Operation Due Diligence Read online

  OPERATION

  DUE

  DILIGENCE

  By Owen Parr

  An Alpha Team Spy Thriller

  Volume 1

  Title: Operation Due Diligence

  Author: Owen Parr

  Published by Owen Parr, www.owenparr.com [email protected]

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the author, except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1507666470

  ISBN-10: 1507666470

  Copyright © 2015 by: Owen Parr

  Published in United States

  This book is dedicated to my partner, best friend and loving wife, Ingrid, who has listened to this story thousands of times from its inception as a screenplay to the final novel. Always ready to read and re-read the drafts as they came off the printer. Thank you for your support and love.

  Also, to my daughters, Ingrid and Astrid, who have pushed me to “get it done.”

  My editor, Cheryl Castela, with CLC Editing. Thank you for your patience and hard work on my behalf.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  “Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything – health, food, a place to live, entertainment – they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.”

  ––Friedrich Nietzsche

  CHAPTER ONE

  PARIS, FRANCE, 4,790.8 MILES FROM HAVANA, CUBA

  THE YEAR, 1990

  If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

  —Ernest Hemingway

  “I am sorry,” said Julia in French, hiding her smile from a man she bumped as she reached the sidewalk surrounding the Arc de Triomphe. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I am, Madame,” responded Alex in French in a somewhat embarrassed tone, as he gathered himself and started to get up after his encounter with Julia, which caused him to fall on the sidewalk surrounding the Arc.

  “No need to apologize,” Alex continued. “I was distracted by the Arc and its majestic beauty. I should pay more attention to where I am going.” He stood up and began brushing the dirt from his pants, adding, “I never do, but I guess using the underground passes instead of trying to finagle the convergence of twelve avenues of traffic around the Arc would make more sense, don’t you agree?”

  “I do. You looked as if you were playing a game of Frogger there for a minute.”

  “Very funny,” he replied, as he looked around, pretending to be embarrassed but actually trying to locate the two suspicious-looking men who were following Julia.

  The people of Verona, Italy, would argue that their city is the “City of Love.” After all, Verona was the setting for William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Many would disagree, however. Many would argue that Paris’s ambience, its architecture, its masterpieces of art, the cozy off the beaten path bistros, and just the air one breathes come together to form a natural feeling of romantic ecstasy. All these facets would qualify Paris as the City of Love.

  “An American tourist in Paris,” she said disparagingly in English, as she brushed some dirt from the back of Alex’s coat. She was struggling to keep a straight face, as she replayed in her mind Alex’s stumble onto the sidewalk.

  “You can go ahead and laugh,” he responded in English. He went on, “I probably looked pretty foolish doing the flip in front of the Arc.”

  Before Julia could respond, he said, “I am lucky to have bumped into a bilingual Parisian angel. My French must be pretty bad for you to have picked up that I spoke another language.”

  “No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I detected a Spanish accent, but I figured I would be safe speaking English. And now, I have insulted you and made you fall—all in the space of five minutes.”

  Alex laughed. “Your English is flawless,” he said. “Where did you learn it?”

  “I was forced to learn it,” Julia replied.

  “Goodness! Why was that?” He asked, sounding perplexed.

  “Well, you see, where I was raised no one spoke French. They spoke English, so I had no choice,” she said, with a grin.

  “And where was that?”

  “Chicago,” she said.

  Alex, looking a bit discomfited by this news, said, “That’s twice I’ve fallen on my ass, and here I am trying to make a good impression—”

  Julia, looking a bit mischievous, cut in, “Oh, trust me, you made a good impression on that sidewalk all right.”

  They both laughed, and by now they were enjoying each other’s company.

  After an awkward moment when they looked into each other’s eyes, Julia said, “My name is Julia Estrada Palma Muller. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Julia, the pleasure is all mine. My name is Alex or Alejandro Cardenas,” Then a thought occurred to him, so he asked, “Tell me something. Estrada Palma was the last name of the first president of Cuba in the early 1900s. Any relation?”

  “Guilty,” she responded. “My great-great-great grandfather. I was born in the province of Santiago de Cuba.”

  “Oh! Oh,” he said. “In Santiago de Cuba?” His voice trailed off as he pondered, “What are the odds of two Cubans, both from the same province, literally bumping into each other in Paris under a magnificent blue sky and the Arc de Triomphe?”

  There are some people that, when they walk into a room, everyone seems to stop and look at them. Julia had that effect on people. As Alex looked at her, he thought Julia’s demeanor was one of self-assurance, and her beauty with her round penetrating blue eyes, silky white skin and long thick blonde hair was vividly entrancing. She was dressed impeccably and very feminine.

  Paris was having an effect on Alex, and Julia was not too far from having similar feelings.

  Alex had been to Paris a number of times. But every time he would visit the Arc de Triomphe, he would think back on the history it had brought forth from the days of Emperor Napoleon. The richly adorned sculptures around its walls included thirty engraved shields commemorating each of the French victories and the names of five hundred fifty-eight generals. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War I was part of the permanent impressive display that he enjoyed so much visiting. Paris was, in fact, “a moveable feast,” thought Alex, remembering Ernest Hemingway’s quote—with its cafes, cinemas, and shops, and the well clipped horse chestnut trees that lined the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. ‘This is like a movie set. Make that a romantic movie set,’ he thought.

  “I don’t know what the odds are,” Julia said, in reply to his question.

  “In my opinion, it is fate.”

  She laughed, noticing that it was very easy to enjoy his company, and she hated herself for even thinking that. She had just made partner at the investment banking firm of Goldman Sachs, and she was in Paris voluntarily to meet with la Sùreté or Département de la Sûreté/Sécurité Territoriale. DST, for short. The equivalent of the United States’ FBI. Manuel Noriega had just been overthrown by U.S. forces in Panama through an invasion code named ‘Operation Just Cause’. Noriega was arrested and extradited to the United States on charges of money laundering, drug smuggling, and a variety of other criminal charges. At the same time, the French government was investigating money launder
ing charges against Noriega and his criminal use of the French banking system. Noriega had maintained an account with Julia at her firm for many years and, on many occasions, had transferred funds between his United States and French accounts.

  Julia had arrived a couple of days early to . . . well . . . be by herself and enjoy the scenery. In Paris, she looked like a local—not like a tourist with jeans or Bermuda shorts, and sneakers. She had risen at Goldman quickly. Most of her competition, both at Goldman and at other firms, had tended to underestimate her drive, intelligence, and prowess at closing the deal, and they had paid the price, as she navigated with great success the predominantly male world of corporate finance and investment banking.

  She found in Alex someone who was attractive and with a genuine smile. He wore his black hair short and combed back from his forehead, and he had fair skin and bright green eyes. To her view, he had manly features and a friendly outgoing demeanor.

  “Julia, when in Paris, do what the Parisians do,” Alex suggested.

  “And what exactly is that?” she asked, with a bit of trepidation.

  “A glass of wine,” he answered, turning around to point to the George V Café, just steps from where they were standing.

  “A glass of wine,” she said, repeating his words, as they walked to the café. “Inside or outside?”

  “A glass of wine, and conversation,” he said. “We need to compare notes about Santiago de Cuba. It’s such a beautiful day, so let’s sit outside. How about here?” From a small round granite-top table, he pulled out one of two chairs with seats covered in red velvet. He motioned for her to sit down at the table under its red canopy from which hung plants and lanterns. Alex sat facing the sidewalk and street. He was a bit weary of the two individuals who had been following her, so he stayed vigilant as they placed their orders.

  She smiled and sat. “A glass of wine,” she repeated.

  Alejandro Cardenas. Alex, as most everyone knew him, had arrived in Miami at six years old when his parents had immigrated to the United States fleeing the newly formed Communist government of Fidel Castro in Cuba. The Cardenas family had assimilated well to their new country. They learned the language, found jobs and went about their lives with comfort and tranquility. Alex attended the local high school, and then he enrolled at the University of Florida where he earned a bachelor’s degree in business and later graduated with a law degree from the University of Miami. During his studies at the University of Miami, he was recruited by the CIA with the promise that he would be involved in the overthrow of Fidel Castro’s Communist regime. He had distinguished himself in International Legal Studies and had spoken in public forums against the oppression of socialist dictatorships in Latin America. Alex had become an American citizen while in high school and had developed a love for his new country. Yet, he could not help but feel a calling to be part of liberating Cuba. A country that his parents had been forced to leave. Abandoning everything behind to assure freedom and safety for themselves and their son. Alex saw his role with the CIA as a way he could both serve his new country and help to liberate his country of birth.

  At six foot two, his mother, Carla, was always kidding that he took after his American uncle, Peter, who had married her sister in Havana. This would always lead his father, José, to quip, “That’s not funny, Carla.” He never knew that it was Uncle Peter, himself a CIA agent working in the American Embassy in Havana during the fifties, who had recommended Alex to the CIA for recruitment.

  Even before his extensive training with the CIA, Alex developed a strong body and an affinity for martial arts. He had played baseball in high school, and then in college. Besides baseball, he distinguished himself as a good amateur boxer. With the CIA, he was attached to American law firms as a “No Official Cover Operative” or NOC in Nicaragua, Panama, Washington, D.C., and Venezuela giving him many opportunities to travel and meet people. Still, he clearly saw that he had never met anyone like Julia.

  Alex and Julia were enjoying their wine and conversation. They were sharing experiences, as if they had known each other for years. Or, was it Cupid who seemed to be working overtime in Paris? Both were currently married. Julia to Dr. Jonathan Muller in Chicago, and Alex to his high school sweetheart, Alicia, in Miami.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HAVANA, CUBA

  GROUND ZERO FOR OPERATION DUE DILIGENCE

  TEN YEARS LATER, THE YEAR 2000

  The laughter was loud. Fidel Castro’s laugh emanated from the interior of his stomach in a manner that everyone who was present was captivated by and could not help but share in the excitement.

  “These Americans are gullible and so easy to feed shit to,” said General Garces, in between his laughter and tears. Everyone laughed loudly. “They are going to swallow this IPO in whole.”

  More laughter.

  Enjoying some rum, cigars and laughter together were brothers, Fidel and Raul Castro, Generals Emilio Garces and Arturo Naviles, both trusted confidants of the brothers, and Ricardo ‘Rick’ Diaz Ramirez, the CEO of Miami’s MonteCarlo Industries. No one else had been invited to this private lunch. Fidel was very secretive and almost always compartmentalized meetings on a need-to-know basis.

  “Pepito,” Fidel called out, “bring another bottle of rum and more Cokes. We need more Cuba libres.”

  Again, laughter erupted in the room.

  From the moment they step into school, Cuban children are brainwashed against enjoying capitalistic symbols and products. One of them is chewing gum. Another is Coca-Cola. Enjoying either of them is taboo. Only the evil Americans produce and consume these products. Yet, Fidel was often seen in public enjoying his ‘Made in Mexico’ Coca Cola.

  “Rick, walk with me in the garden for a minute,” Fidel suggested, as they separated themselves from the group. “You know, you are like a son to me, but I want you to continue to deal directly with Generals Garces and Naviles. I trust you understand.”

  “Sí, Comandante, it’s called plausible deniability. I understand perfectly,” said Ramirez.

  Taking a deep breath, Fidel looked around at the serene and beautifully covered patio in the garden of his home in Havana, a two-story Mediterranean style mansion he had confiscated from its rightful owner who had exiled himself and his family to the United States upon the fall of the prior government. The garden was full of colorful tropical flowers, fragrant roses, gardenias, and flowering palms, while peacocks, flamingos, and other birds walked freely in an almost rhythmic fashion. The backdrop of the light blue sky littered with a few puffy white clouds would have made a perfect setting for a wedding reception rather than the business meeting Fidel had convened.

  It was about one in the afternoon. In a while, the small private and secretive group would be served lunch. They had been drinking Cuba’s finest rum and smoking Cuba’s finest cigars for about an hour. Lunch would consist of rice and black beans, roasted pork, yucca, fried plantains, and plenty of Cuban bread and butter. For dessert, there would be guava and cream cheese with Cuban crackers followed by cafecitos, or Cuban coffee, and more cigars and rum, of course.

  In 1959, Fidel and his brother had established their regime of socialism followed by communism in Cuba. It was alleged that, in tandem with running the government, they had also established a criminal empire. The likes of which drug smuggling and revolution for hire were but two of the many illicit activities that lined their pockets with billions of dollars.

  For over forty years, the Castro brothers had laundered those illicit gains in many ways, it was rumored. One of these had been establishing a private legal entity, MonteCarlo Industries, a conglomerate which had thrived in the United States and become quite a success story. It was believed that through their secret ownership and control of MonteCarlo Industries, they owned numerous businesses and real estate properties both in the United States and abroad. MonteCarlo would become a public company through a public offering of stock in the United States.

  “Gentlemen, have a nice lunch. Raul and I have ot
her items we need to attend to,” Fidel said, as both he and Raul walked into the home. Thus disengaging themselves from the conversation which would follow.

  General Emilio Garces had risen to the command of the Western Army, the biggest of three units in the Cuban Army under the direction of the Ministry of the Armed Forces or MINFAR. A rugged individual now in his sixties, he was a protégé of Che Guevara. Due to Guevara’s influence, General Garces had enjoyed many opportunities to serve the Cuban revolution. In the mid-1960s, he was involved in intelligence operations in Mexico, Venezuela, and Ecuador. He commanded forces during the Cuban Military Mission to Angola. Now, General Garces was at the peak of his military career and in a position to secure the communist rule that his adored mentor, Che Guevara, had envisioned for Cuba.

  Guevara, known as ‘Che’, had joined the Castro led revolution in 1959 after having met both Fidel and Raul in Mexico in 1954. He was an Argentine Marxist revolutionary guerilla leader who performed a number of key roles in the newly formed Cuban government. Prior to joining the Castro brothers he traveled throughout South America to help overturn governments and install communist rule. Guevara saw a tremendous opportunity aligning himself with Castro and utilizing Cuba as the spearhead for his communist campaign for South America.

  Brother-in-arms General Arturo Naviles shared a common bond with Garces. A vision of strict communist rule for their beloved Cuba and the successful conquest of other Latin American countries. They shared the same dream as the Castros and Guevara—a map of the Americas depicting all of South America colored in deep communist red and ruled from Havana. Naviles’ background was similar to that of Garces and had served with him in Angola. Together, they controlled seventy-five percent of all Cuban army personnel. In the 1960s, as required by the regime, all military personnel who aspired to advancement were required to serve in campaigns outside of Cuba undermining governments in Latin America. Naviles had volunteered as a guerilla organizer during the insurgency in Argentina and had established a base of operations in a remote area of Bolivia close to the Argentinian border. Armed with false passports from two different countries, he fostered a legend that allowed him to operate both openly and covertly in Argentina. His current command was the Eastern Army, the second largest unit in the Cuban Army. Now, in his late fifties, Naviles had achieved a reputation for ruthlessness and despotic behavior in his commands through the years.