Prospecting Buyers (2)
“On the other hand, what about the buyers in this neighborhood?”
I folded my fingers one by one, listing out potential customers.
“The Guangdong Triad, scraping by on their Communist Party errands. The Yakuza, who stick to Japan and just kill each other off. The Moro Liberation Front, playing tug-of-war with the Philippine government. Myanmar, struggling to import arms over human rights issues. And all the various rebel groups fighting Myanmar, plus the forces backing them...”
There were actually more, but they weren't relevant here. No need to lay out all my trading partners in detail, either.
I lowered my fist and asked, “Major. Do you see what they have in common?”
“...They’re not on our government’s radar.”
“More precisely, they’re low on the priority list.”
America’s power wasn’t what it used to be, while the number of problem children needing management had only grown. Especially in Northeast Asia, with China, North Korea, and Russia looming large. Those three were black holes sucking in America’s intelligence budget.
In the end, it all came down to where to spend the limited funds first.
Talking at length had parched my throat. I picked up my empty cup, and Suyeon lifted the teapot to pour me more. I drank the warm tea like water, then picked up where I’d left off.
“Let’s humbly admit it. We can’t outmatch the partners playing with oil money in the real powder kegs, or the cancer cells of the planet that are the Chinese Communist Party. Nor can we draw the kind of attention from America and the world that they do. As long as we stick strictly to the lines we mustn’t cross, we won’t run into any trouble.”
That line we had to hold? Not acting like amateurs. Not storing goods just anywhere, not selling to just anyone, not exchanging money carelessly. These were smuggling basics, but the investment and management costs were so high that half-baked operators never even dreamed of it. Or they could, but didn’t dare.
In any field, accidents stemmed from breaking basic principles. Stick to the principles, and life got easier for us—and for the intelligence agencies.
Just in case, I decided to issue a warning.
“Of course, you’ll need to hold your lines strictly too. If you get shortsighted and greedy just because I’ve promised unlimited purchases, that’s when you’ll draw hot attention from the homeland.”
Like dumping massive quantities in too short a time, or touching dangerous items they shouldn’t. Even if they overreached and I refused the pickup, there might be angles I hadn’t considered. This was also a way to shift the spotlight of risk—currently fixed on me—onto them.
As expected, Walker bristled and took the bait.
“Hah. You don’t trust us? We’re extremely cautious, and our supply capacity is way bigger than the Chief thinks. Up till now, we just haven’t had partners who could handle the volume. If our headquarters really cranks it out, you’ll regret guaranteeing ‘unlimited.’”
“I hope you do.”
“Overconfidence, sir.”
“We’ll see... If you clear ten billion dollars by year-end next, I’ll call it my loss.”
“Ten billion dollars?”
Walker, looking dazed, repeated it like a broken machine a moment later.
“...Ten billion dollars? You mean ten billion dollars?”
“I said it: unlimited.”
“Hah.”
A second “hah,” but with a different meaning this time.
“That’s enough to buy a destroyer.”
I shrugged along with him. “Still nothing compared to Pepsi at its peak.”
“What? Hahaha!”
Walker burst out laughing. I hadn’t expected him to get my joke so quickly.
In 1989, Pepsi had traded about three billion dollars’ worth of cola to the Soviets for a fleet: seventeen diesel submarines, a frigate, a destroyer, and a cruiser. Even adding up every feat of the Cali Cartel—infamous for arms smuggling during the Soviet collapse—couldn’t top the sheer scale of that single Pepsi deal.
“Alright.”
Finally, Walker’s walls crumbled. Money made for a swift siege.
“You win. Ten billion dollars. No contest. It’s so absurd it doesn’t even feel real... It’s too big for me to commit right here, but I’ll get you a positive answer within a week.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“One thing, though.”
“What?”
Walker, oddly hesitant, finally asked.
“Chief. Before we seal the deal, could you maybe source some cocaine for us?”
...These bastards.
“You guys into drugs?”
If so, time to rethink this deal. Drug addicts lacked all restraint and always got stepped on eventually. The moment they touched drugs, they had no future—and planning long-term with someone without one was sheer folly.
My cold stare must’ve hit home; Walker waved his hands hastily.
“Misunderstanding. We said we hold our lines. It’s just insurance for one inflexible guy.”
“Risk management?”
“Yes.”
Hard to be sure, but his vital signs suggested no lie. Still, questions lingered.
“Using drugs as leverage—won’t it be a hassle when you actually use it?”
“Evidence goes to his wife and kids. Safely, of course.”
“I see.”
As I pondered, I turned the question back. “Enough for one guy, three or four hits?”
Walker looked a bit troubled.
“How do you feed it to just one? Gotta lure in some homeland vets who’ve dabbled, use ’em as bait. Make it generous if you can—the drug is their pay.”
“Fine. But no need for coke specifically—I’ll get morphine. Unauthorized opioid abuse should be leverage enough to torch a career.”
Morphine was highly addictive, but mild compared to coke. Especially side-effect-wise. A small courtesy to Walker’s “inflexible friend.” I respected those faithful to their jobs—as long as they weren’t a threat to me.
I saw Walker furrow his brow.
“Morphine’s weak, though...”
Weak? Spoken like a soldier from a country where you could buy narcotic painkillers at any pharmacy without a script. That’s why I’d specified unauthorized prep.
“This isn’t America, Major, where everyone reeks of coke. Maybe Gangnam nightlife, but if we get tracked? One dog could follow from Seoul to Daegu. You think I’m crazy enough to deliver coke?”
Overblown scare tactics, but they worked on Walker. As mentioned earlier, he knew little about actual distribution for arms or drugs. And yes, coke’s scent lingered sharper and longer than most.
Walker raised his hands again.
“Got it, got it. Morphine it is. And finally—”
“Finally?”
“Payment terms stay the same even if we scale up, right?”
To confirm, I pulled a casino chip from my pocket and slid it across the table.
“Go convince them.”
In the global black market, North American tribal reservation casinos ranked with Swiss banks for credibility. Some even ran like bank branches, and mine did too. The chip was like a casino-issued check. Pricey fees, but worth it given the tribes’ efforts against laundering and counterfeits. Their sovereignty was political armor too.
Walker pocketed it with a grin. “No worries.”
Even after agreement, talk dragged another hour. Couldn’t hurt building personal ties with a guy who might make general someday. Walker loved money talk, envying billionaires openly. After several refills, his lament came.
“Should’ve bought Bitcoin before making major. That insane 2017 luck... could’ve been mine...”
X-like.
“Chief. How much did you make off Bitcoin?”
Assuming I’d profited, naturally.
Black market folks not touching crypto? Even a stray dog would laugh.
“Decent gains. It’s been a payment method in our line since early days.”
Normies might ignore it, but criminal orgs worldwide drove crypto’s initial demand.
“Whoa!”
Walker leaned in, eyes wide.
“Early investment means massive returns! When’d you cash out? Fifteen grand? Seventeen? A guy like you, probably end of ’17, right?”
Late ’17 was the global crypto bubble peak. Overseas exchanges topped around eighteen grand average; Korea alone broke twenty.
I denied his guess.
“Nah. Sold half at one grand, phased the rest, cleared out fully around four.”
Tipsy Walker stared like he’d lost money.
“Why...? Four grand was mid-bull run...”
“Madness, Major. Newton couldn’t predict it either—that’s bubble insanity. Businessmen can’t chase luck.”
“Ah...”
Walker’s leaning torso pulled back.
Half at one grand was still 2,700% average profit, but too modest for this greedy guy—he didn’t even ask the rate.
Over-immersed, he sighed like it was his tale, excitement drained.
“Too bad. So no touching it since?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Buy and roll just what I need. For dodging traces on sends and receives—nothing beats crypto.”
Financially fine, but business-wise, a hassle now. Volatility and insecurity made it tough as currency. Still used it—no alternatives.
Cynics called Bitcoin and kin pyramid schemes. Wrong. Base demand? Drugs, illegal arms, rare animal smuggling, poaching, illegal immigration, bribes, tax evasion, piracy, cybercrime, trafficking—and China’s insane capital flight controls. Speculators just inflated the bubble.
Tell someone? “Huh, neat.”
Walker showed odd regret.
“You’re cautious, fine. But other orgs must’ve made bank sitting down? Like South American narcos.”
“...Plenty. Many lost repeating buys/sells too, but some midmen I know changed fund scales around ’17.”
“Damn, jealous. Really jealous. No wonder Mexico’s government can’t touch the cartels lately. Money talks. Haha. Yeah, budgets rule the world.”
Maybe...
Obrador ditched the drug war after last year’s all-out push on one cartel spewed massive collateral—civilian casualties. Backed by ex-special forces mercenaries and black-market heavy weapons, endless funds.
Virtual currency profits? Probably a slice.
Those who lost on “investing” via speculation could proudly claim they fueled Third World insecurity.