King Madonna - Bali 9: The Untold Story

R enae Lawrence and Martin Stephens turned to each other, smiled and shook hands. Theyd done it. Or so they thought. It was the performance of their lives and everyone seemed to have fallen for it, right from the moment they climbed out of their taxi in front of Balis Ngurah Rai international airport. They had looked just like everyone else, holiday-weary and sunburnt, as they grabbed their bags and headed for the queue to check in to their Australian Airlines flight back to Sydney and their homes.

It had been a long eleven days, looking over their shoulders, worried about the moment when they would alight from their taxi and begin an eight-hour act aimed at fooling those trained to see through their disguise. Their clothes had cost just a few dollars at one of the hundreds and hundreds of market stalls lining the busy Kuta streets, the loud shirts, baggy shorts and thongs looking almost like the tourist-issue uniform. Thats what people wore every day on their island holiday: in the bars that served cheap beers and exotic cocktails; in the hotels where accommodation costs were half the price they were back home. Lawrence and Stephens hadnt even picked out the clothes they wore nowsomeone else had done that for them. Just like someone else had dressed them, plastering chunks of heroin onto their thighs and torsos with cheap adhesive tape. But no one else knew that. No one was watching them. They looked just like everyone else, going home tired from the holiday of a lifetime. They were fitting in just fine.

It was just a few minutes past 8 p.m. on Sunday, 17 April 2005. Climbing out of the taxi, Stephens and Lawrence were careful to carry their own bags, politely refusing the offers of the porters who make their living in the airport forecourts. They didnt fidget or look nervous, their self-assurance strong that their secret was safe. After all, Lawrence had done this once beforejust six months ago, she told policeand nothing had gone wrong; the $10 000 bonus she received at the other end proof she had survived the few nerves that surfaced every now and again.

Together, the pair of Sydneysiders walked purposefully through the doors of the big international departure terminal, past the colourful Garuda bird carving, the statues of squat little men wearing traditional black-and-white checked sarongs, and the maroon umbrellas. Once inside, they dumped their bags on the big X-ray conveyor belt that scans tourists luggage, its technology wired up to alert officers to anything suspicious or dangerous.

A dog sat at the other end, where the conveyor belt spat out the checked luggage. Not a fruit-finding beagle, either: a dog trained to sniff out those who broke Indonesias tough drug laws; a dog that could help assign the guilty to a frightening death by way of a bullet to the heart. Indonesia was tough on drug smugglers; it was an attempt by those in charge to stamp out a ballooning problem that was playing havoc with the republics young. Lawrence and Stephens knew they had to walk past the dog without it picking up the scent of the wads of heroin strapped to their bodiesthe 4.8 kilograms of smack that could fetch between $1.4 million and $2 million on the streets of Sydney. But at that time they didnt know how much was taped to them, or what it was worth. They did, however, know it was a risk; a life-threatening one.

It was just on 8.15 p.m. when they wandered past the canine trained to pick up the scent of law-breakers. If they were nervous they hid it well, their act so polished that it could fool anyone who had not been tipped off to their secret.

Lawrence and Stephens chatted, taking their place at the popular Qantas/Australian Airlines check-in counter, handing over their tickets and waiting to be assigned their seats. And with their luggage on its way to the planes cargo holdor so they thoughtthe pair continued their journey. The canine reappeared, its handlers ensuring that not much space was left between the two Australian travellers and their dog. But still nothing. Not a whiff. The dog, like all the others at the airport, was trained to sit down quickly on its haunches the moment things werent right. Everything seemed to be okay with these two though, and the dog and its handlers moved on.

Lawrence and Stephens walked towards the escalator. Twice in a matter of minutes, they had evaded the front-line policing at Balis international airport. Twice theyd been tested, and neither had folded. No alert. No alarm. No suspicion. And thats when they turned and smiled conspiratorially at each other. They had made it, their handshake an intimate sign of victory that their secret was safe. Onwards and upwards from here, across the skies that joined Australia and its backyard island holiday destination. Without a hitch.

Well, almost. Renae Lawrence could feel one of the packs on her thigh begin to slip and it was working itself loose with each step. Something like this could undo everything; she knew it had to be fixed, properly and quickly. So Lawrence ducked into the ladies toilet to make sure the pack couldnt fall further, below her shorts and down her leg. She didnt take long, and shortly rejoined Stephens. They strolled by the duty-free shops where throngs of passengers were looking for one last good deal, something for someone back home or even something to help them remember April in Bali.

Neither Stephens nor Lawrence was interested. They wandered on by, the young woman from Wallsend in Newcastle and the twenty-nine-year-old born-and-bred Illawarra boy, who shared a workplace in Sydney. This wasnt a holiday, after alltheir family and friends were unaware that they had left Australian shores. No need for memories of this trip, eitherbatik shirts and sarongs were an unnecessary reminder that this holiday was work. Hard work.

Departure gates three and four loomed large in front of them, presenting them with the challenge of one more security check before stepping onto the plane. Most travellers didnt bother with it until the last minute, spending their time looking through the shops and making use of the last cigarette stop in one of the many cafs that allowed it, or savouring the last moments of their holiday. Not Stephens and Lawrence. They marched on, keen to pass through security and board their plane. But it wasnt to be. The flight was not yet open and staff told them to take a seat nearby. They would hear the flight being called.