The Attempted Raid of October 15th
Sam and I began our ungerground oddessey, not on the day after Mr. Faul’s death, but on Monday, the 15th of October, early in the morning.
I am leaving gaps between the earlier post – “The Letter”, and this post, because, in the end, I believe it weaves a better story. Forgive me for not including photographs with this post but my access to that specific library at this point is limited, due to my current situation. I hope you will understand. Within a few days, I will post the photos and, hopefully, flesh out the story some more.
Anyway, on Sunday, the 14th of October, at 1:20 P.M., I received reliable information that a number of ex-police officers and ex-BDF personnel were going to attempt a raid on my San Pedro property. They would be dressed in uniforms and pass themselves off as police. This is a common practice among Belizean criminals. People generally open their doors to the police, so the criminals don’t have to force their way in. As an aside, I had six full time security guards on duty. I was told the raid would be the early the following morning, October 15th, between the hours of 1:00 A.M. and 5:00 A.M.
I thought long and hard about what to do. At 4:00 in the afternoon I called a close friend and taxi driver, named Herman Wade, and asked him to drive the torturous road north to my house. Travel to the North Island is generally by boat, since the road is most of the year impassable. I then called Samantha’s father, Nestor Vanegas, whom I trusted, if for no other reason than Samantha is his daughter and I felt sure he had his daughter’s safety at heart. I had a meeting, Herman, Nestor and Samantha, and explained the situation.
I told Nestor and Herman to drive together to a point about two miles south of my property, where the road curves dramatically to the beach, and to back the van into the bushes. I instructed them to call Sam or myself if a large number of people dressed as police headed north. To help the reader understand the issues here, police seldom, if ever patrol the far end of the North Island, even during the day, and less often during the night. When it does happen, there are never more than two officers involved, and they are always on foot.
Sam and I went to bed and slept. At 4:40 in the morning Nestor called. I was up instantly. “Two golf carts with eight men carrying automatic rifles just passed”.
“Did they see you?” I asked.
“No” he said.
“Give to the phone to Wade” I instructed.
Wade confirmed the account.
“Were the guns automatics?” I asked
“I don’t know. They looked like rifles. They held them on their laps” He replied.
“Stay where you are” I said, and hung up.
Sam was already up and dressed. I threw on a pair of shorts and, shirtless and shoeless, climbed down the stairs to the beach and headed north, with Sam in tow. Two miles in a golf cart under the current road conditions meant we had ten minutes or so.
The first thing I noticed was that, of the three guards who were supposed to be at the front, one was standing on the dock – Chele Perdomo – and one was walking away to the back of the house. The guard walking away later said he was going for a drink of water. 4:40 A.M. at the Ocean’s edge is not usually a thirsty time of day.
I said nothing to Chelle, but continued walking hurriedly north, with Samantha in tow. When we got about 200 yards north, where the beach was dark, we hid in some thick brush and waited. I noted that Chele did not attempt to follow us and he did not see where we exited the beach. From our vantage point we could see about a quarter of a mile to the north, and way past my property to the south. In less than ten minutes, two golf carts pulled onto the beach just south of Playa Blanca (about 600 yards north), with lights still on. We were clearly not dealing with professionals. The cart lights went out and a number of flashlights were turned on. You could see the jiggling of the lights as the men walked south toward my house. I signalled Sam Sam to stay quiet and motionless. As the men approached to within 100 yards of us we could year distinct voices but could not make out the words. A cell phone rang. Everyone stopped. There was an animated conversation, then all went quiet and still for a moment. Then there were more voices, which continued for a couple of minutes. More stillness, then we saw the men retreating back to their carts.
Sam and I stayed in hiding until 8:15. I then called Amy (I had my cell phone and my pistol in my shorts). Amy, even though she is with Keith now, still sleeps often in her room in my home. I told Amy to go to my room, put on one of my shirts over hers and walk north on the beach, talk to no-one and ask no questions. Amy has known me for over two years and detected the seriousness of my voice. She did as I asked. She was pissed though when I quietly hailed her. She is used to sleeping well past noon and early mornings are not her cup of tea.
To make a much longer story short – I put on the shirt, called Wade and Nestor, told them to come pick us up, and Sam and I began our oddessey which is still continuing. We have been basically on edge, moving from house to house, condo to condo, hotel to hotel, never staying more than two nights in any one place. I fired my entire security staff a few days after the abortive raid.
The events that have unforlded since this abortive raid will seem incredible to most – beyond belief. If you can suspend your disbelief until the final chapter, however, I promise that you will be as satisfied as watching the ending of Pride and Prejudice.
I will fill in the gaping holes eventually. You must bear with me. The best stories are revealed not chronologically, but by stepping from one level of intensity to the next.
Three of my friends are still being held in prison on trumped up charges. They are:
They were charged and have been imprisoned because three legally licensed firearms were found in the incorrect rooms on my property (stretching the law to the extreme). I would ask you to please email the following and demand their release: