The bad times in Latin America have Caballero expanding. He recently opened shop in Mexico, in what could be his biggest customer base yet. In Mexico City, fear of being kidnapped, assaulted or getting caught in the middle of random drug violence hangs in the air as thickly as the city's infamous smog. The company has branch offices in Caracas, Venezuela; Quito, Ecuador; and Madrid, Spain, but together with Colombia, Mexico is one of the most violent countries in Latin America. Caballero figures there's a kidnapping in Mexico every three hours. Officials denied it, but several years ago even the FBI station chief in Mexico was kidnapped briefly after emerging from the U.S. embassy and hailing one of Mexico City's ubiquitous green-and-white Volkswagen Beetle cabs. In 2004, kidnappings surpassed 3,000, according to crime analysts. And that's just the reported abductions; only one in 10 is called in to police. Large corporations in Mexico spend millions on security. Security firms each year sell about $1 billion worth of home alarms, bulletproof vests, bodyguard services and armored vehicles.

Fear has grown as well because of drug-gang violence. This year, from tourist-laden beach resorts to industrialized cities along the U.S.-Mexico border, an estimated 800 people have been murdered, and dozens more injured or kidnapped.

"There has been a different mentality among businesspeople here in Mexico than in Colombia," says Mauricio Chazaro, who represents Caballero in Mexico and tends to a closely guarded list of clients that includes business leaders, government officials and public security personnel. "Unlike Colombia, people here were not accustomed to having to think about wearing protective clothing. But as things have gotten out of control here, they're realizing that it's not enough to drive around in a protected car. The car can only protect you while you're in it. Businesspeople here are now looking beyond the car."

But fear and loathing doesn't mean having to wear bulky body armor, Caballero says. As he demonstrates lightweight suits and dress shirts, he muses about future plans: A line of bulletproof women's wear, from evening gowns to blouses. Then there's the super-strong matador's outfit. "There's a niche market for that, I'm sure," Caballero says, wagging his finger at no one in particular. He's just proud of himself for thinking of that.

Oddly, the only item that didn't sell well was the now-discontinued knife-proof underwear. His "big house" briefs and T-shirts were meant for those special inmates police may have wanted to keep alive, or the VIP (very important prisoner) most likely to be preyed upon by fellow prisoners.

"I don't try to compete with the 500 companies around the world who make bulletproof jackets," Caballero says. "We do custom work for individual needs. In Latin America that means considering weather and the types of occasions during which a client might need protection ... We just got a call from a man in Ecuador who asked us to make a protective bed sheet."

"We also made a priest's vestment and then protected his Bible as well," he adds. And not a moment too soon: Last month the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) "apologized" for assassinating three priests in rural parishes.

Caballero has a degree in business administration. After college he sold everything from candles to insurance. In 1993 he settled on the idea that personal protection need not be ugly. He started with $10 in cash and a leather jacket and then began layering thin slices of coated materials like Twaron, from the Dutch company Teijin Twaron. He found the fibers could be incorporated into denim, cotton, wool and synthetic fabrics. The first sales success was a line of thin vests that weighed three pounds and fit comfortably under a shirt.

"When we started we saw that security guards had vests, but kept them in the trunk of the car," says Caballero, himself a survivor of two kidnap attempts. "That does you no good in an emergency."

Back in his shop, Caballero is ready for fun with a gun. This time the subject is his own bodyguard, a broad-shouldered former Bogotá cop named David Guerra who just joined the company. Caballero levels the gun 3 feet away from Guerra's midriff. Sewing machines on either side of the shooting range abruptly stop. Even seasoned employees, who've already faced Caballero's pistol, pause to witness. Caballero squeezes the trigger. The oversize earmuffs can't block out a distinctive "bam!" Guerra recoils, but does not fall. The stares of his co-workers hold firm until he pats his belly and affirms that all is well. The sewing machines whir back into action. Another employee successfully baptized.

"It felt like someone punched me in the stomach," Guerra says cavalierly. Yet it takes a bit for the flush of anxiety to fade from his face. "I was not scared," he insists. "The others told me these jackets have never failed. I'm glad I'll be wearing one of these on the job."

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