01x03 - Counterfeiting

[bunniefuu]

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MARIANA VAN ZELLER:
Every city has its secrets.

Lima is no different.

MARIANA: Over the last decade

a new criminal enterprise
has taken root.

MARIANA: And a new breed of
gangster craftsman has emerged.

MARIANA: But how they work and
who they are is a mystery to me,

and I'm not the only one
looking for them.

(banging)

(yelling)

This footage is from
the Peruvian National Police...

...who have turned up the heat

and turned Lima
into the frontlines

in the w*r on counterfeiting.

OFFICER: ¡Policía!

MARIANA: That's how I landed
here at Lurigancho Prison,

one of the most dangerous
prisons in all of South America.

The Peruvian National Police
tipped me off to a counterfeiter

they recently nabbed, a man
they'd been chasing for years.

MARIANA: He's wearing a mask
for two reasons:

He doesn't want to be known
as a snitch in prison,

and he doesn't want
his young daughter

to know that he's locked up.

He's told her that
he's taken a job abroad.

MARIANA: Incredibly,
it's estimated that 60%

of all fake U. S. bills
are produced in Peru.

MARIANA: He says
it was an informant

that ultimately got him
busted by the police.

But the hunt for this man

actually began
3,500 miles north.

♪ ♪

Two weeks earlier, I paid
a visit to the Secret Service.

The agency we associate with
these guys in crisp suits

protecting the president

is also in charge
of protecting our money.

When fakes are detected,
anywhere in the world,

they're sent here

for the monetary equivalent
of an autopsy.

(buzzer)

I watch as analysts examine each
of the bills' component parts.

The paper, the ink, the colors.

Within each fake
hides clues about its origin.

Telltale markers are discovered.

The chemical makeup
of a certain ink

or the density of
a certain paper stock.

Each bill then gets catalogued,
helping the Secret Service

identify the world's biggest
players in the counterfeit game.

AGENT: What happened
in the early 2000s,

the first Peruvian‐produced
notes started popping up,

and in Peru there were no
counterfeit laws at the time.

It just caught everyone by
surprise that it started there.

MARIANA: This field agent
wants to remain anonymous

for safety reasons.

He tells me the agency first
opened a Lima office in 2012

because the counterfeit scene
was booming.

AGENT: These guys are artists.

The workmanship's there,
and the skills are there.

It's being produced at high
numbers and very high quality.

NEWSCASTER: Tonight,
the real cost of fake money.

NEWSCASTER: Officers want
everyone to be on the lookout

after a batch of bad bills
has turned up in the city.

NEWSCASTER: Another counterfeit
money bust in Limestone County.

AGENT: When it comes
to counterfeiting,

it's pretty much a crime
that hurts everybody.

From nations' economies,
to businesses,

to your mom and pop stores.

Things that are being passed
there are worthless.

You're at the bank,

and next thing they look at you
like you're the criminal.

It's almost like a mugging
that you didn't know happened.

(man shouting in Spanish)

MARIANA: We tend to think of
black markets as a world apart,

but the truth is,
they're all around us,

hidden in plain sight,

difficult to see,
until someone lets you in.

That's especially true

when tracking this
counterfeiting story in Lima.

The leads are
literally everywhere.

Seemingly everyone has been
a victim of fake bills,

with the walls of some shops
looking like a gallery

for the city's
criminal artisans.

In a cash society like Peru,
anywhere money changes hands

is an opportunity
for a counterfeiter.

(horn honking)

And nowhere does more money
change hands than here,

among Lima's cambistas,
or street‐side money changers.

Sometimes it's the customer
trying slip fake bills

to the cambista, and sometimes
it's the other way around.

FERNANDO LUCENA: The cambistas,
the money exchangers,

I never go to those.

You never know what's real
and what's fake.

It's a very murky world,
put it that way.

MARIANA: I contact my friend,
Fernando Lucena.

He's a local investigative
journalist who said

he could get me in touch with
one of these crooked cambistas.

The man I'm meeting is akin
to a neighborhood drug dealer.

He's my entry point
to the underworld.

I'm hopeful
he might introduce me

to some of the bigger players
in the game,

the ones moving millions
in fake bills into the U. S.

(Mariana speaking Spanish)

MARIANA: Okay. He doesn't
want his face revealed.

(laughs)

MARIANA: He just asked me
if I was a buyer,

if I was an undercover buyer.

MARIANA: He's gonna show us

some of the fake dollars
that he sells.

MARIANA: This looks
pretty great to me.

MARIANA: This sounds
like money to me, no?

MARIANA: Pull the bill out,
turn it over, feel it,

there's texture,
it's rough and smooth,

there's a watermark
security thread,

layers and layers of detail.

Each element presents a new
challenge for counterfeiters,

but the better their handiwork,
the more they can charge.

And the more their services
will be in demand.

MARIANA: So, touch,
look and turn.

We all have intimate
relationships to money.

We chase it, we spend it,
we save it,

we make big life decisions
because of it,

and yet it's so common,
I've never really looked at it.

The best fake bills are
so exquisitely crafted,

they aren't noticed at all.

MARIANA: Before
the money changer left,

he confirmed what the
Secret Service told me in D. C.,

that once the designs for the
fake bills have been produced,

there are essentially
three key positions

in any counterfeiting operation:

the printer,
who is the master artisan

in charge of bill production;

the finisher, who adds
the necessary texture and polish

to the bills to
make them passable;

and the burrier,
who transports the fake cash

out of the country.

I want to find all three,

something an outsider
has never done before.

It's the best way for me
to fully understand

the inner workings
of this black market

and the circumstances
and motivations

of the people who run it.

(engine revving)

Enter another of my contacts.

A local producer
who shares a nickname

with Peru's national dish,
Ceviche.

MARIANA: Over the last
several years,

he's been building connections
in Lima's underworld,

specifically through
a man we'll call Diego.

Ceviche tells me that the
counterfeiting racket in Lima

is run by a handful of families.

And Diego's gotten tight
with one of them.

Each of these families controls
underground workshops,

where old‐school offset printers

churn out sheet after sheet
of fake bills.

MARIANA: Criminal organizations
bound by blood

are notoriously difficult
to penetrate.

Getting inside one
of these operations,

especially with cameras,
is next to impossible.

MARIANA: In this business
there are always risks,

but I felt okay
with a daytime meeting,

hopefully somewhere public.

That is, assuming they call.

Three hours pass,
and still nothing from Diego.

(dog barking ringtone)

MAN: Hello?

MARIANA: When the adrenaline
kicks in,

I know things are
about to get good.

MARIANA: We're on our way
to meet with a g*ng

of Peruvian counterfeiters

in one of the shadier
neighborhoods in Lima.

(dog barking ringtone)

MARIANA: At the last minute,
they change the meeting spot.

MARIANA: They're waiting
for us already.

With a location change,
we'll be late to the meeting.

Part of me wonders if these guys

are looking for an excuse
to bail on us.

Lima's counterfeiters are
extra skittish these days.

I would be, too,
if I was being hunted.

There have been a series
of huge busts recently,

including one only days
before we arrived

that intercepted
$5 million in fake bills.

The Peruvian National Police
gave us this footage.

It wasn't at all
what I'd expected.

I'd imagined these
counterfeiting operations

happening in warehouses
or factories

in dark corners of the city,

but much of it seems
to be happening

in residential neighborhoods.

On quiet streets,
inside garages,

hidden in plain sight.

♪ ♪

Okay, cameras down.

For obvious reasons, we couldn't
record this initial meeting,

but let me tell you
how it all went down.

I've been on a lot of these
underworld first dates

over the last 15 years.

You never know exactly
what you're walking into.

At an outdoor cafe,
Diego introduces us to the boss

and his bodyguard,
who is covered in tattoos.

One on his arm reads in English,
"Only God can judge me."

The mood is tense, suspicious.

As I always do in these
situations, I order beers.

Soon after, I'm sharing
my unofficial résumé:

photos on my phone of me
hanging out with men like these

from all around the world.

Then, the food arrives.

More talk.

More drinks.

I then explain that I've heard

they're the most talented
counterfeiters in the world.

You'd be surprised how many
doors flattery can open.

I knew I'd passed the test

when the bodyguard
gave me a nickname.

He pointed at me
from across the table

and said, "Mi reina,"

my queen, "you're gonna see
amazing things tomorrow night."

In any city, there are people
who play by the rules

and people who don't.

(echoing laughter)

Usually it's hard
to tell the difference.

Finding my way into
the criminal underworld

is always an adventure.

That's why I love what I do.

It's also knowing
that once you're in,

you get to witness what
very few outsiders ever do.

A universe governed by its own
laws and power structures

that teaches us a whole lot
about our own.

MARIANA: Okay, let's do this.

(man speaking Spanish
over loudspeaker)

MARIANA: Game time.

♪ ♪

MARIANA: Okay.

MARIANA: In Peru,
like many places

in Central and South America,

"gringos" is synonymous
with Americans.

In this case, the counterfeiters
are on guard

that any gringos could be
Secret Service agents

trying to infiltrate
their operation.

CEVICHE: Hello?

MARIANA: They've told us to meet
them here at a downtown park.

Ironically, only blocks
from the Palace of Justice.

Somewhere in these
surrounding buildings

fake money is being made.

They've set two rules:

Only the crew they met with
are allowed inside;

and once inside,
we stay the entire shift,

from 8:00 PM to 8:00 AM.

No one leaves.

I imagine it's a rush to see
your net worth growing

with every new sheet of bills
coming off the press.

You could print yourself
out of debt

or into a new car
or a new house.

It's not hard to see the allure

or the desperation

that would cause someone
to enter this line of work.

One hour,
no call back from Diego.

Two hours, Diego's phone is off.

MARIANA: Things aren't
looking good.

♪ ♪

It's been over three hours

and they still,
they haven't shown up.

I think it's pretty safe to say
that we've been stood up.

No chance this is
going to happen tonight.

MARIANA: There's nothing worse
than getting this close

and not coming home
with a story.

But giving up isn't an option.

They're still out there,
and I'm going to find them.

♪ ♪

MARIANA: Stories go cold.

Sometimes you can't explain it.

You make a connection,
you make plans,

things seem to be
falling into place,

and then you find yourself
staring at your phone

for a call that never comes.

In these moments,

I always remind myself
that nothing's changed.

The story is still out there.

Somewhere in the city,
offset printing machines

are churning out sheet
after sheet of fake dollars.

MARIANA: I just need
to find a new way in.

MARIANA: Nothing happens
as fast as you want it to.

This isn't the safest
neighborhood,

so we should try to avoid
showing off our cameras.

But I have faith that
another door will open.

MARIANA: They were definitely,
like, sussing us out.

MARIANA: Until I can find
some of these counterfeiters

in the wild,

I lean on the contacts
I've already made.

MARIANA: So, he's showing us
how he works.

MARIANA: El fantasma.
The watermark.

FERNANDO: Okay, seems that
everything is in place.

MARIANA: Yeah?
FERNANDO: So far, so good.

MARIANA: Fingers crossed.

It's 5:00 AM.

And my initial contact in Lima,
Fernando, has a new lead

on a printer who seems
willing to meet with us.

We got this meeting set up
in a legal printing operation

where we're going to meet a guy
who is supposedly an ink master

and finally see what these
printing operations look like.

What can and can't we do?

FERNANDO: What he's told me
is basically keep the team

as small as possible.

Don't call his name
in front of anyone.

Just keep it low key.

MARIANA: We just want to
actually be absolutely sure

that we play by their rules,

because we want to be able
to get this in the bag.

Everybody's anxious and nervous

and hoping that this is, that
this will all go as planned.

We park outside a shopping mall

and wait for word
from our contact.

Okay, there are
two guys walking.

Is that him?

FERNANDO: Yeah, that's him.

MARIANA: Right?
Like, he just came out.

MAN: Fred, be careful.

MARIANA: Yeah, Fred,
if he sees you, we're (bleep).

♪ ♪

Okay. He's here.

Okay. Let's go, guys.

♪ ♪

MARIANA: This is it?

Wow. This is incredible.

And they're just
printing fake money.

MARIANA: It's early morning
in Lima,

and the smell of fresh ink
is in the air.

I found my way to a printer

who specializes in
counterfeit U. S. dollars.

It's like no underworld scene
I've accessed before.

It's so out in the open, that
I'm actually nervous for them.

Wow, this is incredible.
This is amazing.

I mean, we're in
a printing mall.

It's too early,
so all the shops are closed.

So it's this surreal scene where
we walked down these corridors,

and everything was closed

and then suddenly there's
a bright light here,

and they're just
printing fake money.

MARIANA: Printing is
the most daring aspect

of fake note production.

It's loud, it's long,

and it's often done in
public locations like this.

It's also very difficult.

It takes years to learn
the secrets of this trade.

The inks. The paper.
The machine.

The process of forging bills
is equal parts art and science.

Very few have the right
combination of talents.

MARIANA: This is the beginning
of everything they do here.

Every single hundred‐dollar bill
that's done here

starts with this metal plate.

And it's essentially
the watermark.

La, el fantasma?

These plates are made
by coveted designers

and are critical
to the whole operation.

MARIANA: Check this out.

All the bills coming out.

MARIANA: Ah, the second part
is the off‐white color

of every banknote.

MARIANA: Wow. That is crazy.

So the whole process
takes a month and a half.

MARIANA: Holy (bleep),
that's a ton of money.

That is crazy.

They can make $6 million
with a machine

that costs them
$7,000 to buy here.

MARIANA: The later it gets,

the more nervous
the printer becomes.

We can hear other shops opening,
voices echoing down the hallway.

MARIANA: The mood
totally changed,

and they're super nervous,

because you can see
the hundred‐dollar bills here,

the metal plate,

and so they wanna do this
process really fast.

MARIANA: Wow. Check this out.

This is amazing.

(Mariana speaking Spanish)

We've got the watermark,

the background color
of the banknote,

and now Franklin's face.

Yeah, okay.
(man speaking Spanish)

He's hiding everything.

They heard that there's somebody
walking down the corridors.

MARIANA: We have to go.

As we head for our van,

it hits me that what surprised
me most about the printer

is something that also
surprised me about the prisoner.

They were both conflicted
about their decision

to get into counterfeiting,

but both realized that
perfecting their craft

was the best way
to stay in demand.

♪ ♪

MARIANA: Once the bills
come off the printer,

there's still work to be done
to make a convincing fake.

Fernando is able to locate

another of Peru's finest
underworld artisans:

the finisher.

His role is to add texture
and weight to the bills

so they will pass
the touch, look and turn test.

We're driving
to Villa El Salvador

on the south side of Lima.

An area that locals describe
as "picante," meaning hot;

hot with every criminal
enterprise you can imagine.

(barking)

FERNANDO: Because the m*rder
rate is not particularly low.

MARIANA: Is that him?

Just keep the camera up
and rolling.

MARIANA: He's going to show us
the stuff that he just got.

MARIANA: So it's a sponge,
a regular.

MARIANA: Oh, this is for
cutting the notes,

to make a straight cut.

MARIANA: The U. S. spends
millions and millions

of real dollars
to deter counterfeiting,

and these counterfeiters get
around it with school supplies.

In an effort to look
less conspicuous,

we plan to meet back up
in his workshop.

(dog barking)

We sneak in our cameras in bags.

♪ ♪

I wonder if his neighbors
have any idea

what's happening
inside this room.

If they only knew.

MARIANA: My search
for the makers

of the finest counterfeit bills
in the world

has brought me to this
working‐class neighborhood

outside of Lima.

And to this man.

They call him "the finisher,"

and his skills
are in high demand.

MARIANA: It's a painstaking
process all done by hand.

With a popsicle stick he applies
glue for weight and texture.

MARIANA: To get the feel
just right,

he adds what he calls
English cornstarch.

MARIANA: Which
I recognize instantly.

MARIANA: You can really feel
the texture, it's changed.

It's amazing.

He says he also works on
100s and 50s,

but 20s are easier to fake
and much less scrutinized.

With just a few items you can
get at any corner store

and a whole lot of patience,

the touch, sound and smell
of the bills

are totally convincing.

(siren)

FINISHER: No.

MARIANA: It's always
fascinating to me

how people end up working
in black markets.

In many ways, counterfeiting

is just another
crime of opportunity.

A driver by day discovers he has
the extraordinary patience

and craftsmanship
to finish bills by night.

A printer specializing in
calendars and business cards

realizes he can deploy
the same machines and skills

to produce stacks and stacks
of fake bills.

But all the time and work

that goes into making
a convincing fake is worthless

if those bills don't reach
the legal economy.

And that's where
this man comes in.

They call him "the burrier,"

a Peruvian mash‐up formed
from the Spanish word "burro,"

meaning donkey,
and the word "courier."

MARIANA: Counterfeiting networks
know that some portion

of their shipments
will be confiscated.

So, they employ an army of ants
who transport fake bills

into the U. S. by airplane,
by car, by boat, on foot,

they even ship fake bills
through the mail.

But getting these fake bills
into the country isn't enough.

They need to get them
into circulation.

The counterfeiting game is
all about getting change.

AGENT: What you might do is
hit different shopping centers.

Going down a highway corridor,

you could hit malls
on the north side of town

and malls on
the south side of town,

one fast food place,
one convenience store,

you spend, you know, $8, $9,
and then you pay with the 100,

and that means
you're coming back with,

you know, 90‐some dollars
of genuine.

MARIANA: Of real money?
AGENT: Yeah.

AGENT: You could, you know,
pocket a thousand dollars

by the end of the day, and
you're not really doing much.

It's like an ATM
that doesn't belong to you.

MARIANA: When counterfeiters
do get busted,

their stash of fake bills
gets sent to the Secret Service

where they are examined,
catalogued, used in prosecution,

and then destroyed.

Some of these fake bills
are probably from Peru.

Maybe they even passed through
the hands of the guys I met.

MARIANA: But even if
the Lima scene is shut down,

there will be others.

MARIANA: Nadie, nadie.
Nobody's coming.

MARIANA: It's an old con
and an old truth:

If you're desperate enough
to make some money,

one option is
to make some money.