The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comstopped in a cheap hostel. There was no fixed destination - my turnstook me down country roads that looked interesting and avoided thoseleading to ominous clouds. The random route took me from Calais to theindustrial city of Le Mans, down to Poitiers, across the Massif Centralto Marseilles, through the Languedoc, then over the Pyrennees intoSpain. There the language was easier and it rained less. After driftingdown the Mediterranean coast, my journey was brought to a halt in theAndalucian coastal town of Fuengirola when the drive chain jumped thesprocket. The local Honda dealer said it would take several days for areplacement to arrive.I was as worn out by the long ride as the motorcycle, so when a timesharehustler on the town promenade said he knew of somebody with aflat to rent until the tourist season started, it seemed the rightplace to stop. On 15 April I moved into the small bedsit, unpacked myfew belongings and settled in. The money hidden in the petrol tank wasenough to live on frugally for about four months and, if it becamenecessary, selling the Honda could extend my sojourn. This should belong enough to draft a book. I set up my old laptop and started typing.The injustice of being forced out of my home, and the loss of my steadyincome and comfortable lifestyle rankled hard: it felt good to startputting the story on paper at last.Within a week of my disappearance, MI6 started looking for me, alertedby the silence on my telephone. Unaware that I was now Alex Huntley,they looked fruitlessly for Richard Tomlinson. My bank account in theUK was examined by Cumbria SB but yielded no clues because I had paidcash throughout the journey. Tapping my parents' telephone yieldednothing because I rang home using a GSM mobile phone with disposableSIM card, making it impossible to pin me down. Soon friends in Londonreceived a phone call from a `Mr Sturton' of the FCO, MI6 havingobtained their names and telephone numbers from intercepts of my homephone. Feigning compassion, `Sturton' claimed the FCO wished to assureitself of my wellbeing, fearing that I was suicidal. They were na‹ve toimagine that my friends would fall for the despicable pretence. Withoutexception, they phoned me to report the approach. Even Shaggy told mehe'd been rung up by a `toff'; he just offered to sell him some dope.One afternoon, without the courtesy of making an appointment, twofemale MI6 officers arrived in Cumbria, having travelled from Londonthat morning. My parents were too polite to turn them away after theirjourney and invited them in for tea. They stayed for over two hours,pretending to be concerned for my safety and trying to trick my parentsinto revealing my whereabouts. It was a futile exercise. My parentswere completely behind me, and the officers left empty-handed.Joining MI6 was rather like joining a religious cult. The IONEC was theinitiation process. We went in wide-eyed and innocent, a blank sheet onwhich training department imprinted their ideas. The impression thatthe work was wholesome and justified was reinforced by the carefullynurtured culture within the service. We were reminded constantly andsubtly that we carried special responsibilities and the brainwashingprocess instilled a deep-grained loyalty. Even after the shoddytreatment from personnel, I felt fealty to MI6. It wasn't the sameunquestioning loyalty of before, but the embers were still glowing andcould easily have been fully rekindled. If, by some amazing twist ofpage- 153 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com