More than 500 officers smashed their way into thousands of safety-deposit boxes to retrieve guns, drugs and millions of pounds of criminal assets. At least, that's what was supposed to happen. Adrian Levy and Cathy Scott-Clark investigate
The Finchley Road is one of the busiest thoroughfares heading out of London. It leads traffic north past Lord's Cricket Ground and the multimillion-pound houses of some of the country's richest hedge-fund managers all the way to the M1. At three in the afternoon it's always pretty slow going, but on this particular summer Monday the traffic was almost at a standstill.
This was partly because the normal three lanes going north had been cut down to one. But it was also because of drivers slowing down to a crawl so they could gawp at the massive police operation unfolding on a busy corner of the road.
Police vehicles - both cars and menacing armoured trucks - jammed up two lanes. Dozens of armed officers in bulletproof vests were standing ready, waiting to be called inside an anonymous-looking building. From the sheer manpower and weapons on display it looked like the capital was under another terrorist attack.
But while this was the Metropolitan Police's most ambitious operation in its 180-year history, it had nothing to do with national security. Only hours before, at a special briefing, teams from SCD6 (the Economic And Specialist Crime unit) and C019 (Specialist Firearms Command) hunkered down with technicians armed with angle grinders and drills. Also present were dog handlers, their animals trained to sniff out guns, drugs and explosives.
In all, more than 500 officers had gathered to receive orders to raid smart addresses in well-heeled parts of the capital. The locations included three of Britain's largest and most well-established safety-deposit box depositories in Edgware, Hampstead and Park Lane as well as an office and the homes of the three directors of Safe Deposit Centres Ltd, which owned the vaults - two in Hampstead and one in Barnet.
For most of those at the briefing, arriving just before 3pm on June 2 last year, this was the first they had heard of the operation. Secrecy had been paramount and, with so many involved, keeping the operation 'airtight' had been one of the largest headaches in the pre-planning for what was codenamed 'Rize'.
The police rolled through London in a convoy: scores of patrol cars, armed-response vehicles, outriders on their bikes, vans with their windows shielded by metal cages. With a Met film unit recording everything, detectives forced their way past startled security guards, demanding receptionists open the secure doors that led to the normally hushed strong rooms, which in the three centres housed 6,717 safety deposit boxes.
Cash found in deposit boxes
Cash found in deposit boxes. More than £53 million in cash was impounded, some of it stuffed into supermarket bags
Over the next few hours, the three depositories were transformed into makeshift evidence-sorting centres, decked out with tables to bear the contents of the safety-deposit boxes that were soon to be forced open. Within a day, the first stage of the operation was finished but it would take over ten more to complete the next intricate and prolonged phase.
Investigators wearing gas masks and blue overhauls used power tools to chop away at the locked doors that protected the boxes themselves. They had rehearsed this bit for many hours, on mockups, trying numerous methods to get quickly and safely at the deposit boxes.
Forged passports found in deposit boxes
Forged passports found in deposit boxes
Diamond drill bits forced down into the locks proved disastrous, potentially damaging evidence inside. Instead, they settled on Makita angle grinders, with which they now effortlessly hacked at the hinges, allowing them to slide out the individual strong boxes, some as small as an A4 pad. Larger ones required a more bullish approach - strong-arm tactics that the police maintained were essential as key-holders would have been unlikely to co-operate.
As the first of the boxes was opened, detectives began probing the contents. Many were spilling over with bank notes and jewellery. Each was given a rough designation - for instance, 'cash' or 'gun' - and the words scribbled onto labels before they were placed in sealed evidence bags that were loaded into vans and given an armed escort to their final and secret destination, a secure counting house.
Here, every one of the thousands of boxes was to be intimately scrutinised. Not only did detectives have to itemise what they had found but match the contents to a person.
A few of the box-holders' identities had been acquired through months of police surveillance. Others were revealed in vault registers seized by police during the raid. Some used aliases and would be hard to track down; more still would be identified by scrutinising the vaults' CCTV cameras. Sixty officers would sift, analyse and count until November 2008 and beyond, racking up £1.4 million in overtime bills alone.
There was a lot at stake. Never before had the British police been granted a warrant as broad as this. The raids had been made possible under a controversial law, the Proceeds Of Crime Act (POCA), which came into being in 2002 and introduced an array of wide-ranging new powers to seek out and confiscate dirty money - the houses, cars and boats bought by criminals.
However, lawyers watching the police operation unfold were quick to warn that the strong-arming of these vaults and the crashing into each and every box was tantamount to the police having obtained permission to smash down the doors of an entire housing estate.
David Sonn, of Sonn Macmillan Walker, one of the largest criminal defence practices in London, says, 'POCA was never intended for this. No one objects when criminals are caught and their assets seized - but shaking down everyone to get to them is specifically not what lawmakers wanted.'
A handgun belonging to a suspected drug dealer
Items seized include police riot gear, guns and swords
A handgun belonging to a suspected drug dealer(left) and items seized include police riot gear, guns and swords (right)
Aware of the controversy, Scotland Yard went on a charm offensive, with Assistant Commissioner John Yates giving a series of briefings.
'This is a huge operation to tackle criminal networks who we believe are using safe deposit facilities to hide assets,' he reassured the media.
The raids had come after 18 months of scrupulous intelligence gathering that had led detectives to suspect the vault owners were turning a blind eye to the worst kinds of criminality, enabling major villains to conceal, transport and launder their ill-gotten gains, said Yates. Brushing aside concerns about the invasion of privacy, he asserted that 'the majority' of the boxes seized belonged to criminals.
Evidence was soon put on show that seemed to underscore his position. More than £53 million in cash was impounded, some of it stuffed into supermarket bags. Most of the money, said the Met, was 'the proceeds of armed robberies and international drug trafficking'.
Unnamed Yard sources speculated that some had come from the 2006 Securitas depot robbery in Tonbridge, Kent, and that a mysterious haul of gold grains wrapped in plastic and squashed inside suitcases could be linked to the Brinks Matt heist of 1983. There were sufficient diamonds and pearls to string up as bunting for a street party.
CCTV footage of Gavin Leon
CCTV footage of Gavin Leon, whose box held a Glock handgun
In one box in Edgware, bags of white powder when tested turned out to be 140g of 81 per cent pure cocaine. Lying next to it was £62,500 in cash. Another box, crammed with notes, was identified as belonging to a Russian woman whose boyfriend was the son of a convicted major-league drugs dealer.
A semi-automatic Glock 9mm, the weapon of choice for British gangsters, was lodged in Box 1653 at the Hampstead depository, rented by 44-year-old Gavin Leon, who was jailed for five years last March. A Brocock firearm and nine rounds of ammunition, together with £20,000 in cash, some heroin and weighing scales had been deposited in a box belonging to John Derriviere, a 47-year-old who is now wanted by police.
A £100,000 stash left in a box in Edgware turned out to belong to convicted drug dealer David Wilson, 38, from Dagenham, a nest egg he intended to collect after completing a 24-month sentence. Scrutinising the vault's CCTV, police also identified drug trafficker Yaset Berhane, 27, whose box contained £122,000 in cash, some of it marked by Sussex Police in an earlier drugs sting, leading to Berhane's jailing in March 2009 for drug trafficking and money laundering.
When vice-squad detectives raided five premises connected to a southeast Asian businesswoman who had more than £100,000 in cash in one box, they found brothels worked by girls who had all potentially been trafficked to the UK, as well as a string of foreign bank transactions showing £800,000 flowing out of the UK. In the months after Rize there were more than 40 arrests and 11 prosecutions.
However, by talking to scores of box-holders, none of whom have spoken before, Live has uncovered a different version of Operation Rize, one that shows how the vast majority of those caught up in the raids were innocent. They have had their lives turned upside down over the past 17 months. Many have struggled to recoup their money and possessions, been forced into legal trench warfare with police lawyers and told they must prove how they came by the contents of their boxes.
This is also a story told through secret legal papers, including confidentiality agreements struck with some vault depositors whose cases threatened to topple the entire operation. Although the police told a judge that 'nine out of ten' of all of the thousands of box-holders were probably criminally minded, criminally connected or felons, the paper trail reveals that perhaps only as few as ten per cent of the boxes have any connection to serious crime.
More worryingly, according to eminent lawyers and barristers, Operation Rize has seen the Yard employ unethical tactics, driving a coach and horses through the new POCA legislation, leaving the Met facing a raft of legal actions that could potentially cost taxpayers millions of pounds.
Police raid at Hampstead
The police raid at Hampstead. Never before had the British police been granted a warrant as broad as this
'Rize is a juggernaut veering out of control,' said one barrister who helped advise on POCA during its passage through Parliament, 'and now a sharp tool that we badly needed to drain criminal cash has been tarnished, potentially damaging it and inhibiting its use'.
Within days of the raids, the police set up a helpline to deal with potential inquiries. They were overwhelmed by the response. One detective told Live: 'Everyone presumed we had bagged a load of villains who would not dare claim their iffy property. But thousands of the box-holders complained.'
Some of the box-holders contacted lawyers. These were people far removed from the criminal underworld. Many had been with the company from the beginning, drawn to the likeable Jewish businessman who ran it. Leslie Sieff founded the company in 1986, although by the time Operation Rize unfurled he'd been bought out by developer Milton Woolf.
In one box there was 140g and cocaine and £62,500 in cash beside it... In another, a Glock 9mm, the weapon of choice for British gangsters
Many of the clientele were families who had fled turmoil, pogroms, coups and wars and long had a cultural preference for locking away money and jewels, building up a vehement distrust for the integrity of traditional banks. Here, stepping down the spiral staircase at the back to the darkened boxes below, they felt reassured that their most important possessions were safe.
One survivor of Nazi Germany in his seventies told us how he had placed a bag of diamonds there - security if ever he or his descendents needed to run again.
'My wife and I had escaped from Germany with nothing but these gems,' he said. 'She sewed them into our clothing before we crossed occupied Europe, reaching Britain by ship when the jewels were snipped out and locked up.'
There was a rabbi too, Yitzchak Schochet, of Mill Hill Synagogue, who said: 'Safety deposit boxes are supposed to be confidential. The whole situation was very unsettling and an intrusion of privacy.'
Another client, an Indian millionaire entrepreneur with connections to the House of Lords, described how he was 'treated like a convicted man just because I had wealth in cash'.
A Hindu priest described to Live how his family's valuables had been carried in the Sixties from Madhya Pradesh, India, to London 'in a gunny sack'.
Among the possessions seized by the police were elaborate handcrafted bracelets, gold rings set with uncut stones, and a bejewelled wedding tikka ornament to be draped on the forehead of a new bride. 'These items had always been in our family,' the priest said, 'We had cash in there too. But now we had to prove how we bought them and where that money, saved over the years, had come from.'
Officers painstakingly record the contents of the safety-deposit boxes
Officers painstakingly record the contents of the safety-deposit boxes
Under POCA, the burden of proof lay with the box-holders. Finding evidence for wartime treks across Europe, or charting migration stories from the Partition of India and beyond, would cost many of the box-holders tens of thousands of pounds.
Mark Richardson, a former military intelligence officer and now a forensic accountant, who has been employed by several box-holders to explain their wealth, told us: 'We had to get one family's diamonds carbon-dated at great expense to demonstrate to the police that they had been cut in the Thirties, which tallied with their story of fleeing Germany before World War II.'
Lawyer Sara Teasdale, of City practice Roiter Zucker, whose client had kept more than £900,000 in his box at the vaults in Edgware as cash flow for his business leasing black cabs, said: 'The police are "deep-pocketing" - hauling people through a protracted legal process that they know is so costly that most will roll over.'
One angry box-holder rented Box 73 at the Park Lane depository. Alexander Temerko, formerly a vice president of Russian oil giant Yukos, whose billionaire boss Mikhail Khodorkovsky had fallen foul of President Putin, had fled to London as Khodorkovsky was jailed for eight years in Russia.
When I got my box back, £9,000 cash and some smaller items of jewellery were missing - a gold baby's bracelet and a gold ring
On his arrival in the UK, Temerko had locked five crates of legal documents into his safety-deposit box. However, as a result of Rize, the papers were now in the hands of the Met, which claimed they were evidence of an alleged criminal conspiracy whose participants were British, obliging the police to investigate. Incandescent, Temerko hired an expensive lawyer, Ian Burton, of BCL Burton Copeland. Burton recommended Clare Montgomery, a barrister from Cherie Blaire's chambers, Matrix.
Within weeks of Operation Rize, Temerko's team set about applying for a Judicial Review of the judge's decision to grant the controversial Rize warrant and demanded the return of Temerko's files, which they claimed had been taken unlawfully.
Montgomery and Burton highlighted case law that specifically stipulated 'fishing expeditions' were barred to the police, even under POCA. In other words, the police were not allowed to seize property in the hope that it would later prove to be criminal. The legal team also demanded sight of the police evidence that had convinced the judge to issue the warrant in the first place.
Across town, in Camden, some less high-profile but equally infuriated welltodo box-holders did the same. John and Estelle Selt, aged 62 and 73, wealthy retired shopkeepers, had rented a box for 15 years. Inside it was £150,000 and three valuable bracelets. Determined to clear their names, the Selts put up the £50,000 needed to launch their own Judicial Review that also focused on the lawfulness of the original warrant.
Following seven months of legal fencing, with the police guarding its Rize file, the twin Judicial Reviews finally succeeded in prising from the Yard a startling 32-page 'skeleton discussion'. This document - which we were able to obtain after being given a case number by a senior source in Customs and then trawling through court records at the Royal Court building - provides an extraordinary insight into how the police managed to obtain a warrant for Rize.
The document provides a summary of two confidential meetings between the Met, its legal advisors and the judge who signed the Rize warrant in May 2008. The document revealed the Met had begun targeting Safe Deposit Centres Ltd in January 2007, in an operation led by DCI Mark Ponting.
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