Border guard : $b The story of the United States Customs Service — John Shaqi
Border guard : $b The story of the United States Customs ServiceWhitehead, Don
History
Border guard : $b The story of the United States Customs Service
Whitehead, Don
Customs administration -- United States; Smuggling -- United States; United States. Bureau of Customs; United States. Division of Customs
Halvorsen nodded. “I guess it’s okay,” he said. Then he gave them the
itinerary of the _Fernhill_. He told them the ship was scheduled to
arrive in Boston on May 16. If possible, he would leave the ship there
or in New York and travel by bus to San Francisco to make the delivery,
after which he would return to Norway.
The fat Chinese left the room, and when he returned he was carrying
ten cotton bags filled with heroin, each of them weighing about half a
pound. He placed them in Halvorsen’s briefcase....
Q--What happened then?
A--Then he asked me if I saw the bags. I said, “Yes.” He said that
was what I was going to take ashore and he said, “You have to keep
it on your body.” And he showed me a white silk sash.
Q--Did he tell you how to use that white silk sash?
A--Yes. He said I was first to fold it double and put it around my
waist and then I could put the white bags down in the folds of the
sash. He said I should keep maybe two bags in front, two bags in
the back and the others strapped to my legs.
After the Chinese put the heroin in the briefcase, Halvorsen left the
house on Cameron Road. He returned to his ship and placed the briefcase
in a ship’s locker. He explained to the officer in charge that it
contained souvenirs.
From Hong Kong, the _Fernhill_ steamed to Djakarta, Indonesia, where
Halvorsen hurried ashore with several crew members for a look at the
city. After a time he wandered away from the others. He was alone,
sipping a glass of beer in a bar near the Hotel Des Indes, when a
Javanese approached and stood beside him.
“Have you got anything you would like to sell?” the Javanese said. “Any
clothes or shoes? I can get you a good price.”
Halvorsen looked at the man, a middle-aged Javanese with a jagged scar
running from his left eyebrow to his chin. He said stiffly, “I’m not
interested in small stuff.”
The Javanese slid into a chair beside the youth. “You mean you’ve got
something else you would like to sell?” he asked.
Halvorsen nodded, trying to appear casual and matter-of-fact.
“Maybe we can do business,” Scar Face said. “What have you got to sell?”
Halvorsen said, “What would you pay for a pound of heroin?”
The Javanese was impressed. “You can get heroin? You are not fooling
me?”
“I’m not telling a lie,” Halvorsen said. “How much for a pound?”
Scar Face said, “If it’s pure stuff, I’ll take two pounds and pay you
ten thousand dollars American money.”
$10,000 for two pounds of heroin! Halvorsen was so startled that he
blurted: “That’s too much. Five thousand would be enough. I’ll have to
get the stuff from the ship.”
Scar Face said, “You wait here. I’ll be back.” And he hurried from the
bar.
In less than five minutes he was back with two other men, one of them
dressed in a police uniform. They took Halvorsen to the dock, where
they boarded a police launch which carried them to the _Fernhill_.
Halvorsen took Scar Face to his cabin and told him to wait there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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