It all started at Heathrow Terminal Five.
We took a chance on the green route. One never knows these days what is contraband, it is always a risk.
The Immigration Officers studied my brand-new passport carefully. Too carefully for my liking.
“Will you please step this way, Sir, we would like to ask you a few questions.”
Uh oh, something was wrong. The blond lady called a man who escorted us to a side office. My wife was asked to wait. I was taken to an office that really scared me; INTERVIEW AND DETENTION CENTRE. This was not good. I asked politely if there was a problem.
“We are just running a check Sir. Is this the only passport you have?”
“Yes. I renewed it for this trip. We are visiting our daughters here for a few weeks.”
He was joined by another man. They studied my passport, evidently comparing it with something on the computer screen. They seemed to agree that the two images were the same.
“Our system suggests that this is not your only passport and identity Sir. Can you shed some light please?”
I was asked to sit in front of a camera. The image had small green stars at various points. Now, I’m not tech savvy, but I knew they were comparing my face to someone else, obviously not me. Who was this guy; a drug lord; dangerous terrorist; I had no idea. The image on the left had a full head of hair and a bushy moustache. I pointed this out to them. Another thing struck me; he also had a full eyebrow on the right side. I showed them the difference, explaining that I had an operation years ago to remove a growth. After further debate, they asked my wife to confirm this. She wanted to fetch them a hefty slap, but controlled herself. We argued about the likeness until they appeared to be satisfied. They let us carry on with abject apologies for the delay.
I thought that was the end of it, but not so. In the morning when I went for a walk, I noticed a plain grey sedan with two men in it. As I went past, they slunk down and pretended not to be interested in me. I slipped down a side street, catching them off guard. The car followed until they had me under observation again. Turning around, it was my intention to thank them for this unnecessary protection, but they drove away before I got to them.
This continued for the whole week, until we left Reading to visit our aunt in Leicester. It was not long before we noticed a car escorting us. It followed us all the way, until we stopped at a pub for lunch. I parked at the rear to see what they would do. They pulled up at the curb outside, partly concealed by a hedge. The passenger got out to stretch his legs and followed us into the pub. I waited for him to go inside and then crept up to the car. Opening the passenger door, I jumped in and caught his mate by surprise.
“What the hell. What are you doing here?”
“Just came for a chat officer. I hope you don’t mind.”
The police radio interrupted our chat.
“Charlie 3, Control, do you read?” It was just a short status check on one of their vehicles.
“Is that your call-sign?”
“No, we are Charlie Eleven.”
I grabbed the mic. He was a little affronted when I slapped his hand away.
“Control, this is Charlie Eleven. I need to speak with the Officer-in-charge. Do you copy?”
“Who is this on the mic?”
She didn’t recognise my voice.
“Just call your OIC, we have a tense situation here that he must sort out. DO YOU COPY?”
She did. It took a few minutes for before another voice came on.
“Charlie Eleven, this is Control, Inspector Horace speaking. Please give me your name and state your business.”
“Good day Inspector. You are speaking to Marti. I am now in control of this vehicle.”
“I need to speak to our details. Can you put one of them on?”
“Negative, Inspector, I am in control here. I must warn you that I am holding one of your officers at finger point. Do you understand.” He didn’t.
“At finger point? What does that mean?”
“Don’t force my hand. I know how to use it and I will if you don’t get on the same page as me now.”
“What is it you want? I must warn you that any injury to our officers will have serious consequences.”
“All I want is for us to discuss this situation rationally and politely. Can we do that please?”
“Go ahead. I am listening.”
“Good. Now, for the last week, up till today, your officers have kindly provided my wife and I with close surveillance and protection. It is really not necessary. All I ask is that you re-deploy your men to other, more productive tasks. I will be around Leicester for a few days and I don’t think your men brought their pyjamas and toothbrushes so just call them home. My contact number is 0772443556 if you want to check up on me while I’m away. Have you got that?”
“Stand by while I get more information.” He was gone for a few minutes. The other officer returned and stood next to the open car door. To his credit, he didn’t do anything rash, just assessed the situation.
“Charlie Eleven, Marti, if that’s the name you go by.”
“It is Sir. What can you tell me?”
“I now understand the situation. Please put one of our officers on the radio.”
“Negative. They are otherwise occupied. They can hear you if you have instructions and I will pass on their answer.”
“Charlie Eleven, your operation has been compromised. Break off surveillance and return to base. Report directly to me on your return. Do you copy?”
“Thank you, Inspector, they have copied and will comply. You have a nice day now, you hear? This is Charlie Eleven signing out.”
We continued our journey without the pleasure of their company.
I had no idea that the public were tuned in on a police wave band. That is, not until my daughter told me the whole thing had been recorded.
When we got back to the house, I called our daughters to let them know we had arrived safely. Our younger daughter was in a frenzy.
“Dad, where have you been, I’ve been trying to contact you for hours.”
“Why, what’s up. We got here about four, cleaned up and went for supper. Just got back.”
“Your phone is off.”
“Flat, forgot to charge it, why, what’s wrong?”
“You are all over the internet, social media, everywhere.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“Your radio discussions with the police inspector have gone viral.”
“How, it was an internal police network?”
“Get real dad, anyone can hack in, it was their general communications channel.”
“Oh shit. I think I may be in trouble. They will not be happy.”
“Bugger that, there have been thousands of hits on Utube, it’s on Twitter and is flying around the world. They love it, everyone is giving it thumbs up and smilies.”
“Wait, let me check my messages.” She waited for me. “Holy shit, my inbox is clogged, full up. I had no idea it could be recorded, let alone hit the networks. I think I better find a way to delete them all.”
“Why? You’ll be famous, the best-known cop-basher in the world. I listened to it. You were really cool and your sense of humour is just over the top. Dad, you are a naughty old man, and I’m proud of you.”
“Okay, let me think about this, make a plan. They don’t know exactly where I am if they are looking for me. They’ve been watching Kal’s house the whole week and followed me until I caught them. Call Kal and warn her, nobody knows exactly where we are, okay?”
“Why are you panicking, they can’t do anything? How did this all start, by the way, you haven’t said anything to us.”
“At the airport. They held us for questioning for a while, I told you that. They thought I was somebody else, some criminal or other. We sorted it out and left. Obviously, they set off alarm bells somewhere. I played along with the surveillance, thought it was a joke, but it could get nasty now.”
“Not for you, maybe for them. They can’t touch you now, it would be suicide. Don’t worry, just ride the wave and enjoy the trip.”
“Okay. Keep cool. We’ll see you in a few days, and watch for cops on surveillance. Night, night.”
We found the recording, listened to it. I must admit, it was a masterpiece of understatement and innuendo of which I was quite proud. Dawn and Adrianne were a little shocked, and concerned. There were the threats of violence, but the ‘held at finger point’ bit made it more of a joke than a threat. They agreed that the conservative elements of His Majesties Police Service would not appreciate it. Too bad, it was done and yet to be dusted; we can’t change the past.
I whipped through my messages, deleting all the nonsense ones and then a lot of the others. Lawyers prepared to take up my case and sue the government offered a no fees without success deal. Police anti-violence groups wanted me to call them. The general public sent messages of support, more than a hundred of them. I deleted all of these, keeping just a few to follow up.
My first choice for follow-up was a request for an interview from a reporter purporting to represent the BBC News Service. This may sound opportunistic, but if I played this right, it could lead to immense publicity for my books, a way to get some recognition and maybe even get a publisher interested. Besides, the BBC had a vast circulation and immense support across the world. I thought about how I could manipulate the situation to my benefit. A lot depended on what her motivation was and how she wanted to present the case. I called he to find out.
“Janet, good day, my name is Martin. You left a message for me last night.” She was ecstatic.
“Martin, yes, thank you for calling me. We’d love to interview you, cover your story. Are you prepared to go public. It has already gone viral across the social media.”
“We need to discuss this in some detail before I give you an answer. I have a number of concerns.”
“If it is money, we can make an offer.”
“Not monetary, I didn’t do it as a publicity stunt. My concerns are around how this will reflect on the police, the officers concerned, and what image it will portray of me.”
“Right, I get the picture. Can we meet, where are you?”
“In Leicester, as I told the inspector, we are staying with my aunt here and I don’t want to inconvenience her. Can you wait until next week.”
“Frankly, no, it will be dead by next week if we don’t pick it up now. News has a habit of becoming dull after a day or two, unless there is something new to add.”
“Okay, let’s meet. Can you come to Leicester. We’ll have to find somewhere where it won’t disturb my aunt, she’s getting on a bit. I’ll speak to her, maybe we could do an interview at her golf club. What do you think.”
“It sounds wonderful. Just clarify one thing for me; what will it cost us?”
“Your time and travel and a commitment to handle it with sensitivity.”
“Martin, you have got a deal. I’ll get back to as soon as I can put it together. I really appreciate your openness and help.”
“Send me another message with BBC as the headline. You probably got my voicemail message.”
“Yes, very quirky, and true. I’ll do that. Bye.”
I had no idea what an interview with a BBC reporter entailed. Any illusions I had of a pretty young lady with a cameraman and a couple of techies was dispelled when the huge pantechnicon pulled up at the golf course clubhouse. I don’t think that the manager expected this either, thrown in an absolute state of panic as the equipment was unloaded and set up. This took quite a number of techies. The camera crews, voice recordists, lighting teams followed, with Janet and her assistants coming in last.
A pre-interview discussion was hastily called. All the details were reviewed and screens with prompts set up where Janet could read them, managed from the control centre in the truck. All this for a ten-minute screening I supposed. Janet ran through her proposed interview plan, making notes which were transferred to the truck for the prompts. With everything set up, we took our seats on the wide patio overlooking the 18th tee. The cameras panned through some brief location shots to set the scene. Janet and I had gone through make-up, she was now dressed in a stunning, close-fitting trouser suit; I was wearing a pair of beige trousers, open-necked shirt and a golf club cap, kindly given to me by the manager. We were called to the ready, on-lookers silenced and cameras set to roll in three, two, one, action.
“I am Janet Atkins, reporting live from Leicester City Golf Club in the Midlands. With me is the man who has achieved considerable fame and notoriety in recent days. The recordings of his radio communications with the Thames Valley Police Services two days ago have gone viral across the social media.”
“Martin, thank you for joining us. Did you expect this reaction?”
“No Janet, not at all. It was never intended for public consumption and was merely my way of resolving an unpleasant situation.”
“And yet, your conversation was recorded and distributed across the internet. What is your response to that.”
“A most unfortunate situation. It was not my intention to denigrate or tarnish the image of your police force, men and women I hold in high esteem.”
“What comes across forcefully is your sense of humour. Was that intentional?”
“Not really, it’s part of who I am. Life without a sense of humour is like taking a shower in a raincoat. You don’t enjoy it or get any real benefit.”
“An interesting concept. And tell me, how exactly did you hold those detectives at ‘finger point’, we’d all love to hear that?”
“Like this, thumb cocked, forefinger forward. It’s a common method of denoting a gun, something I didn’t have. It worked, only because it didn’t really pose a real threat. I wouldn’t try it anywhere else in the world, the cops would blow me away.”
“So, you were confident the detectives tailing you would comply. Weren’t you worried about being arrested?”
“It was a possibility, but I took the chance.”
“Do you know why the detectives were tailing you?”
“It’s a long story, beginning with my arrival at Heathrow last week. Immigration appeared to believe I was travelling on a false passport and under false pretences. It seems that their AII face recognition systems matched me to a criminal, which triggered alarm bells with the police. I thought the issue was resolved to their satisfaction but noticed signs of discreet surveillance around my daughter’s house where we were staying. This was confirmed when we travelled up here to Leicester.”
“You say there may have been a problem with their AII system, meaning what?”
“Their artificially inseminated intelligence system matched me by face recognition to a criminal.”
“Don’t you mean AI system?”
“No, I stick to my guns. Their intelligence is artificially inseminated into them by humans and are evidentially fallible.”
“Oh, I see, an interesting take on AI. And you became irritated by the ongoing surveillance?”
“Naturally, I am an honest, God-fearing and law-abiding citizen with no criminal record. Imagine if they did not believe me. I could have been detained, held in prison; a deadly terrorist, sought worldwide by Interpol; a drug baron fleeing from justice in America; extradited for trial, condemned and lost.”
“That is scary. I see your point. But they have accepted your innocence now?”
“Who knows, maybe they will be waiting to arrest me, lock me away. Watch this space for more developments.”
“That is really tragic. I’m sure your followers will demand your release. So, what now?”
“We wait and see. At least the public are aware of it now. Maybe I’ll write another book about it; innocent man flees police injustice; on the run; trying to prove his identity and innocence. It would make an interesting plot, wouldn’t it.?”
“I didn’t know you are an author. What books have you written?”
“None published yet, but I recently finished my fourth; a modern spy versus terrorists story set in Texas.”
“Texas, I never heard of terrorists in Texas. Tell me more.”
“The concept is derived from the Hamas massacre in Israil, but adapted to Texas. The Sons of Santa Anna rise in Mexico and infiltrate into Texas. Financed by the drug cartels who want to take over, they use the historical presence of the Spanish settlers to claim the territory, spreading mayhem and murder in their quest to mobilize the masses and drive out the Yankees.”
“Wow, that sounds like quite a story. I hope it gets into print; I’d love to read it. Other books, you mentioned three or four?”
“I have finished two of the Waltheim Trust Trilogy I plan to write. Dreams to reality is about the establishment of the Trust and its growth. Age of Cognisance is deals in four parts with beginning with human degradation; the Rape of Great Britain; part two is about an urban renewal project in East Harlem which needs the support of the gangs and the drug lords to succeed; part three deals with how a coal mining project in an African Game Reserve, a world heritage site, must be stopped. Running through part two and three is a strong wildlife preservation theme, a documentary about Africa’s hidden gems.”
“That sounds wonderful. Do you have a publisher?”
“No, I am still doing the editing and preliminary work. I hope to find a publisher later in the year.”
“Well folks, you’ve heard him on the radio, now you’ve seen him live. Martin, it has been a pleasure to meet you, hear your story and bring it to our viewers. You must decide; is Martin a high security risk, a threat to national security; or is he a normal person with a great sense of humour, a budding author and everyone’s hero. Martin, will we see you again, if our viewers want to know more of your fascinating life story?”
“Most certainly, Janet. I hope I have inspired your audience, provoked some reactions and that you will see me again. Watch this space, I’ve got you covered, AT FINGER POINT.”