All language subtitles for Locked Up Abroad_S05E01_Saudi Bootlegger

I never considered the fact that I would
be classed as a bootlegger.

That it was an Islamic country.

Keep smiling.

Keep selling the product.

Nothing can go wrong.

What? The hell is happening here?

There's no one really can do much for
me.

I'm on my own.

I was working as a chef in a hotel.

I was 27 years old.

I had been married.

I hadn't quite got a divorce at that
time, but it was on the cards.

I wanted something different.

I saw an advert in the catering magazine
requiring chefs in Saudi Arabia.

I wanted a complete change in my life.

Within ten days, I was on a plane to
Saudi Arabia.

It was an Islamic country.

I remember the major culture shock from
the moment you landed.

Every case was open just to make sure
that there was nothing that was illegal.

We'd have been warned, do not take any
alcohol with you.

None of that is allowed in Saudi Arabia.

The length of term there was 12 weeks on
and three weeks off.

So I thought, well, 12 weeks without a
drink won't do me any harm at all.

Everything was totally different.

Oil was funding massive growth in the
country.

I was catering manager for the company
building the Saudi Arabian National

headquarters 50 kilometres out in the
desert.

I had to look after 200 American staff.

The wages were three times what I was
making in Aviemore in Scotland.

I would be up early, usually by about 5
.30, making sure that everything was

ship -shaped and in order for their
breakfasts.

I don't like anything sloppy.

You would check the supplies for the
day, head into Riyadh.

In between, I'd go and visit friends who
were also working for the company in

other compounds.

You were told quite categorically that
it was a dry country.

I found that it wasn't really that
difficult to get hold of alcohol.

One of the very first parties I went to
was at a nurse's compound.

Like most of the large villas, it was
surrounded by its own walls with a very

large steel double gate.

So you were completely self -contained
in there.

People in bikinis.

Stunning themselves by the pool.

You would just forget that you were in
Saudi Arabia.

I thought, wow, where's this

come from?

I'd love a drink, thank you.

Enjoy it.

Apart from being there for the
exceptionally good wages, I regarded

sudden bonus.

People were brewing their own homemade
wine and making their own beer.

So I had a glass of wine in my hand,
followed by another one.

It wasn't particularly nice wine, but it
was drinkable.

I thought, I can make it better than
that.

I looked at it as a business
proposition.

People wanted it.

I was going to be the one who was going
to supply it.

So I decided to start making it myself.

I never considered what would happen if
I was ever caught.

It didn't come into the equation at all.

In my position as a catering manager,
the ingredients that were required were

readily available for me.

If somebody bought a large amount of
sugar, somebody would get suspicious why

they would want all that.

It's a very repressive state.

You would be undercover, people worked
in supermarkets, and somebody would then

get caught.

So I was able to purchase it on a larger
scale.

than any normal person who was working
there.

I didn't really have to hide anything
because I had the premises, the

to do it on a commercial scale, well
away from everyone.

I would start by putting the grape juice
into the bottom of each jerry can and

about two and a half kilo of sugar and
the dried yeast.

This would ferment and be ready within
10 to 14 days.

I remember tasting my first homemade red
wine.

It was clear, a lovely dark colour.

I wasn't sure of how strong it would be.

The only way to test that was by
drinking it.

It was good enough for a party and good
enough to drink.

My very first delivery, it was about 50
litres, two cans.

One of the best times to deliver
anything illegal would be in the middle

afternoon.

Shops would usually be closed as most
people would be sleeping.

I had considered the risks, and I
thought they were quite small.

I never considered the fact that I would
be classed as a bootlegger.

I felt more like I was doing a public
duty to supply alcohol to Westerners who

were in a dry country.

Within a period of about four weeks, I
was up and running in production.

I had about 40 containers, making the
equivalent of 250 to 300 litres.

I have to say I was quite proud of my
product.

My red wine was of quite exceptional
quality.

And my white wine was classed as a local
Chardonnay.

I had a secure place where I was brewing
it.

The most dangerous part was the
transportation.

I was due to deliver 50 litres of wine
to a party in Riyadh.

There was a major crackdown by the
military and the police.

The Grand Mosque at Mecca had been
stormed by terrorists.

There were roadblocks, police cars
everywhere.

I was slightly apprehensive.

I decided to be more cautious in the
method of transportation.

I thought they would look in the back,
behind the seat, but they wouldn't look

under the engine cover.

Although I wasn't delivering a massive
amount, whatever I was delivering, it

illegal.

I had to deliver an early evening to one
of the compounds in Riyadh.

It was actually on a long straight
heading into the town.

There was a massive roadblock of
military police and I just had a feeling

they were going to pull me.

There was no sense in trying to turn
around.

I can't go anywhere.

I'm already committed.

There's no way to back out.

I was flagged into the side of the road.

If one of the officers asked me to open
the engine cover, instant

downfall.

You try to remain totally and utterly
calm.

I've got nothing. I've done nothing.

He didn't speak English. My Arabic was
minimal.

I remember thinking there was no way you
could explain 50 litres of wine hanging

down the sides of your engine.

It wasn't exactly coolant fluid.

I don't know what you mean.

Okay.

Although I carried a Saudi Arabian
driving licence, I showed him my

pass.

Okay.

That was a bit of a godsend.

Go. Thank you. I gave him a smile and he
waved me on my way.

They didn't think that you would be
involved in anything when you were

for their military.

As I drove away from it, I felt quite
elated.

It didn't make me wonder if I should
stop doing it.

I had another 300 litres sitting there
ready, so there was no sense in trying

drink it all myself.

I just always felt that I was doing a
nice little service, making some good

money on the side and having a good
time.

The average price of the wine was around
75

US dollars, paid in Saudi Arabian rials.

And I was making, shall we say,
excessive amounts of money.

At no time did I ever consider what the
penalties might be because no one ever

discussed it.

I was quite a popular individual.

Of course, I would have to be carrying
25 litres in each hand to be invited to

party.

There was a large, shall we say, female
contingent.

And I was rather taken with one of the
nurses.

And we became quite close.

Which was very enjoyable, shall we say.

There was virtually nothing I couldn't
do.

I could spend five, ten grand on a
holiday.

Go to the finest hotels, the best places
to eat.

And generally have a good time.

One weekend, myself, some friends and
all our girlfriends flew over to Bahrain

for a very, very long and hectic
weekend.

I ended up meeting two people in the
bar, a tall German gentleman and a

returned Dutch person.

During a conversation, they asked where
I'd come from.

And the subject of alcohol, of course,
came up.

There was a bit of a silence for a
minute.

They kind of looked at each other, and
they said, Oh, Gordon, would you be

interested in distributing whiskey?

And, of course, I asked them.

I said, How much?

They said, About 400 or 500 cases a
time.

A bottle of whiskey would be in the
region of about 200 US dollars.

I would make around 20 ,000 US dollars
per load.

It was made clear to me, don't forget,
this is our money.

How would I get your money back to you,
gentlemen?

That's not a problem.

I've made a success of selling wine in
Saudi Arabia.

Why not sell the real McCoy?

Then, gentlemen, I have a talk.

To weekly.

It's a webcam.

I realised that this was into a much
bigger league.

After about four weeks, I got a phone
call.

Hello? And it's from the Dutch
gentleman.

Oh, hi.

Stating that some generators were being
delivered.

OK.

I'm standing there looking at two
generators.

The generators of course were totally
fake.

I felt quite excited.

I have over 200 boxes of whiskey in my
warehouse.

It was explained over the meeting in
Bahrain that it was very important to

off the barcodes.

Every single one of them was burned.

There was no trace of where it had come
from, how it had got into the country.

It was just whiskey.

There was a very big party going on.

One of the people who normally would
take between 10 to 20 cases asked me if

could get them to him.

So I loaded up the 10 cases of whisky in
the back of the truck and

drove into Riyadh.

I'm driving along on a very dark and
lonely road in the middle of nowhere.

I knew there was some roadworks there
because I travelled on the road quite a

lot.

And then suddenly, a car hits me head
on.

I'm not injured, but definitely dazed.

I can see the man is trapped in there.

I didn't know how badly injured.

I couldn't do anything for him.

But he was alive.

I'm in the middle of a major accident
with 10 cases of whiskey in the back.

You all right, mate?

I'm sitting there with ten cases of
whiskey in the middle of the desert with

place to go.

My choices were very limited.

I can't drive away.

My priorities were simple.

Hide the whiskey.

It's on a very, very remote road.

Just total blackness out in the desert.

I decided to bury the ten cases.

at the side of the road all the time and

worrying that a car might come too soon.

A police car arrived.

If you were involved in a car crash, no
matter what the circumstances, you were

going to be the guilty party.

No one would ever take the word of a
Westerner against a Saudi national.

I didn't want them throwing me in jail
for a road accident.

Although I had no physical injuries and
nothing to show, no blood, nothing, I

wanted them to think that I might.

not be too well.

You've got to help this guy.

I pretended to be a little bit shaken. I
don't know what happened. He had

something and he just came right at me.

You've got to help him out.

So I pointed to my pass, which in Arabic
also said military hospital.

They took me to the military hospital.

Where I had a miraculous recovery.

I'm pondering how quick I can go back,
retrieve the ten cases of whisky, before

they're found at the scene of that
accident.

I had to retrieve the whisky, or it's
going to be traced back to me.

So I decided I would get back there.

I had to do that as quick as possible.

I'm starting to get a little bit
anxious.

I'm thinking, is the whisky still going
to be there?

The whisky isn't there.

Where is it?

Who found it?

And it's going to be traced back to me.

I'd buried it in the dark.

I looked across.

I couldn't even see where my footprints
were.

I went across the 20 paces.

So I started digging up the whiskey.

I managed to do it all at once before
another vehicle appeared.

My luck at this point was still holding.

I think a wise person at that time who
was involved like I was in importation

and selling illicit alcohol, should have
realised it was time to give up, go

home and leave.

But I didn't.

I was sitting with over half a million
in US dollars.

This, of course, had to be moved out of
the country.

I had to get back to my erstwhile
partners in Europe.

I would take the cash to a very friendly
bank manager in the capital Riyadh.

Where

the

individual would take 5 % for arranging
the transshipment of cash out of the

country.

One would get to the stage where you
felt that you weren't, in a sense,

reasonably invincible.

Keep smiling, keep selling the product,
nothing can go wrong.

I went to this very large, substantial
villa.

I knew it wasn't going to be a dry
party.

As I'd previously supplied the whisky, I
met a very, very

well -spoken young Saudi Arabian prince.

He was standing there in his national
dress, drinking my whisky.

He said, oh, yes.

He said, I'm very westernised. He said,
I'm very liberal.

In that manner.

Tell me, you wouldn't happen to know
where I could get some?

I decided to be slightly reticent on
that occasion.

I might have someone who could help you
out.

I said that I would be in a position, if
he wished, to supply him five cases of

whisky.

He said that would be fine.

Call me on this number.

This was the first time that I'd ever
sold whiskey to a Saudi Arabian

individual.

I have to say, I wasn't particularly
comfy.

I'd been at it for a while.

I'd led a rather charmed existence.

And maybe I was going a step too far.

I arranged to meet him in a very quiet
place.

I did say to him that if he turned up
with any friend or associate, I wouldn't

turn up.

Mr. Gordon?

Aye. Thank you for meeting me here.

He handed me an envelope with all the
cash in it.

And I put the five cases in the back of
his boot of his Rolls Royce.

He thanked me most profusely and drove
off.

After the first...

of the five cases.

He asked me if I could supply ten cases
at one time. Hello?

I didn't want to get too involved in
supplying too much,

but I'm afraid I didn't listen to my own
voice.

I told him I'd deliver it around 3 .30,
which was just at the start of prayers.

The roads would be quiet, etc.

I arrived at the villa.

My composure dropped instantly.

There's about six Saudis, all dressed in
their uniforms.

I've got ten cases of whiskey on the
back, and I'm looking at a police

What? The hell is happening here?

There's about six Saudis in uniform.

They're all smiling.

There's no time to consider any options.

Nothing I could do about it.

I'm in too deep.

I'd have thought, I'm finished.

The prince is there.

Thank you for coming so soon.

Gives me the cash.

Thank you very much for your
punctuality.

Let me introduce you to the rest of the
family.

The prince introduced me to the captain.

These were his friends and relatives.

This is Faisal, my cousin.

This is Fahad, my other cousin.

Hello. He wanted to give them whiskey.

I didn't like the fact that I had been
seen by officials.

Our agreement had always been, I didn't
want to be seen by anyone else.

So all the rules had gone.

Thank you. Thank you, sir. Have a very
pleasant drive back.

I obviously was annoyed, but I could not
show it.

As

I

drove off, I had a horrible feeling.

that something wasn't going to go right.

I had a feeling of some doom.

I was getting a little bit paranoid.

I started thinking, am I being watched?
Am I being followed?

I'd started in a sense to lose my cool.

I was flagged to the side of the road by
two Saudi Arabians in traditional

dress.

They pretended they were asking for
directions

but casually looked at the vehicle.

They sort of looked at the vehicle.

Mark, I love you. And went, go, go, go.

Go.

And I didn't think too much of it.

I noticed one had a walkie -talkie.

If I'd thought about it, my paranoia
would have been correct.

I was under surveillance.

I felt that things might be starting to
lose control and I would do one more

load and then it would be time to leave
the country.

I discussed it with my girlfriend.

I was, shall we say, very keen to start
life again in the UK.

How would you feel about... How would
you feel about coming back to England

me?

Really?

Sounds good.

I didn't tell her, of course, that I'd
arranged another load of whisky into the

country. Will you come with me?

Oh, my God.

Here.

Cheers.

Stupid as it may seem, I just decided,
no, I'll do one more load into the

country.

The bell rings.

I actually thought it was a friend of
mine who was due to come and visit me.

I went straight out, opened the gate.

I had a gun put to my head.

Very large, .45 calibre revolver.

There's no time to be scared at that
point.

I was roughly pushed into the villa.

And one man stands with his foot on my
neck.

I realized right away that everything
had changed.

There was nothing I could do about it.

I had been caught.

They'd gone out to the warehouse and
sitting there was ten cases of whiskey.

I'm pulled up.

I recognised one of the individuals as
the prince's right -hand man.

He must have sold me out to the police.

I'm sitting in the back of this police
car.

By this time I'm realising I'm in some
serious trouble.

I'm being driven through a part of
Riyadh that I didn't recognise.

There's nothing there that says this is
a police station.

I know I'm in deep trouble.

Can't do anything about it.

We found the whiskey, Mr... Gordon.

I hoped that they would just believe
that I had ten cases of whiskey and that

would be the end of the matter.

I'd get fined and thrown out of the
country.

I'm getting really scared now.

Everything is out of my control.

Totally.

They took me outside.

And handcuffed me to a tree.

You know you're in trouble.

You know you've got grief.

anything about any guns.

And they'd ask me the questions again.

How did you get the guns? I didn't bring
any guns into Saudi.

I was hung in the tree

for some time.

The pain was...

Indescribable. This person comes in and
he introduced himself as working for the

British Consulate.

Is there anything I can do to help?

I'm hanging in a tree and his words to
me, is there anything I can do to help

you?

Get me down from this tree, mate.

Gordon, there's nothing that either I...

All the British government can do to
interfering in foreign legal affairs.

If you can't give me definition, why
don't you just sod off?

And he went.

The next minute I'm hit with vaults.

They're using a cattle prod on me.

The pain is utterly intense.

Your eyeballs want to pop out your head.

I don't know anything about any guns.

They're saying, now do you want to tell
us if you brought any guns in?

Please stop asking about the guns. I
never brought any guns. I never smuggled

any guns.

And then it happens again.

I lost track of days.

I overshackled hand and foot.

Put in a police van.

Will I get out of the country?

Will I be sent home?

Will I go to jail?

You would expect to be taken to a court,
be asked what happened.

Do you plead guilty?

There's your lawyer.

None of that exists.

It doesn't happen there.

We're then pushed into a room.

And in front of us were three Saudi men.

They were the Mutawa, the religious
police, who everyone feared.

The next minute, I'm handed a scrap of
paper, all in Arabic.

I'm thinking, what's this?

There was an Egyptian in there.

And he spoke English.

I started to feel a bit numb.

It felt like a lifetime.

Nobody was going to appeal for me.

There was no appeals.

And I was taken away from there with my
scrap of paper.

I was taken to what I discovered was the
equivalent of hell.

You don't know what's going to happen.

You just have to survive.

The noise is incredible.

The smell, indescribable.

The smell of sweat, heat.

No place to move.

No place to sleep.

And you start to think, I wonder how
long they've been there.

Even with all of the noise, I'd been on
and off awake for so long, I just

instantly slept.

Early in the morning, there'd be this
great big vat of something would appear.

There's no such thing as a queue.

Everyone wanted to get there.

When it came to getting fed, I had gone
from being at the top end of the market

to the lowest of low.

Everything of course had changed.

I was in Saudi Arabia for a long time
now.

I had three and a half years where I
survived it.

You could never...

Think of escape. There was no place to
go.

Even if you'd managed to climb over a
wall 60 feet high, where could you go?

You're in a foreign country.

You are in the middle of nowhere.

So time passed without any outside
sounds.

That were familiar to you.

The sound of say.

A bird making a noise.

Anything like that.

Just didn't happen.

You had to have a complete change.

In the way that you thought.

They prayed five times a day.

I made sure that I didn't get in their
way.

I hadn't respected their religion
outside.

But I learned to respect it inside.

The first time I saw my girlfriend at
Balazs, I was terribly pleased to see

It was like a breath of fresh air.

There was somebody come to see me.

She's made the effort to come to a Saudi
jail.

You're very grateful for the visit.

My life was on a total hold.

All plans were gone.

The thoughts of being together were no
longer there.

As I... Sort of watch my girlfriend go
away.

The great loneliness comes across you.

And it's back inside.

Back to hell.

Before you know it, a year's gone by.

And then you could start to think, I've
done half.

Then, of course, you probably start to
think, well, how soon before I get the

lashes?

People were usually flogged on a Friday
after the main prayers at noon.

They'd be made to lie out on the floor.

And a long cane would be used.

Usually 40, 50 at a time.

Occasionally you'd hear somebody cry
out.

Depends how the individual took pain.

I was determined that when it happened
to me, I wasn't going to scream, no

matter what.

I wasn't particularly looking forward to
the prospect of being lashed.

But in some ways, one thought, well, at
least when it happens, I'm getting near

to getting out.

One day I'm sitting in the cell.

A guard appears.

You're going home.

It was an instant shock.

I didn't know what was going to happen.

Would I suddenly get flogged?

He said, you've had an amnesty.

It was only then that I started to think
in that I was going home.

The feeling of release you couldn't
really put into words.

It brings a tear to one's eye to
remember what happened.

But it was over.

It would always be there with you.

But you were free.

Thinking about it.

What's right?

What's right?