Original subtitles

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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 war 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 gang

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 murder 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.

Captioned by Side Door Media Services