Chapter 1997: Chapter 831: Chaos Unleashed

October 27, 1997, France, Marseille.

Samir took over all of Costa’s business.

He didn’t attend the old man’s funeral. He sat in the office of Warehouse No. 17, in front of him were three things: the satellite photo left by Costa, a fax sent from Italy, and a freshly opened sample pack of "Black Pearl".

The fax came from Genoa. The sender was unknown, but he understood the content:

"October 31, ten tons. Drop-off point: offshore La Spezia."

Samir threw the fax into the shredder.

He didn’t need to guess who sent it.

In these times, the only ones who can throw down ten tons of goods on European soil at once are the Africans on that ship.

"Scorpion" arrived at three in the afternoon.

Still wearing that ill-fitting suit, still with that expressionless face. This time he didn’t bring bodyguards, sitting alone on an old wooden crate at the warehouse door, waiting for Samir to come out and see him.

"Costa is dead." Samir stood before him, not sitting down.

"I know."

"You killed him."

"Scorpion" did not deny it.

He looked up at Samir.

"Mr. Costa adhered to the rules for forty years." Samir said, "His rule was: Marseille goods, sold by people from Marseille. Outsiders, only fit to be suppliers."

"His rules." Scorpion said, "Not yours."

Samir was silent for a few seconds.

"Ten tons, I can’t take it."

"Scorpion" stood up, took out a folded paper from his chest, and handed it to Samir.

It was a hand-drawn map. The markings were not for Marseille, but for Lyon, Grenoble, Nice, Toulon—all the major cities in Southern France, with a name written next to each city.

"Your new clients." Scorpion said, "They don’t want goods, they want people. Your people."

Samir looked down at the paper, his fingers slowly tightening. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

This wasn’t a distribution network.

This was a military occupation map.

October 29, 1997, Italy, Rome.

Minister of Internal Affairs Conti hadn’t slept for 48 hours.

His desk was piled with seven different reports from seven different cities: Genoa, La Spezia, Naples, Bari, Catania, Palermo, Trieste.

All seven reports spoke of the same thing: drugs.

Astonishingly pure drugs, flooding like water onto the streets of Italy.

The Genoa Port Authority’s report said that in the past ten days, four semi-submersible transport boats stopped, their ballast tanks were 30% larger than the normal ratio, engine numbers all filed off, GPS removed, no one on board. The last one collided with a patrol boat while unloading in the port—there were still twenty tons of "Black Pearl" not yet unloaded at the time.

The Naples police report said that in the area controlled by the local Camorra family, new faces appeared. Africans. They don’t take over territory, just supply—at 40% below market price, twice the purity. Camorra’s bosses debated for three days, finally deciding: take the goods.

Bari’s report was the shortest but most glaring: Within three days, six shootings, nine deaths. All deceased were mid-level leaders of local gangs. The murderer was not caught, the shell casings left at the scene were Eastern European.

Conti tossed the reports onto the desk.

"This isn’t drug smuggling." he said to the Gendarmerie Commander opposite him, "This is war."

The Gendarmerie Commander said nothing.

He had just returned from Bari, having seen those bodies with his own eyes—the shooting was too precise, too precise to resemble a mafia clash.

"Tell the French and Spaniards," Conti stood up, "I want to hold a meeting. As soon as possible."

October 30, 1997, Germany, Wiesbaden, Federal Criminal Police Office.

Dr. Wagner stared at the connection diagram on the computer screen, fingers resting on the mouse without moving.

The red dots on the map had already formed a patch.

Over the past two weeks, the total amount of "Black Pearl" seized across Germany exceeded last year’s annual total. The seizure locations were not the traditional drug markets—Berlin, Hamburg, Frankfurt—but the small cities in the Ruhr District, Dortmund, Duisburg, Essen, those industrial rust belts with high unemployment rates and a large foreign population.

Even more troubling was the sales model.

Traditional drug traffickers move street by street, developing customers one by one. This batch of goods doesn’t go retail, but wholesale. Handed over to Turkish gangs, Albanians, new immigrants from Eastern Europe. They use "Black Pearl" to squeeze out the original heroin and cocaine market, then start taking territories.

Something happened in Duisburg last night.

Two groups—one side Turks, one side Albanians—had a showdown in a parking lot. By the time the police arrived, both sides had fled, leaving three bodies at the scene, along with an assault rifle equipped with a silencer.

Ballistics analysis showed: the gun appeared three months ago in a weapon smuggling case at the Kosovo border.

Wagner looked at the ballistics report, recalling Victor’s words from a month ago at the Mexico summit:

"New security challenges require new solutions."

Now he understood what that meant.

October 31, 1997, offshore West Africa, "Far Seer".

Black Mamba stood in the bridge, looking at the newly received message on the satellite phone:

"The first batch of ten tons has arrived. The second batch of ten tons is set out. The European market response matches expectations."

He put down the phone and walked to the porthole.

Outside was the gray-blue sea, vast and boundless. In the distance, a container ship was passing over the horizon; the flag was unclear, but he knew it was Liberia’s convenience flag—the world’s cheapest, least questioned ship registration.

The Chief Officer came over, holding another fax in his hand.

"Boss, the people from Eastern Europe asked when the next batch of weapons will be needed."