With formidable drive, he had established himself at the head of a business spanning the whole range of the diamond industry, from mining, cutting and polishing right through to the design and production of the jewellery itself.
His major break came when he acquired the one client everyone was after – the supremely wealthy twenty-ninth Sultan of Brunei, then the world’s richest man. Our client reserved the very best of his major gems for the Sultan and his three wives. The Sultan’s patronage had opened some very heavily guarded doors amongst the mega-rich of Asia and the Far East.
Our job now was to fly out to Brunei and take £80 million of jewellery to the Sultan’s palace. Eight-zero millions. A small matter of a wedding gift for the Sultan’s brother. Tak was coming with me on this job and I met with him for the security briefing. ‘What are we going to use for transporting the diamonds to the airport?’ I enquired. ‘A Group 4 armoured car? Motorcycle outriders? Two-car convoy?’
Tak’s reply, when it came, was short, sharp and to the point. ‘Low profile. Two briefcases and a four-door production saloon.’ It transpired our cavalier client had picked up the habit early in his career of carrying his wares around in an ordinary-looking briefcase. It was a habit he hadn’t kicked. He was coming with us to Brunei and insisted on the same low-key approach.
My heart sank. This was a security headache of gigantic proportions. £80 million of gems in two briefcases. Well, at least it was better than Tesco bags!
A week later, I found myself back in Knightsbridge, pulling up outside the client’s Aladdin’s cave of a shop in a battered and anonymous-looking old Ford Orion Ghia. I smiled to myself. The last time I’d been in this part of South Kensington I’d been dressed in allblack assault kit, wielding a Heckler & Koch and breaking into the Iranian Embassy. Now I was suited and booted and looking every inch the successful businessman.
Tak and I left the car with the driver and entered the building. We were ushered into a back room past display cases stuffed with fabulous gems. Our client was in there, leaning nonchalantly back in an office chair. On the table in front of him, two briefcases were already packed and waiting. I picked mine up. I couldn’t believe it. In my possession I now had £40 million of precious stones. Our client was either a very clever man or a very foolhardy one.
Now came the dangerous bit. If we were going to be hit, chances are it would be while walking to the car outside. Casual, nice and casual. Switched on, every sense on high alert, every muscle tensed and pumping with adrenaline, yet sauntering casually towards the car as if we were mere accountants with briefcases full of invoices and ledgers. We had to look as if we’d just attended a business meeting and were heading back to our office. We were ready for trouble, but nothing, not the merest flinch, not the merest split-second, sharp-eyed glance around the street outside should betray the true contents of the cases. I felt almost naked. We were not even handcuffed to the briefcases, with a raincoat casually slung over the wrist to conceal the chains. Too much of a giveaway. The professional villain wouldn’t fall for that one. Absolutely nothing should draw attention to ourselves. Those few steps felt like climbing Everest.
Relief. We were inside the car. Time to go. I had hoped that Tak would source a car with enough power to really shift in the event that we picked up a tail. The old Orion was never going to set the world alight, but I had trusted that at least it would start on the button. The driver turned the ignition key. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. Shit, it’s not going to start! I was as tense as a tightrope. I knew we should have used a BMW.
The driver tried a third time. Suddenly the Orion burst into life. With Tak and our wealthy passenger sitting in the back we glided away and joined the flow of traffic. No dramatics. No wheel spins. There could be watchers with radios waiting to identify us to other gang members waiting in ambush en route. The hijack on the Falls Road flashed back into my mind and I double-checked all the doors were locked. We were very exposed now. As we joined the Cromwell Road heading for the M4, I fished out of my pocket my own stick-on rearview mirror. I fixed it firmly in place, adjusting it for optimum vision. I wanted to put in maximum mirror time for counter-surveillance during the vulnerable miles to the airport. I sat upright, the briefcase cradled between my feet, tensing at every red light, every junction, every slow-moving roundabout.
We reached Heathrow without incident. This was worse. Still couldn’t relax, not for a millisecond. Too many strangers milling around, too many potential threats. Too much ambient noise to pick up quickening steps behind us. Mercifully, we were given the red carpet treatment and were whisked through in no time to the haven of the First Class section of the BA flight to Brunei. We took our briefcases as hand luggage, mightily relieved we were not asked to open them by security staff before boarding.
On board it was like a flying Michelin-starred restaurant. Unlimited free champagne, and vintage champagne at that. One bottle finished, another brought over without even asking. I had to pinch myself. Quite something when you’re accustomed to business-class flying being the para seats on a military C-130. Strapped into the hard bucket seats with no arms to rest on, back against the fuselage, staring blankly for hours on end at the high stack of stores strapped down under a cargo net along the centre of the plane, right in front of our faces. Serve-yourself haversack rations – crisps, ham sandwiches and a cold drink if you were lucky. The noise, the vibration, the juddering and shaking indescribable. And now this, the Rolls-Royce of flying experiences. Pausing briefly at the head of the runway, the captain opened up the engines to full throttle and we were away.
Now all we had to worry about was the main threat: arrival in Brunei.
21
The Sultan’s Palace
During the flight, I gave a lot of thought to the dangers ahead. At my feet, a harmless-looking briefcase, part and parcel of every businessman’s standard equipment. And yet, and yet. I tried not to think about it. So much wealth concentrated into so little space. If some would-be criminal had got wind of this particular consignment, the temptation would be massive. My heart was beginning to sink. Why did I ever agree to this hare-brained plan to go low-profile with such a huge stash of gems? And no weapons to defend ourselves with either.
I did a mental check of ‘what ifs’. What if there was an operation in place ready to make the hit in the arrivals hall in Brunei? This prize would certainly warrant planning on an international scale. What if someone in the UK had briefed the advance party at our destination of our flight number and arrival time? What if they’d set up a trigger in arrivals, a spotter to ID the target and let the outside team know? We’d have to run the gauntlet of the paging area, all the chauffeurs and minibus drivers searching for their clients. Not just one or two, but everyone staring at you as you walk out. This would be an ideal spot to eyeball two guys carrying briefcases and with bulging muscles you don’t get from pushing bits of paper from one side of a desk to the other.
Then what if we picked up a tail in transit from the airport to our hotel? It would be night-time. A stick-on mirror would be useless. The dazzling effect of car headlights behind us, even on dip, let alone deliberately on beam, makes it virtually impossible to ID a suspect vehicle in the rear view. And as for identifying the occupants, you could forget that. And yet another ‘what if’. What if they’d got to someone in the hotel? Getting out of the car and into the hotel, another key vulnerability. Another serious threat.