On the map, Barry drew circles around the gun emplacements, the oil refinery, Vaughan's house and the Sandinista People's Army headquarters.
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Back in Panama City, Barry told Pablo that the runway was ideal, but the hangar was too small for the plane he had in mind. Pablo said that Barry's mission had changed. Instead of picking up a second shipment in Nicaragua of 2,000 kilos, Barry needed to go to Bolivia for 6,000 kilos of cocaine base for their new labs in Nicaragua.
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After returning to America, Barry showed up for a routine court appearance and ended up in jail. The DEA got him out, eager for him to set up a sting operation on Pablo and the other members of the cartel.
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Fresh out of jail, Barry immediately called his Honduran co-pilot, who asked where Barry had been. Barry said he'd been busy. With the 1,500 kilos scheduled to be transported the next day, they had no time to waste.
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Paranoid after free-basing cocaine, the co-pilot was convinced that his wife had become a government informant. "She was busted for coke while we were in Panama, but when I got home, she'd been released. She'd come with me on trips to Panama. She may have talked.
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Unless she comes with us, I'm not going. I need to keep an eye on her."
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Barry tried to talk him out of bringing his wife, but it was no use. For two days in Louisiana, Barry waited for the co-pilot, who kept promising to get on the next flight, but never showed up. In the end, Barry asked his trusted friend, Emile Camp, to step in.
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On May 28, 1984, they flew a Learstar from Arkansas to Medellín over the Colombian jungle.
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"That strip looks mighty wet!" Barry yelled.
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"So," Emile said. "You gonna try it?"
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"I didn't fly all this way to turn around."
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"That mountain's awful close, and that river's pretty high. Do not enter that banana grove. It'll take the wings off. That grass is too wet. You're gonna pay hell getting out of there, I'll tell you that."
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"Anything else?" Barry asked.
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"It's a piece of cake."
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With its propellers roaring, the plane swerved to land. Water and mud splashed off the wheels as it skidded on the landing strip.
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Barry was talking to the ground crew when a long-haired man galloped towards the plane on a white Arabian stallion, brandishing a machine gun and barking orders.
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"Who the hell are you?" Barry asked.
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"Carlos Lehder!" he yelled. Barry had heard stories about Lehder and Norman's Cay. "Now you will do what I say! Immediately! Before someone sees your plane from the air!"
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A tractor appeared, pulling over a ton of cocaine.
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"Holy shit!" Emile said. "They expect us to fly out of this swamp with all of that shit."
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"No, of course not," Barry said.
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"We can't get up with that much weight."
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"Don't you worry. I'm gonna reason with the man." Barry laughed. "Hey, lifting off this muddy strip with all of that weight is impossible."
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Barry's attempt at reasoning ended up with him pinned against the tractor and Lehder shoving a gun in his chin. "I don't care what you say. You'll fly every last gram of it out of here, just like you contracted to do. And if you refuse, I'll kill you right now, and your co-pilot will do it. We're going to load this plane and you're going to get out of here. You start loading fuel."
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With a defeated expression, Barry complied. In fifteen minutes, 1,500 kilos of cocaine in duffel bags and burlap sacks were loaded.
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Barry manned the plane. "You ready?"
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"No," Emile said.
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"I knew I could count on you."
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As it picked up speed on the muddy runway, the plane rumbled and bounced, but failed to gain height.
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"C'mon, baby," Emile said.
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Lehder gallop alongside, shooting into the earth, his workers lined up at the periphery of the jungle, yelling for the plane to rise. It lifted to cheering, but fell and skidded. The right wheel sank into the mud and was ripped from its undercarriage. Barry lost control. The plane crashed with a crunch of mechanical destruction.
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"Get out, man! The fuel's gonna blow!" Barry said, scrambling to exit.
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Lehder appeared, bursting off more gunfire. "Gringos! Maricones!"
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Anticipating an explosion, Barry and Emile dived into the jungle.
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Lehder ordered his workers to rescue the cocaine from the burning plane.
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"That crazy bastard's making them go to the plane," Emile said, clutching tree.
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"They'll be barbecued."
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Barry and Emile leapt from the jungle and tried to stop the two dozen workers charging towards the plane.
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"Help them now!" Lehder yelled, shooting his gun at the dirt around their feet.
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Barry and Emile joined the men grabbing huge packages of cocaine from the plane. As they charged away, the plane exploded, knocking the men over. Flames shot dozens of feet in all directions. Two workers were burnt. The tractor transported the cocaine back to its storage facility, where it was inventoried.
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"Cabrones, we have another plane!" Lehder yelled.
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"I don't give a damn what kind of plane you've got," Barry said, his face muddy. "We can't take off with that load. We've gotta wait for this field to dry."
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Barry and Emile were flown to Medellín. After showering in a cartel member's mansion, they were shown around the grounds. They admired a waterfall, a tropical garden, a swimming pool and an Olympic-sized cycling track.
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A replacement plane was found: a Titan 404. "Certainly you're not going to be able to carry the full 1,500 kilos that you tried to carry with the larger plane. Can you carry half of it?" the cartel man asked.
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"No, sir," Barry said, worried about the plane going down in the Gulf of Mexico. "Because then I wouldn't be able to add any fuel."
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"And with a stop in Nicaragua? How much can you take?"
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"Well, with a stop in Nicaragua, we can probably take 700, 750 kilos." The crash had played into Barry's hands because the sooner he could get to Nicaragua, the more the Reagan-Bush administration would be satisfied by the drugs link and the more predisposed they would be to helping his legal situation.
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At the Hotel Intercontinental in Medellín, Barry called the DEA to appraise them about the new flight schedule. In Gulfport, DEA agents were waiting for the cocaine with a recreational vehicle. Such a large seizure would make their careers.
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The next day, Barry and Emile returned to the jungle airstrip. Each got on top of the burned remains of the Learstar while the other snapped photos. In the jungle, they spent three days with Lehder, who was guarding the cocaine. Lehder showed them 3,000 kilos and claimed that 6,000 kilos of cocaine base in Bolivia were heading for Nicaragua.
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On June 2, 1984, Barry told the DEA that he was flying to Nicaragua the next day. On June 3, at 10:30 pm, the DEA received a call in Miami from one of Barry's associates, stating that a radio transmission had been received and Barry was returning to Nicaragua after experiencing engine trouble. Three hours later, the DEA heard that Barry had landed in Nicaragua and might have some legal problems. No more contact was received.
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Three days later, Barry appeared in the US without any cocaine. At a debriefing, he told the DEA that on June 3, he'd flown the Titan 404 from Colombia with 700 kilos of cocaine aboard. Stopping for fuel in Los Brasiles, Nicaragua, had taken longer than expected. After taking off in darkness, Barry had flown without any lights over a mountainous region. North of Managua, the plane was illuminated by anti-aircraft tracers. His left engine was hit. The plane started to descend fast. To avoid crashing, Barry had returned to Los Brasiles. Unable to land at the dark airfield, he scrambled to radio Vaughan, but he'd gone home.
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With no options left, Barry radioed an emergency broadcast to Sandino International Airport in Managua, using a code provided by Vaughan. Upon landing, the plane was surrounded by soldiers. Barry insisted on talking to Vaughan and was granted a phone call. Vaughan was still not home.
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A sergeant who knew Vaughan had the cocaine unloaded from Barry's plane. He told Barry and Emile to keep quiet and to play along with whatever happened. "Everything will be fine."
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Barry and Emile were incarcerated overnight in The Bunker, a military compound in downtown Managua. The next day, they were released to Vaughan and transported to a large landed estate. Pablo greeted them. He'd moved there to supervise the cocaine-processing operation.
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