I Spy: My Life In MI5

by Tom Marcus

  Shake it off, Tom. Need to close that door. You’ve worked hard to climb out of this hole. Next step is to actually prove you are something and get on with the next challenge, with real life.

  I was awake ten minutes before my alarm went the next morning. It wasn’t long before I had to make a move to get to the interview on time. I wanted to have a look at the area beforehand. I suppose it’s an old habit but if you’re comfortable with the building’s structure on the outside it makes it a lot easier going inside and that’s how I wanted to appear, comfortable and confident rather than nervous.

  Lucy needed the car so I had two options for getting to the interview. A bus then a five-minute walk, or a forty-minute walk from the house. It was a clear, fairly warm morning and I could do with the clarity that any sort of exercise gives you. The last thing I needed was to relapse into hyper-vigilance and scare off the interviewer.

  Trying not to focus on the vehicles passing me or everyday people on their commute to work, I played out interview scenarios in my head. But deep down I was worried about them questioning the obvious gap or cover-up in my CV.

  I was walking faster than my normal pace and arrived early. There was a car park in front of the building, which was purpose built, not a converted warehouse or mill, with large tinted-glass windows. Given this was an IT solutions company it made total sense to restrict what could be seen from the outside. I was expecting a bit more security though. It was an open car park, with no barriers. Standard deterrent CCTV cameras around the outside, positioned on the corners following the lines of the building, but nothing aiming at the car park entrance.

  Keep walking, you’ve got time. I wanted to have a solid picture of how secure the building and the area was. Heading south down the slight hill, I spotted a smoking shelter with five employees, all seeming happy but all of them with their passes showing. All five had security keys and USB stick devices attached to the lanyards. Nothing out of the ordinary in this type of work setting, I’d followed a lot of targets who had day jobs in IT. I’d keep in mind that this place obviously didn’t see security as a priority. Following the hedge line which was half-covering the car park, I saw a corner shop just in front of me. This gave me the cover I needed, allowing me to go in and then come out and head back towards the entrance, better than just turning around on the street.

  Chances were that no one had batted an eye at me here, but that didn’t matter to me. Always blend in, never draw anyone’s attention to you, for any reason. Coming out of the shop with some chewing gum, I walked towards the main doors. There was a fair bit of activity, cars and people leaving and arriving, suggesting that they had an overnight shift pattern. From the positioning of the large one-way windows to the right of the entrance, I guessed the reception was to the right.

  There were employees walking over to me from the smoking shelter. Three men, two women, all in their early twenties, perhaps younger. Only one of the men was smart, the other two had their shirts untucked. Black leather shoes scuffed and unpolished. The women were smart but on the walk over from the smoking shelter they both flicked their cigarette butts into the car park rather than use the bins provided.

  Using this group as cover, I took half a second to scan the area before following them inside. Keypad-protected double doors to my left led to an open-plan office housing rows and rows of people sitting in front of computers. Metal stairs in front of me with reception to my right. Behind the curved polished plastic of the reception area I could see another pad-protected door.

  As the group in front of me split, I made my way over to the receptionist. She was busy talking to a security guard, who was more interested in her than the security of the building and its employees. Although I was standing in front of her, she didn’t look at me, instead pointing at the visitors signing-in book. Either this place had a high turnover of visitors or the receptionist didn’t give a fuck about the company or its work.

  After scrawling my name, I glanced at the security guard: military-style Magnum boots, incredibly well polished without a single scuff mark on them, a Help for Heroes charity band on his wrist. My guess was this guy liked the perceived power status that he thought he got from being a security guard, but the lack of creases or scratches in his boots made me immediately think he didn’t do his job. He still hadn’t looked at me.

  Shit, Tom! What the fuck, stop this right now. You’re here for an entry-level IT support job, not to find a target or to give a method for an entry recce of the building. That life is done.

  Done.

  Waiting patiently for GI Joe to finish his one-way flirting with the receptionist, I desperately tried to hide the frustration building inside me. If you have a job, no matter if you hate it or not, you do it to the best of your ability. It’s not hard, is it?

  Eventually she looked up. ‘Can I help you?’

  Obviously you can, fuck’s sake.

  ‘Yeah, I’m here for an interview, trainee—’

  ‘Up the stairs, you can join the others.’

  This place had a high turnover of staff then. I could be wrong and this could be a rapid expansion move from the company, requiring a lot more staff quickly, but the way the employees didn’t take pride in themselves or the company spoke volumes.

  Wait a minute, am I the odd one out here? Is this how all workplaces feel? People just come to work for the pay and that’s it, no pride? Surely Google’s headquarters aren’t like this, or Apple’s?

  Walking up the stairs, I saw thirteen people all sitting on chairs in a narrow corridor, obviously waiting to be interviewed. Most of them looked like nervous teenagers, a few seemed to be in their early twenties. I was by far the oldest. Taking an empty chair, I caught the eye of the young guy I was sitting next to.

  ‘Are you waiting for the interview?’

  ‘Yes. Trainee Tech support.’

  Same role. Hopefully there were enough jobs for us all. On my details for this interview the email said to arrive for 0830 hours. I was guessing everyone got the same timing. It was now a waiting game.

  In front of me was another keypad-protected door, but this one was solid, no glass. The security pad was different too. Watching three people going into the room beyond, I found myself checking the procedure. The pass card was pressed onto the electronic pad on the wall next to the door. A green LED on the pad prompted a six-figure pin, which looked to be unique to the pass holder, as all three people used a different pin code: 187345, 567125 and 900364. Once the correct pin was entered, another green LED lit up and the door was unlocked, allowing the pass holder to pull it open towards them.

  The door was obviously held shut with multiple magnetic locks. In this type of building it would be fairly easy to get through this door without a pass; you would only need to cut the power and back-ups to allow you into the room beyond, as it also acted as a fire door. It was not designed to stop armed robbers from getting in. It was more than likely meant to act as a layer of security to protect the data inside. I was guessing it would be IT support for some sort of infrastructure company; energy, transport, perhaps even the NHS. Something like that.

  The interviews weren’t lasting long and as the people came out I tried to read their faces. Good interview or bad? Did they get offered a job on the spot? So far, the six people I’d seen leave seemed indifferent. The seventh was a young guy in a bright-yellow tie who puffed out a deep breath the moment he walked through the door. He was very young, seventeen, at a push eighteen years old. His trousers were too big for him too. As he walked past those of us still waiting to go in, his shoulders sinking, two obviously very confident guys looked at each other and smirked at this guy’s appearance. In their opinion, he shouldn’t be here.

  Mr Yellow Tie noticed this reaction to him and his eyes welled up with tears. Fuck. He can’t have been offered the job. To make things worse for him, he stepped on a loose lace from his left shoe, which instantly snapped, raising more smirks from the cocky twats. Yellow Tie kept walking, something in him ref
using to wipe his eyes. He was holding a massive amount of emotion back.

  I watched him walk past me, his whole body language that of someone who had given up, but as he started down the stairs, which curved, and his face came into view again, I could see he was still refusing to wipe the tears from his eyes.

  Bollocks. Something deep in my gut was forcing me to go and see if this kid was OK. What if they called my name and I missed the interview? I could blame it on needing the toilet. It wouldn’t take long to have a quick word. Cover story first.

  Nudging the guy sat next to me I said, ‘If they call for Tom, can you tell them I’ve just nipped to the toilet? Is that OK?’

  ‘Sure, will do.’

  Rushing downstairs, I saw Yellow Tie walking through the reception doors into the car park. Trying not to make too much of a scene, I moved as quickly as I could without looking like I was sprinting.

  Outside and within touching distance of Yellow Tie, I called out, ‘Hey mate, you OK?’

  He turned around, a bit startled, but obviously recognized me. Still trying to hide his emotions, he said, ‘Yeah, fine. I’m just going to get picked up by my mum.’

  He had to be straight out of school. I could see his bottom lip twitch, maybe at the mention of his mother. He was about to break down here, poor fucker. It felt like this was the first time he’d been let loose in the big wide world. Kind of like me, really. This whole standing on your own two feet trying to build a career was completely alien to both of us.

  Before I could get my first words out he broke down, just as another employee walked past us through the car park. An older guy, probably senior management, he noticed Yellow Tie but kept moving, not wanting to get involved with a couple of strangers. I needed to get this kid to his mother. Seeing the suffering on his face was really getting to me.

  ‘Come on mate, where is your mum picking you up?’

  Unable to talk, he pointed towards the shop I’d gone into earlier.

  ‘OK, come on.’ I needed to keep him talking. Fuck. I had to get back for my interview but I could spare another couple of minutes, hopefully. ‘Do you live around here then?’

  ‘Yeah, just finished college.’

  ‘What course did you do?’

  ‘IT. I really wanted this job. I need . . .’ He broke down again before he could finish what he wanted to say.

  I could see a woman pulling up in a battered Ford Fiesta.

  ‘Is that your mum there, mate?’

  Wiping his tears away, he nodded. I couldn’t work out if he was happy to see his mother or not.

  ‘Listen mate, you’re better than working here. This place doesn’t give a fuck about you or me or anyone else in there. You dodged a bullet, mate. I promise you there is a better job on more money out there for you. Just keep pushing.’

  Yellow Tie was starting to take this on board as we got to his mum’s car. She was looking slightly concerned, probably noticing my serious face and her son crying. Opening the door for him, I bent down and tried to do my best to explain what was going on.

  ‘Hi, we were both interviewing for the job in there. It’s not going great, they don’t seem to care about people and it’s upset him a bit.’ Turning back to Yellow Tie, I added, ‘But mate, remember what I said, don’t stop chasing it down, you’ve got so much more to offer than working here. I wish I had your qualifications!’

  A smile crept over his face and his mum affectionately ruffled his hair.

  Seeing he was in good hands, I ran back into the building and up the stairs. I noticed that the guy I had been sitting next to was no longer there, just as my name was called from behind a half-open door.

  The interview room was small, no desk, three chairs. One for me which would put the door behind my back, not ideal. Fuck, Tom, relax! You’re here for a job interview. That part of your life is done. Focus!

  The woman and man interview combo were already sitting down in front of me.

  ‘Hi, nice to meet you,’ I said, holding my hand out to them both and doing my best to come across as professional.

  ‘Can you close the door please, Tom, and take a seat,’ the woman said.

  The interview started with a description of what the position was – IT support for any number of organizations. So when someone in a fairly large company couldn’t connect their printer to their laptop or they forgot their password then they rang someone here. I desperately tried to stop focusing on the details. The guy was wearing his watch on his right wrist, which most likely, but not definitely, made him left-handed. The woman kept messing with her pen and alternated from tapping it lightly against her clipboard to biting the end, suggesting she was either desperate for a cigarette or was trying to give up.

  I tried to distract myself by interacting and asking questions about the job, but there was no disguising that the interview wasn’t going well. I kept getting hit with questions like ‘We have people straight out of college with two years’ IT training. Why should we take you over the many others that have these qualifications?’ and ‘It looks like you took a big step back on your CV to drive trucks.’

  I wasn’t driving fucking trucks, I was keeping people like you alive! I wanted to shout it out, to rip up my CV and tell them that I’d got something to offer if they would just give me a chance. But I didn’t. I swallowed my pride once again and tried to be as humble as possible. Just as I was explaining how motivated I was to learn and contribute there was a knock on the door and the older guy who had passed Yellow Tie and me in the car park walked in.

  He stopped in his tracks when I stood up to greet him, holding a firm hand out.

  ‘Hi, I’m Tom. Interviewing for Tech Support.’

  ‘Yes, nice to meet you. I’m Alexander, Director of Operations. I saw you with that boy outside? Was he OK?’

  Perfect, this was my wedge. I needed to drive this opening wide now, as fast as I could. ‘Yes, he was obviously very upset. I just wanted to make sure he got picked up OK.’

  He clearly had a different attitude to the two interviewers and was a lot more personable. Hold your ground, Tom. You’ve got him now. Hold.

  ‘Great. Good spirit.’ Releasing my hand, he turned to the two interviewers. ‘Can you both pop into my office later?’ Placing a solid pat on my shoulder, Alexander continued, ‘And welcome Tom to the team, get him started straight away, yes?’

  The woman responded with a surprised but enthusiastic ‘of course’. As Alexander left, the two interviewers shared an eye-rolling glance they didn’t think I could see before attaching fake smiles to their faces and telling me to be back on Monday for an eight o’clock start.

  Thankfully Alexander had come into the interview just in time. I’d be starting on minimum wage, but hopefully if I was quick to learn and worked harder than anyone else I would have opportunities to progress.

  When I got home I was pleased to be able to give Lucy the news that we would have some stability and she could rely on me. I never felt any pressure from her to be any different – that came from within, the need to provide and be the dad I never had. It was tough to accept that I was right back at the bottom of the pile, older than most going into that position, but if it meant putting food on the table and keeping a roof over my family’s head, I would shovel shit for a living.

  The weekend came around quickly. We spent the majority of our time finding cheap smart shirts and a few ties – office clothes I’d never needed before. This was it, the new start, solid family life.

  Once I’d met the desk manager, who was waiting for me in reception, I was shown to my desk and sat with a ‘trainer’, who was supposed to show me the ropes. Exactly what my role would be. Was supposed to be.

  I didn’t have a problem being taught a new skill by someone much younger – this guy could do everything on the computer in front of me and knew all the short cuts – but I quickly realized the job title ‘technical support’ was massively misleading. This was a call centre that had the ability to either reset passwords or te
ll someone to switch off their computer and turn it on again, and if that didn’t solve their issue we could escalate it to actual technical IT support. But none of that mattered. I had a job, a real one. That potentially could lead on to bigger things. And despite my trainer showing more interest in using Tinder than training me, I made the decision to keep my mouth shut and work hard. It was the one thing I could do that would make me stand out to the managers here.

  The end of the first week came quickly and I felt I was finding my feet. This company was clearly run to maximize profits, which is only right, but when it’s done at the expense of the employees on the desks and the client being charged for our ‘support’ then it’s obviously not right at all.

  The company had to work to strict call-answer quotas, so every person sat at a computer would have a stream of calls coming into their headset. I naturally wanted to get through to each call quickly, helping the person on the other line as fast and efficiently as possible – just like in the surveillance teams, when if you’re asking for help on the radio then you should get that help instantly.

  But unlike MI5, this IT company didn’t think about how we took those calls from their clients. Most – but not all – were UK- or US-based. Some companies had thousands of employees all working in different time zones. The busy periods were often when those clients started work, then on their dinner break and again just before they finished work. We’d be taking around 300 calls a day each, sometimes more.

  As that first Friday came to a close, I made the decision to ask my line manager if there could be a way of streamlining the process of how we answered calls. I sat down with her as my shift ended, which really annoyed her because she wanted to leave early, but I made sure I was heard by her manager too.

  ‘UK calls come in at nine in the morning. We get hammered and then we are dead until dinner time, between twelve and two, when UK calls come in again just as New York is starting work, then we are quiet until tea time when we have a shift change, UK clients are hammering us with calls just as New York employees are on their dinner ringing in too. There’s a quicker way to handle this, I think, which would save the company money and give the clients a better service. Plus it would reduce the stress on the guys in here.’