Jacob Diaz

Once the duallys were safely on American soil, the drivers delivered them to Guerrero's ranch near McAllen.

He then transported the kilos to Houston for distribution.

Days after the spring 2005 semester ended, the DEA raided several of Ole's associates' houses, several of whom were arrested and four kilos of the cartel's product was seized.

It wasn't safe for Ole in the U.S.

He needed to return to Mexico.

Diaz drove him to Laredo, Texas, and crossed into Mexico through the Nuevo Laredo border crossing.

Then they shot down to Alto Merano, Tierra Caliente, in the state of Guarico.

It's a small dirt road town made up of small manufacturing plants and warehouses.

Ole introduced Diaz to his sister, brother-in-law, and his nieces and nephews, as his hijo, or son.

In turn, Diaz started calling Ole his tío or uncle.

Ole let everyone know that Diaz was familia or family.

Everyone loved Ole, says Diaz.

He was a successful narco-trafficker, a frowned-upon occupation in Mexico, but tolerated, and he was quickly making a name for himself.

He was a big fish in a small town.

The large yellow school bus, a Bluebird GMC CV200, idled outside an elementary school in Corpus Christi, Texas.

It was 8 a.m.

on a weekday in late spring, and the children, a group of special needs students, excitedly boarded the bus for a field trip to the Houston Zoo.

The driver, a chunky Mexican sporting a gold tooth, smiled and greeted the kids as well as the chaperones.

Patiently, he answered their questions, and they were off to the zoo.

Typically, the driver would have never tolerated a busload of screaming children.