Conspiracy Nation -- Vol. 10 Num. 34

("Quid coniuratio est?")


By A Former Intelligence Officer

"Marlin Three Five Zero, this is Almighty. Looking Glass Zero Two has a suspect trace at eleven o'clock, one five zero degrees, speed one six zero knots, heading three four zero degrees. Four five miles on the deck, over."

"Roger, Almighty," the DEA pilot answered as he turned toward the bogie and started his descent to 1000 feet. "How do they think they can beat today's technology?" he mumbled to himself as he set course for the bogie. "Almighty, this is Three Five Zero. I have a visual on the bogie. Will maintain trail until we pass Jamaica. Have Slingshot pick him up on the north side of Cuba, over."

"Three Five Zero, this is Almighty. Omaha Five Two in route at this time. Advise when you go bingo, over."

"Almighty, Three Five Zero, roger, out."

The radios went silent.

It was so dark. A great night for a run, the pilot thought to himself as he scanned the instrument panel of the Piper Chiefton. He traveled alone so he could keep all the pay himself. "Who needs the dead weight of a co-pilot anyway? This was not an air drop. After all," he reasoned, "a 180 pound co-pilot would cost him over $100,000." The cartel, his employer, was paying him $3,500 per kilo for transportation of the cocaine. Lately, the price had been driven up due to the intervention efforts of the US military and the DEA. This was his third load this month. The first flight went fine. He was able to deliver his 500 kilo cargo without a hitch. But the second flight didn't gel. He was detected 150 miles south of the Dominican Republic. So he turned around and flew back to Colombia to wait for another weather window. No big deal.

Tonight there hasn't been any activity in the skies above as far as he could see. He looked at his high frequency radio to make sure it was on the correct frequency. Everything seemed fine, he thought. He scanned the dark skies above. Suddenly the silence was broken. The ringer on the FH radio activitated.

"Tampico, this is San Juan. Operations called to advise you are hot. Ten miles in trail. Return to base, over."

"Roger, San Juan," the pilot replied as he turned right 180 degrees and kept his eyes peeled above. "Yep, there they are," he smiled as he set course for home. "It's a good thing the boys at Swan Island were on the job," the pilot thought. Otherwise, he would surely have been busted on the ground in south Florida, foiled by technology again.

The DEA pilots in Marlin Three Five Zero descended and turned to intercept the Piper Chiefton.

"Almighty, this is Three Five Zero. They've got us again. They're heading home," the discouraged DEA pilot radioed to Guantanamo Bay. He was dumbfounded. How did the Chiefton pilot detect them? "Oh well, another night shot," the DEA pilot said to his co-pilot, as they turned back toward Gauntanamo.

As a result of the use of advanced technology, the cartels found it necessary to begin looking at alternatives. They turned to one of the most elusive smugglers the United States has ever encountered, a Canadian miscreant named Mike Huxtable. Huxtable's contacts in the mob and certain US government agencies, would prove invaluable in formulating a bullet-proof alternative. In less than a month, Huxtable had the cartel's alternative in place. It was amazingly simple. Just avoid the electronic veil set up along the southern border of the United States. So, as he began researching the east and west coast of the US for destination landing areas, he found that many of the areas had beefed up security measures in place. These measures were intended to detect flights originating from the south. His research paid off, however, when he found that it was still fairly easy for an aircraft to depart Colombia, fly to the Bahamas to rest and refuel, and then, when a weather window opened, continue the flight to Nova Scotia or Quebec. Again, rest and refuel, then continue to a US/Canadian border landing strip.

An associate of Huxtable's owned a ranch south of Wayburn, Canada which provided a perfect landing zone. From Wayburn, the cocaine could easily be flown in to Montana or North Dakota, via small aircraft. However, the increase in air traffic to the small US border airports could be a problem. It was time to contact one of his associates for help. He recalled that his long time friend, Terry Nelson, was from the North Dakota area.

Nelson had been so completely successful in corrupting other law enforcement and political officials in southern Florida to cooperate with the cartels, there was no doubt that in North Dakota and Montana, Terry Nelson was the man for the job. Nelson not only recruits the law enforcement officials and politicians he needs, he can also supply data from the law enforcement arena such as the DEA NADDIS computer, customs TECS II, EPIC, FBI, and others involved in on-going investigations. Nelson then provides this intel to his contacts. This helps obstruct any investigation and difuse potential problems.

As Nelson went to work he quietly found that a small town in northern Montana was a prime target. Not only could he easily align a top Montana official, but law enforcement in the area was easily swayed. The name of the first location acquired was Chinook, Montana.

"How appropriate," Nelson bragged to his associates. "I think we'll call this one, 'Operation Big Blow' in honor of the Chinook winds."

More destinations followed in Montana, North Dakota, and Wyoming. With the northern routes opened and new overland routes through Mexico set up, the cartels' flow of cocaine to the United States increased over 300%.

And what about Huxtable and Nelson? Mike Huxtable's whereabouts are unkown by this author. But Terry Nelson, a senior agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, continues to provide his valuable services to cartels and others who will pay his fee, out of his FBI office in southern Florida...unchecked.

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