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I went through like a kiddy arriving in Disneyland, really happy. I walked outside and saw my Aussie friend waiting. I didn't know he'd be there, but he knew the drug dealers and they paid him to pick me up. He didn't say a word, just put a big smile on his face, turned around and started walking to the car park. I just followed him at a distance and we jumped in the car and started celebrating. 'Yeah, I made it . . . I thought I was going to be in fucking jail for life, I just fucking made it.' We were just going crazy.

It had been two days of jangling nerves and dicey moments, but he was back in the black with cash spilling out of his pockets. The trip gave him something else, too — a brand new career. He'd proved cold-blooded in the face of hot spots and quickly became a busy go-to guy, with the Peruvians Poca and Jerome, and Indonesian bosses, hiring him to pick up horses, babysit drugs, find buyers, deliver samples, and do deals. In future, he would operate only inside Bali, without risking airports. The door swung open to the blazing underworld of elegant parties, rich, important people, luxury villas, beautiful girls and more cash some days than most people see in a lifetime.

There was a very glamorous side to this business. You'd feel very important; there was all this fantasy surrounding it. Whenever I was going to do business, I set myself in secret agent mode. I would become a completely different person, like James Bond or whatever. I have to always be the best, a step ahead, making up stories, checking into hotels, driving around the streets, always watching if I'm being followed. It was like living in a movie, like Tequila Sunrise. I would do that secret agent thing until the deal was done, then go back to my normal life as a surfer, just cruise and surf. So I had like two lives, parallel.

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