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January 14 2001 FOCUS

A rebel spy on the run (part 5)

This Janet and John interrogation was leaving me plenty of time to think,
and I went through a mental list of everything on my computer and Psion. I
was not confident they would find nothing incriminating. The Psion sat
temptingly close on the desk.

I picked up a bottle of Evian with both handcuffed hands, took a swig, and
replaced it close to the Psion. Ratcliffe wanted to know the password to my
encrypted files and while his question was being processed, I took another

swig and replaced the bottle even closer.

The question was put to me in French by Broisniard. "The password is
'Inspector Ratcliffe is a nonce,' " I lied.

"C'est quoi, un 'nonce'?" After my explanation, the smirking Broisniard
repeated the phrase to Gruignard to tap it into the laptop, and the
interpreter leant over to help with the spelling. Ratcliffe and Whaley were
conferring, heads down.

I grabbed the Psion and slipped out the stamp-sized memory disk under the
table, stuffing it down my boot.

Broisniard came to my cell at about 9am the next morning with a plastic cup
of instant coffee. "No handcuffs," he said. "But if you f*** around, we'll
beat you up."

He asked me with a sly grin: "How many times did you come to France on
operations?"

Revealing details of MI6 operations would breach the very law for which the
DST arrested me. I decided to play it safe.

"I can't tell you about that."

"Why not?"

"The British might ask you to arrest me."

At about 10pm, Broisniard and Gruignard came to my cell with broad smiles.

"You are free. You have broken no French law."

"Why did you arrest me?"

"The English asked," shrugged Broisniard. "They said that you were a
terrorist, and dangerous. That is why we beat you up."

They handed over my NZ passport - saying that the British had picked it up
from the embassy for me - and shook hands.

After a few hours' sleep, I took the Metro to the Gare du Nord, where a
small travel agent specialised in cheap tickets to Australasia.

By evening I was on a flight to Tokyo, where I changed for New Zealand.

"Are you Richard Tomlinson?" a spotty young man asked as I pushed through
the airport crowd in Auckland.

"I most definitely am not. I am Mr Napoleon Bonaparte."

"You are Richard Tomlinson, and I hereby serve you with this injunction."

He thrust a sheaf of papers into my trolley and scuttled off.

The 85 pages of legal jargon were intended to stop me speaking to the media
in New Zealand. MI6 could not have used a more stupid tactic as everybody
wanted to know why it had gagged me. The next few days were a whirlwind of
interviews.

Although New Zealand has some of the most liberal laws governing individual
freedom, NZSIS (New Zealand Security & Intelligence Service) maintains very
close links to MI6. It would be intercepting my phone and following me in
the country of my birth.

I decided to try Australia instead, hoping to get there unobserved by NZSIS
and MI6. I took a taxi to Auckland airport where the Qantas sales desk sold
me a ticket to Sydney. The flight was about to leave, but I had greatly
underestimated MI6.

"Mr Tomlinson?" I looked up from my seat on the packed Qantas MD-11 to see
two stewards standing over me. "Would you mind stepping off the plane,
please?"

At the Qantas office, an official apologised. "We have had a fax from our
head office in Canberra saying that you have not been given an Australian
visa," he said.

"Can I see the fax?"

"Sorry, we're under strict instructions not to show it to you."

(Through
the Australian Freedom of Information Act, my lawyers much later uncovered
a request from MI6 to ASIO, the Australian security service, to have me
banned.)

Back at the Copthorne, the receptionist insisted that, as the hotel was
full, he would have to give me the main suite at the price of a normal
room. The hotel didn't appear full to me, but I took the key.
Lying on the bed, I heard a soft knock on the door. A female voice asked:

"Is Caroline there?"

"Sorry, wrong room."

There was another, more impatient knock.

"It's Susan here. I think I may have left something in the room."

There was no spyhole so I opened the door.