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I was tucked away in Alejuela in the coolness of the upper elevations at a place named "TARA HOUSE", a "Gone with the wind" themed establishment and I had the Rhet Butler suit.

6.00am, I'm antsy, uneasy and no immediate support. Back against the wall with a 4ft high concrete partition running along my left side and the entrance is 10ft away. I'm looking at the lower elevation of San Jose, it's a discretionary lawless shit hole...BUT...key authorities are on payroll and we're taken care of, just like our Caribbean factors cops and military and even immigration officials had to be "properly treated" as well as certain "counter elements", walking both sides of the fence is common game in the 3rd world. I'm gonna have a big breakfast because I've got to head south to the Panama border. Out of nowhere comes staggering down the garden path towards me, he's drunk and he's got an outdated S&W .38 revolver tucked into his front waistline, he's holding a bottle of cheap Portuguese wine and he's got his left hand waving all over. My first impulse was one of "I don't need this right now fuck", but he's drunk as hell, one hand tied up with cheap wine and the other hand seemed disconnected from his nervous system, I'm sober, focused, pissed, agitated and in top physical condition, so I resign to the very good possibility that I may have to take this guy out. I braced for a dance but was waiting to see if the guy had backup, (they'll stagger the distance between each other) I've got only seconds to commit to my actions and so far this guy's alone so I'm assuming that I'm not going to ambushed. My plan was simple, I'm going to use the 4ft partition wall for a launching kick to his chest the moment he came through the entrance, my only concern was that I couldn't see the outside behind me because of the wall I'm against but I'm sure there's no additional threats in that area because it's walled in with steep cliff on the outside. I ordered steak and eggs and wasn't on my table yet and I'm seconds away from giving this guy a lethal boot to the solar plexus. He stops and stares at his shitty wine, right there I dropped my guard, this guy is nobody of concern, far from being a "sicario"....then he pisses himself and he's got that .38 sticking out of his pants.

All of a sudden there's a screeching bitchy voice cursing this guy out, it was the waitress with my steak and eggs and she was blasting major shit at this guy as he's standing in the largest puddle of piss that I've ever seen released from one bladder...she was threatening to call the cops and he fucked off...BUT...that fuck head, as drunk as he was, went through a narrow gap in the cliff wall and went downside that steep cliff. Anyone familiar with Centro and South America knows how deep the jungle gorges and canyons are, but he was gone. I just had to ask my doll of a waitress, reddish blonde German/Spanish mix, about 5'10" and a thick build, not fat, thick and well built, fucking gorgeous with neat messy hair that gave her that "freshly fucked look", "what's with guy", she told me that he was "bandito thug", basically a street gang punk one up from the "pirhanas". It could have been a tense situation but it was nothing that would have been directly focused on me.

When conducting "business" in Latin America one always has to be aware that rival entities never give up in their "influential propositions", one may refuse the first or even the second proposition but there's never a third chance. But I/we had a very big ace up the sleeve, our well structured "MC" stuffed with "1%ers", we also have the cops bought off and we're running their bikes.

Im running a Policia Harley Low Rider, my absent buddy is using a 1200 Sportster, fucking C R cops can't ride like us ,they were impressed by the way the gringo handled a bike.

Later that night I get word of a major arrest in Limon on the Caribbean side of C R, it's a bad place, Limon is also our FOB for Cartagena. Now I'm a bit concerned, the only thing keeping me calm is that my sat phone has not wrung, which it would've if there was a problem. Later that evening a communique from a Medellin cartel to the C R government in San Jose warned that if their "people" were not released by noon next day that shit would get real.

NOW THIS IS THE TRUTH...the first thing I thought was "OK, the bust has nothing to do with us", second, "I wonder what Bill Clinton is going to do". We were prepared for a deluge of DEA, US MILITARY AND FBI, POSSIBLY SCOTLAND YARD, it never happened. 11:00hrs next day 3 helicopters land in Limon and a couple dozen heavily armed cartel soldiers unload with weapons leveled and ready to go and I'm thinking holy fuck, and where's my partner. Turned out he was hold up in Panama near the Darian Gap.

Long story short, by noon next day the C R government released the cartel members and Slick Willy did nothing, no FBI, DEA etc but CIA is everywhere, we've always been onto them...RCMP began their focus on the Centro American factor right around 98/99 but they were everywhere in the Caribbean and Scotland Yard has a major role outside of MI6 as well. But the 1st World did nothing. That's the state of the "War on Drugs". But the method of stealthy logistics we employed was one designed by us and was extensively efficient from 1986 - 99, we had them all fooled, even in the Caribbean operation we had canning and bottling plants under contract with us. Then in 1998 into 99 talks were underway and by 2000 the "great patch over" transpired...now "81" was the ruling MC...and I couldn't do fuck all about it except play the game or nobly discontinue, normally one doesn't get a choice...I played along until I decided to cut loose 7years ago.
DON'T EVER BELIEVE THAT THE WAR ON DRUGS IS LEGITIMATE...the only legitimate element was our organization and operation...

AND THAT'S THE TRUTH .