Who would do this? The Colombia Cali Group? The remnants of the Mexican Drug Lords? Or... the "Skull and Snake" that intelligence mentioned rising in West Africa?

"Contact the DEA and the intelligence departments of France, Italy, and Spain, I want to hold an emergency video conference," Wagner ordered. "Additionally, check for any unusual money flows recently, moving from West Africa and Eastern Europe to Europe. Also, focus on monitoring the Balkan route and Mediterranean smuggling routes, the drugs are likely mixed in with the flow of refugees and illegal immigrants."

He walked up to the map of Europe and traced the Mediterranean coast with his finger. Europe’s soft spot was too obvious—a long coastline, heavy refugee pressure, poor coordination among law enforcement agencies, and a breeding ground for corruption brought by economic downturn. If a well-organized, well-funded, and ruthless emerging drug group were to target this area, the consequences would be unimaginable.

He recalled the "new security challenge response framework" that Victor Reyes mentioned at the Mexico summit not long ago. At that time, he thought it was more of diplomatic rhetoric to extend Mexico’s influence, but now, it seemed that perhaps that Mexican had already seen the cracks in Europe’s defensive line.

"Doctor, the representative from the United States DEA is online," the assistant reminded.

Wagner organized his thoughts and walked toward the video conference room. A cross-border secret war had quietly unfolded in Europe, and these law enforcement officers seemed to have just realized the existence and scale of the opponent.

October 10, 1997, Italy, Sicily, off the coast of Trapani Province, an abandoned fishing port.

The night was deep, and the sea breeze howled. The abandoned port’s wharf had long been decayed, only a few slanted wooden piles still stood in the dark sea. In the distance, the outline of a deserted small village could vaguely be seen, without any lights.

Two semi-submersible transport boats emerged ghost-like from the waves, slowly approaching the wharf. Their bodies slick with water, almost merging with the night.

"Scorpion" was the first to jump onto the creaking planks. Behind him, forty fully-armed African Mercenaries filed out, quickly spreading to occupy the high points and hidden areas around the port, guarding everything in the dark. Their movements were quiet and professional, distinct from ordinary drug traffickers or pirates.

A few unlit box trucks drove up the dirt road leading to the village and parked by the port. Several Italians got off the trucks, dressed in worker uniforms but with vigilant eyes. Leading the group was a bald strong man, Costa’s contact in Sicily.

"Where’s the goods?" The bald strong man asked in Italian, his gaze sweeping over the silent and burly African soldiers, a hint of unease flickering in his eyes.

"Scorpion" made a gesture. The transport boat’s hatch opened, and the mercenaries began to move sealed metal boxes onto the trucks. The boxes were heavy, requiring two people to carry one.

"The first batch, five tons. The rest depends on sales," ’Scorpion’ said in broken Italian, "Money?"

The bald strong man handed over a hefty briefcase. "Scorpion" opened it, inside was bundled Euro cash and passports from several different nationalities. He briefly checked them and nodded.

"Pleasure doing business." The bald strong man squeezed out a smile, "Mr. Costa is waiting in Marseille for the next batch. He said as long as the goods are good, the channel is not a problem."

"Scorpion" did not smile. He glanced at his watch: "This place isn’t secure. Leave immediately after unloading the goods. Tell Costa, the next transaction location will change. Wait for our notification."

The goods transfer proceeded swiftly in silence. Only the sound of waves, wind, and heavy breathing could be heard. More than an hour later, five tons of "Black Pearl" were all loaded onto the trucks. The box trucks quietly drove into the darkness, disappearing along the rugged dirt road.

"Scorpion" didn’t leave immediately. He sent most of his men back to the transport boats, leaving only a few with him. They quickly cleaned any traces left on the port, then unloaded several particularly heavy long boxes from the transport boats, wrapped them with waterproof fabric, and hid them in a half-collapsed stone hut near the port.

The boxes did not contain drugs. They were weapons. RPG-7 rocket launchers, PKM general-purpose machine guns, and even a few sets of "needle" portable air-defense missiles. This was another order from Black Mamba: to establish small arms caches in Europe for emergencies. Drug transactions needed armed protection, and if necessary, could also create some "chaos" to divert the attention of law enforcement agencies.

After doing all this, "Scorpion" took one last look at this dark European coast and turned to board the transport boat. The two boats slowly backed away, submerged into the water again, and disappeared.

The first infiltration was successful. Five tons of high-purity "Black Pearl" had entered the bloodstream of Europe’s underground market. And the needle injecting the virus had yet to be detected.

Days later, Marseille, Warehouse 17 at the port.

On the surface, it still appeared rundown, but the interior had been transformed. The ventilation system was enhanced to expel chemical odors, soundproofing materials were added to the walls, and packaging tools and materials were piled in the corner. Under the dim yellow light, a dozen people were busy cutting, grinding, and repackaging the solid "Black Pearl" bricks into small packages suitable for street sales.

The air was thick with that sweet yet acrid smell. Workers wore simple masks, but their eyes were dull. Most of them were illegal immigrants found by Costa or gamblers who owed high-interest loans, willing to do anything for money.