Madigan Mafia Murder? the Nca Bombing

1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-0-9756746-8-0
Verlag: Elvis Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 252 Seiten

March 2, 1994 will forever be marked as a watershed in the history of Australian crime. The murder of a police officer is a rarity in itself but the ruthless, targeted killing of Detective Sergeant Bowen (National Crime Authority) and the alleged involvement of Australian/Italian Mafia makes it one of the most significant crimes in Australia's history. Michael Madigan's book, The NCA Bombing, is not only a painstaking investigation and analysis of a haunting murder, or assassination, but an admirable piece of work in the national interest. The failure of authorities, state or federal, to bring the perpetrators to justice is in itself a haunting national disgrace. - Bob Bottom, author of 11 book on organised crime The 'Ndrangheta is the organisation that runs the international cocaine market. It has infiltrated all economic sectors and it controls voting and political candidates at a national and international level. I urge the Australians not to underestimate this organisation. Otherwise it will be too late. - Ms De Simone Italian Prospector.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Madigan, Michael

Leseproben

1 Hidden Valley August 20, 1993 - Six members of the Northern Territory Tactical Response Squad watched the sun setting in the remote outback near Daly Waters, 600 kilometres south of Darwin and 3 kilometres off the Stuart Highway. In 1861 the explorer, John McDouall Stuart named the area after discovering a series of natural waterholes, used for sustenance for thousands of years by the traditional landowners, the Jingili people. These ancient deep wells were once again in use, helping to grow thousands of marijuana plants. The winter air was heading towards zero as the police officers bunkered down for another night of surveillance on the massive crop, tended by members of Australian/Italian organized crime. The elite police were dug into fine red sand that surrounded the crop site, and were keeping their heads down low, as the crop minders were about to embark on a deadly ritual. Every night, the ‘happy campers’ would grab their automatic assault rifles, and randomly fire rounds of ammunition into the mulga scrub. Tonight’s sunset was stunning. The rich orange and red glow from the setting sun mixed seamlessly with the striking blue sky. The serene moment was smashed by a sudden, deafening noise of automatic gunfire. The muzzle of the weapons leapt to life with fire. The police were showered with leaves and bark, stripped off by the power of the bullets blasting the trees and bushes. There were many close shaves as the metal missiles ricocheted off stones, which then whistled past the camouflaged clad police. The trigger-happy men laughed in delight at the power of their weapons. Police speculated whether the shooters were “scared of the dark” or just randomly protecting their multi-million dollar asset. Protecting crops is a normal procedure for marijuana growers, although usually the deterrent is a deadly booby trap. Trip wire attached to a loaded shotgun is a favourite; carefully placed fishhooks in scrub near the entrance of the crop is another ‘unwelcome sign’ not to enter. For four days, police had been keeping a watch on both the campsite where the marijuana was being grown, and the homestead, which was a few hundred metres away. The Usual Suspects August 21 – At 7a.m. a campervan left the crop site. Police in two unmarked cars trailed the van along the Buchanan Highway for a short distance, until they drove up parallel to the van and flashed their police identity badges. The two occupants were ordered out of the vehicle, and police began their search. It was not long before a satisfied looking police officer stepped out of the van and held aloft a number of suspicious looking, black garbage bags. Police had uncovered 79 kilograms of compressed cannabis estimated to be worth $500,000. The two men arrested driving the W.A. registered ‘Koala’ campervan, were Stavros Smyrneos and Frank Perre. Perre (38) had a successful orchid in the Riverland of South Australia while Smyrneos (38) was a chef from Adelaide. After a brief interrogation, they were transported to Darwin. The next morning, just before dawn the heavily armed Tactical Response Police crept towards the camp. Each officer had a tent to cover. When the signal was given the police entered the tents and started shouting “Police, don’t move”. The raid took the crop minders by complete surprise. The police received little resistance from the bleary-eyed campers. One of the captives was caught sound asleep, lying on a cushion filled with freshly picked marijuana. Another limped out of his tent on crutches with a heavy cast on his broken leg. However, one of the men managed to make a run for it into the thick scrub, eluding the officers. A helicopter on standby was called in to round up the escapee, who was eventually arrested within 24 hours; dehydrated, and terribly lost. Although the crop minders put up only limited resistance, they certainly were prepared for a battle. Police took possession of six high-powered firearms, including semi-automatic AK-47s, shotguns and a pistol. Nine men were arrested in the raid, and over 15,000 cannabis plants confiscated. It was a huge plantation. To gauge the size of the crop, picture the expansive turf of the Melbourne Cricket Ground, covered with two-metre high plants. This crop was also highly sophisticated. The growers had installed a plastic pipeline, 300 metres in length from a deep bore to the crop plantation. The N.T. Government Botanist who examined the crop described it as the finest crop he had seen. The quality of the plants was enhanced by massive amounts of sheep manure, which had been trucked over 2,000 kilometres from the South East region of South Australia. The campsite consisted of tents hidden in the thick scrub and a dodgy looking ‘look-out tower’, which the enterprising farmers built from scraps of wood from the homestead. It was obvious to Police that this was a professional outfit with previous experience in large-scale marijuana cultivation. The police kept the raid as quiet as possible to make sure they could identify as many of the persons involved, and so a complete news blackout was instigated. They were assisted by the N.T. Police Act, which allowed them to detain the arrested men for 48 hours without giving them any access to legal advice or contact with friends and relatives. Head of the operation, Senior Sergeant, Simon Young, described the raid in such a remote location as a “very complex operation”. Logistically the operation was something of a nightmare, given the isolation and the lack of facilities. There was only one telephone at the station, which was in constant use. The police ran a phone log, which recorded several hundred phone calls, both to and from the premises. Of special interest were six phone interactions with a person Sergeant Young believed to be Domenic Perre, the suspected organiser of the crop. “…It’s me, Dom, your brother.” The day after the raid, Sergeant Young received the first of the Perre calls. Young was sitting at the dining room table in the homestead when the phone rang. He slowly picked up the receiver, expecting the caller to be a fellow officer, but instinct kicked in. He waited for the caller to speak. Perre: Who’s that? Young: Me. Perre: It’s Don [sic] here, who is it? Young: I was just giving Dean a hand doing a couple of things. Perre: Are you Mark or Steve? Young: No I’m Frank. Perre: You’d be a fucking idiot. It’s me, Dom, your brother. What the fuck are you still doing up there? Why the fuck aren’t you down here? People are worried about you. Young: I’m sorry; I’m sorry, please apologise to the people worried about me. Perre: Get your fucking arse down here. I’ll kick your arse. Young: We’re leaving now in the van. When Young put down the receiver, his smile creased his tanned face. He had just been presented with a wonderful opportunity to gain more intelligence on the syndicate involved with the crop. Young was determined to track down the location of the call; however back in 1993, the technology was such that you had to leave your phone off the hook to allow a ‘last party trace’ to be run. He grabbed the keys to his police vehicle and told his men he would be gone for a couple of hours. Gravel and dust sprayed in the air as Young sped off towards Dunmarra 80 kilometres away, which had the nearest landline phone. Dunmarra is a roadhouse in the middle of nowhere, boasting a caravan park and a small bar. It was named after an Overland Telegraph linesman, Dan O’Mara, who went missing in the bushland. Local Aboriginal people later found his skeleton. They had difficulty pronouncing his name and referred to him as ‘Dunmarra’. At the roadhouse, a friendly and familiar face greeted Young. The manager was a former N.T. Police Sergeant and was happy for Young to use the office phone. Young dialled Telecom Australia and gave the operator the details. Young’s face tightened as he waited anxiously; hoping the operator would come back with positive information. The response was negative; no trace could be found. A frustrated Young drove back into the darkness, pondering over when he would receive further calls. Young was familiar with the area having grown up in Katherine, 300 km south of Darwin. He was in his late thirties, and sported a standard ‘cop moustache’. Young started his policing career later than most. He tried his skills in hospitality and a range of office management jobs, before travelling around the world. On his return, he was ready for a new challenge and joined the N.T. Police Force in 1981. Young could smell the sweet pungent aroma of the burning marijuana crop as he was going through his daily reports at the homestead. Police had formed huge bon-fires after days of pulling up over 15,000 mature cannabis plants. The phone rang. Young instantly felt a little excited as he answered. It was Perre. Young made notes while talking and it was obvious that Perre was getting anxious. “…Sounds like Dom, wants Dean, told...