With the gun toting heavies in place, then all Mr. Sanchez had to do to get his operations running again was to head down to Colombia to sort out the supply.
Unsurprisingly, if you are an international drugs lord on the run after escaping from prison and you need to go to Colombia to bring back a load of cocaine, then travel arrangements are slightly more complicated than logging on to Expedia.com. More discrete arrangements are required. Unfortunately this also means slightly smaller and older aircraft operated by pilots who are not well suited to the ordered life of mainline commercial aviation.
As he got on the plane, Mr. Sanchez reflected that his wings were almost as long as those of the plane, and that he may have been better off flying himself.
Enroute, these thoughts turned out to be prophetic. When the pilot starts screaming "we're all gonna diieeee!", it is generally not regarded as a good sign. In between screams, the pilot explained to Mr. Sanchez that they had lost an engine. No, they could not just restart it, lost an engine in this particular context meant that it had "fallen right the fuck off", and that this was a problem, especially in the middle of a storm. He also found that the expected range of the aircraft with the remaining engine was 29,000 feet, 28.5, 28, 27.5… Of course as they were currently somewhere off the coast of Belize at the moment, while their flight plan was to Florida, any rescue may take some time…23 thousand…
With nothing more than a "screw this", and a curse that this was the last time he would pay upfront to be illegally smuggled into another country, Mr Sanchez jumped.
With all of the aerodynamics of a chicken in a thunderstorm, Mr. Sanchez fell. For quite some time. The landing was not pretty, but any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.
That was the good news. The bad news was that Mr. Sanchez found himself on a deserted tropical island. As you are probably aware, deserted tropical islands are generally fairly sought after on the international market. In fact they are generally sought after by people with stupidly large amounts of cash and a desire to remove themselves from the public gaze, such as movie stars. And drug lords, though they had the dual purpose of removing themselves from the public gaze as well as being close to their customers.
So it was rather ironic that Mr. Sanchez found himself stranded on an island that would, in previous, and hopefully future, stages in his career, have been very useful. Mind you, the type of deserted island he preferred was one which was populated by chicks with big boobies, and even more importantly, had a way off.
In his exploring, Mr. Sanchez found that some things weren't as bad as he feared. The island had boobies. In fact it appeared to be a boobie colony, so at least he would be able to pass the time…
Still, while there was some entertainment on the island, it was in the middle of nowhere, with no way off.
One day, while walking along the beach, trying to decide whether he should just take a chance and fly for the mainland, wherever that might be, Mr. Sanchez saw something that took his breath away.
A boat!
He was saved!
Quickly he swam out to the boat, and hauled himself on board.
All he had to do was stay out of sight until they got back to the mainland. But first a quick drink to quench his thirst. But just one, honest…
At this point things turned bad. Not only had Mr. Sanchez swum onto the boat of a load of drug dealers in the middle of a dropoff, but they were rivals of his, and of course recognized him. The thing that really pissed them off though was that he had finished their beer.
Mr. Sanchez knew that the standard drug lord response to this type of thing was pretty swift and final. Before he even had time to finish his drink he found himself bound to a lump of lead. A lump of lead which was in mid air. Over the water. As he hit the water, he could see the captain grinning to himself at a problem solved.
Even if you are tied to a lump of lead, it takes some time to fall to the bottom of the ocean, so Mr. Sanchez had some time to think about his options as he fell.
Unfortunately, most of these options involved skills which took a little longer than the few minutes he thought he had to save himself. Like learning to swim really well. Or learning to breathe water. Or involved some prior planning on his part, like having someone come and rescue him.
On hitting the bottom, quickly became apparent that his fears of drowning slowly were not likely to occur. Landing right in front of a very hungry looking moray eel was a stroke of luck.
Mr. Sanchez could not decide whether it was a stroke of good luck, for it reduced the risk of dying slowly and horribly with an increased chance of dying quickly and horribly. Mr. Sanchez preferred the slowly and horribly route, because that meant more time for some amazing coincidence to lead to his rescue.
