From the Cartel to Christ

By Jack E. Rausch

Copyright © 2011

Part One. The Cartel.

Introduction. The Runway to Hell.

Too excited to be scared, I held my semi-automatic pistol and looked around, anything could happen. My average size, smaller gun, and inexperience, forced me to be on my toes.

The heat and humidity, typical of northern Colombia, loaded the late morning. I could taste the sweat, and it stung my eyes making me irritable. My shirt stuck to my back like a second skin. The musky scent of the vegetation had a calming effect, distracting my conscience by the beauty of the surrounding nature. 

Waiting under the tall trees by the side of the end of the runway, my team partner sat on the idling farm tractor while I perched on the big canvas bags holding the kilos of cocaine that layered the rusted trailer. The singing crickets kept rhythm with my heart. A mosquito landed on my arm and started feeding getting my prompt attention. I slapped the pest. “There you go, sucker!” I wiped off the bloody carcass. My noise prompted a glance by my partner.

At that moment an eerie silence fell over the jungle, and then the handheld radio crackled “The plane! The plane, Go! Go! Go!”

The twin engine craft zoomed over the trees in a futile attempt to avoid detection by the police of the nearby town, buying a few minutes to complete the operation. The roaring sent a rush of adrenaline through my veins. Like a bull hit by a cattle prod my brain cells exploded into action. 

My partner gunned the engine and the tractor jumped forward. I jammed my gun in my waistband and clung to the bags. We bounced over the tree roots and bushes, until we emerged into the clearing of the runway.

My gaze swept over the area for any sign of trouble. Police or military patrols could appear at anytime.

The plane hummed at the end of the runway with the right engine running. In the cockpit, the pilot looked around as the co-pilot stepped out and jumped on top of the left wing. The fueling crew’s tractor stopped by and they rushed to refuel the plane. 

As fear turns into aggression it creates a dangerous combination. Everyone runs and does what they have to do without much thinking. Survival overrides camaraderie.

The representative of the shippers - lean and tall, thick black mane flowing in the wind - stood on the roof of his truck with an Uzi machine gun yelling orders. What am I doing here! I hope he doesn’t kill us when the plane leaves… 

The two guys who brought the merchandise on a small truck had dropped it and left. God only knew who else had knowledge of this going down today. Live fast and die faster. Anything could happen. 

We halted by the side of the airplane.

“Quickly, Quickly! Get it loaded at once!” The shipper barked waving his machine gun around.

The fueling crew finished and drove away. I passed the bags to my partner and he passed them on to the copilot, who had climbed into the plane. The whole operation was completed in minutes. We jumped back on the tractor and sped back under the trees.

I turned and saw the copilot close the door. The other engine roared to life as the plane turned and aligned with the runway. If I were the pilot, I would have turned before the loading in case I had to fly out in the middle of the operation.

Engines screaming, the plane shook, jumped, and picked up speed. Heavy, it ran, ran and ran. The hot day and the heavy load made a bad combination. It took him most of the runway to lift off. Hot air has less density, providing less lift.

Luckily, the long runway sloped down with no trees at the end. The plane finally lifted and flew out of sight. I watched them go, like an old girlfriend walking away on the arm of a better suitor.   

As a newly licensed pilot, my greedy heart wanted to fly, anything, for anybody. I craved what I didn’t have, blinded to believe the life of that pilot was better than mine. For all I knew, they could have been shot down by an Air Force jet, or run out of fuel, or arrested on delivery, or killed by the receiving crew to keep the load. But there I was, wishing on the wind.

We hid the tractor and the trailer back into the bushes, ran to our SUV, and sped off into the jungle. My partner drove, and in some places I couldn’t even see the trail because of the vegetation covering it. We sped through, splashing and fishtailing, until we emerged onto the highway where we joined tourists, farmers, and probably other crews coming and going to keep the trade in motion. The cocaine trade machine ran on blood and millions.

 Now it was payday, celebration time! We went to a pizzeria in town and the boss paid me one hundred thousand pesos - about three hundred dollars in the 1980s. Happy, not only because of the money, but because I was in the big game! Yes, I was in it to get rich, but I also wanted to belong, be a part of something. I looked forward to the next operation already, and the money went through my hands like water.

Does everyone know I am a Mafioso now? I want the money but I don’t want it to show…I am not an ordinary person.

Later on, when I went to the U.S., I felt uncomfortable spending the money. Shopping or dining, after I pulled out a bundle of cash, some people asked what I did for living with a knowing smirk on their faces. The mark drug dealer tattooed on my forehead emerging from my conscience, unavoidable, so I became a professional liar.

These events in the jungle lead to a major turning point in my life.  Fifteen years later it all came to an end - this journey of lies and deceit, fantasies and dreams, death and destruction, a journey that ended in prison and loss, my old life.

Living the lie led me to face the Truth.

How did it all start?

Chapter 1. The Influence.



To be continued...

What God did and keeps doing...

How it all started and how I became a Calvary Chapel Pastor...

God Bless.

Jack

I am in the process of writing the book and if you have any suggestions or would like to share a similar radical change in your life through faith in Jesus Christ, please do not hesitate to contact me. jr@fromthecarteltochrist.c

God Bless.