No Fear

by Steve Devereux

  The blokes who I worked with were definitely the ones you'd want on your side in the SAS or on similar operations outside that required maximum physical force, should the shit hit the fan, but perhaps the successful transition from operations in the 'field' to the minefields of commerce and business practice was beyond some of them.

  An example of how an almost certain long-term security contract was lost through the bad passage of information and blind ignorance occurred when the late billionaire Jimmy Goldsmith invited the company to do a security survey on his UK mansion (Ormerley Lodge in the Home Counties) and his massive ranch in Mexico. The survey on both went very well, and we were soon in the throes of signing the contract to run Mr Goldsmith's private security requirements for the Mexico location. This was to be a long-term contract worth millions, especially when we were asked to supply the equipment to complement the entire operation. So, of course, this is where it all went tits up.

  A day before the contract was to be signed, one of Jimmy Goldsmith's executives on this project, had left strict instructions with me that on no account should the kit list and prices for the initial consignment of the communications equipment (all very special and worth a few hundred thousand pounds) be faxed to his office. This was not an unreasonable request, and was understandable for security reasons, too — someone might intercept it. He was to pick it up in person that afternoon. So I told Mark M, the signals expert, and he had no problem with it. But an hour or so later, one of the other company members asked why the comms requirements had not been faxed. Mark M logically said, 'For security reasons. Goldsmith's man is coming in to pick it up personally.'

  It was an obvious statement, since we were all meant to be working for a specialist security company and knew the score; and the client was one of the world's wealthiest men.

  However, that wasn't good enough for this particular guy. He faxed the document anyway — against my and Mark's serious objections. An hour or so later our contact was on the phone saying that he was very sorry, but that because of this breach of security KAS could not now be awarded this contract. It was as simple as that. A contract which would have put the company and its employees well on the road to financial success was lost because of one really basic security mistake. It never ceased to amaze me, the lack of security within this security company. One of the most frustrating things was that it was set up almost as an unofficial extension of the SAS. It was manned by ex-SAS members who were more than capable of successfully carrying out any SAS-style operations within the civilian world. If only the company had been run properly from the outset, it might have become a roaring success, providing an option for those members still serving to join when their times were up. But sadly I could see it wasn't likely to happen.

  Over the next few weeks I must have upset a lot of the 'old and bold' as I tried to establish some kind of routine within the office, and some kind of accountability for everyone, especially where expenses were concerned. In recent years a ton of money had been going out on wages, equipment and expenses, and very little had been coming in. My feeling was that it might have been better for the boss man, an ex-SAS officer, to send the guys back home to Hereford and bring them down once a year for a pay rise!

  I also thought that there had to be more to this company than met the eye. After all, how could it be financed when there was hardly any work coming in? This kept me wondering. Was this another one of these select security companies financed by the Government, to pick up jobs that the British Government could not be seen to be involved in, or indeed, to do its dirty work. It just might have been, but in reality I knew most of the guys, I had worked with them in the Regiment and I would have heard if this had been the case. The only secret you keep is the one you keep to yourself and don't tell anyone else about, and since there wasn't a lot going on in the office I didn't know about, I concluded that the company couldn't be one of those mysterious entities.

  A contract which was easy to plan and administer, but which was screwed up, arose when a client who represented one of the ruling families in the Middle East came to the office with his client's problem.

  The story was this. An Englishman who had worked for this particular sheikh as an adviser for some years had recently gone walkabout with over £200,000 in cash of the 'family's' money, and was now reputed to be living in the UK. The Sheikh's worst fear was that this so-called loyal employee of many years had done a runner, proving the old cliché, every man has his price. The client wanted us to source the whereabouts of this chap, follow him and build up a picture of his daily routine. I didn't get the full story as to why he had done a runner with the money; you never really do on these jobs, there's always a client's hidden agenda somewhere. I had the feeling that money was not really the issue — more likely it had to do with the loss of face that explaining the theft to his family caused the Sheikh. After all, two hundred grand was not really a lot of money to these people. What probably preyed on the Sheikh's mind was his own bad judgement, and its repercussions.

  The client had furnished me with up-to-date information needed to set up a surveillance operation: the man's passport details (the Sheikh had a photocopy of it) plus his CV; I was also given his last known UK addresses, a possible hideout in Germany, and an address in a Middle East country. Reading between the lines, I got the distinct impression the target was working for a business enemy of our client. He also supplied the target's passport number, photos of the target, the target's current vehicle and even a large cash advance — basically everything I needed to get a surveillance team up and running. In theory it was a doddle of a job, if, of course, the client's information was, as he said, only 24 hours old. Phase One of the operation was to identify and follow the target and report direct to the client ASAP if it seemed likely that he was going to visit his local BMW or Mercedes dealer. Phase Two could have come right out of a James Bond screenplay and, for sure, was highly illegal.

  After we had found out where the target was, the client wanted a team to 'lift' him or spend time building up a picture of his movements and, if and when he was to show up back in the Middle East (a likely possibility the client thought), to formulate a plan basically to kidnap him, put him on a chopper and fly him out to a certain merchant vessel which would be hanging about the Gulf area somewhere. We were to supply all aspects of the contract, from the surveillance teams and equipment to the helicopter and its pilot.

  On paper it was the ideal job; the company and everybody was up for it. We certainly had the skills and manpower to pull it off, that was never in doubt. This was exactly the style of operation we had all trained for in the SAS. Also, since the kidnap was to take place in 'friendly' territories, everything would be above board in legal terms (if there is such a phrase in this business), our client would fix that. The client had also said, 'What happens to the target once on board the vessel is not your concern.' That cleared the minds of any one of us who might have had moral thoughts about the target's fate.

  I wrote up the meeting and got the ball rolling, sorting out a two-man team initially (Pete N and Tony D), which was what the budget allowed. For Phase One, there was no point in going over the top with manpower, saturating the ground with surveillance teams. I briefed them on what I thought was the best approach and pointed out the address where, the client thought, the target was the most likely to be at that moment — his parents' address in the UK, not far from London. As regards the rest of the intelligence from the client, in typical SAS fashion, the two-man team was left to do its own planning for the op.

  Despite my tactical appraisal of the situation, they came up with the idea that the target would more likely now be keeping his head down at the German address. However, I respected the fact that Pete N had more years of SAS service under his belt than I did, and following the run of things, I had to let him get on with it.

  'Well, it's gotta be the German option. No way would this jerk hang around his parents' basha. He'd be out on the piss and having a good time,' Pet
e chirped up.

  'Yeah, and that's where we're heading for, too. We'll suss him out, even if we have to do all the clubs and pubs in Frankfurt,' Tony added.

  'Well, that's down to you two. You know the score. It's a piss-easy job, so there's no need to rip the arse out of it, is there!' I left them to it, thinking that they were joking about Germany. But they weren't.

  Contrary to the client's current information and my doubts, these two guys put themselves on the first available flight out to Frankfurt in hot pursuit.

  My gut feeling was that the target was still in the UK and more than likely hiding out at his parents' address and I debated whether to follow this up or not. Late in the afternoon I made my decision; I was going to do a recce of that house. The thing was, I had to get one other guy to accompany me. It's a bit tricky doing this type of job on your own. It's not dangerous, but there are so many Neighbourhood Watch schemes now that it's always better to work in pairs. It helps make a cover story more plausible should the little old lady and her dog out for a walk, or whoever, take an interest in you.

  Because of the 'little old lady' syndrome I always carried a couple of fake identity cards around with me, professionally sealed in plastic with a photo of me, making out that I was a sales rep for some made-up company. I would usually have this in full view on the dashboard of a nondescript Japanese saloon, and attached to it would be a chain so I could wear it around my neck, making my bluff that little bit more convincing.

  I decided to give my brother Tom a call to see if he could knock off early and wanted to come along for the ride. Tom had never been on a surveillance and had no military background but you didn't need it on this job. The initial part of this surveillance was to stand off the target's parents' house and observe it briefly — for a few hours — to see if the target's vehicle was in the drive and whether there was any movement there, without causing suspicion. It's all basic common sense and very boring sitting in a car for hours, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Tom was up for it, keen to get out of his office and do something different. It took a couple of hours to get to the address, so by then, evening was drawing in. At the same time the other two guys were landing in Germany.

  The area in which we had to work was a large cul-de-sac of 1920s mock-Tudor detached houses, each with a large sweeping gravel drive. The drives sported various vehicles, indicative of affluence: a Porsche 911 in one, a Jag in another, and a Rolls Royce in a third. Very much the stockbroker-belt style.

  'Very nice, very nice, I wouldn't mind living around here,' Tom said.

  'Fuck, this isn't for me! Shopping on Saturdays and the golf club on Sundays, talking a load of old bollocks with your neighbours over a very quaint dinner party — fuck no! Same shit different day, you can have this shite. I like a bit of spice in my life.'

  As I retorted, I detected that Tom did not aspire to my way of life. We always have this type of conversation when we get bored and have nothing else left to say to each other.

  Tom turned to face me. 'Let's just face it, Steve, your outlook on life is totally different from mine and everyone else's. The Falklands fucked you up, and as for the rest of this shit you do, call that a life?'

  His comments made me rise to the bait, but at the same time I was still switched on trying to spot the target's vehicle without looking out of place to any possible onlooker.

  'Yeah, right, you're right,' I replied sarcastically.

  I wanted so much to say something, but instantly bit my lip as I spotted one of the reasons why we had come down here.

  'Fucking got you!' I said out loud.

  'You what?'

  'The target's car. Don't look just yet, it's over there on the right. Three o'clock of me — we've just passed it. Quick, let me drive out. As we pass, see if you can spot any movement in the house.'

  Our past conversation was forgotten, I could feel a rush of adrenalin about to come on. The target's car just happened to be in the drive. This was good news and a great first-time hit. I felt that Tom was beginning to enjoy a taste of this 'life that had fucked me up'. On any operation, big or small, it's always a good feeling when you get a result first time. It's like seeing that rod-tip almost bend in half and you know you've hooked a big fish. We were very lucky as this is not often the case. Of many such jobs, only on one other occasion had I picked up the target almost immediately.

  There was some movement in the house but we couldn't eyeball the target, so we decided to stay, back off, and sit it out. We found a nondescript place in which to hold up and observe the cul-de-sac's comings and goings. It was not a particularly busy area apart from the junction with the main road, and, in fact, a regular flow of traffic along this helped us blend into the surroundings. We had an ideal lying up position and I was pretty sure that our man was here. It would be only a matter of time before we could confirm it.

  I put a call through to the client and told him that I was in place, observing the house, and gave him the good news about the vehicle. He was really pleased and, like a lot clients who want surveillance and get immediate results, released a bit more information about the target. He said he usually caught the ferry after staying with his parents and was more than likely going to drive to Germany.

  I often think that if the client is up-front with me in the first place about surveillance requirements and basic intelligence, then I could formulate a better game plan to achieve faster and more conclusive results, rather than having to think on my feet all the time. I don't mind doing that, but why hold back basic information that might be important to the success of the operation?

  Fortunately, he didn't know that I had two guys on the ground in Frankfurt or he might have thought it strange, a waste of his money and unprofessional, sending two men there before checking the UK addresses. He was right, but at the time I was not strong enough in terms of authority to tell the German team to recce UK addresses first, since I was still finding my feet within the company. So I just let them get on with it, and after all, they were meant to be as experienced as me and know the score.

  We carried on watching the house and vehicle, but nothing moved for some time. It was now getting late and Tom had to get up for work in the morning. As much as he wanted to stay, he had other commitments, so I had to pull off the job. At the same time I made contact with the German team and told them in no uncertain terms that I was doing their job because I had the target's vehicle in view and as there had been a lot of movement in the house, he was more than likely still there. Had they had any sightings? No. I asked them to pull off and resume the surveillance here in England as soon as possible, because I had to pull off.

  I didn't explain to them the reasons why, and their request that I stay until they came to relieve me was a nightmare. I'd only come down on a hunch and was not prepared for the 12 or so hour wait until their arrival. I was ill prepared and would have probably compromised the job by not having a change of vehicle, at the very least.

  On my way back to drop Tom off I got a call to say that the earliest the German team could get back was on a flight arriving at Heathrow at 07.00 hours the following morning. It would then be at least another three hours before they could get down to the location. The operation was beginning to turn into a big bag of rat shit. For a start I had to pull off the job to get back to London, and drop Tom off; that meant leaving the target with no cover for the duration of the night and early morning. Anything could happen during that time. It was unprofessional on my part to pull off, but this wasn't a life or death situation — I would have stayed had it been. This was no NI scenario, just a surveillance task fucked up by two blokes who should have known better.

  So, the following morning I was at Heathrow to meet the German team and get them in place as soon as possible. The trouble was one of them arrived back drunk, having been pissing it up all night on the £300 float I had given him. What more could go wrong? There was no point in cross-examination now, but I had the feeling that these two were not taking the job s
eriously. I never worked out why. Maybe they just felt like going on the piss, I don't know. All I wanted them to do was what they were being paid for, and that was to go down and cover the target's vehicle ASAP. It took them over four hours (after doing a tea stop in the office!) to get down there, after which Pete phoned me at the office to tell me that the target's car had gone, presumably with the target driving (not that we ever found out). The entire job was blown and to top it all one of the guys later said, 'Let's get down to Dover port and see if we can pick him up.'

  He really meant it, that was the worrying thing. I had just about had enough of this bullshit where people think they're still in the SAS, and believing somehow that they still had access to all the support elements and equipment to fall back on. I should have dropped him there and then but I didn't. What was the point? The guy knew he was a prick.

  The ironic thing about this story is that the last I heard of this pissed-up guy, he'd got a job as a bodyguard with one of the most influential business men in the Far East — work that one out! And, of course, because the target got away, the client didn't get back to us for Phase Two.

  The long and short of it all was that within several of months of my joining KAS, the company ceased trading. I didn't know the full story or indeed want to know. I'd learned one side of this business — how vital it was to know how to conduct oneself in the office environment. My time spent with KAS was a sometimes mystifying learning curve. Fortunately, I did get paid what was owed to me. Nothing unusual about that in the army, but in civvy street it's not always the same.

  People not getting paid for work they have done is and has always been part of business. Shit happens, and it's no different in my industry. I would go as far as to say that it's worse than the building trade and, what's more, it's on the increase.