Turino found the document he was looking for and set it in front of him. “Now then. I haven’t had a whole lot of time to put stuff together for this task force, but its goals and objectives are pretty damn clear. First off, it’s my job to get you up to speed on a few things you’ll need to know about the drug trade and how these cartels operate. One or two of you may know some of this stuff, but you won’t know all of it, so I’m going to go through it because I think the answer of where we focus our efforts is right here.”
He glanced down at what was apparently his outline. “So. Illicit Drug Trade 101. Running the show these days are Mexican drug trafficking organizations. You’ve heard ’em called cartels. We also call ’em DTOs. Bottom line is, no matter what we call ’em, they were a big problem and have become a huge problem. They’ve set up shop in 230 U.S. cities, and are now expanding into suburbs and rural areas.
“To put this in perspective, in the past three years, Mexico’s had over 18,000 drug-related murders. And the violence has started spilling onto U.S. soil. So let’s go through how these DTOs get their drugs into our country. California ports of entry are the cartels’ equivalent to an interstate highway that runs from Mexico into the U.S. The Arizona and Texas borders are just about as problematic. In California, Mexican cartels typically enter at or between the six land ports of entry along the U.S.-Mexican border: Andrade, Calexico East, Calexico West, Otay Mesa, San Ysidro, and Tecate.” He pointed at the map, beginning west at San Ysidro and moving east toward Calexico.
“You got the obvious, stuff you’ve probably been briefed on at some point: trucks and cars bringing the shit in, hidden away in secret compartments. These cartels are extremely motivated and very wealthy, so they find all sorts of ways to get their stuff across the border. Spend a day at any port of entry along the border with Customs and Border Protection officers, and you’ll see what I mean. Underneath the carriage, inside the dashboard, in the engine compartment, embedded in the seats, the tires. Name any part of a vehicle, we’ve probably seen it rebuilt or hollowed out and filled with drugs.
“Then you got drug mules, which you might’ve heard about. The cartels pay these people to carry drugs inside their bodies, in sausage link type packaging they swallow and then crap out when they get across. That is, if it doesn’t burst and kill ’em before they reach their target. Or they carry the shit strapped to their bodies, in huge backpacks, across the desert or through the mountains. Real rough terrain. A lot of ’em don’t make it. A lot of ’em do. May I?” He pointed at the large map hanging on the wall near the window.
“Go for it,” Dixon said.
“You got a U.S. map?”
“Flip it. Third one down.”
Turino did as instructed and found the chart he needed. He pulled a pen from his pocket and slapped the point against the map. “A majority of the illicit drugs coming into the U.S. are now crossing over the Arizona border. Right here.” He indicated an area south of Tucson. “Problem is most of this border is wide open. No rivers or other natural barriers. Checkpoints only in the larger cities or along the major highways in and out. Actually, a lot of the border only has chicken-wire fencing, if that. Maybe sensors. But that’s it. The border’s more heavily regulated in bigger towns, so the mules take the routes of least resistance. Makes sense.” He glanced up. “Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Brix said. “How much are we talking about? I mean, so you got some poor guy you’re paying to ferry drugs across the desert or on a plane. How much is he really gonna be able to carry, inside or outside his body?”
“Limited only by their imagination. Backpacks if they’re coming across land. If they’re coming on foot through a port of entry, or even on a plane, they’ll stuff it in their underwear, their bras, or strap it to their bodies. They wear oversize clothing or baggy jeans to conceal it. Typically, a mule can hold up to 800, 900 grams, and maybe even a little more. They pack the coke into wax-coated condoms that the mule then swallows. Sometimes they use large capsules—10 to 20 grams per capsule, depending on the person. They practice swallowing large grapes whole until they can get 50 to 70 of them into their bodies. They ingest them prior to boarding the plane or crossing the border, then crap ’em out at the other end. But the measures we’ve got in place at airports—scanners, dogs, X-rays—nab a lot of ’em. Like I said, though, the capsules or condoms sometimes open and these people have gotta be rushed to a hospital for emergency surgery. A lot of ’em OD and die.”
Dixon asked, “How much do they get paid for that?”
“Not a whole lot. Two to three grand, maybe even less.”
“And what does it net the cartel?” Gordon asked.
Turino bobbed his head. “Twenty to twenty-five grand. Per kilo.”
Vail piped in through the speaker. “How much can they carry outside their bodies?”
“That’s a much bigger issue, from a law enforcement point of view. The land-based border. You might not believe it, but like the rest of us, they also ship their products in FedEx and UPS packages. Then you’ve also got trucks, tractor trailers, and containers. Not to mention maritime—boats, fishing trollers—”
“They’re also using submarines,” DeSantos said.
Turino pointed at the RoundTable screen. “Yes. That’s a fairly recent thing. Semi-submersible vessels. But a far more dangerous threat, because of the volume they can move, is subterranean tunnels. It’s a trick they borrowed from Hamas in Gaza. These tunnels can be anything from large diameter PVC pipes to well-engineered concrete structures equipped with electricity, ventilation, and rails for moving mining-type carts. Bad news is our GPR—ground penetrating radar—can’t find these tunnels unless they’re right below the surface, and they’re usually much deeper than that.
“But by far, most of the drugs coming into the U.S. flow across the Arizona and California borders. San Diego’s particularly bad, with San Ysidro and Tijuana leading the way. Ciudad Juárez/El Paso is another hotspot that’s gotten a lot worse and more violent lately. There aren’t any rivers to cross in these areas, so it’s an ideal place to transport your load into the U.S.”
“Isn’t this whole goddamn thing simple supply and demand?” Brix asked. “I mean, we’re a big part of the problem. If we’d stop buying this shit, the cartels would be out of business.”
“Good luck with that one,” Mann said, almost a grumble.
Turino nodded his head animatedly. “Exactly right, Redd. The U.S. is one of the largest consumers of illicit drugs in the world. And 90 percent of the coke entering the U.S. from Colombia comes in through Mexico. That’s why the Mexican cartels there have become so much of a problem for us.”
He stepped up to the U.S. map he’d pulled. “Take a closer look at the border regions we talked about a minute ago.” Tipped his head back, found an area, and pointed a finger. “A lot of it is reservation land. And that’s been a big fucking problem for us. Because a criminal band of Native Americans facilitate the drug trade.”
“Native Americans? How’s that work?” Mann asked.
“Pretty damn well, actually. You got mostly barbed wire along the reservation’s border with Mexico. Not much of a deterrent—especially if you’ve got willing partners on the other side of the wire. And the smugglers are most definitely willing partners.”
“Unbelievable,” Gordon said.
“Gets better.” Turino pressed a finger against the map. “See this here? The Tohono O’odham Nation territory has been a longtime problem for us. It’s huge,” he said as his hand traced the almost circular shape of the land, which covered a substantial portion of the Mexico/Arizona border. “Roughly the size of the state of Connecticut, 2.8 million acres.”