by Tom Marcus
I was sitting next to Stu, the biker for our team, at the back of the briefing room as the ops officer walked in. As the officer switched on the large screen at the front, Stu passed me a mint.
‘Take two, mate, you need them.’
‘Prick.’
Despite his huge amount of experience, Stu was still one of the guys, always making jokes and helping anyone who needed it. It always surprised me that he never went for promotion to team leader or even further than that. All he wanted to do was be on the ground with the team on his bike ‘getting in the mix’, and I loved him for that. He wasn’t in this life for a career, he just loved being here.
‘Good morning, Green team. I’ll start the briefing at 0801hrs. Please take the time to sync your watches …’
‘Do you want help reading the time on your watch, brother?’
‘The hand of Mickey Mouse is stuck … now what am I gonna do?!’
The officer briefing knew that Stu was joking around with me, and as the other members of the team started laughing and turning around he raised his voice to keep control of the briefing.
‘Operation QUAKE is a result of intelligence gained after the op BEARING arrests last week. The target is MUD SLIDE and this is a first look at him. This is the most recent image we have of him taken from a phone in the arrests.’
Quite often this is the way we get new investigations. A large operation like BEARING will give us stacks of intelligence, not only during the surveillance phase but when we arrest the key players too; it’s amazing how quickly some ideologues fall by the wayside when they are faced with thirty years in prison and their family is threatened.
‘MUD SLIDE has no history with us, no criminal record and isn’t a UK citizen. To date we don’t know how he made it into the country. Today’s objectives are simple: using the address on your PDAs, we’d like any surveillance possible. Up-to-date photographs, if he uses a mobile phone, GPS it and we’ll lift it from the service providers. We have a possible phone number for him but it hasn’t been switched on in the last few days. I’m afraid it’s a roll of the dice; if you can get hold of him, great.’
As we left the briefing room towards the garage, the team knew today was going to be hard. All we had was an image lifted from a phone and an address on our PDAs. We didn’t actually have this address confirmed as the target’s home. That was our role today, to try and get as much intelligence as possible to provide a more stable base if and when we came back to this another day. You can’t uncover everything in one day, and we might not even see MUD SLIDE at all. We didn’t get many operations like this but stuff like this is great for a team’s morale if you manage to go on the ground with absolutely nothing and get a key piece of evidence that opens up the investigation.
As we left the garage at varying intervals, I saw Stu already on the other side of the bridge as he popped up on the net for a radio check,
‘Anyone read, Bravo Seven?’
‘Loud and clear, Bravo Seven.’
‘Roger and likewise.’
It took the team about forty minutes to arrive in the area of the address we had been given for MUD SLIDE. The team leader was rightly cautious about saturating the streets immediately around the address. We hadn’t been here before and didn’t know anything about the target, and this is a dangerous time in surveillance. If we alerted him to the fact that he was being watched now we’d fuck the entire job up before it’d even started,
‘Can I have one out on foot to do a walk-past of the address, please? Charlie Seven One Zero, can you see if you can get imagery direct on the front door, please, and any VRNs of vehicles outside? Other stations, cover north and south on the main to react on a STAND BY, and Bravo Seven, wait out the area, please.’
It was a waiting game now. You make your own luck in this game, but we would need a little help too for the target to actually show himself near this address. It didn’t take long for us to catch our break.
‘STAND BY, STAND BY, from Charlie Seven One Zero, that’s MUD SLIDE OUT, OUT of the address, walking northbound, black hooded top, blue jeans, white trainers, carrying a green rucksack on his back, I can’t go with.’
‘Roger that. Charlie Two Two is in position if he goes to a vehicle to the north.’
I was hoping he’d use a vehicle because it would give us a good bit of intelligence this early on.
‘From Charlie Seven One Zero, TC, he’s about twenty-five metres north of the address now, continuing on foot, had a brief look back too.’
For targets to be aware usually suggests operational activity, so this was going to be a good day if we could keep hold of him.
‘Roger that, and have seen. I have control, MUD SLIDE walking north and has now STOP, STOP, STOP at a bus stop on the east side.’
‘Roger that, Charlie Two Two, if he gets on a bus can you go with?’
‘Yeah, can’t see any bus numbers from this distance but he is alone at the stop.’
‘Further, the bus would take him south on the main.’
‘Charlie Seven One Zero, roger that, bud. I should get the bus number at least.’
‘From Charlie Two Two, large double-decker bus approaching the stop now. MUD SLIDE is ON, ON to the bus and has walked to the top deck, stations be aware.’
‘That’s the bus now leaving and travelling southbound, southbound on the main. I have control.’
Accelerating gently towards the main road, I was mindful of not creating too much sign locally. We still didn’t know anything about this target yet or any other linked addresses. As I got to the junction of the main road I could see the bus now about a hundred metres away with three other commuter cars behind it. I could live with being this far back from the bus at this stage.
‘Base, permission.’
‘Go ahead, no change, bus continuing southbound past the school and Chinese takeaway to his off side.’
As with all bus moves, it’s a big game of hide and seek. Most of the time, buses in London can move through traffic easier than normal passenger cars thanks to bus lanes, but you have to throw into the mix the fact that they are constantly making stops on their routes, so as a team you have to stay back when the bus stops to prevent being forced past, while keeping the ability to stay with it in heavy traffic. London buses in particular are quite aggressive when they pull out so they can quickly get away from the team if you’re not totally on the ball.
‘Hold back, hold back. That’s the bus STOP, STOP, STOP, twenty metres before the garage on the near side. No one has left the bus, and it’s now continuing southbound again.’
The bus was now over a hundred metres away from me and I was slowly starting to lose my grip on it,
‘Any station help out with this bus, I’m getting held and don’t want to show out too much.’
‘Charlie Eight Seven can, I’m ahead at the next junction?’
‘Great, I’ll feed it to you. Once you can it’s all yours.’
‘Roger that, and Charlie Eight Seven now has control of the bus, for information the VRN is WHISKY MIKE FIVE ONE, TANGO HOTEL YANKEE, it’s a number 61.’
‘Base, roger.’
‘Charlie Two Two, roger and backing from a distance.’
I had no problem staying behind the bus at this distance, it looked like a main commuter road so it was natural to stay on this route.
‘Stations, hold back, that’s a STOP, STOP, STOP, STAND BY, STAND BY – MUD SLIDE is OFF, OFF the bus and crossed immediately over to the west side of the main.’
‘Roger, three, out on foot, please, let’s get hold of him.’
This was a busy area and there were a lot of transport links here, so if we weren’t careful we would lose control of him quickly. As three members of the team jumped out on foot, I sneaked into the bus lane to undertake fifty metres of traffic and slide back in. The bus was still stationary but at this angle I couldn’t see the target at all.
‘From Charlie Eight Seven, MUD SLIDE has now crossed back over to the east side
of the main, still continuing southbound on foot, he’s looking back towards the bus.’
‘Base, anything to add?’
The team leader started to feel how the rest of the team was feeling: this guy was deploying very crude methods of anti-surveillance, and we needed more information.
‘Stations, STEEL BADGE, STEEL BADGE, recent text message from his phone three minutes ago: “I’m going to the wedding now with Lucy.” ’
Fuck, the backpack. Quite often terrorist cells would use coded messages to each other to mask their real intent. In this case, the Operations Centre were thinking that the ‘wedding’ was a bombing target or location and ‘Lucy’ was the bomb itself.
‘Roger. Foot crews, do you have control and Base, can you let us know if our friends have been informed and on route?’
‘Negative, I don’t have control.’
‘Negative from Eight Seven.’
‘Negative.’
Fucking hell, this was going wrong fast. I could see MUD SLIDE at a distance as the traffic started to move.
‘From Charlie Two Two. I can see MUD SLIDE, he’s now walking southbound again, moving away from the bus stop towards the Tube entrance in the distance about 300 metres away. I’m held in traffic. Bravo Seven, are you able to assist?’
‘Bravo Seven, twenty seconds out.’
I could hear the bike’s revs on Stu’s transmission as Base popped up with another update.
‘EXECUTIVE ACTION, EXECUTIVE ACTION, stations, when you have control we will guide in the arrest team.’
That confirmed it then; MUD SLIDE was likely going to blow something up, the operations centre weren’t taking any chances and were going to have the target arrested. The executive action team would be extremely aggressive and would be operating under a kill or capture, given the likelihood that he was going to commit mass murder.
‘From Charlie Two Two, MUD SLIDE is out of sight to me and running free. Bravo Seven, can you?’
I didn’t want to be a dick on the net to Stu but the team had to know the target was no longer under control and I couldn’t see him. Thankfully I heard the engine revs of Stu’s bike as he dropped down a gear, making his way through traffic. Spotting a gap, he opened up the throttle and rocketed towards the area I’d last seen MUD SLIDE.
The noise was destructively loud. I only registered the engine revs climbing higher and higher, almost screaming, then I realized that it was a pedestrian that was screaming. An articulated lorry trying to overtake the bus had pulled out too far, too suddenly, and clipped Stu as he tried to speed past, knocking him off and throwing him under the wheels of the trailer.
‘STU!! STU IS DOWN, HE’S BEEN HIT BYA TRUCK … HE’S FUCKING DOWN … STUUUUUUU!’
‘Base, roger, we need control of MUD SLIDE.’
‘HE’S DEAD, HE’S FUCKING DEAD.’
The traffic came to a standstill as the truck slowly moved over away from Stu and came to a stop. The team leader replied instantly to my transmission the moment I let go of my push-to-talk button.
‘TC, we need MUD SLIDE. Ambulance is on its way.’
The traffic slowly edged forward. Without thinking or removing my gaze from the spinning wheels of Stu’s bike, I moved with the flow of cars. It felt like an hour but would have only been a few seconds before I was alongside his bike as normal bystanders started rushing in to help him. He’d come off his bike and hit the trailer first, then been crushed beneath its wheels. The bike’s engine was still ticking over as his wheels slowed down and stopped. I think it was that exact moment the wheels stopped turning that Stu passed away on this soaking wet road with bits of rubbish everywhere.
‘I have control of MUD SLIDE, towards the Tube entrance, 200 metres away, still walking south on the east side. No change in appearance, still dressed as previous.’
Leaving my car on the side of the road just in front of the truck, I made my way down the pavement as quick as I could. I wanted to look back but I’d become numb. MUD SLIDE was going to pay for this.
‘Roger that, TC, EXECUTIVE ACTION team now deploying.’
‘MUD SLIDE still southbound, east side 150 metres away from the Tube entrance, walking past the coffee shop with the silver tables outside.’
‘Roger, NINE EIGHT is backing.’
‘Roger, MUD SLIDE now fifty metres from the Tube entrance, Base, acknowledge.’
‘Roger that, TC. If he goes inside can you go with to let me guide the strike team in?’
‘MUD SLIDE now in the area of the Tube station, and towards the barriers, going with.’
Just as the target pulled an Oyster card from his pocket and walked to the barriers, I heard the executive action strike team pile into the Tube station entrance, guns out, screaming at him to get on the floor, keeping his hands visible. As the other London commuters fled the area like a family of ants escaping the horror of being caught up in something they shouldn’t, the strike team moved in.
I didn’t even flinch when the second wave of armed police piled in to make sure MUD SLIDE didn’t detonate anything he was carrying. The screams, sirens and shouts all stopped. I felt cold and heavy as I looked back up the street to see the ambulance arriving in the area where Stu was lying. I could see a paramedic first responder car already there. As the crowd gathered near me I could feel the police pushing people back as they looked to see what was happening around MUD SLIDE. I was the only one not looking towards the Tube entrance.
My team leader was with Stu and the paramedics. I could see his car on the other side of the road with his door open. I had no idea how long my radio had been receiving transmissions for, I hadn’t heard anything for a while, and Base had clearly been trying to get me to respond, ‘Zero Six, radio check?’
‘Loud. Yeah. Loud. Clear.’
‘Roger, all stations cease and withdraw, team leader is with Stu and he’s receiving treatment. MUD SLIDE has been arrested, acknowledge the last.’
‘Yeah. Got it.’
I knew Stu wouldn’t be getting any treatment, I knew he was dead. The paramedics were clearly trying to do their best for him as he was moved into the ambulance and it sped away past me through the traffic. Even the police cars from the strike team had left with MUD SLIDE and this street in London slowly started to go about its normal day again. The team leader didn’t see me standing on the pavement as he spun his car around and followed the blue lights of the ambulance to the hospital.
It took less than thirty seconds to get back to my car. It was quiet, no team transmissions, no sirens on the street, even the police putting tape around Stu’s bike and interviewing the truck driver were quiet and slow. The clinical nature of the normal uniformed police dealing with a road traffic collision couldn’t be further away from the way the executive action strike team moved and dealt with MUD SLIDE.
As I drove down the main road past the Tube station entrance I saw a police recovery truck coming the opposite way to remove Stu’s bike and reopen the road behind me.
‘Stations, an update for you on MUD SLIDE. Initial report from the police arrest team is he isn’t carrying explosives and was doing a dry run. Base, out.’
Fucking. Cunt. That fucker, he was practising his route to his attack site in preparation for the real event. He wasn’t carrying anything that could hurt anyone apart from his imagination. Stu died for nothing. Fucking nothing.
‘Base, TC. I’m going home. Debrief me tomorrow.’
‘Negative, TC, we need everyone to come in for debrief, we have counsellors here already.’
‘TC OUT!!’
I threw my radio at the passenger window. It smashed open and I saw the small battery hit the dashboard and disappear towards the windscreen vents. I wasn’t in the mood to speak to some posh prick with a degree on how I should be feeling. I’d had to drive past my team mate as he took his last breath on the road in a puddle chasing someone who wasn’t a threat to anyone.
My service-issue mobile started ringing almost immediately. ‘Call.’ The only pe
ople in the country this would be is the ops room telling me to come in for debrief. They can fuck off. Squeezing the phone in my hand, I tried to crush it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to but I couldn’t help the aggression spilling out of me. Throwing it behind me, I hit the wing mirror with my left hand as the phone disappeared on to the back seat, still vibrating, as the ops room continued to call me.
Driving home, all I wanted was to see my family. This fucking job was a curse. I was blessed with a set of skills that allowed me to protect this country but those skills brought infinite darkness to me. I couldn’t remember a full week during my time with the service, both officially and unofficially, where my effort to keep people safe was rewarded with happiness. I was surrounded by death and destruction. The people we hunt want to kill our civilians and sometimes people in our team die trying to stop them. Because of who we are we can only talk to professionals who have Top Secret clearance if we are starting to suffer with mental health issues.
The problem with that is you’re talking about Top Secret events, to people with Top Secret clearance in a building that plans Top Secret work. No one we are cleared to talk to has the ability to look at things from a different perspective. I called Stu forward to help out on that follow, he came in without a second’s notice and when I thought he wasn’t moving quick enough and we risked losing MUD SLIDE I chased him up a second time and asked for help. It was his speed that killed him. His speed was a reaction to me. I killed my team mate. Now how the fuck was I going to explain any of this?
I needed to talk to my wife, but I knew what I would end up doing. I’d either brush over this or just clam up completely. I was shit at talking about my feelings. I think that comes from my childhood. Being told not to cry, to be quiet and having no one to actually talk to led me to develop a sort of protective armour. I was afraid that if I did talk about things I’d either let too much out and not be able to operate on the ground properly, or people would lose confidence in my ability, not only as an operator but as a husband and father.
