Snowing in Bali (30 page)

AFTERWORD
SNOWSTORM

Three weeks after the English woman was busted, another dealer's life in Bali exploded. The Brazilian surfer who went down had been close to Rafael and others in Bali for years – and his bust caused panic.

The dealer had been careful. Always. One sultry afternoon he was riding his motorbike, beside his partner in this run, to pick up a DHL parcel containing a backpack loaded with nearly 1 kilo of coke. He'd paid a Balinese taxi driver to collect it and bring it to him at the front of some surf bungalows near Canggu beach – familiar turf.

The two bikes approached the waiting taxi. As soon as the Brazilian took the parcel, his life blew up. It was sudden frantic commotion. Police dressed like surfers burst from behind the gate. The Brazilian wheeled the bike around, but a cop grabbed his shirt, shouted, ‘Stop' and put a gun to his back. The dealer kept accelerating. The cop fired a warning shot into the air. The dealer revved, trying to break the cop's grip. Then, it was over. The cop whacked him in the back of the head with his gun and he fell off his bike.

He wound up on the ground, with no hope of escape, four of the cops kicking and punching him. Young Balinese surfers came running out of the bungalows to see what was going on. They wanted to defend their surfer friend, but backed off fast when the men yelled, ‘Police'.

The other dealer involved in the run had luckily escaped, not only the police clutches, but two bullets that were aimed directly at him as he tore off.

Police took the Brazilian to his beach house, where they found his girlfriend, a gardener and a maid. They handcuffed the dealer to a shower pipe, then ransacked his house, searching for more drugs and going through his phone, his computer and his photos.

Police wanted information; they wanted other dealers – especially the one who'd eluded them back at the scene. They interrogated the captives, pushing the gardener:

‘Who was the guy who escaped?'

‘I don't know anything.'

They hit the gardener in the face, giving him a black eye.

‘Where are his friends? You know his friends?'

‘No, I don't know anybody, I don't know anything.'

He was actually Rafael's gardener, on loan to the Brazilian to beautify a new garden with his ‘magic hands', but his friend held his tongue, saving Rafael from certain interrogation.

The dealer remained handcuffed to the shower pipe, released only occasionally for a beating and questions: ‘Who you going to sell to?', ‘Who is your friend?' and ‘Who sent this?'

I think they beat him very bad, but he didn't get any stitches or bruises. They know how to give you pain but no evidence.

– Rafael

The house was now swarming with cops. They'd discovered a stash of cash in a safe, and used some of it to buy a box of beer and food. They were walking around in the guy's floral board shorts, floating in his swimming pool on his surfboards and watching his plasma TV, while the maid, the girlfriend, the gardener and the dealer were held prisoner in the bathroom.

Bad news spread fast. Another Brazilian friend of Rafael's had watched the whole drama through his window and called him 10 minutes after the bust. Rafael's instant reaction was panic.

I near to get heart attack. I think, ‘Shit, they are going to come to me.' My heart beat dededede. But when I think calm and clear, I say to myself, ‘Relax, man, you did the right thing, you didn't get involved. That's it.'

I go surfing in Uluwatu the day after in the morning cos I was, like, ‘Aah, I need to surf.' I cancel my class. When I come out from the water, was 22 missed calls. I say, ‘Fuck.' I have to put my phone off, because all the Brazilian community, everybody call me, ‘Where is the guy?' ‘What's happened?' ‘What did he have, coke?' I say, ‘Fuck, man, I don't know.' Then my surf partner was pissed off with me because I answer. He say, ‘Don't answer the phone, man. Fuck, you're going to get in trouble.'

– Rafael

In Bali, there was panic. The beach in Canggu was swarming with undercover cops, and the dealer's friends, customers, partners and sellers were all getting strange phone calls. Some fled to other islands; others flew overseas. The dealer's main seller, a European man, nearly fainted when someone broke the news to him.

He lose the colour in his face. You know, like he say, ‘What? Ahhhh,' nearly crying. ‘I have to go, I have to go.' I think he already left Bali now – he's very afraid.

– Rafael

Rafael drove past the dealer's house on his way to the beach, and saw at least eight cops lounging back on their bikes out the front with their long hair, moustaches and board shorts.

The next day he noticed his friend's new car, his fake Harley and two scooters were gone, but there was a silver van in the driveway, which police would use to drive their captive to the airport en route to Jakarta. But before snatching him from his Bali life, they all huddled together with the drug dealer for a photo.

He was the hunting trophy.

– Rafael

Later, the police returned to the house and swiped everything, from his furniture, clothes and leather shoes to his quiver of custom surfboards. When a friend called in later on, the place was stripped bare (though he later got some of it back with the help of an influential Balinese friend). The dealer's girlfriend was too scared to stay there and had slept at the gardener's house.

The cops were still searching, phoning and interrogating his contacts.

After his instinctive panic, Rafael relaxed, but with so much heat familiar feelings flared when he noticed someone riding closely behind him, with a helmet shield obscuring his face. Rafael tore off, zigzagging through the traffic until he lost him – realising it was probably just old instincts dying hard. But his number was in the busted dealer's phone, and many people knew they were old friends, so he braced for a bang on his door.

For two days, I just wait for the police to come to my house. I have some smoking papers, you know, so I clean everything and then I was ready for them, but this time I feel so comfortable. I say, ‘They cannot fuck me, I don't have anything to do with this shit.' My girlfriend was freaking out; she regrets to be with me, because I have this kind of friend. She near to leave me. ‘I have a kid, soon the police gonna come here, better I move.' I say, ‘Do what you want. It's me – you think I'm doing something with this guy?' ‘No, I'm sure you don't.' ‘Then shut up, be quiet, nothing is going to happen, wait and see.'

So, are you a little bit worried?

Actually no, I don't have anything to do with this shit. Since the day he get this problem, everybody called me saying, ‘Oh, be careful, be careful.' I say, ‘Careful of what, man? I don't have anything to do with this shit.' It's a funny feeling, because I've been so much closer, this one is so far away. I'm not scared at all. I sleep like a baby, I eat like a horse. I don't give a shit, because I know this time I did the right thing. I don't give a chance for them to involve me.

– Rafael

*

The day before the bust, the Brazilian dealer had gone to Rafael's house and asked him to make a few calls to help him sell a kilo of snow due on the island the next day.

He comes to my house with his girlfriend and says, ‘Oh, tomorrow I'm going to get this shit, 1 kilo, it's already in Hong Kong.'

He says, ‘Come on, Rafael, you make a couple of calls and you can make some money.' I straight away say, ‘No, man, I don't want to get involved – are you crazy? No way, José. All my buyers, they're in jail or dead, everybody fuck up. Forget it. Keep your money, man, buy land, get out of this shit.' He says, ‘I will give you some cash, because you need it to pay the school.' I say, ‘No, no, I don't want to know. Don't tell me, please, man. Be careful, man.'

But he tells me it's coming with DHL. I say, ‘Are you crazy? Anna got busted with this shit. Be careful, man.' ‘No, it's okay. No chance they catch me. I have this taxi driver. But if something happens, you know what to do.' I say, ‘Come on, nothing's going to happen, don't talk like this.' And then, the day after, bang, bust.

– Rafael

You are living the dream until you bust and all the reality comes so fast and so bad; no more beach, just cops around, asking a million questions at the same time.

This game is fucking dangerous.

– Busted drug dealer

EPILOGUE

Rafael

The busts that kept happening were a constant confirmation to Rafael that he had done the right thing. Despite struggling for cash these days, he felt happier than ever.

Friends say, ‘Now you are a different person, you are the real Rafael. Before you have something evil. Even your eyes are different now. I hear a lot, ‘Oh Rafael . . . man, you look so different, I don't know why but you look very nice.' Now, actually I'm fit again, I go to the beach every day, I surf, you know . . . I can socialise in normal places, I can have straight friends, I can talk about normal business.

In the end, after all the glamour, I don't feel proud. I try to forget this shit. Because I don't think it's cool. I poison people here with this shit just for money, nothing else. Poison people, fuck families, even make people die from overdose. I like to show off in that time. For what?

Now, I have different value for life. I don't wanna have a nice car, I don't wanna have a gold necklace, I don't wanna go to five-star hotels. My goal now is to have a job, get money to raise my kids, working as a surf instructor, have a quiet, normal life. And try to show the new generation that's not a good choice. That's the thing now in my heart.

When I see young guys coming to Bali, to meet me to try to do some drug business, they look at me with shining eyes. They think I have an island, I have an aeroplane, because in the surfing world in Brazil they make so much bullshit about me. ‘Hey, Rafael, I wanna bring some coke – can you help me?'

I need to say, ‘Don't do that, because maybe you focus on me, you wanna be like me; have a nice house, fuck all the girls, ba ba ba ba. You don't have so much of a good life in the end. You have only three options: jail, hospital or cemetery – one of these three.'

They get shocked, because I say, ‘Man, forget this shit. I know what I'm talking about because I've been there and then in the end I get fucked.' Then I start, ‘Remember the house I have before?' – because they have seen it in magazines – ‘Where is the beautiful house? Where are the motorbikes? Where is my family, my kids? My nice remote control car? Everything gone to hell. My wife is in jail. I suffer with all that, you know. I suffer when I see friends of mine getting caught, because all of them get killed, murdered, or busted.

‘I'm gonna tell you something . . . If you do this, you might make money, the devil gonna give you a lot of money with the coffee spoon for a long time, but when he take, he gonna take with a big spoon all at once. Whooo . . . You gonna be broke . . . You gonna get shot . . . You're crazy, man, forget this shit.' That's my goal now, to change their minds.

And now you enjoy teaching surfing?

I love it. You know, that's my life. I love to go to work, yes! I'm going to give a surf class. I go very happy; I'm gonna go to the ocean, I'm gonna swim, I'm gonna teach people to surf. I'm lucky. Most of my gang is not here anymore. They are all dead, jail, the very bad end.

Around 15 years I play. Now, I just want a simple and happy life. Now I know who are my real friends. Before, I have many people there just to suck. Just to eat, to drink for free. I don't realise.

I scramble to live day by day but I'm still free, healthy and alive. I have my girl I love, my beautiful kids, surfing. I'm healthy and I'm happy – much happier than before. I don't need to hide myself – I'm Mr Rafael now, the teacher, surf guru.

Marco

Marco spends his days now on death row in a maximum-security prison on Nusakambangan Island, dubbed Indonesia's Alcatraz. The sun-kissed tropical island is lush with an ugly scar of seven prisons slashed across it. It's also where executions take place; where in 2008 the Bali bombers, terrorists Amrozi, Samudra and Mukhlas, were taken from their cells to a clearing and shot dead by a 12-sniper firing squad.

Now Marco awaits the same fate.

Incredibly, most of the time he's upbeat and optimistic. In jail, he plays tennis, listens to music, and cooks when he gets ingredients brought in by a rare visitor. ‘I make good food, believe me.'

As in his trafficking days of taking insanely audacious risks, he's still a reckless rule-breaker in jail. ‘I'm a troublemaker. I've been moved 56 times in here. I've been in every cell. They even put me in the kitchen.'

But the reality of his desperate situation swarms around him. Most of his fellow inmates are on life or death sentences. His compatriot Rodrigo Gularte is failing to cope with the drawn out, torturous wait for execution and spends most of his time in the Christian church praying, crying and confused.

The other Brazilian here, Rodrigo, get crazy. He's always talking to himself, he doesn't change his clothes anymore. But there is nothing I can do. He reads the Bible, goes to the church.

He tried to burn himself to death, didn't he?

Yeah, in the other jail he try, but not professional.

Despite Marco's bravado, his own fear and loneliness are inescap­able. American big-wave surfer Gabriel recalls one emotional conversation when Marco called to say goodbye when he was being released from Bali's Kerobokan jail.

He started off saying, ‘Hey, whoa . . . you're getting released.' I'm like, ‘Yeah.' He was happy for me, but then he broke down, he lost it. I was on the phone going, ‘What do I do? What do I say?' I couldn't speak to him; I didn't have a thing I could say . . . what could I tell him? I was going home. So I didn't say anything, he went silent and then he hung up. He didn't say goodbye.

– Gabriel

It's perhaps Marco's way of staying sane that he's convinced himself that, with so many nationalities now on death row in Indonesia, international pressure will ensure they don't get shot dead.

I'm sure. The Brazil embassy works hard. French guy, Dutch guy, Swiss guy, many people here, from Nepal, from Pakistan, from India, from America, from Australia, on death sentence.

– Marco

But in June 2012 it looked like political pressure would fail to save him; that Marco would be the first westerner executed in Indonesia, when the Jakarta Post ran a story that he was to be executed in coming weeks. The story was based on quotes from an Indonesian prosecutor, Andi DJ Konggoasa, who also claimed that Marco's final request was for a bottle of Chivas Regal whisky.

That bit sounded believable enough, prompting a Brazilian friend in Bali to consider making the long and emotional trip to the island to take him a bottle.

But no officials had told Marco anything, he knew only what was in the media. A month earlier he'd signed some unofficial looking paper brought in by an attorney who'd jokingly asked what his last request was. ‘Three bottles of Chivas whisky and two women', he'd answered with typical Marco sass.

But the story turned out to be false. Until the Indonesian government announced a decision on Marco's second clemency application, made in 2008, by law, he would not be shot. BBC Brazil reported that the Brazilian Ambassador had this confirmed by the Indonesian Attorney-General. The ambassador then travelled to the penal island to reassure Marco.

Were you scared?

No problem, no problem. My embassy is here all the time. You see they already put Corby's sentence down five years.

Marco still believes one day he'll walk free. After all, he's beaten seemingly unbeatable odds before.

All my family already die – my father, my mother, my brother, my grandmother, my two uncles; eight people already die. But you know, Marco is still alive. No worry, no worry. Because for sure I'm going to go out from here.

Marco has also outlived his best friend from childhood, Beto, who all those years ago used to drop his pliable young friend off at the bottom of the favelas to run up and fill his lunch box with the ‘white' stuff. Beto died of a cocaine overdose.

Although the harsh third-world prison has not yet broken Marco's indefatigable spirit, it's taken a toll physically. His injured leg always hurts and lack of health care has resulted in gum disease and all his teeth falling out.

I want to go home . . . I'm very tired. People don't care about me here. Look, I have no teeth. I have to ask them all the time to bring me to a dentist, but they say you give me $1000 and I don't have the money.

Incredibly, visiting Marco isn't depressing. Ask him, ‘Hey, sing that song again, Marco,' and he bursts into, ‘I never can say goodbye, every time I think . . . ' then he stops and asks earnestly, ‘I don't know, what kind of song do you want? Aretha Franklin or something else?'

Juri

The Italian jeweller, who was busted in Bali with 5.26 kilos of cocaine in his surfboard bag – on Carlino's failed run to help Marco – lives in the same prison as Marco, but with better prospects. His life sentence was cut to 15 years. His expensive wink paid off and, with annual sentence cuts, he could be home in Italy next year.

Fox

After stealing Rafael's cash and selling behind his back, Rafael reckons Fox made between €300,000 and €400,000 profit. He then fled to Tahiti, built an oceanfront mansion in surf mecca Teahupoo, bought a boat and started growing marijuana from seeds he bought in Amsterdam – with a business plan to control the island's dope supply.

But he was busted with 35 kilos of marijuana and is now in a Tahitian prison.

I was thinking to go there and fix him, but I forgive him. He's paying for his mistake already – he's in jail, I'm surfing.

– Rafael

Borrador – Jose Henrici

Missing Englishwoman Kate Osborne's ex-boyfriend Jose Henrici, aka Borrador, didn't return to Bali. No one is absolutely certain of his fate, but it's believed he died from a cocaine overdose in a cheap hotel with a prostitute, after serving a couple of years in jail in the jungles of Peru.

The Diaz brothers

After fleeing Bali following Kate Osborne's suspected murder, Poca and Mario never returned to the island, but continued dealing. There's no trace of them now, but it's believed Mario died of leukaemia in Peru and Poca was strangled to death in Brazil over a $50,000 drug deal dispute.

For a period of time everybody was happy and living life on top of the world and the karma started. If you look back, most had some tragic . . . real bad tragedy.

– Alberto

Psychopath

Psychopath, aka Fabio, served two years in jail in Amsterdam for collecting the FedExed parcel of cocaine. After getting out, he met a millionaire girlfriend who bought him a new Mercedes and today supports him.

Fabio

The gregarious Fabio who ran the bar on Legian beach left Bali after it got too hot for him, not long after police snatched him off the beach and took him at gunpoint to Rafael's house. He became a favela guide in Rio.

Tota

Hells Angel Tota was shot dead in front of a trendy bar in Rio in a dispute over slot machines.

As Tota had stood drinking beer out the front of the bar Carolice, at 3 am, two men drove up in a silver Peugeot. One man got out of the car, disguised in a red balaclava, and started shooting.

Tota was hit in his head and stomach, and was killed instantly. Two of his friends were shot in the feet and legs. Pandemonium broke out on the streets, with patrons from the many busy bars running for cover, or throwing themselves on the ground.

Rio police had no doubts that the two men had gone to the spot to execute Tota in part of the ‘slot machine war'. It was well known Tota lived next door to the bar.

Chino

Chino was busted for ecstasy production in the country to which he'd fled after escaping Bali. He is now in jail while his interminably long drug trial is heard. If convicted, he faces a mandatory death sentence.

Operation Playboy

Chief Caieron has worked for the Brazilian Federal Police since 1996, and personally instigated Operation Playboy in 2004.

The very beginning of Playboy Operation took place when I started to see – in the daily newspaper – that young folks from our city [Florianópolis] and state [Santa Catarina] were being arrested in Europe with 3, 4, 5 kilos of cocaine. So, someone, somehow with somebody else, was recruiting and hiring those young guys to do this, and those guys couldn't be far from me. The challenge? Start to search, to find and put all the pieces together.

Once we started to investigate, we decided to call ‘Playboy Operation' because we saw what kind of guys – high middle-class – were involved in those activities.

In six years Operation Playboy resulted in the arrest of more than 20 people who were exporting cocaine to Europe and Bali and returning to Brazil with ecstasy and dope.

Carlino

Carlino didn't slow down after his horses got life and death sentences; he got busier. Until the day he was busted.

Rafael had finished the drug game, but was watching his friend still perilously playing.

It was only me and him still standing – from all the group but Carlino was dealing a lot. Doesn't give a shit, like in Ku De Ta. He was too arrogant, like a big boss. He was asking for it the way he play, and then he say, ‘Rafael, can you help me?' I say, ‘What?' ‘You have any coke in Brazil, cheap, good stuff?' I say, ‘Forget it man, everybody's in jail, I cannot help you. Stop this shit. Come on, Carlino, it's no good man. Make your villa.' He was on the way to making a villa.

And then he goes to Brazil but he makes a big mistake. He goes on the same flight with the horse. And then they catch the horse in France, the horse points to him, and they catch him.

So is he in jail in France now?

Yeah, I hear he tried to kill himself because I hear in Paris it's very hard in the jails, fighting all the time, the black people crazy, the Cameroon gang there, very strong, many rapes, not a nice jail to stay. I think Carlino gets ten years.

– Rafael

Marco Froes

Marco Froes, Andre's horse, who was busted with 3 kilos of cocaine at Florianópolis Airport about 90 minutes before Andre's second arrest, and who Andre suspects worked a sting with the police to trap him, is now in a witness protection program.