Sword of Allah (14 page)

The jungle opened up outside the gate and swallowed the armed convoy. Duat felt a tap on his shoulder and was handed a tube of mosquito repellent. ‘You’ll need it,’ said the general. The cinder road quickly gave way to mud. The vehicles selected low range and began a climb that seemed to Duat to be almost vertical. ‘Just five years ago,’ said the general as the trucks bounced and ground slowly up the incline, ‘all this was under cultivation. But then the soil gave out, so we returned it to the jungle. It wasn’t one of our better fields, anyway. The gradient’s too steep and it’s on the wrong side of the hill. The flower prefers a gradient of between forty and seventy degrees and the western side of the hill. And what the
Papaver somniferum
wants, it shall have.’

Duat nodded and glanced at his watch.

‘As I said to you earlier, Duat, you should become familiar with the factory floor.’The general indicated the jungle pressing in on them by firing the machine gun into it briefly.

The convoy reached the summit of the ridge and tipped over the other side. Suddenly, the jungle gave way to sky and vast fields of open cleared ground clinging to the hillside. Here and there, men and women moved through the fields attending to the crop that had grown to roughly the height of a man, the workers’ heads shielded from the tropical sun by wicker hats with wide brims. ‘You’re lucky, Duat. You’ve arrived at the perfect time to see the whole process – we’re at the tail end of the harvest season. I have
around two hundred families under my personal protection here, each cultivating around three
rai
.’

The Land Rover bounced over a tree root.

‘A
rai
is around one point three hectares or three point two acres. The conditions here are almost perfect, so the farmers are getting around a million plants on the average plot. The yield is around twelve
choi
or, in western measurements, sixty kilos of opium for each family plot – give or take. Just two years ago, we expanded our operations significantly, so that we now process opium grown and collected within a radius of around twenty kilometres.’

The lead truck slowed to a crawl and then stopped as it rounded a corner made blind by the presence of a hardwood tree with a vast girth. An elephant lumbering in the opposite direction delicately threaded the gap between the vehicle and the tree. On its back towered a load bound in hessian that swayed precariously with every step. ‘I believe this animal’s name is Rambo, after the action hero. He’s our biggest and strongest worker – a favourite around here. We used to operate four-wheel drives to transport the morphine for further processing, but we found the elephants to be more reliable and we have fewer accidents.’

Duat nodded. The ‘factory floor’ was both vaguely interesting and annoying. He wanted to fix his order and get back on Indonesian soil. Yes, this was a vital piece of the plan but he was anxious to know how Kadar Al-Jahani was making out, and how things were progressing back at the encampment.

The general said something to one of his men, who immediately jumped out of the truck, broke off one of the poppy pods and then hopped back on as the convoy began
to move. The soldier handed Duat the pod. It was dark green, the size of a large chicken egg, and crowned with brown, dry petals the shape of upwardly curved fangs. The outside of the pod was scored several times and a sticky brown substance hung from one of the score marks.

‘This is the source of my wealth, and soon to be the source of yours, my thin friend,’ said the general. ‘A little money-making engine. The people you see moving amongst the plants are collecting this brown latex here on the side of the pod.

‘The yield from a single poppy can vary. My breeding program has borne fruit and we are now consistently getting from a hundred to one hundred and ten milligrams of latex per pod and five pods per plant!’ The general beamed. Duat recalled the large glasshouse back at the compound. The general took the pod from Duat and kissed it before tossing it back into the field. ‘Rambo is carrying cooked opium to one of the many processing plants we have scattered about the place. Would you like to see one? Of course you would,’ he said before Duat could say he’d rather not. The general barked an order at the driver, who then radioed the command to the lead vehicle. A fork appeared in the road and the armed convoy took the right hand turn that headed up into the poppy field. Again the climb was extremely steep, but rather than jungle, tall poppy stems like emaciated soldiers lined the road, their green egg-heads just above Duat’s eye line.

The road burst into a clearing occupied by a sprawling shack made of sheet roofing iron and packing crates. Another elephant with a handler touching it gently on its ears with a long stick stood outside, passing the time with
a little training. The handler bowed low to the general as the convoy passed. ‘Inside is where we cook the raw opium. No point showing that. The raw latex is simply boiled in water, the impurities strained, and the excess water boiled off. The opium can then be smoked or eaten. We don’t waste our time with that market, but it is the first step in a lengthy process. We’re in the business of value adding. Cooked opium contains more than thirty-five different alkaloids – morphine, codeine. But we’re really only interested in one product here: heroin.’

The vehicles followed the road as it wound behind the shack to a more permanent building made from fired clay bricks. ‘This is one of the many field kitchens where we refine our product,’ the general said. The convoy pulled up outside the structure and several young men in jungle greens carrying M16s saluted crisply. The general’s guard dispersed around the forecourt, not exactly nervous, but not relaxed either. ‘You have to excuse my men their enthusiasm, Duat. The DEA, the American drug enforcement agency, paid us a visit recently. Nothing to worry about, but we’ve ratcheted up our awareness to Defcon Two,’ he said, smiling at his own use of the US system for defence preparedness. ‘We have our own active security here that extends not just to Thailand, but also into the heart of darkness itself – America. One must stay on top of one’s biggest markets.’ The general’s confidence was mildly reassuring, but with the mention of the DEA Duat’s anxiety to be gone from this place grew exponentially.

The general walked quietly through the entrance door held open by one of his men. ‘Shh,’ he said behind him to Duat. ‘Don’t want to stop the presses making money.’ The
interior of the building was clean and brightly lit by electric bulbs, the faint hum of a generator nearby. A dozen local men and women, wearing next to nothing and of ages that varied from the very young to the almost decrepit, attended huge steel vats in which liquid boiled furiously. Two of the men, one old and one young, had faces and hands that were horribly disfigured. The temperature was almost unbearable and Duat broke into an instant sweat.

The general continued to speak, unfazed by the heat although he too was sweating profusely. ‘These vats are each two hundred and fifty litres in capacity. A hundred and thirty-six litres of water are brought to the boil and then around fifteen kilograms of the cooked opium are dissolved in it. Next, slaked lime is added forming watersoluble calcium morphenate. A bunch of alkaloids form but these are left as a sludge at the bottom.

‘We scoop out the solution, strain it and reheat it. We then add enough ammonium chloride so that the pH is adjusted to around eight and, hey presto,’ the general waved his hands as a magician might over a vat, ‘morphine hydrochloride precipitates out and settles on the bottom.’

Ammonium chloride. Duat had used that himself many times. Fertiliser. The same chemical used to make bombs was used to make heroin. It was indeed useful stuff.

‘Duat…’ said the general, noting that his guest’s attention had wandered, ‘we purify the base by redissolving it in hydrochloric acid, adding activated charcoal and straining it several times.’ The general walked over and placed his hand on the old man, whose face looked like it had partially melted off. ‘As you can see, we occasionally have
little accidents with the acid, but otherwise the whole thing is a very simple process. Hardly worth sweating through a degree in chemistry,’ he said playfully, perspiration streaming down his face. ‘But what did I know? I was young and, as I said, foolish.’

The general picked up a small, flat cream-coloured brick and dropped it in Duat’s hand. The little block was surprisingly heavy. ‘Thirteen kilos of opium produces one point three kilos of morphine hydrochloride. It’s not even something we can sell yet. Yes, Duat,’ said the general, nodding seriously, his forehead furrowed, ‘we work hard for our money here.’ He then clapped the old man with the acid-burned face on the back somewhat boisterously, almost knocking him down. The old man bowed and smiled when he’d recovered his balance. Or at least Duat thought it was a smile – it was difficult to tell.

‘Recently, we’ve also started making that all-important finished product here in the fields. Used to happen back at my house. But the smell…This is a new addition to the building, and we have another dozen like it scattered about. Conversion to heroin number three, the smoking variety, happens out back.’ The general opened a wide steel door. Duat looked in and a wave of cool air struck him, as did the overwhelming stench of pickles. ‘That’s the smell I was talking about – acetic anhydride. It reacts with the morphine hydrochloride to form diacetylmorphine, otherwise known as heroin. Of course, there are other things we add – more activated charcoal and sodium carbonate. But the bottom line? One whole hectare under cultivation, around a million poppies, will produce a little over a quarter of a kilo of pure heroin.

‘One of the things we have to discuss is the kind of heroin you want, and that will depend on your market,’ said the general closing the door. ‘Your primary market will be Australia?’

‘Yes,’ Duat nodded.

‘As I said, here we can supply two varieties of heroin – number three and number four, the injectable variant. Number three is slightly cheaper because it doesn’t have to be quite so pure. And we can add various flavourings, such as quinine or strychnine, to save you the trouble later. Number four, though, will find a wider and more ready market in Australia. Our White Stallion brand is known the world over for its purity and…its kick,’ he boasted, smiling at his wit. ‘You know, it’s a pity you’re not importing into the US. You’d make more money and quicker too, although you’d have to compete with the Russians and Jamaicans. We in the golden triangle used to be the major supplier to North America, but now, as I said, the Colombians and Mexicans are starting to hurt our trade. It’s just fortunate that China’s doors have been flung open, beckoning, otherwise I might have to trade down a couple of my Ferraris.’

Duat nodded, a supreme effort of will required to keep his annoyance at the general’s babbling in check. ‘Tell me, General, do you take all your new customers on this tour?’

‘Of course not, Duat. Only those with the most potential. Frankly, yours is an average-sized order, but my friends in the Philippines say you will one day be a man to be reckoned with and so I’m making an investment in you. And besides, we have time to kill while my assistant verifies the quality of your holding deposit. Who’s handling
your distribution in Australia, by the way? If that’s still not set in stone, I can connect you with a distribution network offering highly competitive rates.’

‘Thank you, General, a kind and generous offer,’ said Duat. The distribution of marijuana through middlemen had been beneficial, and handling the heroin the same way was something he and Kadar Al-Jahani had decided would be something to strive for if possible. That the general had a network they could sell into was an unexpected bonus. They might lose some money taking up the offer, but the gains in terms of reduced involvement would be worth it.

‘Well, Duat, I can see you’re anxious to get a move on. There is, however, one last part of the factory I must show you. Come.’ The general spoke briefly into his handset and led the way back through the processing plant. Outside, the air smelled fresh and clean. Duat’s head swam slightly. He paused at the trucks to steady himself. ‘Ah,’ said the general, ‘passive inhalation of the heroin dust. We must improve the ventilation, but it does keep the staff turning up in the morning.’ The general allowed himself to be helped up into his position behind the machine gun. He barked an order and several soldiers assisted Duat to his seat. ‘Breathe deeply, my thin associate,’ advised the general.

Duat’s head cleared quickly in the clean mountain air. The convoy crawled down the hill in low gear, engines racing. The trucks turned left, momentarily retracing their route before veering right, unexpectedly, into the heart of the jungle.

‘Do you know how heroin works, Duat?’ asked the general. Duat glanced at him. The assistant with the bald
head who had relieved General Trip of the diamonds back at the house was sitting beside the general. He had seemingly come from nowhere. In his lap was a white plastic box. He opened it. Inside were large hypodermic syringes. One was in his hand. He flicked it with a fingernail and squirted a thin stream into the air in front of his eyes. Satisfied, he placed the syringe back in the box and smiled at Duat with black-stained teeth. Duat’s bowels contracted with fear. He was utterly at the mercy of his host.

‘Around four hundred BC, Hippocrates prescribed poppy juice mixed with nettle seeds. Several hundred years later, and on the other side of the world, the famous surgeon Hua To of the Three Kingdoms made his patients swallow opium preparations before undergoing surgery. Ah yes, the poppy has a peppered history. But heroin as we know it today is a relatively recent invention. It was first created in eighteen seventy and used as a cough suppressant for tuberculosis sufferers. Opiates inhibit the coughing impulse. They also inhibit the digestive process, and control diarrhoea. And, of course, opiate molecules have a profound effect on the brain’s pleasure and pain receptors.’

The road through the jungle widened marginally and the convoy came to a stop. Duat noticed something odd about the jungle and realised it had been clipped back. And then he saw the bamboo cages, no more than a metre and a half square, about a dozen of them. One such cage was beside his face. Something in it moved, and red-rimmed green eyes blinked lazily out from filth-blackened skin. The smell of vomit and faeces was suddenly overpowering.