Smugglers 3 Accidental Kingpin by Gerald McCallum Page A

twenty-four hour a day guards who lived on site.
    I bullet-proofed the twin doors at the front and put in an arsenal and several thousand rounds of ammo. If they were going to get me, it had to be in one of my cars coming or going from my condo.
    I was warned by the cops on my payroll that all my phones were tapped, and that I was under surveillance twenty-four/seven.
    I lived in a fish bowl, and soon I sold my house and bought one hundred acres up by Fort Lauderdale. I would build there, “in the middle.”
    The Mexicans were back up to speed in a matter of days. All their men had been replaced. They were mostly illegals who spoke only Spanish and worked cheap and our jails were better than their lives at home anyhow. They would kill you for one hundred bucks, so for them to get an all-out raid on somebody’s house or business was no big deal.
    I got in my hard top Jag in the underground parking. It had been bullet proofed, all windows, tires, doors, everything. I could never have a convertible because the top makes me vulnerable. I decided to take a spin around to see if I could see any of my men or theirs. I took with me one guard who was armed with a machine gun.
    I went through most of Miami and the surrounding towns but never saw any of my men, just theirs. When we got back I figured out that my sales were off by forty percent even with the free drugs and money from them.
    Jesus, they’re winning. With all the killings, high-jackings, stealing of millions of dollars in drugs, not to mention the twenty million in cash I took at the warehouse, they were winning.
    In the morning after sleeping on it, I had the head of my security approach the cartel to set up a meeting. Two days later a box arrived by messenger downstairs. I had it sent up. When I opened it, my security chief’s head was in the box with a note that read, “There’s no stopping now. Hide if you can.”
    Maybe it’s time. Time to walk away. Time to get out. Time to disappear. Time to change my name and life.
    After all, I had two hundred million dollars in cash, and two hundred million in real estate which I would just walk away from. If I tried to sell it, it would leave a paper trail. Some was free and clear, but it didn’t matter. I had enough money for four or five generations of family if I left now.
    Over the next two or three days I had four cars driven to our warehouse in New York. I packed two small bags containing some cash. My wife and I’d buy all new clothes when we got to wherever. I left all my houses, boats, cars, and furniture. Everything except my wife and two kids.
    I took my private plane to New York then sent it back, knowing they would see where it was.
    Over the next week in New York I got fake IDs for me and the family and bought a five year old Dutch Star forty foot diesel pusher motor home pulling a five year old XR7. We bought clothes at Penney’s and threw the jewelry in the river. My wife put up a scene about her eleven carat emerald cut engagement ring going in the river, but our lives depended on getting rid of all trappings of wealth. We must dispose of it all completely or die.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 6
     
    My plan was to drive into the belly of the beast. I would drive to Miami where I would leave the RV on the street and take the high speed ferry to Bimini and go from there.
    On the trip from New York to Miami we didn’t get stopped once. We looked like a regular family on vacation or snow birds driving a five year old rig.
    I left the Dutch Star in a parking lot of a Wal-Mart where I went inside to buy some things before I exited and got a cab to a middle of the road Holiday Inn to join the family. We walked to dinner that night at a steak house. I had gotten their tickets on the high speed ferry for the next morning at seven, and we each carried one suit case full of the usual stuff a family would take for a week on vacation.
    In the morning we got on the ferry without incident. In less than two