Operation Due Diligence Read online

  “So, tell me, Rick, how are the road shows going for the IPO?” General Naviles asked.

  “We are done with the domestic shows. We have visited the major brokerage houses in the U.S. and now we are doing one more show in Paris,” said Ramirez.

  Garces jumped in with some instructions. “Rick, we want the majority of these shares to be placed in the U.S. We want the American institutions, mutual funds, banks, and Americanos to be the ones who buy these shares. There is a certain irony that after all these years of their attempts to isolate us, they are to be the ones who buy us out.” He raised his arms, with a glass of rum and Coke in one hand and a cigar in the other and shouted, “Goooooooaaal!”

  Laughter erupted with more coughing.

  “General,” said Ramirez, “Julia Muller’s firm, albeit a small investment banking firm, has done an incredible job. She has enlisted her old firm, Goldman Sachs, where she was a partner. Along with J.P. Morgan, and Morgan Stanley to be the joint lead underwriters. Thus assuring us of the participation of their U.S. institutional clients and their vast retail distribution. Every 401(k) in the United States will own shares of MonteCarlo Industries, as well as institutions, banks, and high net worth individuals.”

  Naviles opened his eyes wide, raising his eyebrows, and remarked, “Maybe we should tell our Hollywood friends to pass on the IPO.”

  “To hell with them,” said Garces. “Besides, this offering and the ongoing enterprise will be a winner for the stockholders, Rick will make money for them. Right, hermano?”

  “For a little while anyway,” said Ramirez, as laughter engulfed the gathering again.

  “Pepito,” said Garces, dialing three again on his phone. “Más rum.”

  “Tell us more about Julia Muller, Rick,” said Naviles.

  “I’ll tell you, Emilio. I picked her,” interrupted Garces. “Julia is the great-great-great granddaughter of our first president, Tomás Estrada Palma. Did you know, Estrada Palma was handpicked by the Americanos in 1902 to be the first president of Cuba? Even though, at the time, he was an American citizen. He ran unopposed—similar to our president today.”

  Some loud guffaws filled the patio area.

  “Although an American citizen, Estrada Palma was born in Bayamo, Cuba,” Garces continued. He was an attorney and spent most of his life as a diplomat in the United States, where he was a favorite of the U.S. government. His politics were likened to that of Theodore Roosevelt. He had been an important general in the ‘Ten Years’ War’ against Spain. Much like Julia, whose parents left Cuba as exiles in 1959 and found their way to New York, Estrada Palma was exiled and found his way to New York after he was captured during that war. As President, Estrada Palma was credited with negotiating the end of the U.S. occupation of Cuba and the signing of the Cuban American Treaty. This lowered tariffs on the sale of American goods in Cuba and provided for the U.S. to set up a naval base in Guantanamo Bay.”

  “That was the hijo de puta who allowed the Americanos to have the base,” Naviles chimed in.

  Garces kept showing off his knowledge of Cuban history and continued with his account. “In 1906, Estrada Palma won a second term. However, what was then the liberal party violently opposed his reelection, claiming voter fraud, and Estrada Palma asked the United States to intervene. The U.S. installed a provisional government that lasted until 1909, when American troops were withdrawn. Estrada Palma, who had received accolades for improving education, communication, and health care for the Cuban people during his years in office, never saw the return of independence in Cuba. He died in 1908 just before new elections were held, and a pro-American government won the election.”

  “General,” said Naviles, “you are like a Cuban Wikipedia.”

  “What is this Wikipedia?” He quipped in return.

  Laughter again.

  Pepito came onto the patio. “Generals, lunch is ready.”

  “Let’s have lunch,” said Garces. “Rick, tell us about the cocaine shipment aboard the Karlovy and ‘Operation Drum Roll’ during lunch. That’s all going down tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes, it is, Sir,” he replied.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MIAMI, FLORIDA, 228 MILES FROM HAVANA, CUBA

  THE YEAR, 2000

  The ten member committee of the Cuban Council in Exile had finished with their lunch in a private room at the La Rosa Cuban restaurant on Miami’s NW 7th Street. They were about to agree on the person they had selected to lead their group. This exercise alone had taken months to achieve. Clashing egos and future expectations of political opportunities in a free Cuba had clouded most of their decisions. It had taken the persuasive arguments of Alejandro “Alex” Cardenas to convince the group that this selection was bigger than any of them—that the future of their long-lost country of birth, Cuba, was of paramount importance. Alex knew that any conversation they had at these public restaurants would be bugged. However, what was about to take place would become news rather quickly anyway. So, he did not give it much thought.

  “Hermanos,” he addressed them. “I’ve been attending these meetings for months, and all I’ve seen are shrouded attempts by many of you to position yourselves in a way to advance only yourselves into a political future that frankly doesn’t exist at this moment.”

  The room was quiet, and everyone looked around with guilt written all over their faces.

  “None of what you want for yourselves,” he continued,“ is of any importance in achieving liberty for our country. Libertad is our goal, and today we must put our political ambitions aside and with all our hearts agree to follow—and I mean follow—the person we select to lead our council until we achieve our only goal.”

  Everyone remained silent as a waiter brought in a tray of Cuban coffees for the table. Alex was annoyed at the interruption. “Just leave the tray on the table, please, and give us some privacy,” he said in a serious tone to the waiter.

  “Sí, Señor,” said the waiter.

  After the waiter had closed the door to the room, he continued addressing the group. “If you can envision what I can envision, . . . a free Cuba in the new millennium . . . a free Cuba with all the God-given natural resources that our country is so rich . . . a free Cuba ready to embark on an economic boom of incredible proportions . . . a free Cuba with all of our freedoms restored, where people can pray to whomever they wish to pray, where a free press can be restored, where liberty lights the souls of our brothers . . . then amigos, you are ready to move forward.”

  The room was silent. No one spoke. No one had even reached for one of the cafecitos still on the tray that had been brought in. Alex’s words had had a calming impact.

  Enrique Esteban, chairman of the committee, finally said, “I move that Señora Julia Estrada Palma Muller become El Presidente of the Concilio Cubano en Exilio.”

  Almost instantly, two other members said at the same time, “I second the motion.”

  For a few minutes, they discussed the motion, during which one of the council members asked, “Alex, tell me again what Julia does, and is she able to dedicate time to the council’s needs?”

  “Julia is the founder and senior partner of Muller, Anderson, and Associates, a small but very prestigious investment banking firm in Chicago. These firms are known as ‘boutique’ investment firms and are sometimes responsible as conduits for mega initial public offerings, merger and acquisition deals, and management of large sums of funds for high-net-worth clientele and institutional clients. I imagine she is very busy with her work. Particularly, with the new offering of MonteCarlo Industries coming up, but that will be over soon. I am sure, if she accepts, she will make the time to deal with our council’s work.”

  The council member who had asked the question remarked, “MonteCarlo. What a great Cuban success story that has been.”

  A call for the order of the day was made, and the members voted unanimously to select Julia Muller as the Cuban Council President.

  “Now, Alex,” said Esteban, “we’ve mad
e our selection, and we are ready to rally behind Señora Julia. However, this vote must remain secret until we have confirmation that she is ready to accept this challenge. Alex, is she even aware of what we are doing and that she is our number one candidate?”

  Alex looked around the room before responding. Taking a deep breath, he said, “No, she is not aware.”

  Fernando Casal, the leader of one of the most militant anti-Castro groups who was now a member of this committee spoke up,“¡Coño! So, brother, this whole selection process could be pure bullshit, pura mierda, if she doesn’t accept. So, then what? By the way, for the record this pacifist approach we are taking is not the answer.”

  Alex smiled, looking at Casal. “Fernando,” he said, ignoring Casal’s last remark, “Señores, I will deliver Julia.”

  “Hermanos, meet the new Karl Malone, the mailman who delivers,” Casal quipped.

  Laughter broke out as the tension in the room was released.

  “Let’s go outside to the patio. Alex is buying Bacardi mojitos,” said Casal.

  “Hijo de puta, you son of a bitch! I already brought a box of Padron’s,” he said.

  “You are the mailman, cabrón,” said Casal.

  More laughter.

  Everyone went outside for more cafecitos, mojitos, and cigars.

  Alex had a new mission. Fly to Chicago, Julia’s home, and attempt to recruit her for this very serious undertaking. He was not sure he would succeed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  1,327 MILES FROM HAVANA, CUBA

  Alex wasted no time and flew into the ‘windy city’ of Chicago O’Hare Airport that same afternoon, checking in at The Ritz-Carlton on Michigan Avenue an hour later. The Ritz brought back some wonderful memories of his rendezvous with Julia when they had shared some quality time together during the six years of their love affair that developed after their encounter in Paris back in 1990. Walking through the lobby, he wondered if he had made the right call—not just in staying at The Ritz, but, also, in assuming the task of convincing her to accept her selection as president of the council.

  ‘I must be a total fool trying to do this myself,’ he thought to himself. ‘What am I expecting here? Am I really here just to get Julia to join the Cuban Council as President? Or are my motives more convoluted than that?’

  Alex made some calls to some local contacts. He needed to come up with a plan to meet with Julia tomorrow. His heart took a double beat when he realized that tomorrow was Julia’s birthday.

  ****

  Across town at the Chicago Cultural Center in Preston Bradley Hall, Julia and her husband, Dr. Jonathan Muller, were mesmerized with a truly magnificent rendition of Antonio Vivaldi’s Concerto for Violin in G Minor performed by the Chicago Philharmonic. Preston Bradley Hall had been renovated in the 1970s and was a spectacular setting for music performances, ranging from classical music to contemporary. Tonight the Hall resonated with joyful sounds of applause as the performance ended. As Dr. Muller sat next to Julia below the thirty-eight foot stained glass dome, considered to be the world’s largest Tiffany Dome, he thought that she looked smashing. She was dressed impeccably, as usual, with her long blonde hair pulled back to accentuate her femininity. Her penetrating deep blue eyes sparkled beneath the Tiffany Dome. Her long legs and sculptured body gave her a bearing, so that many acquaintances thought that she had an intimidating persona. He knew that they were wrong, though. For Julia was a jovial and down-to-earth woman who happened to be blessed with incredible looks.

  “Wow, that was a wonderful performance!” Dr. Muller said, addressing both Julia and the couple with them, Dr. David and Mrs. Fran Stanley, as they were getting up from their seats.

  Julia had always thought that her husband, the good doctor, was a good-looking man. He was tall, blond-haired, and of Germanic descent with features that matched his ancestry. Although in his fifties, the doctor had been going through male menopause for at least ten years. Mentally, he sometimes acted as if he was in his twenties many thought. That was his justification for carrying on at this stage of his life.

  Dr. Muller’s practice was in plastic surgery, a perfect entrée into Chicago’s socialite network and an unending source of midlife, possibly menopausal, wealthy wives, who like him needed attention and constant gratification. Dr. Muller, amongst his peers, had a reputation for being an excellent plastic surgeon with equally excellent bedside manners.

  His grandiose ego, Julia would tell people, overflowed the Tiffany Dome were it turned upside down into a bowl.

  “Yes, it was,” said Mrs. Stanley, agreeing with Dr. Muller’s enjoyment of the Vivaldi concerto.

  “Did you know,” began Dr. Muller, “that Baroque music has been found to enhance the speed at which you can learn?”

  “Really?” Mrs. Stanley replied.

  Julia had been following her husband’s gaze as he, like a prairie dog, kept rotating his neck around the hall trying to spot someone in the overflowing ballroom.

  “How about we head over to Toni’s Patisserie and Café,” suggested David. “I am buying. I’ve been craving their banh mi sandwiches.”

  “Fine with me, Jeffro,” said Dr. Muller, “but I’ll catch up with you guys outside. I see someone I need to say hello to.” Dr. Muller moved away rapidly to give chase to someone he saw across the hall. Julia’s eyes now were like a heat-seeking missile following Dr. Muller’s every step.

  “David, I really appreciate the invitation,” Julia said, “but I need to be in the office really early tomorrow, and it is looking like a long day. Let us take a rain check, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, Julia,” said Fran. “Are we still on for your birthday tomorrow at your home for drinks and dinner?”

  “Oh, boy. I had forgotten about my birthday tomorrow. Yes, yes, I’ll manage. Gladys will do the cooking, and Jon the bartending. I’ll be fine,” responded Julia.

  ****

  Back at The Ritz, Alex was in his room with the TV on Fox News, but he was not really watching it. He was role playing by himself over and over the conversation he would have with Julia tomorrow. That was assuming she would give him the time of day. It had been four years since their last contact. Four long years after their six year relationship. Alex ordered room service while he continued his deliberations. For Julia’s sake, he was very concerned about exposing himself to Dr. Muller. He knew Julia had confessed to the affair, but Dr. Muller had never known the name of her lover. Alex surely did not want to revive her suffering during those days she had divulged the affair to her husband. His one and only goal, he thought, was to meet with Julia privately to discuss the council’s selection.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ATLANTIC OCEAN DUE EAST OF SOUTH BEACH, FLORIDA

  231 MILES FROM HAVANA, CUBA

  General Garces looked at his watch and thought to himself, ‘This ‘Operation Drum Roll’ is about to unfold.’ He smiled. “Now it is live and in living color,” he whispered to himself.

  This operation was one of many that had taken place in the past and would add millions of dollars to their booty of illicit gains once again. He was getting ready to sit behind some computer monitors in a private room in his house. These monitors would provide a live feed to ‘Operation Drum Roll’ by means of a UAV or unmanned aerial vehicle that was about to be dispatched from the wing of a plane flying between South Beach, Florida and the location of the operation.

  “General Naviles, come over and watch the operation with me. The UAV will be flying over South Beach in a minute,” he said.

  The two generals could literally see tourists strolling along Ocean Drive in South Beach past the hotels with their names in neon lights of various colors and the sidewalk cafés with their umbrellas, tables and chairs. They could see it all from their monitors in Havana, Cuba.

  “South Beach is the funky in place for small private hotels, restaurants, and clubs,” Garces explained to Naviles.

  “We did well to buy a few of these hote
ls in years past when they were going into bankruptcy,” said Naviles.

  “I was against it,” Garces said. “Ramirez talked me into buying. Now, this is the in place to be seen and to see the celebrities. Both real and imagined.”

  General Naviles laughed.

  As the UAV made a turn east towards the ocean, they saw on the monitor the bright white almost full moon that was perpendicular to Ocean Drive. Its white glow on the ocean illuminated a path, a silvery road out to the horizon.

  As they continued to watch, the UAV made a pass over the SS Karlovy, a RORO which was also known as a roll on-roll off vessel. It was designed to carry wheeled cargo, such as trucks, cars, semitrailers, and railroad cars that could be driven on and off the ship on their own power utilizing a ramp on the rear or stern of the vessel. The brightness of the night afforded a very clear view of the vessel.

  “Look at the rear ramp,” Garces said. “The ramp visually looks a little like a bird’s beak with its extension out from the rear of the vessel.”

  “How much is aboard the vessel?” Naviles asked.

  “Hermano, you need to be better informed,” Garces responded.

  “Everyone here is a freak for secrecy,” Naviles complained in protest. “You have not shared much of anything about this operation with me yet.”