Ed Hill’s longest targeted shot as a sniper was from 1.2km, with a .338 rifle. It was a sunny, cloudless day, unaffected by volatile gusts of wind or rain that can alter the trajectory of a travelling bullet. The former Royal Marines commando spent 14 years making calculations in the heat and sweat of the battlefield, accounting for quantifiable variables and unexpected obstacles that can redefine a conflict scenario in seconds.
Now a private security consultant, Hill still relies on that radar-like alertness and knack for anticipating lurking threats or subtle changes of mood. It’s just that these days he’s operating in Mayfair, not Mogadishu. His company, Intrepid Protection, provides high-level security to high-net-worth individuals, family offices, corporate leaders and public figures.
Hill’s spectrum of clients includes Premier League footballers, celebrities, Russian oligarchs and a Middle Eastern royal family. He has also worked for a “controversial” politician – which doesn’t really nail things down – but, ever the professional, he won’t divulge any further clues.
So how does elite-level private security and protection really work? After all, we’ve all seen The Bodyguard. For starters, there is no reproducible blueprint in Hill’s line of work. “Every client is different,” he explains. “Each client will come to us with a different problem. There’s no one size fits all approach. A lot of the time, it’s the fact that they’re in the public eye.”
He adds: “You’ve got to put them straight with regards to how you operate and what their expectations are. A lot of the Russian [clients we work with] want someone that can physically fight. It’s like: ‘Well, I want someone that can protect me.’ But do you really want to be in a restaurant in Mayfair and then the next thing you know your guy’s crashing into tables?”
I have always wondered how security guards can be so close at hand and protective while also ensuring they are not overbearing or restrictive on their clients. How do they provide watertight, meticulous security without being too invasive?
“I never believe that every measure that we take is 100 per cent watertight. I believe that we’ve done our best for now, but in five minutes that could change,” Hill says, gesturing to the convivial atmosphere around us at Queens, Mayfair’s much-loved coffee parlour on Queen Street, in which we are happily ensconced. “We’re sitting here talking, having a cup of tea and coffee, it’s really quite a safe environment. We’re both quite comfortable,” Hill says. “But then, someone can come in, a fight could kick off and suddenly your risk profile or strategy changes.”
It comes as no surprise that someone with such finely tuned, hyper-alert instincts is incapable of doing a regular desk job. In fact, it was a promotion and the prospect of hours spent behind a desk that persuaded Hill to finally leave the military. He returned to a war-ravaged Iraq in 2005, where he worked as a security contractor for five years, specialising in armed protection during the American reconstruction effort.
“They didn’t anticipate the insurgency,” Hill tells me. “They poured in all this money to build roads, bridges, [to improve] the infrastructure. They also pulled in more troops, but they didn’t have the boots on the ground to protect people. They emptied all the prisons. They relinquished all the police. Suddenly you had all of these bitter, jobless Iraqis.”
After leaving Iraq, Hill set up his first company, which offered armed protection for ships sailing past Somalia, then in the grip of a piracy surge that has re-escalated owing to the US war with Iran. He has stories to tell that involve pirates and their pincher ladders and AK-47s, but no casualties.
More recently Hill’s old specialism has been in high demand. He has been bombarded with emails and phone calls from various quarters, with people seeking his expertise on maritime security. Hill is happy to offer advice, but his current focus, with his close-knit team of elite security professionals, is protecting his clients on dry land. Most of his colleagues are ex-military types: discreet, unflappable and highly trained people who use their brains more than their muscles.
“What separates us from everyone else is the fact that our modus operandi is about prevention,” Hill says. “It’s more about being discreet, blending in, than being overt and aggressive and snarling at people.”
He adds: “If you’re sitting there protecting [someone] and you’re so blatantly obvious, it’s making your job harder because everyone’s automatically looking. There’s methods to the madness.” The former Royal Marines commando sniper is all method in a world full of madness.
