through the ordeal. He needed to locate them and be ready to move on their captors in case he couldnât find Pablo. And failing to find the drug lord inside a two-week window was a distinct possibility. Twelve years had passed since Pabloâs death in MedellÃn; twelve years for him to blend into his new environment and twelve years of the natural aging process to further disguise his appearance. Nothing was certain about finding Pablo.
Then another thought flashed through his mind. What if he did find Pablo? What would Pabloâs response be? His name was synonymous with violence and death. Would he simply kill him if and when they came face to face? Jesus, this was a no-win situation. If he failed to find Pablo, his wife and daughter would be killed. But if he did find him, chances are Pablo would lash out with a vengeance. And if Eugene were to die before giving Javier Rastano Pabloâs location or the ten-digit code, then Julie and Shiara would be brutally murdered, despite his success.
The odds of success were incredibly small. But he had no choice. Javier Rastano was a Colombian drug dealer and a murderer. He would not hesitate to kill a woman and a teenage girl. Eugeneâs path was clear. He needed someone he could trust to search for Julie and Shiara while he tried to unearth Pablo. He hoped his friend in San Salvador would help him. But what could he offer him for risking his life? Eugene wasnât sure if he held anything of value that would entice his friend to help. All he had was friendship. Well, friendship and cash. He glanced down at the table, to the wad of bills sitting where Shiara usually ate her breakfast. Drug money, but necessary to fund his search. He reached out and fingered the top bill. It felt like any other American twenty, but he knew it wasnât the same. It was dirty money. Money that had reached the palms of the Rastano clan through violence and oppression. He closed his eyes and replayed the events of the day when he had lost his innocence.
Pablo Escobar had invited Eugeneâs parents to his Nápoles estate, an oasis of decadence in the Colombian jungle. And when Pablo Escobar invited you, you attended. Eugene had made the trip, a lad of sixteen who barely knew his cousin, but even then he was aware Pablo was a wealthy and influential man. His school friends often referred to Pablo as a narco, but his father always dismissed the allegations with a wave of his hand. Pablo works hard for his money, Eugenio. But the trip to Nápoles had forever changed his perception of his cousin.
Pablo met them at the main house when they arrived, a short, plump man with his thick hair swept off to one side and an anemic mustache. He grinned like a school kid when Eugene asked about the bullet-riddled car parked atop a knoll of grass outside the front entrance.
âThat is the car Bonnie and Clyde were driving when they were surrounded by police and tried to shoot their way to freedom.â
âDid they get away?â Eugene asked.
Pablo laughed. âNo, Eugenio. They died in the car. Both of them. Thatâs what makes this car so valuable.â He wrapped his arm around Eugene and steered the family toward the house. âCome in, my cousin. My house is your house.â
Eugene wandered around Escobarâs jungle escape, alternately trying his skill at the pinball machines and pool tables. He changed into his trunks and swam a few laps in one of the six swimming pools set among the manicured gardens touching the house, then returned to the main house and looked out over the thousands of unfenced acres where Pabloâs exotic animals roamed. He spotted a few ostriches and gazelles moving across the grasslands, but even with the binoculars one of the servants had given him, they were mere specks. He searched out his cousin, who was sipping tea on a verandah talking with his parents. He asked if he could go and look at some of the animals.
âCertainly,
Then another thought flashed through his mind. What if he did find Pablo? What would Pabloâs response be? His name was synonymous with violence and death. Would he simply kill him if and when they came face to face? Jesus, this was a no-win situation. If he failed to find Pablo, his wife and daughter would be killed. But if he did find him, chances are Pablo would lash out with a vengeance. And if Eugene were to die before giving Javier Rastano Pabloâs location or the ten-digit code, then Julie and Shiara would be brutally murdered, despite his success.
The odds of success were incredibly small. But he had no choice. Javier Rastano was a Colombian drug dealer and a murderer. He would not hesitate to kill a woman and a teenage girl. Eugeneâs path was clear. He needed someone he could trust to search for Julie and Shiara while he tried to unearth Pablo. He hoped his friend in San Salvador would help him. But what could he offer him for risking his life? Eugene wasnât sure if he held anything of value that would entice his friend to help. All he had was friendship. Well, friendship and cash. He glanced down at the table, to the wad of bills sitting where Shiara usually ate her breakfast. Drug money, but necessary to fund his search. He reached out and fingered the top bill. It felt like any other American twenty, but he knew it wasnât the same. It was dirty money. Money that had reached the palms of the Rastano clan through violence and oppression. He closed his eyes and replayed the events of the day when he had lost his innocence.
Pablo Escobar had invited Eugeneâs parents to his Nápoles estate, an oasis of decadence in the Colombian jungle. And when Pablo Escobar invited you, you attended. Eugene had made the trip, a lad of sixteen who barely knew his cousin, but even then he was aware Pablo was a wealthy and influential man. His school friends often referred to Pablo as a narco, but his father always dismissed the allegations with a wave of his hand. Pablo works hard for his money, Eugenio. But the trip to Nápoles had forever changed his perception of his cousin.
Pablo met them at the main house when they arrived, a short, plump man with his thick hair swept off to one side and an anemic mustache. He grinned like a school kid when Eugene asked about the bullet-riddled car parked atop a knoll of grass outside the front entrance.
âThat is the car Bonnie and Clyde were driving when they were surrounded by police and tried to shoot their way to freedom.â
âDid they get away?â Eugene asked.
Pablo laughed. âNo, Eugenio. They died in the car. Both of them. Thatâs what makes this car so valuable.â He wrapped his arm around Eugene and steered the family toward the house. âCome in, my cousin. My house is your house.â
Eugene wandered around Escobarâs jungle escape, alternately trying his skill at the pinball machines and pool tables. He changed into his trunks and swam a few laps in one of the six swimming pools set among the manicured gardens touching the house, then returned to the main house and looked out over the thousands of unfenced acres where Pabloâs exotic animals roamed. He spotted a few ostriches and gazelles moving across the grasslands, but even with the binoculars one of the servants had given him, they were mere specks. He searched out his cousin, who was sipping tea on a verandah talking with his parents. He asked if he could go and look at some of the animals.
âCertainly,
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