Imagine if New Zealand banned a specific LEGO set from crossing the border. Let’s say it’s the Titanic model, set #10294. That set comes with precisely 9,090 pieces, and only a specific combination of those pieces results in set #10294.
Now let’s say that you built set #10294 overseas exactly as in the instructions, but before you got to airport security, you took off the one piece that says “Titanic” on the side of the ship and replaced it with a nameplate from a different LEGO set. It’s not technically the Titanic, now, is it? It’s not technically set #10294 anymore, even if it’s 99% the same. No; the defining feature has been changed, and this specific feature is what border security looks for. Without that nameplate, that one tiny piece, it won’t register as the illegal set #10294. All you’ve got to do after you get through security is swap the nameplate back and badda-bing, badda-boom: you’ve smuggled the Titanic through the border.
This is essentially what’s happened, but with meth.
Otago Chemistry Department member Hindenburg* detailed a method for transforming methamphetamine into a new, stable, non-meth product that, when combined with heated white vinegar, will transmute back into meth. It’s a new method, caught at our border in 2017, and it all stems from the mind of a student. Allegedly.
Hindenburg does not claim credit for the invention of this “just add vinegar” meth, but attributes its discovery to an ex-chemistry student whose shipment of chemicals from Hong Kong were seized in 2017 by a police surveillance operation codenamed “Operation Reverse”. Hindenburg said that they turned down requests for comment from the media at the time because they were allegedly too impressed by the ingenuity of chemistry on display. While four men between the ages of 30 and 60 were charged in relation to this case, only three were named, and the identity of the youngest – the chemist who apparently invented this technique – remains a mystery.
Basically, what’s happening is people are using a different chemical to essentially save the seat of part of the meth molecule. This is the replacement LEGO nameplate on our hypothetical Titanic. While it passes through security, the “seat-saver” chemical makes the molecule look like something other than meth and, once it’s through, the seat-saver gaps it and is replaced by a chemical that turns the whole thing back into meth again. It’s like putting on a hat and pretending you’re a different person while you walk through customs.
The technical explanation, if you’re curious: the method takes advantage of a technique usually reserved for protein synthesis of chemicals like insulin. This technique takes advantage of a mass produced chemical known as t-boc (tert-butyloxycarbonyl) that can target amines (N-H) in a compound, and reversibly turn them into amides (...not N-H). This technique holds the place for the amine to come back later, without having the amine actually be there to react with anything – to essentially “protect” the molecule.
Since 2017, border control in New Zealand has been using cutting-edge handheld laser guns (yes, really) that can identify many chemical substances as quickly as scanning a barcode. These devices are known as FirstDefenders and are manufactured by ThermoScientific. They use a technique known as Raman Spectroscopy (not to be mistaken with Ramen Spectroscopy) to identify chemicals, and apparently they are so easy to use that you don’t need any knowledge of chemistry to operate one. Ex-Otago Professor Jim Macquillian, expert on Raman Spectroscopy, told us that even when dissolved in urine methamphetamine still exhibits a strong raman band – though you may need to use advanced Surface Enhanced Raman Spectroscopy (SERS) to see it – which we’re pretty sure means putting silver on it so that it reflects more. Essentially, meth is pretty easy to identify using this equipment.
This strong signal that methamphetamine gives off comes from several geometric properties of the molecule. These make up a profile of signals which the FirstDefender compares against sample profiles in its memory. The strongest signals from a methamphetamine molecule come from the benzene-like ring at the other end of the molecule from the Nitrogen atom, but these are not very distinctive, being found in common compounds like nylon or polyamide. The feature that really gives it away is, you guessed it: the amine bond N-H. This is what’s being “seat-saved” to get through customs. It’s the nameplate of the Titanic. Once over the border, upon the introduction of hot white vinegar, “or any acid really”, the N-H bond breaks and the molecule is remade. We’ve got the Titanic again, as it were.
Hindenburg illustrated how, by combining meth with t-Boc in a solvent, the hydrogen atom could be replaced by an amide with an ester on it, which helps stop the chemical from looking too much like methamphetamine formamide (a well known precursor to meth). This makes the substance extremely difficult to detect unless there is a reason to conduct specialised tests. Were it not for Operation Reverse, it is possible that this new compound would never have been discovered. This was the first and last time – according to a police OIA request – that t-Boc-MP has ever been detected at the border. The existence of this technique should be very concerning, especially in a country like New Zealand, where methamphetamine is expensive enough to warrant the services of a chemist.
The chemical sleight of hand described in this article introduces impurities such as solvent, but extracting such solvent is fairly straightforward, says Max Philips from Know Your Stuff, who indicates that such impurities pose little risk when compared to the contaminants that are deliberately cut into methamphetamine, "However given that these procedures are likely carried out under clandestine conditions the likelihood of errors is much higher."
The 2017 bust ended in arrests and made national headlines, and today New Zealand’s appetite for meth appears to be in decline. Still, the NZ Herald reported at the time that, “In 10 years, the number of people seeking help [for meth] from the health system has risen 70 per cent, but the increase in funding has been little more than half that.” It remains undoubtedly a source of harm to our communities.
So why would a chemistry student, with a university education and a critical understanding of organic chemistry, synthetic chemistry, and spectroscopy, use that knowledge to help drug dealers get away with crime? Easy: it pays. You could make a joke about having to pay for an unfortunate chlamydia diagnosis, but this is actually serious. New Zealand is one of the most lucrative meth markets in the world, precisely because of the border security this method was designed to fool. And coming up with these methods is no easy task; it requires the skills of someone who knows what they’re doing. These people are in high demand. “There continues to be strong demand for Chemistry graduates,” says the Otago website. Yes, indeed.
Employment options aside, one thing is certain: so long as the Titanic remains illegal, people will be trying to find ways to sneak it in. Idle hands are the devil's playthings, after all, and there’s more money in the meth business than anything you’ll find on Seek.