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  ‘Gloria told me you’re the frequent flyer twins. You’ve helped her catch smugglers before. She said you might keep your eyes open to help me with my research. My name’s Tom Savvas.’

  ‘Hi. This is my brother Christopher. And I’m Amy.’ Slinging her bags awkwardly across her shoulder, Amy went to shake his hand. Their Mum was strict about manners like that. But for a moment, the journalist looked a bit surprised.

  Transferring his soft, black computer-bag to his other arm, he shook Amy’s hand. Then he shook Christopher’s.

  ‘Gloria said you’re good at sketching.’ The journalist looked at Christopher who was watching one of the Blazers. ‘And you notice things.’

  ‘Yes , he does.’ Amy was not used to being ignored. ‘Is that a laptop in your bag?’ Amy pointed.

  ‘Yes. So I can work anywhere.’

  ‘Do you have a mini printer, too?’ Amy always looked at all the hi- tech gadgets in the Singapore Duty Free. A sleuth needed the latest hi-tech gear. But Amy’s pocket money had gone on HOT TUNA stickers and new badges like RECYCLE RECYCLERS and SAVE EVERYTHING.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you doing a story on steroids?’

  ‘Yes. Gloria was tipped off. Steroids are being brought into the Games today. She thought we might notice something that Customs miss. If we do, we’re to share it with her.’

  Chapter 6

  Reporting

  Tom Savvas flipped through Christopher’s sketch pad. He looked closely at the Mr Muscles’ sketch and the one of the track suited soccer player. ‘Was that the guy with the heavy bag?’

  Christopher nodded. ‘And the different socks.’

  Around them the Green queue snail-moved through Customs.

  Tom gave him back the sketch pad. ‘Keep those portraits. They could be useful.’

  ‘Tell me about the steroids?’ asked Christopher who hadn’t read the inflight article. He preferred looking at cartoons or maps. He’d already checked the map of Cairns. He’d worked out places like the night market that he wanted to visit.

  ‘Steroids are a drug. Some sports people use them to build their muscles quickly. To stack them.’

  Amy remembered Mr Muscles’ comment. ‘What’s wrong with stacking?’

  ‘It’s cheating.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And taking steroids can also mess up your body later.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Take your pick. It might make you hungry all the time. Give you a heart attack. Might make your nose bleed. Might give you nightmares. Or might make you go bald.’ Tom put his passport away inside his jacket pocket. He combed his thick, fair hair.

  Christopher touched HIS black hair and pushed back his glasses. He didn’t want to go bald at ten. Perhaps he’d stay off steroids. ‘All of those things going wrong?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Amy couldn’t understand. ‘Why would anyone WANT to take them?’ Mr Muscles was losing his hair. But so was their Dad and he wasn’t on steroids. Going bald was one of the reasons Dad had grown a beard. In a hairy way, he was sort of making up.

  ‘Some use steroids without a doctor’s prescription to make them better at sport or to increase muscle,’ Tom explained.

  Christopher wouldn’t mind being taller or having bigger muscles.

  So he said so.

  ‘But you wouldn’t want to be treated with drugs meant for animals would you?’

  Christopher shook his head.

  Amy nearly said, ‘Well he acts like a pig sometimes,’ but she didn’t. ‘Where do the steroids come from?’

  Just then, Gloria walked up to them and said, ‘France, Germany, UK Italy, Mexico, and India are the main sources. Some steroid users pay for their supplies by selling other drugs. Only imported ones fall within our area.’

  ‘Do you catch many? ‘ asked Tom. ‘I need to have some facts and figures for my article.’ He was getting a bit edgy about his deadline.

  Or maybe he was edgy about something else?

  Gloria nodded. ‘Recently, Customs have made 43 seizures with an approximate weight of 100 kilograms and a street value of $2.5 million on the black market..’

  ‘Wow,’ said Christopher.

  ‘Traffickers face fines of up to $20,000 and five years in jail.’

  Christopher would remember those numbers. ‘$20,000 is a lot of money.’

  ‘The pills make them run faster or lift heavier weights, for a while. Depends how badly they want to win at the time.’

  Tom fiddled with the button on his tape recorder. The tape whirred. ‘Who are ‘they’?

  ‘Some elite athletes. Footballers. Power lifters. Or weight lifters. Professional aerobics instructors.’

  ‘Any martial artists?’ Amy was thinking of learning self defence, sometime. Sleuths should know how to look after themselves.

  ‘Yes. Especially the kick boxers.’

  ‘How do they get the steroids in?’ Christopher liked to know how things worked. ‘We know about the drugged birds being strapped on a person. And the ones hidden in cases. Amy found some birds ‘dumped’ by a frightened smuggler. The birds were flying around in the Ladies toilets at Melbourne Airport.’

  Amy would never forget that. ‘The birds dropped everywhere!’

  Christopher scratched his head. ‘I don’t even know what steroids look like.’ He pushed back his glasses in his ‘thinking hard’ mode. ‘It’s hard to find stuff when you don’t know what you’re looking for.’

  ‘Little white pills mainly. Or ampoules looking a bit like injections.’

  Amy explained. ‘At least that’s what it said in your article Tom ... er Mr Savvas. I didn’t know the word ampoule before.’

  He nodded. ‘My editor will be glad to know passengers DO read inflight magazines. Call me Tom. It’s easier. Every time someone says

  Mr Savvas I think they’re talking about my Dad.’

  ‘Where are they hidden?’ repeated Christopher. ‘The steroids?’

  ‘In soft-sided suitcases with false bottoms. Disguised as health products. Hidden as pills with the wrong labels.’ Tom glanced around the Customs Hall. ‘They’re here somewhere.’

  Amy remembered Mr Muscles’ vitamin bottles. But they might just be ordinary vitamins. passed by security. He certainly looked as though he ate extra of everything.

  ‘Some steroids are legal, if prescribed by a doctor,’ Tom added.

  ‘But they’re just for people who are VERY small. Steroids help them grow.’

  If Mr Muscles grew any more, he’d need a whole plane to himself, thought Amy. Or at least a double seat with extra leg room and a seat belt extender. And there weren’t any small people amongst the sports teams on board today. It must have been difficult for the airline clerk giving the seat allocations.

  They all had long legs.

  ‘Are they worth much? The steroids? ‘ Christopher liked talking about money. And money liked Christopher. He kept most of his.

  Amy spent hers. That’s why she’d never have enough for a sleuth’s hi-tech communications kit. But maybe one day she’d have enough for a tiny recorder like Tom’s. Just for sleuthing work.

  ‘Street prices for fifty tablets range from $50 to $200.’ Tom rewound the tape and put it in his top pocket.

  ‘That’s a lot of money.’

  ‘Some ampoules cost $200.’ Tom stepped out and looked back along the queue. More people had joined them from another plane which had touched down just after the Singapore flight. Several parallel queues had formed. Some Islander women in brightly coloured skirts holding babies, waited in the queue.

  ‘Wow. Two hundred dollars!’ That would buy lots of art paper and pens and paint and nibs. Calligraphy was something Christopher wanted to try soon. But the special pens cost a lot.

  ‘A competing body-builder could spend $400-700 per week. />
  Easily.’

  Christopher flipped back the pages. He found his drawings of Mr

  Muscles. If the body builder spent that much on steroids, how did he earn it? Christopher glanced across at the real Mr Muscles who was looking closely at Tom.

  ‘Some sell steroids to others to pay for their own.’ Tom peered around the queue trying to see ahead. It hadn’t moved much. Custom officers were making most people open their cases. Tom’s voice seemed quite loud all of a sudden. ‘They’re pretty slow here today. The Green lane is usually fast. Customs must be checking everything. Perhaps it’s because of Gloria’s tip-off?’

  In the queue alongside, Mr Muscles overheard. ‘Tip-off? What sort of tip-off?’

  Chapter 7

  The Tip-off

  ‘What tip-off?’ he repeated.

  Tom Savvas turned and looked at him. It was a bit difficult not to notice Mr Muscles’ muscles. ‘About steroids. Thought to be on this flight. Know much about them, do you?’

  Christopher looked quickly from face to face. Should Tom Savvas have given away that information about the tip off? Why did he tell Mr Muscles? Was he just researching for his story? Or was he warning him? Previously Tom Savvas’ voice was very soft. Why had he spoken so loudly when talking about the steroids tip off? Others in the queues nearby could hear, too. In between fussing with their jewellery, Mrs Silver and Mrs Gold might have heard. The priest was close, too. And the soccer player was just standing nearby, watching the customs queue.

  ‘I know a bit. Steroids are legal in other countries,’ Mr Muscles said to Tom. ‘And before that law was passed in ‘91, it was okay here too. Some elite athletes like to build up their muscles quickly. They like to look good. What’s wrong with that?’

  Tom Savvas looked at Mr Muscles’ muscles.’ I can understand how you feel, but there are special dangers.’

  ‘What kind of dangers?’ Mr Muscles’ face turned reddy-purple as he became cross. His whole body seemed to swell with anger. ‘That’s rubbish! Athletes should be able to make their own decisions about their own bodies. Governments have too much say in how we run our lives.

  Too many rules and regulations. They shouldn’t run our sport, too. Athletes aren’t ‘jocks’ with no brains. They can decide for themselves.’ Tom Savvas nodded.

  ‘But only if they know ALL the facts. Some crooks have been passing off steroids meant for animals and selling them to humans. That’s illegal and dangerous because they don’t know what the effects might be.’

  ‘If athletes are stupid enough not to check, then it’s their own fault.’ Mr Muscles walked away, his track pants tight, like a second skin over his leg muscles. He moved like a well trained racing animal.

  Tom flicked off his tape. ‘Got all that.’

  ‘Why did you record him?’ Christopher was fascinated.

  ‘Might be useful later. Now, Gloria seemed to think that you twins could help. Smugglers don’t take as much notice of kids hanging around. But they do notice an adult alone. Especially a journalist or a customs officer.’

  ‘How do we know what the smuggler will do?’ As Christopher was thinking, he pushed back his glasses.

  ‘He, she or they will have to get the steroids through Customs and out of the airport. It’s possible that the steroids will be passed to a contact outside, in the Customs Hall. That’s where the visitors wait for passengers to arrive.

  ‘Aunty Viv won’t be here for hours. We can look around,’ offered

  Amy. Sleuthing at airports was fun.

  ‘Of course, the parcel might be dumped somewhere for the contact to collect later.’

  ‘Like the luggage lockers outside?’ suggested Amy. Most airports had banks of lockers. Travellers paid to leave bags locked inside. It saved carrying heavy luggage while looking around a new place. No-one checked what went into the lockers, as long as you paid for the key.

  ‘Good thinking. But then there’d be a key which would have to be left somewhere, too.’

  ‘Would the smugglers know each other by sight?’

  ‘Maybe. But maybe they have to identify themselves in some way.’

  Amy laughed. ‘They’re not going to stand in the Customs Hall with a label saying CONTACT FOR ILLEGAL STEROID SMUGGLER!’

  ‘Easy to draw THAT.’ Christopher smiled. ‘Just joking!’

  ‘Why not design a FOR SALE sign,’ joked Amy. ‘Or a JOURNALIST IN NEED OF STORY’ sign?’

  Still smiling, Tom explained about the newspaper deadline for his story. ‘I can send it through .’ He tapped his black laptop bag.’ But we need the facts in the next two hours if possible.’

  That fitted the E.T.A. (Estimated Time of Arrival) of Aunty Viv and the Animal Actors van. So the twins offered to help, as long as the airline minder would let them.

  ‘The queue’ s moving now. Let’s go. But keep your eyes and ears open.’

  The soccer player turned away. He’d been listening all the time.

  Chapter 8

  Customs Hall/Haul

  A blank dark glass window faced them. It acted like a mirror.

  Christopher could see himself, but at the same time, he wondered who was watching him. A one way mirror seemed unfair, even if you weren’t doing anything wrong. He turned. There was only one traveller in front of them now. Then the Customs officers.

  ‘We knew these International Games in Cairns were likely to attract smugglers. But Gloria was not sure how they’ll smuggle in the steroids. Unaccompanied baggage is one way.’

  ‘That’s bags without owners.’ said Amy. ‘We saw a couple of bags left on the carousel. And there’s another one over there.’

  She pointed to the table marked BAGGAGE. Amy twisted her head sideways and tried to read the typewritten baggage label.

  ‘MR SMITH. CAIRNS That doesn’t tell us much.’

  ‘Customs and Quarantine always check those left on the carousel,’ added Christopher.

  Tom nodded. ‘And so did I. Then the sniffer dog checked them. Nothing suspicions about those bags. Just mis-directed. One was labelled Adelaide.’

  Amy imagined someone in Adelaide with no clothes on. And no toothbrush or pyjamas! Or what if the wrong person got the wrong bag with the wrong clothes inside? Amy imagined some unusual mismatches.

  Like Dad in baby clothes. Or Aunty Viv with colourful high fashion model stuff. Amy giggled. But Aunty Viv couldn’t EVER lose her plane luggage. She was too scared to fly anywhere. Although she could get lost on the ground quite easily. Somewhere near Cairns.

  ‘Mum says that some baggage has a mind of its own. Once Dad’s camera bag went to India instead of Indonesia,’ Christopher remembered. ‘And Mum’s bag went from Melbourne to Hong Kong, via London. She reckons there’s a special sky port full of lost luggage. And some of it is ours. Especially the stuff with broken wheels.’

  Amy decided it was time for the frequent flyer sleuths to get back to the job of finding the smuggler or smugglers.

  ‘Do steroids all come in on planes?’ asked Amy.

  ‘No. Sometimes they’re hidden in ships’ cargoes. Sometimes they’re posted in the mail. Other times passengers smuggle them in.

  Gloria’s tip-off today is reliable. Steroids are coming in on this flight.

  They’re in the airport now. We just have to find them.’

  ‘Who gave the tip-off?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Gloria’s sources.’ Tom put a hand to his mouth. ‘Secret.’

  Amy and Christopher looked at the VERY slowly moving queue to the GREEN and to the RED customs channels. They’d moved forward one space in the last ten minutes. The only fast Customs line was the one reserved for the crew. Air crew in uniforms went through quickly.

  ‘Crew are checked, too, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. But the tip-off said a smuggling passenger, not crew.’

  ‘A passenger o
r passengers?’ Christopher had been listening.

  Surprised, Tom looked up. ‘I missed that. Yes. She said ‘passenger’ so it would be only one smuggler.’

  ‘But there still could be others.’ Amy fiddled with her purple and aqua backpack. Edwina wanted to move, too.

  Tom flipped through his notebook. Amy noticed that he also had a second, tiny tape recorder in his top pocket.

  Just then, Mr Muscles strolled across. He left his bags to keep his place in the line. His face still looked red. But everybody was hot and tired by now. Travelling was like work for some people except for the Islander baby in the brightly patterned top whose mother was humming to her. That baby had more hair than Mr Muscles.

  Instantly Tom’s hand went to his top pocket. Something clicked.

  ‘Here,’ Mr Muscles gave Amy the rolled up newspaper. ‘You wanted to have a read. It will pass the time. Give it to me outside.’

  The Green queue in which Mr Muscles was standing, started to move now. ‘I must get back in line.’

  ‘Thanks. But no thanks.’ Amy gave the newspaper back to Mr Muscles. She’d read a lot on the plane. She didn’t feel like reading in the queue. She’d rather people-watch. Besides, Mum said NEVER carry anything through Customs for someone else. They might be using you to smuggle goods.

  Meanwhile, the soccer team lined up in the Customs Hall.

  Christopher watched the guy with the different socks and the plain navy track suit. Most of the team were joking and laughing. He seemed to be quiet and out of the fun. None of the others was joking with him.

  ‘Perhaps he’s just shy,’ suggested Amy looking in the same direction.

  ‘His case is pretty heavy. Look how he moves it,’ Christopher said as the soccer player bent over. ‘It’s soft-sided, too.’

  Just then, Gloria walked past. She was wearing a walkie talkie and talking in it. She seemed to be heading for the soccer team.