A brush with the law

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“AC­TION sta­tions,” Scar­face shouted. “Get out of bed now! We’re get­ting a tug off the Amer­i­cans!”

Think­ing on his feet as he watched the US agents’ cut­ters ap­proach his hired yacht swiftly through the Caribbean wa­ters, he or­dered his two Dutch companions to change into the tight-fit­ting, brightly coloured trunks.

“When they get along­side, act gay. Camp it up. I want the sol­diers to think we’re ho­mo­sex­u­als. I don’t want them hang­ing around.”

Once they were aboard, Scar­face be­gan to flirt with the armed US Drug En­force­ment Agency of­fi­cers, and in­vited them to check down be­low in the cabin, where the 1,000 ki­los of co­caine were hid­den by a few mil­lime­tres of var­nished marine ply­wood.

The DEA of­fi­cers de­clined, mak­ing just a few cur­sory checks of the wheel­house. They glanced at the pa­per­work and de­clined the of­fer of a more in­ti­mate search. A friend said: “Scar­face was a clever bas­tard. He knew that the searches and in­spec­tions of­ten took more than an hour.

“But he knew they wouldn’t want to spend an hour with three sem­i­naked gay men in a con­fined space.

“The DEA gave them a walkover. Af­ter that, it was plain sail­ing all the way back to Europe.”

Scar­face steered the vast drugs haul back to Am­s­ter­dam.

The Car­tel was now of­fi­cially in the big time.

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