rooms had been converted to bedrooms but Carmen had reserved this suite as her office.
“I have a friend who needs to get to Colombia in a hurry,” Carmen explained. “I’ve arranged everything – a guide will be waiting in the jungle to walk him over. The usual spot near Meriti. He’ll be there at 6 a.m..”
“Brutal hours,” Al observed. “But should give us plenty of time. When do we leave, and what’s the traveler’s story?”
“His name’s Ernesto – a cook who’s been unfairly accused of theft and has also lost his passport,” Carmen said. “A simple man with a problem. A Colombian who just wants to get home.”
Put that way, Al almost felt guilty accepting the $1800 Carmen was going to pay him. Almost. He downed his drink and rose to his feet, feeling better than he had all day. “Okay, so it’s an escort job. Fair enough.” Al paused. “I’ll be back at ten to meet him and give him the rundown. We should plan on leaving at eleven. Thanks for setting this up, Carmen. Couldn’t come at a better time.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to spend an hour here? I have some remarkable new arrivals…”
“Thanks, but no. I need to grab my passport, gin up Ernesto’s paperwork and change into something more comfortable. I’ll take a rain check though,” Al promised.
“Okay, mi Amor , it’s your loss. Don’t say I never offered,” she said, feigning offense.
“If it were you, Carmen,” Al said softly, “I’d change my mind.”
“Ah, Amor ,” Carmen flirted. “If only it was a different time and place – you wouldn’t even have to ask.”
This was a common theme in their interactions; a harmless diversion. Both enjoyed the banter, and neither took it seriously. Their relationship was far too lucrative to ruin business with anything personal.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Al asked. He’d need it for the document he had in mind.
“Ernesto Sanchez, spelled like it sounds,” Carmen replied. “Sanchez might not be his real name, though,” she cautioned. “Here’s a photograph for the document you’ll need to create...” She placed a passport sized color headshot on the table – her digital camera and photo printing setup in the corner of the office came in handy for such assignments.
“It’ll take me a few hours,” Al said. “I’ll see you at ten. Thanks again.”
“ De nada , Al, de nada .” Carmen waved her fingers at him. “Now come back downstairs with me – I’ll accompany you out. It’s a busy night so I have to be available to help the clients make smart choices. Otherwise I’d stay and chat with you forever, Amor .”
Al understood. It was time to hit the road and get his stuff together. Carmen had money to make and the evening wasn’t getting any younger.
Neither was he.
They walked down the stairs, arms linked, Al playing the gallant courtier to Carmen’s regal descent.
~
Al sat at his ancient computer and typed in Senor Sanchez’ name, then printed the document. It was pure bullshit but would suffice when the police decided to stop and check cars going towards the border, which they routinely did. Purporting to be a photocopy of the photo and signature pages of an American passport – the story being that he’d lost his original, which accounted for Ernesto being escorted by State Department personnel – it was pure invention; one of Al’s many sleights of hand he’d come up with for his little side business.
Al knew from past experience he could bluster through by waving it around and leaning on his diplomatic passport. Truth was, very few folks were trying to slip from Panama to Colombia at night with a U.S. diplomat escorting them, which made his job all the easier; the scrutiny traveling south was typically lackadaisical. Other than a few routine traffic stops by bored, tired, disinterested policemen, they’d be golden.
Getting near the border wasn’t that tough, but making it out of Panama and into Colombia was
“I have a friend who needs to get to Colombia in a hurry,” Carmen explained. “I’ve arranged everything – a guide will be waiting in the jungle to walk him over. The usual spot near Meriti. He’ll be there at 6 a.m..”
“Brutal hours,” Al observed. “But should give us plenty of time. When do we leave, and what’s the traveler’s story?”
“His name’s Ernesto – a cook who’s been unfairly accused of theft and has also lost his passport,” Carmen said. “A simple man with a problem. A Colombian who just wants to get home.”
Put that way, Al almost felt guilty accepting the $1800 Carmen was going to pay him. Almost. He downed his drink and rose to his feet, feeling better than he had all day. “Okay, so it’s an escort job. Fair enough.” Al paused. “I’ll be back at ten to meet him and give him the rundown. We should plan on leaving at eleven. Thanks for setting this up, Carmen. Couldn’t come at a better time.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to spend an hour here? I have some remarkable new arrivals…”
“Thanks, but no. I need to grab my passport, gin up Ernesto’s paperwork and change into something more comfortable. I’ll take a rain check though,” Al promised.
“Okay, mi Amor , it’s your loss. Don’t say I never offered,” she said, feigning offense.
“If it were you, Carmen,” Al said softly, “I’d change my mind.”
“Ah, Amor ,” Carmen flirted. “If only it was a different time and place – you wouldn’t even have to ask.”
This was a common theme in their interactions; a harmless diversion. Both enjoyed the banter, and neither took it seriously. Their relationship was far too lucrative to ruin business with anything personal.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Al asked. He’d need it for the document he had in mind.
“Ernesto Sanchez, spelled like it sounds,” Carmen replied. “Sanchez might not be his real name, though,” she cautioned. “Here’s a photograph for the document you’ll need to create...” She placed a passport sized color headshot on the table – her digital camera and photo printing setup in the corner of the office came in handy for such assignments.
“It’ll take me a few hours,” Al said. “I’ll see you at ten. Thanks again.”
“ De nada , Al, de nada .” Carmen waved her fingers at him. “Now come back downstairs with me – I’ll accompany you out. It’s a busy night so I have to be available to help the clients make smart choices. Otherwise I’d stay and chat with you forever, Amor .”
Al understood. It was time to hit the road and get his stuff together. Carmen had money to make and the evening wasn’t getting any younger.
Neither was he.
They walked down the stairs, arms linked, Al playing the gallant courtier to Carmen’s regal descent.
~
Al sat at his ancient computer and typed in Senor Sanchez’ name, then printed the document. It was pure bullshit but would suffice when the police decided to stop and check cars going towards the border, which they routinely did. Purporting to be a photocopy of the photo and signature pages of an American passport – the story being that he’d lost his original, which accounted for Ernesto being escorted by State Department personnel – it was pure invention; one of Al’s many sleights of hand he’d come up with for his little side business.
Al knew from past experience he could bluster through by waving it around and leaning on his diplomatic passport. Truth was, very few folks were trying to slip from Panama to Colombia at night with a U.S. diplomat escorting them, which made his job all the easier; the scrutiny traveling south was typically lackadaisical. Other than a few routine traffic stops by bored, tired, disinterested policemen, they’d be golden.
Getting near the border wasn’t that tough, but making it out of Panama and into Colombia was
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