Monday, April 23, 2012


SOL OCCAXUS (Sunset)  Monday, 19 September, 2011
CREPUSCULUM (Evening Twilight)

I. Friday, 23 September, 2011
II. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
III. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
IV. Sunday, 16 October, 2011

VESPER (Evening Dusk)

I.  Sunday, 23 October, 2011
II. Sunday, 30 October, 2011
III. Wednesday, 9 November, 2011
IV. Monday, 14 November, 2011
V. Monday, 14 November, 2011

CONCUBIUM (First Sleep – Coitus – Rest)

I. Thursday, 17 November 2011
II. Sunday, 20 November, 2011
III. Friday, 25 November, 2011
IV. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
V. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
VI. Thursday, 8 December, 2011
VII. Sunday, 11 December, 2011


I. Sunday, 1 January, 2012
II. Thursday, 5 January, 2012
III. Saturday, 7 January, 2012
IV. Monday, 16 January, 2012
V. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VI. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VII. Friday, 3 February, 2012
VIII. Friday, 3 February, 2012


I. Sunday, 12 February, 2012
II. Saturday, 18 February, 2012
III. Wednesday, 22 February, 2012

MATUTINUM (Dawn Goddess)

I. Monday, 27 February, 2012
II. Sunday, 4 March, 2012
III. Sunday, 4 March, 2012
IV. Friday, 9 March, 2012
V. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VI. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VII. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VIII. Friday, 16 March, 2012
IX. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
X. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
XI. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
XII. Friday, 23 March, 2012
XIII. Friday, 23 March, 2012
XIV. Friday, 23 March, 2012

DILUCULUM (Dawn Twilight)

I. Monday, 16 April, 2012
II. Monday, 23 April, 2012

SOLI ORTUS (Sunrise)



Francisco Carrillo sat in the small pavilion, which was situated at the far end of the swimming pool. From there, high on the southern ridge of mountains, which enclosed the valley, he had an uninterrupted view of the twinkling night-lights of the city of Medelin far below. Plumes of soft smoke drifted into the night air from a large cigar that he held with hard fingers. Behind him small children giggled and squealed as they chased each other into and out of the jet spray of the lawn irrigation nozzles.

A white-suited dark-haired man approached. “Papa.”
“Yes, Domingo. What is it? I thought you were in the city tonight.”
The younger man pulled out a chair and sat down facing the older man. “I have some –”
“Have you no kiss for your father. Remember your manners!” Francisco scorned without looking at his son.
“I’m sorry, Papa. Of course.” The younger man flushed as he meekly leaned forward and kissed his father on both cheeks.
Francisco smiled, satisfied with the formality of obedience observed. “What is your news, Domingo? It must be important to drag you away from the casino whores.”
“It is!” Domingo looked up to see that nobody was listening. His children and his wife were on the veranda of the house and he waved over at them.
“Well, get on with it?” Francisco’s tone was intolerant, as if fully aware of the charade being played out behind his back.
“Fabio Ochoa is at this moment on his way to Miami to be handed over to the Americans.” Domingo Carrillo announced.
“Shit. It was expected. We are lucky though that many of his functions have been already assumed by Rod Mallory. The cartels will survive.”
Domingo Carrillo could not prevent a satisfied smile from creasing his face. He gave a loud snort before he addressed his father with a mixture of pity and smugness, “Papa. Your great amigo, Rod Mallory was killed in Corsica about ten hours ago.”
What happened? How do you know?” The cigar fell to the floor as the older man’s eyes flared.
“Jorge Quintana, one of my men, was there. There was a gunfight and an explosion. They were surprised when about to attack the villa of the man called Alexander. Jorge managed to escape and contact me.”
“Surprised by whom, Domingo? Alexander’s security.”
“No. Americano. Probably CIA or the like.”
“What happened exactly, Domingo?”
The younger man paused for a moment as if trying to control his thoughts. When he spoke again his voice was cold and analytical. “That moron, Mallory, apparently decided on a frontal assault. There were two teams on the perimeter and one hidden in the car that had brought him, waiting for a signal. Jorge and his partner, in moving into position, unexpectedly encountered an American special-ops team observing the house. There was a gunfight and Jorge managed to escape. Alerted by the gunfire, the house security reacted and set off a sequence of events that resulted in the loss of five of our men as well as Mallory.”
“All dead.”
“Shit. What is your assessment, Domingo?” The older man slumped in his chair. He suddenly looked defeated. Too much was going against them.
“The fact that an American special-ops unit was at the villa worries me.”
“Their presence in Corsica might have been a coincidence. They may have been targeting the other man . . . eh . . . Alexander.”
“Sure,” the younger man said dismissively. “They might have been watching Alexander, but we must also consider that they might have been expecting our teams. That would imply Mallory was being watched and that creates a problem for us. They will have known about the meeting in Miami.”
“There was nothing to suggest that. You were there, Domingo.”
“We cannot take that chance.”
“No.” Francisco hesitated. He put out his hand and rested it on his son’s arm. “You are right, Domingo. We’d better discuss our future plans. Arrange a time with Miguel Mendoza and the others for a meeting.”
“Yes, Papa.”
There was a long silence between them until Francisco Carrillo broke it. “They are drawing in around us. We must counteract.”
“Who? The Americans?”
“Yes. And their Mexican fox cubs.”
“What do you mean, Papa?”
“There are some specific problems that Rod Mallory and I were discussing, that you now need to be aware of, Domingo.”
“Go on.”
“Since the arrest in June of our contact in the Juarez cartel, the supply of potassium permanganate from that source has dried up. The Mexican president, Vicente Fox is doing all he can to suck as much milk from the big Americano tits as possible, by targeting Mexican cartels with Columbian connections. Our customers are beginning to complain about the lack of high quality oxidised cocaine. The specific targeting of the production and supply of potassium permanganate is hurting us.”
“Operation Purple.”
“Yes, and now the shipment-tracing activities of Operation Topaz are beginning to bite as well.”
“Topaz, Papa? I don’t understand.”
“In October of last year, the International Narcotics Control Board announced the targeting of the international trade in the chemical acetic anhydride which we use to purify our heroin. We need to start fighting back, otherwise we will be out of business.”
“What do you suggest, Papa.”
“Mallory and I had begun discussions about a detailed plan to use his international banking expertise to discredit Fox. Remove Fox and we remove a major obstacle. Now that Mallory’s gone we will need to think of another way.”
“Good riddance to the faggot.” Domingo spat out the words. “I never trusted him and tried to warn you. Now look where it has got us.”
“Don’t you ever question my . . .” An angry Francisco Carrillo shot out of his chair and hovered over his son as if about to strike. “You had nothing to do with warning the Americans about Mallory, did you Domingo?”
The younger man did not flinch and stared with cold, murderous eyes back up at his father. “No . . . of course not . . . but, I’m not unhappy about his death, if that’s what you want to know. We should never have given so much control to a gringo. That was a mistake, Papa.”
For a moment it seemed that the older man would actually hit his son but then, just as suddenly, Francisco wilted. The fight had gone from his eyes. He was tired. “You . . . You are right, Domingo. Mallory was a danger to us and my judgement was faulty. I will inform the cartel families that you will be taking over the operational decisions from now on.”
“Thank you, Papa. I will not betray your trust.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not! In the meantime, there is much to be done. You had best get started.”
“Good night, Papa.”
“Good night, Domingo.”

The two men parted without the formality of an embrace and the older man sank disconsolately back into his chair.