The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comof course, but the letter slipped into my briefcase would addcredibility. Every other piece of paper in my briefcase, every drycleaningslip or receipt in my wallet, every item of clothing, wouldhave to match the legend that I was a Daniel Noonan, a post-doctoralhistory student.Arriving at Velletri's small railway station on a cool Monday morning,I felt comfortable in my alias identity and well prepared for theexercise. After checking into the Pensione Arena, a tiny bed andbreakfast tucked away on the Via Cannetoli, I spent the rest of theevening exploring the narrow cobbled streets and winding alleys of thehilltop medieval town. First I recced the Caf‚ Leoni on the Corso dellaRepubblica, just off Piazza Cairoli, where a meeting was scheduled withEric, and then found the Bar Venezia on Via Lata where I was to meetAPOCALYPSE.Ball told us that we would be under surveillance throughout theexercise by Italian teams. He was probably bluffing, as the Italianswould probably not divert their limited surveillance resources to ourexercise, but taking no chances I mentally noted usefulantisurveillance traps. At the same time, I tried to immerse myselfcompletely in my false identity, mentally rehearsing every small detailof my cover, trying to think and act just like a real historian woulddo on a research trip. I stopped to examine and photograph anybuildings which were of pre-war origin - all the churches, the townhalls - and my research had revealed where some of the USAF bombs hadlanded, so I inspected the repairs and reconstruction. Everything wasnoted in copious detail in notebooks, building up documentation tosupport my cover story.That evening was spent eating a simple meal of pizza and chianti at theBar Centrale on the main town piazza. There did not seem to be muchnightlife in Velletri, so I went to bed early in the low budgetpensione. There was a long day ahead of me on the morrow, and I wouldneed a good night's sleep.On Tuesday I arrived at Bar Venezia at 10.50 a.m., ten minutes beforeAPOCALYPSE was due, ordered a cappuccino, and sat down at the tablefurthest from the bar, my back to the wall so that the quiet streetoutside was visible. The five or six other tables were deserted; theonly other customer, an old man, sipped a brandy at the bar. He wore afaded black beret and a padded jacket with one pocket nearly torn off.Two fingers were missing from his calloused right hand and an oldsheepdog lay dozing under his stool. Not the sort that even theItalians would use for surveillance. I pulled out a copy of TheEconomist from my shoulder bag and laid it on the table in front of me.It was the all-clear sign for APOCALYPSE.I spotted him out on the street just before he entered the caf‚. In hismid-40s, thickset, neat short hair, dressed in fleece jacket, jeans andTimberland boots - the clothing gave him away as a Brit. He didn'tacknowledge me but went straight to the counter and ordered anexpresso. The sheepdog sniffed the air, growled softly and went back tosleep.APOCALYPSE brought his coffee over to my table. `Do you mind if I takea seat?' he greeted me cautiously.page- 54 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com