Suddenly I saw in the reflection of the window this huge Mike Tyson lookalike approach Laura. I could see his lips moving. He was talking to her. That’s odd. Maybe they know each other. Nothing to worry about. She’s obviously bumped into a friend. Next minute, the finger was going. He’d started to poke her in the chest. I could see him looking agitated. Oh, no. Either a lovers’ tiff – or something more sinister.
It was at this point that she cracked. This was no friend. Forgetting to deliver her cover story, she panicked. No matter how much you drill people in the training room, tell them to always have a reason for being out there, tell them not to do anything that makes them stand out, live the cover, act naturally, think ahead – no matter how much you train them, it can all come crashing to pieces in an instant.
She ran across the street to me, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Pete! Pete! That guy. He’s onto us. He thinks we’re the drugs squad. We’re compromised. What are we going to do?’ She was in shock.
Suddenly a simulated exercise had turned into a real exercise. I pressed the Pressel switch on the radio concealed in the pocket of my jacket. ‘Compromise. Compromise. Bomb burst. Bomb burst. Back to the crew room at your own speed.’
The rest of the team were OK. He hadn’t spotted them. But Laura and I were committed. He’d seen her run across the road to me and knew I was involved too. I said, ‘Right Laura. Nice and easy. We’ll walk up the street at a leisurely pace, turn left at the top and make our way back to base. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.’
No such luck. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a man. He walked down a side street and jumped into a really flashy, top-of-the-range BMW. ‘You don’t get one of those selling the Big Issue,’ I thought as he pulled out into the high street. I knew straightaway he was the main man. He drew alongside us and started crawling along at walking pace, shadowing us, trying to intimidate us. I thought, ‘I’m not having this. He could be leading us into a trap. He could have been on his mobile calling for half a dozen of his mates to meet us up at the top of the street. And before you know, we’re in the deep brown stuff. The whole thing’s escalated.’
Time to take control. I stepped into the road in front of him and flagged him down. I went round to the driver’s side and tapped on his window. The window wound down and before I could say anything he jumped in, ‘You’re drugs squad, aren’t you? What are you doing round here? What are you doing in my area? You and that girl. What are you up to?’
Talk about brazen! You’d think he owned the place. But like the Russian mafioso, that’s probably pretty much what he did.
I pulled out one of my cover stories and dusted it off. ‘We’re not drugs squad. We’re property developers.’ That threw him. You could see the mental cogs turning, slowly. Then he said, ‘What do you mean? What are you talking about?’
I used the broken-record technique. I said, ‘We’re not the drugs squad. We’re property developers. We’re looking for run-down properties to do up. We’re in the buy-to-let business. See that place over there, above that shop. That’s the type of thing. That looks like it could be bought nice and cheap and done up.’ I pinched myself to stop laughing and added with a straight face, ‘Do you know any more like that in the area?’
‘Whaaat? I saw you talking. You were speaking into a radio.’
I pulled out a digital voice recorder. ‘Taking notes, mate. I give it to the girl to type up back in the office.’
‘So, you guys are property developers, are you?’
‘Yeah. You obviously live around here. You don’t know any other run-down properties you can put us onto?’
‘Errr…’ He was completely bewildered. He didn’t know what to make of us. In the end, he bought the pitch and drove off.
Laura was well and truly shaken up, very subdued. It was good experience for her.
A day in the life of a dole-buster. It can be hard graft, but then again, we all have to work hard. We’ve got a huge army to support – an army of people on benefits.
Six million on state handouts at the last count, and rising.
Postscript
‘Civilian life, it’s a rat race.’ Tak once said to me. ‘That’s why you have to be the biggest rat to survive!’ I replied. And somehow, survive I have – at least, my first twenty years of civilian life! Hopefully there’ll be at least another twenty to follow.
I’m still tracking down and trapping the fraudsters. It’s a good sector to be involved with, a growth industry. These days, there are only three things that are certain in life: death, taxes, and benefit cheats. So, it’s nice, steady work. The other advantage is that it’s mainstream, working for the Civil Service. After being on the fringe, on the ragged edge so often, it’s now back to respectability. Let’s hope I can stay there this time. Let’s hope there are no more ups and downs in my roller-coaster career. I could do with a bit of steadiness and stability for a change.
I’m not only back to the mainstream, but I’ve now become a pillar of the Establishment! I was recently asked to work on a TV series, Special Forces Heroes, with Lord Ashcroft, deputy chairman of the Conservative Party. You can’t get more Establishment than that!
I’m still banned from the Regiment. But you can’t dwell on that. You have to move on in life. Even the SAS have moved on. In 1999, they transferred from their former base at Stirling Lines in Hereford to bigger facilities at RAF Credenhill, twelve miles away. Where the original camp stood, there’s now an estate of smart, modern houses. So many memories tarmacked over, the Killing House reduced to someone’s back garden.
Looking back over my career, do I have any regrets? What about the fight in Hong Kong and the whipping that followed? Not at all. That was self-defence. I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t looked after myself. What about Big Zil and the Stingers? Sounds like a Sixties pop group, doesn’t it? Sure, if things had worked out, if I’d had a few Stingers tucked away in the back of my vehicle, I would probably be a millionaire by now. But then you win some, you lose some.
Same with KAS Enterprises, the firm that gave me my first job after leaving the SAS. I was in on the ground floor. With David Stirling as chairman, Crookie as MD, and my old comrade Tak as a director, I was really well positioned. I might have been on the board by now, with Tak running the show. It’s just a pity the firm got embroiled in an industrial espionage scandal and went out of business! That’s life…
Do I regret being RTU’d from the Regiment? No. I managed to get back in, that’s the main thing, and just in time for the Embassy siege. What about being banned from the SAS for publishing articles in the Daily Mirror? Do I regret that? No, not really. It’s just part of the rough and tumble. It’s part of the person I am. What about beating up Carl at the OC’s wedding? He bullied Malcolm. Bullies deserve all they get.
No, I have just one regret. And it’s a big one. The only thing that bothers me now is that the Regiment is about to unveil by the Clock Tower at their new base in Credenhill a life-size statue of my friend, colleague and brother-in-arms – Labalaba, hero of Mirbat, one of the most important battles ever fought by the British Army.
And, being banned, I won’t be there to see it.
Glossary
.303 Lee Enfield bolt-action rifle