefer to use a lawyer.”

For whatever the reasons the war started with the bombs. We stayed running, but by 1987 we were fighting against the government and the army of the Cali cartel. And we were winning because Pablo fought back tougher than anyone could have believed.

Seven

O
NE OF THE TIMES
I
CAME CLOSEST TO BEING KILLED
—until I was bombed six years later—was on a Sunday morning in 1987. My son José Roberto and I were in a modest car that would not attract any attention. We drove out of my farm at the head of a line of five cars, each of the others having a driver and a woman lookout. But each car had complete surveillance equipment and my car was equipped with gadgets that I had copied from James Bond. For example, I could press a button and release a cloud of fog so no one could follow me, or spray oil on the road, throw nails on the road or even release six tear gas bombs.

We were traveling on the road to Medellín when two big Nissan Patrols with eight officers in each one signaled for me to get over. When I stopped, these cars pulled in front of me and behind me. At the time this happened I had no problems with the justice system so I had not believed it necessary to use my gadgets. The police could not know that one of my bodyguards in the car behind me was recording the event. They asked me for identification and I handed them an ID that identified me as Hernán García Toro with the number 8.282.751. I wondered if they already had knowledge that I was Pablo Escobar’s brother. The impossible thing to know about the police was whether they were working honestly or in the kidnap business. Or worse, if they were people just pretending to be police. There was no way of knowing.

The police were confused. They told me politely that they were looking for someone else and handed me back the ID. But then another policeman suggested that they take me somewhere so I could be “identified by our friend.”

I was not showing any nervous signs. I have always been a tranquil person. When I got the García Toro ID back I handed it to my son to hide in his pants. Then I signaled him to go into one of the bodyguard’s cars. It was a crime to use false documents and that was enough to send me to prison. We were in the middle of the road, causing a large traffic jam. These police were distracted. Finally one of them came back to me and asked, “Sir, can you give me back the ID please?”

I said, “I don’t have it. I gave it to you and you didn’t give it back. May I have it back, please?”

“What do you mean?” he said. “I gave it back to you.”

I shook my head seriously. “No, you didn’t. You took it away. I haven’t moved. Please, I’m going to see my mother and I would like my ID back.”

It seemed likely that they knew who I was, but they weren’t certain. Finally they put me inside one of the Patrols and ordered everyone else to leave. I nodded, and they got in their cars and drove off.

The police could not know that my bodyguards had recorded all of the police so we could identify them. A bodyguard called Lorena got into the car I had been driving. Under the seat there was a walkie-talkie tuned in to Pablo’s frequency. Lorena called Pablo and informed him of what was happening. She gave him the police officers’ license plate numbers. “Don’t worry,” Pablo told her. “Try to follow him, but stay away.”

They drove me around for a few hours. When we stopped, two men with their faces covered like bank robbers came over to the car. One of them looked at me and said, “He is Roberto.” I was pulled out of the car and told to walk with them. I thought, This is the end.

They led me to a trail. It was about eleven o’clock at night. I remember looking into the sky and thinking, There is no moon tonight. I was resigned to my fate. It was freezing and they weren’t talking. Finally I asked, “What are you going to do with me?”

“We’re going to kill you,” one of them said.

“That would be the end for you too,” I said. I lied, “My brother already has your pictures and recordings. When we stopped, remember that red BMW? It took your pictures. By now my brother has all of your information.”

They couldn’t know if I was telling them the truth. They began speaking with others on their own walkie-talkies, trying to figure out what to do. They decided, “We aren’t going to kill you. We just want $3 million.”

We negotiated. In the forest, on a cold moonless night, we negotiated the value of my life. I told them I could only give them $1 million, but later we settled for $2 million. “I need to make my call to my accountant,” I said. We returned to the police car and they drove me to a pay phone. I dialed a number that reached only Pablo wherever he was. “This is Roberto,” I said to him.

“Can you talk?” Pablo asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you kidnapped?” I told him the situation. He said he already had a lot of information from Lorena and they were learning more from the video. Phone calls were being made to the police working for us and within a short time we would know the identity of the kidnappers. He told me not to try anything, the money was nothing for my life. Then he told me to put the kidnappers on the phone.

The kidnappers thought they were going to speak to my accountant. I watched as the color drained completely from the face of the one on the phone. I knew that Pablo had told him, “This is Pablo Escobar. I have all your information. You are responsible for my brother.”

We drove on country roads while we waited for the ransom to be delivered. As the night passed some of the police left us supposedly to go to places where the money might be delivered. I wondered if some of them had decided that kidnapping Pablo Escobar’s brother wasn’t such a great idea. I finally spoke with Pablo and he told me Carlos Aguilar, El Mugre, would organize the delivery. Two more policemen waited at that place.

We drove off another time. I was in the back seat with three policemen. I had established trust with these police, because we had stopped to eat and they had allowed me to use the bathroom. I kept looking for a way to escape, but I couldn’t find one. I was still fearful that once the police had the money in their pockets they would kill me.

At four in the morning we were parked, waiting for the money to arrive. I knew exactly where we were, as it was a place I had suggested for the money delivery. It was a road I had traveled often from my farm to the city. After a half hour the cop sitting right next to me behind the driver had fallen asleep. I waited until the driver looked to be yawning, then jumped on the sleeping cop and grabbed his machine gun. I pointed the gun at the cops and told them to get out of the car. Now I was in control. I made them all crawl under the car, then I shot two bursts into the air and took off running toward a nearby river I knew very well. I threw the cartridge into the river and tossed the gun away, then crossed the river and escaped into the safety of the jungle.

I had saved my own life. By noon I had arrived at the farm of a friend and called Pablo. “Where do we need to send the money?” he asked. I told him the story. He scolded me for risking my life for a few million, but he was grateful that I was alive.

I never learned the fate of those policemen.

Most of the time, though, I personally wasn’t involved in the violence. Although to be safe for a few years after that I traveled with as many as thirty bodyguards.

My brother had become a general leading his private army against the government of Colombia and the Cali cartel. He did what needed to be done for victory and sometimes it was very brutal. Too many innocent people were killed in this war. Drivers, bodyguards, cooks and maids, people walking on the street, lawyers, women shopping—thousands died in the bombings. But it’s important to remember this: Pablo didn’t start the bombing. Cali and the police continued placing bombs against us. Pablo, for example, owned the most beautiful farm I have ever seen; it was called Manuela and it was located in the Peñol. It had every luxury imaginable, soccer fields, tennis courts, horse stables and cow barns, even a wave pool with water slides. The police arrived there and looted everything, from beds to family pictures, putting it all in trucks. The caretakers were tied down and then they blew everything up. Pablo denounced the police to the government, but nothing was done.

Our mother had bought a small farm known as Cristalina with her own pension money from being a teacher, and they came there and tied up the caretaker with his wife and small children and blew up the house in a thousand pieces in front of them. Pablo had a mansion in El Poblado near a country club. Our enemies killed the two caretakers and they blew it up, including huge sums of cash hidden there. As always Pablo protested to the government but he was ignored. In addition to some cars kept at Napoles, Pablo had a famous collection of classic cars and motorcycles that he kept in a warehouse in Medellín; he had about sixty cars there, Fords and Chevrolets from the 1920s and the car that supposedly had belonged to Al Capone. Our enemies killed the guard and set fire to the building, destroying this irreplaceable collection.

Pablo began his war to defend himself from our enemies by transforming his sicarios plus dozens of other men into a trained force. The pilot Jimmy Ellard testified in court that he told Pablo that the security was not good: “And the best thing you can do is employ American Green Berets.” He had contacts in America to accomplish that, he said. Pablo said thank you very much, but informed him that he had hired his own military people to do the training. Later it was learned that these were Israeli and British mercenary soldiers hired to train people in the methods of warfare that would be necessary.

The first targets were a chain of drugstores called La Rebaja that were owned by the Cali cartel. There were thousands of these drugstores around the country and in the months after we were attacked eighty-five drugstores were bombed. Because of Cali’s bombing attack the war had spread onto the streets. People could not travel safely from Medellín to Cali as every visitor became suspect. Sometimes people found in the wrong place would just disappear.

The police and army focused their war on drug traffickers only against the Medellín organization. Secret police squads terrorized the city. They were responsible for many deaths, including innocents. These were the people who would drive through the barrios machine-gunning the young men standing there. Some of the survivors would be taken into custody to the Police School Carlos Holgüin, where they would be tortured to find out if they knew where Pablo Escobar was hiding. Most of these young men didn’t even know Pablo, and a few days later their bodies would be found thrown in the streets. Their crime was being poor. Outside Colombia I’m certain people wondered why there was such support for the drug lords who were killing the police. This was a reason why.

Just being in the streets was often the reason people died. The brother of the girl with the pretty legs borrowed the car of a friend of his, for example. He didn’t know that person was wanted by the police, so when they saw this car they shot it up and killed this innocent person. It was at this time that the bombings of the CAIs and the shootings really got going.

I also believe that the state also took advantage of the public fight between Medellín and Cali by blaming Pablo for crimes he didn’t commit. There were many bombs during that period that the police said Pablo had placed that he had absolutely nothing to do with. We know Medellín was blamed for deaths that we had nothing to do with. So Pablo used to say, “If the government is putting the blame on me and I know we didn’t do anything, it could work both ways.” Meaning they could be blaming Cali for crimes they did not commit.

It was in the interest of the government to encourage conflict between the two organizations. The more we attacked each other the better for them. In 1989 at the airport in Bogotá, for example, presidential candidate Ernesto Samper was attacked and was shot seven times—although he survived and years later became president. Samper supposedly was friendly with the leaders from Cali. Because of that he was the kind of politician who might have been attacked by Pablo—but the real fact is that Pablo was not involved in this assassination attempt. Regardless of who did the shooting, the government blamed Pablo for it.

The first big attack on the government to cause major change in their policy took place in August 1989, during the political campaign for president. Six men were running for that office, but the most popular was Luis Carlos Galán, one of the founders of the New Liberals. It was believed he would win. This was the same man who had denounced Pablo as a drug trafficker years before when he served in Congress.

At a campaign rally in the town of Soacha, about twenty miles from Bogotá, Galán was starting his speech to about ten thousand people when several shooters hiding machine guns behind posters began firing at him. He was hit in the chest and died right there. Many other people were hurt. In Colombia this killing was compared to the terrible assassinations of the Kennedys.

Many people had reasons for wanting Galán dead. He campaigned hard against all the drug traffickers and promised that if he became president he would follow serious extradition policies. In Congress he had blocked a bill that would have banned extradition. So everyone in the drug business could not afford for him to win the election. The DAS said the mastermind of the assassination had been Gacha, who was killed four months later. Pablo was not named.

Galán also promised to fight the left-wing paramilitaries if he became president, so those organizations had reason to want him dead. The wealthy families who controlled the life of the country by supporting friendly politicians were not happy that Galán had promised to open the government to the working people. He also had promised to reform the politics of the country so the politicians and police could not take money from the drug traffickers and emerald companies to look away while they did their business. So all of those people would have suffered if Galán had been elected president.

It took eighteen years after this assassination until Alberto Santofimio Botero, who was also running for president, was convicted of ordering the killing of Galán. The jury in Bogotá found him guilty after listening to the testimony of one of Pablo’s main sicarios, who said that Santofimio thought that by eliminating Galán he would become president. The election of Santofimio would have been good for the drug traffickers because there would have been no extradition. The reason for the assassination was that Santofimio “was removing a political enemy from his path.”