TWO
THREE EVENTS
17 JUNE 1997, 11:45 P.M., ENGLAND
Approximately seventy-two hours earlier, a large cargo vessel called the Melbourne sailed into the bay between the Isle of Wight and West Sussex, facing Portsmouth. She had travelled thousands of miles in the last few weeks. From Hong Kong, her point of departure, she went to Perth in Western Australia, unloaded cargo, picked up containers, and refuelled. From there, she sailed west through the Indian Ocean and around the southern tip of Africa into the Atlantic and on to New York. She stayed in New York Harbour for three days, then finally began the last leg of the voyage to the United Kingdom.
When word of the Melbourne’s arrival reached the desk of the Hampshire Constabulary Tactical Firearms Unit, Sergeant David Marsh picked up the telephone and called his Detective Chief Inspector. The TFUs, along with Firearms Support Teams, are tactical special weapons groups within UK police forces, available twentyfour hours a day. Many of the members of these elite police units are ex-British Forces personnel.
“She’s here, sir,” Marsh said when the DCI answered. Marsh listened closely to his instructions and nodded. “Consider it done, sir.” He rang off and dialled a new number. If the tip they had received was correct, there could be trouble.
A lighter had already begun to deliver cargo from the Melbourne to shore. A group of four Chinese men unloaded the large wooden crates from the lighter as soon as it docked and used a forklift to transfer them on to a waiting lorry.
The two token Hampshire Police officers on duty that night, Charles Thorn and Gary Mitchell, walked along the dock area, noting that the weather was unusually pleasant for a June night. Unfortunately, due to a breakdown in communications, they were not apprised of the message that was received by TFU Police Sergeant David Marsh. Even more calamitous was the fact that neither of them was armed.
Thorn suddenly stopped in mid-stride and asked his partner, “Do you hear anything?” In the distance was the whirr of a hydraulic crane used to unload cargo.
Mitchell nodded. “Sounds like someone’s unloading. I wasn’t aware of a scheduled docking tonight, were you?”
Thorn shook his head. “Customs and Excise didn’t tell me about it. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
The two men hurried around a corner past a warehouse where they could get an unobstructed view of the harbour. Sure enough, four men were loading crates on to a lorry.
“Where are Customs and Excise? They should be supervising the unloading, shouldn’t they?” Mitchell asked.
“Unless this is an unscheduled unloading,” Thorn said. He quickly radioed his office to request additional officers. The Communication Centre Dispatcher informed them that the Hampshire Constabulary TFU was on the way and to stay put.
The Chinese were finished with the lighter and it was already pulling away. The lorry was nearly full—only two crates remained on the ground. They would be gone in minutes.
“We have to stop them,” Thorn said. “Come on.”
The two men stepped into view of the Chinese men. “Good evening,” Thorn called out to them. “Like to tell us what you’re doing?”
One of the Chinese stepped out of the truck and produced some papers. Thorn glanced at them. “You know this is highly irregular, sir. Customs and Excise are supposed to clear your unloading. What have you got in those crates?” The Chinese man, who apparently spoke little English, pointed to the papers.
“Right,” said Sergeant Thorn, looking closely at the shipping numbers and comparing them to the crates. One was still on the ground, the other on the forklift. “That one has half a ton of tea, and the other one is what?”
The Chinese man smiled. “Toys. Made in Hong Kong.”
Mitchell whispered to Thorn, “Imports from the Far East generally come into Southampton.”
Thorn nodded and said aloud, “Let’s open ’em up now, all right?”
Mitchell took a crowbar from the side of the hydraulic crane and prised the lid off the wooden crate. It was filled with straw, styrofoam, and large bags labelled with Chinese characters. Mitchell opened one of the bags and found dozens of smaller bags inside marked with similar characters. He tossed one of the small bags to Thorn, who promptly used a pocket knife to open it. It was full of tea.
“Fine,” Thorn said. “Let’s open the other one.”
As the forklift was pulled in front of the officers, a fully marked TFU jeep containing four men, including Sergeant Marsh, sped quickly into the cargo area of the dock and stopped.
“Sergeant Marsh,” Thorn said. “Good to see you. It seems these chaps aren’t aware of Customs and Excise standard operating procedures.”
“A word with you, Sergeant?” Marsh said, gesturing towards the jeep. Mitchell watched Marsh whisper to Thorn, then glanced over to the four Chinese men who had gathered near the fork-lift. They were all young, probably in their late teens or early-twenties.
The conference was over. Marsh took the crowbar from Thorn and slammed it into the side of the crate containing the tea, cracking one of the side panels. He then worked the panel off, exposing a mess of straw packing. Marsh dug into the packing with the crowbar, pulling it out.
“We have reason to believe you’ve got something hidden in here,” Marsh said to one of the Chinese. The sharp end of the crowbar struck a large canvas bag, bursting it. A white, crystalline powder oozed out of the tear. Having just completed a two-year tour of duty in the Hampshire Constabulary’s Drug Squad, Marsh hadn’t shaken the habit of carrying a drug test kit with him. He quickly retrieved a plastic vial from the kit, opened it, and scooped a bit of the white powder into the vial with his finger. He replaced the cap and shook the vial vigorously, mixing the white powder with a reagent. The clear liquid changed colour.
Marsh turned to the Chinese men. “I have reason to believe this is heroin. Now I’m going to have to place you under …”
Fully automatic machine-gun blasts interrupted him. Taken by surprise, Mitchell and Thorn were the first to fall. Fortunately for Marsh, his team had come prepared.
Marsh hit the ground and quickly rolled behind the crate, shielding himself from the barrage of bullets. The three other officers also leaped for cover. Using MP5 Standard Operating Rifles, the TFU returned fire on the Chinese. Even though the weapons were singleshot only, the TFU were sharpshooters. One Chinese went down.
Marsh was armed with a Smith and Wesson 15 Mag Self Loading pistol. He peered around the container and got off a couple of shots before a hail of bullets tore into the side of the crate, forcing him back.
The Chinese were formidable opponents who knew how to use their guns, which to Marsh looked like MACH 10s. He knew that they were really COBRAYs, a 9mm machine gun modelled after the MACHs. Even though they were not well-made, criminal gangs favoured COBRAYs because they were sold and traded in pieces and were therefore easily concealed.
After a minute it was almost over. All but one of the Chinese were dead. There were no casualties on Marsh’s team. The lone Chinese gunman realized the predicament he was in and attempted a kamikaze stunt. He yelled something in Cantonese and ran towards Marsh, his gun blasting wildly. Marsh threw caution to the wind. He stood up, used both hands to steady his pistol, aimed at the running man, and squeezed the trigger. The man jerked back and fell to the ground.
Marsh breathed a sigh of relief, then ran to where Thorn and Mitchell lay. The TFU member everyone called “Doc” was attending to the two constables, but he turned to Marsh and shook his head.