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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comobligations under the Madrid agreement by finding your currentemployment and we are therefore not minded to help you further.'The arrogant reply added to my anger. It would have been easy for themto use their contacts to help find something. `Stuff their lifelongduty of confidentiality then,' I thought to myself. A book contractcould be my ticket out of Milton Keynes. I wrote to MI6 to ask how tosubmit a draft manuscript with a view to potential publication. Byreturn post, they sent a strongly worded letter saying that it would beillegal even for me to write a draft and demanded an assurance that Ihad not started work on it. If they were not going to be reasonable,then it would have to be done secretly.MI6 would be listening to my telephone at home, even though they hadpromised in their àgreement' not to intercept my communications. Butmy work PC had an internet connection and it was unlikely that theycould get a warrant for that. One afternoon in early September, I firedoff a two-line e-mail to Shona Martyn, asking her to get in touch ifshe was interested in pursuing the project. After two weeks she had notreplied, so presuming that her answer was no, I thought no further ofit.A few days later, on 8 September, my landlady rang me at work in anagitated state. Ì'm afraid your flat's been burgled this morning. Inoticed the upstairs window was broken and when I checked through yourkitchen window I saw the place had been ransacked.'I rushed home immediately. A token attempt had been made to disguisethe theft as a normal burglary; the contents of the fridge were strewnacross the floor and and my bookcase had been overturned. But theidentity of the culprits was not hard to guess as the only item ofvalue that had gone was the laptop containing the draft. The TV,stereo, video-recorder and even small valuables had not been touched.The police arrived to have a poke around but they were not interestedin taking any forensic evidence.Contrary to their promise, MI6 intercepted my e-mail and my brief lapsein security sparked not only the burglary but much more significantevents thousands of kilometres away. After intercepting the note toMartyn, it wasn't difficult for them to find out who she was. The e-mail address gave them the name of her Australian internet serviceprovider, which in turn gave MI6 her name and street address.On Friday 24 October 1997, Agent Jackson of the Australian FederalPolice arrived at Transworld asking to speak to Shona Martyn. Sheagreed, granting him a two-hour interview during which she provided afull and detailed account of our meeting, handed over my synopsis andthen signed a witness statement.On Friday, 30 October, having a lunchtime appointment for a haircut inWavenden, I popped home from work for a quick bite to eat first. As Iwas putting the kettle on, there was a knock on the door. It was theyoung constable from Buckinghamshire police, PC Ellis, who hadinvestigated the mysterious theft of my laptop. With him was a burlyplainclothes inspector. `Hello, Mr Tomlinson, there have been some newdevelopments concerning your burglary and we want to ask you a few morequestions about it.' Ellis seemed friendly enough, and introduced hispage- 163 - 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.comcolleague as Inspector Garrold of CID. `Would you mind if we cameinside?' Ellis asked.The same feeling of impending doom came over me that I used to feelwhen about to be tanned at school for some petty misdemeanour. If theywere going to arrest me, they would have a search warrant, so the onlything to be gained by refusing them entry was a broken door. `Sure,come on in,' I replied, trying to sound indifferent.`Would you mind taking a seat?' Garrold said in a tone that gave me nooption but to sit down on the sofa. He and Ellis stood over memenacingly. `You are under arrest for breaking section 1 of the 1989Official Secrets Act,' Garrold announced. He grabbed one wrist, Ellisthe other, and I was in handcuffs.More cars pulled up on the gravel drive outside and quickly my flat wasfilled with plainclothes officers, their mobile phones bleeping. Twojoined Garrold in standing over me, menacingly. I caught glimpses oftheir gun-holsters under their sports-jackets, a sinister sight in theUK where police officers are rarely armed. The atmosphere became evenmore threatening when the friendly Ellis bade goodbye, a concerned lookon his face. A little moustached Welshman opened up as soon as Ellishad left. ÒK, Tomlinson, where's the fucking gun?' he demanded.`What gun?' I asked, bemused.`The gun, don't fuck us around, where's your gun?' he glared. Theirinsistence that I was armed added to the sense of unreality, as if itwere another IONEC mock arrest.Ì haven't got a gun, never have had one, and I'm never likely to wantone,' I replied with complete bafflement.The Welshman detected my bemusement and softened his inquisition. `Wehave information that you brought back a gun from your time in Bosnia.We want to know where it is.'Àh, now I understand!' I laughed. `That gun's rusting at the bottom ofthe Adriatic.' MI6 must have told the police that I had kept it,perhaps in order to persuade them to make the arrest as heavy-handed aspossible.Garrold ordered me to stand, removed the handcuffs, and strip-searchedme. Finding nothing of interest, he pushed me back on to the sofa. Forthe next three hours, forced by the tightly clamped rigid handcuffs tohunch with my wrists by my chin and elbows in my lap like a stuffedchicken, I watched the latex-gloved officers dismantle my flat,checking behind every picture, lifting edges of the carpet, strippingthe bed, rummaging through my dirty laundry. Every item of interest wassealed in a plastic bag and deposited in a large white box brought forthe purpose. It filled steadily. First was my newly purchased Psionorganiser, which I had left on the coffee table. Then all the computerdisks. Myriad scraps of paper with innocent phone numbers scribbled onto them. My Spanish-English dictionary. Various home videos. My photoalbum. I was not at all worried until a bald-headed officer, searchingmy leather motorcycle jacket, suddenly piped up, `Got something here,sir.' The others clustered over my jacket. Prodding and pushing at thepage- 164 - 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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