The Big Breach - Index of

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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.complan to achieve the objective. Third, it would illustrate the workingsand immense size of MI6's central computer index, or CCI. This is amammoth computerised databank containing records of everybody with whomany member of MI6 has come into contact operationally since the startof record-keeping in 1945. The biographical details of our randomvictims were to be fed into this computer to see what, if anything,would be unearthed. The size of the database was such, Ball explained,that it was rare for an IONEC not to chance upon at least oneindividual with a mention in the CCI on a random trawl of the pubs ofPortsmouth,Pushing open the heavy mock-Victorian door of my designated pub, theHole In The Wall on Great Southsea Street, I felt apprehensive.Although a simple exercise, it was our first test and I wanted to getoff to a good start. We'd been given an œ8.50 advance to buy ourselvesand targets a couple of drinks, so I made for the bar intending to makethe most of it. Scanning the room for potential targets I was alarmedto find the pub empty. Ordering a pint of Guinness, I dismissed thebarman as a potential prey. Old, fat and surly, there was little chanceof getting him to talk. I sat down in a red-velveted alcove with a viewof the entrance and waited for better prospects.Time slipped by with the Guinness. I was starting on my second pintbefore the first customers, a smooching couple, straggled in. Theywould not welcome the approach of a stranger. Then a rowdy bunch ofyouths marched in to play pool. It would be difficult to mix with themand single one out for inquisition. A glance at my watch showed only 20minutes before the minibus would return to pick me up. The exercise wasgetting awkward.At last my luck changed as two girls wandered in. I watched as theybought drinks and settled into an alcove. In their 20s, they werecasually dressed, one pretty, the other less so and a bit overweight.Probably flatmates out for a quiet drink. I had to act quickly - notonly because time was running out, but also because the pool playershad noticed the girls and were egging each other on to make a move.Swearing I would never do this again, I picked up my Guinness, walkedover and asked if I could join them. To my relief they agreed. `You'renot from round here, are you?' the fat one asked as soon as I wasseated.`What makes you think that?' I asked.`Your accent. You're from up north,' she volunteered. `What are youdoing here?'Her curiosity was encouraging and an opportunity to implement my plan.`I'm a yacht skipper and I'm delivering a Contessa down from Scotlandto Cherbourg.' The girls listened with interest to my brazen lying.`But my mate just got ill and went home. I've called in to Portsmouthto find a new hand and restock.'We chatted about the boat, the voyage, my apocryphal crewman, how I hadgot into the job. I fabricated everything on the spot, drawing on mylimited sailing experience. Just like talking to the soldiers in thebar in Belgium, it was alarming that the art of deception came sopage- 33 - 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.comeasily and surprising how gullible strangers could be. They told methey were nurses and had only recently moved to Portsmouth.Encouragingly, they had done some sailing and were keen to continue nowthat they were living on the coast.`Do you know anybody who might be interested in helping this weekend?'I asked. The girls glanced at each other, checking whether the otherwas thinking the same. `Perhaps yourselves?' I pressed home.`Sure,' the pretty one replied hesitantly, then turned to her flatmateas if to speak for her. `Sure, we're free this weekend.'It was easy once they were baited. In order to get in touch with themagain, I asked for their names, addresses and telephone numbers, whichthey neatly printed in my notebook. On the false pretext that I neededto clear them with Customs in advance of our departure, I asked if theyhad their passport numbers handy. That too was no problem: the prettyone got up and phoned home to another flatmate and asked her to readthe numbers. With only a few minutes to go, all the details required byBall and Long were in my notebook. With my mission accomplished, I badethe unfortunate pair goodbye, promising that I would soon be in touch.I climbed into the minibus a few minutes later. It was bursting withanimated chatter. The others, some a bit tipsy, were elatedlydescribing how they conned innocent pub-goers into providing personaldetails. Markham had affected a silly French accent and pretending tobe a student from Paris, claimed that his mother, who worked in theFrench passport agency, had told him that all British passport numbersended with the numbers `666'. The incredulous victim rubbished theboast, so Markham bet him five pounds that it was true. The targethurried home to collect his passport, chuffed to be making some easymoney out of a stupid Frenchman. Markham noted down the number, equallychuffed.Castle, reflective of his background in the city, posed as a marketingconsultant and distributed to each drinker a questionnaire that he hadprepared in advance. The form enquired about the clients' drinkinghabits, purportedly on behalf of a major brewing company, and at thebottom were spaces to fill in name, address and passport number. Castlesipped orange juice on his own for an hour, pleased that he couldpocket the cash advance, and then collected the completedquestionnaires.Hare found an old man drinking on his own, wearing the wartime maroonberet of the Parachute Regiment. The lonely veteran was happy to talkto somebody interested in his army career, and he readily volunteeredhis army number, as good as a passport number for the CCI.`Is everyone accounted for?' called Ball from the driving seat, turningto check the rabble behind him. Long read out the roll call, withdifficulty against the chatter. Bart, much the worse for drink, repliedwith a loud belch. All were present except Spencer. We waited a fewmore minutes before Ball decided that we would have to look for him anddrove round to Spencer's watering hole, the Coach & Horses on theLondon Road, a notably boisterous pub. Spencer was not waiting outside,so Long went to look for him. The MI6 trainee was found, very much theworse for drink, in the midst of a lively party. He had not devised apage- 34 - 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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