Rich Playboy

I'm frustrated by this whole damned thing. Part of me wishes that I'd never taken it on. I should just have left it to the authorities instead of trying to solve it with the help of our little amateur team.

This is David confronting Goliath, five of us pitted against an increasingly complex smuggling syndicate. Carlos and Elena, me, and my two bodyguards, Alphonse and Arturo, are valiantly trying to save pieces of Peru's ancient heritage from illegal export to foreign collectors. Sometimes it seems utterly hopeless.

I've recently returned from investigations in highland Peru, tropical Brazil and the dry Nazca region. A few weeks prior to this, my friends Carlos and Elena came back from Amazonia, beaten and bruised.

I'm not pleased with how little we have to show for our troubles, mostly disconnected scraps of evidence and unproven suspicions. The two of them witnessed valuable Paracas and Nazca artifacts two thousand years old exchanged for cold cash in Manaus. Poor Carlos almost died for it. But other than that... well, we don't really have much to show for our efforts. I'm discouraged, but determined to keep on trying.

There are good reasons why I've insisted that we do as much investigation as possible without going to the authorities. Corruption has long been a problem among the ranks of inadequately paid police and military forces in Latin America.

Sometimes it reaches right to the top, such as the resignation of the president of Peru in the multi-million dollar Inter-oceanic Highway contract scandals. In short, I don't trust the authorities.

There's another reason too. Police here often lack subtlety in their investigations, quick to 'solve' a crime by arresting (or shooting) the most apparent suspect. This allows them avoid looking deeper into crimes which may have a powerful group or syndicate is behind them.

The real criminals, sometimes from the wealthy land-owning class, might go unpunished. Meanwhile, their secret operations continue.

I remind myself that we are making some progress. Apart from seeing artifacts transferred in Manaus, we strongly suspect that they are moved down to the mouth of the Amazon at Belem. At least one shipping agent seems to be implicated, and I'm sure there are several others. This will require another trip to Brazil in the near future.

Investigation around the Inter-oceanic Highway border crossing has led us to suspect that some Spanish girls working in Brazilian bars and whorehouses carry small ancient objects across for their pimps. Intercontinental Freight transport trucks move hidden items too, along with drugs and human trafficking. It's a Hell hole up in the Andes.

Now we have suspicions and names for the sources of the smuggled pieces too. Government permit official Tereza Gonsalvez and archeologist Emile Urbano have some explaining to do about his excavations in Nazca district. Are they colluding or simply incompetent?

I've also bought inferior Inca pieces from an old couple, the Recaros, in Cuzco. Are they secretly handling precious goods too?

While it is an incomplete puzzle, I have a plan and Carlos has been working on a solution. If he can find a tiny satellite-based tracking device, we can follow the path of old pieces. Shipped by Intercontinental Freight to Antonio DaSilva at his bar in Manaus, they should lead us farther along the smuggling chain.

I'm meeting with my friend Carlos now. He's a private investigator, so he knows all about surveillance and tracking equipment. I hope he has found something small and reliable that we can use.

"Any luck Carlos? I'm hoping."

"It depends on the size and packaging of the artifacts," he replies. "Something like the RTag is cheap and could work perfectly. But unless we can build it into the packaging so it couldn't be seen or felt, it might be a bit too big."

"It's a round disk, right? Is there anything square and flat about as big as a postage stamp?"

"Yes, one manufacturer, BAE, has a military code GPS tracker that size, but it's a quarter inch thick. It costs more than the RTag, but the shape might make it easier to use in the packaging."

"In the packaging. How?"

"Say we send a piece in a really thick, multilayered cardboard box with it fitted between layers. Or in heavy bubble packaging with a round RTag hidden in a bubble. Maybe we could use a cardboard cylinder with a false bottom?"

"All great ideas, Carlos, especially the last one. But they rely on the artifact staying in its packaging. What if it's taken out?"

"Well... we'd be screwed unless the piece went back in for further shipment. At Manaus, we saw Antonio take the burial shrouds and ceremonial thing out of the packaging for examination, then he reinserted them. He didn't tear apart or discard the original package."

"Interesting. That's good. Did you come across anything smaller for tracking?"

"The GPS trackers come in all shapes and sizes depending on the end use. The two I mentioned are still the smallest, and they're both fairly inexpensive too. But, I can keep looking...."

"I want to get going on this as soon as possible. So, let's start with one of each that you've described- the RTag and the BAE- hidden in packaging. Even if artifact and box get separated at some point, it could be farther along the trail than Manaus."

"Yes, it probably would be. No harm trying."

"We've got four Inca pieces and I can buy more. Let's start with two about a week apart, one in a thick cardboard cylinder with a false bottom. Try another way, like bubble wrap with the RTag for the second one."

"OK, I'll get right on it. And see if I can find tinier trackers to actually embed into objects."

"It's a good plan, my friend. We've got to get at this before any more of Peru's treasures are lost," I emphasize.

"Jag, you sound more like Elena every time we talk about this!"

Things go back to normal for a short time as Carlos gets the first package ready. I catch up with Marina at home- we've missed each other very much and I need to relieve the nagging guilt I feel about sex with Mercedes. I'll never tell her though, because there is far too much to lose.

One day Carlos comes by my office to demonstrate the first package- P1 as he labels it on his phone. He leaves it with me, and as soon as he steps out, the device shows him that it remains at the museum.

Perfect! Time to take it to Intercontinental Freight's Lima location for transport to Antonio's address.

After that is arranged, we all hold our breath in anticipation. We wait and wait for P1 to move, but nothing happens for a few days. Perhaps someone has already found the tracker and discarded it? Maybe the device is a dud?

All of a sudden the RTag is moving and we follow its location. First it goes to Cuzco, then on to Imapari after a few more days. That is exactly what we hoped would happen.

Then P1 reaches Porto Velho, Brazil- I was there with my bodyguards- the next step along the anticipated route. From there, it's sent downriver and arrives in Manaus six days later, almost two weeks after we took it to the shipper.

Where will it go next?

By now, another package- P2- is already following the same route through Cuzco to the Peruvian border, but it remains stranded there for another week. The GPS tracker pinpoints its location, the Customs warehouse at Puerto Moldanado.

It must be in an impounded trailer awaiting inspection. Either that or the package has been seized and trashed. We wait anxiously for further satellite-generated data.

A few days later, its travelling companion P1 is on the move again, across Manaus to the ferry terminal, just as we suspected. Evidently, a courier has come to Antonio's bar to move it along the chain, with the packaging still intact.

Technology is amazing! We can follow events using GPS with eyes better than our own!

A week later P2 is out of impound and on its way to the bar too. We think it will ultimately be sent downriver from there, just like P1 had been. By now that one is nearing Belem, almost all the way down the Amazon. More anticipation. Where will it be taken next? Will we be able to follow P1 any farther toward buyers?

Next, P2 reaches Antonio's place, but only remains there for a short while before it goes somewhere else, this time to the local airfield! Ten hours later, P2 sits in the freight terminal at Congonas Airport in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

This is a whole new trail, something we didn't expect at all! Are the artifacts being moved by two different smuggling operations through the same Manaus bar? Or are these just two routes to the same ultimate destination?

Another day passes, and the goods have arrived at two addresses.

P1 reaches 47247 Rua dos Majores in Belem. Carlos discovers that it's the office of the local Peruvian trade envoy to Brazil. This suggests that government people may be involved in smuggling their nation's history to outside buyers. But, this kind of corruption shouldn't really surprise us.

Meanwhile, P2 is traced to 59035 Avenida Helio Pellerin, a posh neighbourhood in suburban Sao Paulo. The place is owned by one Fernando Vila.

Who is this guy?

So much information is available on social media that Carlos soon learns he's a high-profile real estate lawyer, the playboy son of old Brazilian money. He cuts a wide swath through the party circuit, a man about town, and an avid collector- of art and women. He's often pictured in the company of both.

Somehow my friend gains access to the list of staff telephone extensions at the Belem trade envoy's office. He finds a Roberto Gonzagos working there. Close, but no cigar.

I was hoping for a Gonsalvez connection, a name to match up with the lax government official in Nazca whom I suspect might be part of the larger operation. By simply ignoring archaeological digs under her jurisdiction, she may help feed Peruvian pieces to world markets.

Someone else at the Belem office must be in on this, but who?

Just as Carlos, Elena, Marina and I meet to decide what to do next something else happens. Package P1, the artifact at the trade office in Belem, goes to Val de Cans Airport there.

Two days later it arrives in Lisbon, Portugal, after a brief stopover at Ponta Delgada in the Azores. We identify the flight as a TAP Air Portugal passenger plane and conclude that someone must have P1 in their luggage.

From Humberto Delgado Airport in Lisbon, P1 quickly moves on to an address in nearby Cascais, a tony exurban community to the west of Lisbon, on the Atlantic Ocean. Carlos is able to track the piece to an antiquities shop called Coisas Antigas [Old Things]. We figure that it is likely to be sold there, but we remind ourselves that it's an inferior piece, no real loss to Peru.

So, our tracking tally is two out of two. Satellite technology has advanced and widened our investigation of smuggled Peruvian artifacts, but now we worry that the recipients of the shipments might have noticed the small GPS trackers hidden in the packaging. Finding these would cause dark suspicion.

We need to move forward quickly! Carlos and I will use some reasonable cover story to visit Fernando Vila in Sao Paulo. After all, he is a collector, the type of person close to the heart of this smuggling investigation. We must learn if he has any Peruvian artifacts in his collection, and get a sense about whether he also sells them too.

Together, we develop a plan by which I'll use my position as Head of Acquisitions at the National Museum in Lima to ask Vila to help us acquire ancient Peruvian artifacts. It may lead to nothing, or it may put us right into the channel of collectors buying our heritage. There's nothing to lose.

I open communications with a formal letter on National Museum letterhead, inviting him to contact me. I say that he's come to our attention as someone knowledgeable about ancient art and the European auction scene. We need him to help us buy high-quality pieces to add to Peru's national collection. And, I point out that we'll pay a commission to our agent.

Fernando takes the bait, but he is wary, since he is probably involved in the smuggling syndicate himself. He wants to know why we need an agent and how much we have to spend. No doubt, Vila is calculating the profit he can make, asking how his commission will be calculated and paid out.

I reply right away with reasoned explanations and he is soon inviting me to meet him in Sao Paulo. Vila wants a museum budget presentation, as well as detailed proof of my ability to act for them.

We can see that he's quite interested, and we begin to exchange phone calls. He agrees that I can bring my 'assistant' along- Carlos, of course.

Within a few days, my friend and I are in Brazil, looking every bit the professional representatives of Peru's most prestigious museum. After we pick up our luggage at the airport, Carlos spots a big man in livery behind the rope, holding a sign- "Jaguar". JoJo Morrisette introduces himself, takes our bags and leads the way to a glittering new limo.

"Gentlemen, we're going straight to the boss's office. We'll be there in about an hour or so. Help yourself from the cooler back there."

Sao Paulo is enormous, one of the largest modern cities in the world. The place is a forest of shining towers and the busy streets teem with luxurious cars and beautiful people.

JoJo stops in front of a glass building and leads us into marble lobby, announcing to the woman at the front desk we're meeting with Mr. Fernando Vila. She phones upstairs to confirm, then directs us to suite 2942 at the end of the hall on the top floor.

Vila has a corner office where he conducts his legal practice, and his secretary is drop-dead gorgeous! She must be a Brazilian fashion model, just come from the salon! Her name plate reads "Contessa", and she looks so much a beautiful countess that Carlos and I stumble over our words as we stare like fools.

"Oh yes, Fernando is expecting you. Follow me to his private office," she coos.

We're treated to the mesmerizing sway of Contessa's hips in a short, tight skirt as we follow her. Her spike heels add to the sexy motion that makes her long black hair swing from side to side across her back. She stops in front of a closed door and taps before pushing through.

"The men from the National Museum in Peru are here, Fernando."

We're surprised by the informality of first-name use in the office between the boss and the paid help.

Vila comes from behind his big ebony desk and we a struck right away by his small stature. Fernando is about five foot four, and might weigh 125 pounds, or less. His carefully styled graying hair and the deep lines around his eyes suggest he is probably about fifty. The smile is friendly, but his eyes seem shifty as he directs us into a consultation room.

We briefly make small talk about the flight before he launches into business. He wants to know more about me and how I came to be Head of Acquisitions at the museum. Apparently satisfied with my replies, he moves to the topic at hand.

"And as Chief, you're always seeking new pieces for their collection, right?"

"I see that you collect too, Fernando. That's a fine Chimu piece over there," and I point to a display shelf. "A very valuable ceremonial vessel about a thousand years old. You have good taste. It's of the finest quality."

He smiles at my flattery and remarks, "You certainly know what you're talking about. I hope we can do mutually-beneficial business together, Jaguar."

"Yes, you have a good eye. We need someone like you to help us grow our Peruvian collection. Only the best will do."

"I can help you... for a reasonable commission. How much do you have to spend?"

"Millions!" I dangle in front of Vila and he smiles as he lets that number sink in.

"Ah yes.... For ten percent of the purchase price, I can be your agent."

It's steep, but I nod approval.

Then he uses the intercom to beckon Contessa.

"Baby, bring us the cart now.... OK, thanks."

Baby! Is there more here than meets the eye?

A few minutes later she wiggles into the room pushing a small wheeled table that holds glasses, an ice bucket, and a variety of the best alcohol.

"Stay with us for a drink or two, Contessa. These men will probably be partners with me. You'll be seeing more of them in future, I'm sure. I hope they'll accept my invitation to the club tonight."

The woman is a sex-bomb! Not only is she gorgeous in a sexy Latin way, but also there's her great rack, made even more magnificent by the very tight, sheer blouse she wears.

Carlos and I have a difficult time making conversation with Contessa without gaping at her body, and she knows it. Worst of all, Vila seems to be enjoying our obvious discomfort.

Soon it is agreed that we'll be picked up this evening to visit to a club, probably Fernando's favourite hangout, we guess. He advises us to dress well. After drinks, JoJo is waiting outside to take us to a sleek hotel we booked nearby. He'll be back about 8:00 PM.

The man is punctual, pulling up to the front entrance exactly on time before bounding out to open the rear door for us. Fernando sits up front while we speed along in light traffic toward who-knows-where.

In about twenty minutes, Morrisette reaches a fine old building downtown, where Vila leads us up the marble steps of the elegant club. A liveried doorman nods to him and opens the heavy wooden door. It is clear that only select people like Fernando and his guests are permitted inside. This club is certainly no sleazy hangout like Antonio's bar in Manaus.

A beautiful woman in an elegant dress which reveals more than it covers offers us champagne from a silver tray. We admire her physical display while taking our time selecting a glass.

As Carlos and I drink with our host, we see who else is coming tonight. A small crowd of well dressed men, most of them with attractive younger women, mill about chatting in the foyer. They all seem to know one another. The waitress comes back with another tray of filled glasses which quickly disappear as people noisily socialize.

After our third glass, a gong sounds and attendants open double doors leading to a private theatre room with about ten rows of plush seats sloping toward a low stage. Clearly some entertainment is scheduled but there's no orchestra, only a sound system and a few props.

When everyone is seated, Latin music begins and a shapely woman comes on stage to move to the music. We watch her lovely body, clothed in a slinky animal-print leotards, grace the stage. Then an equally attractive, muscular young man in matching shorts and tank top joins her in the dance. They move closely together, almost like a ballet.

Then the tempo increases as he grabs his partner firmly and begins to pull away her outfit. Now her firm breasts are bare. But she grapples back- all in time with the music- ripping off his top. He counters by pulling her leotards apart, leaving her completely nude. She grabs at his shorts, tearing them from his body to expose his cock.

What the Hell is this?

The couple dance naked now, groping and kissing when they come together. We're watching so intently that we hardly notice figures in black carrying an upholstered chair and a divan on-stage. We do notice that the male dancer is rock hard. He bends his partner forward over the back of the chair. Then she spreads wide and he effortlessly slides into her body.

Fernando has brought us to a live sex show!

Only a few metres away from us, the performers are actually fucking on stage. The audience cheers and calls out encouragement. We watch her fine tits sway while he pounds harder and harder into her. There isn't anything false about this show, and the gaping crowd starts to direct it.

"Give it to her!" a male voice bellows, followed by a woman calling, "The other way now!"