Mr Nice_ An Autobiography Part 35

I was thrilled. I wrote excitedly to my children and my parents. No more visits through gla.s.s. The tide was beginning to turn.

Well, it was trying to, but the elation was short-lived. Just before Christmas, Gustavo came to see me. In an unprecedented and deeply suspect move, the judges appointed to hear our extradition had all been replaced. Gustavo's friend was no longer on the panel of three. The head judge would now be Orbe y Fernandez Losada, a strongly pro-American look-alike to General Francisco Franco, whose daughter had lost her life through a drug overdose. We couldn't have been landed with anyone worse. Gustavo explained that Judy should still get bail, but he had lost much of his confidence. He suspected that the Americans were somehow behind the appointment of Judge Orbe y Fernandez Losada.

Judy's bail was denied. She and the children would not be able to share Christmas together. Deep sadness threatened again, but instead I was besieged by furious anger, the like of which I'd never experienced. I could understand the DEA wanting to give me a hard time: I had decided to pit my wits against them, and I was fair game. But why do this to my children and to my wife, whose only crime was to be mine? Why is the DEA so s.a.d.i.s.tic and inhuman? How can they happily and deliberately cause innocents to suffer? In the name of what? I must always remember that the DEA are evil. They began as President Nixon's Mafia, in many cases not even agreeing with the crazy drug laws they so zealously enforced. But these laws gave them, and continue to give them, the excuse to be cruel and powerful bullies. Lock up the women and make them cry. Make the little children scream.

The DEA can't be forgiven for this. They know what they're doing. I hate them. I'll fight them until I f.u.c.king die.

My children came to visit me. I could touch them, hug them, and kiss them. They seemed to be holding up so well and displaying such resilience. They gave me strength. Masha and her boyfriend, Nigel, were with them. There was something strange in Nigel's eyes. Something wasn't right. Maybe he was just unhealthily stoned or tired.

I was out of Articulo 10 and housed in a clean cell in a normal cell block. There was a view of fields and mountains and fences and gun towers. Daylight poured through, and there was a light to use at night. I knew no one, but many of the prisoners and funcionarios funcionarios had heard of me, and I quickly made friends. There was plenty of hashish. Personal possessions of all kinds were permitted. Each day I'd spend a few hours walking in the had heard of me, and I quickly made friends. There was plenty of hashish. Personal possessions of all kinds were permitted. Each day I'd spend a few hours walking in the patio patio, improving my breathing and my Spanish. Most of the time I spent doing yoga and examining the ten thousand pages of evidence from Miami. Marcus and Gustavo came to see me frequently. These visits were always through gla.s.s. Once Gustavo came accompanied by someone I'd not met.

'Howard, this is the lawyer of Roger Reaves. This visit of ours gives you and Roger the opportunity to talk to each other. He will be here any second.'

Roger ran up to me.

'Boy, I wanna snitch on you. Do you mind if I snitch on you? I'm sorry to come out with it just like that. Lord! I'm sorry, Howard. It's so good to see you. Man! You look healthy. Thank the Lord. How's Judy and the kids? I think Marie's going out with another fella.'

'Everything's okay, I guess, Roger, but Judy didn't get bail.'

'She didn't! Man, those sons of b.i.t.c.hes ought to meet their Lord.'

'What's this about snitching?'

'Here, let me explain to you. I'm going to tell you right now. I'm going to be extradited to Germany before the US can put a finger on me. Thank the Lord. It's true. Ask my lawyer. That's good for me. I've been talking to some Germans here in my cell block and once I'm convicted there, provided I plead guilty and get a light sentence, I get put into a prison that's real easy, I mean real easy, to escape from.'

'So why do you need to snitch on me?'

'To get a light sentence. I'll snitch on McCann too. I'd like to do that. You could do the same deal, Howard. Get extradited to Germany, and snitch on me and McCann. We could escape together and go to South Africa to grow pot. Then we could sail it to Canada. Forget the US. I have good buddies in Canada. We'd get a good price. That's for sure.'

'But I didn't really do anything in that scam, not that concerns Germany, anyway. I haven't been charged by the Germans.'

'You will be once I snitch on you.'

I burst out laughing.

'Okay, Roger, snitch on me, but only if none of my other plans work.'

'What! You have a plan to escape from here! Funnily enough, I've been thinking the same thing. Ain't that something? We need to get some jewellers' string, that stuff which cuts through bars. I asked Marie to put one in the next food parcel. I don't know if she will. She's weird these days.'

'I was thinking of my plans to beat extradition in court, not escape.'

'You won't beat it, Howard. Not the US. You have to deal with them. Make them think you're giving them something. Then they give you something. That's the way it goes. The Feds don't lose. They get whomever they want. Believe me.'

Gustavo, who was unashamedly listening to all this conversation, interrupted.

'Mr Reaves is wrong, Howard. The Americans do not always succeed in extraditing who they want. They did not get Ochoa. They will not get you. And (this is good news for you, Howard, I know) they will not get Balendo Lo. I have just called Bernard Simons. A partner in his firm represents Mr Lo. The British authorities have refused to extradite Mr Lo. Today, Mr Lo is a free man.'

'That's great news, Gustavo. Is it for sure?'

'Bernard himself told me. Bernard is, of course, only too glad to testify for you at the extradition hearing.'

'I still think the Feds will get him,' said Roger. 'They always do.'

Gustavo indicated he wanted to see me privately. Roger and his lawyer went their separate ways.

'The Audiencia Nacional have agreed to allow you and Judy to have a conjugal visit. She will be brought to this prison at the beginning of next month. She will stay two hours.'

Every Monday at about 11 a.m., a prison van brings five or six female prisoners from Centro Penitenciario de Yeserias to Alcala-Meco to meet their incarcerated husbands and boyfriends. The males patiently wait in a holding cell, clutching a pair of freshly laundered sheets, a pack of prison-issue condoms, and a thermos flask. Each couple is taken to a bedroom and left to their own devices. Judy looked well and wonderful. The cancer of despair had gone, and her humour had returned. She seemed fairly optimistic about her chances of beating extradition, and daily life in Yeserias had been made more bearable by her having made a couple of good friends. Marcus's visits were keeping her in touch, as well as providing her with what comforts were allowed. Much was discussed but little decided. We made love. It was amazing. Just as well. It was going to have to last for several years.

Gustavo came to see me the same evening. I was still full of my visit with Judy and didn't notice his glum demeanour at first.

'We might have to try completely different tactics, Howard.'

'Why? What's happened?'

'The accion popular accion popular has been denied. It is possible to appeal, of course, and I have asked my friend to do so, but no one understands how the court could have ruled against us. During the proceedings it emerged that the DEA had formally complained about the way you were manipulating the Spanish press for your own ends. The Audiencia Nacional responded by making an order preventing you from being interviewed by journalists. So much for the freedom of the press. has been denied. It is possible to appeal, of course, and I have asked my friend to do so, but no one understands how the court could have ruled against us. During the proceedings it emerged that the DEA had formally complained about the way you were manipulating the Spanish press for your own ends. The Audiencia Nacional responded by making an order preventing you from being interviewed by journalists. So much for the freedom of the press.

'As if that isn't enough, the Audiencia Nacional have refused to allow Professor Lynch, the RICO expert, to address them at our extradition hearing and are not permitting Bernie Simons to testify that you have already served a sentence for one of the charges. The Audiencia Nacional have even refused my most harmless and reasonable request to have a stenographer present to transcribe the proceedings at our expense. We are appealing, but the situation is quite outrageous. You are not being given the protection of the extradition law of this land. I have never heard of such a thing before in all my years of practising law in Spain.'

'That means I've had it, Gustavo. I'm going to be extradited, aren't I? And Judy. There's nothing else to do.'

'Howard, as I've said all along, Judy's case is very different from yours. These court rulings do not significantly affect her position. And you must not lose hope. We still have much we can try.'

'Like what?'

'We must initiate an antijuicio antijuicio. This is a formal denunciation of the judges who have denied your const.i.tutional rights by not allowing you to present evidence to dismiss the extradition warrant and by not protecting you from being questioned by the DEA in their own courtroom last November. Once you commence the antijuicio antijuicio, provided it's not frivolous (and this certainly isn't), the court is legally bound to call its proceedings to a halt. Eventually, the higher courts at least will rule that you must have your const.i.tutional rights and be allowed to present your case against being extradited. It will take time, but in the meantime you cannot be extradited, and if we can keep the courts tied up until two years after your arrest, you will be set free anyway.'

'It sounds good, Gustavo, I agree. Is it bound to work?'

'No. There is a chance that the antijuicio antijuicio won't be looked at by the courts in time. If that happens, you must publicly refuse to recognise the jurisdiction of the court. This will give you another avenue of appeal against any decision of the Audiencia Nacional to extradite you. Please don't worry, Howard. We will win. But I must admit, there's an awful lot of pressure from the Americans, and they are corrupting our justice system. It won't be easy.' won't be looked at by the courts in time. If that happens, you must publicly refuse to recognise the jurisdiction of the court. This will give you another avenue of appeal against any decision of the Audiencia Nacional to extradite you. Please don't worry, Howard. We will win. But I must admit, there's an awful lot of pressure from the Americans, and they are corrupting our justice system. It won't be easy.'

'Why doesn't Spain have the b.a.l.l.s to stand up to the Americans?'

'It's not just Spain, Howard. I am leaving some papers with you, and you will see what has happened in Pakistan, the Philippines, Holland, and your own country. The Americans are having it all their own way in this case. No country has the b.a.l.l.s to stand up to them. But don't lose hope. We will do whatever has to be done.

'I will probably not see you again until the extradition hearing, which takes place at the Audiencia Nacional in one week. Remember not to recognise the court's authority to deal with you. Oh, by the way, the Audiencia Nacional has ordered Roger to be extradited to Germany.'

Gustavo was right. The Americans were really throwing their weight around. The Sunday Times Sunday Times reported that Ben.a.z.ir Bhutto, Pakistan's newly elected prime minister, had explained the country's problems as a legacy of the previous Zia ul-Haq regime's tolerance and encouragement of drug trafficking. The United States was considering giving Bhutto a $4.02 billion aid package. Robert Oakley, the United States Amba.s.sador to Pakistan, met Ben.a.z.ir Bhutto and emphasised America's desire to put Salim Malik on trial. America wanted him to be the first man ever extradited from Pakistan to the United States. Ben.a.z.ir knew the deal: no Malik, no aid. In a shameful abandonment of its justice system, Pakistan agreed to give up Malik. Those DEA megalomaniacs Harlan Lee Bowe and Craig Lovato had got their own way. reported that Ben.a.z.ir Bhutto, Pakistan's newly elected prime minister, had explained the country's problems as a legacy of the previous Zia ul-Haq regime's tolerance and encouragement of drug trafficking. The United States was considering giving Bhutto a $4.02 billion aid package. Robert Oakley, the United States Amba.s.sador to Pakistan, met Ben.a.z.ir Bhutto and emphasised America's desire to put Salim Malik on trial. America wanted him to be the first man ever extradited from Pakistan to the United States. Ben.a.z.ir knew the deal: no Malik, no aid. In a shameful abandonment of its justice system, Pakistan agreed to give up Malik. Those DEA megalomaniacs Harlan Lee Bowe and Craig Lovato had got their own way.

After learning that there wasn't in fact an extradition treaty between the Philippines and the United States, the DEA persuaded the Manila authorities to deport Ronnie Robb to Amsterdam. The Dutch police promised the DEA to grab him on arrival at Schiphol Airport. They did, and he joined Hobbs in an Amsterdam prison. Extradition proceedings were begun.

In England Jimmy Newton's bail had been revoked, and he was in Miami prison. He holds the distinction of being the only non-American person ever to be extradited to America for the crime of supplying within non-American territory another non-American with a non-American pa.s.sport. Worse still, Balendo Lo had been re-arrested as the result of a renewed United States extradition request for precisely the same charge. The British, after deeming that Balendo should not be extradited, were prepared to lock him up and give the DEA another chance.

I was beginning to see what Roger meant. The Feds do not give up.

The Audiencia Nacional was packed with the world's press. Judy, Geoffrey Kenion, and I stood in a bullet-proof gla.s.s box in the middle of the court. We had microphones. Geoffrey went first. He had agreed to be voluntarily extradited. At the holding cells below he had explained to me that his lawyers had worked out a deal for him to plead guilty and tell the DEA the little he knew. He would then be released. I believe he made the right decision. He did not partic.i.p.ate in any dope scam. He did a money run for me about which the DEA already knew.

Judy went next. She said she was innocent and did not want to be extradited. She wanted to present her reasons through Gustavo.

I got up and denounced each of the judges by name. They had violated my const.i.tutional rights. They were the subject of an antijuicio antijuicio. They should be dismissed. I did not recognise their authority to deal with me. The judges' faces angrily flushed to a deep red. They yelled at the defenceless court interpreter. They told me to keep quiet. The case would continue despite my protests.

Gustavo spoke at length about the suffering Judy had experienced. Lovato had arrested her and rudely interrogated her in her nightclothes. She had been needlessly and mercilessly locked up hundreds of miles away from her young children, who were undergoing deep traumatic stress. There was no evidence presented that she had broken any law. She had a completely spotless record. There were scores of the most complimentary testimonials from highly respectable members of Spanish and British society. The DEA were charging her with the crime of being my wife. This was repugnant to the Spanish system of justice.

After about an hour, the judges became restless and uncomfortably bored. They adjourned the hearing for a week.

At the lawyers' visiting cell, Gustavo was furious.

'The judges aren't even listening to me. They have made up their minds.'

'What, with Judy, too?'

'Well, Judy still has a good chance, but they will certainly rule for you to be extradited.'

'I'm kind of resigned to that, Gustavo. I'm presuming you can keep battling in the appeal courts until the two years are up.'

'I can, and I will. But this hearing may be your last public appearance. The appeal courts do not require your presence.'

'So?'

'Given the way things are going, perhaps you should employ the tactic of the last resort.'

'Which is?'

'At the end of the hearing, you will be asked if you have anything to say. If you verbally insult the King of Spain or the country of Spain, this is a serious crime with which the court will have to proceed. I'm not suggesting you do this, Howard, you understand. I'm just explaining the law.'

'I understand, Gustavo. If I did publicly insult King and country, what would happen?'

'The guards on duty at the Audiencia Nacional would grab you. The court would close. The press would have a field day. There would be court cases. The injustices you've suffered would become publicly aired. The whole episode would become Spain's biggest scandal. It would waste a lot of time, which would be useful.'

I wasn't looking forward to this one little bit. I'd rehea.r.s.ed the speech in Spanish. It was just a few lines: 'Spain is now an American colony. The King of Spain has no b.a.l.l.s. He is no better than a wh.o.r.e, bending his body and his morals to his American master. I spit in his face and s.h.i.t on the Spanish flag.'

As the prison van drove from Alcala-Meco to the Audiencia Nacional, I saw hundreds of Madrilenos going about their business on this glorious early spring morning. They stopped to talk and laugh with each other. They sat in cafes, shamelessly chain-smoking and drinking their prebreakfast coffee and brandy. Children were skipping past them, bubbling with the joy of life. The faces of the men were proud but friendly. The women were either kind mothers or s.e.x G.o.ddesses. I loved these ordinary Spanish people, with their healthy contempt for regulation, their inability to get stressed, and their devotion to having a good time. They're Europe's best. Newspapers and magazines carried photographs of King Juan Carlos and Queen Sofia engaged in ordinary activities like drinking beer and playing a onearmed bandit. I couldn't offend these people. It wasn't their fault. I didn't believe in what I was going to do, so I chickened out. I sat in silence throughout the court hearing, knowing that, in one way, I had given up. How could I possibly fight the DEA if I wasn't even ruthless enough to insult the people who were locking me up on the DEA's behalf?

The Audiencia Nacional ruled that Judy and I should be extradited on the Florida federal charges. We did get one victory: I was deemed non-extraditable on the 1973 Nevada rock-group-scam federal charges because too much time had elapsed. It was a hollow victory, as my Florida federal RICO charges included the 1973 rock-group scam. (One of RICO's prosecutorially endearing qualities is its ability to circ.u.mvent statutes of time limitation.) I lodged an appeal. Judy felt very strongly that she had lost her last chance to beat extradition. Equally strongly, she felt that no court in the world could possibly convict her of dope smuggling. She wanted to go to Florida and establish her innocence in front of a trial judge. Geoffrey Kenion went to Florida, where the trial of those co-defendants already in America was soon to start. Panic messages from Patrick Lane begged Judy to continue resisting extradition until his trial was finished. He was afraid the DEA would force her to testify against him. Reluctantly, she joined me in my appeal against the extradition order.

The interest I had in the Miami trial prevented me from sinking too low. Also helpful was a rearrangement of the housing arrangements in Alcala-Meco: all non-Spanish prisoners were now in the same cell block. It wasn't exclusively for foreigners, but largely so. Roger Reaves, Darin Bufalino, and Jacques Canavaggio were pleased to see me. Zacarias was also there. He had too many connections to be locked up in the same cell block as other Madrid gangsters. The first day I was there, he did nothing but smile and feed me strong joints of Moroccan.

The second day, we were not let out from our cells until early evening. Everyone was excitedly huddled around the day's copy of El Pais El Pais. The news was mind-blowing: Esteban Zacarias Sanchez Martinez had escaped from Alcala-Meco, from this very cell block. Zacarias, probably stoned out of his head, had sawn through his cell bars, climbed on to the roof, climbed in the shadow of gun towers over at least three perimeter walls and fences, and escaped from Spain's topsecurity prison. Roger was seething with envy.

'I told you it could be done from here. Good Lord, you know I did. I bet he used that jeweller's string to cut through the bars. Marie never sent it to me; otherwise, I'd be in South Africa growing pot. G.o.dd.a.m.n it! Why wouldn't she send it? I'm going to appeal against being extradited to Germany. I'll stay here awhile. If that stoned hippie Zacarias can get out of here, you bet your a.r.s.e I can.'

Jacques Canavaggio approached.

'This is good news about Zacarias, Marco Polo, no? What is happening in your case? Are they going to try you in Spain? I think this accion popular accion popular was a very good idea. My trial, of course, will be in Spain. I am glad it is nowhere else.' was a very good idea. My trial, of course, will be in Spain. I am glad it is nowhere else.'

An idea struck me.

'Jacques, the accion popular accion popular so far has not worked, but maybe you could make it work.' so far has not worked, but maybe you could make it work.'

'Whatever I can do, my friend.'

'Tell the Spanish police that the fifteen tons of Lebanese dope in your cave in the Costa Brava came from me. Then the Spanish will have to try me here.'

'Marco Polo, I am Corsican. We tell the police nothing. But maybe I can persuade one of my co-defendants from France to give the police your name. Would that help?'

'Thanks, Jacques.'

'It is my pleasure, Marco Polo.'

More helpful than any of this was the arrival in Alcala-Meco of John Parry, the alleged launderer of the Brinks-Mat millions. He had been picked up by the Spanish police in the Costa del Sol and transferred to Madrid for extradition proceedings. Scotland Yard wanted him badly. Within two minutes of conversing with him, I knew I had met one of the very few life-long friends one makes during years of prison. His compa.s.sion, intelligence, humour, and ability to keep himself and others cheerful continually uplifted my spirit. We spent all our out-of-cell time with each other. My parents and his wife befriended each other on their monthly visits to see us. The funcionarios funcionarios moved him to the next cell to mine. We discussed our cases at length and worked on each other's defences. moved him to the next cell to mine. We discussed our cases at length and worked on each other's defences.

Most of my creative defence work had to wait until the outcome of the Miami trial of Patrick Lane, Ernie Combs, and others. The trial began in April. Reports were sent to me via Judy's sister, Natasha Lane, now living in Florida, and Marcus. Jimmy Newton, Geoffrey Kenion, John Francis (who had allegedly a.s.sisted John Denbigh in money transfers), and Wyvonna Wills (Gerry's wife) did deals pleading guilty for immediate release. All except John Francis agreed to be witnesses for the prosecution if called. Staunch attempts were made by the defence lawyers of those pleading not guilty to throw out the telephone-tap evidence. To everyone's surprise, including that of the prosecution, Judge James C. Paine ruled the telephone taps to be admissible. Ernie, his girl-friend Patty, and Patrick were convicted by a jury. Rick Brown, Ernie's long-term dopemover, and Teresita Caballero, a girl-friend of Patrick's whom I'd never met, were acquitted. Sentencing of those convicted would take place in a couple of months.

The trial transcripts, together with copies of the actual ca.s.sette recordings of the taped phone taps and taped conversations with Lord Moynihan, were sent to me from Miami. None of the defendants had taken the witness stand to speak in their own defence. No constructive defence had been offered. I knew this was a mistake. Only guilty people decline to be cross-examined and rely on prosecutorial incompetence to obtain their freedom.

The DEA had made one enormous b.o.o.b. Presumably not knowing of the existence of Jarvis, they had incorrectly a.s.sumed that it was I who had delivered the crates of hashish to the American President Line at Karachi Wharf in 1984. DEA agent Harlan Lee Bowe and Her Majesty's Customs and Excise Officer John Stephenson were so convinced of this that they had managed to persuade various Pakistani employees of the American President Line to positively identify me. I knew I wasn't in Pakistan at that time. There would be plenty of records to establish that fact and show to a court, yet again, that Michael Stephenson didn't always get things right. This time, unlike at the Old Bailey, the accusation would be correct.

I listened to the ca.s.settes and searched for the recording of my denial to Moynihan of involvement in the Canadian scam or any recent American scam. It was missing. I searched for reference to it in the trial transcripts. A DEA agent testified that his secretary had inadvertently erased twenty minutes of recordings, but that Moynihan had confirmed that during that twenty minutes I had admitted involvement in Canadian and American scams. So the DEA were prepared to destroy evidence that didn't suit them and commit perjury to explain its disappearance. No big surprise.

The original reel-to-reel recordings of the telephone taps no longer existed. The Miami court was given the rather pathetic explanation that the Spanish police were forced through reasons of economy to re-use the reel-to-reel tapes. It apparently did not occur to the DEA that an extremely small fraction of the several million dollars they were expending on this case could have equipped the impoverished Spanish police with a fully functional, state-of-the-art recording studio, let alone with a few blank reels.

Craig Lovato had, however, managed to copy his own carefully chosen selection of five hundred conversations and bits of conversations before the Spanish ran out of tape. From these he compiled a set of 'composite duplicates', a kind of cut-and-paste auditory collage. Lovato was confident he knew the ident.i.ty of each person speaking, whereas, in fact, he had made almost thirty misidentifications. Some were understandable. Others weren't: Chi Chuen Lo's very Cantonese accent was once identified as the voice of Lord Anthony Moynihan, while the c.o.c.kney tw.a.n.g of Mickey Williams was continually identified as Salim Malik's voice.

I spent hours every day making my own transcripts of the tapped telephone calls. The transcripts provided by the United States prosecution were laughably inaccurate. Most of the errors were clear evidence of perceptual bias, making me think they had been prepared by Lovato. 'Tight' was transcribed as 'Thai', 'eight o'clock' as 'Bangkok', 'drag' as 'drug', 'cats' as 'cash', 'of course' as 'at the coast', 'fits in with your' as 'that big shipment of yours', and 'overlapping' as 'mobile operative'.

At the Miami trial, Lovato explained several suitably selected snippets of telephone conversation in terms of smuggling dope from Pakistan to America. It wasn't difficult because the conversations were so vague and almost never referred to anyone's real name or any specific place. They were consistent with almost any scam happening anywhere. Lovato might testify that 'over there' meant California and 'Mozambique' meant Mexico, but equally, if not more, plausible interpretations were always possible. After all, when the Spanish began their investigation in 1985, they maintained I was smuggling into Spain. The Dutch, who it turns out were tapping Hobbs's Amsterdam switchingstation telephone at the same time, thought they'd stumbled on to a plan to smuggle dope into Holland. Each of the two countries had plenty of evidence, aided by its own interpretations of the vague telephone conversations, to support its belief. Perhaps many of the countries involved could have made a case for believing they themselves were the countries to receive the dope.

My defence was beginning to take root. I felt excited. It might not be as intriguing a defence as being a secret agent, but it could work. I couldn't begin to pretend I wasn't a hashish smuggler, but I could make out I would never dream of smuggling it to America, not with the penalties being dished out these days. I'd be crazy even to think about it. Even Americans don't smuggle to America any more. There are better places where you get a better price for the dope, where it's not so easy to get caught, and where you don't get much prison time if you do. Other than Lovato's interpretations, there wasn't much evidence to show I had imported hashish into America. Since 1973, the only consignment that had been busted in the United States was the two tons in the naval station in Alameda, California, the one shipped by the US Government on the American President Line. The DEA, with the help of Michael Stephenson, had already shot themselves in the foot on that one. Which country should I choose? To where could I pretend I'd smuggled ten tons of Pakistani hash?

It would have to be Western Europe, Canada, or Australia. Nowhere else could handle such a load. I began to construct three separate scenarios, one for each country, and tested them against the prosecution evidence. Each would require a lot of contextual research, but each had potential. Explaining away the evidence of millions of dollars in America might pose a problem, but money laundering was a global activity, and cash would transit through the most unlikely places. There might be all sorts of reasons why whoever purchased the hashish (at whatever destination) would want to pay for it in America in dollars, the currency of every international black market. As long as no one gra.s.sed, I would be all right, even if I was extradited.

Marcus came to see me with some most disturbing news. To give them a bit of a break, the children had been sent to Britain to spend time with some friends and relatives. While there, Francesca visited our family doctor, Basil Lee. She broke down in front of him and gave a horrific account of her living circ.u.mstances. Nigel was a hopeless junkie and drunkard. He was squandering my money. He was censoring all her letters to me and Judy. His pastimes included battering Masha and locking the children in their rooms for hours on end. Little Patrick had been discovered lying in a gutter in the middle of the night while Nigel had pa.s.sed out in a nearby bar. Francesca's life was nothing but screams and torment. She was desperate. She was eight years old.

Dr Lee wrote a very strong letter to Judy. Nigel and Masha had to go. Marcus explained that Natasha Lane and her two children were coming over to Palma. As long as I paid all expenses, they would stay there until Judy was home. I was shocked into deep silence. I knew there had been something weird about Nigel, but I had not suspected this. I suppose the problem had been given the best solution. Natasha would be fine. There was nothing I could do. But during the nights the pain of my children revisited me with a vengeance.

Marcus's next visit also brought bad news. Johnny Martin had died of a heart attack in Brighton. Although towards the end he had become an unhealthy junkie and lost much of the character I loved, I had lost an old friend with whom I had shared no end of good times and adventure. My heart went out to his wife, Cynthia, and his children.

At last Marcus brought some excellent news. Although Patrick Lane had been facing a possible life sentence or 120 years, he had just been sentenced to a grand total of only three years.

Only three years! Is this what we were all worrying about? Had Judge Paine seen through all the DEA sham? He must have realised that we weren't that bad or that big and decided to let us out before all the nasty guys took over the hashish business. If Patrick got three years, what could I expect? Maybe twice as much. I could manage that. I'd be free in a few years. As for Judy, if Patrick got three years, she should be looking at a maximum of three minutes. She could no longer be forced to testify against Patrick, and it was clearly unwise for her to stay here in Madrid fighting extradition. The United States has a Speedy Trial Act. Judy could be extradited and acquitted within a few weeks. Even if she was convicted, and that seemed impossible, Judge Paine would hardly want her to spend any more time in prison.

The lawyer who obtained Rick Brown's acquittal was Don Re from Los Angeles. In 1984 he had successfully represented John De Lorean, the Belfast car manufacturer who had been set up in a cocaine sting operation. His credentials were first cla.s.s. I wrote asking if he would fly over to Madrid to see me and Judy. He would. It would cost $25,000. It had to be done.

Don Re was equally certain that the best strategy was for Judy to go to America. He would take care of her as soon as she arrived and get her home as soon as possible, for a deposit of a further $25,000. It had to be done. American lawyers were clearly expensive. Don Re had already received as much as Gustavo.

The more I studied, the more I realised that Australia would be the ideal country to pretend to have swamped with dope during the time of the 1986 telephone taps. Among the ten thousand pages of evidence were all sorts of references to Australia. There were doc.u.ments showing that Ernie Combs had smuggled dope from India to Australia during the 1970s and that Philip Sparrowhawk had smuggled Thai dope into Australia during the 1980s. I was refused an Australian visa in 1985. The DEA and Australian police had put the bug on Gerry's trawler while it was berthed in Australian waters in 1986. Carl had an Australian pa.s.sport. I had a false pa.s.sport which carried an Australian visa. Moynihan was doc.u.mented both as having smuggled heroin to Australia and as having been an Australian intelligence agent. Judy visited Australia at the same time as I visited Moynihan in Manila. Joe Smith was Australia's first big marijuana smuggler. Several codefendants visited Australia during the critical period. The telephone taps were full of references which, creatively interpreted, related to Australia. I could weave a plausible tale on the basis of that lot.

Through Marcus, I obtained detailed published chronologies of events in Australia. I linked suitable ones to vague references in the telephone taps. I studied Australian politics, crime, drug consumption, drug trafficking, and banking systems. I came across the tale of Nugan-Hand Ltd., a private Australian bank.