Mr Nice_ An Autobiography Part 22

'That's irrelevant. My people are 100%. Your guy in Pakistan owes us $1,500,000. And we've had some expenses. Give me the guy's name and address. I'll get the money back.'

'Carl, put Ernie back on.'

'He's asleep.'

'I'll call later.'

What the h.e.l.l could I tell Malik? There was no doubt in my mind that whatever had gone wrong was not Malik's fault. The load had been ripped off in New York. Either Carl was ripping it off, or he had been ripped off by his 100% people.

I had to let Malik know immediately. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to him, but the paper-mill jargon wouldn't convey this news by telex. I thought of Aftab quizzically staring at a telex message stating 'second-hand equipment disappeared'. I would have to telephone. This was an emergency.

'Malik, give me a good time to call you back. I have to talk to you.'

'Now is good time.'

'The consignment has been lost.'

'So be it. These matters are in the hands of Allah. We can only do our best.'

'The Americans say you never sent it.'

'D. H. Marks, I do not care what American pigs say. If you think there is monkey business on my side, make your own investigation. If you conclude I am at fault, I will pay you back money and give you gun with bullet to shoot me. You are still my guest here in Pakistan whenever you want.'

Telling Malik the bad news had turned out to be a lot easier than I had thought.

Ernie rang. He sounded slightly stronger. I called him back from a cardphone box.

'You know what you do when you fall off your bike?'

'No, I've never ridden one,' I answered.

'You get right back on it. Let's go with Malik again.'

'You don't think he ripped you off?'

'I'm pretty sure he didn't. I can't figure out whether Tom and Carl did or not, but they won't be involved with this one. This one involves Bill, you know, the guy you met in the Mandarin.'

Ernie explained that his next scam would be a simple one. The instructions and money for execution of the scam would be brought personally by Bill to Karachi in a month's time, provided Malik could ensure he wouldn't be stopped on entry.

There were affairs to attend to in England. I met Mickey Williams. He gave me 50,000. I kept it. I needed cash in London. I'd pay Phil what he needed for the Dutch air-freight scam out of my own money in Hong Kong. John Denbigh, Jarvis, and the mad Major Poc.o.c.k were keeping Drinkbridge's wine business flourishing, and West End Secretarial Services was attracting more and more clients. I laundered chunks of cash through each of the businesses to bring them up to scratch and paid professional researchers to build up a library of information on paper-mills, secondhand equipment, Pakistan, water, and tankers.

I went to see Balendo and Orca at Hong Kong International Travel Centre and paid them the several thousand pounds I owed. I told them about the availability of cheap PIA tickets and support, generally, in Pakistan. I offered to promote their travel agency as much as possible in my travels and look for deals such as this one with PIA. I would try to get as many people as possible to book through them. Balendo said he would like to make me Hong Kong International's official Far East representative and give me commission for any airline ticket sales I put his way. I could get as many tickets as I wanted on credit for me or anyone I nominated. He would print me an appropriate business name-card. I had the front I wanted.

David Leigh had almost finished writing the book about me. I read what he'd written. It was obvious he was running out of steam as well as out of time and s.p.a.ce. The first thirty years of my life had been accorded far too much detail, and patently faked dialogues jarred and annoyed me. The last, and what I thought the most interesting, part of my life was getting hurriedly skimmed over. I wanted the t.i.tle to be Thank You for Smoking Thank You for Smoking. David wouldn't go for it. It would be called High Time High Time.

Partly to promote the book and partly because I fancied the publicity anyway, I gave my first-ever press interview. It was conducted by my old Oxford friend David Jenkins and formed the basis of a piece he wrote about me in the March 1984 issue of Tatler Tatler. David and I, both equally devoted to Welsh rugby, the Rolling Stones, and getting totally out of it on good hashish, had enjoyed each other's company on many occasions. The article portrayed me as a nice, wicked stoner with brains and bottle. It mentioned my intentions to export Welsh water by the tanker-load and the Inland Revenue's current a.s.sessment of my tax debt to them, 1,500,000.

Although Stanley Rosenthal was skilfully keeping the Inland Revenue at bay, the Treasury's debt collectors were still convinced that I was far from skint and had loads of money stashed away. They were obviously prepared to come down from demanding 1,500,000 but were certainly not going to settle for just a cut of the 30,000 I'd managed to screw out of Her Majesty's Customs and Excise. In the end they accepted that I hadn't made any money smuggling dope and settled for a final payment of a further 40,000, payable by the end of the year. I would not be able to pay them with cash or hash. I would have to mortgage the Chelsea flat.

March saw me back in Hong Kong attending Hobbs's wedding with Selena. I was the best man. One of Hobbs's friends was ready to marry April. Hobbs went back to Bangkok for his honeymoon. His wife spent hers on the game in Bottoms Up.

Phil arrived with the paperwork for the sea-freight scam to Long Beach. The container had left Singapore. Withdrawing what was needed from Credit Suisse and the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank, I gave him the promised $100,000 and a further $75,000 for Mickey's air-freight scam. This would leave in a week. I would come to Bangkok to pick up the air waybill.

Bill would be in Karachi in two days. I had to get there before him.

There were the inevitable post-mortems on the missing five-ton PIA load when I arrived in Karachi from Hong Kong, but Malik remained understanding. I gave him lists of second-hand paper-mill equipment that was available for sale in Britain. I gave him Bill's flight particulars. Malik would arrange a trouble-free arrival.

In a Sheraton chauffeur-driven car, I went to the airport to meet Bill.

'I gotta hand it to you, buddy. You got this place straightened out. I was the only guy Customs didn't tear apart. Now listen to this. In this bag is ...'

'Wait till we're alone, Bill,' I whispered.

'You mean this rag-head understands English?'

'Most Pakistanis do, Bill.'

'That's a new one. I thought they spoke some kinda Indian. I guess we're going to the Sheraton.'

'I'm booked in there, Bill, so perhaps you'd prefer to stay at the Hilton.'

'No, I can only stay in the Sheraton while I'm here doing the kind of work I'm doing. I'll explain later.'

At his room in the Sheraton, Bill took out a bottle of smuggled Jack Daniels. He continued what he was saying in the car.

'In this bag is $300,000. How much dope will that buy me?'

'It depends what you want done with it, Bill sent by sea-freight, put in suitcases, whatever.'

'I don't want anyone to send it out. I'm sending it out via the United States Emba.s.sy in Islamabad. This is US Government business.'

'You mean you just want a pile of dope? You'll take it over from there on?'

'Well, I'll need a bit of help because I won't actually be here to do everything. But I'll set the whole deal up.'

'What exactly will you want done, Bill?'

'The dope has to be put into specially constructed wooden crates. I have the dimensions here. Then the crates have to be taken to the American President Line in Karachi docks. The United States Government will then ship the whole works to the United States naval base in Alameda, California. The crates have to be delivered to the American President Line by you personally. We can't let these dope-dealing rag-heads know what's going on.'

'Okay.'

'Howard, you know I'm a CIA agent, right?'

'The possibility had occurred to me.'

'The US Government has a number of secret bases, spy networks, and equipment scattered throughout Pakistan. Occasionally, we have to send equipment back in such a way that no one knows what the f.u.c.k we are doing. I have clearance to send spy-helicopter parts back from here by ship on the American President Line. I'm given a lot of room to manoeuvre. No one can open this in Alameda except me. I cheat a bit. Like now I'm going to send some dope. I have friends in Washington who are sympathetic to whichever of these rag-heads over here are anti-Communist. They ain't gonna mind if I do a dope deal and get the rag-heads some money. The CIA own the American President Line. Once the dope is on there, it's mine.'

'So I drop a couple of wooden crates at the American President Line, let you know, and you take it from there.'

'Well, kinda, but I won't be here on the spot. Here's what you do. Even though everyone calls you Howard, your first name is Dennis, right?'

'Yes.'

'What I've noticed with these rag-heads is they use their last name like we use our first. So for security's sake, when you ring up the US Emba.s.sy in Islamabad, say you're Mr Dennis from Special Missions.'

'I've got to ring up the US Emba.s.sy?'

'Sure. Call them from here. The CIA owns the Sheraton. That's why I stay here. The Emba.s.sy will be expecting your call. Once you've packed the dope, call them. Tell them you have Fred Hilliard's consignment ready and ask what date they want it at American President Line. Take it there on the date they tell you to. That's it. So how much dope can you get for $300,000?'

'There are going to be other costs like transportation within Karachi and packaging. These guys have to be paid good money when they handle dope in this town. I'll let you know tomorrow. Are you Fred Hilliard?'

'No, he's my buddy in Washington. He sorts things out in the naval station in Alameda. He's done this kinda s.h.i.t lots of times before.'

'Did Ernie tell you who's getting what out of this?'

'You get 15%, Howard, and Malik gets 25%. We pay all upfront costs out of that $300,000. Take this money to your room.'

'This is easy job, D. H. Marks. We will do, inshallah inshallah. But what is this spy plane bulls.h.i.t? These Americans are crazy peoples.'

'How much can you send for this money, Malik?' I asked.

'Inshallah, I will send two thousand kilos. Give me specifications of crates. We will have whole thing ready in few days.'

'Okay. I have to make a quick trip to Bangkok in the meantime.'

'I will get you first-cla.s.s return ticket on Thai International Airlines.'

Leaving Bill in Karachi, I went to Bangkok to pick up the air waybill for the load to Mickey Williams's friends in Holland. Mickey needed the whole doc.u.ment, not just its number. I gave it to Hobbs to take back to London and give to Mickey. I wondered how he'd react to picking up such a vital piece of information from a so-called nonce.

Back in Karachi, Bill had suddenly left without explanation. Malik had packed two thousand kilos of the same good Pakistani hash into the weirdly shaped crates. A Mazda pickup truck had been purchased. The crates were sitting on the truck. It was ready to go.

I called the United States Emba.s.sy in Islamabad. They were not expecting a call from Mr Dennis of Special Missions. They had not heard of Fred Hilliard. They had no idea what I was talking about. I tried again the next day with the same result.

I was stuck. Ernie and I never called each other if I was in places like Karachi or Bangkok. It was a golden rule. I had to get out of town.

Instructing Malik to hold everything until I got back, I took the next flight out. It was Alitalia, and it went to Rome. I called Ernie. He had no idea what had happened to Bill. He would try to find out. There was no answer from Mickey Williams's number. I rang some other numbers. Judy and the children were in Mallorca house-hunting. I caught an Iberia flight from Rome to Palma.

Judy had found a cheap, beautiful old house in La Vileta, a village almost swallowed up by Palma. It needed a lot of attention, but we decided to buy it. In the meantime, Judy had rented a small furnished flat in the Bonanova area of Palma. There was no phone. One would be installed soon. I called Mickey Williams.

'Sweet as a nut, H, me old son. We got it all. In a couple of days you can have it to sell in London.'

At long last, a drug scam had actually worked!

I flew Air Europe to Gatwick and met Mickey Williams at the Warwick Castle in Maida Vale.

'Half of it is in the car outside, H. Here's the keys. The car's down to no one. If you get pulled, it's on you. When you've done with the car, park it back near where it is now. Give me a call when you've got my money, and I'll give you the other half of the gear.'

I called Jarvis. He came round and took the car away.

I telephoned Phil in Bangkok and gave him the good news.

Two days later Jarvis brought the money from the sales of the Thai gra.s.s. I gave most of it to Mickey to pay him off and took delivery from him of the rest of the Thai.

I telephoned Ernie. Bill was back in Karachi. Everything had been sorted out. I was to go back there immediately.

I had gone through pa.s.sport control at Heathrow's Terminal 3 and was about to enter the pre-boarding room for PIA's flight to Karachi when I was stopped by a plain-clothes policeman.

'We're just having a word with people going out East, sir. Is Karachi your destination or somewhere else in Pakistan?'

'I'm meeting someone in Karachi.'

'A business meeting, sir?'

'Yes.'

'May I ask what is your business, sir?'

'I sell water.'

'Water?'

'Yes, water. Welsh water, actually.'

'Big demand for that in Pakistan, is there, sir?'

'Not that I'm aware of. But there's a demand for it in nearby Saudi Arabia, and I am meeting Sheikh Abdularaman A. Alraji in the Karachi Sheraton. The Sheikh has several businesses in Pakistan. I usually meet him there.'

'May I see your pa.s.sport, sir? Mr Marks, I see you have visited Karachi quite a few times in recent weeks. Bangkok, too. The Sheikh likes to meet you there as well?'

'The company I work for is based in Hong Kong. Flights from Hong Kong to Karachi usually transit through Bangkok. I often take advantage of the opportunity to stay a couple of days in Thailand.'

'Thank you, Mr Marks. Enjoy your flight. Sell plenty of water.'

I didn't know it at the time, but I had been recognised and questioned by one of Her Majesty's Customs and Excise Investigative Branch Officers. He got on to their man in Pakistan, Michael Stephenson. Stephenson told Harlan Lee Bowe, the DEA's man in Pakistan, that a big-time British dope smuggler was about to arrive in Karachi. Bowe remembered my name from the 1973 rock-group scam. Unknown to me, they were watching me arrive at Karachi airport. Stephenson wanted my blood. Bowe didn't mind helping him.

I checked into the Karachi Sheraton. Bill had disappeared again. I called up the US Emba.s.sy in Islamabad.

'Good morning. This is Mr Dennis from Special Missions,' I said, convincingly.

'Good day, Mr Dennis. We've been told to expect your call. I'll put you through to the department concerned.'

Good. Bill had got things together.

A gravelly voice came on the line.

'Mr Dennis, we are still in the process of paperwork preparation. I don't have to tell you it's a delicate matter. Would you please call us on a weekly basis until we are ready?'

'Sure.'