Chapter 34 third quarter

Ninety percent of the heroin consumed by drug addicts in the British Isles, and indeed most addicts in Western Europe, comes from Turkey and, therefore, is brown.The business is controlled by the insidious, ruthless Turkish Mafia.The Turkish Mafia is one of the most brutal organizations in the world, but it is usually extremely low-key and largely unknown to the British public. Their products come from poppies grown in Anatolia, Turkey.It looks like unrefined brown sugar.Most people put a pinch in aluminum foil and smoke it over a candle.Junkies in the UK don't like injecting - that's how Americans do it.

It is not this Turkish drug that is smuggled in from the Golden Triangle and the Far East, but Thai white powder.The drug looks like baking flour and is usually mixed with a similar white powder to dilute the dose twenty to one.This is the drug Americans love. So UK drug gangs would be interested if they had regular access to reasonably priced white powder.They do not buy and sell, but exchange.It can be exchanged for high-grade Colombian cocaine at a ratio of three to one: six kilograms of cocaine for two kilograms of Thai white powder. The DEA lead came from their Miami office.An undercover agent who was involved in the underworld reported that in the past six months, three times in the past six months, drug transporters (or "drug donkeys") were sent to the UK, taking six kilograms of Colombian pure cocaine and returning two kilograms of Thai white powder .

Small but steady, with each trip bringing £200,000 worth of deals to British planners.Such volumes made Bill Butler suspicious of means of transportation other than ships and trucks: airplanes, passengers' luggage.He tossed and turned in bed, trying to get four hours of sleep. John Higgins couldn't sleep either.He had heard vaguely about the dark side of that vacation paradise.He recalled an article he had read, which mentioned a mysterious area called the Golden Triangle: the mountains and plains were full of poppies—opium flowers.The article mentioned that the Thai army was unable to penetrate the refining factory in the border forest, where opium juice was first made into morphine, and then further refined into white powdered heroin.

The passengers were sleeping, but John Higgins was tossing and turning, unable to make up his mind.There could be several innocent explanations for this particular meeting at the bathroom door, but the problem was that he couldn't think of any. The small white plane on the screen is flying over Anatolia in eastern Turkey.At this point John Higgins unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up to remove his briefcase from the overhead rack without disturbing anyone, not even the hippies. Once seated again, he looked in his briefcase for paper and pens.The latter was within easy reach, and he found four sheets of letterhead from his room at the Pencey Hotel.He carefully tore off the upper part of the letter paper with the hotel's logo and address printed on it, leaving the blank paper he needed.Using his briefcase as a desk, he began writing letters in capital letters.After half an hour, he was done.

When I finished writing the letter, the small white plane was slowly moving over Ankara, the capital of Turkey.He folded the paper, put it in a UNICEF charity envelope provided by British Airways, and wrote in large letters on the front: From the captain, it is urgent. He stood up, walked quietly to the curtain by the bathroom door, and peeked into the kitchen.A young male flight attendant, with his back turned to him, was preparing the breakfast tray.Higgins drew back, unnoticed.At this time, the buzzer sounded.He heard the flight attendant leave the galley and head forward.The kitchen was empty, and Higgins passed through the curtain, set the letter upright between two coffee cups in the pantry, and returned to his seat.

The letter was not noticed until half an hour later, when the flight attendant was preparing more breakfast plates.At first, he thought it was a donation to UNICEF, then he saw the writing on the envelope.He frowned and thought for a moment, then finally stepped forward to find Harry Palfrey, the purser. "Someone put this letter between two coffee mugs, Harry. I think it should be handed to you, not directly to the cockpit." Harry Palfrey smiled kindly. "Well, Simon, you're doing the right thing. Probably some weirdo left it. Give it to me. Now, the breakfast plate..."

He watched the young man leave, noticing the tight buttocks under his uniform pants.He had worked with, and slept with, a number of male flight attendants, but this lad seemed especially charming.Maybe at Heathrow... He glanced at the envelope, frowned, and tried to open it, but finally walked up the gangway ahead and knocked on the cockpit door. It's just a formality.The purser can enter the cockpit at will.He went straight in, and the substitute captain was sitting in the chair on the left, watching the oncoming coastal lights ahead.Captain Fallon was not inside.The purser knocked on the door of the lounge.This time, he waited in place after knocking on the door.

Half a minute later, Adrian Farron opened the door as he ran his fingers through his graying hair. "Harry?" "There's something odd about this, Captain. Someone left this between two coffee mugs in the mid-cabin galley. Not signed. I suspect it was an anonymous letter." He handed the letter over. Adrian Fallon's stomach was churning.In the three decades he has flown at British Airways, he has never faced a hijacking or bomb threat, but he knows several colleagues who have.It's an eternal nightmare.Now, it seems that this nightmare is about to befall him.He tore open the envelope and sat on the edge of the bed to read.The letter begins like this:

The letter goes on to describe in detail what the witnesses saw and why it was so strange and suspicious.The ending looks like this: A description of that elegant man follows, ending with: A smart-ass talker, Faron thought.What authority, isn't it the British Customs?Also, he didn't like spying on the passengers on his flight.He handed the letter back to Harry Palfrey.The purser pursed his lips after looking at it. "Midnight tryst?" he guessed. Fallon knew Harry Palfrey, and Harry knew that Farron knew something about him, so the captain weighed his words carefully. "There's no evidence that they like each other. And anyway, where would they have met before if not in Bangkok? Then why not at London Heathrow? Why at the toilet door? Nasty. Harry, take the passengers Can you give me the list?"

Farron combed his hair and straightened his shirt while the purser ran errands.He asked the replacement captain: "What is your current position?" "Ahead is the coast of Greece. Is something wrong, Adrian?" "I hope not." Palfrey returned with the list. Seat 30C is a passenger named Kevin Donovan. "Where's the other one? The elegant one?" "I think I've seen him," said Palfrey. "First class, seat 2K." He flipped through the passenger list. "It's Mr. Hugo Seymour." "Before we take the next step, let's identify this person," said the captain. "Sneak around first and business class. Look for the cream-colored silk trousers showing from under the blanket. A cream silk suit to match."

Palfrey nodded and walked down the gangway.Faron called for a strong black coffee and checked the flight status. Enter the route into the flight management system nine hours before takeoff to ensure that "Quick Bird" 100 is flying on the correct route according to the scheduled time.The system showed that the passenger plane was flying over Greece and would land in four hours.It was 2:20 am London time, 3:20 am Greek time, and it was still pitch black outside.There are some sporadic clouds under the fuselage, occasionally ground lights can be seen, and above the plane is a brilliant starlight. Adrian Faron's sense of civic responsibility is not very strong, certainly not as good as the anonymous passenger in economy class, but he hesitates.The note didn't mean his plane was in danger, so his first instinct was to ignore it. The trouble was that the British Airline Pilots Association had a safety committee, of which he was vice-chairman.If anything happened at Heathrow, either Seymour or Donovan was held by police or customs for breaking the law, if it was known that he had been clearly warned and did nothing about the two passengers , then he will have a hard time defending himself.He was caught in a dilemma.He made his decision as the land of Greece faded behind him, flying through the Balkans.Harry Palfrey had already seen that note, let alone the "conscientious citizen" who wrote it, and if something had actually happened at Heathrow, who would have kept Is silence supporting him?So, it's best to take safety precautions just in case.He decided to send a non-panic warning radio, not to customs but to the yawning company dispatcher who was on the night shift at Heathrow. Sending a message on a public channel, no doubt telling half the pilots who are heading towards Heathrow, when there are at least two dozen planes heading to London, is like an advertisement in The Times .Fortunately, British Airways' passenger plane is equipped with a small instrument called ACARS. ACARS, Aircraft Communications Addressing and Reporting System, can be used to send encrypted messages to BA dispatch at Heathrow.After serving, the ball was kicked from him. The purser came back from the cabin below.It was Hugo Seymour, he said, without a doubt.Well, Faron finished, sent his message.At this time, they were flying over Belgrade. Bill Butler was not woken at half past four.At ten minutes to four, the phone rang.It was one of his men on duty at Heathrow Terminal 4.He stretched his legs out from under the blanket while listening to the phone, and soon came to his senses.Twenty minutes later, he was already in the car, making plans while driving. He knows all about scams and anonymous tip-offs.These are pretty much the oldest tricks on record.At first, there would be an anonymous phone call from a public phone booth in the city, reporting a smuggler on an incoming plane. It is impossible for customs to ignore this call, although they may be 90% sure that the tourist described in the call is innocent, and he was only selected as a tool to divert attention.The caller was, of course, a member of a criminal gang operating in London. The described person will be intercepted, and in the bustling crowd, the real smuggler, who looks as pure and innocent as morning dew, slips away without anyone noticing. But what about the warning from the captain?This is the first time.Warning note from a passenger on board?Two passengers were seized as suspicious?Butler used his brain to try to compete with the mastermind behind the incident through all these appearances.There's a good chance this is just a nosy person messing things up. He parked his car in Terminal 4 and walked into the almost deserted building.It was 4:30 in the morning, and a dozen jumbo jets bearing the British Airways logo were flying from Africa, the Far East and the Americas to this terminal, which was almost exclusively owned by British Airways.In two hours the place will be buzzing again. Flights departing New York, Washington, Boston, and Miami at six o'clock in the afternoon, after seven hours of downwind flight, plus five hours of time difference, will meet here after flying for thirteen hours, minus seven Those flying from the east with hourly time differences.During the tens of minutes from 6:00 am to 6:40 am, the first batch of passengers to get off the plane will pour in like a tide.Ten members of his "Heavy Squad" had set out from the counties around London, crossing the dark road towards Terminal 4.Butler needs to quietly arrange his personnel in various areas such as the disembarkation corridor, passport control and customs halls.The last thing he wants to happen is to have a fish slip through the net. This has happened before.A smuggler who knew what was in his suitcase cringed and was afraid to claim it.The belt conveyor in the luggage hall spun round and round, and customs officials watched, but the remaining suitcase just went unclaimed.How the smuggler will deal with the bitter and angry mafia boss in the future is his own business, and no doubt some lives will be lost.But Butler wanted more than just an unclaimed bag.What he wants is the loot.

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