The Big Breach - Index of

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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comwas peering up at me from his wobbly perch, sweating profusely in themidday sun, pretending that there was a gas leak in the hope that thiswould trick me into opening the door.`You've got the wrong building,' I replied mockingly from my sunlounger.`This building is electricity only! Try that building overthere,' I pointed out the neighbouring block. `Yes, I can smell the gasfrom over there!' I said with an exaggerated gesticulation.Òpen the door,' he ordered back impatiently, pulling out from his toppocket a heavily chromed police ID badge and thrusting it at me, thegesticulation sending the ladder into a worrying sway. `Police, openthe door.'ÒK,' I smiled, `but why didn't you just come up the stairs and knockon the door? It's a lot easier than coming up a ladder.' I ducked backinto the apartment before I could see his reaction. It was Wednesday,17 May, the same day that Mrs Stella Rimington, the former head of MI5,announced that she intended to publish her memoirs about MI5, and wasnegotiating a huge advance with a British publisher. Unlike me, she hadnot been arrested or had her computer confiscated and the Britishauthorities were happy to let her publish. As in the Patten case, itwas one rule for the people at the top and another for the little guylike me. Britain's 24-hour news channel, Sky News, had booked me for alive telephone interview at 1530 to discuss this jaw-droppinghypocrisy. The phone started ringing as the Italian police burst intomy flat.Ùp against the wall,' screamed the two heavies who led the charge,their pistols drawn and pointing at my chest.Àll right, calm down,' I urged them. It was my tenth police bust and Ihad my hands up against the wall and feet apart before they'd evenrecovered their breath. Five other officers entered the room and oneput the lights on. `Hey, turn them off,' I ordered, remembering a tipgiven me by Onion-head. `You might have a warrant to search my room,but you haven't got one to steal my electricity.' The irritated officerflicked them off and went over to raise the blinds. The sweaty chiefarrived a few minutes later, introduced himself as Inspector Verrandoof Rimini DIGOS, the Italian special investigations police, andpresented two British SB officers who had come along for a day's outingon the Italian seaside. Whereas Peters and Ratcliffe had some humandecency and intelligence, these were a couple of jobsworths, selectedto follow MI6 orders unquestioningly.The search of my flat took about two hours. The jobsworths waved avaguely worded warrant that empowered them under the Mutual AssistanceAct to confiscate anything they wanted. My computer and Psion werefirst in the pile. Then my whole CD collection, both music andsoftware. Ì'm not competent to examine them for hidden files,'announced Jobsworth One.Àre you competent to do anything?' I replied helpfully.Next all my legal papers. Then my mobile phone. `So that we can see whoyou've been calling,' explained Jobsworth Two.page- 229 - 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.comThen the television remote control. `So you can see what I've beenwatching on telly?' I asked.Finally they helped themselves to one of my suitcases, loaded it up andannounced they were ready to interview me at the Rimini police station.Glancing behind as they escorted me out, I realised they had cleared myroom of everything of value. The only thing they couldn't get in mysuitcase was the television containing the precious disk.Verrando interviewed me for six hours before he realised that I haddone nothing illegal and that the British police had abused the powersof the Mutual Assistance Act. But by then it was too late. Thejobsworths were on their way back to London with all my belongings.They returned my suitcase a few days later when I faxed the head of SBin London with a description of their incompetence, but I never saw mycomputers, software, CDs, mobile phone or TV remote control again.A few days later, Verrando wrote asking me to go back to the policestation. I ignored his request, thinking it meant trouble. I had justapplied for registration in Rimini, which I needed in order tolegitimise my presence in Italy, and presumed that Verrando wanted totell me that I couldn't have it and order me to leave Italy. If theywanted me urgently, they would come and get me, I reasoned. I heardnothing more until I bumped into an off-duty Verrando browsing the topshelf of a newsagent's in the town centre. `Why didn't you come to seeus the other day?' he enquired politely, hurriedly grabbing aphotography magazine from a lower shelf. `Your permit is ready. TheBritish embassy in Rome rang us and asked us not to give you one, so wedecided to give you it immediately so that they would not be able totake the decision up to the Interior Ministry.'But I was underestimating their capacity for spite. MI6 might have lostthe support of the Italian police, but that didn't deter them. Drivingup the autostrada to Milan to see an Italian lawyer about theconfiscations, I found that I was under surveillance. It started offdiscreetly just outside Rimini, but by Bologna I had made repeatsightings and noted the number plates of three cars - a white FiatPunto, a silver Volkswagen Golf and a grey Fiat Bravo. The Golf got soclose on several occasions that I could clearly make out the driver, aswarthy character dressed in a red vest. I rang the lawyer in Milan foradvice, and he called the police. They told me to pull into theStradale Nord service station, just outside Piacenza, and I watched inmy rear-view mirror as the Punto and Golf followed me off the motorwayand parked up behind the service station complex, partially shielded bysome bushes. The Fiat Bravo continued up the motorway, no doubt to parkup in a lay-by to watch for when I left the service station. TheItalian police arrived 20 minutes later in a Fiat patrol car, and Iexplained the situation to them. They were sceptical at first and I hadto stretch my Italian vocabulary to persuade them that I was notcompletely mad. They realised I was not a crank when they eventuallyapproached the two vehicles. The four occupants promptly abandonedtheir cars, scattering into the nearby woods. `Go on, shoot, shoot!' Iurged the police, pointing at the machine-guns hanging from theirwaists, but disappointingly they were not too enthused by the idea.The police poked around the vehicles to see if the occupants had leftany traces of their identity, but there was nothing except empty cokepage- 230 - 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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