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- BANGED UP ABROAD: HELLHOLE -

Before we knew it, events were moving so fast, we couldn't stop them. Part of me felt like he was trying to steamroller us into it as quickly as possible so there'd be no time for us to change our minds or bottle it. But even if we knew he was manipulating us, we were blinded by the money.

Paul and I hastily packed our bags, there and then. We lied to our mums and said that we were going on a booze cruise to France to buy fags and beer to sell at a profit, and we were off. We'd only be gone for a week. Or so we thought.

The Russian drove us to the UK Passport Office in Peterborough in a dodgy-looking old Sierra. It wasn't the sort of motor you'd expect a loaded drug dealer to have, but then we figured he probably drove this banger to blend in, lie low and not be too flash. He was clever.

After a lengthy wait, we got our passports, and the Russian bought us each a Ralph Lauren shirt to wear over the bullet-proof vests. We got them nice and baggy, as instructed, so they'd cover up the stash.

That same afternoon, we drove straight to London. The Russian took us to a dodgy-looking, dingy travel agent in Hammersmith and booked our tickets. They didn't even check our passports and he paid in cash, so there was no paper trail. It definitely felt like this was a place he'd used before, where they asked no questions and he told no lies. Then he booked us into a cheap hotel, and left us to it for the night.

- 18 -