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I grinned. The fact that they were still talking was a positive sign.

I detected a change in Jane’s posture and tried to interpret what it meant.

The stalemate seemed to be coming to an end, but in whose favour? Had they crossed a line? Were we going in hard? Had they listened? Had we won the first round?

The spokesman appeared to turn to his followers. The line of officers took a step back. This looked good.

The evidence gatherers’ cameras were pointed into the undergrowth and the helicopter climbed a few hundred feet — obviously part of the negotiation: no cameras.

We could no longer see what was going on but Jane’s radio message said it alclass="underline" ‘All the masks are off and we are escorting them to the protest area.’

‘Yes, get in there,’ cried Nev.

‘Calm down, mate,’ I said ‘It’s going to be a long day. You’ll give me a headache if you whoop every time something goes well.’ Inside, however, I too was punching the air.

Despite this first victory, we knew that the rest of the day was unlikely to pass as peacefully.

Different cameras at the protest area showed that as time went by the crowd swelled. They were becoming increasingly rowdy and were taxing the resolve of the officers charged with keeping them there. It became clear that they were not going to be satisfied with staying in the pen we had provided for very long. Despite us supplying water and toilets, they wanted to get to the factory or at least test us trying to stop them.

The growing tension was relayed to Nev in the Silver Suite. The recent acquittals had changed much about our policing. We had to be even more careful that none of our officers said or did anything that would suggest we didn’t, honestly, welcome and support peaceful protest.

The ground commanders had it all covered while Nev and I got our heads together to run through the contingencies. What if they got to the factory? What if they attacked a member of the public? What if a member of the public attacked them? All these possibilities needed a plan before they had a chance to happen.

Suddenly a call came from the Silver Suite.

‘Boss, you are needed. They have burst out of the protest area. They are running amok.’

We dashed back in and saw a mob bolting and rampaging in all directions. Most were making for the woods that skirted the back of the factory, some were trying to head up the road towards the main gate, others were attempting to engage officers to prevent them giving chase.

We knew our inner cordon at the factory should hold but the last thing we wanted was a pitched battle in the rugged copse that bordered not only EDO MBM but also a railway line. We had earlier found paint bombs and baseball bats secreted in the woods, so knew that was part of the protestors’ plan.

Nev rattled off a list of instructions: reinforcing vulnerable points, mobilizing units on standby, shifting officers from A to B. The radio operators faithfully repeated his orders through short sharp commands, all swiftly acknowledged and obeyed.

One of the UK’s most respected public order commanders, Superintendent Ian Davies, was the Bronze in charge of the security of the factory. He knew that his own reputation depended on him and his officers holding their ground.

We couldn’t see everything on our CCTV screens, but the radio traffic indicated a frenzied effort by the protestors to breach the police fortifications, get through the woods and storm the factory.

It was so frustrating not being out there. Some say that people like me get promoted to avoid the front line — not a bit of it. I would have loved to be on the ground. It’s what we all join for. Grace often dabbles in tasks that really belong to the lower ranks purely on the basis that he still loves the job he signed up to. It’s why Ian Davies always flatly refused any indoor job on many of these deployments.

After about twenty minutes of running at protestors to disperse them, Ian’s units achieved their aim and the would-be invaders scattered out of the woods onto the surrounding streets.

Unfortunately for the local communities, they spilled out not only right in the middle of the main Brighton to Lewes road, but also outside a junior school whose children had just come out to play.

It was terrifying. Teachers had to frantically grab the pupils and take them back inside to safety as the crazed mob rampaged around the area. Thugs were running in and out of traffic, jumping on cars, petrifying the occupants who were unable to escape due to the rabble surrounding them.

Our phones lit up. The public and press were demanding action. Twitter went wild with worried parents and residents desperate for us to do something. As Grace knows, especially when matters are moving fast, such as in the race to catch Bryce Laurent in Want You Dead, you have to feed the media, especially social media. Ignore that basic principle and you risk the vacuum being filled by those hell-bent on promoting misinformation and disaffection. We had to do something, and be seen to do something.

‘Graham. I want to nick them all,’ announced Nev.

‘Right. How are you going to do that and what are your grounds? How are you going to make sure you don’t sweep up the innocent with the guilty?’

He laid his thinking out for me. The carnage and fear this minority were causing was simply not acceptable. The public were, rightly, demanding action. We had the grounds to arrest the most disruptive group to prevent a breach of the peace. We had the officers to do it and, with Jane and Ian, we couldn’t have asked for two better commanders to make it happen.

We briskly went through the detail and, satisfied that it was justified, necessary, proportionate and achievable, I gave Nev the green light.

I heard him bark his instructions to the radio operators and in no time at all we witnessed a fabulously choreographed manoeuvre play out on our bank of CCTV screens.

Ian and Jane’s officers had managed to gracefully encircle the hard core of violent protestors. The mere presence of so many officers containing them in the middle of the normally bustling main road sucked the wind right out of their sails. Like naughty school children, and doubtlessly responding to some commands that we could not hear, we saw them all sit down on the tarmac.

Soon the message confirmed what we wanted to hear.

‘Forty-three in custody to prevent a breach of the peace.’

Despite the logistical nightmare this caused, it had just the effect we were aiming for. It isolated the troublemakers from the peaceful protestors. To others it showed that we would put up with disruption only to a point and that to intimidate, harass or try to break into private premises was not going to be tolerated. Those not arrested drifted away, worried they might be next.

This was a defining moment in the policing of protests at Brighton. I knew we could ill afford to continue with a style that set protestors against police. The cost and impact on the community of deploying hundreds of cops to manage what should be a peaceful and lawful activity was unsustainable.

Having heard him speak at a conference, I asked Europe’s leading crowd psychologist, Professor Clifford Stott, now of Keele University, to come down and help us adopt his theory of facilitated dialogue to improve how we dealt with protestors.

Essentially this was about establishing meaningful communication with protest groups before and during events, encouraging a genuine openness about their aims and our requirements. I commissioned training for a dozen Police Liaison Officers who would undertake this essential role during each protest. I also set up a small team to work permanently on developing long-term relationships with activists. It was stunningly successful. In a matter of months we practically eliminated all forms of disorder during the dozen or so protests we policed, just by talking, listening and understanding.