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CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

But Marco wasn’t fazed. He flew out of Amsterdam on a KLM flight to Jakarta, where he planned to clear customs and take a domestic flight on to Bali. He flew into Jakarta Airport at 5.15 pm on Saturday afternoon.

Things were about to turn.

He walked across to his hang-glider on the floor and slung it on his back. One of the hustling trolley boys picked up his other bags and they headed for customs. The bags went through. But Marco was far from safe. He sensed it, too. Tonight, something was up. Police were highly visible. His long-time customs officer friend, who regularly helped him slip electronics from Singapore through customs, walked across, warning him there was a bomb threat; anti-terrorist police were working the airport and the customs chief was insisting they X-ray the hang-glider.

Marco was ready. It had passed machines before. But this time, as it went through, four of the six tubes reflected a dark image. 'What’s in here?' the customs chief asked. Marco fidgeted, incessantly tapping his foot, quickly explaining that some tubes were made of carbon fibre and blocked X-rays. Unsatisfied, the officer pulled out a Swiss Army knife and started tapping the tubes; the hollow ones sounding tinnier than those loaded up with coke. 'What’s in here?' he asked more sternly.

Marco was rifling through his bag. 'Wait a moment, boss,' he rasped.

Now agitated, the officer barked, 'Where’s your passport?'

'Cool down, please. Wait a moment.' Marco was still fumbling in his bag, finally pulling out his professional book. It contained more than 300 photos and a CV, something he always carried as proof he flew the glider. Now he was ready to fast-talk.

'Man, I’m a professional,' he said, pointing out the pictures. 'These are special tubes for aerobatics, for making a loop.' The

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