Ready to Kill (8 page)

CHAPTER 12

“He was your father,” Harv said.

Estefan nodded.

“Man, I’m really sorry.”

“He was a servant of God who never questioned his faith. He gave away nearly all his money. He never asked, but I sent him all I could. He’d dedicated the latter part of his life to helping the people of Santavilla.”

“You’re his legacy,” said Harv. “You and the other kilos saved countless lives, and you didn’t do it for money. If your dad had known about that, he would’ve been proud.”

Estefan shrugged. “I never told him I became a sniper. We weren’t very close until recently. I have a hard time letting go of old anger. We sort of patched things up last year. My wife kept pressuring me to make the effort. I wish I’d done it a long time ago.”

“Tell us what you know,” Nathan said, concerned they didn’t have much time. “Why do you think Raven’s the shooter, and why was your father murdered? We didn’t see the second note you tossed over the fence into the embassy, but we know you mentioned Santavilla. What’s going on?”

“Gold.”

“Gold?” Harv asked. “You mean literally?”

“My father was murdered because of greed. There are several rich veins very close to the surface near Santavilla, but the locations are too rugged for larger commercial operators to access without destroying a significant area of forest.” Estefan’s tone sounded lifeless and flat. Clearly, he was still reeling from his father’s murder.

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” Nathan said.

“It’s okay. One of the mines produces a very high yield. Before he was killed, my father told me the mine was producing nearly three ounces of gold per ton. The spot price of gold has hovered at $1,400 per ounce, and it’s resurrected the industry here. In fact, gold is one of Nicaragua’s new economic engines. It could even become one of our country’s biggest exports within a few years. There’s huge money involved.”

Harv said, “Three ounces per ton doesn’t seem like a very big number to me.”

“Three ounces per ton is a lot. Trust me, it’s a big number. Many large commercial mines yield less than a quarter ounce per ton. They make up for the smaller ratio through sheer volume. You’ve seen those huge Komatsu dump trucks, the ones with the giant tires where the driver has to climb a ladder and take a staircase to drive it? An average-sized Komatsu can haul one hundred tons of ore. If you do the math using 0.2 ounces per ton, that’s twenty ounces per load.”

Nathan ran the calculation in his head. “So every truckload of ore is worth $28,000?” Nathan asked.

“That’s what I meant when I said there’s huge money involved. Keep in mind, 0.2 ounces per ton is on the low side. Some commercial mines yield four or five times that number.”

“We’re in the wrong business,” Harv said.

Nathan glanced over at Staff Sergeant Lyle, who was huddled in a clump of ferns with one of his men. Lyle made eye contact and nodded an okay. Nathan looked toward the eastern horizon but didn’t see any traces of morning twilight reaching through the canopy yet. “How do you know so much about this?”

“I live in Managua now. I’m a government attaché. I work with foreign mining companies, mostly Canada and the US, that want to do business in Nicaragua. I negotiate the larger contract points before the lawyers hammer out the finer details. I wine and dine them, put them up in the nicest hotels, and give them tours of existing mines and processing plants. It’s a competitive business. We have to contend with South American countries to attract the commercial operators, but we can’t give the leases away. My job is to find a balance between concessions and benefits. My father did the same thing before he became a pastor. I think that’s why he was adamant about helping the miners of Santavilla. He felt guilty.”

“I’m no expert,” Nathan said, “but I would imagine starting up a large-scale mining operation requires millions of dollars.”

“It absolutely does. As an example, one used Komatsu dump truck can cost close to $1 million by itself. Just changing a single tire costs tens of thousands, but the payoff can be huge. Several of our larger mines down here are producing over a hundred thousand ounces of gold annually.”

“Are you serious?” Nathan asked.

“Yes, and they’re not even monster mines like in South Africa, America, and Canada. Some of those overseas mines yield over a million ounces of gold annually. The US production of gold in 2012 was around two hundred thirty metric tons, that’s over eight million ounces.”

“It’s hard to wrap my mind around that,” Nathan said. “Eight million ounces?”

“Remember, it’s far from pure profit. Like you said, mining gold on a large scale is expensive. It all boils down to production cost per ounce versus spot price. Big mining operators can produce gold for around five hundred dollars per ounce, so with today’s spot price, it makes economic sense. Another thing to remember, gold ingots from mining operators aren’t refined. The gold has to go through a refinement process before it can be sold to bullion companies or jewelry manufacturers. I always make it a point to show my clients a video of molten gold from Nicaraguan mines being poured into molds. That usually does the trick. Foreign-based mining is a hotly contested debate in our national assembly. Don’t get me wrong—our country needs the gold industry, but it has to be balanced with preservation. Sadly, the worst offenders are our own people, not foreigners.”

“You’re a good spokesperson for the industry,” said Nathan. “Your English is completely fluent.”

“Thanks, it has to be. I spend a lot of time with Americans and Canadians. I’ve worked hard to lessen my accent. It’s a lot better than it used to be.”

“Didn’t you raid and destroy gold mines and equipment before you were assigned to us?” Harv asked.

Estefan nodded and looked down. “Many of those mining contracts were negotiated by my father. He never even suspected I was destroying his life’s work. He’d aligned himself with the Sandinistas. It’s why we weren’t close. Back then, he hated the Contras and everything we stood for. He had a change of heart later in life, but he never acknowledged my military service. I think he was ashamed of it.”

Estefan went silent. Out of respect, Nathan and Harv waited for him to continue. The situation felt surreal. They were on the summit of a Nicaraguan mountaintop in the middle of nowhere at 0430, discussing multimillion-dollar gold-mining operations with a former student they hadn’t seen in more than twenty years.

“Anyway, these local, rogue gold-mining operations are brutal,” Estefan said. “I guess I never fully realized it until Raven took my father. It doesn’t sting as much when it’s someone else’s dad. I can’t believe I’ll never see him again.”

“I’m really sorry,” Nathan said.

“We used to take lives. I guess this is what it feels like to be on the other end.”

“We killed rapists and murderers. Neither Harv nor I feel the least bit guilty about what we did, and you shouldn’t either. The comparison isn’t valid. You’re dad wasn’t hurting anyone. Just the opposite. It sounds like he’d devoted his life to helping people.”

“He did.” Estefan fell silent again.

Nathan wanted to ask about the situation in Santavilla, but Estefan needed some time to vent. Losing a family member to murder had to be horrible—it must be sudden and jarring. Nathan knew the conversation would change direction, and it seemed rude to force it. For the moment, they had time. Without the marine recons, Nathan would’ve been much more anxious to get off this mountain, or at least become mobile again. He attributed some of his edginess to the horrid memories Nicaragua held for him. But, he also knew everyone up here would fight to the death for each other, and that went a long way in alleviating his angst. The expression “Once a marine, always a marine” wasn’t just lip service.

“Are you okay?” Nathan asked after another silent minute.

Estefan nodded. “So what’s happening is this: In Santavilla and many other remote areas, crime families and gangs are in control of small independent mining operations. They operate unpermitted sites and make kickbacks to the local authorities who look the other way. Every so often the police raid an unpermitted mine, confiscate the heavy equipment, and shut down the site, but it’s usually just for show. The situation never really changes. The operation simply relocates to a different mine for a while. Small mills, like the one in Santavilla, can process about a ton of ore a day and yield three ounces of gold.”

“That’s a nice chunk of change,” Harv said. “How many córdobas is that?”

“Last I checked, one US dollar equals around twenty-five córdobas. So it’s over a hundred thousand córdobas. And that’s only the income from one mill. The local mills have a production cost per ounce, but it’s nowhere near a commercial operation. The cost is mostly cheap labor. My father was doing his best to educate the miners about the dangers of working with mercury.”

Nathan exchanged a glance with Harv. “Mercury? What’s that used for?”

“It’s a crude but cost-effective way to extract the gold. Mercury amalgamates with gold.”

“It does?”

“Mercury and gold are right next to each other on the periodic table. As you know, mercury’s a liquid at room temperature, but because it has nearly the same atomic weight as gold, the mercury just kind of swallows the gold particles. I don’t think anyone knows exactly how it works—it just does. It’s still a common method of extraction used by small-scale placer mines, particularly in developing countries like Nicaragua. Using mercury to create amalgam isn’t new; it’s been done for thousands of years. Mercury won’t combine with black sands and other heavier minerals, so it’s ideal for gold panning and sluicing.”

“Are you talking about gold panning, like the old forty-niners did it?”

Estefan nodded. “But the local operators do it on a bigger scale. They wash crushed ore down a slanted trough containing riffles that act like a series of dams. Because the gold is significantly heavier than the surrounding material, it gets caught behind the riffles, but it’s still mixed with other heavier minerals that need to be separated out. That’s where the mercury amalgam comes into play. Keep in mind, we’re not talking about industrial operators—they extract gold from ore quite differently, mostly through a chemical-leaching process.”

“And this crushed ore comes from a mine, I’m guessing?” Harv said.

“Right. After the ore is removed from the mine, it’s broken into smaller chunks, usually by laborers with sledgehammers. Then it’s hauled by mules or men to pickup trucks and driven to processing mills, where it gets tumbled in crushing drums to pulverize it. Sometimes huge grinding stones are used. The crushed ore is then run through large sluice boxes, and some of the leftover material gets panned by hand. Mercury is often added to the sluice boxes to create the amalgam.”

“This all sounds pretty rough on the workers,” said Nathan. “I understand why your dad got involved.”

“It’s terrible. There are all kinds of physical injuries. My father kept warning the workers about wearing eye protection, but few of them do it. Eye injuries are common. The laborers also suffer from hearing damage. The crushing drums are deafening. Steel balls the size of watermelons are rotated in huge steel drums to crush the ore for sluicing and panning. And then there’s mercury poisoning. Women do a lot of the panning, and their hands come into contact with the mercury.”

“Incredible,” Harv said.

“The main processing mill is on the north side of Santavilla near the lumber mill. I remember driving past it when I visited my father several years ago. The crushing drums were loud, even from fifty yards away. The mercury poisoning represents the worst danger to the mill workers. After sufficient quantities of amalgam are made, there are several ways to separate the gold from the mercury. The best way is with a retort. The amalgam is placed in a steel capsule and heated with torches. The mercury evaporates leaving fairly pure gold behind.”

Nathan asked, “What happens to the mercury? It’s not lost, is it? Isn’t it expensive?”

“It’s actually fairly cheap. In large quantities, it costs less than fifty cents an ounce, and an ounce of mercury can go a long way because it can be used over and over. The retorts are supposed to capture and condense the mercury for reuse, but they’re often not sealed properly and mercury vapor escapes. The mill workers are breathing that stuff all day long. Eventually, the mercury becomes what’s known as ‘dirty’ and stops amalgamating with gold. It has to be discarded then.”

“And I’m sure everyone disposes of it safely,” Nathan said with sarcasm.

“Sadly, they don’t. It gets buried or tossed in a river, or it just sits around in open containers, mostly jars and cans. Unscrupulous types try to resell it, but everybody knows dirty mercury when they see it: it doesn’t have its original luster.”

“This sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Harv said. “Mercury around rivers and streams? It’s got to create an environmental mess.”

“It’s an environmental disaster. The freshwater fish around here are toxic, but people still eat them. Then the mercury moves up the food chain to other animals.”

“Let’s get back to Raven,” said Harv. “Why do you think he’s the shooter?”

“My father isn’t the first sniper victim near Santavilla. Other people have been killed in the same area. I had a long call with him the night before he was killed. He used the phone at the general store. We talked for over an hour. He told me there had been at least five long-distance shootings this year alone. He had specific details about a murder several months ago at the lumber mill. One of the miners who lives at the base of the mountain where the shot originated told my dad he heard the report come from somewhere above his home. The lumber mill where the man was killed is eleven hundred yards away from the mountain.”

Nathan looked at Harv. “That’s a good shot, but it doesn’t mean Raven did it.”

Estefan didn’t say anything.

“Who got nailed?”

“The manager of the lumber mill. My father said the mill became profitable again after that. He thinks the manager had been skimming.”

“Who owns the lumber mill?” Harv asked.