Porter - Snatched: from drug queen to informer to hostage: a harrowing true story

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For Hana, Alex, Nell, and Sara

The place was courtroom 3B, third floor of the U.S. District Courthouse in downtown West Palm Beach, the central air doing what it could to keep out the wet heat common to South Florida in late summer.

Now in her early sixties, she seemed markedly older as she took the stand, the lines about her face more distinct. She was still the carefully turned-out woman, with the chiseled features of the Colombian upper class, appearing for her testimony today in a black-and-white knit dress with low-cut shoulders. Her recollection at times proved hazy, especially of recent events. That was not unusual in someone suffering from the middle stages of multiple sclerosis, or MS, and probably not helped by the drugs she consumed to keep the illness at bayAvonex, lithium, Lamictal, clonazepam, Ambien for sleeping, and one other she told the judge she couldnt remember.

Shed been pursuing the case for fourteen yearsan eternity, it seemedbut this was the final leg, and she hoped a verdict was near. From her point of view, it looked good; even the opposing attorney had acknowledged that the judge seemed to have taken a liking to her. The court had already made one ruling in her favor, that the U.S. Justice Department had breached its contract with her, one that required it to exert due diligence in keeping her out of harms way. What remained to be decided was how much she would get. For her pain and for her suffering, for the MS, which a trio of doctors testified earlier had been seriously aggravated by her ordeal, she was asking for an award of ten million dollars.

Early one evening in mid-December 1991, Pilar pulled her ice silver Lexus GS 300 into the circular driveway of 10800 Lakeside Drive, in the wealthy Snapper Creek section of Coral Gables, just south of Miami. The house was an expansive Mediterranean job, yellow stucco, with a red tile roof that meandered over the property for some eight thousand square feet, an oval pool, and a lake out back. It stood fifty yards in from the road and was sheltered from prying eyes and the relentless sun by live oaks and towering queen palms, whose bright orange fruits hung amid the fronds like pieces of gaudy jewelry. As she pulled to a stop underneath a porte cochere and handed her keys over to the white-jacketed attendant, she could make out the strains of classical music providing background ambience for the gathering within.

The place belonged to Jerome Berlin, a rich lawyer and banker and a nationally prominent moneyman for the Democratic Party, who was close to Teddy Kennedy and Senator Tom Daschle, destined to become majority leader. Tonights affair was a fund-raiser for Senator Tom Harkin of Iowa, who was making a run for the presidency. The primaries wouldnt start for a couple of months, not until February of 1992, but the first one kicked off in Harkins home state, where he was very popular and projected to do very well, a fact that at this point in the game made him a serious contender. Among others in the race were Jerry Brown, in between his stints as governor of California, Senator Bob Kerrey of Nebraska, and another politician, considered a long shot right then, Governor Bill Clinton of Arkansas.

She had shown up for the event at the invitation of her then boyfriend, Fred Blitstein, Freddie to his friends, recently divorced, also wealthy, who had made his money developing international ski resorts, residential marinas, and shopping centers. Tall and handsome, with thinning ginger hair and a long visage, he had an engaging personality and was a great storyteller. He, too, contributed regularly to the Democratic Party, and he was a special friend of the evenings host.

Being a political player, Blitstein kept himself well up on national and international affairs, but hed learned there was little point in sharing this interest with his current girlfriend, who didnt know Tom Harkin from Tom Sawyer, and had never heard of any of the other primary contenders. Indeed, she had no political views to speak of, never read the paper, rarely watched the news, and knew next to nothing about current events. Shopping, traveling, partying on boats, having a good time with fancy friendsthats what she liked. Nevertheless, Blitstein enjoyed squiring her around because she was funny and had a musical, infectious laugh, and she enchanted all his friends in the Miami area, who were largely lawyers and doctors and bankers and their wives. It didnt exactly hurt that she was beautiful and always exquisitely dressed. With her liquid, doelike eyes and her narrowly drawn aristocratic face, she provided a glamorous presence at any party. And her smileshe possessed a wide and radiant Julia Roberts smile, which illuminated her immediate environment and caused men and women alike to gravitate to wherever she was standing in the room.

Pilar was forty years old, an American citizen, born and raised in Cali, Colombia, but she now made her home in Boca Raton, an hours drive north of Miami. In the telling of this story, her last name must be kept secret. This is to protect her life and the lives of her children and family members from the harm that could befall them at the hands of both men and women who have had their own lives altered for the worse as a result of having made Pilars acquaintance; and they are all people with long and bitter memories.

Most of what Blitstein knew about Pilar came from what she told himnot that it was all lies, just heavily selective. Her parents did, in fact, come from the upper strata of Colombian society; and, yes, a great-uncle had served as president of the country. There was also a Catholic cardinal in the family. As a teenager shed been sent to private schools in Colombia and Europe; she had owned a seaside villa on the Mediterranean island of Majorca, along with a big boat and a brilliant red Ferrari Testarossa. From Blitsteins direct knowledge, he was aware she had many society friends in South Florida, because he was acquainted with their names. He also knew she was a fixture at charity balls up and down the coast, from Palm Beach to Miami.

He had met Pilar early in 1991. Per an agreement with his former wife, he was picking up his nine-year-old son at St. Andrews School up in Boca and taking him to his mothers house nearby. That day, he was also driving home his sons little friend Joseph, who happened to be the son of Pilar.

She was standing there, waiting for him in the driveway, this beautiful Latin woman, recalls Blitstein, who lived in a penthouse at the southern tip of Key Biscayne, with nothing that impeded his unending view out over the treetops of Cape Florida State Park and, beyond that, the Atlantic Ocean, until it disappeared below the horizon. I said, Wow! I mean, gorgeous body, and she had everything else. She was dressed casually but elegantly. I could see Latin fire. I stepped out of the car to meet herI speak fluent Spanishand I think she said we had a mutual friend in Miami. So I said, You know, Pilar, lets have dinner. Thats how it started. A week later, she was in bed with me. I introduced her to my dad, my brother. And we became wonderful, wonderful friends.