Chapter 2011 - 835: The Map of Greater Mexico?~

December 24, 1997, Brussels.

After Conti's speech ended, the conference room was quiet for a full ten seconds.

The French minister spoke first: "A hundred tons. Even at retail price, it exceeds three billion euros. Whose hands is this money in now?"

"Africans," Conti said, "and their local partners. In Italy, Camorra and Entrangata have fully turned to 'Black Pearl'. The situation in Spain is similar. France—"

"Marseille is already out of control." The French minister interrupted him, "Our people have counted that in the past two weeks, there have been seventeen homicide cases related to 'Black Pearl'. The deceased include two local gang leaders, a police officer, and three high school students."

The German representative pushed up his glasses: "The quantity of 'Black Pearl' seized within Germany is decreasing. It's not less, we just can't find them. They've changed channels—using refugee boats, refrigerated cargo ships, postal packages. Customs only catches less than one-tenth of the total."

Conti looked at him.

"Did you sign the Mexico agreement?"

The German representative shook his head.

"Still in talks."

Conti said nothing. He glanced at the British observer sitting in the corner, the man had his head down writing in his notebook, not looking up from start to finish.

After the meeting, Conti was stopped in the hallway by the Spanish minister.

"Over in Rome, is the Mexican system really useful?"

Conti nodded.

"In the past week, they've marked thirty-one suspicious targets. We followed fourteen and confirmed nine were drug carriers. This is an efficiency we haven't seen in the past three years."

The Spanish minister was silent for a few seconds.

"Madrid also wants to sign. Parliament is still dragging but can't hold off any longer. Last month nine people died in Valencia, all from gang wars. If it drags on, next month it will be our own police."

December 25, 1997, Christmas Day, Greece, Crete Island.

"Scorpion" sat at the door of a fisherman's hut, looking at the sea.

Winter in the Aegean Sea seldom has sunny days, today was an exception. The sunlight on the water looked like a layer of scattered silver.

Strios came over carrying a bag of bread and two bottles of beer, sitting down beside him.

"Don't Greeks celebrate Christmas?" Scorpion asked.

"We do." Strios opened a beer bottle, "But I don't believe in it."

Scorpion didn't respond.

"The goods are selling well." Strios took a sip of beer, "Over in Heraklion, people have already started specifically asking for 'African goods'. The price is four-tenths lower than local goods, and purity is double. In another month, the entire underground market in Crete Island will be ours."

Scorpion watched the sea.

"Boss said to listen to you."

Strios laughed, revealing a set of yellow teeth.

"Your boss is a smart man. Knows when to let go, when to reel in."

Scorpion didn't respond.

"But he also made a mistake." Strios set down the beer bottle, "He shouldn't have loaded all the goods on one ship. Thirty tons, the target is too big. Change it to ten small boats, three tons each, landing from ten different places, nobody can stop it."

Scorpion turned to look at him.

"You're saying—"

"I didn't say anything." Strios stood up, dusting off his pants, "Your boss let you listen to me, so I let you live. Other than that, think for yourself."

December 26, 1997, London, Thames River Police Headquarters.

Graham received an intelligence report from Washington.

The intelligence was short, but every word felt like a nail.

"The internal memo from the CIA indicates that the cooperation between 'Black Mamba' and 'Black Sea Wolf' began in March of this year. Memo drafter—Deputy Director of the CIA Operations Department, Malcolm Turner."

Graham read that sheet of paper three times.

Turner.

The man who planned the "Wind Roll Grass" operation in the London safe house.

The man who sold arms to African drug lords.

The man who allowed "Black Pearl" to flow onto the streets of Europe.

"Ellis."

Ellis walked in from the door.

"Chatna. For the past three years, all his travels, every contact, every bank transaction. Whether you can find it or not, find it, but if you can, find even more."

Ellis looked at him.

"This will offend people."

Graham leaned back in his chair.

"The United Kingdom has nothing left to offend."

December 27, 1997, Mexico City.

Victor looked at the recently delivered interrogation records.

Ivanov confessed to another batch of names. This time from Eastern Europe—Ukrainians, Russians, Bulgarians, all past partners of 'Black Sea Wolf'. Each name was annotated with contact information, number of transactions, handled goods.

"This stuff," Victor pushed the records in front of Bramo, "is worth more than ten aircraft carriers."

Bramo nodded.

"How do we use it?"

Victor thought for a moment.

"Hold onto it. When the Europeans are desperate enough to go crazy, release it to them bit by bit. Every time release three names, let them catch themselves. If caught, they'll owe us a favor. If not, it shows they're incapable and they'll need us even more."

Bramo noted it down in his notebook.

"One more thing. Gals asked how to handle the Russian. Keeping him is costly, letting him go would mean he'd run, killing him would be a waste."

Victor walked to the window.

"Keep him. Send his photos from Congo to several African countries' anti-government armed forces, let them know, 'Black Sea Wolf' people are in their hands. Those leaders won't sleep well—they don't know how much this Russian knows. When they start to worry, they'll come to negotiate with us."

Bramo was stunned for a moment.

"Isn't this basically telling others that we're the ones who caught him?"