Cocaine Confidential (6 page)

 

The Caribbean has been turned back into one of the world's major cocaine battlefields by the US-inspired crackdowns in Colombia and, more recently, Mexico, which have forced cocaine shipments to once again journey through the region. Coke traffic in the Caribbean is expected to increase further in the coming years, unless effective measures are implemented to curtail these latest smuggling operations.

Many describe the Caribbean as being ‘the vortex of the Americas' because this region provides a bridge between North and South America. Its islands are easily accessible by sea and have excellent air links to the metropolitan cocaine markets such as New York, Miami, Toronto and London. In short the Caribbean is characterised as a ‘haven for smuggling'.

Besides Colombian and Mexican trafficking groups, other South American coke gangs from Brazil, Bolivia and Venezuela have also once again started using Caribbean countries as transit points for their cocaine in recent years.

The majority of this cocaine flowing through the Caribbean arrives by sea via freighters, fishing vessels and yachts as well as other types of boats. In an attempt to avoid radar detection, cocaine smugglers also deploy go-fast or cigar
boats. Made of lightweight fibreglass, they are extremely fast and highly manoeuvrable. Then there are the narco-subs, self-propelled semi-submarines capable of concealing 5 to 17 tons of illicit drugs. Although difficult to distinguish on the horizon, narco-subs are much more easily detectable by air patrol.

As a result, resilient traffickers have recently financed engineers to create the Narcotorpedo, a hollowed, submersible vessel resembling a torpedo towed by boat. If the mother vessel is ever successfully detected by coast guard officials, the Narcotorpedo is cut loose and – equipped with a floatable transmitter – is relatively easy to recover later.

The Caribbean nations of Guyana, Suriname and French Guiana are among those now functioning as major crossroads for cocaine shipments headed to Europe and Africa. Island smugglers also capitalise on the inlets and rivers leading to the Atlantic between Venezuela and the north-west region of Guyana to transport cocaine. In the Eastern Caribbean, the smaller islands are being used as stepping-stones towards the bigger markets of Puerto Rico and the US Virgin Islands, both designated by the America's Drug Enforcement Agency as ‘High Density Trafficking Areas'. Corruption at the highest levels, money laundering and related drug activities are playing a big role in helping get the shipments of cocaine through the ‘official channels'.

Cuba and the Bahamas have always been ideal drop-off points for cocaine. Over 4,000 keys spanning the 4,800
kilometres of Cuban coastline provide cover for speedboats, fishing vessels and light aircraft originating from Colombia, Venezuela and many Caribbean locations, often en route to southern Florida. Further north, local police rarely have sufficient manpower and resources to effectively patrol the vast spread of uninhabited islands and cays of the Bahamian archipelago, which are closer to the US mainland.

Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago have also over recent years emerged as major transit points for cocaine. The South American and Mexican cartels exploit the proximity of the islands to Venezuela in order to transport coke on to other Caribbean islands, where it is then moved to North America or across the Atlantic.

But there is a disturbing ‘spin-off' caused by the cocaine gangs using the Caribbean as a drugs stop-off shop. Crime and gang violence have drastically increased in virtually every Caribbean country. The overall murder rate in the Caribbean stands at around 30 per 100,000 population, one of the highest homicide rates in the world. Some of the more heavily populated islands have transformed into narco war zones as local gangs expand their revenue-producing occupations to include kidnapping, human trafficking, firearms trafficking and organised crime.

Meanwhile, the South American cartels have employed dozens of carefully located ‘representatives' discreetly working out of the smaller islands, where they oversee the exportation of the drug. These characters are so discreet that they
melt into the background of local communities, thanks to carefully nurtured cover jobs.

However, I managed to track down one such character for a fascinating look inside this virtually unknown side of the cocaine trafficking business.

Jez, 58, is no stranger to the inside of a prison cell. He's served time in the UK, US and Spain for coke smuggling but insists he has no other means of making money. These days he specialises in running the white stuff up from a small Caribbean island, either into Florida or across the Atlantic to southern Spain. He openly admits snorting coke every day of his life and outwardly promotes it in much the same way potheads sing the praises of cannabis.

‘This is my idea of paradise,' he says. ‘Everything's low key here. No one knows what I do for a living. They all think I'm running an upmarket bed and breakfast, which I am. But a B&B wouldn't earn me the sort of money that coke does. In fact it helps me keep this business afloat.'

At home on this small Caribbean island, by his pool, Jez recalls the good old days, when he used to help smuggle massive quantities of coke from the Caribbean to Europe.
‘Those days are long gone 'cos the Yanks came down in full force on the Caribbean twenty years ago. The only reason I can run this outfit from here is because the Americans have now eased up on their monitoring operations because they believe the Caribbean has been closed off. They don't seem to realise it's in the middle of a comeback.'

Back in the mid-1990s, one of Jez's's regular ‘gigs' was to organise a shipment over from Cali, Colombia, to Jamaica, where it would be hidden onboard a yacht and then sailed across the Atlantic and, eventually, all the way up the Thames to the middle of London.

‘Today, I'm just the linkman,' he says. ‘The product comes in here usually on the same sort of yacht we used to cross the Atlantic all those years ago. But these days I simply organise the transfer of the coke to another boat or sometimes we use a quiet airstrip on the south of the island to fly the stuff up to Florida.'

Jez sometimes keeps an ounce of coke for himself as part of the deal and says, ‘That usually keeps me going for a bit.' He admits he is hooked on the stuff. ‘I know, I know. It's stupid to get high on your own supply but I've always been rather partial to a snort. I guess in some ways that's what got me into this game in the first place.'

He continues: ‘I was working in a marketing company in London, going to work every day in a suit and tie but I was already hiding a coke habit. I hated the 9-to-5 life, so one day I got talking to my dealer and he put me in touch with an old-fashioned London villain, who started giving me some
work as a dealer after I convinced him I had some great contacts. I had some rich mates and they were soon buying coke off me in big quantities.'

Jez soon got into the ‘transport game' as he calls it and began making regular trips down to Spain to pick up shipments of cocaine. ‘I'd pick up the coke in a Ford Transit van and glide past customs at Dover without a care in the world. If anything, it was all too easy and I got too cocky then
bang!
I got nicked and ended up serving five years in prison.'

But inside prison in the UK, Jez soon made friends with a bunch of hardened south London villains, who asked him if he wanted to join their firm when he was released. ‘They had some very big ideas about cutting out the middle-man and going straight to the Colombians. God, how many times have I heard that one, eh? It's a lot easier said than done.'

Jez agreed to base himself in southern Spain, from where he dealt directly with two of the Colombian cartels. ‘At first it was all very civilised,' explained Jez. ‘Then a shipment of coke worth about £500,000 went missing. The Colombians went ballistic and blamed us and we pointed the finger at them. Trouble is, we both didn't trust each other, so it was always going to end in tears.'

Within days of the feud flaring up, one of Jez's team of Brits was shot dead in the street outside his house in south London. ‘The Colombians were then given the £500,000 to try and end the row,' explains Jez.

‘A few weeks later we switched to another Colombian supplier for obvious reasons but when the old crew of Colombians
found out we'd dumped them, they were so angry they got me nicked by the Spanish police after I'd picked up a load of Charlie from a yacht anchored in a small port on the Costa del Sol, near Gibraltar.'

Two years in Málaga's notorious Alhaurín prison followed. And, as ever, this provided Jez with ‘a load more useful contacts'.

He remembers: ‘This time I got in with a bunch of Colombians who had a “vacancy” on this island and that's how I ended up here.'

He continues: ‘It couldn't be better here. I simply organise the transit of the shipments of coke and completely keep out of the day-to-day stuff. Sure, I'd be in big shit if one of my shipments went missing but I get paid a massive handling fee and the Colombians are, crossed fingers, extremely happy with me. They never show up here because their presence would be flagged up immediately, as it is a very small place.

‘I've managed to buy this house, start the B&B business and live comfortably without making anyone round here too suspicious. If I acted like the rich white man up on the hill, and blinged myself up and drove a flashy motor I'd soon be in trouble. Either the police would come knocking to demand a big bribe or one of the local lads would try and force me off the island, so they could take over my job.'

Twice a month, Jez charters a small yacht and takes it out into the Caribbean and picks up a shipment of cocaine, which he then brings ashore on the island. ‘It's usually kept in a safe house for about a week. Then I charter the same yacht
and sail back out into the Caribbean where the shipment is transferred to another vessel. The Colombians are happy because they feel this is a failsafe system as the most important thing when trafficking coke is to keep it on the move. By switching from one boat then back to the island before going out to another vessel it is creating a very difficult trail to follow.'

Jez has been living on the island for eight years now and he is convinced that his system is so airtight he could continue doing it ‘for many, many years to come'.

‘No one here knows what I do,' he insists. ‘They all see me as some eccentric middle-aged English bloke with a small legitimate business and maybe a hand-out or two from my rich family back in the UK. I am incredibly careful not to talk to anyone about what I do. Even my current girlfriend – a local girl – has no idea what I am up to. I don't even share the coke that I am given when each shipment passes through.

‘The key to survival in this game is obviously not to trust anyone else. If any of the locals knew what I was up to, they'd come up here when I am holding a shipment, slice my head off and steal the produce. D'you realise that just one shipment of coke is worth a lifetime of income to the people who live here? They could live like kings if they got hold of it. I know I have to watch my back.'

Behind Jez's bravado are the eyes of a nervous man.

As he admits: ‘Living life in the fast lane with manic smugglers and trigger-happy Colombians is no laughing matter. I'm very lucky in a sense. There can't be many people who
do what I do and still keep their sanity, not to mention staying alive! Maybe one day a shipment will go missing and then the Colombians will come after me but I like to think I've served all the time I ever will serve and that this is the bit of luck I've been waiting all my life for.'

But ‘luck' is something that few people who earn their living in the cocaine underworld can rely on. They prefer to keep their eyes peeled and not trust anyone. These men have become true legends in the cocaine business …

Chris is one of those legends. He's an American-born light aircraft pilot from Florida who has flown hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of coke from special pick-up points in the Caribbean to the US mainland, usually in nondescript twin-engined Cessna aircraft. Chris refers to the murders, the close shaves and the network of gangs behind the smuggling rings and how he's survived them all with remarkable casualness. He claims he's never had a snort of coke in his life and has no intention of ever doing so. Chris also says he once ‘helped' America's Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) in exchange for immunity from prosecution but they then cut him loose because of the US's obsession with prioritising terrorism.

Chris vividly describes the remote landing strips he's used in the past and how even in ‘honest' America, crooked policemen, politicians and farmers play a vital role in making sure cocaine gets onto the streets of every town and city.

‘My favourite time to fly is just before dawn, when I can speed down the runway without headlights and then simply disappear into the sky,' says Chris. ‘That's the bit I really like. Soaring high above the deserted islands of the Caribbean in a single-engine aircraft. Everything feels free and relaxed up there,' he continues, pointing to the clear blue sky above us. ‘No one can get me. I am in charge of my own destiny. I like that time the best.'

Chris's ‘job' flying shipments for Mexican and Colombian drug cartels is a ‘top level' post way above the usual coke-connected sidelines of dealing, packaging and trafficking in trucks. Often he'd deliver cocaine to a distributor in Central Florida and then head to a small Caribbean island airstrip with sports bags stuffed with millions of dollars, always keeping a couple of six-inch stacks of cash for himself. ‘I'd hand over the cash to whoever and then take off for home. That was always the nicest, most relaxing flight of all.' Within hours, Chris was back at his home in Florida, stacking the twenties and fifties into the safe at the back of his garage.