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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comhe glared through the thick lenses at me as his words sunk in and Itried to imagine what he meant.`But you can't arrest me, you promised in writing that you wouldn't,' Iretorted feebly.`That promise stood only for as long as negotiations were in progress,'snapped Morrison. Ìf you don't sign, we will end the negotiations . ..'There was no choice but to sign. Morrison had cornered me: firstdenying me a lawyer, then bringing Watts as a wingman, then using asoft, concerned approach to build my confidence and trust, and finally,once I had taken the bait, luring me into the safe ground of theembassy. They would not have made empty threats, and no doubt SBofficers would be waiting with handcuffs outside, ready to arrest me.Even if they decided that repatriation from the embassy would belegally tricky, they would set me up for an arrest by the GuardiaCivil, perhaps with false evidence on trumped-up charges. It didn'ttake much imagination to think how it could be done - planting drugs inmy room or on the Honda wouldn't be difficult.Grabbing a biro that lay amongst the jumble of papers on the desk, Isigned angrily, my normal signature distorted by my fear.THURSDAY, 20 MARCH 1997MANCHESTER AIRPORT12. THE BREACHAs the UK Air flight from Malaga touched down I regretted leavingSpain. Staring out the Airbus's porthole, my mood reflected theweather: dull, cold and raining in the way that only happens inManchester. It was not impossible that MI6 had tricked me intoreturning to the UK so it was a relief not to be stopped as I checkedthrough passport control using my real passport, none the worse for itseight months in the petrol tank. Alex Huntley's passport was carefullystitched into the armoured padding of my leather motorcycle jacket - itmight still prove useful.It was good to be back relaxing in Cumbria, enjoying home cooking,walking elderly Jesse along the Eden and on the occasional sunny daytaking the windsurfer out on Ullswater. But I could not stay thereforever; it was time to think about getting a job and starting a newcareer. I'd already ruled out the obvious option for someone with afirst-class degree and a couple of languages. Returning to the world ofstripy shirts and champagne-quaffing hoorays would become overwhelminginside of a week. The new job would have to be as challenging andstimulating as working for MI6. That would not be straightforward.Morrison told me in Madrid that the service had sorted out a job inìndustry'. It transpired that this was in the marketing department ofa motor racing team, owned by former world champion driver JackieStewart, in the Buckinghamshire new town of Milton Keynes. It soundedglamorous and interesting but I was not sure whether it would bepage- 159 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comsuitable. Classmates who had gone into marketing from Cambridge wereall cloth-headed lower-second geography graduates too thick to getanything better and I doubted that selling anything could match theexhilaration of running agents in Bosnia or the stimulation of matchingwits with Iranian terrorists. And no one with two neurons firing wouldintentionally move from London to Milton Keynes, a sterile planned townthat gave new meaning to the word `boring'.MI6 arranged an interview with the company and, due to their behindthe-scenesstring-pulling rather than the strength of my credentials, Iwas offered the job. But it was at a salary 25 per cent below my MI6pay, in direct contradiction to Morrison's promise; MI6 had alreadyreneged on their own àgreement'. A quick tour of Milton Keynesfollowing the interview confirmed that its reputation was richlydeserved. I didn't immediately accept the job, and decided to lookaround elsewhere. Knowing that it would be easier to forget my disputewith MI6 and settle into a duff job if I had the stimulation of livingabroad in an attractive country, I decided to try my luck in Australia.Holidays there had always been barmy, and my New Zealand passport wouldgive me full resident rights.I took a Qantas 747 to Sydney on 19 April, intending to spend afortnight looking round the job and housing market. After a week in thebright, vibrant and cosmopolitan city the prospect of returning toMilton Keynes to start on the bottom rung of a career in marketingseemed dire, so I telephoned Stewart Grand Prix declining their offer.They begged me to reconsider, probably at the behest of MI6 rather thanany genuine desire to employ me, and told me they would ring back againin a week.Because it would be a breach of the OSA to reveal my former employmentwith MI6, personnel ordered me to claim on my CV that I had voluntarilyleft employment with the FCO. Clearly this wouldn't work. No employerwould believe that I had voluntarily resigned from a well-paid andstimulating job in the British FCO in order to start at the bottom on alower salary in a private-sector job. There was no alternative but totell the truth about my former employment and the manner of mydismissal. I had nothing to be ashamed of; my dismissal was illegal andthere was no reason to lie to a potential future employer just to saveblushes for MI6. But nevertheless, the job-search was not easy. TheAustralian economy was going through a rough patch and companies werelaying people off. My CV would hardly be regarded as conventional atthe best of economic times. Facing economic uncertainties themselves,companies were not prepared to take a punt on an unknown quantity likemyself. As the rejection letters piled up, so did my anger at MI6. Theidea of publishing a book reared its head again. Peter Wright hadsucceeded in getting Spycatcher published in Australia, so perhaps thatprecedent would be helpful to me? Starting with the Às', Imethodically rang all the publishers listed in the Sydney phonedirectory. The initial response was discouraging, mostly: `We only dealwith literary agents.' But my luck changed when I started on the `Ts'.The receptionist of Transworld Publishers in Neutral Bay put mestraight through to a junior commissioning editor, Jude McGhee. Shesounded interested and we agreed to meet the next day at the trendyVerona Caf‚ on Sydney's Oxford Street. The meeting went well andMcGhee, a young New Zealander, invited me to Transworld's offices thefollowing day to meet her boss.page- 160 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
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