Read Little Men - The E Book Online
Authors: Ronnie Yax
Henrik
’
s operation was as ingenious as it was efficient. He ran a legitimate perfume-manufacturing company, but nothing to rival Calvin Klein or Yves Saint Laurent. It produced the cheap stuff sold on market stalls or in budget shops. The business did reasonably well, but it wasn
’
t important to make a huge profit as it was merely just a front for his criminal activities. The organisation, Dynamisch Internationaal, allowed Henrik to import the main raw ingredient needed to make ecstasy.
Factories in China converted the bark of the Sassafras tree into the chemical piperonyl, the active ingredient. Henrik then shipped the substance into the Netherlands under the guise of using it for the legitimate manufacture of perfume. Indeed, some of it genuinely was used for that purpose, but the majority of Henrik
’
s piperonyl would be mixed with other chemicals to create 3-4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine (MDMA) powder. The powder would then be crushed into solid tablets at Henrik
’
s lab. Finally, the logo was stamped onto the pill to identify it.
Once the Es had dried and hardened sufficiently, they would be packaged into plastic bags to sell. Each bag usually contained 1000 tablets. This was sold for around £800 each. The buyer could sell them on for whatever mark-up he wanted and distribute them by whatever means necessary in his country. This was not Henrik
’
s concern, although his operation was ultimately governed by the laws of supply and demand on the dance floors of the raves and clubs across the world.
Henrik
’
s factory made approximately ten kilos of MDMA powder per week, enough to produce a million pills, which were then sold to customers across Europe. This morning Henrik had completed his final batch of the week, and was preparing to package them to sell.
The last of Henrik
’
s helpers left the laboratory for the morning, and it was time to shut everything down. He made sure all the electricity was switched off and the flames from the gas burners had fully extinguished. Once they
’
d cooled down sufficiently, he removed the large 22-litre glass flasks and the clear, spherical containers and carefully placed them in an industrial cleaner. He deftly brushed off the burnt residue from the ceramic stirring plate, and sprayed it with a cleansing product, then wiped it, leaving it spotlessly clean.
Finally, he drained the remainder of the valuable piperonyl liquid into its glass container and made sure the plastic lid was screwed on tightly. He replaced it on the chemical storage shelf in its place among rows and rows of containers and bottles with white labels stuck to them, depicting the name of the contents, usually something ridiculously long and unpronounceable.
He walked past the enormous wall-chart representing chemical compositions and switched off the three sets of strip lights. He returned to his office, locking the door behind him.
Sean made the Channel crossing uneventfully. He caught the first ferry of the day from Dover to Calais. As Tony had predicted, there were plenty of football fans aboard, travelling via France to Belgium for the match. Sean avoided talking to anyone and did his best not get noticed, burying his head in a newspaper for the entire journey.
His plan was to drive through France and Belgium and arrive in Holland in the early evening to make the pickup. He would then drive back overnight to catch another early morning ferry back to the UK. It was a tight schedule, with little margin for error. Sean wanted to spend as little time as possible on the job, so it was essential to constantly keep moving.
Had he been a refined man he would have appreciated the beautiful scenery as he travelled along the coast road through France. Every so often the rugged wilderness was interrupted by an ancient castle or walled ruin, designed centuries ago to prevent invasion from foreign aggressors. The windswept fields looked incredibly peaceful, giving no indication that they
’
d seen so much unimaginably gruesome bloodshed over the centuries.
Sean kept to the main highways, passing the Belgian cities of Brugge and Gent until he reached the ring road around Antwerp and its skyline dominated by the Gothic cathedral spire. He was faced with an array of routes to the Dutch border, but he chose the scenic E19
autosnelweg,
which took him past the town of Zundert, the historic birthplace of Vincent Van Gogh.
He continued resolutely across the flat country, passing lush forests and fields of tulips in bud, the first signs that winter was finally drawing to a close.
Sean tensed slightly when his progress slowed as he negotiated the traffic heading into the city of Arnhem, then relaxed as the cluster of vehicles gave way to open road again and he glided north through the beautiful Hoge Veluwe National Park.
Sean checked the map. He was still about a hundred miles from the city of Groningen, near to which he was due to meet Henrik at his factory. The sun was close to setting and night was drawing in. Sean looked at his watch, the rendezvous was scheduled for just over an hour. He would need to put his foot down. He would be late, but not desperately. Henrik would surely make allowances for that sort of thing, he reasoned.
Eventually he turned off the main road and into the minute town of Noordenveld. It was around 6 p.m. and people were on their way home from work, mainly commuting from the cities of Assen, Emmen and Groningen.
The largely rural area was home to a few small factories and warehouses, one of which Sean was looking for as he tentatively drove his old Citroën Berlingo around the open streets.
Sean often struggled with written instructions when they were in English. Now he was looking at a piece of paper with the name of a street and town in Dutch:
‘232 Esweg
Sean found the town easily, but the street and the factory were proving to be far more problematic. Driving around the dimly-lit foreign roads very slowly was doing nothing for Sean
Eventually, Sean turned into a street with a name corresponding to what he had written down. After several more minutes driving he finally saw the sign he was looking for, identifying a building as belonging to
Sean was experienced in pickups. He knew exactly what was required of him. He slowly drove the van to what looked like the rear of the warehouse and came to a halt, trying to look inconspicuous. The rear car park was deserted apart from a few vehicles, presumably owned by staff of Dynamisch that were still in the building. It started to drizzle with rain as Sean walked from his Citroën to what looked like an entrance, and rung the bell.
The intercom crackled. Sean heard a human voice utter a one-syllable word but it was indecipherable.
After a few seconds the door buzzed and Sean entered the building. He faced a poorly-lit staircase which he climbed. He reached the top and walked through another door. He entered a small office. There was a desk with an old computer on it, the cream plastic now stained and discoloured through age. The room itself was in a poor decorative state, paint was chipped off the walls with a few tatty posters depicting maps and adverts for perfume. It was clear how old they were from the hairstyles of the models in the pictures. As Sean got his bearings, a door opened and a man walked in.
Henrik was far older, Sean guessed fifty, but he was actually forty-four. His previously blonde hair was now almost completely grey. He wore small, rimless glasses that had slid down to the lower part of the bridge of his nose. He was tall and thin and dressed in a shabby shirt and tie with a blue fleece jacket over the top.
This was standard practice. Sean lifted his arms and parted his legs to allow Henrik to perform an ungainly body search, mainly to ensure Sean wasn
As soon as he felt satisfied Sean was clear, Henrik disappeared. He returned approximately five minutes later with two small clear plastic bags filled with tiny blue ecstasy tablets.
The two men worked quickly and without conversation, the atmosphere between them tense due in no small part to the fact that they were doing something highly illegal. At this moment they were particularly vulnerable to detection, no matter how cautious they
Sean felt considerable relief when the task was over. He
It wasn
He was mildly surprised when, instead of manoeuvring the vehicle to one of the pumps, the driver pulled over at the side of the shop and started talking on his mobile phone. Sean felt slightly uneasy. The driver had merely pulled off the main carriageway of a dangerous road to make a phone call, but Sean was always wary and on his guard, especially in a foreign country. He hurriedly paid for the fuel and returned to his vehicle, then made his way off the forecourt and back onto the main road, heading in the direction of the motorway.
There was no other traffic on the road. Sean was clearly in a very isolated part of Holland. There were few signs of life. Occasionally he passed what looked like a pub or a guest house. Sean had been driving all day in a slow and uncomfortable van. He wished he could stop for the night. He could have a wash, get something to eat and a cold beer, then have a good night
He knew he needed to stay awake for the long drive ahead. With one hand on the steering wheel, he reached for his wallet and retrieved a paper wrap. Without slowing down, he unfolded the paper to reveal the white powder inside. He licked his index finger and dabbed the speed until most of the powder stuck. He then licked it off his finger and swallowed. He grimaced at the foul taste, and reached for a plastic bottle of water he kept in the glove box.
As he replaced the bottle, he noticed in the corner of his eye a vehicle behind him. He kept an eye on it, but didn