The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comprotected by diplomatic immunity. Working undercover as a businessman,journalist or whatever, is more complicated and risky because therewould be no diplomatic immunity if discovered.The instant that Goldstein spotted me, therefore, I had to act quickly.He knew me as Richard Tomlinson and obviously still remembered me; afew words would be enough to blow my cover. Images of my name and faceon the front pages of newspapers around the world, headlines announcingthe arrest of a Britsh spy, flashed into my imagination. Even if Icould keep my cover story intact, the Russians would not believe it. Intheory, under their laws, I could face life imprisonment or even afiring squad if found guilty of espionage. In practice, they would notcarry out such draconian reprisals, but they would milk the incident tomaximise the embarrassment to Britain.It would be ridiculous to ignore or pretend not to know Goldstein - heknew me too well and it would just make him suspicious. I decided tograb the bull by the horns, take him into my confidence and hope thathe would prove discreet.Politely disengaging from Monsieur Poitiers, the French water andsanitation engineer from Lille who had been telling me, in animatedsoliloquy, about the opportunities for investment in the soon-to-beprivatised sewerage system of Moscow, I steered for Goldstein. He sawme coming and also eased out of a pack of businessmen.`Hi Ernst, its good to see you again. My name's Alex, you mightremember we worked together a few years ago.' I introduced myself underalias, in the hope that Goldstein might be temporarily thrown offbalance.`Yes, I remember you. But what did you say your name was again?' heasked, confused.I didn't want to explain anything in the crowded conference room.`Ernst, let's get a breath of fresh air, a quick walk round the block.There's something important I need to tell you.'Goldstein agreed, a bit reluctantly, and we slipped out through a sideexit, down the steps into the damp evening air of Prospect Marx Street.An old woman, huddled in a filthy blanket on the last of the steps,looked up at us imploringly. Holding out a battered tin can, shemuttered something unintelligible in Russian. There was no disguising,however, the desperation in her voice. It was a graphic contrast to theopulence we had just left and a poignant reminder of how the lessfortunate suffered in the new Russia. I felt a momentary sense ofshame. I was here to exploit this chaos, to spy. It was just a gamecompared to the reality which this old woman was living. Reaching intomy suit pocket, I dropped all my loose roubles into her tin.Goldstein and I walked in silence for a few yards. We both knew thatour own little problems and responsibilities were trivial compared tothe old babushka's. I eventually broke the silence. `Ernst, sorry aboutthis bit of drama, but you obviously want an explanation.'`Yes, what's going on? I remember you as Richard. What's this Alexbusiness?'page- 83 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com