The Millennium Dome Diamond Heist: Britain’s Most Bizarrely Brilliant Botched Robbery
It sounds like the start of a bad joke: What do you get when you cross a JCB digger, a fake bomb made out of a Fray Bentos pie tin, and the most expensive diamond in Britain? Answer: one of the most spectacularly unsuccessful robberies in UK criminal history.
Welcome to the Millennium Dome Diamond Heist—a plot so outrageous, so elaborate, and ultimately so doomed, it could only have been dreamt up by a gang with more bravado than luck. On 7 November 2000, a band of career criminals attempted to steal a haul of De Beers diamonds, including the priceless Millennium Star, from the high-profile exhibition at the newly built Millennium Dome in Greenwich, London. The twist? They almost pulled it off.
Almost.
But before the infamous raid came months of misfires, muddled plans, and some truly astonishing miscalculations that would eventually bring the entire operation crashing down—quite literally.
Before the Dome: Practice Makes… Nothing
The Dome raid wasn’t a sudden impulse. It was the grand finale in a string of criminal attempts that started earlier that year. The gang—comprising seasoned thieves including Ray Betson, William Cockram, Lee Wenham, Aldo Ciarrocchi, and others—first tried their luck in February 2000, in Nine Elms Lane, near Battersea Power Station.
Their target: an armoured truck carrying £10 million in cash. Their plan? Surround the van using four lorries, one of which was laden with Christmas trees. Beneath the festive foliage was a steel spike, intended to punch through the reinforced doors of the truck.
But their spike never got to see action.
In an unexpected twist, a commuter, late for work and clearly unimpressed by the unfolding traffic jam, climbed into the lead lorry and removed the ignition key. That was it. The entire plan came unstuck because of a bloke who just wanted to get to the office. The gang made a hasty retreat to a speedboat on the Thames, remotely detonating explosives in the lorries behind them.
They left a message scrawled into the lorry’s paint: "Persistent, aren’t we?"
A Second Shot with Pies and Even Less Success
Undeterred, the gang tried again five months later, this time in Aylesford, Kent. Another security van, another steel spike, another flurry of armed men. They managed to ram the vehicle, with one of the gang even entering and threatening the guards by claiming there were explosives inside that would detonate if anyone tried anything funny (which seems dramatic until you realise the “explosives” were green-painted tins of Fray Bentos Steak and Kidney Pie with flashing lights)
So far, so good.
But then—sirens. The gang hadn’t accounted for a passing police car that just happened to be in the wrong place (for them) at the right time (for the rest of us). Cue panic, and another inflatable speedboat escape down the Medway, leaving behind a wealth of forensic evidence—most memorably, a pair of rubber gloves containing DNA-laced saliva.
By now, the Metropolitan Police and Kent Serious Crime Squad were circling. Their primary suspect, Lee Wenham, was already a familiar face—on file for car theft, drug smuggling, and money laundering. What caught their attention was Wenham’s repeated visits to the Millennium Dome’s Money Zone, where the De Beers diamond exhibition—including the showstopping Millennium Star—was housed.
Operation Magician: The Police Pull a Rabbit Out of the Hat
In response to these near-misses and suspicious Dome visits, the Flying Squad (Scotland Yard’s elite anti-robbery unit) launched Operation Magician, helmed by the cool-headed Detective Superintendent Jon Shatford.
In early September, surveillance officers observed Wenham and accomplices at the Dome—filming, taking notes, timing the tides. The gang was especially interested in high tide windows, leading police to suspect a boat-based escape plan. Meanwhile, in Kent, the gang tested speedboats and stockpiled equipment at isolated farms. The Flying Squad covertly placed the entire gang under 24/7 watch, documenting their every move.
Inside the Dome, security protocols were quietly overhauled. The priceless diamonds were replaced with flawless replicas. A fake wall was erected behind the exhibit, concealing 20 armed officers from SCO19, the Met’s Specialist Firearms Command. All this happened while thousands of visitors enjoyed the exhibit, none the wiser that they were standing in what would soon become a crime scene.
The Big Day: 7 November 2000
After two aborted attempts—one scuppered by a broken speedboat, the other by low tide—the gang made their move on a chilly Tuesday morning.
At precisely 9:30am, the gang smashed through the Dome’s perimeter using a JCB digger. Four men emerged wearing gas masks and body armour, armed with sledgehammers, nail guns, and smoke bombs. Their target: the Millennium Star, worth £200 million, plus a selection of rare blue diamonds.
Smoke filled the air as the gang got to work. Cockram used the nail gun to weaken the bombproof glass; Adams followed up with a sledgehammer. They were inches from their prize.
Then the wall burst open.
From every direction came armed officers. The gang barely had time to react. Outside, police nabbed the driver of the digger—Ray Betson—who insisted, “It’s okay, I work here.” (Nice try, Ray.) Down by the river, the speedboat operator was arrested mid-idle. On the opposite bank, another suspect monitoring police radios was detained. At a nearby van, Terry Millman was also apprehended.
In total, over 200 officers were involved in the takedown. It was the largest single operation in Flying Squad history—and it had worked perfectly.
The Trial: Diamonds Aren’t Forever (Especially Fake Ones)
The trial began on 8 November 2001 at the Old Bailey. By then, Terry Millman had died of cancer, and only six of the gang stood trial.
During proceedings, the gang’s misplaced confidence became apparent. Cockram expressed disbelief at the Dome’s lack of security: “There was nobody in the vault… it was a gift!” He claimed the ammonia he carried was only to erase DNA, not to harm anyone. He also described the operation as something that could be done “in five minutes, maximum.”
Betson claimed he was roped in by a brother-in-law working at the Dome, who had mentioned an inside man named “Tony.” He was adamant he’d only joined the plot because it came from someone he trusted. (Tony, for the record, denied everything.)
In summing up, Crown Prosecutor Martin Heslop, QC, described the plan as “professionally, carefully, and meticulously carried out,” but acknowledged that it had only failed because the police had done their jobs even better.
After seven days of deliberation, the jury delivered majority verdicts. Sentences ranged from five to 18 years:
Raymond Betson & William Cockram – 18 years (later reduced to 15)
Aldo Ciarrocchi & Robert Adams – 15 years (Ciarrocchi’s later reduced to 12)
Lee Wenham – Four years for conspiracy to steal, plus nine years for the earlier Kent robbery
Kevin Meredith – Five years for conspiracy to steal (cleared of conspiracy to rob)
Mugshot of Dome gang members (top left), Lee Wenham (top right), Terence Millman (bottom left) Ray Betson (bottom right) William Cockram 
Aldo Ciarrocchi 
Following the trial, Bob Adams died in prison
What Happened Next?
Perhaps most amusingly, the JCB digger used in the raid was later auctioned off by the manufacturer. Still dented and cracked from its run through the Dome, it was put up for sale at a JCB auction after being recovered from insurers.
As for the Millennium Star, it remained unscathed, never leaving its secure hiding place. One of the other blue diamonds featured in the exhibition later sold at Sotheby’s Hong Kong for £4.2 million in 2010.
The so-called mastermind, James Hurley, nicknamed “The Boatman” by police, fled the country before the raid and was later tracked to Puerto Banus in Spain. Though arrested following a dramatic police operation, the Crown Prosecution Service later dropped the extradition request, citing insufficient evidence to secure a conviction.
The Millennium Dome Diamond Heist, an Audacious Flop for the Ages
The Millennium Dome diamond heist remains one of Britain’s most audacious, elaborately planned, and utterly unsuccessful crimes. It had all the makings of a Hollywood thriller—meticulous surveillance, high-tech getaway plans, fake bombs, and near-priceless diamonds. But in the end, what it really delivered was a comedy of criminal errors.
Despite years of planning, tens of thousands of pounds invested, and several trial runs, the gang never laid a finger on the real diamonds. Thanks to the Flying Squad’s flawless execution, the gang went down, and the gems stayed exactly where they belonged.