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.