X: My Brush With Special Branch

My Brush with Special Branch

We made the airport with plenty of time to catch the BA flight to
Heathrow. The driver, who I knew well, unloaded my bag and a small gift
of a bottle of fine whisky from my Company's partner, the President of
a Company in Lisbon.

We were partnered together in a bid for a Government licence. We needed
a local partner, preferably an influential one. We'd dined that day in
an exclusive restaurant, where an ex-Prime Minister and the Finance
Minister had been present. J?o had chatted with them both, stopping at
their tables on the way out.

I was looking forward to getting home. I'd been in Lisbon for a week.
Leaving some of my team there to keep thing running, I was taking a
welcome weekend break.

Walking into the terminal, I was right at the BA desk. I pulled out my
tickets, patted my pockets for my passport, then stopped still.

My passport!

At the time, hotels in Portugal were still holding passports. I had
forgotten to ask for it when I checked out.

What were my choices? Call up J?o and get the driver to pick it up at
the hotel and race back with it? - they might not give it to him. Take
a taxi myself and tear there and back, sweating, worried, heart
pounding? - definitely not the way to start a relaxing weekend! And I
could easily miss the flight and get stuck for another night.

I was mentally prepared to go home, so I decided to do just that. Some
call me obstinate. After all I am a Capricorn. But my personal motto is
'there's always a way'. So !

I wasn't worried about the passport, Sue could pick that up for me and
bring it to the UK - I could fax permission when I got home. And I had
the second passport back home, so if something came up I was OK. I was
prepared to arrive at Heathrow and take my chances. But how could I get
on the plane - they were checking.

I checked in. "Passport?" the smart blonde asked. I motioned to my
case. "It's all packed in there, do you want me to get it out?"

I waited.

"Oh, OK" she smiled "but you'll need it for the customs"

"Sure" I said.

I looked at the people passing through the Portuguese Customs. Many of
the Portuguese were using identity cards, very familiar. I whipped out
my building pass. Same size, photo, name, incomprehensible writing and
code.

Nervously, I approached the gate, joining a crowd of noisy tourists. I
flicked my card out, holding it boldly out for inspection. Not a
flicker!

Phew! I sat down by the gate, relaxing a bit. But I knew BA would check
on boarding.

Sure enough, as the BA guy took my boarding card, he looked up at
me.

"Passport?"

"Er, I just packed it away in my bag!"

"But you showed it to Customs?"

"Oh, yes, no problems"

"OK, sir!" He nodded me on.

Nice flight, a few drinks, pleasant meal, pampered in our front
cabin.

We arrived at Heathrow, and reality returned..

I was in the queue for the Customs. My turn came.

"Er, I left my passport in Lisbon!" I blurted "I know where it
is"

"Here" I pleaded "here's a letter from my employer confirming who I am"
We used that for health insurance.

"Sorry Sir!, I'll have to call the Special Branch officer"

The bespectacled clerk stared at me. I felt exposed.

Embarassed, looking down, I sensed a tall figure arrive at the
desk.

"Look!" I said, I've got this letter, and other identification, will
you let me in?"

"I think we might, John!"

I looked up at my cousin David, the Special Branch man.

(Gospel truth folks!)

Note: at the time of this story my cousin was in Special Branch. He's
now a Captain for a large airline. After years of honing his skills
detecting smugglers and criminals at Heathrow, the Police made a
general decision that people should move around, so tried to put him
back on the beat! He left. Being interested in flying, he got himself
on some training courses, and twelve years later, the rest is history!
He's not forgotten his Special Branch training and is also the Chief
Security officer. Remarkable guy!