They went around to the back of the truck and lowered the mechanical tailgate. The cargo space accommodated three wooden pallets upon which rested more than a hundred individual wooden boxes. McMahon used a pallet truck to manoeuvre the nearest pallet onto the tailgate and then lowered it down to floor level. Jackson took a crowbar and wedged the end into one of the corner seams of the crate. He put both hands onto the bar and yanked it backward. The wood cracked and snapped, a small gap opening between the two sides. He pulled hard again and the gap widened until there was enough clearance to get inside. He opened the crate all the way, dropping the dislodged lid onto the floor. He looked inside: there were smaller wooden crates, each the size of fruit boxes. He lifted one out—it was heavy—and put it on the floor.

“Get it open,” he said.

McMahon used a small jemmy to prise off the lid. All three of them looked inside. There were two dozen small rectangular bars packed neatly into the crate. Jackson lifted one out and examined it, turning it over in his hands. He found himself admiring the workmanship once more. The cartel took steel boxes and then hid them inside the ingots. The lead looked completely innocent. Each ingot was of uniform dimensions and had been crafted to Jackson’s precise specifications. It was impossible to x-ray them, of course, and Jackson’s insider in the customs office had made them even more secure. He had supplied Jackson with information on the size of the drill bits that officers would use were they to try to cut into the ingots when they were examined. The cartel made sure that there was enough lead around the boxes that even the longest bit would not be able to penetrate all the way to the centre.

McMahon took one of the ingots to a workbench and sliced off the end with a mitre saw. He tossed the end into a box, ready to be smelted, and carefully withdrew the steel container inside. He opened it and pulled out the first of the long, wrapped blocks that had been positioned inside. The oblong had been wrapped in plastic and then sealed with duct tape. McMahon used a knife to slice open one end, peeled back the latex inner wrapping, and turned the block around so that Jackson and Jacobs could see the bright white cocaine inside.

Jacobs whooped.

McMahon used the edge of his blade to scrape out a little of the cocaine. It was hard, but he used the side of the blade to break it down into a powder. He scooped up a little on the edge of the blade, put it to his nostril and inhaled once and then twice.

“Well?”

“Give me five minutes and I’ll let you know.”

“But?”

“Looks good to me.”