called their counterparts in Phnom Penh where the close surveillance was taken up by undercover agents instructed to gather every bit of information about his movements, where he went, what he did and everyone he met. According to Nguyen's confession, the plan was to take possession of almost 4 kilograms of heroin from the syndicate in Phnom Penh. They would first meet at the Lucky Burger restaurant, identifying each other with pre-arranged code words.
Although he did not have a criminal record Nguyen had already attracted the attention of Melbourne police. He frequented sleazy bars and nightclubs in Melbourne and began dealing in drugs with his twin brother. Khoa, a heroin addict and convicted drug trafficker, was also suspected of being involved in organised crime and a marked man under almost constant police surveillance. In 1998 he attacked a teenager with a samurai sword, seriously wounding him over what was believed to be a turf war. The case did not come to trial until 2002 by which time Van was in custody in Singapore facing the death penalty. Khoa was sentenced to three years in jail for the attack. His 17 year- old victim ended up in a wheelchair and spent months in hospital undergoing a series of operations. Khoa, the court was told, had left home against his mother's wishes, abused drugs and alcohol and gambled.
The AFP has a well-established special liaison system with their counterparts in Singapore, Cambodia, Vietnam, Indonesia, Brunei, Laos and the Philippines with a declared aim to make Southeast Asia drug-free by 2015. Exchanging vital information about the cartels and their mules is a vital part of their operations. The carefully kept secret as to how Nguyen was caught red-handed was revealed to me by a newly retired CNB officer. I always had a nagging feeling that the real story had not been told. It took many phone calls and visits to bars where I learned some CNB officers hung out. Finally, I was introduced to my informant who was prepared to talk on condition of anonymity. We met at an Italian deli restaurant at the Rail Mall on Upper Bukit Timah Road for lunch on a quiet afternoon. After assuring him that I was not wired nor had a hidden tape recorder, he told me that although he was still with the bureau when Nguyen was arrested and did not work on his particular case he knew all its inner workings. It was no chance happening or just bad luck on his part. He was caught through a carefully planned, top secret operation. The AFP knew all about the drug run. Both Khoa and Van had been under surveillance, using undercover agents, paid informants and tapping phones for months. The object was to identify everyone involved and all their cross-border connections. No one was completely sure where Nguyen was going or who he would be dealing with once he left Australian shores. The syndicates plan might be changed at any time. And Nguyen might have changed his plans and bring the drugs into Singapore instead of Australia.
The surveillance operation became more complicated when Nguyen suddenly decided to visit his ancestral homeland, Vietnam, for the first time. His mother had escaped with her husband in a perilous boat journey when America's war finally came to its ignominious end. He was born in a refugee camp in Thailand and the family moved to Australia when he and twin Khoa were tiny tots. This was his first trip abroad since then and the closest he had been to Vietnam. Van arrived in Phnom Penh just after midday on 3 December 2002 and immediately checked into the $50 a night three-star Cara Hotel in the city centre. Then he headed for a pre-arranged venue, the Lucky Burger restaurant at 3.00 p.m. the next day. Van told his Singapore interrogators that he was taken to a garage where he was questioned by his new suppliers. They were suspicious of him, too. In true Hollywood movie style, he was ordered to smoke some heroin to make sure he was 'for real'. He claimed he refused and only obeyed them when they
Although he did not have a criminal record Nguyen had already attracted the attention of Melbourne police. He frequented sleazy bars and nightclubs in Melbourne and began dealing in drugs with his twin brother. Khoa, a heroin addict and convicted drug trafficker, was also suspected of being involved in organised crime and a marked man under almost constant police surveillance. In 1998 he attacked a teenager with a samurai sword, seriously wounding him over what was believed to be a turf war. The case did not come to trial until 2002 by which time Van was in custody in Singapore facing the death penalty. Khoa was sentenced to three years in jail for the attack. His 17 year- old victim ended up in a wheelchair and spent months in hospital undergoing a series of operations. Khoa, the court was told, had left home against his mother's wishes, abused drugs and alcohol and gambled.
The AFP has a well-established special liaison system with their counterparts in Singapore, Cambodia, Vietnam, Indonesia, Brunei, Laos and the Philippines with a declared aim to make Southeast Asia drug-free by 2015. Exchanging vital information about the cartels and their mules is a vital part of their operations. The carefully kept secret as to how Nguyen was caught red-handed was revealed to me by a newly retired CNB officer. I always had a nagging feeling that the real story had not been told. It took many phone calls and visits to bars where I learned some CNB officers hung out. Finally, I was introduced to my informant who was prepared to talk on condition of anonymity. We met at an Italian deli restaurant at the Rail Mall on Upper Bukit Timah Road for lunch on a quiet afternoon. After assuring him that I was not wired nor had a hidden tape recorder, he told me that although he was still with the bureau when Nguyen was arrested and did not work on his particular case he knew all its inner workings. It was no chance happening or just bad luck on his part. He was caught through a carefully planned, top secret operation. The AFP knew all about the drug run. Both Khoa and Van had been under surveillance, using undercover agents, paid informants and tapping phones for months. The object was to identify everyone involved and all their cross-border connections. No one was completely sure where Nguyen was going or who he would be dealing with once he left Australian shores. The syndicates plan might be changed at any time. And Nguyen might have changed his plans and bring the drugs into Singapore instead of Australia.
The surveillance operation became more complicated when Nguyen suddenly decided to visit his ancestral homeland, Vietnam, for the first time. His mother had escaped with her husband in a perilous boat journey when America's war finally came to its ignominious end. He was born in a refugee camp in Thailand and the family moved to Australia when he and twin Khoa were tiny tots. This was his first trip abroad since then and the closest he had been to Vietnam. Van arrived in Phnom Penh just after midday on 3 December 2002 and immediately checked into the $50 a night three-star Cara Hotel in the city centre. Then he headed for a pre-arranged venue, the Lucky Burger restaurant at 3.00 p.m. the next day. Van told his Singapore interrogators that he was taken to a garage where he was questioned by his new suppliers. They were suspicious of him, too. In true Hollywood movie style, he was ordered to smoke some heroin to make sure he was 'for real'. He claimed he refused and only obeyed them when they
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