The Big Breach - Index of

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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comfound a good barrister to argue your case,' he announced. Òwen Daviesis a flamboyant character, who has a good reputation for taking onpolitical and human rights cases. He's really keen to take you on -it'll make a change from representing death-row inmates in Jamaica,'John added encouragingly.Inevitably I/OPS would have been working over the weekend to ensurethat Monday's media would report my arrest with favourable spin, so webatted back by drafting a short counter-spinner. It was a prudent move,as the Monday morning early edition broadsheets and the Today programmeon BBC Radio 4 all initially quoted the MI6 line that I had beenarrested for `selling secrets'. It was only when they received our ownrelease that they moderated their line to report that I had merelyshown a short synopsis to an Australian publisher.On Sunday night, I asked the duty sergeant to open me up early in themorning to give me time to wash and shave. Permission was granted butthe request `forgotten', so the next morning I was handuffed andescorted to Bow Street magistrates court unshaven and unwashed. It wasa trivial but demeaning little ploy to ensure that I looked asdisreputable as possible.A Group 4 security van picked me up from the police station and in thecells at Bow Street their officers strip-searched me again. `You'll beup in the dock in about 15 minutes,' the young guard informed me,`would you like anything to drink?' I sat down, sipped the sickly sweettea and tried to read Gladstone.At last the door clanked open and the Group 4 guards entered the cellto re-handcuff me. My cell was at the end of a long corridor, and as wepassed cell after cell captive faces pressed up against the tiny doorhatches to see what was going on. `Cor, he's all right,' screamed onefemale. `Put ìm in in here with me, and I'll sort him out for ya'.'`Shut up, Mary,' the guards chuckled, slamming shut her hatch as wepassed.Wadham was waiting in the corridor outside the court with a begownedbarrister. `Hi, I'm Owen Davies.' He extended a hand to greet me, histanned wrist adorned with the sort of beaded bracelet favoured by beachbums. `Why is he handcuffed?' Davies demanded of my guards as herealised I couldn't reciprocate the greeting.`We've instructions from above that he has to be handcuffed to appearin court,' replied the young guard sheepishly. Making me appearhandcuffed, unshaved and in three-day-old clothes would make me appearmore villainous to the assembled press gallery than if I was cleanscrubbed and in a fresh suit.`Well, we're not having that,' retorted Davies. He shooed the guardsaway for a confidential word with me. `Before you even go in the dock,we'll insist that you appear without handcuffs. They are just trying toswing the magistrate against you.' I had never been in trouble before,had no history of violence and had been arrested for nothing more thanwriting out a few words on five sheets of paper, yet I was beingtreated like a master criminal or a terrorist. Davies and Wadhampage- 167 - 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.comreturned to the court to argue that I should not be shackled, and I wasled back down to the cells.Davies won the first skirmish. Twenty minutes later, my handcuffs wereremoved at the door to the court and I walked to the dock with mydignity. The packed court fell silent. Glancing up to the publicgallery, I tried to pick out my father but he was lost in a sea ofunfamiliar faces. To my left the press gallery was packed withreporters, their faces familiar from television. A press artist wasalready starting to map out a sketch of me that would be used toillustrate the story in the following day's newspaper articles.Alongside Wadham and Davies to the right were the prosecutionbarristers, amongst them one of the MI6 legal representatives. Iwondered what satisfaction he could possibly get from bringing thisprosecution against a former colleague.The court clerk asked me to stand to confirm my name and address, thenColin Gibbs of the CPS (Crown Prosecution Service) opened the case,arguing that bail should not be granted because I would certainlyattempt to abscond. Although Gibbs admitted that my passports had beenconfiscated, he launched into a flattering though greatly exaggeratedaccount about my training in the use of disguise and ability to crossborders illegally. After 15 minutes of character assassination, OwenDavies stood up to argue for bail. My father had offered the titledeeds to his house as a surety and I had offered my own. It was absurdto imagine that, facing a maximum two-year sentence, I would abscondand have my flat and my parents' home confiscated. But as soon as theexamining magistrate started his summing-up speech it was clear that hehad decided to remand me in custody. Ì have no doubt that you would bea danger to national security if you were given bail,' he intonedgravely, as if he had already made up his mind before hearing Davies'arguments. The guards indicated for me to come down off the dock andbrought me back down to the court cells.Wadham and Davies came down to see me afterwards to offer theirsympathies. Peering through the door hatch, John spoke first. Ìt's nosurprise, really, that you didn't get bail. Magistrates are scaredstiff of the OSA.'`We'll try again next week,' added Owen, his mischievous eyestwinkling. `Look on the bright side. You'll be a lot more comfortableon remand in jail than in a police cell - at least there you'll get ashower.'And so my life was about to take a new twist that just a short whileago would have been inconceivable. As the Group 4 prison van drove mesouth towards Brixton jail, it passed over Vauxhall Bridge, withinsight of my former employer. As I peered out of the porthole window atthe building where I had spent happier times, I rued the chain ofevents which had led to my situation. In just a few years, I had gonefrom being the holder of an EPV certificate in the most sensitive partof the British government, trusted with secrets denied to all but thehighest officials, to becoming a scruffy dishevelled prisoner headingfor one of London's dingiest and most notorious jails.Òi you, Basildon. Follow me.' I looked up at the tattooed screw whohad just entered the smoke-filled cell where I had been held sincepage- 168 - 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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