Cash Smuggling, Money Laundering, Cocaine

DARE

DUPLICITY

CASH SMUGGLING, MONEY LAUNDERING, COCAINE,

ART & LOVE

A true story about a Confidential Source who worked for the Drug Enforcement Agency (D.E.A.), and his incredible journeys to conceal and smuggle millions of dollars for Colombian drug dealers.

FERNANDEZ

De Oliveira Sousa

DARE DUPLICITY

This book is a work of non-fiction. A few names of persons who were directly involved in this case have been modified to protect their true identity, but most of the other names and persons mentioned in this manuscript are real, particularly the names of crooks, money launderers, drug dealers, corrupt Brazilian police agents from Sao Paulo Police, bad lawyers, former friends, and a vindictive judge.

The amount of money, dates, cities, and countries mentioned here are all-real.

Edited by Fernandez de Oliveira Sousa

Cover by: Adriano ficarelli

Note from the author:Somewords in Spanish, Portuguese, or other slangs have their translation in the last pages of this book

CABOCLA

Brazilian men born in some parts of the Brazilian countryside or jungle, who are a cross between Brazilian Indians and white people, are called Caboclos, and the women are called Caboclas.

I met an attractive Cabocla in a city called Floriano, State of Piaui, situated in the Northeast section of Brazil, while I was on a fishing trip with my two best friends.

The place that we chose to celebrate my 49Th birthday was one of these floating bars and restaurant with a wooden deck full of tables and loud country music facing the Parnaiba River, with a scenic view of another State (Maranhao) on the other side of the river.

While being attended by the young Cabocla looking for a table for our party, I noticed that she had an exotic dark skin that I compared to chocolate candy, or with some dark copper sculpture that I had sculpted in my Art Studio in the past.

After we found a table under a ceiling fan and close to an open window, the young Cabocla gave us the house menu. While I was looking for the house specialty, I asked her name, and if she was going to be our waitress serving our table that night.

My party extravaganza was not that expensive, and I was very happy to be more than 3,000 miles away from the traffic and pollution of São Paulo, one of the world’s largest mega-cities, with hundreds of miles of cars jamming the streets daily, along with kidnapping, police corruption, robbery, and other violent crimes that government officials deny. Instead, they fix statistics and reports of crime so the local people and visitors won’t get too frightened.

The Cabocla answered that her name was Marisa, and yes, she was the only waitress for Table Number 21.

The chocolate-colored waitress looked different from the city girls that I was accustomed to seeing in shopping centers, bars, beaches, on TV in the Southeast cities of Brazil, or in the United States where I had lived for many years.

The Cabocla waitress was not a beauty queen, but besides the dark skin, she had smooth black hair, an attractive body, and a smile that got my attention in such a remote place.

The three amigos ordered Peixada Brasileira and lots of beer. After we finished the exquisite Brazilian fish dish and the iced beer, we started to get hot, and Joe asked for the bill so we could go back to the hotel and hide under the air conditioning. This last item was a luxury in a place that year round has temperatures around 90 degrees or more.

Before we left, I gave the Cabocla an extra twenty-dollar tip, and looking for some company or adventure, I asked her out to show me the small river town.

At first, she was too shy to accept my invitation, saying that she had a boyfriend and there was nothing to see in Floriano, but at the same time, I noticed a glimpse of curiosity on her face, perhaps to find out more about the stranger from the South asking her out.

Before I drove my fishing friends to the hotel, I told the Cabocla that I was going to come back to pick her up and give her a ride home.

She did not say yes or no and stood at the door of the restaurant with an innocent and shy smile on her face.

I dropped my friends off at the hotel and went right back to the restaurant where she was getting ready to leave.

The Cabocla, uneasy at my approach, mentioned a couple of times that she was going to walk home and explained that her house was in the next block.

I did not listen to her and I kept insisting on my invitation, ignoring how close by she lived.

After getting negative answers, I changed the way I asked her out and instead of offering her a ride home I invited her out for a pizza, or to have a drink in another bar.

The Cabocla finally accepted my ride home, warned me that she lived with her aunt, and had to go to bed early because she had to attend high school the next morning.

After a half block ride and realizing that nothing was going to happen during that short ride, I invited the Cabocla for a boat ride after my return from Manaus in two weeks, where I was flying the next day for a business trip.

This time my invitation was accepted with a warning that she did not know how to swim, in case of trouble with the boat during the trip.

I laughed at her worries and mentioned that I was going to rent a brand new boat and I didn’t expect any mechanical troubles on the river.

By the time I got to the hotel, Joe and Cicero were already deep asleep, so I went to my room, happy that I had scheduled an unexpected date on my way back from Manaus.

Before I went to bed I called home to talk with my family. Since my cell phone didn’t work in Floriano, I used the hotel’s land line to keep in touch with my business associates and family.

My daughter answered the phone and right away asked how many fish l had caught. I told her and my son who was listening in on the extension that I would have a cooler full of fresh fish only after I visited Manaus for a couple of weeks and then I would select the best fish to bring home.

My little girl was eight years old and getting very curious about my whereabouts. My son, at twelve and half years old, was busy growing up and had started rehearsing for his bar mitzvah. My wife was already in bed with her books, after long hours teaching at the American school in São Paulo.

The next morning we drove to Teresina and from there we flew to Manaus. From Manaus my friend Joe Cesar flew back to Boston where he lived with his family and worked as a cop with the Boston police. Cicero flew back to São Paulo, taking two coolers of fish and going back to work, also, as a police investigator for the State of São Paulo.

I stayed with friends in Manaus and from there we hired a small plane to take us to Canutama, where I had some land and legal business to attend.

Two weeks later, on my way back to São Paulo, completely finished with the flying itinerary, I stopped in Floriano to see Chocolate.

The next day I looked for her at the restaurant where she worked, but I was told that she was attending classes, and then I left a message that I was back in town and was going to come for dinner later.

In the early evening, the rain stopped and I went to look for Chocolate at work. She was waiting for me with a table reserved in my name, and warned me again that she did not know how to swim in case I kept my promise and took her for a boat ride.

I told her that I was not going to take her to fish or swim in deep waters, or to ride a boat in a river full of piranhas. I explained that I just wanted to have a beer and a nice afternoon with a beautiful Cabocla from Floriano.

She laughed and thanked me for keeping the invitation, and after dinner I walked her home and we agreed that on the following day we would take a boat trip up river after her classes.

The next day after her classes we met at the boat docks, she dressed in very tight jeans shorts; her white blouse was transparent, showing a small white bra. She did not use any makeup or perfume of any kind, just that smooth dark skin shining in the hot sun.

I was happy that the rain stopped while riding a boat with a very special Cabocla seated next to me as we sped up the river up looking for some nice shaded beach on which to anchor and decide whether to talk or to fish.

After a while, I anchored the boat on a nice sandy

beach with calm waters and invited Chocolate for a swim. She again warned me that she didn’t know how to behave in water more than one meter deep.

I told her not to worry because I was a good swimmer and I was going to teach her how to swim a little.

The place was set just for her and me, and I didn’t notice any other boats or piranhas around, so I started my lessons asking her to be calm and let me move her around in the water. She didn’t have any swimming suit and jumped in the water with the clothes on that she was wearing.

At first, Chocolate was scared of being held by a stranger, particularly in the water far away from her grounds, but as I instructed her to stay afloat, she calmed down and tried to do some laps in the shallow water.

After a while, Chocolate was getting better at the swimming lessons and in between laughing and swallowing some river water, we were having a great time.

Chocolate did not want to fish or drink beer; she just wanted to keep playing and cooling off in the water. The Cabocla was radiant in the water and with her clothes wet and becoming transparent; I was the one getting nervous about drowning in the shallow water.

The nice afternoon was ending and I felt that I should not spoil the beautiful afternoon by making a move that I would regret later, so after I instructed the Cabocla how to swim for about three hours, I told her that the swimming class was over, and it would be better to head back to town before nightfall.

Chocolate agreed with me right away and asked for a towel so she could dry herself off a bit.

On the way back to town, I invited her for lunch at my hotel after school on the following day. She agreed to meet me after school.

The next day Chocolate arrived around one o’clock in the afternoon with a very down-to- earth pair of jeans, a high school T-shirt, tennis shoes, and books under her arm.

As soon we sat down I was under the impression that Chocolate was kind of nervous as she was constantly looking at the door of the restaurant and continued to do so after I ordered Churrasco for two.

During lunch she told me that her boyfriend saw her walking toward the hotel. She then mentioned that Floriano was a very small town and everybody knew each other. Then she apologized and asked me why I wanted to see her again since I would be going away in a couple of days and would probably never come back to Floriano again.

Before I could answer her question, she asked me if I was married.

Chocolate surprised me with that question and I tried my best to think of a good answer that could be a nice lie or not to lie at all, so I would not scare her out of my sight; then I decided to tell her the truth.

I told her that I was very impressed with her natural beauty, happiness, and the petite body that she kept so well, and admitted that I had been married, but divorced in the U.S., but later in 1987, I got together with my former wife again, without remarrying her.

I completed my personal information by telling her that I had a son and a daughter and, at the moment and against my will, I lived in São Paulo, and before that I had lived in the United States where I met my former and present wife. I mentioned also that I was a sculptor but at the moment I wasn’t doing any more sculpture but trying to sell my stocks from a corporation that had big tracts of land in the Amazonas State.

Chocolate was somewhat confused, but told me she understood my situation.

Then it was my turn to ask about her boyfriend.

She told me that it was nothing too serious and that she did not love him, but was “just getting by.”

Now that the ice was broken I asked her her age, and her answer did not surprise me much when she told me she was seventeen going on eighteen.

At lunch I had a couple of beers and heard lots of talk about her poor family, originally from Floriano with four sisters, four brothers, and a mother and father who moved south to Capitão de Campos, State of Piaui, on a small piece of land given by the Brazilian federal government (INCRA) to grow any kind of crop to support a family and make a living.

Chocolate told me that the environment, quality of land, and lack of financial resources made the project unfeasible for most of the families there, and she had to work as a maid for other people in exchange for food and clothing since she was twelve years old. Recently she moved back to Floriano where she was living at her aunt’s home and had workedas a maid also until she got a job at the River Restaurant.

Chocolate, all smiles but with a serious statement, mentioned that her dream was to be a truck driver so she could drive away from Floriano, forever!

I felt sad about her situation and understood her feelings because I, at the same age, experienced the same drama that she was having at age seventeen.

I told Chocolate that I was also from a poor family and my father was first a career military, and after he retired he became Chief of Police until some thugs gunned him down in the town where I was born in Mato Grosso.

The Cabocla was paying attention to my family history, so I continued telling her that I was also born in a small town with nothing to do, that my father was military and we lived in the army compound, and then I left after completing high school at age eighteen, “more or less the same age you are now,” I said.

It was around 1964 when I moved from Mato Grosso to São Paulo and got a job at a newspaper called O Estado de São Paulo where I worked until 1967. In 1968 I moved to Uruguay where I worked undercover for the Brazilian military government until 1970, and in 1972 I immigrated to the U.S.A. where I worked as a cook and construction worker. Then in 1979, I became an American citizen and renounced my Brazilian citizenship. In the United States, I became an artist, creating mainly metal sculptures until I moved back to Brazil with my American family.

I continued confiding in Chocolate, saying that my older brother died very young, but I had another brother and two sisters. My mother, who lives with me in the guesthouse on a large property that I own on the edges of São Paulo City, is happy to be close by me, and cooks some delicious country food every day when I am at home. There we have a nice pool, a lake, lots of dogs, two horses, and a large house for employees.

One of the things that I noticed about Chocolate’s behavior while we talked was that even when she mentioned her hard life and bad times, she kept laughing and expecting that things would get better.

After we finished our family history and confidences, I ordered dessert to be served in my room and asked Chocolate to join me so we could continue our talk and learn more about each other.

There was no resistance from Chocolate and we spent all afternoon under the coolest air conditioning possible, with lots of laughing over local high school and family gossip.

Chocolate’s body was nice to admire and explore, but she knew nothing about sex. I was disappointed with her behavior in bed and it did not occur to me at that time that she was only seventeen.

Before we undressed, she mentioned that she had lost her virginity not long ago and didn’t know much about sex.

For me, Chocolate at that time was just a fish in the net and I didn’t care if she knew about sex or not while I was having fun, and my orgasm came quickly and was repeated before I walked her to her aunt’s house in the early evening.