by Ray Scott
About the Author
Raymond C. W. S cott was born in Kent, in England and lived for many years in the Midlands near Birmingham. He did National Service in the Royal Navy and was later employed in the insurance industry in Birmingham and Wolverhampton. Immigrated to Australia in 1970 and joined the insurance industry in Melbourne.
Has lived with his wife Mary in Frankston, Victoria for 42 years and they became Australian citizens in 1976. They have two sons living in Australia, both are married and with families.
His first novel: The Man Who Had Five Lives was published by Amazon as an e-book in 2012.
Published in Australia by Sid Harta Publishers Pty Ltd,
ABN: 46 119 415 842
23 Stirling Crescent, Glen Waverley, Victoria 3150 Australia
Telephone: +61 3 9560 9920, Facsimile: +61 3 9545 1742
E-mail: [email protected]
First published in Australia 2014
This edition published 2014
Copyright © Raymond C. W. S cott 2014
Cover design, typesetting: Chameleon Print Design
The right of Raymond C.W. S cott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to that of people living or dead are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Scott, Raymond C. W.
Cut to the Chase
ISBN: 9781742984056 (eBook)
Digital edition distributed by
Port Campbell Press
www.portcampbellpress.com.au
Conversion by Warren Broom
Acknowledgements
To my wife Mary who has offered consistent support, and has also been a severe critic when my knowledge and use of English grammar has been lacking.
Preamble
Sir William Wainwright, Director of British Intelligence, picked up his telephone and gave an irritated ‘Hallo!’ He was in the process of compiling a difficult report for the Home Secretary and did not wish to be disturbed. His deputy, Richard Murray was on the other end.
‘Interesting development, Bill,’ Murray said. ‘I have news of a defector.’
‘Oh Christ!’ Wainwright felt his heart sink. ‘Not one of ours?’
Murray gave a dry chuckle.
‘No, far from it,’ he replied. ‘A Russian cipher clerk walked into the CSIS (he pronounced it Seesis) building in Ottawa a few hours ago and asked for political asylum. They were somewhat taken aback, it took them some time to arrange an interview, but they’ve now placed him in protective custody.’
‘Has he said anything yet, anything that affects us?’
‘CSIS informed Ron Carraway of MI 6, he’s arranging to send two operatives over there to interview him and see what he’s got.’
‘Well that’s interesting. Keep your eye on it Richard.’
‘Will do.’
Francis Burton, head of Australian Security and Intelligence, waved Alan Kelsey to the vacant chair opposite his desk. Kelsey moved the chair slightly to one side, the afternoon Canberra sun was streaming in through the window and tended to hit Burton’s bald head and reflect sunlight in all directions. Having removed himself from the line of fire Kelsey sat down and raised one eyebrow.
‘You said it was urgent.’
‘I lied,’ responded Burton. ‘Urgent…no! But important – yes! It’s about Operation Weasel.’
‘Weasel?’ Kelsey raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh God! Is the bloody government on our backs again?’
‘No, it’s better than that. We’ve had a wire from CSIS in Ottawa, apparently a Russian defector has walked into their building with a sheaf of papers, computer discs and flash drives. I haven’t much more information than that as yet, but according to Esme Lewis of CSIS this chap…er…what’s his blasted name… hold on…Leonid Radchenko, used to work in Moscow Centre on their South Pacific desk and, amongst other things, apparently has information in his possession that could identify this bloody mole that we’ve suspected has been here for years.’
‘Who is it?’
‘We don’t know yet, I had their Assistant Director Ken Paget on the blower this morning. This Russian defector is being very cagey so far and is demanding guarantees, he’s holding onto as much of his information as he can until he gets what he wants, but Ken said that one hint he’s given is that there’s a Russian mole in the Canberra Defence Ministry and that he knows who he is.’
Kelsey sat back and felt adrenalin surge through his system. In his capacity of Assistant Director-General Counter Terrorism and Counter Espionage this had been a problem he, and others, had been living with for over three years. Over that period of time ASIO had been aware that confidential information had been leaked out of government offices and passed to Moscow Centre and that the leak could only be in one of the government Ministries. They had received intelligence via London, who had their own sources of information from within the Russian administration, that information was being leaked to Moscow from Canberra. They also had some idea what class of information had gone walkabout, but despite trying to track those who had access to this information within Canberra so far nobody had been isolated or apprehended. According to the MI 5 and MI 6 sources the flow of information had slowed in recent months, which to Kelsey indicated that the mole could be aware of procedures being taken to track him down, and consequently had slowed his activities, but so far they had nothing to establish the mole’s identity.
‘How long before we have something concrete?’ he asked.
‘Depends what his demands are,’ snorted Burton. ‘No doubt he wants a free ticket to the United States, new identity, an expensive house and an unlimited supply of women.’
‘That sounds reasonable.’ commented Kelsey. ‘I’d probably ask for the same.’
Burton chuckled and shuffled the papers on his deck.
‘I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything, Alan.’
The telephone on the desk rang; Murray Craddock was standing some distance away chatting to the head of department, Alfred Peabody, when the latter drew his attention to it.
‘Your telephone is ringing,’ said Peabody. ‘You’d better answer it.’
Craddock nodded and made his way over to his desk and picked up the phone.
‘Hello! This is Craddock,’ he said.
‘Is that Mr Craddock from Redfern or Punchbowl?’
Craddock tensed and looked around him. Anyone within possible earshot was either on the phone or talking to someone else. He turned away so that he faced the window.
‘Redfern,’ he replied.
‘A good choice. There is a situation that affects you,’ said the voice at the other end. ‘One of ours has transferred out. You don’t know him but he knows of you. Action immediate. You understand.’
‘I understand.’
Craddock put down the telephone and looked around. He looked at the clock which indicated that the time was about half past three. He picked up his brief case, checked the contents of an envelope that was inside a zipped compartment inside it, and then extracted the flash drive from his computer. He looked around his office, gave a sigh as he realised he would never see it or the view from the window again and opened his office door.
‘You off, Murray?’ asked a man sitting at his computer monitor at a nearby desk.
‘Yes, I have a call to make, see you on Monday.’<
br />
‘Yes, see you later.’
Craddock made his way to the lift shaft, he took a circuitous route around the office to prevent Alfred Peabody catching sight of him as he made his way out, Peabody was an officious bastard who was always checking what anyone was doing or where they were going. The lift arrived and Craddock stepped into it. As the doors eased shut, it seemed to Craddock to be an act of finality.
Francis Burton’s telephone rang. It was Esme Lewis in Ottawa.
‘Are we on a secure line, Francis?’
Burton raised his hand to the telephone set and pressed a red button. There was momentary interference on the line.
‘We are now,’ he replied. ‘Good to hear from you, Esme. What is it?’
‘Our friend has begun to talk, there is much information involved but you’ll need to know of this quickly. I have the name of your leak in Canberra.’
Burton listened as Esme Lewis continued, and jotted down something on his pad.
‘Bloody hell! OK, thanks Esme,’ he said. ‘Yes and to you.’
He put the phone down and picked up the internal phone on his desk.
‘Is that you, Alan? Get over here quickly.’
Heads turned as Burton, Kelsey and Denis Shackleton, another ASIO operative, entered the office floor of the Defence Ministry and headed for the office of Alfred Peabody. They were accompanied by two security men who were wearing uniforms. Peabody looked up irritably as the phalanx entered his office, and he gritted his teeth when he saw that one of the newcomers was Francis Burton. They had a mutual dislike of each other, one that had persisted from the days when they had first met as pupils at a primary school in Canberra.
‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure,’ he began, adopting an aggressive and sarcastic tone. ‘Have you forgotten how to knock?’
Burton didn’t waste any time in pleasantries.
‘Where’s Murray Craddock?’
‘I beg your pardon. What right have you to come in here and…?’
‘Look, we haven’t got time to waste in exchanging pleasantries and pointless questions,’ Alan Kelsey intervened, deeming that the antipathy between Peabody and Burton could become a difficult and time wasting hurdle. ‘You have a man named Murray Craddock on this floor under your jurisdiction. We need to know where he is.’
‘Oh dear, what has he done? Has he forgotten to clock in or has he…?’
‘Just stow your sarcastic bloody comments for the present, this is a matter of national security,’ snapped Kelsey. ‘We have reason to believe Craddock has been selling state secrets to a foreign power.’
‘Don’t be utterly…what?’
Kelsey repeated it, and added coldly. ‘Where is he?’
Peabody rose to his feet and peered through the glass partition of his office pen.
‘He normally sits over there, the office by the window,’ he said and pointed his finger. ‘He’s not in today; in fact he wasn’t in yesterday either.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, I don’t know. We hadn’t heard anything from him so I assume he’s off sick. He left the office on Friday at about 3.30. He said he had a call to make.’
‘I’ll bet he had. And you’ve heard nothing since?’
‘No, what exactly is all this about?’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Kelsey turned to Burton. ‘I think we’re too late. I reckon the bird has flown.’
‘Let’s have a look at his desk,’ snapped Burton.
‘You have no right to…!’
‘Yes we have and you’d best come as well,’ snapped Burton.
‘This is a matter of national security now.’
Chapter 1
Robert Bramble leaned back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers together.
‘So there it is, Harry,’ he said, ‘Easy isn’t it? You can stop off at Jakarta; all expenses paid, and have a short holiday there. All you have to do is collect a small package and deliver it to our embassy. You don’t even have to bring it back here. On top of that you will receive a fee from us of $3,000 for services rendered – how does that sound?’
On the face of it, Harry Wallace had to admit that it did sound attractive. He needed an extra $3,000 as much as the next man. It sounded almost too easy, yet what could possibly go wrong?
‘Well,’ he began slowly and Bramble nodded.
‘Good man,’ he said enthusiastically, using what the salesman would term “the assumed close”. ‘I knew you’d help us. Once a government servant, always a government servant…eh?’ Bramble deliberately avoided the use of the name of the Australian intelligence organisation; maybe he thought it may have raised doubts in Wallace’s mind. He would probably have been right.
‘All right!’ Wallace said grudgingly. ‘I could do with a sight of Jakarta, maybe there’s a chance of some business there one day.’
The interview was over and Bramble escorted Wallace to the door, shaking his hand warmly all the way.
‘We’ll be in touch, just a case of finalising a few details. Now when are you off to Singapore? Let me see…25th is it?’
‘24th,’ Wallace answered shortly, Bramble breathed an ‘Of course’ under his breath and then Wallace found himself in the corridor outside Bramble’s office.
‘You know where the lift shaft is, don’t you old chap?’ Bramble said as he disappeared back into his office and closed the door behind him.
Wallace exited the building and stood outside it. He looked up at the windows. Somewhere in there Bramble was no doubt congratulating himself on having solved a problem; though it was possible he may have created one for someone else. Nevertheless, if it paid $3,000 it would resolve one of Harry Wallace’s.
Harry Wallace was not his actual name, he had been christened Josiah Harrison Wallace, the first name was bestowed by his mother, a strong willed woman who read the Bible daily and thought it appropriate to select a name that occurred within it. Wallace’s mother had earmarked Abraham as a second name but thankfully Wallace’s father had no such inhibitions. He had decided on a family name for the second one when he registered the birth whilst his wife was still incarcerated in the maternity hospital. However, he wasn’t game enough to challenge the formidable Mrs Wallace and make Harrison the first name. At school the young Josiah was unmercifully ragged about his first name so he dropped it when he reached secondary school and introduced himself to his new school mates as “Harry” a decision he had never regretted. His mother still insisted on using the first one.
When Wallace left school he had various jobs and then applied for a government job that was advertised in “The Australian” newspaper for a clerical post in ASIO. He was appointed; working for the intelligence agency initially had its essence of glamour about it, though it wasn’t exactly James Bond type employment. The Australian Security Intelligence Organisation had areas where phones had to be answered, intelligence was garnered and various people had to process it and then file it or enter it onto the data base.
The main difference with this employer from most others in the Australian scene was that employees were never to divulge to anyone for whom they worked; however modest one’s duties everyone was subject to the Official Secrets Act. This suited Wallace because there were so many people who had some form of paranoia about ASIO and its sister organisation ASIS. Consequently it was best kept under wraps to avoid being sucked into arguments at parties or barbecues, especially during election periods or strikes.
He could remember being told of incidents where nails and broken glass were scattered around the ASIO car parks when they were resident in St Kilda Road in Melbourne, which brought about an epidemic of punctures. The same problems occurred when they moved offices to Canberra but when working there Wallace lived near enough to either walk or catch a bus. This summed up some people’s views on security organisations, people who gave no thought as to what could happen if they didn’t exist.
Eventually the job began to pall, many of the people with whom he mixed exhibited
similar characteristics to public servants everywhere else, whose main interests were checking the promotions lists, issuing paper clips, checking who was on time and who wasn’t, or issuing reprimands, so eventually Wallace handed in his resignation and tried his hand in the insurance market. He took examinations and began selling with some success and was so successful that in time he was called upon to give presentations to other salesmen and women as to sales methods. In time this evolved into presentations of motivational business presentations and management techniques.
In time his presentations skills became such that he left insurance to organise and run speaking and management courses full time for those who had to deliver speaking engagements on behalf of their companies. Wallace had joined Toastmasters International; a public speaking organisation based in America, and made a few trips to the USA under its umbrella while standing for various positions within it. While in the States he met many who earned a living on the speaking circuit and made many contacts. He also joined Rostrum, a similar organisation to Toastmasters which had a more Australian slant.
After gaining considerable expertise, he enlisted with an agency that arranged inspirational and motivational projects and seminars for speakers from abroad in addition to finding actors for parts in ABC and commercial television productions. There were not too many others in Wallace’s particular field in Australia, but he found the work began to accumulate. It was a hard road initially, necessitating part-time jobs along the way to keep the wolf from the door, but eventually Wallace broke through into the bigger time.
At the ripe old age of 32 he found himself a recognised member of the speaking circuit. He made some trips to the USA to gain experience and had one or two assignments there which also gained him more useful contacts. This brought him more attention in the Australian market and also Britain, and engagements began to come his way.