Colombia Noble Battle, Terrible Toll

By JOHN MOODY BOGOTA

The army major was flabbergasted at the offer, delivered by an emissary of Jose Gonzalo Rodriguez Gacha: in return for destroying confiscated documents and computer disks that provided a detailed blueprint of Gacha's cocaine empire, the officer, whose monthly salary is $300, would receive $1.2 million. Cash. If he refused, the drug Mafia would hunt him down and slaughter him.

How many people would be strong enough to just say no? To reject immediate wealth and accept a relentless shadow of violent death? Yet the major did say no, and turned over the data to his superiors. His bravery is only one unsung ballad of honor in Colombia's crusade against its cocaine cowboys. It is also the exception, not the rule.

President Virgilio Barco Vargas' four-month-old war against his country's top narcos -- Gacha, Pablo Escobar Gaviria and the three brothers of Medellin's Ochoa family -- has not gone as well as he or the nation had hoped. Since Mob hit men assassinated presidential candidate Luis Carlos Galan in August and ignited Barco's offensive, the leaders of Colombia's coke cartels have gone into hiding, forfeiting posh estates and bank accounts; some law- enforcement officials believe that the drug princes have even undergone plastic surgery. Nevertheless, Gacha and company remain immensely powerful, with their pipeline to the U.S. merely dented and their profits still enormous. And in the past two weeks they have demonstrated that they do not care how many people die in their showdown with the government to see who really rules Colombia.

Last week a half-ton of dynamite stashed in a stolen truck exploded outside the headquarters of the DAS, the secret police in overall charge of the coke battle. The blast, which gouged a 30-ft.-deep crater and damaged buildings as far as 40 blocks away, killed at least 52 and injured 1,000. The day before the bombing, a judge involved in prosecuting the drug masters was gunned down while strolling the streets of Medellin. And nine days earlier, the narcos planted a bomb that ripped apart an Avianca jetliner en route from Bogota to Cali, claiming 107 lives. An anonymous caller said the plane had been destroyed because its passengers included five "snitches" -- people who, like the major, had defied the Mob to help the government.

The early weeks of the offensive raised unrealistic expectations that the drug empires could be quickly crushed. Jungle labs were torched, properties and chemicals seized, and some 11,000 people detained. Today, with the war continuing but with fewer spectacular results to show for its efforts, the Barco administration is having a harder time making its case that the struggle is worthwhile. Meanwhile, the drug Mafia has struck back with more than 200 bombings and singled out and killed at least 13 officials. By the standards of civil war, the DAS headquarters would qualify as a military target and therefore part of the price paid by a country in conflict. But by blasting out of the sky a civilian airplane filled with innocent passengers, the narcos served notice that no one is safe from their vengeance.

Though the escalating violence is intimidating the population and eroding Barco's support throughout the country, Colombian officials contend that the season of terror is proof that their battle is taking its toll against the intended targets. "We're winning," insists General Miguel Maza Marquez, who as head of the DAS directs the government's offensive (he escaped injury in last week's bombing). "The chieftains no longer live comfortably. They are in the mountains. The best proof that they are cracking is the level of madness to which they have sunk."

The Bush Administration professes to be pleased with Bogota's resolve, though officials are studying whether it will be safe enough for the President to attend a drug summit in Colombia early next year. "Barco is an engineer, and so he took a while to make up his mind," says a U.S. official. "But now that he's taken a decision to fight these guys, he's unshakable." But if Barco's campaign is lauded by the politicians in Washington, it has more than its share of deserters among the politicians in Colombia. Aware that the specter of an American jail cell remains the drug bosses' darkest nightmare, the Colombian Supreme Court last October upheld Barco's use of executive powers to extradite suspects wanted in the U.S. But last week the Colombian House of Representatives voted to put the question of extradition on a nationwide referendum early next year. In so doing, the legislators effectively washed their hands of the issue and admitted to their constituents that they do not have the gumption to make tough decisions for the country's overall good if it means endangering their own lives.

Increasingly, Colombian public opinion favors negotiating with the narcos. It is a notion that Barco's associates know better than to utter around the office. When police foiled a plot to kill Barco's daughter, the flinty President said, "With common criminals and gutless assassins, dialogue is not possible."

The drug lords seem to be getting the message. An authorized spokesman for one of the cartels told TIME that Escobar, Gacha and Gilberto Rodriguez Orejuela, don of the Cali cartel, recognize Barco's inflexibility and are waiting for his term to expire next August. Says the source: "They'll try to reason with the next President." But "reason" is surely a euphemism for "control." Through intermediaries, the narcos are putting money behind candidates for President, Congress and mayors of key cities. After election day, the bill will come due.

Having endured Barco's best shot so far, the drug chieftains appear to be rebuilding their scorched empire. Cocaine production, which in September dropped to a quarter of its usual level of about 50 tons, is back up to 75%. Says a Western diplomat: "They were knocked off balance, but never out of business. If they need to boost production, they offer people double or triple salary. Money means nothing to them."

The government distinguishes among its enemies, and holds Gacha and Escobar responsible for most of Colombia's recent violence. By contrast, Bogota considers the Rodriguez Orejuela mob from Cali to be white-collar criminals, who would rather make money than headlines. While less prone to violence, the Cali organization does its share to keep the drug pipeline full. The two biggest recent busts in the U.S. -- 22 tons of cocaine in Los Angeles concealed in an unguarded warehouse and six tons in New York City hidden inside barrels of caustic powder -- both originated in Cali.

Barco's war, however, is not primarily intended to keep the rest of the world safe from Colombian drugs. He views the narcos first as a threat to his country, and thus devotes fewer resources to destroying the Cali clan than the other cartels. Says General Maza: "In 1984 we didn't have a clear idea of the dimension of the problem. We didn't realize that they had our society practically under their control. They are killing Colombia. We have to resolve this problem first. Then we can take part in the world fight."

Gacha has responded to the spotlight in typically ugly fashion. His organization plans to introduce American drug users to basuco, a partly processed coca plant that is later mixed with ether to purify it into cocaine. Basuco, which is just as addictive as crack, has long been used by poor Colombians, who mix it with tobacco and smoke it. Says a cartel source: "Gacha thinks basuco will be very popular among poor Americans. He blames America for the injury his business has suffered and wants to punish the U.S."

There are signs that the cartel's monopoly on the coke trade is waning. Recent bombings in Bogota may be the work of free-lance criminals seeking to muscle in on the families' business. Authorities believe new organizations are being set up in Peru, Bolivia, Mexico and the U.S.

Meanwhile, Colombia's government and its most wanted criminals feint and jab at one another. For Barco, the capture of Escobar or Gacha would justify his unyielding crusade. For the drug thugs, the assassination or abduction of a top government official would convince the public that a deal is needed. Moans Interior Minister Carlos Lemos Simmonds: "I go from an armored car to a guarded office. My feet have not touched the streets for weeks. My family lives in terror." An understandable lament, but Lemos and his family -- as well as the rest of the country -- will continue to live in terror as long as the U.S. demand for cocaine remains keen and Colombia's drug masters insist on being the main suppliers.