I Spy

by Tom Marcus

  Lucy knew. She knew I wasn’t in control. I was in freefall. Why couldn’t I be normal?

  I didn’t tell anyone about the strange flashback and I put it out of my mind. True, I’d been having the occasional nightmare in the years since leaving Northern Ireland, but I could ignore that too. Keeping busy was the answer.

  Everybody’s hiding something, even if it’s only from themselves.

  8

  THE BEST SPIES IN THE WORLD

  Most people think of MI5 as stopping terrorists from killing hundreds of people and while that’s true, there is another side of our job – to make sure our way of life actually survives. Imagine how different your day would be without the ability to take cash out, without the internet powering everything, from information systems right through to control signals for our railways. Without fucking electricity or running water. While we are the best in the world at keeping people safe from maniac suicide bombers, there are much bigger threats to this country in the form of cyberwarfare and state-sponsored espionage from states like China and Russia. The stakes were always raised when Russia was involved, and it felt as if everyone in the team sat a little straighter in their seats in the A4 briefing room at Thames House when the operations officer, Alison, said, ‘Your target is MAGENTA STOAT, part of Operation GIGANTIC.’

  Probably one of our highest-priority targets of the past few years. Not just in terms of the Russians, but overall. MAGENTA STOAT was, for the desk officer, an intelligence goldmine, but one that hardly ever came out into the open. He’d only ever been seen once by our surveillance operators doing anything operational.

  ‘MAGENTA STOAT is expected to be meeting a contact at some point today. He’s a big Chelsea fan, and we have intelligence to indicate he will be going to today’s match at Stamford Bridge.’

  Football games and the crowds that they bring are the ultimate double-edged sword for operators like us. While being able to hide among thousands of people is a gift, it also makes it difficult to keep a visual on the targets. Sometimes we would have to be within touching distance just to be able to see them.

  ‘Obviously we need to keep control of him throughout the day. He’s got a box for the game so he won’t be in the main stands. It would make sense for him to have some sort of meet inside the stadium given the level of security there. However, as you all know, the Russians are the second best in the world at this . . .’

  A few laughs rippled through the team.

  ‘Team Leader, we need as much video and audio as possible on MAGENTA STOAT,’ Alison went on. ‘We cannot risk a compromise. I would rather lose control of the target and any possible contacts than alert him to surveillance.’

  This was a serious point, we all knew it. Sometimes we pushed the envelope of what’s tactical and secure in order to get the best intelligence. The fact we were being told the desk would rather have a loss than a compromise only highlighted how sensitive this target was.

  When we get a target it’s because they are a threat to life and/or a risk to our national security. We go after the targets that are the highest risks and sometimes the most sensitive. MAGENTA STOAT was definitely the latter.

  Pete, in front of me, raised his arm to ask Alison a question.

  ‘What’s MAGENTA STOAT’s end game?’

  Pete wasn’t new to A4, he’d been with the teams for years, but he’d never worked on a high-profile Russian before. Sometimes it just falls that way. However, it was a question Alison wasn’t going to answer.

  ‘With respect, Pete, it’s need to know and I need you guys to be completely impartial on the ground. The circle of intelligence is limited to me, Director A and the DG, as well as one or two in Vauxhall.’

  Director A was the head of A Branch, the DG was the Director General of MI5. There was a very tense silence in the room, a mixture of Pete asking the wrong question and Alison taking our curiosity out of the loop.

  Alison broke the silence as she continued, ‘What I can tell you is that MAGENTA STOAT is our number-one priority right now. The intelligence that he is meeting a contact is extremely reliable, but we don’t know when or where. That’s what you are going to find out today. Once you have identified the contact, they need housing. Russians being Russians, we need to keep control of MAGENTA STOAT too.’

  Someone getting ranked so highly is not to be taken lightly. My gut was telling me that MAGENTA STOAT didn’t just pose a threat to national security but was highly likely to be a very credible threat to our nation as a whole.

  As Alison walked out of the briefing room, we started to discuss tactics, where we would pick MAGENTA STOAT up from and, if a contact was identified, how we would keep hold of them both. Splitting a team up isn’t ideal for a number of reasons, mainly because it exposes you. With more operators on the ground you can rotate around the target constantly, but the fewer people you have to do that the harder it becomes to stay invisible. Our team leader had one priority though: to make sure every single member of our team came home.

  As we all headed down to the cars in the garage, the team leader shouted the channel we were going to be using on the radios today: ‘Channel three please, guys.’

  The profile break-up of our team was, as always, massively diverse, with a 50/50 split between male and female, ages ranging from young to old, and a mix of ethnicities. Not one of us would wear the same branded clothing, unlike other surveillance units outside MI5 who would mostly be wearing Merrell walking shoes, a North Face or Rab jacket and blue jeans. We don’t do that. Ever. There should be nothing that allows a third party to connect the members of our team.

  Throwing my kit and camera bags into the boot of my beaten up Mazda 6, I looked across to Sarah, who was unlocking a brand-new Mercedes E-Class and putting her kit in the boot.

  ‘What the fuck? Why am I driving this piece of shit and you get that?!’ I joked.

  Sarah, who was dressed in heels and a smart suit finished off with a shawl, replied confidently, ‘We need to split the profile of the team up. You go into shit areas, I’ll take him on if he goes back into Kensington.’

  Laughing, I got into my car, switching the radio onto channel three. ‘Anyone read Charlie Eight Nine for a comms check?’

  I might be a bit eager here, since no one was on just yet. I’d need to wait a few seconds for a response before driving out though. There’s no point getting on the ground if your radio isn’t working.

  ‘Anyone read Charlie Eight Nine for a comms check please?’

  ‘Yeah, loud and clear to Charlie Seven Seven.’ Sarah had just switched onto channel three.

  ‘Roger, thanks mate, likewise.’

  Andy popped up straight away on the net. ‘Does your chauffeur know the way, Charlie Seven Seven?’

  Looking up, I could see the rest of the team beaming and laughing in their cars. Brilliant. This type of camaraderie allowed our team to stay tight-knit, strong and focused.

  Making my way out of the garage, following behind our biker Mark, I drove towards the area of Stamford Bridge, waiting to get the game plan and our start point from the team leader. This was potentially going to be a very long day and we were going up against the very best Russia had to offer.

  ‘From Team Leader, all stations, can you head to the area of Stamford Bridge, specifically the hotel at the south-east corner. First into that area can you shout up please.’

  As the team acknowledged, I flicked through the maps to the page with Stamford Bridge, Chelsea’s football stadium. I was thinking about the profiles of our team, who would be suitable to go inside, who had what technical kit. The team leader had obviously been given a heads-up from the operations officer back in Thames House that the hotel was a good starting point, but the lack of detailed information coming through was clearly directly linked to MAGENTA STOAT being such a high priority target. It was another reminder that he was not only a threat to us as a nation, but that this was an incredibly sensitive situation.

  It didn’t take me long to navigate throug
h the London traffic, but Mark was first in the area. Unless you wear your pants on the outside of your trousers and your last name is Kent, you aren’t going to be faster than one of our bikers across big cities.

  ‘That’s Bravo Nine in the area now. Place is rammed.’

  ‘Roger that, Bravo Nine, any other stations close by?’

  ‘Yeah, Charlie Eight Eight is two minutes out to the east.’

  ‘Roger that, Charlie Eight Eight. Can you ditch your car? I need you on foot today. Stations, just be aware we have assets in place inside the stadium. We will take on any and all contacts. We have Red and Blue teams on stand by to help if we need them.’

  Fucking hell, this was a big job. It’s not that often we have another team ready to come and help us out – it happens only when there are a lot of targets in play – but this would be the very first time I’d ever seen two entire teams on stand by to give support. It felt as if the stakes were being ramped up with each transmission.

  I was going to be on foot all day, which meant I would have to try and blend in with the football crowds right now and potentially be able to blend into another part of London later.

  Parking my car down a side street, I decided to walk the rest of the way. Just as I got out of the car and flicked my hood up over my baseball cap, joining a large group of Chelsea supporters, my radio kicked in with a message. I could hear the engine of the motorbike dropping down the gears before Mark started talking.

  ‘Team Leader or Base, have we got agent handlers in play on this job?’

  Silence. The sort of technical tumbleweed that every operator hates but tells you everything you need to know. Having agent handlers on the ground happens all the time but normally it plays out in one of two ways. We know when they are likely to cross into our operation or if they are working close to the targets we are watching, or we let the agent handler know when we are out of the area and they can go about their business.

  Still nothing. I decided to prompt a response quietly while within the crowd. ‘You are going out mate, loud and clear.’

  ‘Bravo Nine, roger, thanks Zero Six.’

  Still no response from the team leader or the operations officer back at Thames. We never ignore transmissions from people within the team – that could potentially be fatal either for us on the ground or the wider public. I took the silence to mean that the team leader was talking to Base about the agent handler being in the area. Whatever the reason for the lack of response, Mark was our teammate, so everyone took the initiative, starting with Sarah.

  ‘Charlie Seven Seven is local to you, Bravo Nine. To the west, covering Fulham Road.’

  ‘Bravo Nine, you have One Six to the north towards the cemetery.’

  The positions kept piling in from everyone else in the team, like a set of Spartan soldiers working in complete unison.

  ‘Stations, quick update from Team Leader. There are other assets in play. Obviously if MAGENTA STOAT meets a friendly asset we don’t need to take them on.’

  Welcome to MI5! Quite often operators are given relevant intelligence, but only enough to ensure we have the upper hand while still staying impartial about what we are seeing. If we are told a target is going to do something specific that day we will look for evidence to fit that picture. But there are a lot of different components to intelligence work. Surveillance is a very crucial part of this jigsaw but we can only report on what we can see – not what we assume is happening. It’s the desk officers back in Thames House who fit eight billion pieces together and come up with an incredibly accurate intelligence picture of what a target’s intentions are.

  The team leader’s last transmission was clear: we weren’t going to be told about any potential parallel operations today. We would discuss the ins and outs of it all when we finished this job, but right now we needed to concentrate and be a team. The Thames House geeks run that show, out here we control the ground.

  ‘Zero Six from Bravo Nine, are you close to the stadium? I need to move off.’

  I could hear the chanting over Mark’s transmission. The crowds and no doubt heavy police presence would eventually clock a motorbike hanging around.

  ‘Yes mate, I can see the stadium now,’ I said, picking up my pace subtly. ‘I’m just coming over the bridge to the east.’

  ‘Roger, thanks. Team Leader, Bravo Nine will hold out further west and wait for a stand by.’

  ‘Roger that, thank you. Stations, I want several more out on foot to support Zero Six and One Six. All compass directions, focus attention on the cemetery to the north of the stadium and I need two vehicles further south-west in the area of the park – Eel Brook Common.’

  The team again responded quickly to the team leader’s request, listening to each other’s positions.

  The crowds were massive, thousands of people everywhere. The chanting and football banter was mostly good-natured but I could feel an undertone of aggression building. I wasn’t worried though – there was a heavy police presence with riot vans, uniforms on foot, horses, the whole gamut of public order policing as well as a strategically placed camera van looking for known offenders.

  It was now a waiting game as the entire team started blending into the area, becoming part of the crowd. Joining a small group of people in a queue at a burger van, I tuned into my environment more, seeing the odd family mixed in with pockets of supporters wearing team shirts and scarves. The burger was overpriced but it could be a long time before I got another chance to eat.

  ‘Stations from Base, MAGENTA STOAT is confirmed inside Stamford Bridge. MAGENTA STOAT INSIDE the stadium. Team Leader, I should be able to get confirmation to you once he is leaving. He’s not expected to stay to watch the game. Base out.’

  ‘Team Leader, roger that. Stations, with that in mind can we have eyes on every possible exit please.’

  A quick look at my watch told me there was still an hour till kick off. From my position I could see one of the main entrances, the Shed End, just past the hotel in front of me. I had to be careful because if I stayed in one spot rather than moving into the stadium I might draw the attention of police on the lookout for organized crime – ticket touts, that sort of thing.

  Hiding my speech with my burger, I updated the team leader. ‘Zero Six has the Shed End to the south-east corner.’

  With nothing to do but watch and wait I started to think about the targets MAGENTA STOAT was ranked above.

  I was sure this went way beyond the usual problems caused by hostile foreign intelligence. Bollocks, no time to think about that now. Just as I leaned against a wall to keep an eye on the stadium exit, two large crowds of Chelsea and away team fans started to exchange abuse. It immediately caught the eye of the police and they began to circle in a well-drilled motion.

  ‘Guys from Zero Six, there is trouble with the fans at the Shed End south-east corner, avoid it if you can.’

  I had a choice here: leave and risk missing MAGENTA STOAT coming out or take my chances and hope the police got control fast.

  ‘Team Leader, roger that, Zero Six. We don’t have any other way of keeping eyes on that exit yet.’

  I had to stay in position. I could move around a bit but the police were swarming in fast, horses shouldering their way forward, towering over the supporters, followed by well over twenty uniformed officers trying to identify and deal with the main instigators from both groups. One of the horses rotated around and I found myself a few feet away from its hind legs. Shit, if this horse kicks out and hits me I’m a dead man. Moving away, I followed the wall around, walking calmly but not slowly enough to look sinister. The police would be twitchy, watching for that one renegade who acts as a catalyst.

  The volume of the shouting from both the police and the group of now nearly one hundred people was so loud it drowned out the transmission that had just been sent over the radio. Fuck. I couldn’t keep this position secure anymore. If I couldn’t hear messages being sent by base or anyone else on the ground, I was not an effective part of the
team. I took cover where two brick walls met in the hope I could make out exactly what was being said over the radio, but all I could catch was the word MAGENTA.

  I needed to let the team know I couldn’t stay here and that I wasn’t able to hear the comms. The sound of the crowd was now so loud it was obvious they were fighting. Less than ten metres away from me punches were flying, some landing. The police would handle this as they always did, so I wasn’t concerned for my safety. I was worried about missing MAGENTA STOAT. I was desperate not to let the team down and would do whatever it took. The success of the operation was always paramount for me, plus the need to get every last bit of intelligence for the officers back at Thames House.

  As I started to transmit, trying to shield myself from the noise, the first kick landed straight in the middle of my thigh. ‘FUCKER!’ The quads in my left leg instantly went dead as I turned to face the onslaught. As my vision filled with a sea of rabid people and police trying to intervene with batons I caught a glimpse of the stadium exit, with MAGENTA STOAT smiling as he walked out. Fuck, I needed to get away from this crowd but they were pinning me into the corner.

  I couldn’t transmit. I kept catching glimpses of MAGENTA STOAT, now standing at the exit. I couldn’t work out if he was with anyone but it was definitely him, he was watching this massive fight unfold. The police were still trying to rip people out of the crowd, which was still intent on fighting and avoiding being herded further into this brick pen for idiots. The police horses were keeping us contained, at least a hundred so-called men unable to do anything except back away from the police, pressing everyone behind them – myself included – against the brick walls. I could see the odd metal baton coming down on arms and legs, enabling the police to pull the ringleaders out.

  Struggling to maintain my personal space, catching a stray elbow on the top of my head, I was faced with a decision: fight my way out or lose the target. If I fought I was almost certainly going to lose the ability to keep eyes on the exit.