The daily battle on the drug front in Ecuador: Criminal groups cooperate with the Albanian mafia and Mexican cartels

In the Ecuadorian city of Durán, teeming with narcotics and rival gangs, police captain Jean Carlos Bustamante knows exactly what awaits him. The danger comes not only from criminals who kill and sometimes dismember rivals, but also from betrayal within the system.

“Within our unit, in the state apparatus and in politics, there are many bad people,” he says. “There are many corrupt ones, paid by the gangs.”

The captain, 34 years old, is the oldest among his carefully selected colleagues, whom he considers the only trustworthy ones. He still moves with the reflexes of a former special forces member.

As night falls, he leads the squad into a poor neighborhood. There, metal grilles cover the windows and the residents don’t speak out of terror. This area is the bastion of a criminal group called Los Aguilas – The Eagles.

Asked what happens if residents dare to speak against the gang, the captain answers curtly: “They kill them. That’s why they never talk.”

The next operation targets an abandoned house where weapons are suspected to be hidden. Armed individuals rarely keep them in their own homes. His heavily armored squad moves along the wall and forces entry using a metal battering ram.

Inside, two pistols were found — one rusted, the other ready for use — as well as ammunition for assault rifles.

The captain is satisfied. “First of all, we are safe. Secondly, the gangs have been deprived of two weapons,” he explains.

However, this remains a modest victory in an endless conflict. He openly admits that criminal groups have “many weapons and far more money than the state.”

He knows the risks by heart, having already lost three close friends in this clash. He himself abandoned fear a long time ago, but his parents have not.

“My mom tells me to be careful because I might die out there. My dad calls me constantly and asks if I’m okay, begs me to say I’m fine,” he recounts.

From the masked alleyways of Durán to the hot spots of London and other capitals, a clear line can be drawn through dollars and shattered lives.

According to President Daniel Noboa, approximately 70% of the cocaine flooding Europe and the United States transits through Ecuador.

The narcotics come from neighboring Colombia and Peru, the two largest producers in the world. Local gangs, strongly linked to Mexican cartels and Albanian mafia groups, run the smuggling by taking advantage of weak border controls, underfunded security forces, and the vast Pacific coastline.

Thus, what was once known as a quiet tourist paradise, in less than ten years turned into a place haunted by murders.

Last year, the murder rate was among the highest in the world, with over 9,200 people killed, according to the Interior Ministry. This despite President Noboa’s harsh crackdowns over the past two years.

Critics say the effects of these actions were the opposite: major bosses were arrested, which led to fragmentation but also multiplication of gangs.

Many residents are now convinced that the battle against these groups can never be won.

Captain Bustamante refuses to give up. During another operation, he lies in wait, observing alleyways from above with a drone. He spots three figures loitering near a playground: “micro-traffickers” caught red-handed, as he declares. They are at the bottom of the criminal chain, selling minimal quantities, not kilograms.

Very quickly, the captain goes with his team to the suspects’ apartment. The door is battered again and within moments, the police are in the kitchen. A middle-aged woman protests, while a young girl bursts into tears.

Without electricity, the officers move through rooms with flashlights, open closets and lift mattresses. On the upper floor, they discover a hiding place behind a window. One suspect comes out and is stopped, two are handcuffed in another room. All deny the charges.

A little further, the captain discovers paper packets marked with the letter “H” hidden in a vase. They contain a mixture of addictive substances, with traces of heroin, sold by local traffickers for 1 dollar each.

One of those arrested is charged and, if found guilty, faces five years in prison. The other two are released by prosecutors. Senior officials say this happens often and blame corruption in the judicial and prosecutorial system.

Colonel Santiago Gavilanes, deputy commander of the Durán police, says: “We imprison them and they release them. We know this because during other raids we catch them again. Some of them, released, kill and create orphans.” He adds that gangs have huge sums of money to “buy laws, judges and politicians.”

An example of their purchasing power comes from another officer, at a location we cannot reveal for his safety. He says he was contacted twice with the offer of a bribe so large that “he could retire immediately,” but he refused.

Someone, perhaps a colleague, had informed the gang of every detail about his work. “You never know who is watching you,” he said, a phrase we heard often during our stay in Durán.

On the playground, after another long day in a bulletproof vest, the captain admits he feels exhausted, but “this is my job. I believe we can win this war. We must.”

As we talk, it is reported that one of the main leaders of the local gang has been spotted nearby. “We know he controls the traffickers, but without traces or evidence, we have no grounds to arrest him,” he clarifies.

Nevertheless, the local police insist they are making changes. According to them, the number of murders in Durán was halved in the first six months of this year.

They add that progress is also seen in streets that are no longer empty after seven in the evening, and in the fact that bodies with severed heads or dismembered limbs are no longer found.

“We have managed to keep the gangs contained,” says Colonel Gavilanes. “Regaining full control will be a medium-term task.”

In another scene, it appears the criminals keep the police in check. Through a contact, we met a local gang on their territory, about an hour from the city. Their leader, whom we will call Jonathan, told us he had four officers on his payroll.

“Whenever there’s going to be an operation, they tip me off by phone,” he said. “They tell me to hide things and leave. So when they arrive, they find nothing.” These early warnings cost him about 1,500 to 2,000 dollars a month.

Jonathan is 37 years old, only a few years older than Bustamante, but circumstances have placed him on the other side of the barricades. He recounts that he joined a gang at the age of 18 to secure food.

Together with others, all faces covered, they strolled openly in the middle of the day with weapons in hand, including a semi-automatic rifle and pistols. The youngest member there was a frail 17-year-old, equipped with a bulletproof vest and a machete sheath.

The conversation with Jonathan took place in a small room of a simple house, with his henchmen crowded inside. The space was almost entirely taken up by a bed.

He admitted without hesitation that he was both a trafficker and a killer. When I asked how many lives he had taken, the answer was precise and cold: “So far, maybe six, maybe eight. I don’t remember exactly.” He said it while holding the pistol in his lap, with the barrel pointed at me.

Jonathan claims the gang does not touch innocent civilians, only rivals who try to displace them. “They want to force their way in, coming in killing people, and we fight back. What matters now is to eliminate the other gang,” he said.

As we spoke, local residents, including children, had gathered near the door, but he didn’t see it as a problem. According to data from human rights activists in Ecuador, boys are recruited into the world of crime as early as 12 years old, and by age 15 they can become hitmen for hire.

Jonathan offered no apology for giving weapons to teenagers or for selling cocaine in the neighborhood he claims to protect. He is convinced that drug trafficking is unbreakable.

“I think this business will never end,” he declared. “If they shut us down, another gang emerges, and if they shut that one down, still another comes out.”

He awaits death the way he has lived: with a weapon in hand. “Death is paid with death. But if they come to kill me, I won’t make it easy for them,” he said.

Two nights later, in Durán, we witnessed how gangs settle scores among themselves. A man’s body was visible in the flashing police lights, lying where he had fallen near a motorcycle. Shell casings still covered the ground. Neighbors watched, most in silence.

A man and a woman were hugging and crying — family members of the victim.

Police suspected a retaliatory attack between rival gangs. The forensic team lifted the corpse onto a stretcher and placed it in the refrigerated van, where another body already lay — the violent cycle repeated once again.

A witness agreed to speak, but only on condition of anonymity. “He already had a bullet in his back from before. When he fell, they shot him in the head. They hit him six times, two people on a motorcycle,” he recounted.

“Now we’re used to it, because it happens every day. You could go out and catch a stray bullet. You can’t even go out to talk with friends or family, because someone might shoot you,” he added.

He does not expect the president’s war on gangs to bring any change. “Criminals are like shadows, they appear wherever they want,” he whispered.

Then he disappeared, melting into the warm night air.