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A Clear Relationship


 


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Fahd bin Abdul Aziz

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Naef Bin Abdul Aziz

Salman Bin Abdul Aziz

Ahmad Bin Abdul Aziz

CHAPTER 14
 
Twin microphones concealed in Bob Mazur's briefcase picked up the sound of his zipper. He was in the restroom on the fifteenth floor of the Bank of Credit and Commerce International offices in Miami. He had run into Aftab Hussain there before they were to meet with two senior bank officials. Hussain had taken the opportunity to prep Mazur for the upcoming meeting.
 
"They'll ask you who is your bankers," explained Hussain. "They'll begin the questioning." "Have you had an opportunity to tell them why it needs some very careful handling?" asked Mazur. "Yes, I have told them," replied Hussain. "You also mention it. Tell them it should be very carefully handled and it should be exclusively handled by Mr. Hussain."
 
It was 10:37 on the morning of January 11, 1988, when they left the restroom and walked into an L-shaped conference room at BCCI. Hussain said he had various presents for his new customer. He presented Mazur with a large desk calendar and a small pocket calendar, both emblazoned with the BCCI logo. As they settled onto two comfortable couches in a corner, Mazur placed his briefcase on the glass-topped coffee table. Suddenly there was a burst of laughter as the door to the conference room opened and two men walked in.
 
"Mr. Bilgrami," Hussain said, introducing Mazur to the first man in the door, a handsome Pakistani who spoke excellent English and had gone to college in California. Now in his mid-thirties, he was the bank's top producer in LACRO, bringing in deposits all across South America. It was Bilgrami who had engineered the acquisition of the Banco Mercantil in Colombia.
 
To Mazur's trained eye, Akbar Bilgrami was polished and smooth, a banker who was clearly several notches above Aftab Hussain.
"And that's Mr. Awan," said Bugrami, gesturing to the trim, well-tailored man who had followed him through the door. Awan was more restrained than the outgoing Bilgrami and the overeager Hussain. As the meeting progressed, Mazur began to think of him as the central figure in this part of the C-Chase drama.
 
The dance began. Mazur described himself as a financial counselor who was affiliated with a New York securities firm. Previously, he had done business with Florida National Bank in St. Petersburg and Cr6dit Suisse. But he said he was very satisfied with the service he was getting from Hussain in Panama.
 
A few minutes into the meeting, a secretary stuck her head in the door and said, "Mr. Mora is here for Bob." "Oh no," stammered Mazur, for once surprised.
 
He had planned to meet Gonzalo Mora, Jr., later. He had told Mora that he had a meeting first with his bankers at BCCI, but Mazur had never imagined that his sleaziest client would track him down at this sensitive business meeting. Mora and the bankers represented two opposite ends of the investigation, two poles that Mazur only wanted joined through drug cash. Perhaps Mora had his own motives. Perhaps he wanted to check up on Mazur, make sure he really did have connections with these BCCI bankers.
 
It was Awan who urbanely eased Mazur out of this awkward situation. "Why don't you invite him in here?" he said. "And we'll come back. Okay?"
As they left the conference room, the Pakistani bankers brushed past Mora and another man with Mora without speaking. Scarcely looking around, Mora demanded the checks, which Mazur fished out of his briefcase. With the second man translating, Mora proceeded to give the horrified Mazur instructions for the next cash pickup in New York and mentioned that he would soon be meeting with one of Roberto Alcaino's associates.
 
For well over a year, Mazur had arranged his life in leakproof compartments; keeping the phases of the undercover operation separate was the most secure way to avoid unwanted revelations. The investigation depended on it. So might Mazur's life. Yet here was Mora stumbling into a critical session, a session on which the most important phase of C-Chase depended. Mazur did little to disguise his impatience as he tried to hustle the two intruders out the door. As Mora and his associate were leaving, the associate observed to Mora: "Mob gente"-mean man.
 
When the bankers returned, Mazur had regained his composure. He apologized for the interruption and said he would insulate them from his clients in the future.
 
"In other words, we'll be dealing directly with you?" asked Awan. "I'm much more comfortable with that."
 
"There might be exceptions," explained Mazur. He might want some of his established clients, educated men, to meet the bankers. "But in ninety percent or better of the instances, I think it would be safer for everyone if I just dealt with the client."
 
"Fair enough," said Awan.
 
In a sense, the interruption had broken the ice. Formalities could be dispensed with. The four men, particularly Awan and Mazur, talked and laughed like old friends as they went through the business of learning about each other.
 
Mazur explained that he had dealt with some of his clients for a long time, gradually educating them in more sophisticated ways of dealing with their money. The next lesson, he said, was shifting some of their funds to Luxembourg or Switzerland. He was leaning toward Geneva and Zurich, where he understood that BCCI had an affiliate. Some of his clients also might be interested in purchasing property that could be held as collateral for loans from the bank. He said he thought he would be investing $5 million a month through BCCI.
 
"I'm sure things will develop to the point where we'll all feel very, very comfortable," said Mazur. "I feel extremely comfortable with Hussain and, ah, and you gentlemen as well. The key to my dealings here is a necessity for the confidentiality and I feel very comfortable with that. My clients are not exactly the greatest fans of the tax system here."
 
Awan laughed and said, "We can't really blame them for that, can we?"
 
Both Awan and Bugrami said they understood the need for confidentiality. And certainly BCCI had the global reach that Mazur required. Awan explained that the bank operated in seventy-two countries, with particularly strong operations in Latin and South America. Awan spent a long time describing the global reach of BCCI and its backing from wealthy Arab families. He explained how he had been recruited to the bank by its founder in 1978, the same time as Bilgrami. Together, they had arranged the acquisition of a bank in Spain for BCCI and later had worked together in Colombia before both were posted to Miami.
 
After a time, Bugrami excused himself and then Awan left for another meeting. As he moved toward the door, Awan asked if Mazur came through Miami often.
 
"I have a fiancee who lives in Key Biscayne," he said, referring to the wealthy island-enclave in the bay linked to Miami by a short causeway.
Richard Nixon lived there when he was president, but his oceanfront house had since been sold to a pilot for the Medellin cartel, who had expanded it dramatically.
 
"Quite frequently," said Awan.
 
"Quite frequently," echoed Mazur.
 
Another agent might have been bolder, but Bob Mazur had learned patience, learned to go with the flow in these sensitive meetings. Awan and Bilgrami were a couple of sophisticated characters. Mazur had seen no reason to mention the source of his investment funds, and they had not asked. The discussion had been harmless, a get-acquainted session. The only reference to any criminality, Mazur's mention of his clients' dislike of the tax system, had been passed off as a joke. Aftab Hussain had been more direct because he was less experienced.
 
After Awan and Bugrami left, Mazur and Hussain spoke in a more direct fashion about various investments. Mazur wanted to know about sending large amounts of cash to the bank in Panama via courier. Since Operation Pisces, however, banking authorities in Panama had taken a dim view of large cash deposits at the country's banks. Hussain explained that regulations were strict, but he offered an alternative. Mazur could bring cash, $4 million if he wanted, in twenties, fifties, and hundreds. It would be placed in a safe deposit box at the bank. "A big box." And it could be fed gradually into the money flow, over several days. The young banker wanted to cover all the angles.
 
At the end of January, Hussain's efforts to cultivate Mazur had earned him a certificate from BCCI honoring him as "performer of the month," although to his sorrow there was no raise. However, for Mazur, Hussain was already a secondary blip on the screen. The agent's radar had zeroed in on Awan. There would be plenty of time to make sure that Amjad Awan knew the origins of the money he was handling. In terms of importance, Awan added up to more, far more, than Hussain-or even Gonzalo Mora, Jr.
 
The reference to a fiancee in Key Biscayne was more than idle chatter. The Customs Service had decided to invent a girlfriend for Mazur. It wasn't that he was lonely. It was a safety precaution.
 
The Colombians had seen a number of undercover operations launched at them, and as the undercover tactics became more sophisticated, so did efforts to detect them. As part of their defenses, the Colombians often used two straightforward tests. The strangers would be offered drugs and women. Suspicions would focus immediately on those who refused either one.
 
Drugs had proved to be the easier test to pass. Undercover agents typically responded that they did not use drugs out of personal choice. They did not object to those who did; it was good business. But using them yourself, that was bad business. Mazur had made a point from the start with the Moras that he did not use drugs.
 
The logic was harder to apply to women. In the early days, a typical undercover operation involved a meeting or two, an hour or two. Undercover cases were becoming more prolonged and intimate in the eighties. Agents spent days and even weeks with their targets, wooing them with lavish spending and high living. Sexual encounters, either by chance or for pay, were inevitable. Refusing to participate could raise all sorts of alarms.
 
Mazur himself had learned the dangers in 1982 when he was investigating the money-laundering and marijuana-smuggling operations of Charles Broun and Bruce Perlowin. On one of his trips to Las Vegas to change small bills into large ones, there had been a knock on his hotel room door in the middle of the night. Looking through the peephole, he saw an attractive young woman. His new associates, he concluded, were either being sociable or setting him up to see how he responded to the sexual enticement. Mazur's solution was simple. He went back to bed, pretending not to hear the knock. The next time Mazur went to Las Vegas, he took along a female agent.
 
Early in the C-Chase investigation, Gonzalo Mora, Jr., had suggested to Mazur and Emir Abreu that all three of them hire some hookers for a night. The two undercover agents had bowed out gracefully, but now Mazur determined that he needed some protection.
 
The solution was Kathy Ertz, a tall Customs agent in her middle thirties. Ertz was a fraud investigator in the Miami office and happened to be available when C-Chase needed a volunteer. Using the name Kathleen Erickson, she would be introduced to the targets as Mazur's girlfriend. Along with providing an out if Mora or someone else showed up with a pair of hookers on his arms, Ertz offered strategic values, too. With two pairs of eyes and ears, the agents could watch each other's backs. Too, a woman could develop leads and confidences through avenues not open to a man. Before C-Chase was over, Kathy Ertz would play a critical role in calming the suspicions of a powerful and dangerous Colombian.
 
Mazur's role as Robert Musella, financial consultant and money launderer, was a total immersion in the character. He had created a separate life for himself, shuttling between Tampa, Miami, his phony office in New Port Richey, and a dozen other cities. In a life where every fact is partly an illusion and the illusion continues for months and months, the risks are personal as well as professional.
 
Occasionally Mazur strayed from the path, returning to his old life. There were regular meetings with other Customs agents to discuss strategy and other matters, runs along the shore with Paul O'Brien, the veteran supervisor in the enforcement division and the man on whom Mazur depended most. Once every couple of weeks, he would take the ultimate chance and meet his wife somewhere or even spend a night at his home with her. But each time he stepped out of character, Bob Mazur increased the deadly risk that someone would make the connection between his two lives. The consequences could be fatal.
 
Pulling top BCCI officials into the operation would require big bucks. That meant that Mazur had to persuade Gonzalo Mora, Jr., to abandon the original laundering scheme in favor of the loan-back arrangement.
 
Although Mora was quite satisfied with the check-cashing arrangement, he listened as Mazur explained the risks. The biggest problem was that they lost control once the checks were moved into the black market by the money brokers with whom Mora dealt. The checks could wind up being renegotiated back in the United States, Mazur said, which could create suspicions among any U.S. authorities who might examine Mazur's financial affairs.
 
A foolproof alternative had been provided by BCCI, said Mazur. He then explained the loan-back arrangement to Mora in some detail. This way, he said, Mora could pay the drug suppliers directly with checks drawn on the Panama accounts because the money there was already clean.
 
Mora accepted the new scheme, even agreeing to split the one and a half percent fee that BCCI was charging. Since he had hooked up with Mazur, Mora's business had expanded so sharply and profitably that he was willing to follow almost any advice from his American partner.
 
In fact, on the day in January when Mazur described the arrangement to him, Mora had some news of his own. Don Chepe was so pleased with the way things were working that he wanted to add some other cities to their money-laundering route. While Don Chepe's identity remained secret, Mora said that the new business had been sent their way by one of the big man's associates, Javier Ospina.
 
A Colombian with an unpleasant tendency to drink too much, Ospina was one of a handful of men who helped organize the collection of money from the cartel's drug distributors in the United States. Once they had collected a sufficient amount, they turned it over to Mora and the Mazur ring for laundering.
Mora was anxious for Mazur to meet Ospina, for the Colombian held the key to even more business. He told the American that he was trying to arrange a get-together in a few weeks, but Ospina was reluctant to come to the United States. It might have to be somewhere else.
 
With Mora's okay and the expectation of collecting more drug money, Mazur was free to move ahead at the bank. He wanted to test the extent of corruption within this globe-girdling institution.
 
On January 25, 1988, Mazur returned to the BCCI offices in Miami and met with Awan and Bilgrami. He gave them documents permitting him to transact business in the name of a new shell corporation, Lamont Maxwell. He had purchased the corporation from the same Panama lawyer who set up IDC International.
 
Forms were executed to open accounts for Lamont Maxwell at BCCI in Panama and the Banque de Commerce et de Placements, the bank affiliate in Switzerland known as BCP. Mazur told the bankers that he had had two transfers for the Swiss account, one for $1.2 million and one for $476,000. The money would be held in ninety-day certificates of deposit and counterbalancing loan proceeds would be deposited in the IDC account in Panama.
While waiting in Awan's office that day, Mazur learned something new about BCCI. At the time, it did not seem to be of major significance. Later, however, this knowledge and Awan's eventual elaborations on it would emerge as the most explosive information uncovered during Operation C-Chase.
 
The first piece of this puzzle, however, was transmitted innocuously enough. Awan telephoned the First American Bank affiliate in New York to arrange the transfer of the funds to Switzerland. As he waited for someone to answer at First American, he explained to Mazur: "First American is a bank which is unofficially owned by us. Uh, we don't disclose this fact. It's sort of bought by people who are shareholders in our bank. And we haven't-"
 
At that point, the telephone was answered in New York and the subject of First American was dropped. But Mazur had picked up the reference on the tape recorder concealed in his ever-present briefcase, and it was a matter that would come up again. Over the telephone, Awan issued the instructions for the transfer in Urdu to the person on the other end. He ended the conversation with the traditional Muslim phrase-"llah Akbar."
 
Awan mentioned something else to Mazur that meant nothing to C-Chase, then or later, but it turned out to be intensely interesting to another group of investigators. Awan had returned just the day before from a flying trip to Peru and Panama. He brought back with him Akbar Mehdi Bilgrami, the manager of the Panama branch. A. M. Bilgrami, an older man who had worked at the Bank of America before joining BCCI, was not to be confused with Akbar A. Bugrami, Awan's young sidekick, and Awan brought them together in the room so Mazur could see the difference. (Awan chuckled to Mazur about an example of young Akbar's chutzpah: he had once circulated a memo to all the BCCI branches declaring that he was to be called "Akbar A." and the other Bilgrami was to be known as "A. M.") They were all gathered in Miami, Awan told Mazur, for a high-level meeting that afternoon. Mazur never asked what it was about, but years later a commission of Peruvian senators wondered at the coincidence. They were tracking the Peruvian central bank reserves that former President Alan Garcia had deposited with BCCI in Panama. A. M. Bilgrami was the account officer. In early 1988, the money moved to Europe and was dispersed through a network of friendly banks. Was Awan's trip part of this money trail? Had he fit Mazur into a busy day devoted to a far more important client? Garcia's Peruvian enemies wanted to know, but the C-Chase team never realized there was a question.
 
Foremost in Mazur's mind that day was making clear to Awan the source of the money moving through the bank, a critical element in any eventual prosecution for money laundering. Late in the meeting, when they were alone, Mazur decided the atmosphere was right to sound out the banker. He opened by explaining how important it was to him that the funds from the loan arrangements be available quickly and that the transactions appear to be routine loans guaranteed by property.
 
"We'll never discuss this again," Mazur said, lowering his voice, "but the people with whom I'm dealing are the most powerful and the largest drug dealers in Colombia. And I don't care to overstate my abilities. I don't care to create any unnecessary concern. We deal on tremendous faith and trust because we've known each other for many, many years. And being able to rely on those two issues of the appearance of the funds coming from the property loans and, secondly, the turnaround time is all that I ask."
 
"I want to be very clear and possibly blunt with you," said Awan.
 
"Huh," grunted Mazur.
 
"I'm not concerned. .. it's not my business about who your customers are," Awan continued.
 
"Right."
 
"Or whatever. I deal with you. As long as we have a relationship and we have a straightforward, clear relationship, the funds are strictly legit and clear and everything."
 
"Right," said Mazur.
 
"I'm not concerned further than that because, you know, I'm not really responsible for the morals of your customers. I deal with you. As long as you and I have a clear, straightforward, legitimate business, we will provide you all the security, all sorts of security and anonymity. Further than that, I don't want to know."
 
With this pledge of straightforward dealings, the men agreed to seal their new understanding with dinner that night at an Italian restaurant in the trendy Coconut Grove section of Miami.
 
Bob Mazur had gotten what he wanted, recorded conversations with Aftab Hussain and Amj ad Awan that prosecutors could use to indict and convict the two bankers of money laundering. They were crucial in establishing the new path for Operation C-Chase. However, world events were about to intervene and send the investigation spinning in a new direction.
 
Amjad Awan was becoming Americanized. On January 31, 1988, he held a party at his house to watch the National Football League's Super Bowl on television. Of the guests, only Akbar Ah Bilgrami was rooting for the Denver Broncos. As a former Washington resident, Awan was a fervent Redskins fan, so he won some money from Bugrami when the Redskins beat the Broncos with a stunning second-half comeback.
 
"This morning he says it was a lousy game. Really bad," Awan said to Bob Mazur the next day as he joked about Bilgrami's reaction.
 
The two men were meeting on February 1 at the BCCI offices to clear up a minor problem with the power of attorney Mazur had provided for Lamont Maxwell, his latest shell corporation. Not long into the meeting they were interrupted when Awan took a telephone call.
 
"Hello. Hello. Yes. Friday's okay?" Awan asked the person on the other end of the line. "Yeah, I know. Well, what is it? What'd he say? No, that's not the point. The point is that under the circumstances, and I told him this last Friday, that it will be best if we have the least possible contact because who knows who is listening on the telephone."
 
After another minute or two in which Awan discussed plans for a trip somewhere later in the week, he hung up and, turning to Mazur, said, "My friend is in deep trouble these days."
 
"Who is that?" asked Mazur.
 
"General Noriega," Awan replied with a laugh.
 
"Oh, yes," said Mazur. "I think I'll hold off on my trip there. I'm rather concerned about it."
 
"No," Awan assured him, "things will work out. You know, it's rather like the Kurt Waldheim situation. They'll indict him. They won't let him come to this country."
 
"Uh-huh," said Mazur with a nod.
 
"And that sort of thing, he's going to harden his stand against the U.S. because he isn't getting out. The only way he'll get out is by the bullet."
Stories in newspapers and on network television newscasts in the last two days indicated that the U.S. Department of Justice was on the verge of indicting General Manuel Noriega on drug charges. The Reagan administration's disaffection with its one-time ally in Panama had deepened to animosity in recent months. Many would trace the slide to Seymour Hersh's article nearly two years earlier in The New York Times. But many events no longer allowed the administration to promote the fiction that Noriega was a hero of the drug war as he had been portrayed in Operation Pisces.
There was the matter of the ouster of the elected civilian president of Panama, Nicholas Barletta, in early 1986, although for a time some in Washington were willing to let it go because Noriega had stolen the election on Barletta's behalf in the first place. A more serious crisis erupted in June of 1987 when a former military commander in Panama, Colonel Roberto Diaz, openly accused Noriega of complicity in the brutal 1985 torture-murder of Hugo Spadafora, a leftist who had made too many accusations that Noriega was involved in drug running. The charges by Diaz were not new, but they had incited public protests that were suppressed only with force. To Noriega and Awan, the anticipated drug indictment was just another round in the struggle to do business.
 
Noriega, aware through his lawyers in Miami of his likely indictment, had been in touch several times with Amjad Awan. Now, he wanted BCCI to assist him in transferring his fortune out of Panama and into secret accounts before the U.S. government tried to freeze the funds.
 
The atmosphere was tense when Mazur returned to BCCI the following day. Awan apparently had spoken with Noriega on the telephone the night before. He and Bilgrami were worried about what was going to happen to banking in Panama when the inevitable occurred and the general was indicted. Both had seen the crackdown in the wake of Operation Pisces. This could be worse. Noriega's corruption had protected his favorites, but who knew what would happen if he were charged? Now was the time for damage control. Bilgrami and Awan wanted to isolate themselves from Panama.
 
Bilgrami advised Mazur to limit his conversations with Hussain and anyone else in the BCCI office in Panama to matters concerning his Panama accounts only. His dealings with the bank elsewhere in the world should be kept secret.
 
"The reason we have is that the least people who know about the contact with the bank... because we don't want anyone, you know, in Panama, if there's an investigation, you know, the situation in Panama is not legal," said Bilgrami. "If any of our officers there is subpoenaed to come in there and give evidence about any account, this is a situation we are trying to avoid over here."
 
Awan did not want Mazur to be too alarmed. "This is just a precaution," he said.
 
And Bilgrami said that contact with Hussain was okay because he was "very much part of the team."
 
One day earlier, on February 1, 1988, two teams of federal prosecutors from Miami and Tampa had gone to the main headquarters of the Justice Department in Washington. They secured final approval for simultaneous indictments of Manuel Antonio Noriega on drug and conspiracy charges.
The explosive indictments were announced on February 4 at a joint press conference held in Miami by Leon Keliner, the U.S. attorney in Miami, and Robert Merkle, the U.S. attorney in Tampa. There were headlines around the world. In Panama, Noriega thumbed his nose at the charges, accusing the United States of trying to intimidate Latin leaders who dared to criticize the Americans.
 
Charged along with Noriega were leaders of the Medellin cartel and other assorted drug traffickers. One of the defendants was Roberto Steiner, the man who had bought Richard Nixon's house on Key Biscayne. Many of those indicted with Noriega were unfamiliar to the public, just more Latin-sounding names in another drug enterprise.
 
But some of them rang bells with Amjad Awan. Among them were Noriega's longtime associate Enrique Pretelt and another former BCCI customer, pilot Ricardo Bilonick. And newspaper stories said that the Tampa charges against Noriega and Pretelt were based on the testimony of Steven Kalish, the marijuana smuggler who had been referred to BCCI in Panama by Noriega's late friend Cesar Rodriguez.
 
At this point, the agents in Operation C-Chase were unaware of the extent to which Awan and BCCI had served as bankers to Noriega. Awan's mention of Noriega following the phone call on February 1 had piqued the interest of the agents, to be sure, but they had nothing else to go on.
Although C-Chase and one of the Noriega investigations were run out of Tampa, the details of both were kept secret. Only those with a need to know were aware of either investigation. In fact, the most extensive security surrounded C-Chase because a leak would have endangered Mazur and Abreu.
 
"It was an undercover operation dealing with a lot of Colombians," said one federal law enforcement official involved in the case. "That meant there was always a possibility of somebody disappearing forever if word leaked. People in the office knew some sort of money-laundering investigation was under way, but nobody knew the specifics of it. It was kept that way intentionally."
 
But one man knew the details of both investigations. And what he knew made him believe fervently that it was vital to penetrate the Bank of Credit and Commerce as deeply and successfully as possible.
 
Mark Jackowski was regarded as one of hardest-working, most tenacious federal prosecutors in Tampa. When U.S. Attorney Bob Merkle, whose own personality had earned him the nickname "Mad Dog Merkle," had a tough case or a big case, he assigned it to Jackowski. And in Florida in the 1980s, that meant drug cases.
 
At the start of C-Chase, Jackowski had paid little attention. He was devoting far more time to Noriega and a half dozen upcoming drug trials, including one of a doper named Leigh Ritch, who had been Steven Kalish's partner.
 
There was little expectation among prosecutors that Noriega would be brought to trial in the United States, at least not any time soon, so Jackowski was able to devote more time to plotting strategy in C-Chase. His deeper involvement could not have come at a better time.
 
The biggest worry for the Customs agents at the time was a bungle by their own colleagues. By then, Customs agents in Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, Detroit, Philadelphia, and Houston had helped with the cash pickups and other aspects of C-Chase. In addition, agents from the DEA had been used from time to time to assist in keeping pickup sites and other aspects of the undercover work under surveillance.
 
There were factions within Customs and DEA that regarded money-laundering cases as nickel-and-dime stuff. Unless there were drugs on the table, it was a pissant case. The extended family of C-Chase was not a happy one.
 
As Mazur and Abreu escalated the size of the cash pickups, federal agents across the country were getting glimpses of bigger and bigger players in the drug world. In particular, the appearance of Roberto Alcaino in Los Angeles marked the first time that a major launderer and drug trafficker had been lured to the surface. Customs agents in Los Angeles were anxious to nail Alcaino, and their fervor created tension with the C-Chase agents. Drugs and money are almost always kept separate at the stage in trafficking where Mazur and his team were operating. Money from street sales or bulk sales was collected at a central spot, away from the drugs, to minimize risks from the cops. Then the money was delivered to Mazur's pickup teams.
 
However, agents in Los Angeles and the other cities were tracking the C-Chase money launderers back to the drug distribution networks that employed them. Sometimes they ran across drugs in the process. The result was an understandable but highly dangerous urge-at least to Mazur and Abreu-to seize the drugs, particularly since DEA policy said that undercover operations are not supposed to allow large quantities of drugs to hit the streets. And sometimes drugs and money did get mixed up in the same deal.
 
In one instance, in late January 1988, a tractor-trailer truck had been spotted near one of Abreu's cash pickups. DEA agents in Detroit had had the truck under surveillance on its trip north from Texas and believed that it contained a huge load of cocaine. They desperately wanted to stop the truck, arrest the occupants, and seize the dope. The risk was that Don Chepe and his associates would connect the bust with the money laundering, thus exposing Operation C-Chase.
 
This was a problem inherent to long-term undercover operations. Events occur through the life of the investigation that have the potential to destroy the undercover operation. At the same time, dedicated agents in the war on drugs cannot be expected to ignore multi-ton shipments of cocaine. Yet when a load of cocaine is seized and people are arrested, it touches off legal proceedings and publicity that have the potential to reveal details of the underlying investigation.
 
Sometimes, subterfuge can be used. When Customs agents were using wiretaps to monitor the operations of a Colombian money-laundering ring in Los Angeles in 1988, they picked up word that a 1,000-pound load of cocaine would be leaving Los Angeles for the Midwest. They alerted authorities along the route and the truck carrying the cocaine was stopped supposedly for a routine traffic violation near St. Louis, Missouri. But more often, there is neither time nor ability to put so much distance between the undercover agents and the arrests.
 
Had C-Chase been under the control of the FBI or DEA, the tensions might not have run so high. Those two agencies are run along military lines, with the special agents in charge of the field offices under the direct control of officials in Washington. In Customs, there is no central authority for enforcement efforts, or in any event, it is traditionally a weaker one. These weaknesses were eventually identified in a report issued in 1991 by a blue-ribbon task force that criticized the service for mismanagement and cronyism. Among the systemic problems listed in the analysis were inadequate training for supervisors and agents alike, inattention to allegations of corruption and mismanagement, and the lack of central control.
Indeed, regional Customs commissioners have far more power and independence than their FBI or DEA counterparts. The result is a bunch of fiefdoms that one federal prosecutor compared to feudal England. This creates problems on many levels for people trying to run a national or international investigation that requires close communication and cooperation between regions.
 
Mark Jackowski learned about this threat to the longevity of Operation C-Chase in the week after the Noriega indictments. He sat down with Laura Sherman and Steve Cook, who had been sharing the supervisory duties as case agents, and was briefed on the status of the investigation and the competing interests.
 
It was clear immediately to Jackowski that the investigation had to be kept alive. He wanted to see how many people at BCCI were ready, willing, and able to help launder drug money. So he decided to bring together as many of the agents and prosecutors as possible in Tampa to clear the air. He wanted to make sure the authorities in the other cities realized what was at stake. He wanted to make sure they knew who was in control of this investigation. And he wanted to slam home the point by doing it on his turf.
 
There was little trouble persuading the agents and prosecutors to come to Florida in February, at least not the ones from the Northeast and Midwest. In the second week of the month, about fifty or sixty federal law enforcement officers gathered for a series of meetings at the Sheraton Hotel in nearby Clearwater. Jackowski had purposely selected a location away from the federal building in Tampa to maintain security.
 
To say that the parochialism evaporated in the Florida sun would be nice, but it did not happen that way. In his discussions with the other prosecutors, Jackowski tried to make his case for protecting the underlymg investigation. In talks with their counterparts, Sherman and Cook stressed the need to safeguard their undercover operatives. Their warnings were particularly strong when directed at their colleagues from Los Angeles. Customs in Tampa felt that the LA agents had been sloppy in some of their surveillance and made some busts that jeopardized C-Chase. The LA agents were equally forceful in defending their right to operate as they saw fit.
 
When it became clear that there was strong reluctance to lay off the drug seizures, talk turned to methods that could be used to minimize the impact on the undercover sting. The agents and prosecutors discussed using highway stops and other means of making the arrests seem to be cold hits. They also discussed ways to add new layers of information to the C-Chase intelligence, so that it could be protected from discovery by defense lawyers.
The results were disappointing to the Tampa crew. One of them summed it up this way: "There was no acquiescence that Tampa would run things. The agreement was that they would try to work with us as best they could."
 
To some of the Tampa agents, C-Chase's days appeared to be numbered. It was only a matter of time before someone grabbed a load of drugs and Colombians and brought down the undercover operation, too. They expected the end to be written by the cowboys from Los Angeles. Until then, the pace of C-Chase would accelerate.
 


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