Chab Gassie

I met up with the botanist in Queensland and paid $40 for some rose clippings. In doing so I was able to put bugs on this mobile phone and in his office/greenhouse. From this I found out that he wasn’t being honest about his ability to grow illegal corn crops in the desert.

“The crop is almost ready to harvest,” he told the gang of bikies on the phone. “It’s looking healthy. You’ll get a good price for it… No, I will need the deposit to pay for the hire of harvesting equipment and for the risk involved.”

Then the tech guys in Canberra did that thing where they record the key strokes of somebody using a computer and work out what they’re typing because each key has it’s own unique sound. They worked out he’d sent this email.

I can’t believe how stupid these bikies are. As if I could grow marijuana in the desert. And if I could, then why wouldn’t I use the technology to farm vast areas and make my fortune from wheat and corn? They’re not clever.

I’ve been asked to walk away and let the issue resolve itself.

My second task was to meet a contact who was in town from Spain. He’s been in the intelligence-gathering business for over forty years and has built up a reputation for taking risks and being competitive. But now he’s getting on a bit so he refused to tell me why he was in the country or give me any information until I beat him in lawn bowls.

So I met him on top of a gang-owned bar on the Gold Coast and we played eight ends. He beat me easily and I didn’t get any information out of him.