November 8, 1997, Brussels.
Conti stood in the smoking area of the European Union Council Building, holding an unlit cigarette.
The negotiations had been deadlocked for six hours.
Spain and Portugal accepted Mexico's terms on the spot. They have the longest coastline, intercept the most semi-submersibles, and their morgues are almost full.
French hesitated. Germans opposed.
The reason for opposition was straightforward: allowing Mexico's technical team to be stationed at the national coast guard command center was akin to handing over the keys to the backdoor of the national security system.
Conti could understand. But he knew something else: Rome's morgue was also running out of space.
The phone vibrated.
He glanced at the caller ID; it was the encrypted line from the Ministry of Internal Affairs in Rome.
"Speak."
