1. A SLIGHT CASE OF CONSCIENCE
One of the most serious problems confronting the Customs Service in this century is the control of the illegal importation of narcotics. Some of the difficulties involved in handling dope smuggling can be seen when it is realized that these drugs are being sent from all over the world, by every means of international transportation. The comparatively small number of Customs agents rely on patience, diligence and intelligence, and they are doing a remarkable job. Since this problem is so important, and so typical of the job the Service does, we will begin with the story of one successful case.
On the night of May 17, 1955, seventeen-year-old Truls Arild Halvorsen sat in an office in the Customs House in Boston, Massachusetts, blinking back the unmanly tears that threatened to spill down his face. He kept trying to swallow the dry lump of fear in his throat, but it wouldnât go away. And he had to concentrate hard to remember the answers to all the questions being asked of him by the men sitting about the room.
He was a tall, handsome youth. His blond hair was cropped in a crew cut. His eyes were as blue as the waters in the fjords of his native Norway which he had left for the first time only a little more than a year before. That was when he had shipped out as a seaman aboard the MS Fernhill.
He remembered the day he left home his father had said, âWe are very proud of you, son.â His mother had wept as she clung to him. His friends had gathered to shake his hand and wish him good luck on his first voyage. He had felt grown up and proud and excitedâready to cope with anything the future might bring.
But now...now he sat, a virtual prisoner, answering questions about his role in the plot to smuggle narcotics into the United States. It was a nightmare he wished he could forget, but he knew he never could. The men around him were members of the U.S. Customsâ Special Racket Squad out of New York City, whose job it was to run down smugglers.
He heard the big, soft-voiced man sitting across the desk from himâthe agent named Dave Cardozaâsay, âLetâs go over the story again, Halvorsen. This time itâs for the official record. Tell it just as you did beforeâexactly what happened.â
Halvorsen swallowed once more and nodded. He didnât need a translator to understand what Cardoza was saying because he spoke excellent English as well as German.
âWill you state your full name?â
The youth replied: âTruls Arild Halvorsen.â And the recording began.
QâWhat is your position on the ship?
AâOrdinary seaman.
QâWhat vessel are you on?
AâThe name of the ship is the Fernhill.
QâHow long have you been employed aboard the Fernhill?
AâThree trips, about fifteen months.
QâHow old are you, Mr. Halvorsen?
AâI am seventeen and a half years old.
Was it possible this had begun only a few weeks ago? It had begun that day in Hong Kong when he met the Chinese stranger aboard the Fernhill and, like a fool, he had listened to the manâs talk about making easy money. That was when he should have walked away.
But he hadnât walked away. And thatâs why he was now in this strange room in Boston with these men who asked so many questions....
QâMr. Halvorsen, on the 15th of March, 1955, where was your ship, the Fernhill?
AâIt was in Hong Kong.
QâAnd did you have any conversation with a visitor to the ship?
AâYes, I was talking to him.
QâWill you explain what conversation you had and with whom it was?
AâThe man was a tailor and he said to me that he wanted to talk about some business down in my cabin.
QâHad you ever met him before?
AâNo.
Halvorsen recalled that he had talked to the Chinese tailor about the price of a suit Several tailors had boarded the Fernhill to solicit orders as soon as the ship dropped anchor. Most of the shipâs crew had placed orders for suits, but Halvorsen had decided the price was more than he could afford. It was after this that the tailorâa well-dressed man of medium height with a wart on the lobe of his left earâwhispered to Halvorsen that he would like to talk to him alone in his cabin.
QâWhat did he say when he talked about this other business of smuggling?
AâHe asked me if I wanted to make some money.
QâWhat did you say?
AâYes, I said.
QâThen what did he say?
AâHe said, âI can give you opium if you will take the opium to San Francisco.â He said that if I would do this for him he would pay me $1,200 American. [In the transcript of Halvorsenâs story, the young seaman referred to the narcotics sometimes as opium and at other times as cocaine and heroin. The narcotics in each case was heroin, a derivative of opium highly favored by drug addicts in the United States.]
QâWhat did you say then?
AâI was not sure if I wanted to do it or not, but I did not say no.
The tailor then wrote an address on a slip of paperâNo. 54 Cameron Roadâand pressed it into Halvorsenâs hand. âIf you decide you want the money, come to this address at seven oâclock tonight.â
By six oâclock that evening, Halvorsen had reached a decision. The sum of $1,200 sounded like a small fortune to the boy who had never in his life had more than a few dollars at one time. It was more money than he could save in many months at seaâenough to buy an interest in a fishing boat back in Norway.
Halvorsen dressed in his best blue trousers and white shirt for the trip ashore. When he left the Fernhill he carried a briefcase which the Chinese had suggested he bring along. He hailed a rickshaw at the ferry slip near the Peninsula Hotel, and gave the address on Cameron Road. Then he sat back to enjoy the gaudy, East-meets-West sights of Kowloon as the coolie trotted through streets swarming with Chinese, most of them refugees from Red China.
After he stepped from the rickshaw and paid the driver, he stood uncertainly at the curb looking about for the number 54. A Chinese came up to him and said, âYou looking for Number Fifty-four?â Halvorsen said he was, and the man said, âYou follow me.â...
QâWhere did he take you?
AâHe took me inside the house and into a corridor. We turned right and there was a door. He knocked on the door.
QâWas the house No. 54, Cameron Road, ground floor, Kowloon, Hong Kong?
AâYes.
QâWas there any number or anything written on the door of the corridor?
AâI donât remember.
QâThen what happened?
AâSomebody opened the door and said, âPlease, come in.â He took my hand as in welcome. He said, âI am glad to see you,â or something like that and in the room was the Chinese tailor I saw on the ship and another man...
Halvorsen remembered sitting with the three Chinese at a small, round table. The room was dimly lit and dingy. One of the men offered him whiskey but he refused and instead asked for a glass of beer. A woman padded into the room and placed a bottle of beer on the table. And then he was aware that a Chinese girl was standing near him. But when he glanced at her, he was blinded momentarily by a flash of light and so startled that he started to rise from his chair.
The wart-eared tailor laughed and said, âDonât worry. It was only a flash from a camera. We need a photograph to send to our man in San Francisco so he will be able to recognize you when you arrive with the packages.â
One of the Chinese, a short, fat man in shirt sleeves, took a slip of paper from his pocket and scrawled on it the words, âSan Francisco.â He tore the paper in half, handing one part to Halvorsen. âYou keep this half,â he said, âand we will send the other to our man in San Francisco. When you meet him, you give him your half of the paper and he can match the two halves to make sure you are the right man.â
âWhere will I meet him?â Halvorsen asked.
The man wrote on another slip of paper âLew Gar Kung Saw, 854 Gay Street, San Francisco.â He handed it to Halvorsen and said, âYou deliver the packages of heroin to this man at this address. When you make the delivery, he will pay you twelve hundred dollars. Okay?â
Halvorsen nodded. âI guess itâs okay,â he said. Then he gave them the itinerary of the Fernhill. He told them the ship was scheduled to arrive in Boston on May 16. If possible, he would leave the ship there or in New York and travel by bus to San Francisco to make the delivery, after which he would return to Norway.
The fat Chinese left the room, and when he returned he was carrying ten cotton bags filled with heroin, each of them weighing about half a pound. He placed them in Halvorsenâs briefcase...
QâWhat happened then?
AâThen he asked me if I saw the bags. I said, âYes.â He said that was what I was going to take ashore and he said, âYou have to keep it on your body.â And he showed me a white silk sash.
QâDid he tell you how to use that white silk sash?
AâYes. He said I was first to fold it double and put it around my waist and then I could put the white bags down in the folds of the sash. He said I should keep maybe two bags in front, two bags in the back and the others strapped to my legs.
After the Chinese put the heroin in the briefcase, Halvorsen left the house on Cameron Road. He returned to his ship and placed the briefcase in a shipâs locker. He explained to the officer in charge that it contained souvenirs.
From Hong Kong, the Fernhill steamed to Djakarta, Indonesia, where Halvorsen hurried ashore with several crew members for a look at the city. After a time he wandered away from the others. He was alone, sipping a glass of beer in a bar near the Hotel Des Indes, when a Javanese approached and stood beside him.
âHave you got anything you would like to sell?â the Javanese said. âAny clothes or shoes? I can get you a good price.â
Halvorsen looked at the man, a middle-aged Javanese with a jagged scar running from his left eyebrow to his chin. He said stiffly, âIâm not interested in small stuff.â
The Javanese slid into a chair beside the youth. âYou mean youâve got something else you would like to sell?â he asked. Halvorsen nodded, trying to appear casual and matter-of-fact. âMaybe we can do business,â Scar Face said. âWhat have you got to sell?â
Halvorsen said, âWhat would you pay for a pound of heroin?â
The Javanese was impressed. âYou can get heroin? You are not fooling me?â
âIâm not telling a lie,â Halvorsen said. âHow much for a pound?â
Scar Face said, âIf itâs pure stuff, Iâll take two pounds and pay you ten thousand dollars American money.â
$10,000 for two pounds of heroin! Halvorsen was so startled that he blurted: âThatâs too much. Five thousand would be enough. Iâll have to get the stuff from the ship.â
Scar Face said, âYou wait here. Iâll be back.â And he hurried from the bar.
In less than five minutes he was back with two other men, one of them dressed in a police uniform. They took Halvorsen to the dock, where they boarded a police launch which carried them to the Fernhill. Halvorsen took Scar Face to his cabin and told him to wait there.
Then he went to the shipâs locker and removed two bags of heroin and brought them back to his quarters. The Javanese opened one of them. He took a pinch of the white powder and tasted it. âIt looks and tastes like itâs pure stuff, but I donât know. Iâll have to get a doctor to make a test.â
This precaution seemed reasonable enough to Halvorsen. He handed the two bags to the Javanese, who concealed them under his coat. They returned to the police boat which carried them back to the pier. And then he and Scar Face got into a car and drove to the outskirts of the city, where the car swung into a driveway beside a white frame house.
âThis is the doctorâs house,â Scar Face said. âYou wait in the car.â He carried the two bags into the house.
In a few minutes Scar Face came back to the car. âThe doctor says it will take time to test the heroin. I canât get the money until he makes the test. Iâll bring it to you tomorrow.â
With appalling innocence, Halvorsen said, âI guess thatâs okay.â And as Scar Face drove him back to the waterfront, they agreed to meet on the pier the following morning.
The next day Halvorsen went ashore to meet Scar Face. He waited at the agreed meeting place for more than two hours. Slowly it dawned on him that he would never see Scar Face again. He had...