EXCERPTS PART 4

THE TRIAL - DAY ONE

The night of September 14th 2008 was my longest. Events of the days, weeks, months and the year leading to this night kept unfolding before my eyes. I tried to catch a glimpse of sleep, but, alas my eyes betrayed me. Night is long when your eyes are unsleeping. I woke up at five to have a shower. I had to be ready before my chauffeur arrived. He was always on time. I’ve been given a glimpse of the life of a detective.

At exactly six in the morning, my phone beeped. I flipped my Motorola handset - a text message - my driver had come. He was spot on - 'six is six.' It was time for court. As usual, I knew where he'd park - some distance away from my flat. I lived on 34 Abbey Road in Barking. Back in October 2007, it had been explained to me that whenever an officer came to pick me up or drop me home, they'd drive past my front door - some metres away. So it had been throughout. So much was buried in secrecy - I was falling in love with British Intelligence.

I came out of my flat, turned right and walked down the road toward the area where my driver had parked - a garage nearby. He quickly got out of the car and opened the front passenger door for me. "Please make yourself comfortable," he said. As we were both seated, we shook hands and exchanged greetings. "Did you sleep well?” he asked. My driver had become the symbol of British hospitality to me. Shane was his name. So I was told. It remained to be known if that was his real name. The truth about the dark art of British undercover policing began to emerge years later when I was in Pentonville. It came to light that undercover detectives used the identities of dead children.

"Won't you wear a tie? It'll be nice if you put on a tie, a nice tie to match with your dress." I’m not used to wearing tie. I told Shane I was ok without tie. May be I’ll start wearing one when I join the establishment. But for now, let my neck enjoy its freedom. We made our way through the North Circular unto A13. We were heading towards Central London.  Our destination was Blackfriars Crown Court. As we passed Canning Town flyover, Shane began briefing me on what was going to happen in court. I reminded him about the screens. I had been promised screens. I was told I'd give evidence from behind the scenes.

He paused for a while. Perhaps he was trying to focus on the driving. Then he said there was a problem, the court had refused screens. "Maxwell, the law is losing recognition for evidence from behind the scenes," he said in a soft tone. That sounded like a bombshell to me. I felt heavy and uneasy. Fear gripped me. I told Shane I did not want to appear in court. In fact I made this clear from the very beginning of our operation, that I wouldn’t risk my safety and security. There was still silence. I wondered if he was lost in thought. Just then, his phone rang. He turned off the stereo.

“You’re on loudspeaker,” he said to the caller. Officers would normally prompt a caller whenever they had to answer their phone in my presence. I guessed it was part of their protocol. These phone calls didn’t usually last. They would say very little, especially when I was in the car. We went through Lime-house tunnel and made a left turn before we could reach Tower Bridge. I wasn’t quite familiar with London roads at the time as I hadn't started driving. About half an hour into our journey, we got to a place I suppose was a vicinity of Blackfriars. It was my first time in that area.

We drove to a nearby car park. We had to park our car some distance away from the court. "Undercover Police vehicles are not supposed to be parked on court premises," he said. We entered a cafe nearby for breakfast. I still hadn't come to terms with the absence of screens. Indecision was making me nervous. Shane could sense I was tensed. "Cheer up Maxwell. We're going to have an English breakfast. The screens will be sorted out when we get to court. For now, let's enjoy our breakfast." I loved English breakfast. Shane knew that. We've had close working relations for a year now. The officers in my inner circle knew all about me.

They knew the air I breathe and the food I eat. They knew my workplace, my school, my home. They knew my every move in London. They had become my 'guardian angels'. If ever there was such thing as 'human angels, I’d say I found them in the British Police. Back in 2007, I was told they'd be watching over me even when I was sleeping. Cameras would be installed at my front door if need be. No stone would be left unturned in their quest to safeguard me. All assurances were offered with regards to my security.

I couldn't eat all of my breakfast. My apprehension with “no screens” was eating me up! I had little appetite for my favourite English breakfast. "Won't you finish it?" Shane asked. "Please try and finish it. It's going to be a long day. We don't know what time we'll have a break. Please try and eat some more. I told you we'll sort out the screens when we get to court. Don't worry. You're with us now. We need you. The government needs you. We're working for the government. We're working for the Crown."

It was too late. My appetite was long gone. "I can't have anymore. I'm done," said I. "Can I have your leftover then?" he asked. Shane reached out for my leftover toast, scrambled eggs and sausages. He consumed my leftover as if he hadn't eaten anything that morning. I was quite impressed. This was now the second time Scotland Yard detectives had eaten my leftover. I was made to feel like an equal. I wish I knew much about Lucky Dube's “It's not easy” back then. As the lyric goes, "Behind the beauty lie the true colours ..."