I Spy

by Tom Marcus

  ‘Zero Six is checking the bars on the east side of Wilkins Lane.’

  The rest of the team were constantly updating the areas they had checked, along with compass directions. Walking into the first pub, I saw it was fairly busy but open enough for me to check for MAROON OTTER.

  When people walk into a bar they do one of three things. Find the toilets, look for the friends they are meeting or go to the bar and order a drink. I needed to check the toilets and see if I could identify a staff exit out the back just in case. Walking through the pub, I scanned the area in front of me and off to my sides, keeping it nice and relaxed. If anyone in here was providing counter-surveillance the first thing they would look for was new faces entering.

  Nothing so far. I could hear the rest of the team still searching. Into the men’s and still nothing apart from a properly pissed guy swaying next to the urinal, struggling to undo the buttons on his jeans. I took the opportunity to quickly empty my bladder then headed back out towards the bar, which gave me a better opportunity to scan the floor for MAROON OTTER.

  ‘Bottle of Bud,’ I told the barman.

  Anything served in green or brown glass is perfect for hiding how much you’re actually drinking. If the target wasn’t in here I’d have to neck the beer and leave; if he was I could be here for hours.

  Taking up a natural position right at the end of the bar, I sat on a stool and paid for my bottle. The internal CCTV screen was just in front of me and there were enough people in the pub to mean no one was paying me any attention.

  Nothing to my immediate left, nothing at the bar, keep scanning. Just as I went to take a big long swig of my drink, ready to leave, I caught sight of a group of people on the CCTV screen. Lowering my head as I lifted the bottle to my mouth, I gave a low, very quick, ‘STAND BY STAND BY.’

  It was enough to tell the team someone had control of MAROON OTTER. Hopefully one of them would recognize it was me.

  ‘Zero Six, do you have control of MAROON OTTER?’ Graeme, the team leader, was on it straight away. I replied to him with our covert messaging system, and knew I had to give the team more information.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I faked a phone call, using the people at the bar to hide my profile from MAROON OTTER while I was sending a transmission over the radio to my team. Normally our messages on the net are extremely short and fast because there is so much going on and so many people trying to get on the radio at the same time. Right now, I needed a bit more freedom.

  ‘Where are you?’ I paused with a smile and a nod. ‘I’m at the pub on the corner, next to the supermarket. Come down for a few?’ Pausing as if waiting for a reply. ‘All right, cool, well if you finish mending that MAROON OTTER and do decide to come down I’m at the bottom end of the bar. Bring everyone down. It’s pretty packed near the door though.’ Slightly longer pause. ‘All right, mate, might catch you all in a bit. Bye, mate, bye.’

  The second my transmission ended I could hear the team responding.

  ‘Team Leader roger the last. Base acknowledge MAROON OTTER is under control in the pub on the corner of Wilkins Lane and Cottle Road. Stations can I have three into the pub, two of which need to be a couple, someone direct on the front door of the pub and the rest of the team close in to support.’

  Ordering another bottle, I got comfortable, slumping forward on my bar stool with the perfect view of MAROON OTTER. He’d picked a table slightly behind the door, which gave him a perfect view of everyone coming or going. It took all of sixty seconds before Karen and Emma walked in together and took a position at a high table, laughing and joking, the perfect cover. They were two women dressed nicely, drinking wine and having a good catch up. While Karen had her back to MAROON OTTER, Emma could see his position and everything he did, including moving towards the door or using his phone. Emma would give Karen any information she gleaned and, to prevent MAROON OTTER seeing anything suspicious, Karen would transmit for her. Crucially Emma could also help identify any of the five people he was sitting with.

  Mark walked in a few minutes later, in full orange hi-vis workwear. It was another perfect cover, brash and loud – who’d wear that if they were trying not to be spotted, right? He went straight to the bar on the end closest to MAROON OTTER and the door. I could just about hear Mark asking what food they sold. As the conversation went on between the barman and Mark, he gave the cover story that he couldn’t drink because he was waiting for his gaffer to pick him up and head to their site. Mark spent the next hour drinking coke, eating crisps and playing the bandit. He was close in to MAROON OTTER and could hear the conversation at his table.

  We were in a busy pub, we could see and hear everything this guy was doing and yet it would be incredibly difficult for anyone to detect a surveillance operator in here, never mind four of us.

  ‘From Base, just for information. Tech teams are towards the office soon. The entry team leader has told me that once they get in they only need sixty seconds and they’ll be back out and clear of the area.’

  ‘Team Leader, roger that. Eight Six, any other targets with MAROON OTTER?’

  ‘Negative. He’s relaxed at the table but has finished his drink.’

  ‘Stations from Base, entry team is towards the office now.’

  Understanding when a situation is likely to change is crucial. I noticed it on the screen in front of me just as Karen put it out on the radio: ‘Stations, MAROON OTTER is sat up right on the edge of his chair. The rest of the people around his table are now standing.’

  ‘Base roger.’

  The team outside would be ready to take him on as he left. Those of us inside the pub would have to stay and leave sporadically so we kept blending in. MAROON OTTER was getting up. Here we go.

  ‘MAROON OTTER is now standing, coat on,’ Karen said. ‘He’s tapping his pockets and has just pulled out some keys before putting them back in his pocket.’

  ‘Tech Team, roger.’ Their team leader was listening in on our channel, and her whispered reply told us they were either gaining entry or already on target. Hopefully they would be out of the way soon.

  ‘Stations inside the pub, from Charlie Six One, two taxis have just pulled up outside.’

  ‘Team Leader, roger that.’

  I could see the group of friends and MAROON OTTER moving towards the door on the screen in front of me as Karen gave the covert signal on her radio that he was leaving the pub. It’s the same signal we use for a stand by when we see a target, designed to wake everyone up on the net to something very important happening right now.

  ‘Charlie Six One has control of MAROON OTTER leaving the pub and straight into the back of the first taxi. A black Addison Lee Ford Galaxy. VRN, Tango Echo six six Victor Victor Yankee.’

  ‘Team Leader, roger, we’ll go with this.’

  ‘Base roger, Tech Team are on site.’

  Taking a drink of my beer, I didn’t physically react to the team outside, but I did start to wonder if MAROON OTTER was going home or back to the office for something.

  ‘That’s the taxi now westbound on the Alpha four zero seven, passing the red double decker on his near side.’

  ‘Tech Team, roger. Can you give us a countdown if it continues towards us? We can extract in ten seconds.’

  ‘Roger that, Tech Team, will do. And from Charlie Six One that’s the vehicle still westbound and now showing a left-hand indication. For information this will keep him on the Alpha four zero seven generally towards the office.’

  ‘Base, roger, MAROON OTTER also has a girlfriend on Cornish Park just south of the office address.’

  The team comms were nearly constant between the control car, base and the tech team, who were still inside the office. Karen, Emma, Mark and me were still in the pub with the rest of the punters. We’d leave in stages, Mark being the first to go, given his cover story.

  As the team followed the taxi ever closer to the area of the office, the tech team popped up on the net. ‘Tech Team Leader, permission?’

>   ‘Go ahead, taxi is now showing a right-hand indication at the junction of Cornish Park.’

  ‘Roger, Tech Team has extracted to the north and install successful.’

  ‘Base, roger. Green Team cease and withdraw, I’ll notify the other teams to do the same.’

  ‘Green Team, roger. All stations, can we start the phased extraction of the guys inside the pub please, starting with Charlie Two Seven to collect your builder!’

  As Mark gave the tones to acknowledge he was the one to be picked up first, I ordered another beer. I could see Karen and Emma had nearly finished their glasses of wine and, while still busy, the pub was starting to swing towards a more male bias. The later we stayed the more they’d stand out.

  It took around ten minutes for Mark to leave. I could see the white van that pulled up outside to pick him up. With orange lights on the top and magnetic signage on the sides, it looked every inch a work van. Emma and Karen got the clear signal to leave the pub, and one of our team picked them up around the corner. Now just me.

  ‘Zero Six, when you feel ready to leave, walk south towards Cottle Road and then go right and east on Cottle Road towards the station. I’ll pick you up there. Stations, happy for everyone else to get back to the garages for debrief. Team Leader out.’

  Finishing my beer, I used the toilet and walked casually out. I tried to gauge any reaction to me, as I had done when the others had left. Nothing. All good, nice and easy.

  The cool night air hit my face straight away as I took the two turns towards the tube station. It’s at times like this we have to be careful not to get a false sense of security. There was a kid on a scooter swerving round and a few passing cars but nothing to be overly worried about.

  I could see Graeme’s car up in the distance waiting for me, parked so that I could climb in without crossing the road or walking round the vehicle. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to get home. I almost wanted to run so we could get the debrief done and I could see my family for that little bit of extra time.

  I walked towards the passenger side of Graeme’s car. The engine wasn’t on and his profile was hidden pretty well. I had my hand on the door handle when I heard engine revs. Then I saw a scooter with two blokes on the back, all in black, including their helmets.

  Fuck, protect Graeme! Autopilot took over. Sprinting around the back of the car, I saw the guys were already at Graeme’s door, smashing the window with a crowbar, the guy on the back doing the work, the rider screaming the instructions.

  ‘Gear! Gis’ the gear NOW!’

  Graeme switched his engine on, as we’re well drilled to do when something like this happens. As I came behind the scooter I could see the crowbar about to come down on Graeme, now that his window had completely gone.

  No fucking way are you doing this to my team leader, no fucking way!

  When you’ve got a helmet on it makes you vulnerable to attack, limits your vision. I had to exploit this to let Graeme get away.

  Just as the crowbar was coming down I lurched forwards, wrapping my fingers underneath the sides of the passenger’s helmet into the sponge fabric inside. I pulled backwards and to the side, away from Graeme’s car.

  ‘Go GO!’ I shouted to him.

  He didn’t but the scooter screamed off with a high-pitched buzz while the passenger scrambled up from the ground. Obviously not ready for a fight, he turned to run and I started to follow, the blood burning as it rocketed around my veins.

  The bear hug stopped me instantly, along with a quiet but firm whisper in my ear: ‘Tom, enough. Let’s go!’

  I got into the passenger side of the car and Graeme drove us out of there, bursting a few red traffic lights as he radioed in a description of the attackers.

  ‘Base, roger the last, I’ll let the other teams and Special Branch know. All stations, security checks every sixty seconds please.’

  Graeme drove around, taking an obscure route to get back to my car, but other than talking on the radio, he didn’t say anything. Maybe he was suffering a bit of shock. When he pulled up around the corner from my car, he looked at me.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah fine, I didn’t get hit. Are you? Did that crowbar connect?’

  He was still covered in bits of glass from the window and the fabric of his top had obviously been grabbed and pawed at around the arms.

  ‘Tom, I can understand why you went for them but you weren’t going to stop, were you?’

  Holy shit, this was a dressing down. This was so confusing. ‘I was protecting you!’

  ‘I get that and you did,’ Graeme said calmly. ‘It was quick thinking, but once the scooter fucked off and that guy was ready to run we had enough room to get out of there. You should have jumped straight into the car and we could have driven away.’

  I sat silently while Graeme gave a quick security check, followed by the rest of the team. Rubbing the back of my hand on my sore bottom lip, I saw a thin layer of blood. I’d bitten into my lip when I took that guy on. Graeme noticed it.

  ‘You weren’t in control there, mate. Your aggression took over. Biting your lip in a fight is a clear sign, you know that!’

  ‘What we gonna do?’ I wasn’t pleading for Graeme not to grass me up. It was his team, he was the team leader and had got there by merit. I trusted him. I just wanted to know what was coming. The worst thing that could happen to any member of the team was to be taken off the road while there was an investigation, maybe stuck in a support admin job like making sure the team’s cars were serviced.

  A smile crept over Graeme’s mouth but his voice was still fairly stern. ‘I’ll handle it.’

  Nodding thankfully, I opened the door to go back to my car just as he hit me with something else. ‘Mate, if you need to talk, make sure you do.’

  I didn’t. No desire to talk at all. I made it into my car just in time for the next round of security checks which was shorter now, as some of the team were back in the garages. Talk? What would I need to talk about? I’m fucking MI5. The only thing I want to talk about is getting home quicker!

  Driving through the streets, making up as much ground as possible, my mind kept switching from Graeme to my wife and family. He was right, I had been out of control. We have continuous training for this sort of stuff from guys in the military. One of the instructors, a man I’d known for years, would tell me, ‘Tom, remember on the day of the race you need to breathe. You could be fighting for a long time until help arrives. Most fights are over in seconds, make sure you can last beyond that. Breathe and control your aggression.’

  I would always be the ‘demo man’, the person used to demonstrate strikes, holds or counter strikes in close-quarters situations. Unfortunately, I had a habit of treating training as real-world events; my control of a situation would slip and I’d resort to full violence, which would be thought of as a step too far.

  Yep, Graeme was right; I had lost control and put myself in harm’s way without thinking. I could feel the cloud of disappointment slowly casting a shadow over me. The tears in my eyes were starting to hinder my driving. I was almost back at the garages and needed to sort myself out, not let the team see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak or out of control. I wanted them to know they could rely on me, like my family.

  But now, feeling like I’d fucked up, I realized I relied on them and my wife more than they’d ever know.

  The next day a different team was rotated in to take over the surveillance, to avoid any chance of compromise. The cousins were eventually arrested before they could commit an act of terrorism and thanks to the eavesdropping devices in his office, any threat from MAROON OTTER was neutralized.

  7

  FIND, STOP, REPEAT

  Some operations can last for months, some targets can stay on our radar for years. And some days you are scrambling with only hours to stop an atrocity from a clean skin. You never know what is coming, and you need to be mentally prepared to handle whatever the situation throws at you.
r />   A few years after Operation STARLING, the pace of operations, never slow to start with, had picked up.

  My phone had been vibrating for less than a second when I reached down the side of the bed to read the message:

  FULL TEAM ON AIR 10 MINUTES.

  Fuck. I knew this would be messing with Lucy’s plans for us.

  Even though I was meant to be at home that day, and watching my son’s nursery nativity play in the afternoon, the night before I’d still put my operational kit and clothes next to my side of the bed, along with a fully charged phone. Sliding out of the bed without any fuss, I got dressed and was out of the door and into my team car three minutes later. The digital clock on my old Ford Escort was reading 04.36. It was pitch black as I waited to start the engine. I let the handbrake off and the gentle slope of the hill slowly took control of the car. When we leave or arrive at home, we do it with minimal fuss. The last thing you want is to make the area your family live in red hot by spinning your wheels and showing out.

  I turned the ignition with the clutch dipped and the car sprang to life. I got on the radio. ‘Charlie Nine Six Eight is on air.’

  ‘Roger that from Team Leader. Good morning. Just waiting for the rest of the team and we’ll get a briefing from Ops, but for now head towards Liverpool please.’

  ‘Charlie Nine Six Eight, roger.’

  Heading towards the motorway, I passed a set of traffic lights with two cars side by side at a roundabout. A Honda Civic full of young lads hanging out of the window looking at the car next to it, a brand-new Mercedes S-Class in black. It was immaculate. Like the paint was still wet. A great-looking car. As they both left the roundabout and took off at speed in a different direction to me, I thought about the car I was in; Charlie Nine Six Eight.

  All our team vehicles serve a purpose. Whether technically or operationally, everything we do has a purpose. So today I was in my ripped tracksuit bottoms and dirty sweatshirt, driving a dirty, old, dull-blue Ford Escort. Why? Because in the areas we usually work in, no one is looking twice at someone like me in a car like this.