Reg Spiers arrived in England in 1964 as a world-class athlete. He
returned
to Australia in
a box, but that was only the start of his adventures. Crazily impulsive, romantic, and
free-spirited, Reg became a national hero for smuggling himself 13,000 miles home as
air
freight.
But as his fame and sporting career faded, Reg decided to smuggle something very
different.
Soon he was on the run with his girlfriend, playing a cat-and- mouse game with police
on
three continents. A wild road trip across India and Africa—idyllic beaches and prison
hellholes,
shady friends and shadier cops, gun-toting militias and drug-running gangsters—led to a
court room in Sri Lanka and the fight of his life. Could Reg beat the death sentence
he’d
just
been given, or was this box too big to climb out of?
Roaring Forties Press
1053 Santa Fe Avenue Berkeley
CA 94706, USA
Hachette Australia
Level 17, 207 Kent Street
Sydney NSW 2000 Australia
SBN 978-1-938901-32-4
Film rights owned by Julie & Marcus McSorley
"Reg Spiers story is unlikely ever to be matched.”
"Perhaps the outstanding single instance of Anglo-Aussie sporting oddity is the story of Reg Spiers …”
"Out Of The Box is a compelling read, drawing you into the life of a man driven by an overwhelming desire to live on the edge."
"The kind of story which was made for a book or the big screen."
"Full of vivid detail and destined for the Big Screen."
“The eyes, wait till you see the eyes.” Greg Denton rushed into the editor’s office at
the Adelaide Inquirer, brandishing his evidence. “The Frenchman calls himself Patrick
Albert Claude Ledoux.”
The two journalists studied the photograph of a bearded, fair- haired man flashing a
confident smile for the camera. Denton placed another photo alongside the first. “Last
one I took of him before he disappeared. Check out the nose and hair. A few years
younger of course, but it’s him. I’d put money on it.”
“Not sure,” Davies, the editor, said. “So long since I’ve seen him.”
Denton shaped a viewfinder with his hands, moving it between the two pictures.
“I’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere.”
Davies nodded slowly. The eyes convinced him as well. “Okay, run with it.” He picked up
his phone, “Mary, get Denton on the next flight to Colombo.”
“You won’t regret it boss.” Denton hurried out, delighted. “Got the headline: ‘Top
Javelin Thrower Hurled onto Death Row!’”
Denton had planned to sleep during the long flight to Sri Lanka, but he had too much on
his mind. Every so often a story came along that made his job worthwhile. If his hunch
proved right, this was one of them. After the dinner trays were cleared, he ordered
another beer and settled down under his reading light to review his notes, to collate
every bit of information he had on the suspect, and to establish a timeline.
When Denton was a rookie journalist with the Express, the editor had sent him to
interview the athlete several times. “Think yourself lucky you’re getting such an easy
lead,” his old boss told him. “You won’t have to ask questions; this bloke does all the
talking.”
Every journalist in town loved interviewing the high-spirited javelin thrower. Denton
recalled that sweltering day he visited him at the track to photograph him training,
stripped down to the essentials: underpants and spikes. “But he couldn’t half make that
javelin fly,” thought Denton.
The last record he had of him competing was in the national championships shortly
before he skipped bail. Since then, there’d been a few reported sightings but nothing
concrete, and he’d been on the run from the feds for years. “Until now,” Denton hoped.
Colombo was sweltering when Denton arrived the following day. He took a cab straight to
Mahara Prison. The entrance was barred by a heavy iron gate, attached to a rectangular
concrete hut, both topped by a tangle of barbed wire that ran the length of the
towering perimeter walls.
“I’m here to see Monsieur Ledoux,” he told the gatekeeper through a small window of the
hut.
The guard waved him on, and the gate was opened from the inside. Denton strode
confidently through the entrance of the compound but was quickly stopped by two
officers in khaki uni-forms. Denton noticed the guns in their holsters. They ushered
him into a small, prefabricated shed and signaled for him to open his briefcase. One
guard rifled through the contents while his colleague gave Denton a frisking. Denton
removed his spectacles and kept his mouth shut. When they released him, he walked in
the direction of the arrow for visitors, down a terraced walkway clinging to an
imposing, old stone building. He passed inmates tending vegetable plots who seemed more
interested in the tall Westerner with an expensive briefcase than in their gardens. He
was nervous, excited at being on the verge of the biggest story of his career—or his
biggest mistake.
The path ended at a second checkpoint a dingy office crammed with people and flies; the
whirling blades of a rusty ceiling fan sliced the hot stale air. Denton loosened his
tie and waited in line to speak to the guard who was issuing orders to two other men in
uniform. When it was his turn at the counter, Denton lowered his voice, telling the
head guard that he would be grateful if he could spend some time with the French
prisoner. The room turned quiet when he said, “Patrick Ledoux.” Then the head guard
turned to his colleague with a smirk,and Denton thought they might share his suspicion
that Ledoux was an impostor.
“I’m the superintendent.” The stocky head guard lifted his hat to wipe greasy straggles
of black hair from his forehead. “He’s a popular man, your Mr. Ledoux. This way
please.” He came around the side of the counter, taking the keys from his belt and
unlocking a heavy, wrought-iron gate. Denton’s pulse raced as he followed him into the
inner compound. He heard the clank of the gate shutting behind them and felt like a
detective closing in on a suspect, albeit one who was already in jail.
He hurried to keep up with the brisk march of the superintendent, down a labyrinth of
ancient, musty corridors layered with crumbling plaster. The occasional bare bulb hung
from the ceiling, barely lighting the perpetual night that inhabited the warren of
windowless passageways. As they passed a distant hum of movement and shouting, the
superintendent pointed out a door and told him it led to the largest cellblock in the
prison. Denton wondered if Ledoux had ever been held there. A man’s cry echoed after
them. It was a penetrating holler that made Denton shudder.
He heard a couple of men laughing as he focused on the shiny black heels of the
superintendent’s shoes as they clicked smartly on the flagstone floor ahead, and then
he heard a door slam twice. Somewhere between laughter and clicking and slamming,
Denton recognized the faint strains of a voice, the kind of voice he’d heard every day
of his life. A voice with a familiar Australian twang.
As they turned the corner, the prisoner Denton had come to see stopped laughing and
stood motionless in the corridor, looking him square in the face. In that moment, the
eyes of the man known as Patrick Ledoux betrayed him. “Mr. Patrick, you have a
visitor,” the superintendent announced.
Ledoux composed himself. “Great to see you again, good of you to come.”
As they shook hands, Denton looked into the face he’d spent so much time thinking
about. It was older and more relaxed than the one he remembered, framed by a beard and
shaggy, fair hair that made his sparkling eyes seem even bluer. Denton thought he
detected a look of relief at finally being found.
The other guards were disappointed that they had to go; one took a packet of cigarettes
from his pocket and gave it to Ledoux. “See you tonight Sudda. You sing your Bruce
Springsteen again tonight, yes?”
“Yeah, sure,” the prisoner answered. He turned to the bemused journalist. “Come.”
Denton followed the imposing figure in his flowing white kaftan down the passageway,
aware that the superintendent was behind them. They came to the entrance of a dismal
little space containing a solitary table and a couple of chairs.
“I’ll be outside. How long do you want?” the superintendent asked. “Would two hours be
all right?” Denton lowered his voice, wondering if the guard expected an incentive.
“No longer,” the superintendent shook his head. He straightened the lapels of his
well-worn jacket and plonked his round frame onto a spindly wooden seat by the door. He
seemed disappointed when the prisoner escorted his visitor into the room and closed the
door behind them.
When they were alone, Ledoux shot Denton a knowing smile. “You got me,” he said with a
peaceful kind of resignation. “So, Greg,” he continued, “will you be here for my big
day in court?”
“Sure will. Last place I saw you was the Adelaide Athletics Club. Sounds like you’ve
been bloody busy since then.”
“Too much to tell, buddy. Way too much to tell.”
“I’ve got all afternoon, and you don’t look like you’re going anywhere. How the hell
did you end up in this godforsaken place?” The prisoner leaned back and sighed, shaking
his head as if asking himself the same question.
“That plane that went down at Sydney Airport last month,” Annie peered at the newspaper
on the kitchen table, “had only just taken off.”
“Don’t talk about it,” Cheryl shook her head and collected two mugs from the draining
board.
Reg sat at the head of the table with his beer and notebook. This was going to be an
important meeting, and he didn’t want plane crash stories putting a damper on his
proposal. He swept his fair hair out of his eyes and scribbled a couple of dates onto a
clean page. This evening he needed a final confirmation of who was in, and if anybody
was out. “Christ,” he thought, “please don’t let anyone be out.” Looking for a
replacement at this late stage would be a nightmare.
“Lara phoned, she’ll be a bit late,” said Annie as she dried her newly washed hair.
Annie was glad everyone would be at the meeting. She’d talked to Cheryl the previous
night, and they’d both agreed the itinerary sounded easy, although Reg still had to
explain the procedure in more detail. Cheryl had pointed out that Reg had a tendency to
be optimistic about most things, so Annie was interested to hear what Ted and Niko had
to say about his game plan. She was sure of one thing: she and Reg needed more income
if they were going to be able to keep paying their rent.
Cheryl poured two coffees and handed one to Annie, then rifled through a cupboard for a
package of chocolate biscuits. She soon found a packet of her favorite indulgence: Tim
Tams. Annie watched her ceremoniously empty them into a bowl and wondered how dear,
sweet-toothed Cheryl had managed to keep her figure.
Cheryl devoured half a biscuit with one bite and placed the crumbling remainder on the
table. She took a clasp from the pocket of her skirt and secured her unruly blonde mane
at the side of her forehead. Her eyes darted, full of intrigue. Reg’s scheme sounded
really hopeful. It couldn’t have come at a better time. Since she and Ted had left
Nottingham, she had stuck with teaching, but this new idea sounded like a much easier
way to earn money.
Niko tucked his baggy, grey T-shirt into the waistband of his jeans and joined the
other three at the table. His dark eyes greeted Annie’s as he swigged his beer. She
watched him as he joked with Reg and thought how relaxed he looked.
Niko was relaxed. Reg had done more traveling than the rest of them put together, so he
had to know what he was talking about. They went back a long way, he and Reg, and there
was nobody he trusted more. This new ploy could be highly lucrative. It might be the
only chance he and Lara would ever get to make some decent cash. They sure as hell
weren’t going to do it on what their dad paid them for waiting tables.
“Hurry up, Ted,” Cheryl called.
Ted sauntered into the kitchen, mildly irritated that he’d had to turn off Pink Floyd’s
The Wall. It was the second time he’d listened to their latest album that day and he
thought the bass guitar was absolutely brilliant. His tall angular frame stooped over
the sink as he hummed and rinsed his mug. He gave Cheryl’s shoulder an affectionate
squeeze, grinning through the long hair that covered his eyes as he slid onto the chair
beside her. She had been more like her old self since Reg had run his idea past them a
few days ago.
The scheme sounded feasible, but Ted wanted to see if the others had any reservations.
Cheryl deserved some time off; she worked damn hard at that school. He hadn’t mentioned
it, but he was seriously thinking about going back to university to finish his degree.
With the sort of income Reg was talking about, he might have the funds to do it. His
old man was going to be thrilled.
Annie had left the front door ajar for Lara. When Reg heard it close, he checked his
notes. “We all need to concentrate tonight,” he looked around the table. “So we’re
really clear on what’s involved and how this thing will work.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Lara interrupted him as she bustled into the kitchen. She could have
passed for a schoolgirl in her baggy checked shirt and jeans. She flopped onto the only
empty chair. “Did I miss anything important?” She smiled at the circle of serious
faces, breathless as she tightened her ponytail, her black wavy hair identical to her
brother’s.
“Just confirming everything for next month,” Reg put his bottle of beer on the table.
“My contact reckons it’s better to travel in mixed pairs, and I can see why. Looks like
a couple on a nice romantic trip. So the routine is, number one couple board in
Bombay.”
“That would have to be you.” Niko attempted to lighten the mood. “You know Bombay
better than the rest of us . . . seen it from a different perspective and all that.”
Reg smirked. “God, Niko,” he said when the others laughed. “You’ve done that one to
death, mate!”
Lara wasn’t laughing. She stood and helped herself to lemonade from the fridge.
“I’m still uneasy about this, Reggie,” she blurted as she sat down. “I just don’t know
how I’m going to keep Geoff in the dark. I told him I was seeing a girlfriend tonight.”
She plonked her glass on the table. “If he knew where I was, he’d go bloody bananas.”
“For God sake, sis, you’re letting him control you. Why d’you do that?” Niko groaned.
“You sure you want to do this?” Annie asked when she saw Lara’s worried face. “Reg
could find someone else, couldn’t you Reggie?”
“Yeah, I could.” Reg was praying he wouldn’t have to. “But nobody I’d trust as much.”
“And it’s only going to be for a few months, Lara,” said Cheryl. “We’re going to save
enough for a deposit on a house and then go traveling, aren’t we Ted? Like Reg was
saying the other day, in and out, make some serious cash, then quit while we’re ahead.”
“That’s the plan,” agreed Ted, not looking convinced.
Annie said, “I think we’re all a bit nervous,” and gave Lara a reassuring little smile.
“I never thought I’d consider doing anything like this.”
The room fell silent.
Niko cleared his throat and turned to Reg. “Perhaps you should get someone else,” he
said. He’d always looked out for his sister. Not just because she was younger. Because
she’d always seemed so fragile, easily upset. “I don’t want to be left out,” Lara
insisted. “We’ve always done everything together.”
Reg looked relieved. “If you’re sure, Lara, but just give me some warning if you want
to bail.”
He felt like a weight had been lifted. The enterprise was going to depend on
controlling who knew what. Although they’d become distant lately, they were still a
tightly knit group. He had other mates, but not like these; he’d trust this lot with
his life.
“Great stuff,” he said. “The first time will probably be a bit hairy, but we’ll soon
have it down pat. The riskiest bit is the last lap into Oz, so first trip it’ll be me
and Annie doing the home stretch.”
Annie’s and Cheryl’s eyes connected. Annie twirled a strand of hair above her ear, as
she did when she felt uneasy. Cheryl thought that perhaps Annie felt the same way she
did—in too deep to pull out now.
“There’ll be three legs between Bombay and Australia,” Reg continued. “Bombay
Australia, Australia New Zealand, and then New Zealand back into Australia.”
“Hang on, I’m still not getting this,” Cheryl said, scratching her head. “Did I miss
something?”
“No, that’s what we were talking about last night,” Ted reminded her. “That’s the bit
that makes it foolproof. Go on Reg.”
“Nothing’s foolproof mate, get complacent and we’re fucked.” Reg’s tone turned sober.
“It’s about no deviations, acting normal, enjoying everything, young Aussies doing a
bit of traveling.” He reeled it off as though reading a list.
Ted shifted uncomfortably.
“So where were we?” Reg continued. “Oh yeah, when number one couple disembark in
Melbourne or Sydney, they leave the cassette player in the overhead locker of the
plane. No risk there; nothing for customs to find. Then number two couple board the
same plane, now bound for New Zealand. They have the same seat numbers as the first
couple. When they land they take the hand luggage from the locker. They have to go
through security, but here’s the thing . . .” R eg drained his beer, savoring the best
bit of his plan. “As far as the bloody Kiwis are concerned, it’s a flight from Oz.
Number two hand over to the third couple at the airport and they do the last leg home.
And the Aussie customs blokes won’t be looking for anything, because it’s a flight from
New Zealand.”
He looked pleased with himself as he waited for a reaction. “Penny’s dropped now,” said
Cheryl. “The New Zealand people won’t be suspicious because that flight’s come from
Oz.” he smiled triumphantly at the sisterhood. “Gotta admit, it’s pretty clever!” “Like
pass the parcel,” Niko mused as he leaned back on his chair.
“Sure is,” said Reg. “And by the way it has to be British Airways, they go via
Melbourne to Auckland.”
“So what’s this cassette thingy going to weigh? D’you mean something like Ted’s ghetto
blaster?” asked Cheryl.
“Bigger than mine, hey Reg?” said Ted.
“Has to be,” Reg agreed. “We’re talking resin here, not grass, so it’s compressed.
It’ll be bloody heavy, but we need a good bit, at least seven kilos. Plus the weight of
the machine once the guts are taken out.”
Cheryl turned to Ted with accusing eyes. “You knew about this all the time!”
“Yeah, obviously, secret men’s business,” Annie agreed, peeved that Reg had already
discussed the details with Ted and Niko.
“We don’t have to buy one of those blasters every time we do a run, do we?” Lara asked,
worried that here was something else she’d have to lie to Geoff about.
“Won’t be a problem,” Reg reassured her. “Number one couple in Bombay will have the
machine at the hotel and we’ll recycle it every run. By the way, I’ll be the only one
dealing with our contact here, none of you need get involved with any of that. It’s
cleaner that way. I’ll be getting the loot, organizing shifts, everything. So think of
yourselves as shift workers.”
“Always wanted well-paid, part-time work,” joked Cheryl, warming to the whole idea.
“Me too,” said Reg, relieved his proposition was going down so well. “Now, for every
run, each couple will have a different shift number: Number one will already be in
place in Bombay; number two will get on in Oz; number three will be ready for the home
run from New Zealand.” His eyes floated around the group. “Any questions?” Heads shook;
the modus operandi didn’t appear to have any flaws. “Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?”
Lara broke the silence, looking Niko’s way for approval. “I agree with Cheryl, though,”
said Annie, “that we should see this as a short-term thing to make some readies. I
think it could work, but let’s just make what we can and get out.”
“We’re all agreed on that one,” said Niko. “I don’t want to be doing this for long. I
like the thought of being able to get ahead, though.”
“Yeah, but we’d better make stacks of money.” Cheryl’s schoolteacher eyes narrowed.
“Because Ted and I are the only ones quitting jobs here, so it’s gotta be worth it.”
“Lara and I will keep up appearances at the restaurant, but if it all gets too much, we
might pack up as well,” said Niko.
“You’re kidding!” Lara’s voice rose. “Mum and Dad would cotton onto something in no
time if we left.”
“She’s right,” Reg added, “I’d already thought of that. Anyway, let’s make a pact.” His
intense blue eyes flitted around the table. “A sort of all for one and one for all.” He
drew his hands up, collecting Annie’s on his left and Cheryl’s on his right.
Mouths widened into warm smiles as Niko held Annie’s other hand, then Lara’s; Lara took
Ted’s, and Ted finally took Cheryl’s. And they were looking at six pairs of clasped
hands on the tabletop.
“We’re family,” said Reg, “we stick together like we’ve always done. Keep our mouths
shut and our ears to the ground, and we’ll be in clover before we know it.”
“Now, who’s rolling that joint?”