Escobar's prison was called La Catedral,
but we nicknamed it "Club Medellín."
It was the embodiment of "the big lie."
It was even built to look old and shitty on the outside.
But inside, it was anything but.
The other inmates? Escobar's sicarios.
Hand-picked killers from his hometown.
The sicarios weren't the only guys in the prison who worked for Escobar.
The guards did, too.
By the terms of his deal,
no cops or military were allowed within two miles of the prison.
As much as I fucking hated this guy, I had to hand it to him...
he had a pretty sweet deal.
Escobar hadn't built himself a prison at all.
He'd built himself a fortress.
But no matter how you decorate it... a cage is still a cage.
Mm.
If there was one benefit to Escobar's imprisonment,
it's that peace had finally come to Bogotá.
Connie and I took advantage and began adoption proceedings.
The war had left many orphans.
One... we could do something about.
You like the pink ones, don't you? Yeah, you do.
Orchids, look!
What's this one? "Cattleya."
It means "graceful."
That describes me perfectly.
Buying baby things and plants for the apartment...
we're a family.
We're domesticated animals.
- You want this one? - Yeah.
You want that one? Yeah.
How about Elizabeth?
After my mother? Are you kidding?
What is "Elizabeth" in Spanish? Is it "Isabel"? Isabel's nice.
- I've always liked "Olivia." - Olivia's OK.
Fuck.
Shit!
Yeah, I like "Olivia."
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As part of Escobar's surrender deal, Search Bloc was disbanded,
and Colonel Carrillo was transferred out of the country.
For the time being, Carrillo's war was over.
I don't see why they're sending you to Spain.
It's not like the cocaine war is over.
Galeano and Moncada are fronting for Escobar.
My superiors say I play too rough.
At least Escobar is in jail and... you can leave knowing you helped put him there.
Jail?
I know you gringos aren't allowed to do flyovers, but um...
I got some photographs, courtesy of the Colombian military.
I want you to look at 'em, tell me if this qualifies as a jail.
He's got a fucking soccer field.
Escobar is moving more coke than ever.
Without the Colombian government breathing down his neck,
all he's gotta worry about is the Cali cartel.
Let's face it, fellas...
he won.
If we get proof that Escobar is violating the terms of his surrender,
then they have to send him to a real prison,
but we need more than these aerial shots.
Can you get us satellite communications or wire intercepts?
There's a no-fly zone over the prison, with antiaircraft guns
manned by the Colombian army to enforce it.
You're playing with fire if Noonan finds out.
We don't got shit on him without intercepts.
- Don't need 'em. - What? The hell we don't.
They're not using phones.
- The hell is that? - I could spot a coop a mile away.
That's how they're sending messages.
To avoid our high-tech spy planes,
Pablo chose the most low-tech form of communication.
Never said the guy wasn't crafty.
- You see anything yet? - No, man.
You're blind as a bat. Give me those.
One's goin'.
- Ten o'clock. Comin' in low. - I got it.
- You got it? - Yeah.
Low.
That's a fast fucking pigeon.
Give me the gun.
- You trying to say I'm a lousy shot? - Yes, I am saying you're a lousy shot.
Here.
You're a shit shot.
- Heads up, heads up. - I got it.
- One o'clock. - I got it.
Shoot.
Shoot!
Ever been duck huntin'?
No, I have not been duck hunting, you... fucking hillbilly.
Bingo.
It's in Spanish. Read it.
"Delivery due with El Paisa in the tunnel."
The son of a bitch built a tunnel under the jail.
- Mm? - Mm.
Mm.
Against orders, we did high-altitude flyovers of the prison
- with our infrared cameras. - No tunnels.
Tomography report indicates nothing. Seismic measuring, nada.
Can we measure radio frequency energy?
Well, we could try. Doesn't penetrate deeper than 30 feet.
If he's bringing shit into this tunnel, you can bet he's going out that way.
If there's a tunnel there, he must have dug it to China.
Good luck.
Maybe we can...
We can ask the military to do light detection and ranging.
We got a better chance of Noonan authorizing a divining rod.
- All right, man, I'm calling it a night. - Nah, finish up.
No, you can't even smoke in here.
No luck?
These aerials don't indicate a single tunnel in the whole mountainside.
Well, the only thing I can see in all of them is this truck.
- Are you finished with that, honey? - Yeah.
We missed a very important delivery.
Sex toys, back issues of Hustler, a waterbed, a legal correspondence course.
He's bored shitless in there.
What did he say?
He says if Pablo finds out, he'll kill him.
Amigo...
So what is this? What am I looking at exactly?
- Club Medellín. - This was all shipped in to La Catedral.
We got some big-screen TVs, nice stereo equipment.
That's a roulette wheel, a little bit of liquor.
Glad to see the judges could come down with the official from the airport.
Javi's pretty keen on this Jacuzzi.
Don't forget the jukebox with the hookers.
Of course, the lobster.
I'll look after it.
The word from Sandoval is, Gaviria isn't gonna do shit about Escobar's violations.
Carrillo was right. He won.
What are those?
These are a list of... my accomplishments.
You shred these.
True story. And pay attention, because it changes a lot of lives.
Remember how I told you that the cartel was making so much money
that they had to bury it?
And Blackbeard had the treasure map.
Well, after we got him, he gave a lot of it up...
but not all of it.
It just so happens that one day, out in a field in Rionegro,
a farmer who worked for Galeano and Moncada found one.
At first, the poor guy thought he'd dug up a body.
Over the years, plenty of 'em had been buried out in the fields.
The farmer knew right away it was narco money.
He was terrified he might get buried himself if he took it.
So he took the money to a guy who was connected,
who took it to another guy...
who took it to Pablo's sicario lieutenant... Velasco.
Paisa! Paisa!
Don Pablo.
Let's talk about Don Pablo Escobar.
There are rumors that he killed Galeano and Moncada.
Where, in jail?
Yeah, yeah.
"In jail."
That doesn't make any sense. They're partners.
Maybe there is not such thing as sense with Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria.
Bullshit. Where'd you get it?
The relatives of the men he killed... are up in arms.
The poor fellows went in, but they never got out.
I want to ask you gentlemen a serious question now.
How bad do you want Escobar?
How far are you willing to go in this matter?
What are you proposing?
Well, we both have access to information that could benefit the other.
No.
No, we don't trade information.
- Just hold on a second. - No.
He's an informant, Javi.
Whatever you got cookin', it stinks. I don't want it.
Appreciate the tip. Let's go.
Your partner here...
may need some convincing now.
Moncada and Galeano going into La Catedral, last stamped 9:20.
Every return from this day forward...
no Moncada, no Galeano.
Personally, we couldn't have cared less about a couple of dead narcos.
It meant more chaos and confusion in the Medellín cartel.
But we wanted Escobar out of that piece of shit excuse for a jail,
in a real prison, not a fortress...
where his enemies could get payback.
You sure?
We can either play politics or we can do the job.
Well, we were never any good at playing politics anyway.
If it's true, this is gonna cause a shit storm, you know?
- Be right back. - Gracias.
Well...
Fuck President Gaviria.
Fuck Noonan.
Fuck La Catedral.
And fuck Pablo.
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