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“Kazimir?”
“Yes, J.P. What does this have to do with him? As far as I know Kaz killed the Alligator Don and his people.”
“Kazimir needed the Eye of the Gator, and Archibald needed the heart of a compatible human.”
“So, the Alligator Don dealt in organs?”
“He was the top US broker in the organ trafficking market.”
“Broker.” I frowned. “Fuck. This is about to get nasty.”
“Very nasty, Emily.”
“The two cartels deal with organ trafficking?”
“First, we have Cali Cartel out of Colombia. At the height of their reign in the 90s, they had control of over 80% of the world’s cocaine market.”
“Now?”
“Not so much. While Bolivia, Colombia, and Peru jointly produce about 95 percent of the world’s cocaine. Cali Cartel lost their hold on drugs and are now organ harvesters.”
The elevator doors opened, revealing a full lobby.
Kaz and everybody had already gone outside.
I stepped off the elevator with the phone pressed to my ear.
The opulent lobby enveloped me. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers and the soft hum of jazz mingling with the murmur of guests.
I continued forward. “Where are they getting the organs?”
“Under mounting pressure from the US to contain illegal immigration, the Mexican government expanded its visa requirements, making it more difficult for people to fly directly to the US-Mexico border. Instead, they often fly into Brazil or Ecuador, where visa policies are more lax, before heading for Necocli, Colombia.”
“And what happens there?”
“Cali Cartel is in that town and they take migrants up to Mexico to meet with Sinaloa Cartel—the people who help them illegally cross the border—”
“Wait a minute. Cali Cartel is getting organs from migrants?”
“Haitian migrants to be exact.”
I stopped in the center of the lobby. “How?”
“Cali Cartel has a network of doctors, slicers, wreckers, and grabbers.”
My head began to spin as I navigated through crowds of people in the lobby.
“Grabbers live in Necocli and at night steal away unsuspecting migrants waiting for tomorrow morning’s boat ride to the US. Then we have the slicers who cut the migrant open chin-to-chest, while they’re still alive—”
“Oh my God.” I held my stomach. “What the fuck?”
“I just need you to understand the people you are about to start dealing with.”
My pulse picked up. “Go ahead.”
“The Wrecker takes all the required organs out, puts them on ice, and gets them to Sinaloa Cartel.”
“So. . .” Bile rose in my throat. “These Colombians kidnap, kill, and take organs from Haitian migrants, then pass them off to the Mexicans, who then cross over the border to hand the organs to the Alligator Don?”
