ZeroZeroZero

by Roberto Saviano

  Under El Lazca’s leadership Los Zetas gradually went from being merely the armed branch of the Gulf cartel to more independent roles. Los Zetas were feeling strong; they wanted their independence. And in February 2010, after a series of shoot-outs and murders, their break from the Gulf cartel was decisive. Los Zetas, now an independent cartel, sided against the Gulf cartel, their former employers, and aligned themselves with the Beltrán Leyva brothers and the Tijuana and Juárez cartels.

  El Lazca was a young boss, but he was already a myth, and his legend was amplified by his death. In October 2012 an anonymous tip arrived at the Mexican navy: El Lazca was watching a baseball game in a stadium in Progreso, in the state of Coahuila, right this minute. An unexpected gift. El Lazca, the most wanted drug trafficker after El Chapo, was killed during the police siege. It was a great coup.

  Less than twenty-four hours later the triumph was soured when a group of Los Zetas commandos stole their boss’s body from the morgue before forensics had finished with it. Fingerprints were a match, but they still had other tests to run, including the decisive one: DNA. But now the body had disappeared. Los Zetas had another incredible story to tell, at any rate.

  Miguel Ángel Treviño Morales, alias El Z40, became the next Los Zetas leader. He had been rising through the ranks since the group’s founding, and was known for his “stewing” technique: He’d stuff his adversary in an oil barrel and then set it on fire. But Miguel Ángel Treviño Morales’s rule didn’t last long. He was arrested in Nuevo Laredo on July 15, 2013. The baton passed to his younger brother Omar, close to him because of his nickname; El Z42. However, Miguel Ángel’s subordinates apparently did not trust Omar Treviño Morales, who was wanted in Mexico and the United States on charges of drug and arms trafficking, murder and kidnap. The Mexican government offered a 30 million peso reward and the United States up to $5 million for information leading to his arrest. On March, 4, 2015, Omar was arrested in a luxury home in San Pedro Garza García, Nuevo León. His neighbors, who were interviewed by Mexican newspapers, said the house had been bought about six months earlier by a quiet family, which did not mingle with other residents. Omar’s capture was possible thanks to a joint operation by the federal police and the army. They seized the Zetas’ chief without a shot being fired, but there was little time to celebrate: The hunt for a new boss was on.

  • • •

  Los Zetas’ epicenter of economic power is the border city of Nuevo Laredo. But they’ve spread throughout the country, into the states of Oaxaca, Guerrero, and Michoacán on the Pacific coast, in Mexico City, in Chiapas, and in the states of Yucatán, Quintana Roo, and Tabasco along the Gulf coast. In Nuevo Laredo they have total control, with sentries posted all along the main traffic routes in the city and roadblocks near the area bus stations and airports, the better to know who is leaving, but what is more important, who and what is arriving.

  Los Zetas is a criminal dictatorship whose laws are based on extortion, whose decrees are kidnappings and torture, and whose constitution is founded on decapitations and dismemberments. Its targets are often politicians and police, with the aim of intimidating the government and dissuading people from accepting institutional roles in opposition to Los Zetas’ interests.

  It was two in the afternoon on June 8, 2005, when Alejandro Domínguez Coello, a former typographer, fifty-six years old, took over as chief of police in the city of Nuevo Laredo. “I’m not tied to anyone,” he declared. “My only obligation is to the citizens of this city.” Six hours later, as he was getting into his pickup, a Los Zetas commando unloaded thirty large-caliber bullets into him. His body wasn’t identified right away because his face had been completely obliterated.

  On July 29, 2009, at five in the morning, two cars stopped in front of Veracruz and Boca del Río deputy police chief Jesús Antonio Romero Vázquez’s home: About ten Zetas men, armed with AK-47s and grenade launchers, got out and stormed the house. It took them a few minutes to kill Romero Vázquez, his wife (also a police officer), and their seven-year-old son. Then they set the house on fire, killing his three daughters as well, the oldest of whom was fifteen.

  Rodolfo Torre Cantú, a gubernatorial candidate in the state of Tamaulipas with the Partido Revolucionario Institucional, or PRI (Institutional Revolutionary Party), was killed on June 28, 2010, six days before the election. His killers, armed with AK-47s, attacked his car on the way to the airport in Ciudad Victoria, the capital of Tamaulipas. He had been planning on going to Matamoros to wind up his campaign. Four people traveling with him were also killed, and four others wounded. According to witnesses, the killers’ vehicle—a 4 x 4—had an unmistakable Z painted on the windows. But after their statements appeared in the papers, a man who identified himself as the “Los Zetas press officer” contacted several local papers to say that Los Zetas were not responsible for Torre Cantú’s murder. Investigations are still under way, but Los Zetas are among the primary suspects.

  When they carry out operations, Los Zetas wear dark clothes, paint their faces black, drive stolen SUVs, and often put on federal police uniforms. In Acapulco in early 2007 they disguised themselves as soldiers and killed five police officers and two administrative assistants. On April 16, 2007, in Reynosa, six men dressed as Tamaulipas ministerial police—maybe Zetas men in disguise or maybe corrupt police officers in the pay of the cartel—aboard five SUVs and carrying R-15 rifles, which are used exclusively by the armed forces, stopped four AFI agents (Agencia Federal de Investigación, the Mexican equivalent of FBI agents until July 2012, when they were replaced by the new PFM, Policía Federal Ministerial) whom the Los Zetas cartel accused of having ties to a “rival gang.” In fact, a few days earlier the agents had burst into the El Cincuenta y Siete discotheque in Reynosa, right before the singer Gloria Trevi’s show was to begin, and handcuffed and removed seven hit men who were in the service of the Zetas. The fake ministerial police made the AFI agents get into an SUV. They beat them and took them to China, a small town in the state of Nuevo León, a known Zetas stronghold, intending to kill them. They didn’t realize that one of the agents, Luis Solís, had a cell phone in his pocket. While his kidnappers were momentarily distracted, Solís took out his cell and dialed Commander Puma at AFI headquarters: “We’ve been kidnapped by Los Zetas, they’re taking us to China, they’re going to kill us.” The message was received. Meanwhile, the four agents were transferred to a casa de seguridad, one of the places the Zetas use to torture their victims before finishing them off. Here the agents were kicked and beaten, including by the illustrious El Hummer, head of the Zetas in the Reynosa area. The kidnappers were convinced that the agents were in the service of a rival cartel and wanted to make them confess. But the agents didn’t talk, so they were drugged and taken to another safe house—for electric shock treatment. But when Los Zetas got wind of the fact that federal agents were searching everywhere for their men, they decided to rid themselves of the agents, and let them go. “We survived by the hand of God,” the agents allegedly said after they were freed.

  When Los Zetas kill their enemies, they are sadistic, their revenge exemplary: They burn bodies, stuff them into barrels filled with diesel oil, dismember them. In January 2008 in San Luis Potosí, during a roundup that led to the arrest of Héctor Izar Castro, alias El Teto, considered the leader of the local Zetas cell, weapons of all sorts were found, along with three paddles with a raised letter Z on them: This way, when they beat their victims their mark is imprinted on their skin. To terrify their rivals they often cut off their victims’ genitals and stuff them in their mouths, and hang headless bodies from bridges. In early January 2010 Hugo Hernández, thirty-six years old, was kidnapped in the state of Sonora, taken to Los Mochis in nearby Sinaloa, killed, and cut into seven pieces by men from a rival cartel. The victim’s face was skinned, fixed to a soccer ball, and left in a plastic bag near city hall with a note: “Have a Happy New Year, because this one will be your last.” Other body parts were found in two pla
stic barrels: in one his torso; in the other his arms, legs, and faceless skull. Dismemberment is the language of Los Zetas. They make bodies disappear inside already occupied tombs, or bury them in clandestine cemeteries within their strongholds, or dump them in mass graves. They often bury their victims alive. Or dissolve them in acid.

  Los Zetas are bloodthirsty assassins, yet they have one characteristic in common with normal kids thousands of miles away: They love television, that dangerous teacher. Violent films and reality shows are cultural reference points. One day in San Fernando, a village about eighty-five miles from the U.S.-Mexico border, Los Zetas stopped several buses traveling along Highway 101 and made the passengers get off and fight like gladiators, armed with clubs and knives. Whoever survived was guaranteed a place with Los Zetas. Whoever succumbed was buried in a mass grave. In spring 2011, such a grave was discovered in San Fernando; it contained 193 corpses, the victims all killed with powerful blows to the head.

  And this sadistic carnage occurred just a few months after what has become known as the First San Fernando Massacre. More innocent victims, more mass graves: August 24, 2010. More than seventy illegal immigrants from South and Central America were trying to cross the U.S. border at Tamaulipas. We know about them from a man from Ecuador who survived. In San Fernando he and his companions were joined by a group of Mexicans claiming to be Los Zetas. They herded the immigrants onto a farm and started beating them up. One by one. They either hadn’t paid the “toll” for crossing the border into Los Zetas territory or—more likely—they hadn’t accepted the Zetas’ “request” that they work for them. Los Zetas don’t take no for an answer. They shot the immigrants in the head. The Ecuadorian was wounded in the neck and played dead, but later he managed to escape and miraculously reached a roadblock manned by the Mexican army. The soldiers, following his directions, went to the farm and had a shoot-out with Los Zetas. When it was over they found the seventy-two bodies: fifty-eight men and fourteen women, all piled in a heap.

  Los Zetas are notoriously the masters of violence, but they’re learning at their own expense that they can be surpassed by their pupils. Some of Los Zetas’ rival cartels began to not just cut their enemies’ heads off but to replace them with pigs’ heads and—of course—post the video on the Internet.

  Ferocity is learned. Ferocity works by its own rules. Ferocity spreads, like an invading army. Los Zetas and Ángel Miguel know this. Now I know it too.

  Like something sacred, whose name cannot be uttered,

  like a secret lover you hold close in your thoughts,

  like an empty surface where every word can be written,

  such is the one you seek, evoke, call out to in a thousand ways.

  Her every name is a desire and a driving force,

  a metaphor, an ironic illusion.

  She’ll make you joyful and desperate, she’s the one you want

  at all times, all places, all ways.

  In America, you can call her 24/7,

  like your neighborhood drugstore,

  or Aspirin, like that effervescent

  that makes you feel better, and in Italy Vitamin C

  because it’s how you cure your cold.

  C is her letter—

  you can simply call her that—

  or Charlie,

  the C all pilots and radio operators know.

  Or at the take-away of desires,

  order Number 3, the third letter,

  punch in C-game, C-dust, or call her Caine,

  her second syllable, which sounds like Cain.

  Choose any female name with C:

  Corinne Connie Cora Cory or most common of all Carrie,

  the girl who grabs you and carries you away.

  She’s a Cadillac, a Viaje, a voyage.

  In Turkish a line is Otoban, highway,

  la Veloce, Svelta; uskoritel’, the accelerator,

  , pure energy, Dynamite.

  She loves B, explosive and sensual.

  She’s Blast, Bomb, Boost,

  she’s Bonza, Bubbazza, Binge, Bouncing Powder,

  in Spanish you’ll Bailar till dawn.

  And when you’re too paranoid to speak,

  dial 256 on your cell—

  it’s the same as BLO or Blow or snort.

  She makes you feel good,

  she’s Big Bloke, Big C, Big Flake, Big Rush.

  She’ll make you feel like a god,

  so Dios is what she’s called in Latin America,

  but she’s also Diablo, Diablito too, Little Devil.

  Devil’s Dandruff is cocaine powder,

  while crack is Devil’s Drug, you smoke it

  with the Devil’s Dick.

  Regular coke can be Monster,

  Cat Piss, A Visit to the House of Horrors,

  but that’s not what you’re looking for,

  what you want is the exact opposite:

  Paradise, Alas de Angel, Polvere di Stelle,

  Polvo Feliz, Polvo de Oro, Star-Spangled Powder,

  Heaven Dust or Haven Dust, an inhalable oasis of peace.

  Happy Powder, Happy Dust, Happy Trail.

  She’s a Dream, a Beam, a ray of light.

  She’s Aire, she’ll make you feel so light.

  She’s Breath, Soffio, Soplo,

  Or simply Sobre, with her you’re always on.

  Call her Angie, your most angelic friend,

  or Aunt Nora, your aunt who bakes cakes.

  In Brazil she’s Gulosa,

  so sweet, those sweets kids go crazy for:

  Icing on the top of a cake,

  Jelly and Jam, those secret jars of marmalade,

  Candy and Candy C, Bubble Gum, Double Bubble,

  —you can blow double with the best chewing gum—

  Granita, Mandorlata, Cubaita, Dolcetto,

  California Cornflakes, Bernie’s Cornflakes, or Cereal.

  Cornflakes, snow Flakes,

  Cocaine is always snow.

  Snow

  Sno

  Schnee

  CHez

  Sne

  Neige

  Nieve

  Wherever snow falls, coke is snow,

  but you can also call it Florida Snow,

  as miraculous as a Miami snowfall.

  It’s —svezhij, fresh

  but it can turn to Ice, and make your veins run cold.

  She is Snow White, the fairest of them all—

  but you don’t envy her because you lay her down

  on the mirror of your desires.

  Or simply Bianca

  Blanca

  Blanche,

  Branca and Branquinha in Brazil

  Beyaz Ten, white skin in Turkey

  in Russia —Belaja loshadj, white horse

  White Girl, White Tornado, White Lady,

  White Dragon, White Ghost, White Boy, White Powder

  Polvere Bianca, Polvo Blanca, Poudre, Pudra in Turkish

  Whatever looks like Sugar

  Azúcar, Toz seker, that powder Turkish Delight is coated in.

  But she looks like flour too,

  MуKа, Mukà, in Russian or —Bai fen in China.

  And whatever sounds like her,

  Cocco, Coconut, Coco in French, KOKOC—kokos

  or KeKC—Keks, the Russian tea cake, but above all KOKC—

  Koks in German and Swedish as well.

  That ancient name means nothing now

  though she’s still t
here to warm you,

  those old coal stoves no longer exist

  so now when you say Coke (in English or French)

  you no longer think of fuel for the poor.

  Now she’s Coke like Coca-Cola,

  though it’s Coca-Cola that took her name.

  So she adopted all sorts of ways of referring

  to that famous pop: Cola in Danish,

  Kola in Swedish and Turkish,

  Кока in Serbia and Russia.

  And then, sometimes, I don’t know why, she turns into an animal.

  You can call her Coniglio, maybe because she’s magic

  like the rabbit that gets pulled out of the hat, or Krava, cow, in Croatian,

  in Spanish Perico or Perica, parrot,

  maybe because she makes you more loquacious,

  or the Gato who makes you purr.

  Farlopa—her most common slang—

  or Calcetin, sock, or Cama, bed,

  because she makes you dream, or Tierra, the ground under your feet.

  If you blow the cheapest stuff

  she’ll be your old friend Paco, in Italy Fefè,

  while in Russia you can call her , Kolja,

  in the United States she’s Bernie, but also Cecil,

  a more haughty name, or you can call her Henry VIII

  the great English king.

  You can make a fuss over her,

  call her Baby or Bebé.

  But more than any other drug,

  it’s a Love Affair with a beautiful lady,

  Fast White Lady, Lady, Lady C,

  Lady Caine, Lady Snow, Peruvian Lady,

  she’s the Dama Blanca, the Mujer,

  the woman par excellence,

  she’s Girl and Girlfriend,

  your Novia, your fiancée.

  There’s no one like her,

  so you can even call her Mama Coca;

  or simply say She or Her,

  she’s pure, purely herself.

  She consumes her names like she consumes her lovers

  So this list is nothing but a taste,

  so call her any way you want,