Blog

For the ninth time in as many minutes, my sultana and oat cookie has almost reached the brim of my cup of tea, threatening it with being dunked and then spared at the last minute because my phone won’t stop ringing. The perils of being in the security industry as an ops director. The first call was from one of my regular clients wanting two surveillance teams to start the next day — a quick sip of tea and I hit send on several texts to operators, then await the phone calls to confirm if they’re available.

I need eight operators in total, so text the first 10 on my list. Seven ring me immediately confirming they are available, one I don’t hear from so start texting others. No time to hang around waiting. For those who are available, I send out NDAs (non-disclosure agreements) and start writing up the brief. Then the client calls again with a need for a third team and giving me further instructions.  More texts go out to operators and the responding phone calls do not stop.

The next client call is someone asking for additional Close Protection operators to guard their estate. They want to increase the numbers by another 2 per shift, so I start texting those operators who are suitable and await their replies.

Radios are charged and SD cards installed, ready for collection by each leader of the surveillance teams. And it stops, if only for a second. I finally dunk my biscuit … but by now my tea has gone cold.

Finally, I’ve secured all the operators I need for the surveillance job and send them the briefing documents, whilst the team leaders pick up the radios, kit and get a full face-to-face briefing. A signal group is established for each team and further intel put up as I get it. Lucky team, it’s a 4 am start, which also means 4 am for me too.

It’s now nearly midnight and I am finally closing the lid on my laptop, having electronically filed all the NDAs.

Morning all. A meagre 4 hours later and after almost literally falling out of bed, then feeding the cat, I start typing again, bleary-eyed and sleepily. With the country in lockdown, like many others I’m working from home, fortunately, so still in Pyjamas, I start my day.

8 am and I finally get dressed, I have an imminent Zoom meeting with a client. I look in the mirror and realise I have grey roots. What to do? No hairdressers are open — a quick blast with a can of root spray, run a brush through my hair and I’m ready to smile online.

10 am and with the online meeting finished, I need to respond to texts from my CP operators, so a few phone calls later and they are ready-to-go in a couple of days or so, I think.

Throughout the rest of the day, I field calls from operators who have taken 16 hours to call me back and are shocked the jobs are now filled; they really think I would wait that long to hear from them for a job that started at 4 am this morning? Oh please, get a grip. I am running several jobs and really can’t wait for you to take the dog to the vet or get your car serviced before you call me back.

It’s now 6 pm and the client for the surveillance jobs calls me to book the teams for the next three days. I relay all the information to the operators who, thankfully, are all available and grateful it’s a 5 am start the next day.  Next mission, booking hotel rooms for the operators who have been stood down for the day.

8 pm and finally I get to eat. But, typically, just as I stick the fork in my spaghetti bolognese the telephone rings. It’s the surveillance TL (team leader) calling me about one of the operators who can only work two days, I start texting, whilst sympathising with the TL about early starts and grumpy operators.

9 pm. I am in the bath with the cat perched, as they do, right on the edge, whilst I take more calls and stroke his head. He purrs, contently, not once contemplating the disastrous consequences of lapsing concentration and slipping in.

10.30 pm and I fall into bed. Just as I do so, the phone rings — it’s a client in Los Angeles, blissfully unaware of the eight hour time difference. I try to sound cheery as they say “I hope you’re not in bed,”. “Of course not,” says I, grabbing a pen and notebook to scribble down all the details of their blackmail problem.

11.00 pm. I finally lay my head on the pillow until the alarm goes off at 4.30am and we start all over again.