Page 144 of The Fourth Option
“It is, but between DHS, DEA, and you guys, we’ve had material success degrading the fentanyl trade,” Mendez said. “We worked upstream to Chinese labs, upped border detection, cracked down on the Mexican cartels. Then something took its place, a chemical compound known as nitazene. It’s an opioid derivative and it’s about five times as powerful as fentanyl. It’s a killer.”
“I don’t get it,” J.J. said. “Why would dealers use this stuff? Doesn’t it just kill off their clients?”
“Portability,” Mendez answered. “Because nitazene is so powerful, a little goes a long way and that makes smuggling easier. Dealers use it to juice up heroin or illegal prescriptions.”
“What’s the source?” Stanton asked.
“We don’t know. It’s an evolution of the drug trade. Ninety percent of users survive and buy another day, but you never know. The juiced-up versions mix with other drugs and body chemistry. That ten percent, their hearts just stop. We can’t figure out where the hell it’s coming from, other than the link to Snowball.”
“Snowball is a nitazene?” Stanton asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“It is, but it’s diluted. The problem is that once Snowball is out there, dealers concentrate it. They boil it down and use acid to create a nitazene distillate. At least that’s what we think.”
“And Gonzalez was chasing this down?” J.J. asked. “Trying to get to the source?”
“That’s what I learned from my boss this morning. Mexico may be the country of origin for nitazene-based product like Snowball.”
“Can you trace it?” J.J. asked.
“Snowball just materialized all over the country, out of nowhere. We have yet to identify a single mule.”
“And that lead?”
Mendez hesitated. “Remember when I said there’s a CI in New Orleans who produces very good information who is way above my pay grade?”
“I remember,” Stanton said.
“He’s what we call a pearl.”
“Apearl?”
“As in valuable but clammed up.”
“I see.”
“And in this case that pearl may be buried. This particularpearlis run through senior layers at headquarters to protect his identity.”
“How do you know it’s a he?” J.J. asked.
“Good point,” Mendez acknowledged. “The pearl reported that Snowball was coming from the Jalisco cartel.”
“And Gonzalez was working it?”
“I really don’t know,” Mendez said.
“We have a lot of connections here,” Stanton said. “And they all seem to lead back to Chris Walker.”
“All I know,” Mendez replied, “is that the day your Cyclops showed up, a lot of people started dying.” He tapped the surveillance photo. “We need to find this guy. Chris Walker, he’s the key.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
WALKER WOKE TOthe sound of cicadas and the distant hum of a lawn mower. The guest room was dim, the curtains drawn against the sun. He sat up slowly, his body stiff, his head pounding. Paladin lay next to him, sleeping soundly under a down comforter.
Walker dressed in some of Alexandre’s old clothes that Belle had laid out for him, khakis and a soft flannel shirt that fit surprisingly well. The shirt smelled faintly of cedar and pipe tobacco. He made his way to the kitchen.
Belle was already up, a binder spread out on the table.
“How’s Paladin?” she asked.
