by Howard Marks
‘You are bloody limit, D. H. Marks,’ was all he said.
Malik stayed at our house. Rafael liked Malik. The next day he introduced both me and Malik to a wealthy Algerian, Michel Khadri, who was living on the island. Enormous deals covering everything from Bangladeshi furniture to luxury hotels in Morocco were fervently discussed. Nothing came from any of them.
Malik’s latest proposal for me was to promote the sale of toothpaste made from the bark of a specific Pakistani tree. Apparently chewing this bark had for several generations prevented a particular Himalayan tribe from experiencing the discomforts of tooth decay. Malik was also concerned about the pile of hash he was holding in Pakistan on my behalf. I told him I was working on the latter and would begin investigating the former.
McCann was next to arrive. I put him up in Hobbs’s flat in Placa del Banc de Loli in the old part of Palma. Then came Sunde. He told me the DEA were back in Palma. Through reasons of mischief, I also put him up in Hobbs’s flat. Tom was over the moon with my news of Moynihan’s access to Marcos’s missing millions. Finally, Moynihan and Editha arrived. They stayed in Rafael’s Palma Nova flat. I told Tom where they were staying.
One square mile of this small Spanish island was well out of control. A Philippine-brothel-owning member of the House of Lords was staying at the house of a Spanish Chief Inspector of Police. The Lord was being watched by an American CIA operative who was staying at the house of an English convicted sex offender. The CIA operative was sharing accommodation with an IRA terrorist. The IRA terrorist was discussing a Moroccan hashish deal with a Georgian pilot of Colombia’s Medellin Cartel. Organising these scenarios was an ex-MI6 agent, currently supervising the sale of thirty tons of Thai weed in Canada and at whose house could be found Pakistan’s major supplier of hashish. Attempting to understand the scenarios was a solitary DEA agent. The stage was set for something.
The stage was set for disaster, which began with a call from Phil in Vancouver at the beginning of September 1987. John Denbigh, Gerry Wills, Ron Allen, Bob Light, and many others had been busted in Vancouver by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Several tons of marijuana and a few million dollars had been confiscated. The marijuana had been seized from a sailing boat attempting to berth in Vancouver. This was the method Bob normally used when transporting the Thai weed from his North Vancouver Island warehouse to Vancouver city.
I was stoical about losing the money and the Thai grass – these things can happen – but the arrest of my dear friend John Denbigh hit me like a ton of bricks: we forget these things can happen.
What about Frederick? Was he sailing into disaster? Was anyone left to meet his boat? Could this have been Frederick’s Vietnamese dope the Mounties just busted?
It was. The busted boat had just met Frederick’s and was landing the Vietnamese grass when the Mounties stepped in. Frederick had sailed off obliviously. Although John Denbigh, Bob Light, and some others were intimately involved in Frederick’s Vietnamese scam, Gerry Wills and Ron Allen were uninvolved and totally unaware of it. The overlap of personnel in the Thai and Vietnamese scams had caused them to be busted for a deal they knew nothing about. They could hardly tell the Mounties that the millions of confiscated dollars were actually the proceeds of a previous Thai importation and nothing to do with the current Vietnamese one. If Ron and Gerry were upset with me, I couldn’t blame them. It was my fault.
On the day I heard this tragic news, I visited Moynihan at the Palma Nova flat. He was uncomfortable, flustered, and unable to look me in the eye. I knew he was tape-recording me. I was tempted to say so, but I didn’t let on. I tried to turn the situation to my advantage.
‘You look worried, dear boy. Is anything wrong, Howard?’
‘Yeah, some friends of mine got busted with a load of dope in Vancouver.’
‘Oh dear! I’m sorry to hear that. Was it one of your loads?’
‘No. Absolutely not. Nothing whatsoever to do with me. I didn’t even know it was happening.’
‘Which friends? Anyone I know?’
‘Gerry Wills. I think I introduced him to you once in Manila or Bangkok.’
‘Yes, you most certainly did. A pleasant fellow, I recall. Anyone else I know?’
‘No.’
‘While we’re on the subject, do you mind if I ask you some questions about your business? I mean drugs, of course.’
Moynihan wasn’t even attempting to be subtle.
‘Go ahead, Tony.’
Moynihan fired all sorts of dumb questions about dope-dealing. I answered them, careful not to admit anything other than what was publicly known about me. He disappeared into the bathroom and came out looking doubly relieved. He asked if I could launder some money from him. It was a lot: several million, currently sitting in Miami. I said I’d put him in touch with my brother-in-law, Patrick Lane. He lived in Miami.
I rang Patrick and explained what I could about Moynihan. He was a fraudster. He was not to be trusted and he had no loyalty to anyone. But he wasn’t a dope dealer. And he was an English Lord. And he did claim to have loads of money to launder. There was reason to believe his claim. Patrick told me to give Moynihan his number.
Malik left for London and Karachi. McCann left for Paris. Roger left for Amsterdam. Sunde, suitably remunerated, left for Düsseldorf, promising to ask Carl to find out if anything could be done to get John Denbigh out of jail. I stayed in Palma and made a vow which I have kept to this day: I was not going to do any more dope deals.
This was not a case of my suddenly seeing the light and realising that dope-dealing is a wicked and anti-social crime. I was simply not enjoying myself any more. Most of my close partners were in prison. Some were understandably blaming me for their fate. Others were correctly accusing me of endangering scams by doing too many. I was criticised and ridiculed for not being prepared to deal in cocaine. Some associates were trying to set me up. Others were deliberately excluding me from scams that would not have begun without me. I was under surveillance. I was paying fortunes to the CIA to keep the DEA off my back. I wasn’t making any money. I wasn’t seeing my family. I broadcast my retirement to Roger Reaves, McCann, Phil, Malik, and Joe Smith, who happened to visit Mallorca on one of his global walkabouts. They received the news with scepticism.
When Frederick finally got in touch, I explained what had happened to his load and announced my withdrawal from any further scams. He took the news extremely well but begged me to get him a false passport. Roger Reaves had asked for the same. I could not refuse these requests and ordered two more passports from Jimmy Newton.
I couldn’t decide what to do about the language school in Karachi. Although it was a legitimate business with good potential, it had proved expensive to maintain, and was now losing quite a lot of money. I flew to Karachi. The school was closed down, and George and Assumpta were given money to pack up and leave Pakistan.
Malik said he would get what money he could for the hash he was storing on my behalf. We agreed that from now on we would do only straight business: paper-mills, import-export, and toothpaste.
The Vancouver bust of Thai grass frightened me from ever visiting Bangkok again. The massage parlour, although technically a straight business and quite profitable, had lost its novelty value. Furthermore, I had gathered that before selling their daughters to massage-parlour operators, fathers would often insist on being the first to take away their daughters’ virginities. I thought enabling such practices would do little for my karma. I told Phil I wanted to withdraw. He wanted out too. We sold it, but we kept on the Bangkok branch of Hong Kong International Travel Centre.
I called Patrick Lane in Miami. He said he got on extremely well with Moynihan, but that no business would take place. He was doubtful that any would.
Gerry Wills, Ron Allen, and John Denbigh each got granted bail by the Vancouver court. Gerry and Ron promptly absconded. John stayed. He could never break a promise, not even to a policeman. Gerry and Ron got money to John’s excellent Vancouver lawyer, Ian D
onaldson.
My life was now very simple. I was a travel agent with a few legitimate trading sidelines. Common enough, but there was nothing for me to do. The business ran itself without me. I became fidgety.
‘Balendo, if I was totally at your disposal, able to go anywhere, afford anything, what would you have me do?’
‘Simple. Taiwan.’
‘Why? What’s going on there?’
‘Economic explosion. Like Hong Kong and Japan but better. Western companies no foothold. Travel business wide open. Many countries don’t send national airlines to Taiwan because of political reason. Scared of China. Good place to investigate. Martial law finished. Your charm good for Taiwan.’
I read up on Taiwan.
Beginning its economic growth with the mass manufacture of cheap and easily breakable plastic toys, Taiwan had moved well up-market into high-quality electronics and nuclear research. Its exports were now valued as greater than China’s. Despite its high technology, Taiwan’s communications and banking systems were remarkably primitive. Its tourist industry was infantile. There seemed to be little catering for foreigners.
Without too much in the way of business strategy and forethought, I flew to Taipei and checked into the Fortuna Hotel on Chungshan Road. After refreshing myself in the hotel’s Jacuzzi, I went for a walk in the area around the hotel. It was a mild night-life area with brightly lit bars and cafés. I called into one for a drink and struck up a conversation with the owner, a Filipino named Nesty. His wife worked in a travel agency. His sister worked in a bar, the Hsaling, which was very popular with Taiwan’s few Western visitors. He suggested I meet him and his wife there the following evening. I had an early night. I was very relaxed going to sleep. No one knew where I was except a Filipino I’d just met. I was doing nothing against the laws of any country.
Early next morning, the phone rang.
‘Good morning, Mr Marks. Welcome to Taipei,’ said a female Chinese voice.
‘Who is this, please?’ I asked.
‘My name is Joyce Lee from Overseas Buyers Centre. We understand you are visiting Taiwan for business, and we are glad to assist you. Would you like to come to our offices and explain your business requirements to us?’
‘Yes. When?’
‘How about I pick you up from your hotel at 10.30 this morning, Mr Marks?’
‘That’s fine.’
Joyce Lee was young and attractive. A limousine took us to her offices. I explained that my main purpose in visiting Taiwan was to promote my British travel agency. She quickly made appointments for me to see senior executives of the Taiwanese national airline, China Airlines, and major travel agencies. She was disappointed I didn’t come with orders from Europe for Taiwanese goods. I said I might come back with some.
In the evening, I kept my appointment at the Hsaling with Nesty and his wife, Maria. She apprised me of the state of the travel market in Taiwan and the range of prices charged by various airlines and agencies for their flights.
They left the bar, and three New Zealanders squeezed next to me to occupy the two seats vacated. I was drinking whisky and water in separate glasses. Through clumsiness, I knocked over the glass of water on to the lap of one of my new companions. I apologised profusely.
‘Are you Welsh?’ he asked, brushing off small pools of water.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Ydych chi siarad Cymraeg?’
‘Odw.’
‘Roy Richards. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Howard Marks. Sorry about the water.’
‘Don’t worry. Thank God it’s only water. Not Welsh water by any chance, is it?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, Roy. Mind, a few years ago I was trying to ship the stuff from Wales to the East myself. Maybe someone stole my idea.’
‘Is that your business then, Howard? Water?’
‘No, I’m just a humble travel agent these days, but I used to dabble a bit in all sorts of trades. What about you? Don’t tell me you’re a water man.’
‘No way. I left Wales for New Zealand to get away from the wet. At the moment, I work for the New Zealand Government. Sounds very grand, but all I and my two friends here do is interview Taiwanese who want to emigrate to New Zealand.’
‘That’s impressive. So you actually decide who can get in and who can’t?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that. I don’t make the final decision.’
‘But you make the first. You can make sure they don’t get in but you can’t ensure they do.’
‘I suppose that’s right. I never looked at it like that.’
‘Why do people want to leave Taiwan, Roy? It seems a nice place, and surely the economy is strong.’
‘The Taiwanese are scared stiff of China, especially since you lot promised to give Hong Kong back to the Chinese in 1997. They think it’s only a matter of time before China marches into here. I don’t agree with them for one minute. But lots of them definitely want out. And if they’re of the right type, we make them welcome in New Zealand.’
‘What type do they have to be?’
‘Filthy rich, basically. But here that’s quite a broad spectrum. We’ve immigrated university professors, nuclear research physicists, as well as top industrialists. We do several dozen a month. It’s a lot of interviews, but the pay’s good. And there’s no end of profitable sidelines.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, the people who want us to grant them New Zealand nationality treat us like bloody gods. They agree to whatever we ask. We can dictate to them what they should invest in when they come to New Zealand, where they should live, and what business they should open. You can imagine there’s quite a crowd of New Zealanders with plenty of suggestions. Putting a few of them forward can produce healthy kickbacks for yours truly. We also tell them which hotels to stay in before they settle, even how to travel there. That’s all left to us.’
‘Do you have a good travel agent?’
‘I wonder why you’re asking, Howard. We don’t actually have a regular travel agent. If your prices are competitive, I’d love to give a fellow Welshman the business. Shall we move on? Have you been to MTV yet?’
In 1988, the streets of Taipei were lined with MTV theatres of all shapes and sizes. I’d noticed them but had not been interested enough to enter. I followed Roy into what appeared to be one of the biggest. After paying some nominal charge, we were shown into a massive room housing the biggest array of music videos and laser discs I had ever seen. We were asked to choose one each and then choose a room. Most signs in Taipei are in one language, Mandarin. Occasionally there would be English ones. In this MTV theatre, there were two English signs leading to the rooms: ‘Sex’ and ‘No Sex’. Shagged-out couples staggered out of ‘Sex’. Roy and I went through ‘No Sex’ and into one of many extremely comfortable private rooms equipped with audio- and video-playing equipment, so highly technical that it looked as if it hadn’t yet been invented. We sat on a couch and watched the laser disc of Joe Cocker in Mad Dogs and Englishmen. A waiter brought in beer. Roy took out a small joint and lit it.
‘I imagine you indulge,’ Roy half asked.
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘I must admit, Howard, I thought it was a safe bet.’
The joint was of excellent-quality Thai grass.
‘Roy, would any of these Taiwanese want to emigrate to Wales or Mallorca?’
‘They’ll go just about anywhere, and they’ll bring loads of money with them. But they’ll go only where they can get citizenship. If Wales goes independent, you might have a chance, but Britain now is a bit stiff on immigrants. I don’t know about Spain. Every country will grant citizenship to absolutely the right type of person. It depends who you know.’
I wondered if Rafael would be interested in letting in a few Taiwanese billionaires through Palma airport and allowing them to spend fortunes in whatever way he thought might benefit Mallorca.
‘Yeah, I’d like to see Wales go independent, Roy. There could be some big cha
nges as a result.’
‘What would you do if you were the leader of Wales, Howard?’
‘I would stop any New Zealanders from entering Wales unless there was an official New Zealand Government statement admitting that the All Blacks’ defeat of Wales at Cardiff Arms Park in 1972 was the result of foul play.’
‘Welsh rugby has had its day, Howard, I’m afraid. You’ll find that out this summer when Wales tour New Zealand. But seriously, what would you do if you were in charge of Wales?’
‘The very first thing I would do is legalise marijuana. Anybody would be allowed to smoke it within the country’s borders, and growing the plant would be actively encouraged. There would be no ban on importing marijuana into Wales.’
‘A lot of people, me included, would go along with that. What about drugs like heroin, though? Would you keep those illegal?’
‘No. I’d legalise the lot. But for different reasons. I would still want marijuana to be traded, bought and sold, for what it is: a beneficial herb with no harmful qualities. Substances which are addictive, toxic, or otherwise harmful should be freely available, but accompanied by full and accurate information about the particular drug’s effects. If that’s how people want to go through life, sick and spaced-out, that’s fine, as long as they are fully aware of what they’re sticking inside themselves. Society can afford to subsidise the lives of the very few who, sadly, feel there’s no other way for them.’
‘Would you do anything else, or would legalising dope automatically take care of everything?’
‘It would take care of a lot. But for sure I’d abolish nuclear power stations and the armed forces and liberate all those funds tied up in defence commitments. There wouldn’t be any very rich or very poor. There’d be full employment. You know, the usual stuff.’
‘You’d go down well in New Zealand, Howard. Why don’t you try to persuade some Taiwanese to set up a factory or two in Wales, Howard? That would bring some employment to the area.’
‘I thought you said the Taiwanese would steer clear of Wales because there’s little chance of their becoming Welsh.’
