The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comBut such ideas were frivolous. This was an MI6 operation, not amilitary exercise, and I should stick to my training and bluff it out.I went back to the compartment. A few minutes later, the guardsarrived. The elder of the two, barrel-chested and sweating in his heavycoat, examined another passenger's Yugoslav passport while the youngerguard, pale and baby-faced with a downy moustache, prodded hisvoluminous baggage on the rails above us with a stick, as if he werechecking for people illegally hidden in the cases. The elder thenturned to me and with a snap of his fingers demanded my documents. Heflicked open the back page of the new-style EEC passport, checked thephotograph, then examined my face against it, his eyes staring blanklyat me as if he were reading a train timetable. He pocketed it and leftthe compartment with no word of explanation, his young colleaguetrailing behind like a faithful dog.There was nothing to do except await my fate. The guards hadn'tconfiscated my documents on the way out on my first trip, so it was ananxious moment. I went back out into the corridor and stuck my head outof the open slide-down window. Outside on the platform, at the farextremity of the long train, another two guards were patrolling towardsme. They walked side by side, inspecting the passengers carefully ineach compartment through the windows, as if they were looking forsomebody. When they were three carriages away, looking back the otherway up the inside of the train, I saw the first two guards walking backtowards me from the other direction. I was caught between the two setsof soldiers and there was no chance of making a dash.The connecting door slammed as the first pair re-entered my carriage. Iwaited until they were a few paces from me, then turned to face them.The corridor was too narrow for them to walk alongside each other, andthe elder lead. He flicked the stub of an acrid Serbian cigarette outthe window as he approached. The younger, a step behind him, waschewing gum urgently. The sickly smell of the sweet gum, minglingunpleasantly with their body odour, wafted towards me on the heavyevening air. They stopped menacingly in front of me and the elderreached into the breast pocket of his heavy tunic, exposing his sweatspeckledshirt underneath, and pulled out my passport. His dark eyesflickered as he held it out in front of me, growling somethingunintelligible in Serbian. I shrugged, my pulse racing. He growledsomething again, then realising it meant nothing to me, switched toGerman. `Fahrkarte,' he snapped. The meaning swam from some recess ofmy mind where it had lain dormant since my TA German course yearsearlier, and a smile of relief flickered across my face. Reaching intomy breastpocket, I pulled out a fistful of Deutschmarks to pay for theticket that I had omitted to buy at Belgrade station. The guard handedme my passport and the pair strutted off.The train rolled into Budapest station in the early hours of dawn, andafter a night in a cheap hotel by the station I flew back to London. Ittook a day or so to finish all the paperwork and debriefings at CenturyHouse. Afterwards Bidde called me up to his office. Looking over hisbifocal glasses, he gently admonished me. `You won't be using thePresley alias again, I trust.'The work in MI6 was endlessly fascinating. It was not just the naturalcover trips abroad: almost everyday some snippet of information came mypage- 96 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com