The day I went back to spy school

AS the VIP, surrounded by four bodyguards, approached the door, a crazed man brandishing a gun rushed suddenly from the building. Taken by surprise, security men watched helplessly as the assassin pumped bullets into his target.

We'd failed in our objective to protect him. During the course of the day I was also blown up (several times), rendered unconscious in unarmed combat, and would probably have shot myself in the foot if the gun I was handling had been loaded.

Happily, none of this was real. Welcome to the Johnny English Spy School, where film writers more used to wielding a loaded Biro than a Walther P99, James Bond's weapon of choice, were being tutored in protection and surveillance.

I needed to study harder after failing to become a superagent on the spy training course at last year's 007 exhibition at the National Museum of Photography, Film and Television in Bradford. My rating was so poor that I was downgraded to trainee agent. That looks good next to the behaviour of Johnny English, the accident-prone spy played by Rowan Atkinson in a new comedy film. He's a mix of Mr Bean and the character he played in those old credit card commercials.

Atkinson, who grew up in the North-East, was absent from class, although represented by fellow actor Ben Miller, who plays his right hand man Bough in the film.

Our training got off to a hesitant start as the driver assigned to convey us to Spy School was unclear of the destination. We too had been poorly briefed - "somewhere in Battersea," were our only instructions.

Eventually, we pinpointed the headquarters of a Territorial Army unit in a busy London street as our target. A notice inside the door stating BIKINI ALERT STATE seemed oddly appropriate, conjuring up images of Bond girls in states of undress. Even the name of our instructors' company, Spectre Security Surveillance, could have been plucked from the pages of an Ian Fleming novel.

This is a world of initials: VIP, PES, CPO, SOP, POLSA and BG. Of em-busing and de-busing. Of red, amber and green zones. An outsider finds it hard not to giggle at the rules and regulations. Films like Johnny English make fun of this shadowy world, but it's a serious business for those who work in these life or death situations.

Our teachers Andy and Ian were not noted for their sense of humour as their combined credentials - Bosnia, sniper, military, battle training instructor and high risk jobs were some of the words used as they told of their backgrounds.

Ian told us that 99 per cent of the work of a Close Protection Officer is boring, adding: "That's how it should be".

Personal security aims to let the principal (protection-speak for the client) carry on normal life with the CPO doing everything possible to reduce the risk of harm, kidnap, assassination or criminal acts.

Ian makes it his business to find out about the client's personal life and beliefs, everything from sexuality to religious views. He must be prepared for anything. Even good wine sense and knowing which knife to use is needed so a CPO doesn't look out of place if a client eats in a restaurant. "You have to remember that prevention is better than cure," he says.

The job comes with a warning that a mistake by a CPO "can result in the death of their principal (the client), a team member, an innocent bystander or themselves".

A rare smile crosses Ian's face as he outlines methods of dealing with intrusive media people. A kick on the shin or a thumb on the camera lens are guaranteed ways to hamper the work of the paparazzi.

He's wearing a black suit, matching shirt and grey tie. Dark colours are part of a CPO's uniform. He does a quick strip - jacket off, clip-on tie removed, shirt sleeves rolled up - to prove his chameleon-like adaptability in different environments.

WE tackle Body Protection Formations, a bit like Come Dancing without the sequins. They involve the VIP, a BG (Body Guard), three FPOs, and two cars.

Top celebrities, such as Posh and Becks, would probably have a three car formation. When Bill Clinton stayed at a Glasgow hotel, Ian recalls, the security people went in two weeks in advance to search and seal the building. It's all down to money. A client only receives the level of protection for which he's paid.

In BPF, each member of the team takes specific positions to shield a client from danger from every angle. I began as the poor SAP (Security Advance Party) who handles risk assessment in advance and greets the party on arrival as they de-bus. And I'd thought that de-busing was the art of getting out of a car without showing your knickers.

We tried these manoeuvres a few times, adopting different roles and ever-mindful that a moving target is harder to hit than a stationary one. Car doors must be opened and closed at precisely the right moment, and positions switched as the group moves from vehicle to building. That's when the gunman shot our client.

Another tip: don't expect to see a sniper's gun barrel protruding from a window as you do in movies. All you'd see in reality, says Ian, is an open window. "They have to keep back and have a limited field of view, which means they have limited opportunity," he notes.

Bombs, or Improvised Explosive Devices (IED), are another threat. An operative can carry out a full vehicle search in three minutes. It took me that long to pull on the disposable overalls worn to prevent getting that nice black suit dirty crawling under cars.

If a search - using mirrors on sticks and thin strips of plastic as well as your eyes - locates something suspicious, the area is cleared and POLSA (Police Search Agencies) called in.

Teamwork is essential in both searching cars and rooms for suspicious packages, except the experts don't utter "bloody hell" as one of our number did on spotting a grenade dangling from an door handle.

We did marginally better at finding bombs in the room than in the car, although in both cases we missed some and wouldn't have lived to tell the tale. It certainly made you appreciate that what you've seen on screen is a far cry from the real thing, and the difficulty of the security forces.

Ex-Metropolitan Police officer John, who runs a private investigation company, says that many surveillance operations, involving tracking devices, microphones and cameras, shown in movies would be impossible in real life.

Other tricks seen on screen do work, including the camera hidden in a briefcase ruse. He also built a camera into a birthday present once. And, somewhere in London, the extra-marital activities of a man whose wife suspects him of cheating are being monitored through a secret microphone in his bedroom.

Time constraints ruled out attempting the anti-ambush drills for real, which meant missing out on lots of screeching tyres and high speed Y-turns.

We did learn a spot of unarmed combat, being shown the basic moves that put our hands to good use to both defend and attack. I may never be required to protect a VIP, but the moves will come in handy to fight my way through a crowded room to the bar.

* Johnny English opens in cinemas on Friday April 11.

Mike Amos is away