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AGAINST THE ODDS

His friend was feeling the heat. 'Rafael, you sure you don't have anything at home?'

'Yeah, I'm sure.'

About twenty minutes later it was time to go. Rafael strode the 93 metres from the beach to his wooden gate, feeling eyes all over him. They were on their marks, set, poised for a signal to ambush. The second he put his hand on the gate, the sleepy street erupted. 'Police, police,' they screamed as they sprang out of bushes and charged. Three motorbikes roared in fast from one direction, three did a short sprint from another. It was hardly shock and awe.

'I know, I already know,' Rafael snapped. 'What do you want?'

They wanted to come inside. 'Nobody's coming inside my house without a witness and you need a warrant.' One of the cops handed him a piece of paper with writing in Indonesian. 'Fuck, I don't understand this, hang on,' Rafael said and called his Balinese neighbour. 'Wayan, please come quick.'

Wayan tore over and read the warrant, looking grim. 'Ah Rafael, Marco Archer has given you up.'

'What?'

'He says you're the man who takes care of all the coke coming from South America to Asia.' It was almost two years since Marco's bust. Rafael grabbed the warrant, staring at the foreign words.

And then, I see the name 'Marco Archer Moreira'. I don't know why he did that to me. He gave me up. He was jealous of my success. Sad.

Rafael had no choice but to let them into his sanctuary, despite his fears of them planting something. A dozen cops poured

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