The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.com`Can I see your passport?' the guard asked.Spencer looked surprised and hesitant. `Why? This is still England,isn't it?'The guard sceptically raised an eyebrow. `I would like to check yourID, sir.'Spencer shifted uncomfortably. `Well, I've kind of forgotten it,' hereplied sheepishly. Spencer was eventually allowed to join us some tenminutes later, once the guard had carefully checked his biographicaldetails against the records.Two others joined us shortly afterwards, as if they had been observingfrom the wings. Their confident bearing suggested that they were incharge. `Welcome to IONEC 89, the 89th Intelligence Officers New EntryCourse since the Second World War,' announced the elder of the two.Jonathan Ball, a chain-smoking veteran from the cold war, would be theprincipal teacher on the six-month course, known in MI6 parlance by thedesignation TD7. In his late 40s, a heavy drinker judging by his floridfeatures, his rounded, chubby face and peculiar tottering walk remindedme of an oversized toddler. The second of the two introduced himselfwith a slight lisp as Nick Long. In his mid-30s, dressed in a smartsuit, heavily padded at the shoulders, with a handkerchief lushlyarranged in the breast pocket, Long was Ball's eager assistant,designated TD8. Ball announced that we were to be welcomed into theservice by the Chief, in his office suite on the 18th floor, andushered us towards the lift.It took forever to arrive and when it did there were too many of us tofit in. Long volunteered to take the stairs while the rest of uscrushed in. The 18th floor of Century House was as lugubrious as thelobby. The walls appeared not to have been been painted for years andthe grubby linoleum was worn through in parts. As we filed down thecorridor to the conference room an old man dressed in a crumpled bluesuit like the security guard, collar and tie askew, lurked in one ofthe small offices. Stealthily he ducked behind a desk, as though he wasembarrassed to be seen by us. Presumably one of the porters, who hadperhaps just delivered the biscuits and tea which were laid out on thelarge formica table in the centre of the room. Long arrived, a bitflush from the run up the stairs, just as we were taking our seatsaround the table.Before we were all settled, Bart spied the plate of biscuits in themiddle of the table and helped himself to a couple of custard creams.Castle glared at him. `Anyone like a biscuit?' asked Long quickly. Bartmunched on, oblivious to Long's diplomacy. Forton smirked.As we sipped lukewarm tea from the civil service crockery, Ball told usabout the Chief's background. `Colin McColl has put in the legwork onthe ground, working at the coalface as an operational officer. He isnot just a Whitehall mandarin, like some of the previous Chiefs,' Ballsniffed. `He holds a lot of respect from all of us.' McColl, the son ofa Shropshire GP, was appointed Chief in April 1989. He joined theservice in 1950 and spent his first two postings in Laos and Vietnam,where he gained a reputation as a keen amateur dramatist and musician.He spent the mid-'60s in Warsaw, where he forged a reputation as a far-page- 27 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com