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“Authentic?”
“Precisely. Captagon is actually a brand name for a psychostimulant designed to treat attention deficit disorder and narcolepsy. It was originally manufactured by a German pharmaceutical company, but was banned in the eighties because it was extremely addictive and had significant potential for abuse. The active ingredient, fenethylline, tended to cause aggression, create sensations of euphoria, and suppress fear, among other things.”
“So, you think Syria’s using their pharmaceutical industry to create a drug that’ll appeal to the West and cut into your market?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that but, in essence, yes. Over thepast couple of years, a very effective Muslim-dominated distribution network has been constructed across Europe. To date, they haven’t had much product to work with and they’ve concentrated on trafficking small quantities of the new captagon, mostly in Italy and Belgium.”
“Working out the bugs,” Rapp said.
“Exactly. But apparently that’s done now. The shipment that was destroyed in Salerno weighed in at around fifteen metric tons.”
Rapp glanced over at a well-stocked bar along the wall and pointed. “You mind?”
“Please.”
Rapp stood and poured himself a twenty-five-year-old Glenlivet. “What’s any of this have to do with me? I assume you still have better infrastructure in Europe than the Syrians—particularly now that they made such a mess in Italy. Why not just get one of your scientists to copy their formula and block their entry into the market?”
“You missed your calling,” Losa said as Rapp sat again. “That was exactly what I intended to do.”
“And?”
“The problem is that fenethylline is expensive and difficult to produce. Also, there are other compounds included in the pills that my people haven’t seen before. Some appear to have been designed to make the drug even more addictive, but the purpose of the others is a mystery. So, while it’s possible that we could create a reasonable facsimile of the drug, we can’t do it at a viable price point. Every scenario we look at leads to a significant loss on every pill sold.”
“And that’s where I come in,” Rapp said. “You want me to go to Syria to find out how they’re doing it.”
Losa nodded. “Not just how, but also who, why, and any other information you can get. I have some far-reaching business decisions to make, and I can’t do that without data.”
“I don’t know anything about the Syrian drug trade, Damian.”
“I disagree. You’re familiar with captagon and you’ve been entangled to some extent with the Middle Eastern drug trade for decades.You understand the local culture and you’re reputed to speak fluent Arabic.”
“It’s a big country,” Rapp said, taking a sip of his drink. “And the Agency’s network there is almost nonexistent.”
“I can put you in touch with the right people.”
“Okay. But what then?”
“That’s a question for you to answer. I’m not sending you in as a soldier, Mitch. I’m sending you as my representative. If you can figure out how I can replicate what they’re doing, fine. If you can come up with a way to stop them, that works for me, too. But I’m also open to negotiation. Maybe even a partnership.”
“More likely they’ll kill me on sight.”
“Possible, but I doubt it. On the surface, you pose no threat to them, and as my envoy, you have credibility. They’ll want to talk and determine whether I have something valuable to offer.”
Rapp stared at the cut-crystal glass in his hand, letting silence descend on the room. After about thirty seconds, Losa broke it.
“I don’t think you should equate this with the missions Irene Kennedy sends you on, Mitch. There won’t be any shooting or hiding in the desert. More like a couple of weeks living in palaces and meeting with government officials.”
“Then why don’t you go yourself, Damian?”
Instead of responding, the Mexican just flashed his thousand-dollar smile.
CHAPTER 9
PARCFLORAL
PARIS
FRANCE
