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Against the challenges of doing business in such a clandestine industry he has ––built an empire. It's the dinner scene where Elvira, played by Michelle Pfeiffer, walks out on Al Pacino's Tony Montana, loudly assailing him in a public place. You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be. His six-foot-three frame towers above me, knowing he is inadvertently caught with proximity to the five-foot-three couch, and that I, at five feet nine, am left standing only inches from a king-size bed. We'd both traveled hard that day, both slightly medicated by tequila through the night. Not two hours later, we are abruptly awakened by Alonzo. At daybreak, we just make it to pavement as the ocean falls from the sky and great bolts of lightning illuminate the inside of our vehicle like flash-bang grenades. She jumps at the chance to break the monotony, and takes the wheel like a trouper.I am reminded of press accounts alleging a hundred-million-dollar bounty the man across from me is said to have put on Donald Trump's life. The patrons at the restaurant stare at him, but rather than hide in humiliation, he stands and lectures them. I only know that if I was going to take the short couch, it would be at gunpoint. Meanwhile, El Alto hops into the open flatbed, his sleep-starved brain so hungry for oxygen that he's oblivious to the pouring rain.El Alto, who'd spent his two hours' sleep the night before on a firm couch a full foot shorter than he, then waterlogged himself in the flatbed, elects to stay behind in the comfort of the hotel bed for the night and leave the following day. From the time the military and the DEA moved in on them, the reports of what happened are conflicted.A source familiar with the cartel informed me on October 3rd that the initial siege had begun.
I have a fleet of submarines, airplanes, trucks and boats."He is entirely unapologetic. " His unguarded will to speak freely, his comfort with his station in life and ownership of extraordinary justifications, conjure Tony Montana in Oliver Stone's . So you can point your fucking fingers and say, ' That's the bad guy.' So what's that make you? Now it is down to El Alto and I looking at each other. In his grace and discretion, El Alto makes his choice: "I'll go with the couch." As I collapse onto the bed, I hear El Chapo's convoy drive away into the night jungle. We'd have to beat the rain to the tarmac road.
In the backseat, Alonzo whispers to me that there are multiple military checkpoints along these roads, and they tend to wave by vehicles driven by women. Somehow, with all the planning and the travel, I still hadn't believed that we'd actually gotten to El Chapo. A.-based assistant had left a manila envelope with my cellphone in it.
In this case, the rain falls hard enough that soldiers have abandoned their posts for cover. Rather than risk being vaporized in a small aircraft by a lightning storm, we opted for the eight-hour drive back to the city where we'd started. I'd imagined us arriving to a gentle apology, that for some unexplained security reason the visit could not take place, and we'd be going home to Los Angeles empty-handed. When we land back on home turf, Kate and I part ways. I turn on the phone to the explosion of a two-day backlog of e-mails and text messages. What I didn't know, and what was not yet being reported, was that from the time the weather cleared, a military siege on Sinaloa was imminent.
We still don't know how many dead in total." When asked about the reports of his own injuries, Chapo responded, "Not like they said.
I only hurt my leg a little bit."Four days later, I fly from Los Angeles to Lima, Peru, to participate in a World Bank panel discussion.