by David Graham
“Go ahead.”
“What do you know about the international trade in illegal drugs?”
“Brewer got far enough along the proposal to specify your area of interest, before I sent him packing, so I did some homework. Fifty million regular users of one form or another worldwide, according to UN estimates. Cocaine and heroin are still the most prevalent but the synthetic market’s growing quickly, particularly in Asia.”
“And financially?”
“I’ve seen a global annual estimate for the trade of $400 billion plus. There’s a huge interdependency with the illegal arms trade. Guns for drugs are the lifeline for a host of revolutionaries and militias.”
“So, how much of a chance would you give a privately funded initiative of dealing a serious blow to the industry?”
Larsen idled with his mug for a few seconds while he considered his answer. “Diversified Holdings’ balance sheet valuation is around $70 billion and that’s excluding Wallace Consulting. Forbes recently calculated your private fortune at $20 billion but I’d say that’s more the value you’re comfortable being circulated. Doesn’t matter, even if you could mobilise all your resources, it wouldn’t make a difference. The US Government spend billions each year and all they do is marginally slow the market’s growth rate. Financially, you’re nothing to sneeze at but you’ve mentioned a private operation, which I’m inferring means unsanctioned. Unsanctioned means secrecy, which by necessity means more expense and less efficiency.”
“I’m not talking about a scenario where my wealth is pitted directly against the various cartels,” Wallace replied. “I’m not too conceited to see where my limits lie. But why is it, do you suppose, that most state-backed initiatives are doomed to fail?”
“I think part of it’s down to how futile it is to try to stop people doing what they really want to, but I’m guessing you’re referring to the limitations imposed on the various agencies by politicians?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Between the inadequate level of funding, bureaucratic obstructions and political cowardice, their hands are tied.”
“So, they’re all doomed to fail. What’s your point?”
“Look at the problem from a different angle. Some experts may have the know-how to combat the trade, some governments the funding and some extremists the will but they’re not aligned. Agreed?”
Larsen nodded.
“So, tell me what’s the only organisation with the resources, knowledge and lack of scruples required to cripple a major drug cartel?”
Larsen thought about the question and when he realised where they were heading he smiled.
“Another cartel.”
“Exactly.”
“How?”
“A third-party sows disharmony between two of the largest players. Manufactures a full-scale war, fuels it at every opportunity. If this were perpetuated long enough, I think the flow of drugs into the consumer countries would be compromised.”
“You’re going to use the Gorgon’s head.”
Wallace’s puzzlement was obvious.
“To kill Poseidon’s sea beast and save Andromeda, Perseus cut off Medusa’s head and used it to turn Cetus to stone. One monster destroying another.”
Wallace still looked lost.
“Forget it, how would you incite this war?”
“Attack strategic locations and shipments owned by a particular group. Destroy them, totally. Ensure the attacks are so extreme that they can’t be mistaken for the handiwork of an established state agency. Do this repeatedly and then arrange for the evidence to point in a specific direction.”
“And I’d coordinate these attacks?”
“Yes. With Brewer’s help, you’d recruit and train a different team for each attack. They’d have only one objective to achieve and then they’d be disbanded. Intelligence for the attacks would all be supplied. You’d be required to participate directly in some specific attacks to ensure an appropriate forensic trail.”
“You can’t guarantee the correct response is elicited.”
“No, we can’t. All we can do is plan it to the best of our ability. There’s also a limit to how many operations we can mount, the risks will grow with each subsequent attack. If it hasn’t worked by a previously agreed point then we’ll simply abandon it.”
“You mentioned supplying the appropriate intelligence. Where would that come from?” asked Larsen, draining his mug.
“Brewer, through his own company and former employers, has access to a lot of sensitive information regarding production and storage locations as well as shipping routes etc. The information is out there, it’s just no one’s ever used it effectively.”
“So what are you proposing, pit one Colombian cartel against another?”
“Bigger than that,” Wallace answered, leaning across the table. “The largest player in the world is a group of affiliated cartels controlled out of Colombia. They’re known as the Madrigal Alliance, named after the man who pulled them together. It incorporates virtually all of South America’s producers. It also deals with the main Mexican cartels.”
“As partners or subordinates?”
“That’s a matter of conjecture. Anyway, if enough external pressure could be exerted, I believe the Alliance would crumble.” Wallace scrutinised Larsen’s face, trying to gauge his reaction to the proposal.
“And you have another group in mind to go up against them?”
“Yes. What’s required is an adversary that won’t be cowed by the Alliance’s reputation, a group prepared to take the fight to them. We’ve identified the Kosovar Fifteen Families as the best option. They have enormous wealth and a global reach.”
“Why would they choose to target the South Americans? For your plan to work, the reasons for the attacks have to be believable, what would they have to gain?”
“They each control a major stake in the global heroin business but elements in both organisations have pushed for expansion. Initially that would provide us with what we need to get the ball rolling.”
“Have you considered that if it worked, and each started destroying the other, you might be providing the perfect opportunity for one of the other, smaller groups to move up?”
“That’s exactly what I’m banking on,” Wallace said enthusiastically. “One of the reasons for the amount of drugs currently being trafficked is the general stability. No one’s motivated enough to challenge the status quo. But if the two main players were weakened then others would be encouraged to expand and the conflict would spread. It wouldn’t just be two sides then, it’d be a free-for-all and the more energy they put into fighting one another, the more drug production and distribution will suffer.”
“Okay but why? What’s the point of it all?”
“If fewer drugs are available, society benefits. Too many lives are being lost to addiction. Ideally, we’ll set the whole business back, two, three, maybe even five years.”
“You want to save people you don’t know, most of whom probably don’t even want to be saved?” Larsen asked disbelievingly.
“A lot of drug addicts may be willing but only because they were initially exploited.”
“And what about the dirt-poor growers who rely on the crops to survive?”
“I can sympathise but their situation doesn’t justify –”
“Remember,” the Dane cut him off, “once you initiate violence, you’ve no way of knowing how it might spill over. Have you thought about the dangers to innocents?”
“I’m not totally clueless. I’ve carried out detailed analysis, made projections, had Brewer scrutinise them. They all agree that if we do this properly the fall-out should be minimal. Of course, there may be some isolated incidents but I can’t use that as an excuse to dodge my responsibility.”
Larsen stared at him.
“Look, I know you’re trying to measure my commitment but there’s really no –”
“So, your daughter’s murder requires violence on this scale? Have you considered thera
py?”
Wallace was thrown by the remark. Not just its callous flippancy but surprise that Larsen would have known about Carol at all. The part of him that was not in shock, not revisiting the nightmare, reprimanded him for his naivety. It was only natural that Larsen would have looked into his personal life.
Eighteen months had passed and the wound was as fresh as ever. He remembered the phone call from his lawyer; the police had been unable to locate him and had to go through the old family friend. Strange how the sum of an entire lifetime could change beyond recognition with one phone call.
He managed to regain his composure, preventing himself from falling apart right there.
“I’m ... I’m guessing this is your crude attempt to ascertain my state of mind but I’m warning you, don’t try your mind games with me. I know why I’m doing this; the question is your participation, so let’s stick to that.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What?”
“About how she died; the reports weren’t very detailed.”
Wallace was stunned; based on his off-hand manner, the other man might as well have been asking about the weather. Brewer had been correct; he must be unhinged.
All this time wasted, trying to convince a crazy man, he thought. There was nothing else to do, Wallace started to rise shakily from his seat but Larsen reached over and gripped his arm firmly.
“I need to know what’s driving you, otherwise I can’t consider it. You’ll probably find others who don’t care but I need to know.”
Wallace returned reluctantly to his seat. “Why? Why is it necessary? You’re a professional, you’ll be well-paid.”
“Do you know how many times people in the field have found out, when it was too late, that the reasons they thought they were fighting for were just a lie? Or how often important people have expediently reversed a position they’ve said was irreversible and left men stranded?” Larsen asked bitterly. Then his voice softened a little. “I don’t resent risking my life. Like you say, I’m well paid, but I’ve reached the stage where I need to know why.”
Wallace weighed it up for a few moments and, at last, by the slimmest of margins he agreed to revisit the nightmare and explain what had happened to Carol and Elizabeth.
After the event, he had been successful in exerting pressure on the city authorities to deploy a greater police presence in the relevant precinct but, despite the resultant success, his anger remained. He then turned his attention to the wider problems that drug addiction visited upon society. He had lobbied for tougher legislation, better funding for the relevant enforcement agencies and more stringent monitoring of their effectiveness. Before long, however, he recognised how little he was accomplishing. Like using a bucket to stop the incoming tide. He looked at other avenues. One option was to help those battling addiction. He researched the most successful treatments and had committed to starting a string of best-practice treatment centres. While it was gratifying to see progress there, it was still not enough. His thoughts finally started to move in a different direction. Once he was convinced this was the way to go, he had stood down as CEO of Diversified Holdings so that he could dedicate the time required.
When he was finished his account, he sat back, drained, and waited for Larsen to respond.
“Okay, regardless of how well we plan it, no matter what precautions we take, there’s a chance that what you’re planning could be discovered. Are you prepared for that? Is Brewer?”
“This means everything to me, I’m prepared for all eventualities. Brewer’s a professional, like you.”
“Other than you two, who else knows?”
“No one.”
“Okay, we’re done for now.”
“What do you mean?” Wallace asked. “I need an answer.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“When?” he asked, exasperated.
“If you haven’t heard within a month, start looking for someone else.”
Aware of how vulnerable he had made himself, Wallace put a hand out to stop him.
“Why the insistence on meeting face-to-face?”
“If we do proceed, you need to be clear you’re not insulated from me. Face-to-face reinforces that.”
Larsen contacted Wallace two weeks later, agreeing to take the mission.
The incessant wind howling through the skeletal structure brought Wallace back to the present. In all of his years as the focal point for major decisions, he had never felt so much out of his depth. He had been determined to call it off and yet when he was presented with the opportunity, he couldn’t follow through. He knew part of him had hesitated because of what Larsen had said regarding the targets being capable of full recovery. But that hadn’t been the only thing that stopped him.
For some reason Larsen’s opinion of him mattered to Wallace. Why the view of someone like the Dane should be so important was unclear to him but for some reason it was. He could see that Larsen had clearly given himself over totally to this crusade of his. When he had asked Wallace if the billionaire meant to abandon the mission, the mercenary had tried to appear dispassionate but not quite succeeded. Wallace did not look forward to breaking the news of his decision after the Cartagena operation but knew they had to stop.
Wallace remembered his early frustration at how long Larsen had spent researching the targets before launching a major operation. A year passed after him accepting before he saw concrete action. Major dealers in Chicago had been eliminated and drugs removed from circulation. It was only when Brewer produced copies of the police report of the nightclub killings that he understood the methods used. He was surprised that he was not more revolted. Brewer mentioned that Larsen had insisted that if they were going to provoke the proper response, they could not afford to be any less savage than their quarry. None of the victims were innocent and as long as that continued Wallace had no qualms about the measures Larsen took.
Shortly after the Chicago incident, the operation really hit its stride and Madrigal’s Alliance suffered more major setbacks. What was surprising was how few of the attacks merited significant media scrutiny, most escaping their attention altogether. Those that were reported made local, sometimes regional, headlines but that was the extent of it. Wallace had been concerned that the DEA or some other government agency might realise the orchestrated nature of the attacks too early, before the desired effect had been realised, but his fears proved groundless.
Something else that had confounded Wallace was how long it had taken to spur Madrigal into action. On select missions, clear indications were left of Kosovar involvement, but it had seemed that these were often missed, whether through virtue of being too obscure or through sloppy investigation.
The impact they had made on the flow of drugs into the US in their first eighteen months of operation was minimal – hardly surprising considering the total volumes involved. With the money he had ploughed into this, he would have been better off just buying the drugs directly and destroying them. It was not until the attack on the Mexican heroin refinery that anyone had started pointing the finger at the Balkans.
The escalation since then had been shocking. Starting with the attacks in Spain and Austria, it seemed some new atrocity was making headlines every other week. The latest estimates put the amount of cocaine and heroin crossing the border at fifty per cent less than the previous year. Areas of Europe, while not affected as dramatically, were also seeing major reductions. Prices were driven up as availability waned and the social stresses brought on by the shortages were deeply felt.
It all should have been profoundly satisfying. The task he’d decided to dedicate the remainder of his life to was starting to take shape, starting to succeed. And for the first few weeks it was. He didn’t agonise over the plight of legions of addicts who were forced to endure a form of torture as their supply dwindled. Although he would have preferred that they be spared, these were the people he had assured Larsen he had thought about when the mercenary had mentioned overspill. But as t
he conflict escalated, more and more innocents were sucked in: people who had never touched drugs and had been merely getting on with their lives; passers-by who had been fatally caught up in pitched battles; law enforcement officers who had lost their lives trying to restore order; and countless other victims whose deaths were hastened by the further deterioration of conditions in society’s most stricken areas.
One event had particularly impacted him.
Wallace had been coming back from a business trip and stopped in an airport lounge for a drink. While he was sipping his scotch, his eyes were drawn to a news report playing on the muted television above the bar. The images were from someone’s phone and showed a little girl’s body sprawled on the pavement. Emergency response personnel were at the scene. Wallace asked the barman to turn up the volume and he heard how four-year-old Marsha Corley had fallen from the fifth-storey fire escape to her death. She and two younger children had been left by their mother four days before when she had headed off to search for her next fix. After the food they had been left had run out, the report explained, they had become desperate. The little girl, unable to open the main door to the apartment, had resorted to the fire escape in an attempt to call for help. Since then images of Marsha, interspersed with memories of his granddaughter, had haunted him.
“To discuss the ailing Plan Coca, I’m joined by Dr Robert Holmes, author of a series of books on the international drugs trade, and Senator Charles Dalton, a passionate Plan Coca advocate.”
Leonard Boswell, host of Behind the Headlines, paused a moment as if he was pondering the serious issue at hand. “Dr Holmes, let’s start by looking at the recent revelations regarding the involvement of US companies in military operations on Colombian soil; what’s the situation as we currently understand it?”
Holmes had a weather-beaten face topped with an untidy mop of grey hair and slouched so much that he looked in danger of slipping from his chair.
“There are five US companies which have contracts with the State Department as part of the Plan,” the author responded. “The contracts account for more than fifty per cent of their revenue.”
