Victor M. Lopez
Sipping his glass of Scotch, U.S. Customs Officer Victor Lopez scrutinized the man across the bar table who had just made him an offer: quick money if he'd simply "look the other way" when a particular car crossed the Mexican border into California.
Victor resisted. He had already reaped several awards working undercover: exposing this drug-smuggling scheme might win him another commendation.
But he thought again. A cutback in his 16 hour work shifts had slashed his overtime pay. A decline in house sales had curtailed his wife's real estate commissions. Their own home teetered on the brink of foreclosure. It took a lot of money to stake his alcohol and cocaine addictions. It took even more to hobnob with the "corporate types" with whom he served on various boards. To keep up the lifestyle, he needed the funds.
He wouldn't actually smuggle the drugs himself. Victor rationalized, Just wave the car through without an inspection. Still, if he got caught, he could get a 15 to 20 year prison sentence.
"It"ll cost you," he told the man, "Five thousand dollars."
Thirteen years later Victor recalls his first step into smuggling: "It was so easy; it felt exciting." As he continued to "look the other way" when drug runs crossed his path, "the money came rolling in," he says. "I have no idea how much I was making."
But it was more than enought to support his increasing extravagance. "I would go to restaurants and buy dinner for everybody - champagne, the works. The bill came to around $700 a night. And I was happy to do it. I had friends, people who looked up to me. I felt I was king of the hill."
He graced his wife with expensive cars and jewelry. "Every time I did something wrong, I'd buy her a new ring. "On the side he kept a mistress, who had access to a suitcase Victor continually filled with drug money. "I thought it was cool," he remembers "I had it all under control."
Or so he thought. Then one day in 1985, some drug lords invited Victor and his family, to a breakfast. Wow, this is great! he thought - until a warning, dead-of-night phone call shattered his zeal: The breakfast was a setup for his "execusion." Suspected - erroneously - of filching merchandise, Victor had a contract on his head.
Packing his gun, he fled to a "safe house" for two weeks while a cousin negotiated for Victor's life. "I sweated a lot during that time," Victor remembers. "I suddenly realized what I'd gotten myself into - what I'd gotten my family into."
ON THE RUN
Finally his cousin returned with good news. "It's over; you can go home now." But Victor had got wind that the "U.S. government was also after me." So he dropped by his San Diego home just long enough to pack his clothes and cash and head to Mexico. At the border he turned in his customs badge and firearms: "I quit" he decalred. "where do I sign.?"
Opening a restaurant in Mexico, living in a penthouse suite with his wife and children, and still indulging extravagant tastes, Victor soon felt bold enough to "take chances" with drug smuggling again. But in 1986, he was arrested. "Actually, I was glad it was over." Victor admits. "I was tired of being a fugitive, always looking over my shoulder." While Victor was out on bail, his wife committed her life to Christ. In April 1987 she asked if Victor could spare a few minutes with her pastor, who had dropped by. An ex-prisoner and recovering drug addict, the pastor quickly won Victor's attention. "Eight hours later I was still with him," Victor summarizes, "and I had accepted Christ as my Savior."
Three months later, after pleading guilty to drug smuggling, Victor was sentenced to 12 years - with 8 suspended - in federal prison. "But if you mess up," the judge warned, "you'll owe me."
Victor, however, aimed to succeed. Reading 1 John 1:6 had pesuaded him to give up drugs and alcohol cold-turkey: "If we claim to have fellowship with (God) yet we walk in the darkness, we lie..." And during his first year of prison - in segregation - he delved into the Scriptures. "I had nothing else to do but study, and It was great!" Later transferred, he landed a the Federal Prison Camp at Big Springs, Texas, "Where there were many Christians," he explains. "We all got together for morning prayer and Bible studies."
But while several programs nurtured the inmates, "no one visited our families," recalls Victor. He and his Saturday night Bible study group, with the help of Rev. Leland and Linda Maples, spearheaded a support group called Loved Ones of Prisoners (LOOPS). At the end of each prison visiting day, the Mapleses met with the inmates' wives to study the Bible, pray, and discuss specific concerns. Unfortunately, Victor's own marriage didn't survive his incarceration. Financial pressures also mounted, since most of their money had covered fines and legal expenses. After Victor's release in 1990, "We tried to get back together; we went through counseling." but the marriage ended in divorce.
GIRDED BY PRAYER
Back in San Diego, God led Victor to a permanent job - a ministry opportunity: working with a detox program. "The Lord seemed to tell me, 'This is the harm you did by bringing those drugs into the country; now you help clean it up!'"
Reconciled with his first wife Conchita in 1999, Victor has established close relationships with all his children, Marcos, Lizette and Enrique who is married with a wornderful family his wife Lily, grand children Christina, Christian and Paulina Isabella.
He has also reconciled with his former Customs Service colleagues - who now use a video of Victor's experience, The Road to Corruption, as part of their training.
Comparing his new life to his old, Victor says, "I sleep comfortably now, not afraid of who might call. I don't have to hide from anybody anymore." Chuckling that he lets his wife, Conchita, takes care of the money.
I no longer need the penthouse, the Mercedes, the parties," Victor affirms. "All I need is to have peace in my life. And with Christ, that's what I have."
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