by Tom Marcus
As I walked through the door at home, my wife met me with her usual smile. I never got tired of how beautiful she was, not only to look at but to be with. She was absolutely without question my one true constant, and I almost felt guilty being married to her. My wife brought so much more to the table than I did. She’s always believed in me as a person. She was my walking guardian angel.
‘I’ve just seen a biker die …’
‘You’re joking?? What happened?’
‘I tried to help, but …’
I felt myself starting to wash over this. I needed to bury it, I didn’t want to deal with something like this and I refused to let my family know how dangerous my role was, hunting the scum of the earth.
‘It was on my way home, police and ambulance already there. His bike was a mess.’ I left it at that.
Sensing that I was a bit shocked by it but clearly didn’t want to talk about it any more, my wife took me by the hand into the kitchen to make some food together. I was starving but didn’t want to eat. That night, falling asleep, I was woken by my wife’s hand on my shoulder.
‘You’re jumping …’
I don’t think I was having a nightmare. Maybe it was my subconscious trying to process what had happened today. We’d arrested someone for pretending to bomb something and my team mate died because of it. And in the morning I’d have to deal with the ops room officer as to why I didn’t go to the debrief as instructed, and I’d have to go to Stores for a new radio. I wasn’t sure which would be harder to deal with, the ops officers or storeroom Phil. He could be a right grumpy twat when he wanted to be, and his favourite line when we would ask for a replacement or new bit of kit was, ‘What if someone else needs it? It’s my last one and they are expensive.’
Q from James Bond, he wasn’t.
That night was one of the most restless nights’ sleep I’ve had in a while, but all I could think about was how tired my wife was going to be as she nursed me through the whole night, giving me her reassuring hand while I shook and twitched through whatever my brain was trying to process or lock away.
Whether everyone was reeling from Stu’s death yesterday or the rumour mill had spread that I didn’t go to debrief, I wasn’t sure, but I was left alone. I got my new radio from Stores without a single complaint, and the briefing for our next job went without me being pulled aside to ask how I was feeling or would I like to talk to anyone.
The team was quiet, no joking around, no banter. Just a methodical, quiet approach to that day’s operation. We’d lost another member of our small family. I was starting to wonder if I was prepared to put my wife and son through the heartache of me not being around any more. What I did was important, I saved lives and I was good at it. But I wasn’t the only one who could do this and I could be replaced. I would kill to live on a remote farm with my family right now, no evil cunts to chase and no more carnage.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I felt the first hand grabbing the back of my T-shirt from behind my passenger seat. It was only then that I realized they had smashed the back window of our car. We had to force our way out of here, but we risked killing innocent bystanders. My team leader quickly made the decision as I started to get pulled towards the rear of the car and hit the accelerator. As we hit the first car the crowd scattered. Piling on the power, we continued to push the car in front of us out of the way, hitting the second car that had trapped us in, my team leader creating enough of a gap to squeeze through. No one else gave chase, but we had to keep the speed up back to the Operations Centre. This operation was too big to sit around and cry about being attacked. We had to change the car and get hold of the targets.
This operation had been going on for months, and, while nearly all our operations have an international element to them, this wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill tourist-spot attack. This was the biggest operation I’ve ever been involved in. A highly planned attack that aimed to kill tens of thousands of people, both here in the UK and in New York City. The terrorist cell was directed by their command in Pakistan, all the major players were difficult to keep hold of, and the investigation into them really ramped when our team saw one of them watching a video of the Twin Towers attacks on his mobile phone while he was travelling on a bus.
That was one of their planned targets. The anniversary of the Twin Towers: their plan was to explode several car bombs in the area where people gathered to remember their loved ones who were lost on that tragic day, September 11th 2001.
The second part of their plan, while they also discussed bringing down a transatlantic passenger plane, was to blow up a shopping centre in Manchester during Easter weekend. We estimated the casualty numbers could top 20,000 dead and triple that in injuries. These two attacks, though months apart, would have been catastrophic. I didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that I was nearly lynched for no known reason.
We screeched into a regional Operations Centre garage – the guards had been told we were coming in at pace and had opened the barriers for us so we could fly straight in. One of the ops officers was waiting with two sets of keys to new cars.
‘Split up, radios in the cars are ready. We think the police had a team there last week and had a compromise, same make and model as your tracking car.’
Fucking typical, the crowd that were trying to rip me apart earlier thought we were the same police team that they obviously had an issue with. As I walked over to the new car, the team leader was already in his and pulling away, but as I sat in the car I felt a sharp piece of glass in my back. It was the remains of the window. Looking in the mirror, I had bits of glass still in my hair, and one piece must have fallen down my back.
Back out of the car and ruffling the glass out of my hair just roughly enough so I didn’t cut my hand, I saw the little chunks of toughened glass hitting the garage floor by my feet. Those fucking pricks wanted blood, and you can’t reason with mob mentality. I was dying to know what the police had done to piss the locals off so much that they tried to kill us.
Driving out of the garage, I saw the car we abandoned, which was now being parked up by the ops officer. We’d lost the nearside back passenger window and they had obviously smashed the tail lights and hit the boot with the crowbar too. We were lucky to escape that one, but there was no time to think about it any more. I could hear my team on my radio desperately trying to get hold of one of the main players in this terrorist cell, but without a tracking car locating the GPS in his van the team were struggling. The van was last seen driving south on the M1 motorway. If they went to ground now prior to the attacks people were going to die. I couldn’t live with that. In our world people die all the time, but I had to make sure I had done everything humanly possible and made every sacrifice I could to make sure these pricks didn’t get to their target endgame.
STEEL BADGE had been in play since we found out the scale of their attack planning and how advanced their logistics capability was. They had already recce’d New York and Manchester and we knew they had capability to get the explosives. This wasn’t a Mickey Mouse outfit. They had a plan and a goal, they just had no way to deal with operators like us.
‘Charlie Six Four is as far south as Junction 12, nothing seen.’
A motorway stretching the length of the country, and one white van belonging to our target was last seen on this motorway, believed to be travelling south to a lockup where the explosives or detonators could be. The tracking GPS in the target’s van had gone into sleep mode and could only be woken up by our tracking car. It doesn’t happen very often but it’s typical: when you need the tracking devices to work they bloody don’t. The entire team was driving as fast as they could up and down the motorway to catch a glimpse of a white van that had the right registration number and our target driving.
We had cars checking the motorway services too, just in case the information didn’t come through from our police contacts quickly enough. We left nothing to chance and it was starting to look like we’d never find him.
‘WAIT OUT, WAIT OUT, BROKEN LAPTOP is SOUTHBOUND, SOUTHBOUND on the MIKE ONE, one up just past Junction Two Nine, continuing towards Junction Two Eight. Can anyone assist?’
I was a couple of miles out. ‘Charlie Nine One, will be there in two minutes, what lane is he in?’
‘One of three, passing the roadworks, TC. I’m in front of him so quick as possible please.’
‘From Charlie Nine One, I have control, target vehicle is lane one of three, speed six five, seven zero miles per hour MIKE ONE south towards Junction 28.’
‘Roger, thanks, TC. I’m pulling ahead now and off at 28, if he continues I’ll rejoin behind you and back.’
‘Cheers, bud, no change, continuing lane one of three into the countdown markers for Junction 28.’
‘Three hundred yards from the exit at 28, still lane one of three, NO indication.’
The rest of the team remained quiet but I knew they would be screaming to get to us as quickly as possible. I was waiting for acknowledgement from the team leader and Base once we got past the junction and we knew BROKEN LAPTOP wasn’t leaving the motorway.
‘Hundred-yard marker board now, vehicle still lane one of three and that’s CONTINUING southbound on the MIKE ONE towards Junction TWO SEVEN, speed SEVEN ZERO SEVEN FIVE.’
‘Roger and backing.’
‘Roger, thanks, mate.’
‘Great work, guys, keep hold of it, team is closing in.’
‘Base, permission?’
‘Go ahead, no change.’
‘From A2A – BROKEN LAPTOP was heard inside a property in Sheffield just off the M1 talking about gate departures. Nothing further.’
We didn’t need the ops centre to elaborate. We now knew the likelihood was that we were heading to an airport, either for an attack inside the airport or on board a plane or for escaping the country and committing an attack in the US. Every operator worth their salt would be carrying their passport during a job. Mine was in its usual position in a Tubigrip around my ankle. It doesn’t happen very often but sometimes we are required to follow a target on to a ferry, train or plane across borders to keep a surveillance lock. It’s unusual because we have a good intelligence relationship with our surrounding neighbours and usually have enough time to pass it through to them that a target needs watching. In this case, though, we didn’t know what BROKEN LAPTOP was going to do or even where he was going to go when he got to an airport.
BROKEN LAPTOP was in his late sixties. A devout Muslim, originally from Pakistan, he was rare because it’s usually the young, self-radicalized, non-Muslim-born men that carry out attacks in the name of al-Qaeda or Islamic State. The older generation are wiser, less influenced by the propaganda. I was fairly sure he wasn’t about to blow an aircraft up or martyr himself in the airport like the Glasgow attack. He was trying to leave the country. It wasn’t my job to question why he was leaving, that was down to the wobbly heads back in Thames House wearing suits. My job was simple. Hunt them down, say what I see.
The team had nicknamed this operation Op JENGA after the wooden bricks balancing game. Together the West, with the US and UK at its core, stands strong. Interlocking with each other, passing intelligence and preventing attacks on both sides. We influence other countries’ strategies like Australia, New Zealand and Canada, and together we keep the world a much safer place. However, if we or the US pulls the wrong brick out of the tower, the whole thing risks collapse.
Terrorists from Britain blowing up a transatlantic flight or the memorial spot for the Twin Towers would be a huge embarrassment publicly, not to mention the fight behind closed doors as to how we could let something like this happen. We’re a tiny island, yet we’ve an impeccable record at keeping people safe, but if we didn’t keep hold of everyone in this cell, the entire tower of bricks would come crashing down with no one wanting to pick up the pieces.
‘Red team, permission?’
‘Go ahead, Red team, no change, BROKEN LAPTOP lane one of three still southbound MIKE ONE towards Junction TWO FOUR.’
‘Roger, thanks. We have DRAGON CLOUD and HOME FARM under control in the area of Heathrow Airport. White team have SMALL WINDOW under control at Junction ONE FIVE on the MIKE ONE southbound and Blue team have STILL WATER, ROCKY CREEK and HEAVY CARPET under control in the area of Heathrow Airport. Red team OUT.’
That’s all seven major players in this cell under control, with Heathrow looking like the destination for BROKEN LAPTOP now. The operations centre would be coordinating the intelligence coming back from the surveillance teams and passing it on to the intelligence officers. At this time of night Thames House would be fairly quiet but every officer involved in this operation would be at their desk, on the ground or working covert agents as hard as they could.
Based on the investigation so far, I wasn’t sure the service had enough evidence to arrest these guys and prosecute them in a secret court.
‘TC, are you happy with the follow so far?’
Motorway follows are easy if you stay alert and plan. I had three vehicles in front of me, blocking BROKEN LAPTOP’s mirrors from getting a full profile of me. At this time of night, I was using the high tail light of the van to lock on to so I could keep my distance. All the target would see were endless lights behind him.
‘Yes, vehicle still lane one of three and I have three for cover. Speed back down to six five, seven zero miles per hour.’
‘Roger that. Stations, I want to leave three cars with TC on the follow and get everyone else ahead at the service stations further down the motorway, I’m hoping BROKEN LAPTOP has a weak bladder and we can get close to him and tag his van too.’
This was a smart move, and highlights exactly what is needed from a team leader. As operators we all think ahead, we know exactly what kit to use, when we can push it and when we can’t. We don’t need organizing at all really, unlike other surveillance teams from non-covert agencies. But things like getting people ahead and being proactive in placing GPS trackers on BROKEN LAPTOP’s van are the qualities of a good team leader, plus the ability to manage people like me.
‘Just a thought – if he pulls into a services can we check for traces of explosives?’
‘Good thinking, TC. Yes, we’ll go for that. Charlie Five Three, acknowledge?’
‘Charlie Five Three, roger the last and I’m with the follow.’
Another forty minutes of simple motorway driving and the predictions came true; BROKEN LAPTOP pulled into a services.
‘That’s an OFF, OFF, OFF. Vehicle on to the slip lane towards Newport Pagnell Services, speed down to THREE ZERO, THREE FIVE miles per hour.’
‘Charlie Five Three, roger, let me know when he’s settled and away from the vehicle, please.’
This was our chance to see if the van contained any explosives or ammunition.
‘Roger that, vehicle moving towards the front entrance of the services now, I have control. Stations, hold back if you can.’
Ideally we would see BROKEN LAPTOP go inside the services then at the same time send someone in on foot to find him and watch everything he did including having a piss, while we checked the van in the car park.
‘That’s a STOP, STOP, STOP. Vehicle is parked just to the right of the entrance. Charlie Five Three for information he’s nosey parked facing the motorway but there is a patch of grass directly in front of the van. And that’s BROKEN LAPTOP out of the vehicle and walking towards the entrance of the services now, full beige shalwar kameez, I have direct on the exit and the vehicle but can’t go with.’
‘Charlie Five Three, roger, deploying now.’
‘Seven Five is on foot towards the services, I’ll give two tones when I have control.’
‘Roger, thank you, stations, everyone radio silence until BROKEN LAPTOP back in his vehicle, please.’
It wasn’t long before we got the signal that Seven Five had control of the target.
‘Roger, Seven Five, you have control of BROKEN LAPTOP, can you give tones when he leaves?’
Ano
ther signal for yes.
‘Roger, signal heard.’
Seven Five, still unable to talk, sent the urgent signal out on the radio.
‘Signal heard – STAND BY, STAND BY.’
‘From Charlie Nine One, I have control. BROKEN LAPTOP OUT, OUT and towards the vehicle.’
‘Roger and Charlie Five Three is complete, no indication of explosives.’
‘Roger, Base acknowledge, lights on.’
‘Base, roger.’
‘Vehicle is reversing, any station able to take this if he pulls straight on to the motorway?’
‘TC, I’m at the garage towards the exit, if he drives straight out without stopping for fuel I can.’
The chances were slim that he was even remotely aware I’d followed him all the way down the M1 at this time of night, there’s just a sea of headlights, nothing to stand out, but if he was going to notice something it would be now, when he’d been stationary.
‘Roger, thanks, Charlie Four Three, I’ll let him run to you if you can see the exit, if you get stuck just let me know.’
‘Roger, yeah, I have the exit, no problem.’
‘Vehicle now towards the garage and services exit back towards the slip with the MIKE ONE, running free, I’m not with.’
‘Charlie Four Three, roger, I have control and that’s ON, ON to the MIKE ONE southbound.’
The three of us left behind at the services stayed for nearly five minutes, using the toilet and grabbing what food we could, charging it to our MI5 credit cards. Each of us blanked one another when our paths crossed; the paranoia of not compromising yourself or others was ingrained into us.
As we rejoined the follow down the motorway I was starting to wonder what the goal was here. The van didn’t show any signs of explosives or ammunition, I wasn’t sure what the other teams had on the rest of the cell in terms of intelligence but if these guys were about to commit a terrorist attack surely executive action would now be in play.
‘Base, permission?’
