Quoz by Mel Mattison

Author:Mel Mattison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2023-11-01T17:08:08+00:00

Chapter 33

Fresnillo, Mexico

Friday, November 5, 2027

Four hour’s drive north of Guadalajara, in the Mexican state of Zacatecas, sits its capital and largest city, Fresnillo. A haven for cartel activity, Fresnillo often endures over a hundred homicides per month despite its relatively small population of around 140,000. Along with one of the highest per capita murder rates on the planet, Fresnillo and the surrounding area are also home to some of the largest silver reserves in the world. The Peñasquito Mine alone, located some thirty-five miles south of Fresnillo, has proven reserves approaching one billion troy ounces. Combined with the other mines in Zacatecas and surrounding states, the Sierra Madre mountains of central Mexico are the epicenter of modern-day silver production. Besides silver, the area also produces some of the finest mezcal on the planet.

Javier Delgado owned not only several large silver mines but also one of the grandest agave plantations in Zacatecas. Casa Luna, located on a sprawling twelve thousand acres just south of the pueblo of El Cristo, included his working farm, processing facilities, a large distillery, and a luxury hacienda replete with Olympic-size swimming pool, tennis courts, and a slightly undersized bull ring.

Sitting stoically at one end of a large wooden table located on a covered veranda just off the main hacienda, Delgado sipped on a fine mezcal as he tried to size up the studious-looking man opposite him, Arun Patel. The mild-mannered central banker from India was dressed in tan slacks and shirt, only missing the safari-style cap to complete the look of an English gentleman on the plains of Africa. A medium-size brown leather travel bag rested on the ground next to his chair. Delgado’s men had searched the bag prior to Patel even stepping foot onto the grounds of Casa Luna.

“So, Señor Patel, how can I be of service?” Delgado stated in perfect English with just a touch of his proud Mexican accent. A handsome man in his mid-fifties with graying hair and a broad chest, Delgado could trace his roots back to Madrid. Hundreds of years ago, a royal land grant ceded to his ancestors a broad swath of central Mexico. Educated first in mine engineering at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México and then in business at Yale, Delgado was as unscrupulous as he was charming. With the suave presence of an urbane aristocrat, he also harbored a capacity for ruthlessness that rivaled his silent partners, bosses from CJNG and CDS, the Cártel de Jalisco Nueva Generación and Cártel de Sinaloa, respectively. Both cartels were currently involved in a bloody battle for control of the entire Zacatecas region, and Delgado played both sides, maintaining high-level connections within each organization.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Patel replied with his customary twinge of a British accent.

“Of course. It is my pleasure.” Delgado reached for a finely crafted leather cigar case on the table and held it up in offer to Patel.

“No, thank you,” Patel declined as Delgado pulled a hand-rolled Cuban from the case.

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