The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comto be caught working under natural cover. Ball told us that it hadhappened only once to an MI6 officer. He was working in Geneva when,unbeknown to him, a fellow guest in his hotel was murdered. One of thestaff had noticed the officer chatting - wholly innocently - to theguest earlier in the evening, so he became a key suspect. At 4 a.m.,the police burst into his room and arrested him. His cover story wassolid, however, and he survived the police interrogation. He waseventually released.It seemed like hours before the door opened again. The guards unlockedme from the bed, handcuffed my wrists, hauled me to my feet and manhandledme down a corridor and out into welcome fresh air. It must havebeen just after nightfall because the still air was laden with dew. Theguards forced me up some stairs and into another building. I heard theguards whispering something in Italian to a third person and then got awhiff of the strong, unmistakable smell of stale cigarettes and whisky,indicating that Ball was nearby. The guards pushed me onwards for a fewmore yards, forced me into a chair, handcuffed my wrists behind me andpulled the blindfold away.I was in a large high-ceilinged room, big enough to be a school dininghallor army drill-hall. Twenty feet or so in front of me threeinterrogators sat behind a long desk on a low stage. In the middle wasan athletic-looking man in his early 40s, whose groomed jet-black hairand perfectly symmetrical handlebar moustache suggested that he spent alot of time in front of a mirror. To his right sat the captain who hadinterviewed me earlier in the carabinieri station. To his left sat adark-haired woman, whose heavy wrinkles on a once-attractive face wereexplained by the foul-smelling cigarette she was holding. The threestared at me impassively and disdainfully and it felt like severalminutes before the moustache spoke.`So, Dr Noonan,' he began imperiously. `I understand from my colleaguethat you are a historian, visiting our town of Velletri.' He paused foreffect. `Let me tell you. We don't believe your story. We haveintelligence that you are involved in an operation to smuggle weaponsfrom Sicily to the IRA. What have you got to say for yourself?'`Rubbish!' I replied with convincing irritation. `Your intelligence iswrong and you've arrested the wrong person.'The moustache questioned me for 20 minutes or so, cross-examining me ondetails of my cover - my fictitious date of birth, address, where Iworked, how long I had worked there, names of members of my family. Theonly thing he didn't ask was the name of my dog.Then it was the wrinkly's turn to question me. `Who is this woman,Maria Vialli? Where did you meet her?' she asked cattily, holding herbusiness card.`Why not ring her up and ask her,' I replied. `Better still,' I added,`why not ring Monsignor Berlingieri, the priest at the church of MaryMagdalene?' My interrogators looked at each other, seeking inspiration.It was not going well for them.The moustache snapped his fingers and the guards behind me sprungforward, blindfolded me and dragged me back to my cell. They gave me apage- 61 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com