The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comfate, they had rung me up, apologised and offered me my job back, Iwould have gone.This sense of loyalty was strong enough to make me feel uncomfortableabout my writing. Some mornings I woke in my bedist burning with angerand the words flew forth. But more often I felt guilty about violatingmy lingering loyalty to the service and dreaded the confrontation thatpublishing would provoke. If there were another solution to resolve thedispute, I would embrace it openly. All I wanted was the chance to takethem to an employment tribunal and prove to myself, my friends andfamily, and to the likes of Kate Hoey and Malcolm Rifkind, that mydismissal was unjustified. There was no possibility of getting my jobback but at least I would be able to hold my head high at an interviewwith a future employer and explain that the dismissal had been provenillegal.MI6 had the upper hand and felt no pressure to negotiate. They hadlistened and watched impassively as my personal situation disintegratedin London, so they would not negotiate now. The only way to get them tothe table was to switch to terrorist tactics; some juicy titbits in thenewspapers would wake them up.On 12 May, the Sunday Times published a small piece about MI6's spyingoperations against the French. Terry Forton had told me one day overlunch in Vauxhall Cross that he was working under cover as a defencejournalist to run a French engineer on the Brest naval base. Forton waspaying the witless informer to provide information on a secret Frenchtechnology to track submarines using satellites to spot the tinysurface wake they left, even when submerged. The information I gave theSunday Times was unsubstantiated and vague, because it had come to mesecond-hand from Forton, so the newspaper used a bit of journalisticimagination to pad the story. It made a small splash on the back pagebut no doubt caused a few more ripples in Vauxhall Cross.Later that week I rode down the coast to Gibraltar and faxed my mobilephone number to the office, asking them to contact me. MI6 wouldalready know my number from intercepting calls to my parents, but theywould not dare ring me on it until they had it `officially' from me.MI6 did not contact me over the next two weeks, so I rang the SundayTimes again. They were very interested in the `hot potato' story ofpossible Bosnian-Serb donations to the Tories. This time they ran thestory on the front page, with follow up articles inside. It caused abig rumpus in Fleet Street, with the broadsheets running second-daystories on Monday and follow-ups for most of the week. It must havebeen embarrassing for the Conservatives and I hoped that angry Toryministers would force MI6 to take action.A few days later, when the media storm had subsided, a grave-soundingmessage was left on my mobile phone, asking me to ring a London number.My call was answered by Geoff Morrison, a personnel officer I had metbriefly. He was on the verge of retirement and presumably was asked totake on this one last job because there was too much animosity betweenmyself and other members of the department. `Would you be prepared tomeet me?' Morrison asked.page- 154 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com