Part 21 (2/2)

We were in my room at the Karachi Sheraton. Malik had come over to the hotel as soon as he had arrived in Karachi and heard about the c.o.c.k-up.

'Is everything okay with the consignment?'

'Of course, D. H. Marks. It is now all in my warehouse in the city. Packaging and smell-proofing is now beginning. It will not take long. By tomorrow we are finished. Do you have date to send?'

'Yes. As soon as possible. Any day is fine with us. $500,000 has been given to your man in BCCI.'

'I know, D. H. Marks. I have been given notification.'

'And, Malik, I'm sure you know I also have $500,000 cash with me.'

'I do not want this until you have seen consignment and paperwork. I am sure we can send on Monday, February 6th, in three days' time. The day after tomorrow, please come to make your inspection. Please, D. H. Marks, stay in this hotel room until then. Karachi is dangerous place. Unforeseen may happen. We must always bear in mind unforeseen. American and European Emba.s.sies all have drug investigators on their staff. They wander around city trying to work things out.'

'Are there any DEA agents based here, Malik?'

'Only one. Harlan Lee Bowe.'

I remembered his name from the prosecution papers relating to the 1973 rock-group scam.

'Any British Customs Officers?'

'Again, only one. Michael John Stephenson.'

Stephenson! I'd badly embarra.s.sed him at my Old Bailey trial. G.o.d, he'd love to bust me out here.

'I'll stay in, Malik. I'll watch TV and read. Just come and get me for the inspection. I'll be all right. Here's some books on English schools and universities for you.'

'Here is small piece of your has.h.i.+sh for you, D. H. Marks. I know you would like to smoke. I, too, smoke sometimes.'

I read about the paper industry. It wasn't very exciting, but I filled my head with the jargon. There was a video channel on the hotel television. It showed Western films with Urdu subt.i.tles. Any kissing or exposure of the female body had been brutally censored. For good measure, a few minutes each side of any offending footage had also been removed, and it was impossible to work out what was going on. I smoked my way through the piece of has.h.i.+sh Malik had left. That made following the plot a lot easier.

After an uneventful forty-eight hours, Malik and Aftab turned up at my room. Their car was outside. Aftab carried my suitcase of money, and we drove off into Karachi's slums. We drove to a large stone warehouse, and the double doors were opened by two grim-faced guards. Inside was a central area circled by several separate rooms. This was a hive of quiet activity. About twenty people, each looking like a cross between Ya.s.ser Arafat and Genghis Khan, were carting around large metal containers, buckets of grease, cans of petrol, and welding equipment. A few just sat and stared. In the corner were four large piles of cardboard boxes. Each box had been professionally banded and stencilled with AT&T's address in New York. Each had a label, in both j.a.panese and English, proclaiming its origin to be Tokyo. Malik had done an excellent job. He went through the process with me.

Each 500-gram rectangular slab of has.h.i.+sh was put into a sealed plastic bag. The plastic bags were taken to a separate room, washed with petrol, and left for several hours. A new set of workers whose hands had not touched has.h.i.+sh took the plastic bags into another room and placed them into metal tins. Lids were welded on to the tins, which were taken to another room and washed with petrol. Waiting in yet another room were slightly larger tins containing a few inches of warm fat. The smaller sealed tins were put into the larger tins and more fat poured in to the brim. The larger tin was welded tight and placed into the cardboard box. The consignment was now ready to take to the airport storage, where its smell-proofness would be given the final test by Malik's cop with the dogs.

'D. H. Marks, here is your copy of the air waybill.'

'This is fantastic, Malik. Thank you.'

'It was my duty.'

Back at the Sheraton, I memorised the air waybill number and destroyed the air waybill. Malik had given me a first-cla.s.s ticket for a Swissair flight to Zurich. After the PIA flight carrying our hash to New York, it was the next flight to leave Karachi for Europe. Once Malik telephoned me with the news that our consignment had left, I would check out and go to the airport. I would telephone Ernie via LAPD from Zurich. Once I knew the consignment was in Ernie's hands, I would telex Malik stating that good second-hand papermill equipment was available.

Karachi and Zurich airports provided no worrying incidents. At the hotel information desk I booked a room at the Carlton-Elite hotel just off Bahnhofstra.s.se. From the PTT office in the arrivals hall, I telephoned Ernie and gave him the air waybill number and the phone number of the Carlton-Elite. I telephoned Phil at Bangkok. He told me that Judy and the children had just left him for London, and that the sea-freight would take about a month to organise.

I checked into the hotel. Again there was a video channel, this time without censors.h.i.+p. I watched some films. I walked around the streets of Zurich, calling back at the hotel at least every two hours. I was restless and impatient for news of whether or not the five-ton Pakistani air-freight scam had worked. I waited and waited for Ernie's call. Finally, he rang.

'Get the champagne out. We've got it. It's all ours.'

I lay on the bed and went to sleep. I felt very relaxed. The scam had worked. I had made a lot of money.

Or so I thought.

I flew back to London late the next day after telexing Malik the good news. Judy had been back a night.

'Well, we're rich again, love,' I said.

'I think there's been a problem, Howard. Ernie called. He didn't sound too good.'

I went out to the telephone box in Fulham Road and called LAPD.

'That you, buddy?' It was Flash.

'Yeah, Flash. Can I talk to our friend?'

'Rather you than me, buddy. Putting you through right now.'

Ernie sounded as if he was dead. His voice was an almost inaudible whisper.

'It didn't make it.'

'What do you mean! You told me you got it. I've told everyone it's got through.'

'Well, it didn't. Tom said it could never have been sent.'

'This was Tom's thing, Ernie?'

'Well, it was Carl's connection, really.'

'Who is Carl?'

'Tom's boss.'

'I thought you were Tom's boss, Ernie.'

'Yeah, me too. I'm kinda tired. Here's Carl.'

A cold Germanic voice came down the line.

'Howard, you've never met me, but I did you one h.e.l.l of a favour when you were in prison in London. I got you your freedom. You owe me.'

'Thank you, Carl. You got paid, I presume.'

'That's irrelevant. Howard, did you see this put on the plane yourself? Did you see the plane being loaded?'

'No. Did you see it being unloaded?'

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