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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comextend the garde en vue. You will probably be released as you havebroken no French law.' I kept my fingers crossed.Gruignard came to my cell an hour later to say that the judge had giventhem permission to hold me for a further 24 hours. My spirits had beenreasonably high until then, but the news that they would not release mehit hard. Gruignard told me that they still had not been able todecrypt the files in my computer and they would not release me untilthey were cracked. `But it is impossible to crack PGP encryption,' Iretorted in French. `Breaking it would take a Cray supercomputer atleast six months!'Àlors, donnez-nous le mot de passe,' replied Gruignard. They wereblackmailing me: no password, no release.Fortunately, Gruignard was bluffing. At about 2200, Broisniard andGruignard had had enough and came to my cell with broad smiles. `Youare free,' Broisniard announced. `You have broken no French law.'`So if I broke no French law, why did you arrest me?' I askedfuriously.`The English asked,' shrugged Broisniard. `They said that you were aterrorist and dangerous. That is why we beat you up,' he continued,matter-of-factly.`Can I see the warrant?' I demanded.`You're free without charges, why do you want to see that?' heretorted.`The English want your computers,' Gruignard said, changing thesubject. He showed me my Psion and brand new laptop, smothered in redsealing wax and string, ready to be sent off to London for examination.(I did not see them again for five months, despite energetic recoveryattempts by Anne-Sophie Levy, a young Parisian lawyer who volunteeredto represent me. It wasn't until Christmas 1998 that she rang me totell me that SB had finally agreed to return them. They did not findanything illegal on either computer and did not charge me with anyoffence. SB posted them back to me, but although my laptop came backunharmed, exasperatingly, my Psion, containing most of my importantpersonal information, never arrived. SB claimed that it must have been`lost in the post'.)`Je veux parler avec les anglais cons,' I demanded to Broisniard,intent on giving Ratcliffe and Whaley a piece of my mind.`They've gone down the Pigalle,' he replied with a smirk. I consideredgoing to the notorious red-light district with a camera to look forthem, but settled for a good night's sleep. Broisniard and Groignardled me out to the car, at last without handcuffs, and drove me round toa nearby cheap hotel. They handed over my NZ passport with theexplanation that the British had picked it up from the embassy for meand even shook hands as they left me in the lobby.With little sleep the whole weekend, my instinct was to crash out butthere was work to be done. Adverse publicity for MI6 would be the bestpage- 211 - 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.comweapon to dissuade them from trying the same tactic again and I got towork ringing London. Most of the British papers carried the storyprominently the following morning, portraying MI6 adversely.SB had been busy in London the same weekend. At 6 a.m. on the day of myarrest, they burst into the south London flat of Kathryn Bonella,pulled her out of bed and took her down to Charing Cross police stationfor questioning about her meetings with me. She was eventually releasedwithout charge, but not before SB threatened to cancel her UK workpermit.After a few hours sleep, I got up early the next morning, packed mybags and checked out. MI6 would be disappointed they had not been ableto detain me and they would be working overtime on the computers. Ifthey realised that the Psion disk was missing, there was no point inhanging around waiting for another chat with the DST. I took the Parismetro to the Gare du Nord, where there was a small independent travelagent who specialised in cheap tickets to Australasia. They sold me aticket for a Nippon Airways flight which left from Charles De Gaulleairport late that evening to Tokyo, where I changed for the New Zealandleg.Àre you Richard Tomlinson?' a spotty, callow young man in a cheap suitaddressed me with a Kiwi accent.`No,' I replied dismissively, thrusting my trolley through the airportcrowd. He looked like he might be trouble, and having just stepped offthe long flight from Paris I was not in a mood to do an interview.`You are Richard Tomlinson, aren't you?' he persisted, impatientlystrutting alongside my trolley.Ì most definitely am not,' I replied in a Pythonesque French accent,Ì am Mr Napoleon Bonaparte. And who are you?'But the stranger was undeterred. `You are Richard Tomlinson, and Ihereby serve you with this injunction,' he announced pompously,thrusting a thick sheaf of official-looking papers on to my trolley,and scuttled off anonymously into the crowds.Thumbing through the 85 pages of legal jargon intended to stop mespeaking to the media in New Zealand, it mystified me what MI6 were soafraid of. I learnt nothing in MI6 that would be of interest to the NewZealand media. The gagging order, taken out at considerable expense tothe British public, was intended only to stop me criticising the wayMI6 had treated me. Sitting in the back of the cab on my way to theCopthorne hotel on the Auckland waterfront, the thought of all thosecivil servants slaving away over their weekend putting together theinjunction against me made me smile.MI6 could not have used a more stupid tactic, as everybody wanted toknow why they had gagged me. The next few days were a hectic whirlwindof interviews with New Zealand television and newspapers. The news sooncrossed the Tasman Sea to Australia, and the Australian media wantedinterviews with me. Even Time magazine picked up the story and ran afull-page article covering my arrest in Paris, the injunction and thepage- 212 - 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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