Network linked to Miss Universe owner exposes the weak oversight in Mexico’s private security industry

Exactly one year ago, in December 2024, Jacobo Reyes León and Jorge Alberts Ponce were feeling pleased with themselves. Business was booming. Reyes oversaw a major diesel-smuggling operation across Mexico’s southern border from Guatemala. Alberts managed contracts at the Cuajimalpa mayor’s office in Mexico City and controlled a series of land invasions in the metropolitan area. The two spoke frequently.

Alberts also ran several security companies and had a well-oiled system for acquiring weapons, licenses, and permits to carry them. Reyes often requested weapons or manpower from him, though sometimes it worked the other way around. They felt powerful. On one occasion, Reyes even said in a phone conversation that the one “who had the balls” now was him. If anyone was in charge, he meant, it was him.

Things only got better for both of them. Reyes and Alberts — who are now accused of organized crime as part of a network linked to the owner of Miss Universe, Raúl Rocha Cantú — managed to close several deals before the end of 2024. On December 17, Alberts told Reyes that the Cuajimalpa mayor’s office, then controlled by Carlos Orvañanos, had awarded him “fumigation” contracts. Alberts added that they were also going to give them “cleaning, security, and were looking into what construction projects they could get.” Reyes replied, “we practically own Cuajimalpa.” The month got even better when, four days later, Reyes managed to acquire a Segurimex security franchise, which would be added to the pair’s growing portfolio.

The branch of the network involving companies in this sector operated in parallel with the main — and perhaps even more profitable — scheme focused on fuel theft (known in Mexico as huachicol). In addition to Segurimex, owned by Reyes, Alberts controlled Servicios Terrestres de Seguridad Privada S.A. DE C.V. (SETER), Servicios Especializados de Investigación y Custodia S.A. de C.V., Servicios Integrales Valbon S.A. DE C.V., and Dinámica Seguridad Privada Consultores S.A. DE C.V. These brands operated as a single entity and concealed a weapons-trafficking operation. The corporate network was connected to other businesspeople in the sector and to a group of intermediaries who helped them obtain firearm permits and licenses. According to conversations collected in the investigation, to which EL PAÍS has had access, this group had the ability to open doors in various government agencies, primarily the Secretariat of Defense (SEDENA), which oversees all matters related to firearms in the country.

The machinations of these companies, orchestrated by Alberts, shed light on an otherwise opaque industry. For years, federal and state agencies contracted with companies in this sector, whose activities have been difficult to trace. One example is Cusaem, which during Enrique Peña Nieto’s presidency (2012–2018) obtained contracts with various agencies totaling more than 1 billion pesos ($54.7 million) — a deal that has always been considered suspicious. In one case, Mexico’s now-defunct Federal Police hired its services to guard some of its facilities for three months, paying 801 million pesos ($43.9 million). In a report on that contract, the Superior Audit Office of the Federation concluded that the Federal Police “did not provide proof of the services rendered for which the 801 million pesos were paid.”

On the other hand, public officials with dubious track records — to put it mildly — have also used security companies to conduct business. For example, Hernán Bermúdez, alias Commander H — who was secretary of security in the state of Tabasco from 2018 to 2024 and is now imprisoned for leading a criminal organization, while working with the police — fits this pattern. Years before becoming secretary, Bermúdez, — who reached the post thanks to support of the current Morena party leader in the Senate, Adán Augusto López — created five security companies that secured multimillion-dollar contracts with public agencies, primarily with the Institute for Social Security and Services for State Workers (ISSSTE) delegation in that state.

The security companies involved in the Miss Universe case reveal the inner workings of the business — its dark, allegedly illegal side. In calls transcribed during the investigation, from late 2024 and early 2025, Reyes and Alberts frequently discuss guns that need to be picked up or sent elsewhere, men required for one company or another, a middleman who manufactures cartridges, and how much they charge to rent firearms and licenses. Sometimes, they also speak with third parties, part of their arms trafficking network, to discuss various aspects of the business. For example, in January, a man named “Omar” asks Reyes, “How much does a license cost with you guys?” Reyes replies that carrying a firearm is 11,000 pesos ($600) per month. Omar responds that it’s expensive, and Reyes, the businessman, says he can offer “380, we have submachine guns and handguns.”

Calls like this were common. On January 9, an unidentified man called Alberts and asked: “How much do six guns for a bodyguard cost?” Alberts replied: “The deposit is 23 pesos [$1.30] per gun, the paperwork is 9,000 pesos [$492] per gun, and the monthly fee is 9,500 pesos [$519].” The caller asked about the types of guns, and Alberts answered: “Glocks, Ceskas, Berettas, Tanfoglios, Mexica, and Mendozas.” Eight days later, another man called Alberts and said he “still needs to finalize the gun deal for Juárez.” Alberts replied: “That’s urgent,” and the other man confirmed, “he also needs to get that sorted out next week.”

The part of the chain that handles licenses and other dealings with authorities also appears in the group’s conversations. On January 21, an unidentified person “came out of a meeting with the Secretariat of Defense to resolve some issue with gun licenses.” This person told Alberts by phone that yes, they would help. Alberts asked him to inform them that by 3:00 p.m. there would be cash because he would meet with the lawyers, and that by 4:00 p.m. he would send it with Basurto, his bodyguard. The person agreed and added: “We need to be ready because then you have to pay the fine and their share,” referring to a possible bribe. Alberts asked how much longer it would take to resolve the issue. The other person replied eight to 15 days, so that the operation is done “properly.” Alberts concluded: “Yes, since they’re giving us weapons again.”

One of the key figures in this part of the scheme is “Captain Julián Cortés,” sometimes called just Capi, or Capi Julián. One day in January, for example, Reyes and Alberts were discussing a shipment of weapons coming from Tijuana. Alberts said: “Sixteen weapons are arriving tonight.” Reyes didn’t comment directly on that but replied that “Captain Julián will give him two [weapons], if he gets a CUIP from Valvon or Seter.” By CUIP, Reyes was referring to the Clave Única de Identificación Permanente (Unique Permanent Identification Number), a number assigned by the National Registry of Public Security Personnel. Valvon and Seter are companies involved in the scheme. When Alberts asked who the weapons were for, Reyes responded: “They’re for his buddy who owns the clothing store in Pachuca.”

Earlier, in December, Alberts and Reyes discussed that a businessman in the sector — mentioned dozens of times in the investigation but not yet charged — and Captain Julián “are the ones who sell the weapons.” In another December call, Capi instructed Alberts on how to open more doors at the Secretariat of Defense: “Normally, in December, SEDENA receives gifts from all the clients, and they take advantage of that to build networks.” Everything is said with complete calm, following the logic Reyes himself expressed: he’s the one in charge now. Sometimes the amount of information they readily share over the phone is astonishing.

Although the situation always seems under control, at times they show some fear that something might get out of hand, or worry about the consequences of a weapons or license sale. On January 6, 2024, Reyes called Alberts and asked if he knows “that the Pakistani guy is bringing only weapons from the Gulf Cartel.” The other doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Reyes grew exasperated: “You set it up! [...] They’re the ones working with the Cape,” and told him to search online for “CAPE 25 CARTEL DEL GOLFO” — the alleged code name for the leader of the cartel.

The problem, apparently, was that a collaborator, nicknamed El Loco, who makes R-15 rifle cartridges, was worried about a possible seizure targeting this group. “They all got busted over there, man,” Reyes told Alberts, referring to the seizures in Tamaulipas. Reyes continued: “And your damn licenses went through.” “But from Seter or Seiza?” asked Alberts, questioning whether the weapons came from one of their companies or another. Reyes confirmed that they were from Seter.

There was also troubling information about El Loco. Reyes and one of his subordinates, Daniel Roldán, primarily involved in the fuel-smuggling operation, discussed him in a December conversation. Reyes told Roldán that “El Loco has that thing for making magazines.” He added that he “even makes weapons” and “already has four factories.” Roldán then asked Reyes if he should “give the go-ahead to produce the bullets and magazines, to talk to the SEDENA guy tomorrow.” Reyes replied yes, adding “he has the machines, and mentions that he’s been making about 1,000–1,500 R-15 magazines per week.”

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