Dead Man Running: A True Story of a Secret Agent's Escape from the IRA and MI5 (9 page)

I didn’t know why; I hadn’t a clue why the Northumbria Police Force would wish to take actions that might expose me, reveal my new identity, announce to the world my secret address where for two years I had been trying to keep a low profile living under my new name. Everything was under my new name; my bank accounts, my mortgage, my driving licence, my social security number, my passport. No one in Newcastle, including my closest friends, had any idea that I was not really Martin Ashe – my new name – but in reality Marty McGartland. I had been smuggled out of Northern Ireland by the Special Branch and every precaution taken was designed to ensure my real identity and my new address would be kept secret. Only the Northumbria Special Branch and, of course, the most senior police officers were told of my arrival on their patch. They were informed that I was a prime target for an IRA assassination squad, that my life was in permanent danger from an IRA attack and, as a consequence, they urged that everything should be done to ensure no one, but no one, knew of my real identity and background. The SB in Belfast knew from their sources within the IRA that the word had gone out; ‘Get Marty McGartland’. They knew that I had been responsible for betraying many of the IRA’s plots to bomb and shoot soldiers, prison officers and RUC and Army personnel; they knew that I had been responsible for stopping the IRA carrying out major attacks on British soldiers, preventing police officers being blown up by UCBT’s, and I had also given the Branch a stream of names and addresses of the IRA’s top hitmen and bombers. That information had also been passed through the Joint Irish Section, the top-level British-staffed covert organisation which even I knew very little about except that they were responsible for advising the Tasking Co-ordination Group, always called TCG. I had been told by my handlers that every effort would be made to take care of me and stop an IRA active service unit from getting to me. For, they told me, if an IRA unit did murder me my very death would have put the fear of God into every agent and informer working for the Branch or British Intelligence in Northern Ireland. At a stroke it would have cut off the supply of information which the RUC, the Branch, military intelligence and MI5 rely on for more than 80 per cent of their intelligence in the Province. And without good intelligent sources, the security services in Northern Ireland are a spent force. My contacts with the uniformed branch of the Northumbria Police Force began in earnest in late 1992 after a fracas with a number of Northumbria police officers. I had been sitting in my car, minding my own business, when a police officer I had never met before approached the car, telling me to move the vehicle. At the time I was parked in the Library car park in Newcastle, a public place where I was perfectly entitled to leave my car. I refused to move away and he began shouting at me. I wound up the window and sat in the car listening to the radio. Suddenly he began banging on the window with his truncheon. I got out of the car to discuss the matter with him and he made a grab for me, intending to arrest me. He pushed me against the car and I turned round and pushed him. A scuffle developed.

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What are you doing?’ I shouted at him.

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I’m arresting you for resisting arrest,’ he said.

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But that’s madness,’ I told him, ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.

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You have,’ he protested. ‘You have refused to obey the order of a police officer.’

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Don’t talk crap,’ I told him. ‘I’ve committed no offence.

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Don’t you fucking talk to me like that, you little prick,’ he said. ‘You’re nicked, you little bastard.’ I began to get back into my car and the officer made another grab at me, this time threatening me with his truncheon. I saw red and he struck out at me with the truncheon, hitting me around the head and shoulders, I managed to get the better of him. He called for assistance on his personal radio and I grabbed hold of him, pinning him face down on the bonnet of my car. Within two minutes four police cars and a police van arrived and I suddenly found six officers trying to pull me away from their colleague, everyone shouting and yelling. Eventually they handcuffed me and put me in the van. But while I was being driven to the police station the officer riding with me said, ‘You’re nothing but a fuckin’ Irish mick . . . you’re no fucking hero.’ I was amazed at what he had said. At that moment I realised that ordinary cops on the beat knew all about my background and the fact that I had worked for the British Intelligence in Northern Ireland. I had not the faintest idea where those cops had been given that information and for what reason. It seemed unbelievable that Northumbria police officers should know all about me when every detail about my previous life was meant to be a closely guarded secret. That fracas with the patrol officers was the start of four years of problems with the Northumbrian Police. From that moment I was repeatedly pulled over by traffic patrol officers for alleged speeding offences. I was also stopped and questioned by ordinary uniformed officers which would culminate with me being accused, and sometimes arrested, for alleged public order offences. During those four years I was stopped on more than fifty separate occasions by traffic police, not only for speeding but just so that the officer could examine my car, checking my lights, tyres, brakes etc. I was in an impossible position. I was accused of more than half a dozen public order offences. I would be taken to court and then have to listen to the officers as they gave evidence on oath in the witness box about my latest alleged misdemeanour. And, of course, the magistrates would accept the word of the police officers and though I would try and defend myself I would be found guilty and fined between £100 and £250 on each and every occasion. Later, however, I became friendly with one Whitley Bay police officer. He told me, ‘Martin, I think you should know that some police officers knew how you would react so that they could arrest you and take you to court. They could find different ways to get you before the magistrates. We knew that you would respond by telling us to “piss off” and leave you alone. That was our reason for accusing you of a public order offence.’

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Are you kidding me?’ I asked him.

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Not at all,’ he replied. ‘They knew details of your background in Northern Ireland. They wanted to show that they were top dog.’ It seemed extraordinary that those police officers should not only try to take the piss out of me but that they were prepared to go to court! In court they would allege that I had been swearing, pushing and kicking them, distressing passers-by with my behaviour. Many other Northumbria cops continued to target me, almost on a weekly basis. It went on for years and cost me hundreds of pounds in fines and court costs though for much of the time I was totally innocent. On some occasions, of course, I did exceed the speed limit but not on all occasions. During those years I was taken to court more than a dozen times for speeding, and the fines would range from £100 to £250. When I was stopped by police during the hours of darkness I was sometimes speeding, but for a reason. I did fear that the car tailing me could well have been IRA hitmen intent on pursuing me. At night, the police cars following me would only flash on their blue lights and sound their sirens after they had been tailing me for a few miles, putting the fear of God into me. But during those few miles I had not the slightest idea they were cops. In Northern Ireland I had been advised by my SB handlers to take evasive action if I found a car had been tailing me for some miles, with the driver making no effort to overtake. When you know you are a targeted man you don’t wait around, driving slowly; you get the hell out of the way as quickly as possible, not waiting until those tailing you open fire. Within weeks, however, I found myself being tailed. A car would usually follow me at night, driving close behind me. When I speeded up and tried to lose the chasing vehicle the car would tailgate me for a few miles, forcing me to drive faster. Only when I had exceeded the speed limit for a few miles would the cops pull out, sound their siren and order me to pull over. Even then I wasn’t sure they were cops. I would wait while they got out of their vehicle and walked towards me, keeping the engine running and the revs high, in case, just in case, they were IRA gunmen and I needed to make a rapid getaway. For people whose lives have never been threatened, for people who have never been targeted by a terrorist organisation, all this may seem far-fetched and over-dramatic. It isn’t. In such circumstances one is struck with deep fear at the thought that someone chasing you in a vehicle could well be a gunman hell-bent on killing you. And I had a major problem to contend with. When the cops did stop me, usually for speeding, there was no excuse that I could offer. I could not explain the reason why I had been speeding; I could not pour out my history, telling them that I was in permanent danger because I had spent four years working undercover in Northern Ireland. So I would simply produce my driving licence and say nothing. In a bid to lay a false trail for the IRA, however, I had taken the precaution of obtaining two licenses at two addresses, one in Northumberland, the other in Durham. So, because of the extraordinary number of times the police were stopping I decided to make use of both licenses. I would offer first one and when stopped the next time, hand over the other licence. In this way I escaped a driving ban for almost two years. Of course, I realised that technically I was breaking the law but I believed the extenuating circumstances heavily outweighed the offence. However, my luck could not last and because of my constant fear of being targeted and my numerous speeding offences I did eventually exceed the 12-point tally and, in 1995, served a statutory six-month driving ban. During that appearance at North Tyneside Magistrates Court I simply pleaded guilty, offering no excuse or reason to the magistrates as to the real reason I had been caught speeding so frequently. At that time, I did not want to attract attention to myself or reveal the circumstances behind my frequent breaking of the speed limits. As soon as I regained my licence, however, the motor-patrol units continued to follow me, making driving a real problem. And though I presumed it was traffic cops following me I could never know for sure. So I adopted a new technique, though a far more risky one, which would not have been approved by Special Branch officers. Instead of speeding away I would draw into the side of the road and stop whenever I felt a vehicle had been tailing me for too long, though making no attempt to overtake me. In that way the cop cars either had to stop behind me or overtake, permitting me to continue my journey. But it was a real hassle. In January 1995, however, my troubles escalated when the police discovered that I held two driving licences. It seemed they had been waiting patiently to throw the book at me and now they had found the opportunity. I had learned during my time inside the IRA that it was possible for IRA computer experts to hack into the DVLA computers in Swansea to gain names, addresses and car registration numbers. I knew that if the IRA were determined to try and get me such information on the DVLA computers could expose me to attack. Two officers came to my home and asked me to accompany them to Blyth police station in Northumberland. They escorted me to the station and put me in an interview room.

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What are you arresting me for?’ I asked.

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You’ll find out at the station,’ replied one of them.

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Why can’t you tell me now?’ I asked.

But the officer simply repeated his statement that I would learn everything at the ‘nick’. At the station I was put before the custody sergeant and then taken to an interview room to await questioning. After a few minutes two officers came into the room, asked my name and address which I gave them and then proceeded to question me. ‘We have reason to believe that you have two driving licences,’ one officer told me. ‘Have you anything to say?’ I looked from one to the other, wondering if they knew of my background or whether they were genuine. I realised that perverting the course of justice was a very serious offence and I had no wish to face a jail sentence. I realised that if I tried to argue my way out of this accusation the police would simply apply for a search warrant to my home and would then discover I did indeed hold two licences. I decided the time had come to tell the truth.

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That’s true,’ I replied, ‘but there is a reason why I have two licences.’

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Oh yes,’ said one of the officers, ‘pull the other one.’

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It’s true,’ I told them, ‘and I can prove it.’

They simply accused me once more of ‘trying to pervert the course of justice’, asking me if I had anything to say in my defence. We were in a police interview room and, of course, a tape recorder was running. I asked them to stop the recording as I had something of extreme importance to tell them, something that would satisfactorily answer all their questions. After some further discussion, they finally agreed to turn off the recorder and listen to what I had to say. I spent the next ten minutes explaining in some detail my background, my real identity and the fact that Northumbria Special Branch knew of my history and the undercover work I had carried out in Northern Ireland. I told the patrol officers the SB would be able to verify my story. Seemingly my undercover work in Northern Ireland made not the slightest difference and I was served notice to appear at Newcastle Magistrates Court in July 1996 charged with attempting to pervert the course of justice. I was surprised and angry. I attended the Magistrates Court and, as I expected, was then sent for trial at Newcastle Crown Court. The hearing was scheduled to go ahead in May 1997. This meant that from the date the case was forwarded to the Crown Prosecution Service in July 1995, I had to wait one year for the case to come before the Magistrates Court and a further ten months for the case to be heard in Newcastle Crown Court. I began to wonder why my case had taken so long to come to court – a total of 22 months. It was, allegedly, the Crown Prosecution Service that had taken the final decision to prosecute me, for my solicitor received a letter in June 1996 from D.K. Hyland, a special case worker for the Crown Prosecution Service, saying that I would be prosecuted for attempting to pervert the course of justice. In talks with my solicitor later, Mr Hyland admitted that the case was ‘both complicated and sensitive’. Looking back on that episode it seems unbelievable that the CPS should demand I stand trial, for I assumed that the CPS, part of the British Government’s legal system, would have been aware of every detail of my life and work as an undercover agent. I also assumed they would have known that I had no intention of perverting the course of justice but had been taking such action to ensure I kept ahead of any assassination squads. I couldn’t understand why if they did know they should want to expose me in such a public way, by dragging me into a Crown Court, a place where members of the public could gather to listen to the evidence, thus exposing me to possible IRA retaliation. But later I would understand only too well. My Belfast SB mate would put everything into perspective when he told me of MI5’s plot to have me kidnapped and killed by the IRA.