he was the second most powerful drug lord in Colombia, he had not been bitten by the coca plant. He had seen it destroy too many people. Occasionally he would drink a beer or a cocktail to subdue the equatorial sun but liquor was not one of his vices. Nor were women. He used them as the need arose, without attachment.
As a manager of a huge international network Fernandez was decisive, had an excellent memory and was exceedingly good at devising master plans which he skillfully concealed from others. Always introverted, that characteristic only grew as he aged. Other people were of little consequence to him other than as commodities. The majority of them drifted from one day and one endeavor to the next. Once they had been given an instruction, he left them alone, refusing to micro-manage. When they succeeded, they were well paid. Rewards for success were doled out with a good deal of generosity. Fernandez was not a greedy man. He viewed greed as just another human weakness that was easily found and manipulated. If they failed, another solution was required.
Fernandez had no friends and his enemies had shorter lives than his. He had no hobbies which gave him pleasure, beyond his work. Winning was merely a product of a good plan and not a thrill in itself. The only thing he strove for and derived satisfaction from, perhaps even pleasure, was the manipulation and resultant growth of his empire.
Though he rated above average in competency and intelligence he had only one extraordinary trait. That trait gave him an ability that was honed to a perfect enigma capable of confounding any who attempted to challenge him. He was an organizer extrordinaire. His network of people and companies functioned independently but all played a part in his grand scheme, known only to him.
His empire, primarily focused in the United States, had originally taken the form of real estate. Now it was growing and expanding. He had one tool that other corporate moguls would envy. Cash. The cash required for expansion had never been a problem. His cocaine empire provided that. Although he was known both inside Colombia and to the DEA as a very high ranking drug lord the truth was he had little interest in the drug trade itself. That end of the business, he had outgrown years ago and delegated it to others. In his mind, he was an extremely gifted, robber baron businessman. In fact, he rated as one of the most successful money launderers the world had ever seen.
In recent years, other than making regular trips to Bogotá, he seldom left the splendor of his house. Surrounded with a military force capable of taking over a small country, his home might have been considered by others to be a prison. He never thought it like that. To Eduardo, it was simply a consolidation of his office, his place of business, his headquarters, and his living quarters. From it he could organize and orchestrate any task that his business required.
The house was luxurious, of course. It had been designed by world famous architects. The engineers who built the shell had all come with military backgrounds and only a prolonged air strike could inflict serious damage. No ground force could reasonably penetrate the defenses. Even an air attack would be costly to an invader. Similar to the castles of medieval Europe, despite the architectural splendor, the house was a fortress. In it, Eduardo Fernandez directed his empire. Every task he demanded was performed by the best, whether it required lawyers, accountants or thugs. His drones, as he thought of them, could be counted on to perform any task Eduardo commanded. If they failed, in his legitimate businesses, they were fired and often financially ruined. In his less than legitimate endeavors, failure was rewarded by a permanent solution.
Although his business had expanded exponentially, pure growth was not the motivating force. It only measured the quality of his organization. The power that came with controlling the empire, although useful, meant little to him. It too was only a product of cause and effect. The pleasure came from organizing, creating a machine so skillfully planned that no external force could threaten it.
Yet Eduardo Fernandez was not without a dream, which, like his intricate plans, he hid from the drones he employed. He craved recognition. He wanted to be idolized as the truly great businessman he was. On a higher level. He yearned for the kind of recognition that had been awarded to the first Rockefellers, Carnegies, and Fords. Those were the men who single handedly controlled entire industries. Oil, railroads, the automobile industry. His personal favorite was Howard Hughes. Fernandez reveled in the wit, the subterfuge and the skullduggery that had been required to control Trans World Airlines. For a while, at least, Howard Hughes had controlled the sky. That was an achievement!
The men Eduardo Fernandez respected most were all “Robber Barons.” They had all been great organizers. And the world fell at their feet as they claimed their rewards. Eventually, other groups had been able to overpower them with unimaginative, wolf-pack mentality and copy-cat tactics. But while they had ruled, they had ruled supreme. Alone. Worthy of recognition.
Eduardo Fernandez visualized his reward. He dreamed of living in a massive penthouse in New York City, standing on his balcony, overlooking his kingdom. Duplicating the style of Howard Hughes, he had already selected a site and purchased the entire building. Following his coronation, the existing four penthouse tenants would be evicted and he would take over the entire floor. He would, of course, continue to be a recluse even though he occasionally dreamt of stepping outside the front door of his building, only to be met by paparazzi and adoring subjects. Surely he would be recognized, loved by some and hated by others. But he would be admired by all. His crowning achievement would be the most brilliant take-over in American history.
“Senor Fernandez, there is a call for you on a secure line. Do you wish to answer it?”
“Gracias, Alicia. Put it through”.
Eduardo sat at an oversized desk of carved mahogany, supported by sculptured legs, embossed with gold filigree. Carved lions paw feet, with claws of real gold, rested on the thick Persian carpet. The drawer handles were solid gold. The desk, although only a few years old, resembled a priceless antique. To him, it was proof that craftsmanship of old was over-rated. It could be duplicated and improved upon, by modern, computer driven machinery, programmed to cut and fit with greater accuracy than the finest craftsman of yesteryear. Why buy an antique when something even better was available? The artisan meant nothing to him. Only the end result counted.
Every detail of the thousand square foot room exuded extreme wealth and power. The mahogany conference table with its dozen chairs, soft leather couches on either side of an inlaid coffee table, the rich mahogany and ebony parquet floor, paneled walls with a variety of sculptures carved into them were all illuminated by priceless chandeliers. There was no sign of vulgarity. The total effect exuded a certain warmth, despite its over-powering impression of grandeur. Relatively few people ever entered this inner sanctum. When they did, they were overwhelmed, and in that state, Fernandez was able to easily manipulate them.
Behind his desk, the entire East wall of the office held an array of computer equipment superior to any office in Colombia. It was entirely built into the wall and trimmed with rich Cyprus molding. The gadgetry and capabilities of the array were barely short of Star Trek’s bridge, yet the entire display had been crafted like fine furniture. It was from that assembly of wizardry that Eduardo controlled his empire. The technical designers who had created the set-up had gained experience through contracts with the White House, the Pentagon and a number of Dow-Jones corporations and Fernandez had been taught to use it to perfection.
Eduardo picked up the telephone. “Yes.”
“This is Michael Farris.”
“Aahh, Mr. Farris. It has been a very long time.”
“Yes it has. I trust everything is well.”
“Everything is satisfactory. What is the purpose of your call?”
“I would like to make an appointment with you to discuss business.”
“Call back and speak to Alicia. She will arrange an appointment.”
Without other formalities, Eduardo hung up the phone. He immediately resumed the work he was doing, studying financial statements generated by his numerous holding companies. But a separate compartment of his brain began to analyze the reason for the call. A few minutes