Chapter 2010 - 834: We’ve Been Invaded

December 21, 1997, Greece, Crete Island.

"Scorpion" met the Black Mamba.

The meeting place was an abandoned quarry, five kilometers from the sea. Black Mamba drove a rented Jeep, with only one person by his side.

Scorpion knew that person.

Hendrick.

"Boss."

Scorpion stood beside the Jeep, head down.

Black Mamba got out of the car and walked up to him.

He was thinner, darker, but his eyes hadn't changed. Cold, like a shark.

"The Marseille incident wasn't your fault."

Scorpion raised his head.

Black Mamba looked at him.

"Costa is dead, Samir is dead, the goods are gone, but you're still alive. Being alive is useful."

Scorpion said nothing.

Black Mamba turned and looked at the distant gray-blue sea.

"Greece is a new beginning. Its coastline is longer than Italy's, the police are dumber than France's, and the gangs are poorer than Spain's. Five tons of goods can keep you busy here for a year. A year later, you'll be wealthier than me."

Scorpion waited for more.

"But there's one condition," Black Mamba turned around, "Don't touch the local women's. Don't touch the local territories. Do whatever Strios asks. He's not your friend, but he's useful to you alive."

Scorpion nodded.

Black Mamba looked at him, silent for a few seconds.

Then he reached out and patted Scorpion's shoulder.

"Stay alive."

December 22, 1997, Rome.

Conti stood in the Coast Guard command center, looking at the newly installed screen.

The screen marked all ship signals in the Eastern Mediterranean. Red indicated suspicious, green normal. Over the past seventy-two hours, Sanchez's team marked thirty-one red targets, the Coast Guard pursued fourteen, and nine confirmed to be trafficking drugs.

"Quite effective," Conti said.

Sanchez stood beside him, expression calm.

"It's just the beginning. The system needs more data to calibrate the algorithm. In three months, accuracy can increase from the current 65% to over 85%."

Conti nodded.

He was silent for a few seconds, then asked:

"Any news on the African?"

Sanchez glanced at him.

"The 'Far Seer' appeared in the depths of the Guinea Gulf three days ago, coordinates moved fifty nautical miles. People on the ship decreased, goods may have been transferred."

Conti said nothing.

"You want to catch him?"

Sanchez asked.

Conti looked at the red dots on the screen.

"I want him dead."

December 23, 1997, Brussels.

European Union Council emergency meeting.

The agenda listed only one item: The drug crisis.

Conti sat in the meeting room, watched as ministers from various countries entered. German, French, Spaniards, Dutch, Belgians arrived. No UK representative came—they sent an Observer who sat silently in the corner.

Before the meeting began, Conti received the latest report.

The report was from the European Criminal Police Organization.

It stated: Over the past month, over a hundred tons of "Black Pearl" were seized within Europe.

A hundred tons.

Enough to flood every city in Europe with drugs.

The final section of the report was bolded and marked in red:

"According to current intelligence, all cases point to the same network as the source of drugs. This network is controlled by West African Drug Lord Idriss Diawlo, nicknamed 'Black Mamba.' The network is still operational and has established partnerships with local gangs in at least twenty European cities."

Conti closed the report and looked up.

The meeting room was filled with harsh white light, every gaze was on him.

He spoke, voice hoarse:

"Gentlemen, we are not being invaded. We are already occupied."

…