Again John waited. There was absolute silence. They all realised that they were on the verge of something even bigger than they had expected, and it demanded serious attention.
‘I am not worried about the operation itself,’ John went on at last. ‘The funding is there. We can buy whatever is needed. But first we must plan every aspect thoroughly. We’ll do dummy runs again and again until everything runs smoothly. In order to do this, we’ll have rules which must be adhering to without question. We are no stronger than the weakest person in this room and we succeed – or fail – together. There is no safety net in this circus.’
There was a murmur of agreement in the room. He pressed home his advantage. ‘Our number one rule is total discretion. If anyone talks and jeopardises our trust then I will have no hesitation in taking immediate action. If the betrayer puts himself beyond our grasp then we’ll punish his – or her – closest relative.’ John studied their faces. ‘Is that fully understood?’
Everyone nodded. They remembered Poulson and the knitting needle, and the youth who had been foolish enough to defy John’s supremacy. They knew this was not an idle threat.
* * *
‘So we’re in business.’ As he had expected, no one had argued with John’s ground rules. ‘As you have shown your trust in me, it is only right I should do the same. Until now you have known me by the name of John Spencer. My real name is John Forbes. I’ll be seeing you all from time to time, but our operations manager will be David Kennedy.
The rest of the meeting was given over to explaining what each team member’s job would be in the Company. Then David took the floor.
‘Your instructions will come from me, and I will be your point of contact. Your payment will go up to two hundred and fifty pounds a week from now on. Our supplier in Morocco is already in place. Bonuses will be paid on the successful sale of each shipment. I can promise they’ll be generous.
‘Do we know how big the market is?’ Shastri’s sister Ramona asked. She had proved to be a willowy sari‑clad woman who rarely smiled or met a man’s eye directly.
He was ready with the answer. ‘It’s expected that this year there’ll be five million regular users of hash in Britain. If they spend only two pounds ten a week that means twelve and a half million per week in total, or over six hundred and fifty million a year. Of course, I’m talking end user prices. The value of the raw materials will be twenty per cent, which still leaves one hundred and thirty‑five million a year for us.’
There was a loud murmur of approval and excitement.
John smiled at David who leaped enthusiastically to his feet.
‘Okay, everyone. Let’s go and do it!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
_________________________
Port Isaac, Cornwall, October 1965
From his research in the library at Reading, John had decided on Northern Cornwall as the ideal place for landing the hemp. Its rugged coastline provided a choice of concealed and deserted coves where their covert activity could be carried out.
David Kennedy spent a week on reconnaissance there, investigating accessibility by road as well as remoteness from civilisation.
A few miles northeast of Port Isaac he discovered a large Victorian house built on a hill overlooking a tiny horseshoe bay carved into the sheltering cliffs. There was a large barn adjacent to the house and a metalled road.
He made a generous offer for the property via a Padstow estate agent and told them he represented a religious order called the ‘Comrades of God’, who supported churches on the other side of the iron curtain, and wanted to use the house as a base and retreat. Local people would not then be surprised to see team members arriving and departing or take notice of lights, cars and movements.
The owner finally agreed to sell and signs were erected at the end of the driveway proclaiming the house the HQ of the Comrades of God. A leaflet was delivered to each house in Port Isaac explaining the ‘religious order’s’ aim and stating they were not evangelical and would never disturb or approach anyone in the area.
As soon as David had completed the purchase of the property through solicitors in London, Francis Morell took over arrangements for the house and land.
John’s plan was that their Moroccan contact, Muhammad Kazir, would arrange delivery of the hemp to a Spanish boat chartered for three‑month periods. A Company member would supervise the loading in Morocco and remain with the boat on its voyage to Cornwall and back again.
The bales would be packed first in heavy plastic, then in plastic foam, and finally a watertight black covering. Each bale, although weighing sixty pounds, could float. Fifteen bales were tied together, five feet apart, using black plastic‑coated wire. At one end of the plastic wire was a large orange buoy and at the other a weight heavy enough to hold the fifteen bales and the buoy underwater.
The boat would drop twelve consignments, each of fifteen bales, sailing as close to the shore as possible.
John had commissioned an engineering company in Denver to manufacture a mechanism that would trigger the release of the weight, leaving it at the bottom of the sea but allowing the buoys to surface. The rest of the team would then recover the bales with the aid of homing devices. Once recovered, they would be towed to land, stacked on a trolley and hauled to the loading area at the back of the house.
Each van in John’s fleet of six could take thirty bales. Only complete van loads would be sold on to wholesalers. The ignition keys would be delivered by couriers to each wholesaler along with the registration papers of the vehicle. Details of the van’s location would be given by telephone. The van was to be removed within one hour. Scrapping it would be left to the buyer.
The recovery boats were three five‑metre Zodiac rigid inflatables, as used by the American Coast Guards. They were powerful craft with 90 hp engines, nearly impossible to capsize and exceptionally secure due to their low centre of gravity. They had been tried out locally several times and every member of the landing team was thoroughly trained in their handling.
With the supplier in place, the HQ and boats bought, plans for landing and unloading worked out in detail, it only remained for Ray Immerman to report on the wholesalers.
‘We’ve got a problem with the type of people working in this business,’ he explained. ‘They’re not trustworthy. They don’t see any further than the end of their noses and haven’t the capital to invest in the quantities we want to sell.’
John frowned. ‘What do you suggest we do then?’
‘Find six people who already have some kind of business record and set them up ourselves. They must have clean noses but be eager to earn dodgy money. Then we’ll leave them to trade direct with the dealers who’ll process the hemp. If we don’t press for payment until two weeks after delivery, that’ll give them time to set the deals up and collect their dues. Can our cash flow carry that?’
John thought for a moment. ‘It might work. Can you find six trustworthy people?’
‘I’ve found them,’ Ray replied promptly. ‘They’ll deal with me personally, won’t even know about the Company. They don’t know each other and I’ve put the frighteners on them about security. This way, we can cover the whole country.’
John nodded. ‘Well done. I’m impressed. Tell them we must have payment in full for each shipment no later than two weeks after delivery. Give them the numbers of the special bank accounts abroad.’
At the end of September, John and David arranged a complete rehearsal of the operation from delivery of the bales to the Moroccan port, to the final destinations of the six vans. A week later the team met in the Post House conference room at Heathrow Airport where every detail of the rehearsal was discussed. It had gone well, and everyone was anxious to get down to the real action.
For the first real delivery John decided he would join the team.
* * *
In the late afternoon of Thursday, 26 October 1965, John Forbes’s team arrived at the house
in Port Isaac. They changed into diving suits and kept two‑hour watches for the signal from the fishing boat.
By one o’clock in the morning, when no signal had been spotted, John told David to walk down to the bay to see if anything was happening. He pulled a windcheater over his diving suit and left the farmhouse. The wind, merely a breeze a few hours ago, was becoming stronger.
He walked up the hill and had a chat with a team member called Eugene, who confirmed that no signal had come from the sea. The night was black; there was no moon, so any light would be easily seen. Leaving Eugene, David ran quickly down the path towards the bay and cursed at what he saw.
Close to the shore, he made out a small craft lit up like a Christmas tree. It was definitely not the Spaniard who couldn’t get in that close.
‘We’ve got a problem,’ he told John back at the house. ‘There’s another boat in the bay. Fishermen, I think.’
‘Shit,’ said John and turned to Francis. ‘You know the area best. Sneak down there and take a look around.’
He slipped out of the door. John and the rest of the team waited for twenty minutes hardly daring to breathe. To have come this far and have to abort the first mission would be a crushing disappointment.
Another ten minutes passed. Then, just as John was thinking all was lost, Francis appeared, breathless from the struggle up the cliff path.
‘Sorry. Had to get close, and it’s as black as your hat out there. Anyway, I think the problem’s over. They were local fishermen using lights to bring the fish to the surface. They’ve sailed towards Port Isaac now.’
‘Absolutely sure they were fishermen?’ John asked.
‘Certain. I could drive to Port Isaac and check but I don’t think there’s time. The tide will turn soon. Then we’d have to haul the bales over the sand.’
John looked at his watch. The Spaniard should have arrived by now. ‘David, radio Peter and Eugene. We’re back in business.’
Eugene’s voice crackled over the walkie‑talkie. ‘Sorry, too late. The boat was here a while ago but I was giving the warning sign.’
‘OK,’ David said wearily. ‘Let’s hope it’ll be back within the hour.’
‘There’s another problem,’ complained Eugene. ‘This bloody wind... It’s blowing me away, man!’
John opened the front door. The wind had mounted in the last hour and was now strong enough to bend the rowan by the house almost to the ground. ‘That’s all we need. If it gets any worse, we’ll have to call the whole thing off. Let’s hope the boat comes back soon. For the next assignment we’ll arrange ship to shore radio contact and not rely on signals.’
After another tense hour, Eugene’s excited voice cracked over the walkie‑talkie. ‘It’s back. It’s back.’
A murmur of relief went round the room.
John stood up and opened the door. The wind had increased almost to gale force. A decision had to be taken now. Abort their first landing or carry on?
He saw the excited, expectant faces of his team waiting for him to give the go ahead.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, unsure if he had made the right choice.
* * *
They waited in the bay for another fifteen minutes to give the boat time to drop its cargo. John helped to launch the three Zodiacs, warning the crew to be careful not to sail into each other’s line of bales. Although they’d plenty of practice, this was the first time they had worked in such a rough sea. The wind was coming from the north, which meant that the first bale with the radio transmitter attached would be facing away from shore, increasing the risk of fouling the lines.
Ten minutes later the first boat was back. Shortly afterwards the two others arrived and unloaded their heavy cargo. They went out twice more, while the remaining men hauled up the slippery black bales, stacking them in the waiting vans.
Only two boats arrived back after the last run. The exhausted crew unloaded the bales and waited for the third crew to return. When the Zodiac failed to materialise after a quarter of an hour, John leapt into one of the boats, ordering a team member called Stuart to accompany him, and David and William Webster took the other. They kept close together and searched the area for an hour. When they returned to the beach, having failed to find any trace of the boat, dawn was breaking on the horizon.
John passed a weary hand over his face. ‘Might it have beached the other side of Port Isaac?’
David understood about winds and currents. ‘No way. With a north wind, even taking the tide into consideration, it couldn’t have drifted that far.’
‘Hang on!’ Stuart said suddenly. ‘Someone’s coming.’
A hunched figure came stumbling around the headland. Seeing them it raised one hand weakly, then crumpled on to the sand at the waterline.
They raced to help him and discovered it was Shastri.
‘Francis... Francis...’ was all he could say for a minute or two.
John knelt beside him and gave him a mouthful of whisky from a hip flask. ‘What about Francis?’ he prompted.
‘He – he drowned.’ Shastri’s eyes rolled in a face that was drained of colour and haggard with shock and cold.
‘He’s dead. A wave knocked him overboard. I tried to grab him and I fell in after him. Lost him in the water. I tried everything..... drowned.’
John sat back on his heels. A man had died on their first operation and it was his responsibility. He should never have allowed the landing to continue after all the bad omens. Now they faced discovery.
He got slowly to his feet. ‘Peter, Haydon, Eugene – get the remaining vans loaded and get them out of here. The rest of you come with me. How far away?’
‘About three miles in that direction. The damned bales are washed up on the beach. I didn’t have the strength to do anything about them.’
An hour and a half later they had managed to transport the bales back to the house. John decided to leave Francis’s body on the sand though there were murmurs of dissent at this. But when John gave a direct order no one tried to argue.
Afterwards they gathered in the house and sat without speaking. No one had expected the Company’s long‑awaited debut to be anything less than a total triumph.
They were all shattered by Francis’s death. Prison friendships were always either ephemeral or else lasted a lifetime. Francis had been liked and respected by everyone in the team. And what consequences would this have for the future of their undertaking?
John saw the vans off then returned to the house.
‘I know you are unhappy about leaving Francis like that but it had to be done,’ he told them. ‘Disposing of him ourselves is too risky, and there’s his family to consider too. No, better all round if the death is seen as a tragic accident. Also there is going to be an inquest, but as he did drown, it might be alright. David, I would like you to call the police, claim you were out diving together and Francis was washed overboard. Let them find him.’
‘And I’ll have to tell his wife the same story,’ David said hollowly.
‘Is that all right with you?’ John asked. ‘Do you want me to come along?’
‘No, it’s all right. This is one thing the army prepares you for.’
John sighed. ‘Thanks. Phone me as soon as you can, I’ll be waiting at home. Now let’s get the hell out of here.’
He felt totally exhausted and strung out. After all his planning and forethought he had been defeated by the one element he could not control – the weather.
* * *
When he arrived home in Salisbury John felt shattered. He was fit for nothing more than a bath and bed. Catherine, however, had other ideas. She greeted him with a big smile and a kiss.
‘I have something to tell you!’
‘Let me have a drink first. I’ve had a hell of a night.’
He saw the way her face clouded over and felt a flicker of remorse. It was hardly his wife’s fault if she did not share his problems and setbacks with the Company. John kept that part of his life a close
d book so far as she was concerned.
A few seconds later he was doubly glad he had not been tempted to confide in her. Catherine poured him a large malt then curled up beside him on the sofa.
He knew what she was going to say before she spoke.
‘I’m so glad you’re back, John. I never know how long you’re going to be away on business and I’ve been dying to tell you... we’re going to have a baby! Isn’t it marvellous news? God, I’m happy. Aren’t you?’
To his surprise, he felt tears prick his eyes. It was good news, the very best. Catherine was made to be a mother and he was confident he would always be able to provide his child with the very best things in life. But in the midst of his joy he could not help thinking guiltily of another family in Essex who would even now be receiving the news that a beloved husband and father would not be coming home to them.
He prayed it would not be long before the Cornish police found Francis Morell’s lifeless body and they could arrange a dignified send off, fitting for the first member of the Company to die in action.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
_________________________
Copenhagen, Denmark, Summer 1970
Andrea walked out of the gloom of Tim Larsen’s office in Politigaarden into the welcoming sunlight. She appreciated no longer having to go to Vestre Faengsel to visit Erick, where they were only allowed to meet in a small cubicle. There a guard was always present to interrupt their conversation if anything about the forthcoming court case was mentioned.
At the Politigaarden, even though there were police around, she and Erick were left alone in the corner of an office for several hours at a time. The Police wanted Erick’s help with minor background details which had no influence on the case and in Larsen’s office husband and wife were free to talk about their fears and hopes in between consultations with the affable policeman.