In the meantime, he continued to insist on sanctions for the police and to repeat his accusations that General Maza Marquez had allied himself with the paramilitary forces and the Cali cartel to kill his people. This accusation, and his charge that the general had killed Luis Carlos Galan, were two of Escobar's fierce obsessions with Maza Marquez. The general's reply, in public or in private, always was that for the moment he was not waging war against the Cali cartel because his priority was terrorism by drug traffickers and not the drug traffic itself. Escobar, for his part, had written this aside in a letter to Villamizar: "Tell dona Gloria that Maza killed her husband, there can be no doubt about it." Maza's response to the repeated accusation was always the same: "Escobar knows better than anyone else that it isn't true."
In despair over this brutal, pointless war that vanquished all intelligent initiatives, Villamizar made one final effort to persuade the government to declare a truce in order to negotiate. It was impossible. Rafael Pardo told him that while the families of the hostages were opposing the government's decision not to make any concessions, the enemies of the capitulation policy were accusing the government of handing the country over to the traffickers.
Villamizar--accompanied on this occasion by his sister-in-law, dona Gloria Pachon de Galan--also visited General Gomez Padilla, director general of the National Police. She asked the general for a month's truce to allow them to attempt personal contact with Escobar.
"I cannot tell you how sorry we are, Senora," the general said, "but we cannot halt operations against this criminal. You are acting at your own risk, and all we can do is wish you luck."
This was all they accomplished with the police, whose hermeticism was meant to stop the inexplicable leaks that had allowed Escobar to escape the best-planned sieges. But dona Gloria did not leave empty-handed, for as they were saying goodbye an officer told her Maruja was being held somewhere in the department of Narino, on the Ecuadoran border. She had learned from Beatriz that the house was in Bogota, which meant that the police's misinformation lessened her fear of a rescue operation.
By this time speculation in the press regarding the terms of Escobar's surrender had reached the proportions of an international scandal. Denials from the police and explanations from all segments of the government, even from the president, had not convinced many people that there were no negotiations or secret agreements for his capitulation.
General Maza Marquez believed it to be true. What is more, he had always been certain--and said so to anyone who wanted to listen--that his removal would be one of Escobar's primary conditions for surrender. For a long time President Gaviria seemed angered by certain statements made by Maza Marquez to the press, and by unconfirmed rumors that the general was responsible for some of the sensitive leaks. But at this time--considering his many years in the position, his immense popularity because of the hard line he had taken against crime, and his ineffable devotion to the Holy Infant--it was not likely that the president would remove him without good reason. Maza had to be conscious of his power, but he also had to know that sooner or later the president would exercise his, and the only thing he had requested--through messages carried by mutual friends--was that he be told with sufficient warning to provide for his family's safety.
The only official authorized to maintain contacts with Pablo Escobar's attorneys--provided a written record was kept--was the director of Criminal Investigation, Carlos Eduardo Mejia. He was responsible by law for arranging the operative details of the surrender, and the security and living conditions in prison.
Minister Giraldo Angel personally reviewed the possible options. He had been interested in the high-security block at Itagui ever since Fabio Ochoa's surrender the previous November, but Escobar's lawyers objected because it was an easy target for car bombs. He also found acceptable the idea of turning a convent in El Poblado--near the residential building where Escobar had escaped the explosion of two hundred kilos of dynamite, attributed to the Cali cartel--into a fortified prison, but the community of nuns who owned it did not wish to sell. He had proposed reinforcing the Medellin prison, but the Municipal Council opposed the plan in a plenary session. Alberto Villamizar, fearing that the surrender would be thwarted by lack of a prison, interceded with serious arguments in favor of the site proposed by Escobar in October: El Claret, the Municipal Rehabilitation Center for Drug Addicts, located twelve kilometers from Envigado's main park, on a property known as La Catedral del Valle, whose owner-of-record was one of Escobar's front men. The government studied the possibility of leasing the center and converting it into a prison, well aware that Escobar would not surrender if he could not resolve the problem of his own security. His lawyers demanded that the guards be Antioquian, and, fearing reprisals for the agents murdered in Medellin, that external security be in the hands of any armed force except the police.
The mayor of Envigado, who was responsible for completing the project, took note of the government's report and initiated the transfer of the prison, which had to be consigned to the Ministry of Justice according to the leasing contract both parties had signed. The basic construction displayed an elementary simplicity, with cement floors, tile roofs, and metal doors painted green. The administration area, in what had been the farmhouse, consisted of three small rooms, a kitchen, a paved courtyard, and a punishment cell. It had a dormitory measuring four hundred square meters, another large room to be used as a library and study, and six individual cells with private bathrooms. A common area in the center, measuring six hundred square meters, had four showers, a dressing room, and six toilets. The remodeling had begun in February, with seventy workers who slept in shifts at the site for a few hours a day. The rough topography, the awful condition of the access road, and the harsh winter obliged them to do without trucks and carriers, and to transport most of the furnishings by muleback. First among them were two fifty-liter water heaters, military cots, and some two dozen small tubular armchairs painted yellow. Twenty pots holding ornamental plants--araucarias, laurels, and areca palms--completed the interior decoration. Since the former rehabilitation center had no telephone lines, the prison's initial communications would be by radio. The final cost of the project was 120 million pesos, paid by the municipality of Envigado. Early estimates had calculated a period of eight months for the construction, but when Father Garcia Herreros came on the scene, the pace of work was speeded up to a quick march.
Another obstacle to surrender had been the dismantling of Escobar's private army. He did not seem to consider prison a legal recourse but as protection from his enemies, and even from ordinary law enforcement agencies, but he could not persuade his troops to turn themselves in. He argued that he could not provide for the safety of himself and his family and leave his accomplices to the mercies of the Elite Corps. "I won't surrender alone," he said in a letter. But for many this was half a truth, since it is also likely that he wanted to have his entire team with him so he could continue to run his business from jail. In any case, the government preferred to imprison them along with Escobar. There were about a hundred crews that were not on permanent war footing but served as frontline reserve troops, easy to mobilize and arm in a few hours. It was a question of having Escobar disarm and bring to prison with him fifteen or twenty of his staunch captains.
In the few personal interviews that Villamizar had with the president, Gaviria's position was always to offer his personal efforts to free the hostages. Villamizar does not believe that the government held any negotiations other than the ones he was authorized to engage in, which were already foreseen in the capitulation policy. Former president Turbay and Hernando Santos--though they never expressed it, and were not unaware of the government's institutional difficulties--no doubt expected a minimum of flexibility from the president. His refusal to change the time limits established in the decrees, despite Nydia's insistence, entreaties, and protests, will continue to be a thorn in the hearts of the families who pleaded with him. And the fact that he did change them three da
ys after Diana's death is something her family will never understand. Unfortunately--the president has said in private--by that time altering the date would not have stopped Diana's death or changed the way it happened.
Escobar never felt satisfied with only one avenue, and he never stopped trying to negotiate, with God and with the Devil, with every kind of legal or illegal weapon, not because he trusted one more than the other, but because he had no confidence in any of them. Even when he had secured what he wanted from Villamizar, he still embraced the dream of political amnesty, an idea that first surfaced in 1989 when the major dealers and many of their people obtained documents identifying them as members of the M-19 in order to find a place on the lists of pardoned guerrilla fighters. Commander Carlos Pizarro blocked their way with impossible demands. Two years later, Escobar tried it again through the Constituent Assembly, several of whose members were subjected to various kinds of pressure ranging from crude offers of money to the most serious intimidation.
But Escobar's enemies were also working at cross-purposes. This was the origin of a so-called narcovideo that caused an enormous, unproductive scandal. Presumably filmed in a hotel room with a hidden camera, it showed a member of the Constituent Assembly taking cash from an alleged lawyer for Escobar. The assembly member had been elected from the lists of the M-19 but in fact belonged to the paramilitary group that worked for the Cali cartel in its war against the Medellin cartel, and he did not have enough credibility to convince anyone. Months later, a leader of some private militias who turned in his weapons to the police said that his people had made that cheap soap opera in order to prove that Escobar was suborning members of the Assembly, and thereby invalidate amnesty or non-extradition.
One of the many new fronts that Escobar tried to open was his attempt to negotiate the release of Pacho Santos behind the back of Villamizar just as his efforts were beginning to bear fruit. In late April Escobar sent Hernando Santos a message through a priest he knew, asking that he meet with one of his attorneys in the church in Usaquen. It was--the message said--a matter of utmost importance regarding the release of Pacho. Hernando not only knew the priest but considered him a saint on earth, and so he went alone and arrived punctually at eight on the evening of the specified date. Inside the dim church the lawyer, almost invisible in the shadows, told him he had nothing to do with the cartels but that Pablo Escobar had paid for his education and he could not refuse him a favor. His mission was only to hand him two texts: a report from Amnesty International condemning the Medellin police, and the original copy of an article that had all the airs of an editorial attacking the abuses of the Elite Corps.
"I've come here with only your son's life in mind," said the lawyer. "If these articles are published tomorrow, by the day after tomorrow Francisco will be free."
Hernando read the manuscript with a political eye. It listed the incidents denounced so often by Escobar, but with bloodcurdling details that were impossible to prove. It was written with gravity and subtle malice. The author, according to the lawyer, was Escobar himself. In any case, the style seemed to be his.
The document from Amnesty International had already appeared in other newspapers, and Hernando Santos had no problem in publishing it again. The editorial, however, was too serious to publish with no evidence. "If he sends me proof, we'll print it right away even if they don't let Pacho go," said Hernando. There was nothing more to discuss. The lawyer, aware that his mission was over, took advantage of the opportunity to ask Hernando how much Guido Parra had charged for his mediation.
"Not a cent," replied Hernando. "Money was never mentioned."
"Tell me the truth," said the lawyer, "because Escobar controls the accounts, he controls everything, and he needs that information."
Hernando repeated his answer, and the meeting ended with formal goodbyes.
Perhaps the only person at this time who was convinced that matters were close to resolution was the Colombian astrologer Mauricio Puerta--an attentive observer of national life by means of the stars--who had reached some surprising conclusions regarding Pablo Escobar's astrological chart.
Escobar had been born in Medellin on December 1, 1949, at 11:50 a.m. He was, therefore, a Sagittarius with Pisces in the ascendant, with one of the worst conjunctions: Mars and Saturn in Virgo. His tendencies were cruel authoritarianism, despotism, insatiable ambition, rebelliousness, turbulence, insubordination, anarchy, lack of discipline, attacks on authority. And an ineluctable outcome: sudden death.
Beginning on March 30, 1991, he had Saturn at five degrees for the next three years, and this meant that only three alternatives defined his future: the hospital, the cemetery, or prison. A fourth option--the monastery--did not seem applicable in his case. In any event, the period was more favorable for settling the terms of a negotiation than for closing a definitive deal. In other words: His best option was the conditional surrender proposed by the government.
"Escobar must be very worried if he's so interested in his chart," said one reporter. For as soon as he heard about Mauricio Puerta's reading, he wanted his analysis down to the smallest detail. But two messengers sent by Escobar never reached their destination, and one disappeared forever. Then Puerta arranged a well-publicized seminar in Medellin to make himself available to Escobar, but a series of strange difficulties made the meeting impossible. Puerta interpreted these as a defensive strategy by the stars to prevent anything from interfering with a destiny that was now inexorable.
Pacho Santos's wife also received supernatural revelations from a clairvoyant who had predicted Diana's death with amazing clarity, and had told her with equal certainty that Pacho was alive. In April they happened to meet again in a public place, and the clairvoyant murmured as she passed by:
"Congratulations. I can see his homecoming."
These were the only encouraging signs when Father Garcia Herreros sent his cryptic message to Pablo Escobar. How he made that providential determination, and what the sea of Covenas had to do with it, is something that still intrigues the nation. Yet how he happened to think of it is even more intriguing. On Friday, April 12, 1991, he visited Dr. Manuel Elkin Patarroyo--the inspired inventor of the malaria vaccine--to ask him to set up a clinic, in the area of the "God's Minute" charity, for the early detection of AIDS. In addition to a young priest from his community, he was accompanied by an old-style Antioquian, a great friend who advised him on earthly matters. By his own decision, this benefactor, who has asked that his name not be mentioned, not only had built and paid for Father Garcia Herreros's private chapel, but also had made voluntary contributions to his social service projects. In the car that was taking them to Dr. Patarroyo's Institute of Immunology, he felt a kind of urgent inspiration.
"Listen, Father," he said. "Why don't you do something to move this thing along and help Pablo Escobar turn himself in?"
He said it with no preliminaries and no conscious motive. "It was a message from above," he would say later in the way he always refers to God, with the respect of a servant and the familiarity of a compadre. The father reacted as if an arrow had pierced his heart. He turned ashen. Dr. Patarroyo, who did not know him, was later struck by the energy shining from his eyes, and by his business sense, but to his Antioquian companion he seemed changed. "It was like Father was floating," he has said. "During the interview the only thing on his mind was what I had said, and when we left I thought he looked so excited that I began to worry." This is why he took the father away for the weekend to rest at a vacation house in Covenas, a popular Caribbean resort that swarms with thousands of tourists and is the terminus of a pipeline bringing in 250,000 barrels of crude oil every day.
The father did not have a moment's peace. He hardly slept; he would leave the table in the middle of meals and take long walks along the beach at all hours of the day or night. "Oh sea of Covenas," he shouted into the roar of the surf. "Can I do it? Should I do it? You who know everything: Will we not die in the attempt?" At the end of his tormented walks he would c
ome into the house with absolute confidence, as if he had in reality received answers from the sea, and discuss every detail of the project with his host.
On Tuesday, when they returned to Bogota, he could see the entire plan, and this gave him back his serenity. On Wednesday he returned to his routine: He got up at six, showered, put on his black cassock with the clerical collar, and over that his invariable white poncho, and brought his affairs up-to-date with the assistance of Paulina Garzon de Bermudez, who had been his indispensable secretary for half her lifetime. The subject of his program that night had nothing to do with the obsession that drove him. On Thursday morning, just as he had promised, Dr. Patarroyo sent an affirmative reply to his request. The priest had no lunch. At ten to seven he reached the studios of Inravision, where he broadcast his program, and in front of the cameras he improvised his direct message to Escobar. These were sixty seconds that changed the little life that still remained to him. When he came home he was greeted by a basket full of telephone messages from all over the country, and an avalanche of reporters who from that night on would not let him out of their sight until he had accomplished his goal of leading Pablo Escobar by the hand into prison.
The final process had begun but the outcome was uncertain because public opinion was divided between the masses of people who believed the good father was a saint, and the unbelievers who were convinced he was half-mad. The truth is that his life revealed him to be many things, but not that. He had turned eighty-two in January, would complete fifty-two years as a priest in August, and seemed to be the only well-known Colombian who had never dreamed of being president. His snowy head and the white poncho over his cassock complemented one of the most respected images in the country. He had written verses that he published in a book at the age of nineteen, and others, also composed in his youth, under the pen name Senescens. He was awarded a forgotten prize for a volume of stories, and forty-six decorations for his charitable projects. In good times and bad he always had his feet planted firmly on the ground, led the social life of a layman, told and listened to jokes of any color, and at the moment of truth revealed what he always had been under his cattleman's poncho: a dyed-in-the-wool Santanderean.