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***
Off Islas Rosario
Sergeant Kelly Rogers
Only a man of Pablo Escobar's immense wealth and power... plus his penchant for corruption and complete disdain for the law... could build an immense home in what is otherwise a national preserve.
Islas Rosario are a string of coral islands... some quite small... all magnificent in lush vegetation, white powdery beaches, and the teal blue crystal clear waters of the Gulf of Mexico... just a few miles from Cartagena.
The larger islas to the northwest are visited daily by boaters and beach goers. Smaller islas to the southeast, some not larger than a city block, remain isolated. The string ends with this isla of size, well away from frolicking vacationers, where Escobar has somehow built an abode.
As we approach, a sleek frigate begins to converge with our intended path. There comes a radio message taken by Waddy. It is the Colombian Coast Guard... protecting the country? Protecting Escobar? Waddy offers the number of souls on board. When I tell him to stress the name Kelly Rogers, I note the frigate slows. I am expected. After a pause the ship moves off, but remains within sight.
We moor The Crosser D about three miles offshore. Binoculars reveal a sprawling compound, well designed... certainly not visually disruptive.... unobtrusive and most likely not noticed by the unwary. There is a well disguised cell phone tower. With Cartagena just miles away, nothing to impede the relay of communications. Two satellite dishes suggest that the world of technology has not been left behind. No question that Escobar can reign over his drug empire from the seclusion of an otherwise little noticed island. There is a dock, but one must navigate numerous coral reefs, weaving about in shallow waters.
Escobar will never be surprised by visitors.
Renee pretties herself with enthusiasm. She knows not the details of this rendezvous. I have simply explained that she has a date with an extremely wealthy reprobate.
'He'll want me naked,' Renee suggests, the minx coaxing me to be released from the Neosteel belt.
I shake my head, offering a 'nice try' look, and encourage her to doll up to the max. I also offer heels... Escobar's instructions. Renee has been otherwise barefoot for the entire cruise.
The Crosser D has a small row boat. I want Waddy to remain on board, well away from Escobar's henchmen, second half of the web address well in hand, the first half mailed to Lieutenant Roy Duncan days ago.
Then with everything prepared, I send a text to the cell number offered in Escobar's instructions.
'One hour. I have a pretty package of pink for you. Have one of green for me.'
Waters calm, rowing will be easy, the scenery quite pleasant. My last task, writing the web address... www.esco1345681345, on a small sheet to be slipped to Escobar. It will bring focus. He'll be enraged to know I have arranged an unusual form of life insurance.
But it is also insurance for little Renee... as I will explain to Pablo Escobar. The most wanted and dangerous man on earth has assured Renee's well being. I will assure it as well.
***
Islas Rosario
Sergeant Kelly Rogers
Pablo Escobar takes the time to greet us on the dock.
Eagerness? Or does he not want me surveying his curious hideaway?
In caution, he maintains his distance, standing some fifty feet away where the dock greets the coral of the isla. To his right and left are two henchmen, not those in the back of the limousine in New York. One carries a satchel. I assume it is well stuffed with greenery. The other keeps an Uzi at the ready. I must assume the precaution is not concern over the 5 foot 2 inch 118 pound little Renee... stunning in full make up... most provocative in her Neosteel belt.
To Escobar’s rear is a dour looking woman, middle aged, wearing a nurse’s uniform which seems to radiate in the Caribbean sub.
I step onto the dock reach down and extend my hand to assist. Renee is quite unwieldy in her four inch Stiletto heels. Appearing rather incongruous in the tropics... but Escobar insisted.
“Welcome. Thought it would be best to exchange our gifts right here,” Escobar advises, pointing to the satchel.
I nod, fully aware that with a short burst from that Uzi I could rapidly become shark bait. I therefore hold up an envelope to focus attention on something he wants, needing to set the rules of engagement as soon as possible.
“Is that the key?” he inquires, his eagerness apparent.
I nod waving my hand and the envelope in reply. Inside is indeed the key to Renee’s inescapable chastity device. But also is my note.
Escobar signals the henchman with the satchel. He drops it, steps forth, lumbering the fifty feet to retrieve the key along with a few written words and coded website which will save lives.
