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Chase points at the other two maps. “Most of the spots showcasing Central and South America are near ports. I’m guessing that’s where he got the drugs out. There are additional farms located throughout South America. Bolivia and Peru—no surprise.
“Interestingly, Argentina, Brazil, Ecuador, and Venezuela have a number of cash crops too. The overwhelming majority of the farms are still in Colombia. The map of America is a little more involved. It shows import locations, but the smaller dots, I’m not sure about.”
“Drop sites?” I guess.
“That would make sense,” Gauge says. “It may be locations of where he had his dealers storing the goods.”
Punk lets out a low whistle. “Damn. He micromanages everything.”
He’s right. As evil as his line of work is, the bastard is good at what he does. Drug crop cultivation is no joke, but Esteban has it fine-tuned.
Overwhelmed, I run a hand through my hair. “This is a lot of ground to cover. The odds of him being at the locations in the States is not likely. He wants to be far removed from the finished products. The same would go for the import and export locations. But the crops… Hell, he may even live near one. If I was running this business, I would want to be on-site where the product is being harvested. Punk said it best—he’s a control freak. Micromanagers need to have their hands in everything. We need to start with the crop locations.”
“Agreed,” Gauge seconds. “We have the best chance of intercepting him at the sources of production. But first, we need to find out who owns these lands. If it belongs to someone else, then we need to see if they truly own it or if it’s still owned by Esteban under a pseudonym.”
“It’s already late. We’ll tackle this tomorrow. Let's take the rest of the night off,” I say.
The guys go back about their business as I head into my office to call Piero.
He answers on the first ring. “Atlas. It’s surprising to hear from you. It’s usually I who reaches out to you weekly. What can I do for you?”
Piero always likes to start business with pleasantries. I don’t mess with small talk. “Was wondering if you could tell me anything about drug territories in Latin and South America.”
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“You understand the territories between your competitors in the States fairly well from what you told me at our first meeting. I was wondering if you know the territories in the other Americas too.”
“Ah. I see. Yes, I do know some of it, but not as well. Colombia’s National Liberation Army controls most of Colombia, Venezuela, and parts of Latin America. First Capital Command controls Brazil. And the Sinaloa Cartel holds most of the power in Latin America.”
All very interesting, but it doesn’t answer the most crucial part of my question. “Where does that leave Esteban?”
“The Moreno Poster is the most dangerous of all because it doesn’t exist in a single area. It branches out as far as it can reach to claim better farming grounds for growing coca.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “But why do it that way? Spreading yourself thin is a risky move when you’re encroaching on a competitors’ territory.”
Piero barks a small laugh. “It’s only dangerous to Esteban’s workers who are in those areas. He cares more for the profits than he does the people who work under him. Workers are cheap and easy to come by. I’m sure he sticks close to his prized lands, but where they’re located, I don’t have the slightest.
“But let me say this, don’t assume his location is in Columbia. When you have as much power and finances as him, you can go anywhere. If his farms are branched out, then he could be too.”
Piero has to let me go and disconnects.
Dejected, I remain seated, my head falling back against the headrest of my chair.
My search grid just blew up to a third of the world.
