[luckyjimm]

The last article I linked to says "when he died many of us felt we'd lost the one truly heroic figure of our generation, a figure in the same mould as T.E. Lawrence or Lord Byron" and strongly suggests he was killed by the Pakistani intelligence services.

Sorry for so much text, but this passage from the first article makes a strong impression on me, because what we see is somebody gambling with LIFE rather than money. This incredible ability to switch from "high" to "low" situations, to completely drop out of one culture and into another. It makes me aware that I take no risks in life; and I intensely admire someone like this who took so many:

"Carlos grew up in London's Eaton and Cadogan squares and was sent to Eton but, though he did well, hated it. He started to rebel, at first in the ordinary ways; with left-wing politics, music that his parents wouldn't like, soft drugs and drink. But as ever he soon left the ordinary far behind. At 14, he left his privileged world and signed himself into a London comprehensive.

After two years of taking a lot of LSD and indulging in 'industrial scale shoplifting', he told his parents he was going to the southwest of France to stay with friends. There were no phones, he said, so they wouldn't hear from him for at least two weeks. He had calculated that would give him enough time to get free. He planned to head to Burma and smuggle rubies.

He got as far as Pakistan. High in the Hindu Kush foothills, close to the border with Afghanistan, in lands that are barely controlled by the current Pakistani administration let alone by the British Raj, Carlos did odd jobs - including bodyguard and labourer, learned to speak the guttural language of the Pashto tribesmen who looked after him and converted to Islam. He never contacted his family. They gave him up for dead.

After nearly two years, he returned to Britain and Belgravia, thin, sick and still restless. His family welcomed him back, hopeful that his youthful wanderlust was sated. Carlos worked hard to get his A levels, but played hard, too. He moved from amphetamines and acid to heroin. Before long, he had picked up a serious habit which he never entirely shook.

He may have been reckless, but he wasn't stupid. He crammed at Millfield, a top public school, and got a place at Princeton University. Not satisfied with that, he applied to Harvard and, on the strength of a successful interview and a fistful of forged references, got in to read politics. With his money and connections, he was soon mixing with the best of America's East Coast society. He was a favoured guest of the Kennedy clan. He had an affair with Mary Richardson, who later married Bobby Jnr, and a short fling with Fawn Hall.

From Harvard he went on to Wall Street. It was the 80s and Carlos, intelligent, well-connected and bold, did well. He lived in Manhattan. He made a lot of money. And spent much of it on cocaine and heroin.

And yet it wasn't enough. By 1985, the attractions of his Manhattan lifestyle had palled. He flew to Islamabad - the capital of Pakistan - and drove up to Peshawar. It was then the main headquarters and logistics base for the guerrilla groups. He introduced himself to them and convinced them to take him into Afghanistan. It was his first taste of war. Within months of returning to America he had sold the New York apartment and was on his way back to the sub-continent. He was 26."