Cocaine Confidential by Wensley Clarkson

crew of Colombiansfound out we’d dumped them, they were so angry they got me nicked by the Spanish police after I’d picked up a load of Charlie from a yacht anchored in a small port on the Costa del Sol, near Gibraltar.’
    Two years in Málaga’s notorious Alhaurín prison followed. And, as ever, this provided Jez with ‘a load more useful contacts’.
    He remembers: ‘This time I got in with a bunch of Colombians who had a “vacancy” on this island and that’s how I ended up here.’
    He continues: ‘It couldn’t be better here. I simply organise the transit of the shipments of coke and completely keep out of the day-to-day stuff. Sure, I’d be in big shit if one of my shipments went missing but I get paid a massive handling fee and the Colombians are, crossed fingers, extremely happy with me. They never show up here because their presence would be flagged up immediately, as it is a very small place.
    â€˜I’ve managed to buy this house, start the B&B business and live comfortably without making anyone round here too suspicious. If I acted like the rich white man up on the hill, and blinged myself up and drove a flashy motor I’d soon be in trouble. Either the police would come knocking to demand a big bribe or one of the local lads would try and force me off the island, so they could take over my job.’
    Twice a month, Jez charters a small yacht and takes it out into the Caribbean and picks up a shipment of cocaine, which he then brings ashore on the island. ‘It’s usually kept in a safe house for about a week. Then I charter the same yachtand sail back out into the Caribbean where the shipment is transferred to another vessel. The Colombians are happy because they feel this is a failsafe system as the most important thing when trafficking coke is to keep it on the move. By switching from one boat then back to the island before going out to another vessel it is creating a very difficult trail to follow.’
    Jez has been living on the island for eight years now and he is convinced that his system is so airtight he could continue doing it ‘for many, many years to come’.
    â€˜No one here knows what I do,’ he insists. ‘They all see me as some eccentric middle-aged English bloke with a small legitimate business and maybe a hand-out or two from my rich family back in the UK. I am incredibly careful not to talk to anyone about what I do. Even my current girlfriend – a local girl – has no idea what I am up to. I don’t even share the coke that I am given when each shipment passes through.
    â€˜The key to survival in this game is obviously not to trust anyone else. If any of the locals knew what I was up to, they’d come up here when I am holding a shipment, slice my head off and steal the produce. D’you realise that just one shipment of coke is worth a lifetime of income to the people who live here? They could live like kings if they got hold of it. I know I have to watch my back.’
    Behind Jez’s bravado are the eyes of a nervous man.
    As he admits: ‘Living life in the fast lane with manic smugglers and trigger-happy Colombians is no laughing matter. I’m very lucky in a sense. There can’t be many people whodo what I do and still keep their sanity, not to mention staying alive! Maybe one day a shipment will go missing and then the Colombians will come after me but I like to think I’ve served all the time I ever will serve and that this is the bit of luck I’ve been waiting all my life for.’
    But ‘luck’ is something that few people who earn their living in the cocaine underworld can rely on. They prefer to keep their eyes peeled and not trust anyone. These men have become true legends in the cocaine business …

CHAPTER 6

CHRIS
    Chris is one of those legends. He’s an American-born light aircraft pilot from Florida who has flown hundreds