Bearings: The Compass Trilogy Part One

by Mr Iain F Johnston

  We planned where we would begin. The major seaports appeared the easier to get our feet wet, so to speak. They are already well organized with excellent customs and marshalling areas for freight and passenger traffic. Have CCTV and they are also well lit…

  We had the standard kit, nothing sophisticated. No Tablets or computer notebooks, internet and email were just around but Wi-Fi and mobile phones we only saw in star trek were all devices of the future. We’d have to wait another six years before the first internet phone would be on the open market.

  We had pens and notebooks bought from a stationers, maps, target site diagrams, compass and quality binoculars. Night vision gear was on its way. The two bits of kit we had which you couldn’t get your hands on were encrypted long and short wave radio receiver transmitters and digital cameras… The images had to be decoded at Birdcage so we used a fourth floor office as our briefing and debriefing room it also doubled as our operational base… We also had the “bible”, professionally produced books filled with images of known POI’s, persons of interest, including their personal details…

  Magpie headed for Harwich. Jackdaw headed to Plymouth, me…? I went to Stranraer. It was cold, it was wet. It was January the 1st 1995. It was a nice quiet time to begin and to get used to the loneliness, drudgery and downright boredom that ensued a great deal of the time to begin with. We all had a list of suspect vehicles and photos of persons of interest. This was my first field assignment. I learnt how to sit, wait and observe very quickly…

  January 3rd I decided to stretch my legs and checkout the foot passenger areas, waiting lounges, cafeterias and boarding gates. Enjoy some solid hot food, use the facilities and apply myself to some close quarter recce. When entering the terminal the number of travellers made the waiting areas feel very small. The seating, bolted to the floor in longitudinal rows were crammed, with the narrow floor space between strewn with children and multi coloured baggage. To my right was a magazine, book and travel store. You know the type, Michelin maps, current best sellers and copious copies of Hello! Next to this, a Boots chemist which on current inspection was experiencing more of a roaring trade in Dramamine than Ambre Solaire. To my left a separate entrance for coach parties which at the moment was filled with a school group of very excited children that had teachers performing miracles corralling the little darlings. Further to my left and more importantly, a café which judging by the aroma would require much more investigation. The opposite side of the building had the left luggage and check in desk. I headed to the café and sat near to the window. Twenty minutes later the exodus occurred and all the travellers headed to the embarkation gate. When empty of the masses the terminal hall had all the appearance of the passing of an Oklahoma twister.

  I was approached by two large policemen a little after 0900, 15 minutes after the ferry sailed. After the usual verbal tennis and taking note of clothing and general physical appearance, considering me a vagrant no doubt, I was told to move on. They observed me as I walked to my car, an M registered green Vauxhall Cavalier, and only six months old. I then drove away to a local B&B… Hotels are not anonymous enough; a pseudonym scribbled in a book is a lot harder to read than a hotel printed statement. Magpie and Jackdaw had had a similar experience. The local law had been clearly briefed to not have loiterers at the ports.

  It was clearer now… We would have to cooperate with local customs and excise to make them aware of our presence, local law enforcement only if absolutely necessary. I decided that on my return I would try to speak to Box, have a chat, share some limited intelligence if necessary. Well, I’d discuss it with the others and Robin anyway.

  After cleaning up, refreshed and quite invigorated, I headed back to the port with a new sense of adventure. I had invested in what would become one of my most valuable pieces of kit, my flask. I asked the woman at the B&B to fill it with coffee and bought six sandwiches, six packets of crisps and six mars bars. I parked at the top of the car-park and waited. After nine hours and two ferries, I was now convinced the only way this would work would be with the cooperation of Box and C&E. This was our first run and was answering all the questions we had. It had worked perfectly. Our intention in the long run was to be less ad hoc. Not to go where we fancied but rather where our noses twitched.

  At 2200 I returned to the B&B and called in.

  Jackdaw had a “positive” embark the 1530 ferry to Roscoff. C&E hadn’t batted an eye lid; they just let the POI board the ferry like she was going on her holidays. Jackdaw had pulled back not having back up for the tug. This is British soil; we still didn’t officially have an S.T.O… Sanction to Operate… He said he had excellent on site Intel too. I could sense he was pleased. It was a result of sorts which was what we had prayed for. I was excited as this would also cross the minister’s desk, speed up the S.T.O and hopefully add some weight to what was a very low priority directive. Magpie was also pleased; it proved the wily bastard hadn’t lost any of his training skills being stuck at the Birdcage. It also brought us, me in particular into the sights of a terrier like Scotsman from the same mould as Magpie.

  We were done in; Magpie hadn’t done this kind of field work for a while. Jackdaw and I had never done it so we decided to head home. We would debrief from 0900 Monday 9th January 1995…

  Chapter three

  The first person I walked into on that Monday morning was a loud Scotsman, nearly a foot shorter than me, using words that would make your Nan blush… After “pleasantries” has been exchanged he finally decided to introduce himself…

  Charles Macgregor Haddon had joined the ranks of Her Majesties Royal Marine Commandos at the age of seventeen in 1967. After 13 years and four tours of Northern Ireland “I’d had my fill laddie”… At the age of thirty he had a wife and a five year old daughter at home and wanted something “a wee bit quieter”… He became an army PT instructor… After a further four years and now a new born son at home too he just wanted something different so, call it a fit of pique, call it stupidity, I thought of it more as a gift from God, he joined M.I.5… He had been there ever since, pushing eleven years now, three of these as Belfast Station Chief… Now he was nearly 45 years old and probably a little larger than his younger days but more importantly, because his face was becoming known more widely, his Belfast days were well and truly numbered… If Charlie could make it until midnight, without bursting a blood vessel, seventy-nine days, to be precise…

  He had walked from Thames House hoping it would calm him down… Not a bit of it. He had bubbled like a volcano and on setting his eyes on my strikingly handsome, chiseled features, he went off like Mount St Helens… I wouldn’t want him as my enemy for any length of time that’s for sure but I’m pleased to say we became close friends.

  Charlie was bearing his teeth because he thought one of “6”s new bright boys had been trampling the heather in his Scots garden with a big pair of size elevens… Stranraer is a port on British soil whose ferries cross to Larne and Belfast more British soil, Charlie’s British soil. He believed it to be another one of the pen pushers initiatives to do what exactly none of us really knew, understood or even

  cared. We just wanted to do our job… To get our directive moving, maybe raising its profile and just, well, do some good. The local law who had moved me on had mentioned the incident during their routine Box Review and things had moved from there. Our argument was, yes they’re British ports but the majority were handling passengers traveling to foreign destinations. I had to agree though, Stranraer is different. It’s one of two ports whose destination is British too. It was part of the point I wanted to make. Both services should be working in harmony on these subjects.

  When Charlie saw Magpie, an operative he knew, understood and cooperated with successfully before, just two years earlier during the aftermath of the Warrington bombings, he calmed down significantly… We didn’t know it but their experience during that time would be invaluable to me and Jackdaw less than twelve months later.

  We all invited h
im into the briefing room and discussed in depth with him what our plan was. He agreed it was a clever idea. He felt guilty over Warrington, he still does today. Not being able to contact his deep cover A.I.P, asset in place, during the escalation when he was certain there was a mainland active service unit about to go live, broke the chain. It was the only link in the chain London would act on. That was the point of the A.I.P in the first place…

  He would never contact the asset again… Positive identification of remains found the following year in the county of Offaly answered that question.

  The two rooms we had been allocated on the fourth floor had seen better days... It was clearly a case of mix ‘n’ match when it came to furnishing and the carpet tiles had become an interesting shade of worn out pink in part instead of the wine red which they originally had been. The blinds that worked, hadn’t seen a duster since fitting and it appeared the windows had been sealed shut by overzealous painters. I was glad we had air conditioning. There was a coffee machine Magpie had brought and the requested wipeable magnetic boards had been fixed to the wall. Three telephones had been installed and three computers also a huge stationary cabinet. Against the far wall, six lockable filing cabinets had been bolted to the floor. Both rooms opened onto the lift foyer as did the Birdcage director’s, to reach him however. we had an interconnecting door which opened on to his PAs office. This setup was to allow him to make sure we were working and not throwing pens at each other, no doubt… The view of the park wasn’t too shabby at least we had trees to look at out of every window… On entering Charlie didn’t seem too impressed with our state-of-the-art nerve centre.

  We shared all our information with him, everything. There was no hiding the fact we wanted him involved, even after April when he left the job, we wanted him with us. We wanted his intelligence. To have an operative with his specialised knowledge of one of the regions would be priceless. Ok, I’ll admit, it was my region so I was particularly enthusiastic… I would have given him my left testicle if he’d asked. I could tell by the faces of the other two that they would willingly part with precious cargo for that kind of HUMINT in their regions too. More importantly we knew each other’s true names now…That’s a major game changer.

  We then received the prints that Jackdaw had taken with his digital camera…

  They were of Angela McQueen younger sister of Donna McQueen.

  Donna McQueen was classed as the most dangerous woman in Europe when she was arrested in the late eighties disembarking the ferry from Cherbourg at Rosslare; her boyfriend had explosive material and recon’ images of NATO bases in Germany. He was tried and convicted, she, as Charlie had said, never carried anything and was always acquitted. What she didn’t know was that there was a German extradition order waiting for her… She was shipped to Germany and had been there ever since. Her sister, we assumed, was on her way to see her. You could see why C&E hadn’t stopped her, 22 years old, dressed to thrill and a body on her… It was the typical passport ploy. I had only been in the division a little over six months and I knew that one. Jackdaw had two years on me and clocked her instantly judging by the time stamps on the images…

  But, if she was travelling to Düsseldorf, why would she go this way…? Why not Dover to Calais…? Or why not Harwich to Cuxhaven…?

  I was dumbfounded…

  “Why not just board a plane, yer silly cow…!” Charlie said...

  “She left the car and embarked as a foot passenger… Strange…?”

  Magpie interjected… “Eh…? That is weird…”

  I carried on and said…

  “That means she was picked up at Roscoff…I’ll get on to D.G.S.E; let’s see if they tagged her as quickly as Jackdaw did…”

  Then I added quite abruptly…

  “For frigs sake…! Anyone speak French…?”

  Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure, DGSE are our French equivalents, a very serious bunch of fellows who know their stuff, which is just as well really, considering their borders and ease of travel.

  Yes, they confirmed she walked from the terminal but was not picked up… She used a blue Lancia Thema or Fiat Croma and drove south…

  Jackdaw was first to respond and said hopefully…

  “Not going east then, pity… I’ll get onto the B.N.D anyway, you never know…”

  The Bundesnachreichendienst… Again our counterpart but this time Germany… They were a bit touchy, I’d been warned by Charlie, due to the fact that sensitive material had been leaked regarding covert ops in Iraq twelve months previous to German journalists who they now had under surveillance… Naughty…

  I said...

  “‘Ang on, do you speak German too?”... A nod… “Where have you been hiding…?”

  The BND confirmed quickly there had indeed been a visit by a female on the 5th…Without taking longer they couldn’t confirm who she was. Ten minutes later they rang back to confirm it was her sister and by the way, she arrived by train in Düsseldorf and got a taxi from and back to the station. The train had originated in Cologne with the return trip destined for there too. “If your division could please be a little patient, we will certainly check Cologne traffic also and return...” Pleasantries were exchanged; I can manage “bitte” and “danke”, old smarty pants that I am…!

  Jackdaw was back on the phone to the French asking them politely if they could trace the vehicle, s’il vous-plait…

  God, I was enjoying this…! It was like a sexy striptease, the more you saw, the more you wanted. The company I was keeping, the job I was in… I was young, fit and judging by my performance to date, I was intelligent too… At that point I wanted to stay forever… I now knew what Charlie meant…

  The time was getting on; Robin had been in to see what we were evilly plotting while magpie rang the mess to see what they could do for us. It was clear we were in for a long one, I didn’t mind a bit.

  They did us proud in the mess. As I would come to learn, they always did. We all trotted down there assured that when the BND or DGSE rang again, they’d know where to put the calls through to.

  At 2045 the BND rang to inform us that the female got off the train at Leverkusen then boarded another to Monchengladbach they had waited for photographic confirmation before calling. They were now waiting on Monchengladbach and again thanks were exchanged.

  It was getting more complicated as the minutes passed. Charlie reminded me that this is exactly the kind of circuitous route taken even by relatives of known PIRA members particularly relatives of incarcerated PIRA members.

  I calmed down and had more coffee.

  The reason Monchengladbach was significant is because this was where Verena Bezold in 1995 lives secretly under a false name given to her by the West German Intelligence. Bezold was at this point in time classed as a former member of the Red Army Faction 2nd generation…

  Bezold was forty two years old and, interestingly, had only served one year of a six year sentence in the mid- seventies. Reading the dossier it was clear she had been under the control of the WGI since around 1974… She had been incarcerated for life in 1977, only to be given a pardon again and false identity papers in 1989 by the then Federal President, Richard von Weizsacker no less… She had also been very vocally supportive of PIRA.

  By this time, pushing the 10th January, McQueen was, no doubt, back in the Emerald Isle.

  Charlie was bringing us up to speed regarding her nasty big sister and her boyfriend, Leonard Hoey… They made a charming couple.

  At a little after midnight the DGSE rang to say the car, which was in fact a Fiat Croma was back at Roscoff ferry terminal and they would “take a little look for us” also that Miss McQueen had embarked on the 1930 sailing to Rosslare on Sunday 8th January and not returned via Plymouth.

  Hang on, I thought, this could mean the car was still at Millbay docks…! Jackdaw agreed to drive there in the morning, 10th January. He, Magpie and Charlie left soon after… Magpie had an idea, a contact in Hendon he wanted to check that m
orning but would only reveal if it was worth the trouble. Charlie wanted to be back first thing, I agreed to wait to see what the BND would return with.

  A little after 0300 the phone rang in the duty officers rest room… I was asleep on his bed. He didn’t mind as he was dealing with a raft of SIGINT from Iraq via GCHQ.

  It was indeed my good friends in Munich... Yes McQueen had stayed with Bezold for two nights then drove the fiat Croma back to Roscoff via Brussels…The vehicle was caught on camera crossing into Belgium so Brussels was assumed until almost immediately the DGSE rang to say the car was empty and wiped. They confirmed the E19 to Paris too, so Brussels was accurate and then onward via Rennes.