Doctor X E-Book

José Ángel Mañas

• Herausgeber: Aniara
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 305

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

On October 1, 2013, the U.S. government brought down Silk Road—the notorious "Amazon of drugs"—a Dark Web empire where anyone could buy illegal narcotics and pharmaceuticals with the click of a button. Its mastermind, twenty-something Ross Ulbricht, was sentenced to life in prison. So were the site's administrators, moderators, and key players. All except one: a Spanish doctor known only as Doctor X. Who was this phantom figure at the heart of the world's largest online drug bazaar? Why did he escape justice when everyone else fell? And how did a mysterious medic become the Dark Web's most legendary outlaw? Doctor X is a gripping true story that José Ángel Mañas and Jordi Ledesma have turned into an electrifying thriller.

Leseprobe

Mañas & Ledesma

DOCTOR X

The Dark Web Medic

With the collaboration of Fernando Caudevilla

© Mañas & Ledesma, 2025

Aniara, 2025

Translation by Aniara

www.aniara.one

[email protected]

All rights reserved.

ISBN print: 978-91-90043-02-8

Cover design & typesetting: Per Gustafsson (modernstyle.se)

CONTENTS

Prologue

I. THE SPANISH BRANCH OF SILK ROAD

II. ENERGY CONTROL

III. DOCTOR X SPEAKS

IV. LEAP OF FAITH

V. DREAD PIRATE ROBERTS

VI. JOSHUA TERREY

VII. COSTA RICA

VIII. TIME FOR THE BRAVE

IX. DIDIER SPEAKS

X. MASPALOMAS

XI. LEDESMA AND MAÑAS REFLECT

XII. THE TRIAL

XIII. THE VERDICT

XIV. PARANOIA, SCORSESE AND SIX QUESTIONS

XV. MORDOR

XVI. THE PANDEMIC

XVII. FROM DOCTOR HOFFMAN TO DOCTOR X

Epilogue

Appendix

“An individual strolls through a shopping mall during the Saturday afternoon sales. He brazenly displays the shotgun that he carries inside his trenchcoat while staring at shoppers with a menacing eye. In the pocket of his jeans, he’s carrying a single ecstasy pill. What is more scary? Under Spanish Law, brandishing a weapon in public in an intimidating manner (Article 36.10) carries the same penalty as carrying drugs for personal use (Article 36.16). Both are considered serious infractions under the current Public Safety Law of April 2015, and carry a minimum fine equivalent to half the average monthly salary of a person under thirty-five, according to National Statistics Institute data.”

DOCTORX, recording of March 3, 2023

PROLOGUE

September 27, 2012 dawned cloudy in Madrid. It turned out to be one of the rainiest days of that humid autumn which was getting underway after the summer’s extreme dry-spell. AEMET (The State Meteorological Agency), reported that it had been the rainiest day of the year thus far. In the city, people had been hurrying about for quite some time, donning raincoats and their hooded sweatshirts pulled up, seeking shelter under the arcades. The capital’s atmosphere, that perennial pollution-capped sky, would clear a little, at least for a couple of hours.

In the heart of Madrid, in the Lavapiés district, one of the city’s most emblematic neighborhoods, the grayness did not affect its multicultural population. Immigrants milling about the plaza that gives the neighborhood its name, took shelter under the eaves, not far from Café Barbieri, while the employees from the Indian restaurants along Ave María Street collected the outdoor tables: it hardly rains in Madrid, and when it does, everything seems to grind to a halt. The freshness flooding the sidewalks was a luxury that no one seemed to appreciate in their comings and goings. The scent of wet tar overpowered every other sensation, intoxicating everything and everyone, after an especially dry September, now that it was once again starting to rain heavily.

If one heads north along Ave María Street, after passing a first intersection that is Primavera Crossing, one reaches Esperanza Street, which at that time was still carpeted with old granite cobblestones.

Ave María Street is one of the steepest in Madrid. After climbing that hundred meters, with restaurants lining the left sidewalk, you reach the corner where Los Gamos bar stands, and there begins a central yet discreet thoroughfare: a couple of blocks with traditional, quintessentially Spanish facades without much ostentation, bearing a Galdosian atmosphere that evokes the world once inhabited by the manolos and manolas, those nineteenth-century predecessors of Madrid’s chulapos, the city’s traditional street dandies.

On the third floor of the tenement house, the corrala, at number 8, all the blinds were already down drawn, at a window overlooking Esperanza Street, when, behind the drawn shade, the light of a twenty-seven-inch monitor flickered to life as someone cautiously switched it on, connected to a black-cased HP Pavilion p6-2012es Desktop PC.

A man sat in the semi-darkness where the monitor’s glow reflected off a freshly opened can of Coca-Cola Zero within arm’s reach, casting a luminous reflection on the wall followed by the projection of his own shadow. The fellow remained focused on the screen, navigating smoothly with his mouse. He was wearing a Gap hoodie and black track pants, occasionally sipping his soft drink as the reflection shifted across the wall while he browsed with furrowed brow through the newly opened page where, under the heading “Some Words from the Dread Pirate Roberts,” the following message appeared:

Greetings and welcome to Silk Road!

I know you’re eager to get your product, but first please take a moment to read this message. It has been written specifically to protect you and to help you get the most out of your experience on this site, understanding what it’s all about.

Let’s begin with the name. The original Silk Road was a global trade route between Asia, Africa, and Europe that played an enormous role in connecting the economies and cultures of three continents, thus prompting peace and prosperity through trade agreements. My greatest hope is that this modern Silk Road will do the same by providing an appropriate framework for trading partners to come together and seek mutual benefit in a healthy and safe manner.

You might be shocked to find here a list of products that are prohibited in your jurisdiction. This doesn’t mean that Silk Road is devoid of laws. On the contrary: we have a very strict code of conduct which, I believe, most people will agree with. Our basic rules are to treat others as you would like to be treated, mind your own business, and do nothing that might harm others.

In keeping with the spirit of these rules, there are certain things you will never find here, and if you do come across them, please report them. This includes pornography, stolen goods, assassination, and personal information on our users, to name just a few. We urge our members to conduct themselves according to the highest standards of personal behavior, and we work tirelessly to prevent deceitful vendors from taking advantage of you.

However, the best way to ensure your experiences are satisfactory is to learn how Silk Road works and take advantage of the tools and instructions created specifically for you. You’ll find a link to a thorough guide on your registration page, but herewith are some tips to help you get started:

—Always use escrow! We cannot emphasize this strongly enough. 99% of scams come from people who set up fake vendor accounts and ask buyers to pay them directly or release payment before the order arrives. You should report such behavior immediately. If you do decide to proceed in this manner, we won’t be able to help you in any way if you are swindled.

—Read the forum and the wiki. Both contain valuable information, and many members of our community will be happy to help newcomers who show a respectful attitude.

—Start cautiously. Make a handful of small purchases until you feel comfortable with the process before using your bitcoins for a large purchase.

The old saying, “Freedom comes with responsibility” couldn’t be more true here. On this site you’ll have access to products that could get you into trouble with the authorities and could be very harmful to your health. So, just because you can doesn’t mean you should. However, I’m not your father, and it’s your responsibility to judge what’s good and bad for you. No one else can do that for you.

Take care, have fun, and drop by to say hi in the forums!

Your faithful servant,

Dread Pirate Roberts

This was the text that appeared when typing the address http//:silkroad6onowfk.onion into the Tor browser’s search bar. It was one of the featured listings at the time on the Hidden Wiki.

The man who had just opened the page had been browsing dark web, the deep web, for several months—that darkest side of the internet, full of subnetworks superimposed on the public internet that required specific software and authorizations. There, he entered different forums to exchange opinions, view clinical material, and download files written by people from every corner of the planet.

But this was new and had been recommended by his dealer; a bona fide dealer, the kind you could trust completely, who assured him this was different and would change everything …

Seated before his HP, the man felt strong excitement and clicked the mouse eagerly, passionately, as if he were browsing through porn.

On the street outside it once again began to rain heavily, but his attention was completely drawn by the screen. Those words from Dread Pirate Roberts, which he read in English, resonated in his head like an epiphany, and he felt they largely expressed thoughts he himself had held and upheld for quite some time.

His heart was still beating when the main page displayed a list of products beneath an icon of a camel with a Bedouin in tow. This endowed the page with that air of Oriental spices displayed in a bazaar, and meaning to the name: “Silk Road.”

The design and layout weren’t that different from any normal sales website.

What was breathtaking was the assortment variety of products on offer: Canadian heroin, a large assortment and provenance of hash and marijuana, Colombian cocaine, Ecuadorian cocaine, MDMA, LSD from the Czech Republic, American methamphetamine, steroids, legal and illegal medicines, fake national identity cards and driver’s licenses, hacking guides, codes for porn sites, Microsoft product licenses, premium Spotify accounts, replica watches of various luxury brands, as well as hundreds of counterfeit items—each photo captioned with detailed explanations and the product price in bitcoins.

The man took another sip of the overly sweet Coke and blinked several times in the dark. So it was true! Just the day before, his trusted dealer, an Albanian, had told him about this page that had first appeared in early 2011, on the deep web: “It’s mind-blowing,” he’d said, “It’s like Amazon for drugs. You just need to register and you can get anything you want.”

And so it was …

Clearing his throat, he moved the cursor till he came upon MDMA powder of 87 percent purity. He hesitated, because next to it were red heart-shaped pills containing 125 mg of pure MDMA, and opted for those instead. The price was a steal. In a couple of clicks, he’d transferred bitcoins from his personal wallet to Silk Road. The wait felt endless, but after half an hour his balance on the platform had gone from 0 to 5.5 BTC.

He then clicked on the product and added the quantity—ten pills—to his cart, exactly as he would have done on Amazon, and next a message appeared from the server: “Thank you for depositing your trust in us.”

The man thought about the fees he would have paid for an international transfer of just over fifty euros, which, moreover, would also have taken at least three days to process, and continued browsing for a while, mulling over the fact that everything was there, absolutely everything. The only limit was marked by the symbol in the upper left corner of the screen: a capital B with a strike through it, representing the user’s bitcoin account.

He smiled, satisfied. It was the closest thing to paradise he had ever come.

Not yet realizing it, his life had just changed for good.

I. THE SPANISH BRANCH OF SILK ROAD

Making small talk with your pot dealer sucks. Buying cocaine can get you shot.

What if you could buy and sell drugs online like books or light bulbs?

Now you can: Welcome to Silk Road.

ADRIAN CHEN, Gawker Magazine, June 1, 2011

1

Madrid, November 5, 2022

The meeting is set for one o’clock in the afternoon, at a VIPS on 144 Alcalá Street. At 12:54, the novelist is walking through the door, all bundled up in his gray bomber jacket and rubbing his hands rather nervously. On entering, he glances at his WhatsApp and sees a new message: “Just behind the door. Can’t miss me.” And so it is; peering inside, he sees her sitting at a table.

The literary agent stands up and greets him with a friendly smile. She is a tall woman with full-bodied and glossy red hair. Her classic hairstyle, framing fine features and a rosy complexion, gives her the air of an Anglo-Saxon model. But what’s most striking is the energy she radiates in each of her gestures, and the rapid-fire way she speaks.

The agent orders pancakes with maple syrup—her favorite dish when in Madrid—and both of them, now having taken off their jackets, sit facing each other. He only wants orange juice. Since there are only a few customers, the noise level is tolerable. “Did you take a look at the documentation I sent you?” she asks.

“I’ve skimmed through it. There are a lot of pages, with links to magazines from all over the world, and besides, I’m assuming you’re going to summarize it for me.”

The agent shifts in her chair, brushes the hair from her face, and places her elbows on the table while she leans forward.

“Ok, let’s get started. I suppose you heard about Silk Road back in the day.”

“More or less. But in Spain it hardly had any traction. I know what appears on Wikipedia: that it was a virtual marketplace for drugs, which was popular about ten years ago.”

“That’s right. It was like an Amazon for drugs, and it was a hit. And that’s exactly why it caught the attention of the U.S. administration, with all the problems that you can imagine. The weight of the law can be tremendous in the United States, and almost everyone who was involved with that site is now in prison …”

If that’s the scoop you’ve got for me,” the novelist says, while shaking his head between sips of orange juice, “then let me tell you right up front that a lot has been written about this. I’ve looked into it. There’s Eileen Ormsby’s book, the Australian journalist who specializes in internet topics. And Nick Bilton’s book, an absolute bestseller in the United States. There are two or three documentaries, a movie. And the web is totally teeming with articles from every media outlet on the planet: El País, Libération, The Guardian, The New York Times, Vice, Wired, Forbes, Rolling Stone … There isn’t a single major publication that hasn’t covered this story by now, and not just once, but several times.”

“Here you go,” the waitress says, approaching with the order.

“Thank you very much,” the agent smiles. “I love pancakes.”

But she doesn’t even touch them and continues talking.

2

“I don’t think you’re following, darling. The fact that this story has been so successful in so many countries is our greatest asset. Silk Road is firmly planted in the minds of journalists, citizens, publishers, and readers across half the world. It’s something universal, an already established brand. We just need to keep working it. It’s what we call an ongoing story. There’s an audience waiting expectantly for new ramifications … and this is where we come in. Aren’t you ordering anything to eat? Won’t you join me?”

“Carry on, I’m listening.”

“The interesting thing is that there’s still an unexplored Spanish connection. A character not so well-known in the United States: Silk Road’s doctor, DoctorX—I don’t know if it rings a bell. Are you familiar with Madrid’s nightlife?”

“Absolutely,” the novelist answers smugly.

“Well, he’s a regular of Madrid’s nightlife,” she says, looking him straight in the eye. “There was a time when he wouldn’t miss a single rave. I believe he’s even a DJ.”

“I presume he must have some interests beyond his artistic side.”

“Of course. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.”

The novelist finds the orange juice too acidic. He catches the waitress’s attention and orders a bottle of water, which he downs in one gulp the minute it arrives. A long silence follows during which he’s not quite sure what to say, and out of mere professional habit, he pulls out the documents he’s printed. He only skimmed through them a couple of days earlier, when he received them by email. He again reviews, this time in print: half-heartedly, scanning the paragraphs diagonally, pausing at the most important links.

Still thirsty, he checks the bottle of water, but it’s empty. He takes another sip of juice, which still tastes acidic to him. He’s not sure he wants to write this story, but he needs the dough the agent has offered. Still, he tries to keep his composure, to not appear anxious.

“The thing is,” she continues, “that Doctor X has been working as a physician on the deep web for more than a decade, advising users about drugs and analyzing samples to determine their purity or look for adulterants. Among the documents, I’ve included screenshots of forums where he participated.”

“I wouldn’t think that dispensing medical advice should be any kind of crime.”

“I wouldn’t think so either, but still, they tried to lump him in with the creators of drug cryptomarkets all the same, when, in fact, on the Silk Road forums where he became famous, he appeared under his own name and didn’t hide, just like Eileen Ormsby, the Australian journalist specializing in the dark web. These two, along with the British journalist Mike Power were the only ones who never concealed their identities.” The agent starts digging into her pancakes. She covers them with whipped cream and manages to devour a first piece while she carries on speaking: the novelist can’t help but watch the dollops of cream disappearing into her mouth.

He’s restless and continues with an unpleasant sensation of thirst. Another review of the documents, taking advantage of the agent’s brief verbal pause, alerts him, and in a sort of professional intrigue, he begins to feel the first hint of fascination with the character: he reads in the papers that he’s from Madrid, that he was born on March 16, 1974, in the Prosperidad neighborhood, that his parents are two chemists from Zaragoza.

3

“You say he worked as a doctor on Silk Road; did he get paid for his work?”

“That’s the crux of the matter. Initially, he offered his services for free, although he accepted voluntary donations. But at some point, he started charging through the website itself … In bitcoins, of course.”

The agent sketches a half-smile after wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, immediately seeking her interlocutor’s eyes. She’s pursuing an effect, though she waits patiently for it to emerge on its own accord, because the novelist isn’t looking at her. He remains absorbed in his papers, though he is listening to her, and has had a feeling that she is going to carry on with her speech. Without raising his eyes yet, he shows interest:

“How many bitcoins?”

“Five a week, about five hundred dollars back then. In total, during the whole relationship, which barely lasted a couple of months, twenty-seven bitcoins, which wasn’t much at 2013 rates. But afterward, he collaborated with other similar sites. And I presume you know how much bitcoins were worth later …” This time the agent’s gaze does find the effect she’s been pursuing. The novelist’s eyes lift to rest on her as if activated by an electric spring. “But of course, we’d have to ask him about all that. No one knows the true extent of his business,” she says with a laugh. And does so because she senses the growing gleam from the novelist’s eyes, which seem to inspire her to continue her speech, with a renewed confidence that appears brought about by the pancakes.

4

“Don’t play hard to get. I’m fucking saying that this story is incredible. It’s an excellent project. I really believe this could be the book that gets you into the USA, through the front door. A book that will surely interest the American public, who already knows many threads of the story and will now complete the picture with a character who’s new to the publishing market and enigmatic to the readers. When they see the X on the cover and those photos from back in the day, with his black Hello Kitty T-shirt, sunglasses, silver chain around his neck and tattoos, the first thing they’ll ask themselves is: who is this doctor with a superhero name and rock star looks? Plus, the Spanish connection is interesting because of your drug culture. My husband is from Madrid—you know that. I come here a lot, and I can assure you that when it comes to these matters, you have an attitude that’s completely opposite to the rest of the planet. Nobody can believe that there’s a mayor capable of saying in public: ‘Heads up, and those who aren’t high should get high,’” she puts on a genuine Spanish accent. “No mayor in any other city in the world would ever say that … It’s something extraordinary. And I think it’s relevant to our story.”

The “Heads up!” thing dated back half a century already. That phrase was uttered by Tierno Galván during the San Isidro festivities in the mid-eighties, at a time when Madrid’s youth had decided to take over the streets. They were, surely, memorable words; although the truth is that the novelist has never been aware of the significance they might have from a perspective other than the Spanish one.

“In Europe there’s a greater tolerance regarding drugs,” the agent insists, “but in Spain the tolerance is pretty much total. That’s why Americans regularly fall in love with Spain! I don’t need to tell you that, if we judge by statistics Americans are the most drug-addicted people on the planet, trust me.”

5

“So that’s what I want to propose to you. A book that tells DoctorX’s story and puts it in context. Something that helps people in the United States understand where he comes from and why, while so many others have been thrown in jail, he remains free, giving lectures around the world. I want it to reflect that crazy universe of Madrid’s nightlife, that new Spain that began with La Movida and is still very much alive today. I think we can create a hell of a book, because he’s a charismatic character with such a powerful aura. You must have seen him in photos. And I’d like you to write it. I don’t know anyone better informed about what’s happening in Madrid, and I’m sure a book like this will interest people in the U.S. Will you do it?”

The agent leaves her half-eaten pancake aside. She maintains eye contact with her clear, ambitious gaze and finally ceases her stream of chatter to make a pause that could be measured in seconds. The novelist finds it hard to look away. Among other things, he senses there’s something she’s holding back. A hidden interest that goes beyond the professional. He can’t help but speculate. At the same time, he finds the story appealing, and the potential to make money even more so, though he’s well aware it won’t be an easy story. After another pause, he lets out a sigh while mentally coming to terms with the matter.

“Phew. I understand why you called me and I understand the kind of anti-prohibition philosophy that DoctorX operates within. And you know perfectly well that I share it to a large extent, like many people of my generation. But …”

“But …?”

“But this whole deep web business is something far too abstract. In a book, just like in a film, what works best is action. And here there’s very little of it.”

“You want action? Soon after Silk Road was shut down, Silk Road 2.0 came online. DoctorX was back running his consultancy, mocking the U.S. Government right to its face. And that wasn’t the only site where he continued his practice.”

“I have no doubt his story is interesting, but it’s difficult to tell. I’d have to get up to speed on this whole deep web business, the darkweb, darknet, or whatever it is … Good Lord, it sounds like the dark side of the force. I wouldn’t know where to get started.”

“Well, it seems very simple to me: by talking to him.”

“You think he’ll be willing to collaborate?”

“That’s your job, work your snake charmer magic, or however you say it in Spanish.”

“No, you’re the snake charmer. I just write.”

“Then do your job,” the agent snaps, flashing another one of her signature smiles. “All I’m going to tell you is that in ten days I’m flying to New York, where I’m staying for a week and where I have a meeting in Manhattan with a publisher I’d like to talk to about the project. I honestly think this is a perfect book for you. Are you interested or not? I need a firm commitment. Do we have a deal or not?”

“I’ll try,” says the novelist, still not feeling entirely comfortable. She, on the contrary, knows she’s succeeded. And she’s already half-turning toward the waitress approaching again, gesturing to bring the check.

“I don’t like ‘I’ll try.’ Do it.”

“I will do it, but on one condition …”

“Name it.”

“For this book, I need a partner.”

“What are you trying to say? I don’t understand.”

“A partner. Someone else to lean on.”

“I don’t agree. It makes no sense. I offer you a story like this and you want to share it with another writer? I don’t see it. Who is it?” asks the agent, with a touch of irritation. Her arrogant composure of a business shark takes over.

“Jordi Ledesma.”

“No! You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll only do it if it’s with him.”

“He’s trouble. He does drugs. Drinks too much. The last time things didn’t end well between you …”

“Trifles. He’s the best writer I know. Trust me. This story is good, but it lacks substance. We’ll need to create an atmosphere, and nobody does that like Ledesma … I’ll only do it if we work together.”

“Fine. It’s your call. But I’ll deal with you directly, I don’t want any drama or lectures from that self-centered madman.”

“Leave it to me and you’ll have your book”

“So be it,” she declares while raising her hand. She asks for the check again. “I’ll need a one-page synopsis and three sample chapters. When do you think you can have them ready?”

“I’ll get back to you this week.”

“Fine,” she declares, standing up.

“Wait … where can I find DoctorX?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Sorry. As it happens, he has his practice here in Madrid, right next to Paseo del Prado. I’ve arranged an appointment for you on Tuesday, ten days from now, at four in the afternoon. What a coincidence, right when I’m catching my flight to New York. You have enough time to prepare … Both of you,” she states with a tinge of irony.

“You set up a meeting with him before knowing whether I would accept or not?”

“I know you well enough. And he’s at a point where he needs publicity. But be careful. He’s a charmer. I don’t want him controlling the narrative. Let me get this … ” And adds playfully: “Never trust an agent who won’t pick up their author’s tab … I swear I’d come back to Madrid a thousand times just to eat this stuff.”

CODA

Intuition is our primary internal creative compass. Perhaps its greatest conceptual defenders have been the philosophers Schopenhauer and Bergson. Both agree that there exists an intuitive knowledge, an immediate and non-intellectualized apprehension of reality, something especially true for artists. Many are like billiards players who perfectly understand the game, even if they cannot explain it. And that’s why a creator’s discourse can never be anything but a more or less brilliant a posteriori justification of a process whose entire comprehension eludes him: first one creates, then thinks about why one creates—and what one claims to be doing, fortunately hardly ever explains what one actually does. In fact, a possible definition of talent could be the following: that which we lack in fully understanding a work. And perhaps the one who best understood how necessary intuitive freedom is in the act of writing was Enrique Vila-Matas: “One writes from uncertainty and that is what allows one to advance, what entertains and at the same time intrigues. If, on the other hand, everything were clear from the beginning, there would probably be no need to write the book at all” (Losing Theories).

II. ENERGY CONTROL

The first obstacle we encounter when describing the effects of any drug is the need to use words to define mental states and experiences different from everyday reality, which are difficult to express through language. The vocabulary used to describe these effects comes primarily from the fields of medicine and psychology, and frequently proves to be imprecise, insufficient, and loaded with negative connotations or related to states of illness.

FERNANDO CAUDEVILLA, Ecstasy (Éxtasis)

1

The booth was on the left-hand side by the door, right as you entered the club.

The Yasta Club was in Madrid’s city center, just meters away from the Gran Vía, and the Energy Control team was busy inside, volunteering information and analyzing drugs. It was very hot because the ventilation was suboptimal, and more and more people had taken their shirts off.

Facing the public was a table laden with many informational leaflets about various illegal substances. And on a small, modest table right up against the wall, lit by a desk lamp, is where the colorimetric tests were performed on glass plates or small trays, using different chemical reagents that changed color depending on the components in the samples.

The Marquis test would react with amphetamines: black if the sample contained MDMA, orange for methamphetamine, or green for 2C-B or other hallucinogenic amphetamines. The Mandelin test detected the presence of ketamine, though it was also useful for amphetamine derivatives. By combining different tests like Mecke, Scott, p-DMAB et cetera, one could measure the presence of a specific drug. And then, once in the Barcelona laboratory, there was a thin-layer chromatography, ultraviolet spectrophotometry, gas chromatography, and mass spectrometry, in which they obtained more precise information about the presence of adulterants and their exact concentration.

But the analyses were above all a strategy to interact with the public. People wanted to know what was in the pill they were going to take, what was the most appropriate way to use it, whether it could be combined with other drugs, or what precautions they should take based on their health conditions. And the advice from the Energy Control team kept multiplying.

“No, the thing about sugar lowering alcohol levels is a myth.”

“Be careful with this, it’s very strong, don’t take more than half today.”

“I understand a buddy of yours gave it to you, but I’m telling you it doesn’t contain 2C-B, or ecstasy, or methamphetamine.”

The stand certainly warranted more than one conversation.

And since some people would overlook the analysis results because they were high—some might even not remember it the next day—that’s what the leaflets were for. So that everyone, once the party was over, could read them and, if they wished, write to Doctor X’s consultation address on Energy Control’s website. It was objective and realistic information about the pros and cons of drug use. About what was dangerous and what wasn’t; about the potential problems that could ensue, and how best to identify them, and finally, what to do if they appeared. Information so that people could make free, responsible, well-informed decisions.

2

Right away, the man felt his age was out of sync with his surroundings. His greatest experience of nightlife had been during the early years of the new century, a rave era which coincided with his love affair with MDMA. By now, the magic bestowed by chemistry had practically vanished, and to recover it he needed to maintain two or three months of abstinence, as he did.

But nightlife too was changing.

If one were to describe the vibe that Friday night at the Yasta, you could call it “neo-techno hippie Goa trance”. It was almost sad to see people so young. Not that he was old—or at least he didn’t see himself that way; at thirty-nine, he was still in his prime, as they say—but he wasn’t twenty anymore, couldn’t identify with the human landscape. And the sight of the fresh-faced, sweaty young crowd overflowing the Yasta confirmed it.

That night he wore a black shirt with torn sleeves and couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d refused money offered by a cryptomarket administrator. (“Nuria was the only one I told about it. But she just laughed: ‘You’re being too much of a choir boy,’ and we never brought it up again.”) He had been fluttering around the stand for a while, chatting with various people while his colleagues carried out the analyses, when a young man in knee-length cut-off jeans, with an endearing sort of shyness, passed by and approached the stand to show his pill to Nuria, who just shook her head as soon as she saw it and whispered something in his ear.

“What did you tell that guy, Nuria?”

Nuria had dark hair, half her head shaved off with a mane in the back, that day arranged in two braids. She too wore a shirt with torn sleeves, except that hers bore the Energy Control logo. By then, she had been with the NGO for over a decade, having started as a psychologist and now holding a directorship position in Barcelona.

Like any seasoned veteran, Nuria was up to date on all the gossip circulating in the organization, including the various hookups among Energy’s employees and volunteers, for, deep down, they all shared both libertine ideals and a certain passion for drugs.

“It was a green Mitsubishi. I told him it was crap. So far tonight we’ve found four of them, all testing negative on the Marquis. The situation is a bit tense because we’re on good terms with all the dealers, but the guy selling these is out there on the dance floor, and when I told him his pills don’t contain MDMA, he just laughed in my face.”

The man watched the kid in cut-off jeans walking away with his Mitsubishi in hand, heading towards the bathrooms on the other side of the dance floor.

On that evening he had come as a guest, not to work. He wanted to greet his colleagues, since they were near his home today, and give himself a break. And even though he wasn’t supposed to be testing or handing out leaflets, he didn’t mind giving a helping hand.

3

As a result of Nuria’s comment, he began to scan the area. It didn’t take long before he spotted the guy with the Mitsubishi talking near the dance floor, by the bathrooms, with a tall, skinny young guy who had a gothic look and a lizard-like appearance. The gothic guy was now berating the one in cut-off jeans, who kept pointing toward the Energy Control stand.

He had never liked playing cop. If anything, he had more respect for dealers, when they were professionals. But he would certainly never lift a finger to help anyone he knew was selling adulterated substances. With that conviction, he approached the two young men arguing by the dance floor. And when the surly gothic kid shoved the boy in cut-off jeans, he felt the authority that comes with age rising within him.

“Hold on a second,” he placed a hand on the dealer’s arm. “Your friend is trying to tell you that what you’re selling is garbage. Don’t you realize you could kill someone?”

The kid took a step back to look down at the man from his superior height and noticed the guy was old enough to be his father. Twisting his face in recognition, he remembered him from the testing booth: he was getting fed up with these testing people ruining his sales. He wanted to flee and, though he didn’t quite break into a run, he moved quickly across the dance floor.

The man picked up his pace too. Thanks to the crowd, he managed to cut him off. The kid tried to get away, but felt someone grab his T-shirt, and in the struggle, the bag of pills he was holding fell to the ground. By its size, it could have contained about fifty tablets.

“You better get rid of that. It’s poison,” the man said, noticing that one of the bouncers was already looking in their direction, and before anyone else did, he bent down to pick up the bag.