Roberto Saviano - ZeroZeroZero

Their internal hierarchy is rigid. Every plaza has its own capo and bookkeeper, who manages the finances for the criminal cell, which, in addition to drugs, exploits various niches of the criminal economy: theft, extortions, kidnappings. According to Mexican and American sources, there is a precise division of duties within Los Zetas, each with its own name:

— Las Ventanas, the Windows: kids who sound the alarm when they spot police officers sticking their noses into drug-dealing zones;

— Los Halcones, the Falcons: who take care of distribution;

— Los Leopardos, the Leopards: prostitutes trained to extort precious information from clients;

— Los Mañosos, the Clever Ones: in charge of weapons;

— La Dirección, the Command: the brains of the operation.

• • •

Ángel Miguel may not have known Osiel’s story, but he certainly would have known that relations between Los Zetas and the Kaibiles were very tight. The Guatemalans had trained GAFE soldiers who then became Los Zetas. Then, once they were independent, Los Zetas started recruiting Kaibiles, their former teachers.

If there is one thing the Guatemalans did not need to teach it was the uses of the video recorder. Type in “Los Zetas Execution Video” on YouTube and a list of videos uploaded directly by group members pops up (or better yet, don’t). Savagery works if it spreads like an infection, from mouth to mouth, person to person. Decapitations, suffocations, and flayings are their marketing strategy, videos of bestiality their press releases. Los Zetas are particularly fond of electric saws, and the heads they brandish are their calling card. They want their victims to scream, and they really know how to make them do it. Their cries have to be heard everywhere; they have to be the ambassadors for Los Zetas throughout Mexico and the world. One characteristic in particular distinguishes Los Zetas from other cartels: They don’t have a territory of their own, no physical place, no geographical roots. A postmodern army that has to produce an image that creates outposts. Terror must conquer the country. The mujahedin realized that decapitations could be a trademark of atrocity before they did, but Los Zetas didn’t take long to adopt the same technique.

The web is their preferred platform, but Los Zetas don’t disdain old methods either, such as the banners they hang in Mexican cities and towns. “The operating group Los Zetas wants you, soldier or former soldier. We offer good pay, food, and protection for your family. Stop suffering from abuse, stop suffering from hunger.” These so-called narco-banners promise benefits and money to soldiers who decide to enlist in Los Zetas; they deliver messages directly to the people; and they aim to intimidate enemies and governments. “They will not be able to stop us, even with the support of the United States government, because here Los Zetas rule. Calderón’s government must reach an agreement with us, because if he doesn’t, we will be forced to topple him and take power by force.”

Los Zetas’ enemy cartels started using them too. In February 2010 La Familia Michoacana hung a banner announcing the creation of a resistance front to fight Los Zetas and inviting the people to join in: “A polite invitation to all Mexicans to unite in a common front in order to put an end to Los Zetas. We are already taking action against Los Zetas. Let’s join forces against these evil beasts.”

• • •

Resortito and El Bigotito are two clowns. Jokes, water pranks, imitations, tricks. They know that the kids are expecting them on the buses that run the Cárdenas-Comalcalco-Villahermosa route.The kids laugh and snort and always get home a little later because these guys are really good. Resortito and El Bigotito collect a few coins every time, nothing much, but it’s better than begging. And besides, the kids’ clear laughter makes them feel good, appreciated.

A misunderstanding, a cruel joke that spun out of control, or a deliberate, studied attack. It’s a mystery, but the fact remains that a rumor started going around. A false rumor, maybe. “Army informers hide under the clowns’ wigs.” On January 2, 2011, the clowns’ lifeless bodies were found on the edge of a country road. They’d been tortured and then shot to death. Near their bodies, a piece of paper with a brief message claiming responsibility: “This happened to me because I was a spy and thought that SEDENA would protect me.” SEDENA is the Mexican Secretariat of National Defense. An acronym identified those responsible: FEZ, or Los Zetas special forces.

There’s no end to Los Zetas’ brutality: Cadavers swing from city bridges in broad daylight, for children to see; bodies are decapitated and hacked to pieces, then abandoned along the side of the road, their pants often pulled down for one final humiliation; mass graves are discovered in the countryside, dozens of bodies are heaped on top of one another. Cities have become war zones.

Violence. It always comes back to violence. A word that smacks of instinct, primitivism, yet which Los Zetas — like the Kaibiles — knew how to write into education. Rosalío Reta was one of their pupils. Born in Texas with the dream of becoming Superman, at age thirteen Rosalío ended up in a Los Zetas military training camp, on a ranch in the state of Tamaulipas. At first it seemed like a game.

“Here’s your super weapon, a laser.”

“But Superman doesn’t use lasers.”

“That’s okay. Just point it, press, and everybody in front of you will disappear.”

That’s how Rosalío got his first pistol, and after six months of training he was ready for a loyalty test: In one of the cartel’s safe houses a man waited, tied to a chair. Rosalío didn’t know anything about him, didn’t know why he was condemned. Rosalío didn’t ask questions. He was handed a pistol, 38 caliber, just like the one he had fired at cardboard targets for six months. All he had to do was pull the trigger. The adrenaline rush was electrifying. Rosalío felt invincible, like Superman. He can fly, he can stop speeding bullets, “leap tall buildings at a single bound.” He can kill. “I thought I was Superman,” he later confessed to the court judges in Laredo, Texas, after he was arrested: “I liked doing it, killing that man. Then they tried to take my pistol away, but it was like trying to take candy from a child.”

A couple of years after his initiation, Rosalío — along with Gabriel and Jessie, two kids his age — arrived in Los Zetas’ Never-Never Land: a nice house that the cartel rented for them in Laredo; every type of pill imaginable; a console hooked up to a plasma TV. In the beginning the aim was simply to kill liquid crystal men. Days and days with the game pad, pretending to drive a car that zooms through imaginary American cities. In that virtual reality you can do whatever you want. Kill whomever you want, no consequences, no remorse. The worst that can happen is, your eyes get bloodshot. For Rosalío and his friends the reality of the game superimposed itself on real life: Everything became possible, and fear disappeared. Los Niños Zetas were ready. The deal was clear: Five hundred dollars a week for stakeouts and odd jobs, but the real money was in special jobs. Some men had to be eliminated, but it wasn’t enough just to kill them; you had to slit their throats. That’s where the money got good, a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus for every hit. When Rosalío was arrested four years and twenty murders later, the police officers who interrogated him never noticed any fear or remorse in him. The only time a shadow even crossed his face was when he talked about a mission to San Nicolás de los Garza. He missed his target and caused a massacre, four people dead and twenty-five wounded, none of them with any ties to organized crime. “I made a mistake,” Rosalío said, “and now they’re going to make me pay.” “They” were his old teachers, Los Zetas.