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Peter Bleksley - Gangbuster. I Dont Care How Hard You Are, If You Cross Me Ill Bring You Down

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Peter Bleksley Gangbuster. I Dont Care How Hard You Are, If You Cross Me Ill Bring You Down
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Four million quid. There it was, inches away from me on a hotel table. Not in conventional currency, but in the worlds deadliest commodity. Heroin. The guy sitting opposite me was there to sell it. I was there to buy it. This was the trap wed set for the biggest fish in international drug trafficking. And we were about to fry him alive...Peter Bleksley was the best undercover cop Scotland Yard ever had. In over ten years operating in covert squads, he came up against some of the most hardened, lethal and bizarre underworld operations, constantly putting his life on the line so that the deadliest villians would end up where they belonged: behind bars. A master of disguise, he assumed numerous identities in order to get close to his targets - drug dealer, counterfeiter, gangster and hit man to name just a few. So determined was he to nail his man, he would even have to take cannabis or cocaine to remain above the suspicion of gang bosses.This is a breathtaking story that will...

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The names of certain serving police officers have been changed throughout this book to protect ongoing investigations.

contents

He was the best undercover cop the police ever had.

In a ten-year career with Scotland Yards most secretive squad, Peter Bleksley helped nail dozens of crooks and stopped millions of pounds worth of drugs and counterfeit cash hitting the streets.

He bent the rules but he got results.

A master of disguise, a crack shot with a pistol, his exploits in the dangerous world of criminal subterfuge earned him 13 commendations for bravery and a reputation that spread throughout Europe and America.

He was the cops own crook, skilled in the dangerous ways of the underworld. He knew more about cocaine, heroin, cannabis, LSD, Ecstasy and amphetamines than any other serving officer. He needed to. His skill in handling drugs, of talking the language of the perilous world of international trafficking, kept him alive.

Peter Bleksley adopted the guise of a big-time drug-dealer, gangster, counterfeiter, even hit-man, to combat some of the most powerful and ruthless crooks in the world.

He went deeper undercover than any other detective before him. A maverick by nature, there were times when he crossed the line, taking cocaine and cannabis when necessary to prevent detection by suspicious and sometimes paranoid pushers.

Bleksley was the James Bond of Scotland Yard, slipping effortlessly into countless roles in seedy drug dens or five-star hotel suites. He once made love all night to a cocaine-addicted aerobics instructor as he pursued a leading envoy suspected of smuggling huge amounts of cocaine into Britain in his diplomatic bags.

He faced shotguns, pistols and knives. He faced the wrath of the Mafia and the IRA. So successful did he become in penetrating the inner sanctums of international crime, that the godfathers of organised crime in New York hired a professional hit-man to fly to London to kill him. Hed blown one of their big operations out of the water and they wanted him dead. That threat still exists today.

Bleksley was regularly hired out to police forces across Britain to carry out dangerous undercover missions their own men could not, or would not, undertake.

Posing as a swaggering drug-dealer, he regularly set traps for international traffickers and baited them with up to 350,000 of the Metropolitan Police Commissioners money.

He was at the centre of many spectacular police operations in which armed officers seized some of the worlds most dangerous crooks and met violence with violence. The words courageous, fearless and professional feature readily in his numerous commendations. The top award, the Commissioners High Commendation, can only now be made public because any media publicity at the time, in 1990, could have placed his life in even greater danger.

In his recommendation for the honour, Bleksleys boss, Commander Roy Penrose, head of the Yards SO10 branch wrote, All of us who know DC Bleksley, and more especially those of us who have had the pleasure of working with him or observing him at work in an undercover role, have come to accept the high standards of excellence, bravery, and ingenuity he continually displays.

At the same time, I am sure that none of us fully realises the extent of the danger and few of us would want to change places with him. He is an officer dedicated to his role with the unique ability to think quickly on his feet as the circumstances change. While it is impossible to quantify, it is nonetheless an indisputable fact that DC Bleksleys actions in bringing about the early arrest and successful conviction of so many career criminals has saved this force in particular and the police service in general many thousands of pounds in man hours that would have been necessary to achieve a similar result by more conventional methods.

DC Bleksley has consistently over a period of years maintained the highest standards of professionalism and integrity in the most difficult and dangerous role of undercover officer, both within and beyond the Metropolitan Police District. Moreover, he has shown a level of bravery far beyond the normal course of his duties and, in my view, is richly deserving of the Commissioners High Commendation.

Peter Bleksley lived under a multitude of different aliases as he hunted down criminal scum the length and breadth of the country. Many swore revenge. Bleksley, now retired, still keeps a wary eye over his shoulder and is cautious of any unexpected knock at the door.

He could have written this book with the protection of yet another pseudonym. But he has decided to come out of the shadows and tell his remarkable story in his own words and under his own name, with candour, with courage and with humour.

Co-author Mike Fielder was the former Chief Crime Reporter of the Sun newspaper. His previous bestsellers include KillerontheLoose, the story of the Rachel Nickell murder on Wimbledon Common, and AlibiatMidnight, the story of the Barn restaurant murder in Braintree, Essex.

F our million quid. There it was, inches away from me on a hotel table. Not in conventional currency, but the worlds deadliest commodity heroin. The guy sitting opposite me was there to sell it. I was there to buy it. This was the trap wed set for one of the biggest fish in international drug trafficking. And we were about to fry him alive.

In smoky room 4136 of the Gatwick Hilton, I carefully weighed and tested 30 500g bags of the smack. It was a time for steely nerves and a cool composure that belied the ever-tightening knots in my stomach. When I talk about big-time drug dealing, this was premier league.

It had taken months of careful planning, the help of a high-level informant, and the combined efforts of Scotland Yards SO10 undercover unit, Customs and Excise, the American Drug Enforcement Agency and the Royal Ulster Constabulary to sow the seeds of this dangerous sting.

Ranged against us in Operation Zulu Cricket was the fearsome might of the IRA, the corporate capacity of the Mafia godfathers plus a motley assortment of heroin dealers and money-launderers spread halfway round the world. You didnt get a much more potent combination than that on a drugs bust. Its a clich to say it was like a plot from a blockbuster novel, but it was. And I was in the thick of it.

I had been dropped into the operation posing as a big-shot heroin dealer after the US-based informant had tipped off the authorities in the USA and in Britain about a gang offering phenomenal quantities of heroin for sale in London. They were talking 20kg a time on a weekly basis. Millions and millions of pounds in cash terms. A lot of misery and death in human terms. And, incidentally, the informant had said if cash wasnt always available to buy the heroin, then they would take guns and ammunition instead. A terrifying scenario.

I moved into room 4136 of the Hilton, nestling beside Gatwicks south terminal and a good cosmopolitan venue for a drugs deal, where people come and go without attracting too much attention, on Monday, 29 June 1992. The technical wizards of Scotland Yard had been in before me to wire the place for sound and insert tiny hidden video cameras. The crack shots of Sussex Police Tactical Firearms unit had discreetly settled themselves into hiding places inside and outside the hotel. Armed back up had been deemed essential after intelligence reports suggested a couple of tooled-up minders might be sent along to watch over the heroin deal.

Alan James Johnston arrived in the hotel reception carrying an obviously heavy holdall. The trade was on. The signal went out to all units Zulu Cricket is go. He was allocated the room wed had bugged up. He took the lift up to the fourth floor and rapped on the door.

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