|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
30-Year-old
brunette Beauty Fiona Mont.
Featured
on BBC’s CRIME WATCH.
Featured
on ITV’s BRITAINS MOST WANTED.
Again
and again the national newspapers ran features about this woman who
constantly
evaded the long arm of the law.
Even
the famous INTERPOL were made to look foolish as she gave them the slip
too.
She is a master of
disguise.
Nicknamed ‘The Cat’ because of her ability to
keep ahead of detectives. Mont has proved expert at evading capture. Police say
that using seduction and charm she has become one of the most sophisticated and
cunning fugitives they have encountered.
Sunday People
30/8/2000
Cop’s set to pounce on CAT
WOMAN.
Police say’ We are confident she will be in
custody this week.’
Evening Argus.
(Brighton)29/9/2000
Wanted woman slips past Police. Detective
Skerritt of Sussex Police says’ we don’t know where she is now; she could be
anywhere, even back in this country. We are back to square
one.’
DAILY
MAIL
Friday 4th August
2000
Miss Mont, who is nicknamed ‘The Cat’, was last
seen flying out of Shoreham Airport, near Brighton, in a light aircraft piloted
by convicted drug dealer Graham ‘The Baron’ Hesketh.
THE TIMES.
The world’s oldest
newspaper.
March 06 2001.
By Simon Reeve.
The story of Fiona Mont, Britain’s most wanted
female,
is as Hollywood as they
come.
beautiful, educated, classy female criminals
have an instant allure for a glamour hungry public.
On the 15th December 1999 just
before the Millennium, Fiona Mont, a wanted fraud suspect, disappeared. Her car was found at Beachy Head and
police suspected that she had either committed suicide or that it was an
elaborate hoax to secure her escape.
Fiona’s lover Graham ‘The Baron’ Hesketh a
convicted drug smuggler, ex-army marksman and ace aerobatic pilot disappeared at
the same time. No confirmed sightings of either of them have been recorded
since.
Fiona’s twisted and estranged ex boyfriend
hatched a plot which if it had succeeded would have left her homeless, bankrupt
and behind bars. As this true story unravels the reader is sucked into a world
of crime, police corruption and intimidation, smuggling, daring aviation
escapades, hilarious roller coaster comedy, betrayal, passion, love, jealousy,
revenge and criminal genius, initially set in the quiet suburbs of
Shoreham-by-sea at a small airfield.
This story goes international and involves a
French prison in Amiens, undercover officers from an undisclosed Britannic
Authority, the Red light zone in Amsterdam, and a massive black market smuggling
network. Finally the British
authorities PARANOIA leads them to set a trap that would leave Graham and Fiona
dead. This failed, leaving the British red faced and trying to explain
themselves to the Dutch government.
TRUE STORY?
Now for the first time Fiona Mont
has been exclusively interviewed at length and is ready to tell her side of the
story.
Based on the true story it begins long before
their disappearance and explains the build up to one of the biggest police hunts
in British criminal history and subsequent events after they vanished. There has been much speculation
surrounding the disappearance of the Baron and the Cat that night in December
1999.
This is their love story, a story of outlaws in
love.
Below
are some extracts from the book.
The title of the book is a direct quote from DC Steve Skerritt from the
last line of ‘Britain’s Most Wanted’ television program.
OBVIOUSLY
SOMEONE HAS GOT A SENSE OF HUMOUR.
Night flying (September
1999).
The cockpit of an aeroplane at
night, two pilots, Graham Hesketh also known as The Baron and Tyrone Bishop also
known as The Dude, the lights of the city of Chichester far below. They are in a Seneca II twin-engine
aircraft going for a flight as they often did. They are heading for Shoreham Airport
where both of them are resident pilots.
Graham runs a flying school, The Baron Flying Club, and Tyrone is a pilot
who learnt to fly with Graham’s club.
Dude: Yes man I felt really bad about it, I mean
she’s a nice girl and all that but for fucks sake I don’t want to marry her, I
just want a shag, do you know where I’m coming from?
Graham:
I know where you’re coming from man but I don’t think she
does.
Dude: So what’s the score? Is she really pissed off or
what?
Graham: Well put it this way dude I think she’s a bit
disappointed that the relationship’s over, I think she expected it to last a
little bit longer than two bottles of Blue Nun and a quick shag. Not that I’m saying that you’re only
after one thing. I like Blue nun!
Dude: But I am man, that’s just it, I just like
shagging, what is it with these girls, I tell them straight from the beginning
“It’s just sex, nothing else, no commitment.” And they always go along with it,
but the next morning they always expect me to take them out for a second
time. Some of them even want to
know really personal private things about me like my phone
number.
Graham: Well that’s good isn’t it? You can get
another shag, can’t you?
Dude: No man, nobody wants to eat yesterday’s bread
for fucks sake. You see my problem is I am selfish and immature.
Graham looks at Dude in a perplexed fashion but
Dude isn’t paying any attention his mind is on the sky.
Dude: I love flying man.
Graham: Shoreham Tower this is November
1172X-ray.
Air Traffic Control: November1172X-ray this is Shoreham
tower pass your message.
Graham: 72X-ray information Juliet Littlehampton for
rejoin.
ATC: November1172X-ray information is correct
report Worthing pier for a crosswind join for runway 21, QFE
1014
Graham: Worthing pier 72x-ray.
Dude: By the way your torch is fucked man, the
batteries gone.
Graham: Well turn the overhead light on
dude.
Dude: I can’t’ get it to work
man.
Graham: Well it was working when we taxied
out.
Dude: Well it’s not working now
dude.
Graham: All right well I can’t see any of these
dials, have we got a lighter or anything, matches?
Dude: No way man, I don’t
smoke.
Graham: November 72x-ray Worthing
pier.
ATC: November 72X-ray join cross wind and report
down wind for runway 21.
Graham: cross wind down wind 72x-ray. Tyrone I could really do with a torch
man.
Dude: You can use mine if you
like.
Graham: Great dude, give it here then I can’t see
what I’m doing
Dude: There’s a problem man,
Graham: What?
Dude: It’s in my bag.
Graham: Where’s your bag dude?
Dude: In the flying club.
Graham: November72x-ray is down
wind
ATC: November1172X-ray you are number two report
finals.
Graham: no. 2 72x-ray. Dude take the batteries out the GPS
stick them in the torch man.
Dude: There’s no batteries in the GPS man it’s
plugged into the mains.
At that point Graham lowers the
undercarriage, looking down to see the 3 green lights that indicate that the
wheels are down and locked.
Graham:
Oh shit, we’ve got no wheels man. No green lights.
Dude: You what?
A red warning light comes
on.
Graham: we’ve got no wheels; I’m bringing them back
up. I’ll try recycling them. TRANSMIT TO TOWER: 72x-ray has problem
with three greens will go round.
Dude I need a light man have you got any batteries
anywhere?
Dude: I haven’t man.
Graham: Shit, OK I’ll try lowering them again, but
this time I’ll turn the nav lights off coz sometimes that drains the power,
check the contact breakers are all in.
ATC: 72x-ray what is your
situation?
Graham: 72X-ray still no greens, will depart to the
west, play around with it for a little while and see if I can get them to come
on.
ATC:
Confirmed, keep us advised, and what is your fuel
duration?
Graham: No problem, at least 2
hours.
ATC: 72X-ray
Graham: Hang on dude I’m going to throw it around a
bit and see if I can get them to lock.
Dude: Whatever man, just do
it.
Graham: That is of course assuming that they’re
down.
Graham and Tyrone look at each
other.
Graham: Don’t worry dude, if they’re down we’ve got a
good chance of survival.
Dude: Do what you have to man just get the bastards
to lock.
Graham throws the aircraft violently
around the sky rolling, pitching and yawing, but still no
greens.
Graham: We’ve got an emergency release plug, the only
thing holding the wheels up is hydraulic pressure, if I pull the plug it will
release the pressure and all the wheels should be hanging
down.
Dude: Pull the plug man, pull the
plug.
Graham: I’m doing it man, I’m doing it…(PULLS
PLUG)…Nothing; we’re going to have to shake it around again and see what happens
maybe they’ll lock.
ATC: What’s your situation now? Can we advise you to turn nav lights off
and check the contact breakers?
Graham: Yes I’ve done all that and I’ve pulled the
plug and I’ve still got nothing.
ATC:
Confirm. Are you OK to keep
holding?
Graham:
Confirm. (NOSE LIGHT COMES ON) Good news we have a nose
light.
ATC: 72x-ray stand by we are getting the fire crew
out with a very bright searchlight if you are happy to fly by the tower to look
at the wheels.
Graham: Confirm, standing by 72
x-ray.
Dude: Great man, permission to buzz the tower,
excellent. Let’s go really
low.
Graham: Don’t worry dude you won’t be disappointed I
want them to get a good look at the undercarriage, we’ll be plenty close
enough.
Dude: So what’s the score man, are we in the shit
or what?
Graham: No man, worse things happen at
sea.
Dude: Just one question man.
Graham: Yeh, what?
Dude: How are we going to land with no
wheels?
Graham looks at Tyrone silently with
a slightly concerned expression on his face.
Graham: It’s not so much of a landing it’s more of a
controlled crash.
Tyrone stares at Graham looking very
concerned.
ATC: 72x-ray are you ready to commence low pass on
the tower?
Graham: 72x-ray ready to commence
approach.
The aircraft then did a low pass by
the tower.
Dude: Wow man that was brilliant, I wish I could do
that in the daytime.
G: 72x-ray was that low
enough?
ATC: Yes that was great Graham. I don’t ever recall anyone coming that
low or close to the tower before, especially not in the dark. But for your information the wheels are
all down and look to be in the normal position.
Graham: Yes but will they stay down when we land or
fold up?
Dude: Dude man I hate to be the bearer of bad
tidings but check out the CHT!
He looks down at the port engine
temperature gauge.
Graham: Oh shit. Your right. We’ve got a new problem Dude, the left
hand engine temperature gauge is indicating in the red zone. Don’t worry too much dude it could be a
faulty gauge. I wish we had a torch.
Dude: And if it isn’t?
Graham: Then we’ll be landing in the dark with no
gear and one engine.
Graham: 72X-ray we have a new problem, the port
engine CHT is in the red zone.
ATC: 72X-ray what is your
intention?
PAUSE.
Dude: So what’s it going to be
dude?
Graham pauses.
Dude: Maybe we should chop the
engine.
Graham: No.
Dude: What if it packs up on landing? You won’t be
able to control it.
Graham: Bad idea man, it could be a faulty gage and
we’ll just be making it more difficult for ourselves.
Dude: Well I think we should chop
it.
Graham: No dude, we’ve got enough to worry about
anyway, we don’t even know if the wheels are locked or if they’re going to
collapse on contact.
Dude: It’s your call dude, you’re pilot in
command.
Graham considers the
options.
PAUSE
Graham: Shoreham Tower.
ATC: N1172X go ahead.
Graham looks at Tyrone; Tyrone looks
at Graham with anticipation.
Graham: 72x we’re coming in
now.
ATC: You are clear for immediate emergency
landing, BREAK all aircraft hold overhead, repeat hold
overhead.
Graham: 72x-ray is down wind for emergency
landing. Dude unlatch the door and
stick something in it to wedge it open, I want it open when we land and as soon
as the aircraft stops know matter what happens I want you out that door and
running away from this aircraft as fast as possible because if you’re not you’ll
be slowing me down.
Dude: OK Dude. Make it a greaser man.
As Graham pulls the power back the
gear warning starts to howl loudly, flaps down landing light on, blue lights at
the end of the runway.
Graham: Great, blue lights.
Dude: Do you think the old bill are
there?
Graham: I don’t know, put that bag in the back and
leave it there until the fuss dies down don’t try taking it
out.
Dude: We can’t leave it in the
plane.
Graham: We’ll have to for now, there’s nothing else
we can do.
Dude: I can’t believe this, things like this always
happen to me.
Graham: I guess we’re just
lucky.
Transmit: 72X-ray finals.
ATC: November 1172X-ray clear to land, wind 220
degrees 10 knots what is your situation?
Graham: Both main wheels not indicating locked, gear
warning howling in my ears, port CHT in the red, and its dark outside, but apart
from that everything’s fine.
ATC: Good luck.
Dude: Make it the best ever greaser
man.
Graham:
Yer.Where’s your bone dome when you need it most.
FIONA AND ADRIAN ARE BEING RELEASED
ON BAIL (6th September 99)
Brighton police station Skerritt is
escorting Fiona out of the building.
“Well thank you for your hospitality
Steve, it was a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Fiona I’m a police officer what do
you expect me to do?”
“Buy a computer from
me.”
Fiona’s sense of humour is wasted on
Skerritt.
“Look Fiona I still want to talk to
Tyrone.”
“I told you, he’s in Spain as far as
I know.”
“Yes well you just tell him we can
do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“Well if I see him I will tell him
but as I said before I’m unlikely to see him, I haven’t seen him for
months.”
As they get to the door Fiona is
dying for a cigarette but she is damned if she is going to let Skerritt see
that.
“So Fiona I’ll be in touch about
when I want to see you next.”
“I’m looking forward to it
already.”
“Oh and Fiona, thanks for your
co-operation today, it makes a change to have the suspect make coffee and toast
all day long, makes the whole business so much more
civilised.
“It was my pleasure Steve; I’d say
you’re welcome anytime. But you’re
not.
Good-bye.”
As Fiona leaves the police station
an anxious Adrian awaits outside.
“What did he say
Fiona?”
“Nothing of any interest to
anyone. I need to speak to
Tyrone. Let’s
go.”
The Harassment of Graham (September
1999)
Graham walks towards one of his Land Rovers,
which is parked just outside his flying club. Two scruffy strangers approach him
wearing lumo jackets.
“Hello
Graham.”
Graham turns to see two defective
men dressed in weird spastic jackets.
The first man pulls out an identification card and shoves it in Grahams
face like some TV cop maybe they think they’re Starskey and
Hutch?
“Customs and Excise, may we have a
moment of your time Graham?”
“Do I know you?” (Faces look
familiar)
“ This won’t take a
minute.”
Graham viewed the two men, the
quieter one of the two lurked in the background, he was short with dark hair, a
long thin pinched nose and squinty eyes in fact he looked like he had just been
abused in a sewer, the more talkative noncey one, was tall and had yellow blonde
hair whipped up on top like a 99 ice-cream. His face had stood a few good kicking’s
in its time and he wore thick child molester milk bottle bottom spectacles. Fucking pair of weirdo’s.
“What do you
want?”
“We’re conducting spot checks on all
diesel vehicles.”(The wanker had a really irritating aggressive nasal cockney
voice.)
“You what?”
“We’re dipping vehicles, you don’t
mind if we dip your vehicle do you Graham?”
“Dip it in
what?”
Graham frowned at them both puzzled
he looked them up and down. What were they really up too? Planting something on
his vehicle perhaps? Or coaxing him out in the open for some
photos?
“What do you mean dip my vehicle?
Lets see that ID card properly.”
“It’s a very simple procedure, won’t
take a minute like I say.” (He holds up the distinctive ID leather holder and
once again shoves it in Graham’s face; Graham took it from him and scrutinized
it closely.)
“Maybe if you spoke English I’d
understand what the fuck you’re trying to say.”
Graham knew exactly what they meant
but was buying some time to think and look up and down the road for clues. He handed the ID card
back.
“We’re checking vehicles for red
diesel. Red diesel is untaxed
diesel; it’s an offence to evade payment of road transport tax by putting red
diesel in your vehicle. You have
heard of red diesel haven’t you?”
Graham stared at the defective
customs and excise tosser!
“Yes, but I thought it was for boats
and farm vehicles.”
“Sir is very well informed.” (The
two looked at each other practically slobbering)
“I didn’t think it worked in road
vehicles, I thought you lot claimed that it would fuck up your car if you put it
in.”
No reply from the
customs.
“So what you’re telling me is that
the only difference between red diesel and the absurdly expensive white road
diesel is that you greedy bastards don’t get your pound of flesh out of us hard
working innocent citizens who go around minding our own
business.”
“Are you refusing to co-operate
Graham?”
“How many other vehicles are you,
DIPPING, down here today then? And how do you know it’s not a petrol
engine?”
They looked at each other and
ignored the questions.
“Shall I take it that you’re not
co-operating, you do know that you are obstructing an officer of her majesty’s
customs and excise in the line of his duty.”
What were these jokers really up to?
They were obviously not there to dip anyone else.
“Oh well that’s different, if it’s
for good old queeny Elizabeth then that’s another matter. Go ahead my good man, dip away, we can’t
have poor old Lizzy allowing a few pence to slip through her wrinkly stockings
now can we? However would she be able to pay for willing little Lackeys like
you?
“Sebastian, the dipper
please.”
“Sebastian. Ha, ha, that’s not you’re real name is
it mate, I’d knock him out if he called me that.”
Unamused and looking convinced that
the tank was brimmed with red coloured fuel. Why else would Graham have over 20
Jerry cans in the back of the Landover?
“Step aside please
sir!”
They removed Graham’s fuel
cap, produced what looked like a huge turkey baster with a clear plastic ball
sucker on the end of it. The
customs officer looked cockily at Graham.
“Brought your pet snake with you
hey?”
“I shall explain this procedure to
you then Graham.”
“Why do you keep calling me
Graham? And what the fuck’s your
name anyway?”
“I am inserting this dipper into
your tank, I shall extract a tiny sample of fuel from your tank and as you can
see my dipper is transparent.”
“Go on then, I’m ecstatic with
anticipation.”
“As I was saying, should the sample
appear to be red in colour then we shall be prosecuting you for evasion of duty
of her majesty’s customs and excise and then impounding your
vehicle.”
“Well give it a big squeeze, I’m
fascinated. Go on Sebastian. Tell me how many of these do you do a
day?”
Graham leans over closely to the
quieter of the two who is looking furtive, nervous and uncomfortable in Graham’s
presence.
“Tell you what mate that’s a cool
job you’ve got there, I bet that takes a lot of responsibility, you know I bet
they don’t just leave anyone in charge of the dipper. Does that make you two chief dippers, or
is it suckers?”
The customs man sucks a sample of
clear diesel with a subtle hint of yellow out of Graham’s Land Rover. Both officers look aghast.
“So in your professional opinion,
Sebastian, is that sample from the aforesaid fuel tank of my aforesaid road
vehicle, a subtle shade of red pray tell, that is of course, Sebastian, in your
opinion. Because from where I’m
standing it’s looking pretty fucking embarrassingly yellow. Do they make you lot take a colour-blind
test at Bustum and speck size training college?”
The noncey one growls with
audible disgust. Then squeezes the fuel back into the tank. Graham bursts out laughing. The customs officers don’t look
impressed.
“Well thank you for your
co-operation sir.”
“Oh, it’s sir now is it. That’s no trouble boys, like I said
anything to help poor old Lizzy out.
Do give the old bag my regards next time you see her, do you two get a
knighthood then when you hit a million nickings or is that
dippings?”
With that Graham gets in his Land
Rover and starts the engine, drowning both of them in diesel fumes, and drives
off.
They follow him with their eyes
filled with hate.
“Looks like the boss was right then
Sebastian, he must use the jerry cans to rendezvous and refuel smuggling
aircraft at secret landing sites.”
The other officer nods in
agreement.
“I think its time to have another
word with Arthur the chief fireman, see what he knows.”
Graham still giggling to himself
over his traumatic dipping experience takes his mobile phone out of his jacket
pocket and dials a number to an unknown party,
“All right mate……… listen you’ll
never guess what just happened to me in the airport car park……………… Customs dipped me……………. Dipped mate…Yeh
that’s what I said……………. Checking my tank for red diesel………. Yeh there’s a grass
round here somewhere, unless it’s backlash from that bitch Lana………. No, fuck it,
I’ll be down to collect my usual quota later on, but keep your ear to the ground
just in case it’s come from your end.
No mate I reckon they just wanted to impound the Lanny and stick a
tracker on it to find out what we’re really up to. Don’t worry about them, those fucking
buffoons couldn’t find a joint in Morocco without a grass. …..Ok mate, I’ll see you
later.”
Graham has to pull over to compose
himself “Fucking Sebastian.”
Somewhere in Northern France (in
early November 1999).
The following
Thursday morning 8am Central European Time, a small town in France, the weather
is perfect, not a cloud in the blue sky, inviting to any pilot. A taxi pulls up and a smooth young man
with blonde hair gets out and money is exchanged. Tyrone smiles to himself, the drive from
Holland was perfect, no border controls whatsoever; the weed is safely in the
back of his Rover, all seven kilos of it.
No one knows a thing about this operation except himself and Uncle, not
even Graham knows. The plan is fool
proof, nothing can go wrong, all he had to do now was drive his Rover to the
airfield down the road, put the weed in the plane and fly back to England to
collect his handsome reward and his mission was complete.
“What a great day for a fly, I love flying
man.”
Tyrone had all the confidence in the world; he
walked casually across the grass and into the car park where his car was. He could see it in the distance; there
was not a sole around. ‘Graham is
going to be so jealous when I see him next. He’s too paranoid for his own good;
he’ll never make any money. Uncle
was right the French really are asleep.’ He thinks to himself. He produces a key for the car as he
approaches it and goes to put it in the door.
Shouting in the trees,
“STOP! HALT! “
A voice cried out loud, Tyrone
turned to see two large men running towards him brandishing guns, he could hear
the sound of helicopters, he was bewildered and confused, then two helicopters
appeared from nowhere, he glanced round to see what was going on, he saw two men
drop out of a tree, (“Shit!”) then a woman and a further two men appeared from
bushes behind him, he was surrounded.
They all ran towards him, all armed to the teeth. A hand grabbed his hair and pushed him
to the ground, a gun barrel was forced into his mouth, and he was kneeling in
amongst a sea of feet, confusion and voices shouting at him in
French.
He couldn’t speak because of the
gun, what was going on, it couldn’t be a bust, how could anyone at all know
anything, only he and Uncle knew, Uncle was his friend, Uncle was his
friend.
The Police then spoke to him in
English, “You are under arrest for importation of controlled drugs” and yet they
hadn’t even opened the boot of the car and found the cannabis, someone had
betrayed him. “Where is your aircraft?” asked one of the officers who then
viciously kicked him in the kidneys, Tyrone fell flat on his face in agonising
pain. He thought to himself “How
could they know, how could they know?”
Beachy
head.
Everyone has heard of the white cliffs of
Dover, a wide expanse of cliffs run from Dover all the way to Brighton. Towering
chalk cliffs with the raging sea bighting away at their feet. The biggest of
these is at Eastbourne, the massive 500ft cliff at Beachy Head. It is a nature
reserve beauty spot and popular suicide location. The problem is that bodies
cannot be recovered in bad weather. The wind around the cliffs is deadly to any
helicopter and any lifeboat would be smashed to a thousand pieces on the rocks.
This is especially the case in the dark and Beachy Head is as dark as it gets at
night, you might as well be out at sea miles from anywhere, there is no
visibility whatsoever without the aid of a torch. There are no street lights, darkness is
total, there is only the sound of the menacing sea deep down below and the wind
howling in whistles, bellows and gusts like dogs in the distance closing in for
the kill, powerful waves crashing against the cliff’s like the souls of
thousands screaming to get out and yet somehow enticing you, calling you, urging
you join them, a compelling sensation of being in touch with something more
powerful than any force on earth.
At least that is how Fiona felt at that moment in time as she stood on
the edge of the cliff with the wind beating against her viciously lashing her
face. She turned to see a set of
head lights in the distance approaching, tears were pouring down her face as she
thought of everything she was to give up, everything she knew would soon be a
distant memory. The car was
approaching fast, she knew it wouldn’t be long, there was no time left, she
looked back to try and see down the cliff edge for one last glance “time to go
now.” She thought, “Time to go.”
END OF EXTRACTS
Thank you for your interest in
this story. All rights of the above
story now belong exclusively to Angel Productions, if you would like to purchase
a selection of top quality recent photographs of Graham, Fiona and Tyrone or
further extracts only of
‘Obviously Someone has got a
Sense of Humour’
then please apply to Angel
Productions at the following e-mail address.
angelproductions@savannahnow.net
