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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comfacetiousness, but with Ratcliffe's irrelevant questions. They hadarrested me at gunpoint, as if I were a terrorist, and now Ratcliffejust wanted to know about my job interviews and whether I had used theinternet.The Janet and John style of the interrogation was leaving me plenty oftime to think, and I went through a mental list of everything on mycomputer and Psion. I was not confident they would find nothingincriminating. Files on my laptop were encrypted with PGP and the harddisk had recently been defragmented so there was no danger there. Butalthough everything in my Psion was also encrypted, I feared that theymight succeed in breaking the small encryption program. Moreover, theywould probably keep the computers, and the Psion contained importantinformation including all my contacts and research on the job market,my bank account details and PIN numbers. I would be crippled withoutit. The Psion sat temptingly close on the desk between Broisniard andmyself; if only I could get hold of it without being seen.I asked Broisniard for a drink, as the adrenaline rush of the arresthad made me thirsty and it was hot in the interview room. Broisniardbarked an order into the internal phone and one of the guards came backa few minutes later with a bottle of Evian and put it on the desk. Ipicked it up with both handcuffed hands, took a swig and replaced itclose to the Psion. Ratcliffe wanted to know the password to myencrypted files and while his question was being translated and typed,I took another swig and replaced the bottle even closer. The questionwas put to me in French by Broisniard.`The password is `Ìnspector Ratcliffe is a nonce'',' I lied.`C'est quoi, un ``nonce''?' Broisniard asked seriously. After myexplanation, the smirking Broisniard repeated the phrase to Gruignardto tap it into the laptop and the interpreter leaned over to help withthe spelling. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ratcliffe andWhaley conferring, heads down. This was my chance. I reached for thebottle of Evian, took a swig, replaced it next to the Psion, slipped myhands down from the bottle, and grabbed the pocket-sized computer. Withit under the table and out of their sight, I slipped out the stampsizedmemory disk, stuffed it down my boot and replaced the Psion. Noneof the five police officers noticed anything and I couldn't stop myselfgrinning.The first interrogation session lasted about an hour but Ratcliffe gotnowhere. The heavies took me back to my cell and gave me a baguette, apiece of cheese and a cup of coffee. One sat down at the desk outsideand switched on a soap opera on the portable TV. Once he was no longerpaying me any attention, I pulled my boot off and slipped the Psiondisk under the sole-lining. It was a tight fit around the toe but Icould walk without showing a limp.Ratcliffe and Whaley were not present at the second interrogation. Ò—sont les anglais?' I asked politely.`Pah,' Broisniard flicked his wrist dismissively. He explained that hewas holding me `garde en vue', meaning he could hold me for up to 48hours without pressing charges, without allowing me to make a phonecall and without allowing me a lawyer. Only a police lawyer could visitpage- 209 - 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.comme after 20 hours to explain my legal rights. He then continued theinterview disinterestedly, running through a list of questons Ratcliffehad given him while Gruignard slowly tapped my banal responses into thelaptop.The increasingly bored Broisniard interviewed me once more that eveningbefore putting me back in a cell at about 11 p.m. with another bottleof Evian and a greasy bacon sandwich. Sleep would be difficult enoughin normal circumstances on a hard bench with no pillow, with the striplights on and a guard watching, but as soon as I lay down, I realisedthat the police had cracked a rib during their assault. The painprevented me lying on my left-hand side, and even lying on my back therib hurt every time I inhaled. It would be a long, sleepless night,giving me plenty of time to reflect on the events of the day. The sheerstupidity of MI6! What did they hope to achieve by arresting me? Theywould get a whole load more bad publicity once the details got out.Even if GCHQ set one of their Cray computers churning and six monthslater cracked the PGP files on my laptop, what would that prove? TheFrench would never extradite me for having encrypted files that wereshown to nobody, whatever the contents. I consoled myself with themessage they would find if they did crack the book-sized decoy file onmy laptop; `MI6, you are a bunch of sad fraggles and are wasting yourtime and taxpayers' money,' repeated thousands of times. The real textwas snuggled up under my big toe.Broisniard came to my cell at about 9 a.m. with a plastic cup ofinstant coffee, syrupy with sugar. It was Saturday morning and he wasprobably not happy about having his weekend wasted on a pointlessarrest. As I held out my wrists for the usual handcuffs, he shruggeddismissively. `No handcuffs this morning,' he replied in French. `Butif you fuck around, we'll beat you up,' he added, waving a finger at mesternly. I had a sneaking admiration for the DST - they didn'tpussyfoot around.Fortunately, the mood in the interrogation room lightened. Broisniardwas relaxed and even irreverent. He asked a few more of Ratcliffe'squestions, but with me repeating the same rubbish as yesterday he soongot bored and his questioning took another direction, which at firstleft me unsure how to respond. `How many times did you come to Franceon operations?' he asked, with a sly grin. It was not a straightforwardquestion. I had indeed been to France a few times on operations whichwere not declared to them. Was Broisniard really expecting me tocooperate, or was he leading me into a trap? Revealing details of MI6operations against France would breach the very law for which the DSTarrested me.I decided to play it safe. Ì'm sorry, I can't tell you about that.'`Why not?' asked Broisniard, slightly disappointed.`The British might ask you to arrest me,' I replied gravely.Broisniard gave up around lunchtime. Back in my cell, the guards boughtme another sandwich and a bottle of water and then, as I had been incustody for more than 20 hours, a young police lawyer visited toexplain my legal rights. `By lunchtime,' he explained, `you will havebeen in custody for 24 hours, and so a judge will decide whether topage- 210 - 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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