Akhil Bansal, the Temple MBA student who in his off time managed a multimillion-dollar drug importing business with his father. The 26-year-old Bansal, seen here in a self-portrait in his Roxborough apartment, ran a U.S. operation that shipped about 75,000 pills a day for Internet pharmacies.
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DrugNet, Chapter 1: Global Hunt Turns Pushers Into Prey
A Temple grad student's double life puts agents here on the high-tech, high-stakes trail of rogue online pill dealers.
Kasson could see Breeden was tense. He tried some DEA humor.
"All right, Breeden," he said. "It's all on your shoulders now."
Wonderful, Breeden thought, knowing the boss was half-joking. He rubbed his forehead.
NEW DELHI
The deputy director of investigations for India's Narcotics Control Bureau (NCB) was senior enough to rate an air-conditioner in his office. Yet Ahmad Payam Siddiqui was sweating anyway.
As the top official involved in the country's first Internet investigation, he knew the next 24 hours were vital.
For six months, Siddiqui had kept the Bansal case a closely guarded secret. Leaks and corruption were endemic in the Indian government, and Siddiqui feared someone would tip the targets in Agra or Delhi.
Akhil Bansal's father, Brij, was wealthy. If he knew what was coming, he might flee to nearby Nepal.
On the eve of the arrests, Siddiqui had had no choice but to let dozens of officials know about the case - agents, their superiors, local police. Who knew whom they might tell?
Siddiqui felt helpless. So much was at stake. The case. His reputation. The reputation of NCB. Of India.
If we screw this up, he thought, the Americans will think we are incompetent.
DUNKIN' DONUTS, NORTHEAST PHILA.
Prosecutor Barbara Cohan handed the search warrants to the magistrate judge on call.
It was well past 9 p.m.
Cohan ordered a large black coffee and an egg-and-bacon bagel, her first meal since breakfast, her first chance to exhale.
While the judge reviewed the paperwork, Cohan joined two cops at another table. They toasted her silently, clicking styrofoam. This was her last case as a federal prosecutor, probably the last time she would meet a magistrate after hours to get warrants approved. After 24 years - a career that included the successful prosecution of a KGB spy - Cohan was leaving the U.S. Attorney's Office.
That her last case was so important, so fascinating, so challenging, gave Cohan special satisfaction. Akhil's business acumen both impressed and repulsed her.
The prosecutor bit into the bagel, sipped some coffee. She looked up at Lower Merion Police Officer Christine Konieczny.
"Do you think he has any idea what's about to happen to him?"
"If he did -" Konieczny said.
