Akhil Bansal, a daredevil driver, in his red Ford Mustang. Now, the Temple grad student was assuming a central role in his family’s illegal online drug business, seeking ties to a Costa Rica-based enterprise.
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DrugNet, Chapter 3: The PowerPoint
A big deal hinges on a screen test. The feds' team fans out, and can't believe what it sees.
Devore thought about the Indian's e-mail. This guy, Dr. Brij Bansal, was saying he could ship from inside the United States, which meant fewer packages seized by Customs, which meant more money.
From a Google search, Devore knew this was all illegal. Whatever. He e-mailed Bansal back.
MANHATTAN
At a hotel near Times Square, Akhil met Meherer - 34, slender, in jeans and a T-shirt.
Akhil shook hands, feeling silly in his suit. He shot Patil a screw-you stare: Red tie, eh?
Akhil opened his laptop. Time to wow her.
Akhil titled his PowerPoint presentation Evolution because it outlined the development of his pill distribution network.
Evolution had four chapters. The first three - "Stone Age," "Bronze Age" and "Iron Age" - recounted Akhil's struggle to ship pills by himself and later to use a private shipper. Results had been mixed.
Meherer listened.
Gaining confidence, Akhil moved to the final chapter, "Revolution." His was a professional operation! Pills were now shipped in bulk from India to a home in Queens. Each morning, women working there downloaded customer orders and fulfilled them via UPS. With the new system, consumers got their drugs in 48 hours.
From the last slide, Akhil read aloud questions for discussion: "Can we process more orders? Can it be done with the same efficiency? How long can we keep this going? What if anything bad happens?"
He showed her clip art of Donald Duck and dollar bills. It seemed to say: Can you believe how much we're going to make?
Meherer laughed. Akhil did, too.
PLYMOUTH MEETING, PA.
Carlos wanted to meet a customer. What kind of person ordered pills online?
Of the 119 packages seized at the airport in February, a dozen had been destined for local addresses. That gave Carlos a list of leads.
As he headed out for his first visit, background data in hand, Carlos grabbed Huff, his new FBI colleague. They headed west on the Schuylkill Expressway, past Boathouse Row, past Roxborough.
Laura, an attractive woman in her mid-20s, answered the door of a luxury townhouse. Agents knew that she and her husband had no children, and that she held a six-figure sales job with, ironically, a pharmaceutical company. She looked nervous.
Carlos tried to put her at ease. "You're not in any type of trouble. We just want to talk to you about the Ambien."
Carlos saw her hands quiver as she invited them in. They sat on overstuffed couches, near a giant flat-screen TV. Everything looked new, clean. Too perfect, Carlos thought.
