2013-04-05 12:07:56
Μετά από 20+ υπηρεσίας στο 22ο SAS ο Bob Shepherd αποστρατευεται και βρίσκει δουλειά στις εταιρείας παροχής ασφάλειας κυρίως σε πολεμικούς ανταποκριτές σε εμπόλεμες ζώνες. Είναι 2004 και είναι υπευθυνος ασφαλείας του συνεργείου του CNN στη Βαγδάτη.
Ένας μικρός Ιρακινός, o Baka Ali Hussein δέχεται σφαίρα στο κεφάλι από αμερικανικό όπλο και το θέμα παίζεται στο CNN. Το παιδί με τη μεσολάβηση του Ελληνα πρέσβη μεταφέρεται στην Ελλάδα όπου και χειρουργείται. Κατά την επιστροφή του στο Ιρακ, το CNN με το δημοσιογράφο Brent Sadler θέλει να καλύψει την υποδοχή του στο αεροδρόμιο, όπου θα παρευρίσκεται και ο Ελληνας Πρεσβης.
Απόσπασμα από το βιβλίο του Bob Shepherd The Circuit
"Brent’s first report on Baka Ali Hussein was heart-wrenching; the kind of human interest story that normally gets a response from viewers – and it did. After the story aired, Greek authorities offered to fly Hussein to Athens for medical treatment. Seven months later, the young boy was on the mend and ready to return to his family. The Greek Ambassador to Iraq invited Brent to accompany him to the airport to film the homecoming.
Since we’d be travelling on the airport road, I insisted on the same two-vehicle convoy configuration I’d used for Nic’s trip to Samarra; Brent and his cameraman would travel in the lead vehicle while I would ride in the backing vehicle with an Iraqi driver.
Our first stop was an area I knew well: the al-Mansoor district where the Greek Ambassador kept his residence. Favoured by foreign diplomats and wealthy Iraqis such as Sharif Ali bin Hussein, al-Mansoor was a target-rich environment for insurgents and kidnappers looking to score big ransoms.
Despite all that I’d seen in Iraq, I thought surely security at the ambassador’s residence would be airtight. Not so. We drove right into the compound without being stopped or searched. Imagine if we’d been suicide bombers. We parked up and an armed man – a westerner – walked over. He was tall, clean shaven and carried himself like a Rupert ( Βρετανικό slang για αξιωματικός ( γαλονάς ).
I dismounted my vehicle and introduced myself.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked. His accent was English, public school.
I explained that we were with CNN and had been invited to accompany the ambassador to the airport. The man said he’d been expecting us and that we would be joining the ambassador’s convoy.
‘Where are you from?’ he asked.
‘Scotland.’
He laughed. ‘I meant what’s your background?’
‘I served in the British Army.’
‘What unit?’
‘I had twenty years in Hereford,’ I replied. It was not a cryptic response. Anyone with a military background would know I was referring to the Regiment.
‘What about you?’ I asked.
‘I was a Captain in the Royal Logistic Corps,’ he said.
I was right. He was a Rupert. What I couldn’t understand though was why he was working Close Protection for a senior diplomat. The Royal Logistic Corps teaches great skills for moving large numbers of men, materials and equipment around a war zone but it has no bearing whatsoever on CP work. A better military background for a team leader in Close Protection is ex-Special Forces or ex-Royal Military Police trained in CP (the Royal Military Police have always had good liaison with the SAS on the subject of Close Protection).
‘How did you get into CP work?’ I asked.
‘The company I work for prefers my kind of background,’ he said. ‘All my men are ex-Royal Logistic Corps.’
‘That’s all well and good but what do you know about Close Protection?’ I asked.
‘We’ve all read up on it. We know what we’re doing,’ he assured me.
I had never heard of an adviser’s CP training consisting solely of ‘reading up’ on the subject. What seemed even more shocking to me, though, was that his client, an ambassador, hadn’t been given a top-of-the-line team. Of all the individuals requiring Close Protection in Iraq, you’d think diplomats would be assigned only the most experienced advisers.
The way in which the CP team approached their task struck me as extremely laid back, to put it mildly. Not only did they allow us to drive right up to the ambassador’s residence without so much as flashing a credential, but the armoured vehicles for the ambassador’s convoy were sitting empty on the street twenty minutes before our scheduled departure.
‘Where are your men?’ I asked the Rupert.
‘Out back having a brew and cigarette,’ he said.
Those vehicles should have been manned well in advance of the ambassador’s departure. A CP team needs to be at the ready at least thirty minutes before a client undertakes a journey in a hostile environment. The Logistic Corps lads should have been in their vehicles ensuring they were serviceable and observing the area for signs of possible surveillance.
Twenty minutes later the ambassador emerged from his residence and climbed into his vehicle, a large blue 4x4 with a big Greek flag stuck on
the back window.
Why his CP team would want to advertise the ambassador’s identity was a mystery to me. When I looked at that sticker, I didn’t see a flag. I saw a target. Had the ambassador been my client, I would have insisted the flag be removed.
The convoy consisted of six vehicles including ours. Once the ambassador was in position, I slipped our 4x4s behind his backing vehicle. That put Brent’s vehicle in position 4 and mine in position 5.
The convoy cleared al-Mansoor without a problem and headed towards the airport road. Everything was going like clockwork as we turned onto a slip road connecting to a flyover. Then it all went pear-shaped.
Vehicle 1, containing members of the ambassador’s security detail, missed the turn-off for the flyover and continued down the slip road. At first I thought they’d done it intentionally. I waited for someone to radio with news that the trip to the airport had been aborted.
The radios were silent.
Then, to my utter amazement, vehicle 2 – the ambassador’s vehicle – took the flyover straight onto the airport road, while vehicle 3, his backing vehicle, missed the turn-off. The ambassador was driving on the airport road unaccompanied! I radioed ahead to Brent’s vehicle and instructed the driver to follow the ambassador and told them I’d be right behind.
As my vehicle turned onto the flyover I looked in the rear view mirror to see if vehicle 6 was on the ball. It wasn’t. Vehicle 6 missed the turn-off as well and continued right on down the slip road. It was The Circuit’s version of a comedy of errors; the Greek Ambassador was driving on the most dangerous road in all of Iraq and his CP team was nowhere to be found.
My Iraqi driver burst out laughing – and I must admit, so did I, though my amusement was mixed with embarrassment over the fact that the CP team was British.
It was a farcical situation but my giggle was short lived. When we got within a mile of the airport, traffic on the highway slowed; a US military patrol had been hit by an IED and soldiers were working furiously to clear the road. The attack reminded me of the drive to Samarra;
I scanned the area to see if the insurgents who’d detonated the IED were waiting to launch a follow-up attack with small-arms fire. The US military patrol’s misfortune turned out to be a lucky break for the Royal Logistic lads. It gave them a chance to catch up with their client.
When we got to the airport, the Rupert in charge of the ambassador’s CP team pulled me aside.
‘All these fucking roads in Baghdad look alike,’ he said, searching my face for some sort of confirmation that this was a legitimate reason for his blunder.
He wasn’t a bad lad, but there was no excusing his actions. You don’t lose your client in a hostile environment. "
InfoGnomon
Ένας μικρός Ιρακινός, o Baka Ali Hussein δέχεται σφαίρα στο κεφάλι από αμερικανικό όπλο και το θέμα παίζεται στο CNN. Το παιδί με τη μεσολάβηση του Ελληνα πρέσβη μεταφέρεται στην Ελλάδα όπου και χειρουργείται. Κατά την επιστροφή του στο Ιρακ, το CNN με το δημοσιογράφο Brent Sadler θέλει να καλύψει την υποδοχή του στο αεροδρόμιο, όπου θα παρευρίσκεται και ο Ελληνας Πρεσβης.
Απόσπασμα από το βιβλίο του Bob Shepherd The Circuit
"Brent’s first report on Baka Ali Hussein was heart-wrenching; the kind of human interest story that normally gets a response from viewers – and it did. After the story aired, Greek authorities offered to fly Hussein to Athens for medical treatment. Seven months later, the young boy was on the mend and ready to return to his family. The Greek Ambassador to Iraq invited Brent to accompany him to the airport to film the homecoming.
Since we’d be travelling on the airport road, I insisted on the same two-vehicle convoy configuration I’d used for Nic’s trip to Samarra; Brent and his cameraman would travel in the lead vehicle while I would ride in the backing vehicle with an Iraqi driver.
Our first stop was an area I knew well: the al-Mansoor district where the Greek Ambassador kept his residence. Favoured by foreign diplomats and wealthy Iraqis such as Sharif Ali bin Hussein, al-Mansoor was a target-rich environment for insurgents and kidnappers looking to score big ransoms.
Despite all that I’d seen in Iraq, I thought surely security at the ambassador’s residence would be airtight. Not so. We drove right into the compound without being stopped or searched. Imagine if we’d been suicide bombers. We parked up and an armed man – a westerner – walked over. He was tall, clean shaven and carried himself like a Rupert ( Βρετανικό slang για αξιωματικός ( γαλονάς ).
I dismounted my vehicle and introduced myself.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked. His accent was English, public school.
I explained that we were with CNN and had been invited to accompany the ambassador to the airport. The man said he’d been expecting us and that we would be joining the ambassador’s convoy.
‘Where are you from?’ he asked.
‘Scotland.’
He laughed. ‘I meant what’s your background?’
‘I served in the British Army.’
‘What unit?’
‘I had twenty years in Hereford,’ I replied. It was not a cryptic response. Anyone with a military background would know I was referring to the Regiment.
‘What about you?’ I asked.
‘I was a Captain in the Royal Logistic Corps,’ he said.
I was right. He was a Rupert. What I couldn’t understand though was why he was working Close Protection for a senior diplomat. The Royal Logistic Corps teaches great skills for moving large numbers of men, materials and equipment around a war zone but it has no bearing whatsoever on CP work. A better military background for a team leader in Close Protection is ex-Special Forces or ex-Royal Military Police trained in CP (the Royal Military Police have always had good liaison with the SAS on the subject of Close Protection).
‘How did you get into CP work?’ I asked.
‘The company I work for prefers my kind of background,’ he said. ‘All my men are ex-Royal Logistic Corps.’
‘That’s all well and good but what do you know about Close Protection?’ I asked.
‘We’ve all read up on it. We know what we’re doing,’ he assured me.
I had never heard of an adviser’s CP training consisting solely of ‘reading up’ on the subject. What seemed even more shocking to me, though, was that his client, an ambassador, hadn’t been given a top-of-the-line team. Of all the individuals requiring Close Protection in Iraq, you’d think diplomats would be assigned only the most experienced advisers.
The way in which the CP team approached their task struck me as extremely laid back, to put it mildly. Not only did they allow us to drive right up to the ambassador’s residence without so much as flashing a credential, but the armoured vehicles for the ambassador’s convoy were sitting empty on the street twenty minutes before our scheduled departure.
‘Where are your men?’ I asked the Rupert.
‘Out back having a brew and cigarette,’ he said.
Those vehicles should have been manned well in advance of the ambassador’s departure. A CP team needs to be at the ready at least thirty minutes before a client undertakes a journey in a hostile environment. The Logistic Corps lads should have been in their vehicles ensuring they were serviceable and observing the area for signs of possible surveillance.
Twenty minutes later the ambassador emerged from his residence and climbed into his vehicle, a large blue 4x4 with a big Greek flag stuck on
the back window.
Why his CP team would want to advertise the ambassador’s identity was a mystery to me. When I looked at that sticker, I didn’t see a flag. I saw a target. Had the ambassador been my client, I would have insisted the flag be removed.
The convoy consisted of six vehicles including ours. Once the ambassador was in position, I slipped our 4x4s behind his backing vehicle. That put Brent’s vehicle in position 4 and mine in position 5.
The convoy cleared al-Mansoor without a problem and headed towards the airport road. Everything was going like clockwork as we turned onto a slip road connecting to a flyover. Then it all went pear-shaped.
Vehicle 1, containing members of the ambassador’s security detail, missed the turn-off for the flyover and continued down the slip road. At first I thought they’d done it intentionally. I waited for someone to radio with news that the trip to the airport had been aborted.
The radios were silent.
Then, to my utter amazement, vehicle 2 – the ambassador’s vehicle – took the flyover straight onto the airport road, while vehicle 3, his backing vehicle, missed the turn-off. The ambassador was driving on the airport road unaccompanied! I radioed ahead to Brent’s vehicle and instructed the driver to follow the ambassador and told them I’d be right behind.
As my vehicle turned onto the flyover I looked in the rear view mirror to see if vehicle 6 was on the ball. It wasn’t. Vehicle 6 missed the turn-off as well and continued right on down the slip road. It was The Circuit’s version of a comedy of errors; the Greek Ambassador was driving on the most dangerous road in all of Iraq and his CP team was nowhere to be found.
My Iraqi driver burst out laughing – and I must admit, so did I, though my amusement was mixed with embarrassment over the fact that the CP team was British.
It was a farcical situation but my giggle was short lived. When we got within a mile of the airport, traffic on the highway slowed; a US military patrol had been hit by an IED and soldiers were working furiously to clear the road. The attack reminded me of the drive to Samarra;
I scanned the area to see if the insurgents who’d detonated the IED were waiting to launch a follow-up attack with small-arms fire. The US military patrol’s misfortune turned out to be a lucky break for the Royal Logistic lads. It gave them a chance to catch up with their client.
When we got to the airport, the Rupert in charge of the ambassador’s CP team pulled me aside.
‘All these fucking roads in Baghdad look alike,’ he said, searching my face for some sort of confirmation that this was a legitimate reason for his blunder.
He wasn’t a bad lad, but there was no excusing his actions. You don’t lose your client in a hostile environment. "
InfoGnomon
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