by G D Harper
She shrugged. ‘You owe me nothing, I know that. I’ve said more to you than I should have. Tell the world what you think you should tell. But I’ll have to deny it. I have no choice. Then there will be big question mark over story. Best you say you worked it all out, after Nigel found out about British Council. That would be big help for me. The story will be the same.’
I left and went back home to start writing up the story. The first draft was useless, full of venom and hatred, all directed at Tanya. I started again, keeping things calm and neutral; focusing on the story, not my feelings. I began to reflect the more I wrote. Was I behaving like a petulant child, making it all about me? Would I have preferred not to have been duped, to never have had the chance to expose the story? Maybe I did owe her something. I decided to give Tanya her wish, telling what she had done without revealing her name. I could always change my mind later.
I finished writing, and promised myself I’d sleep on it and put it online in the morning. I staggered off to bed, my head still spinning. When I woke at three and wandered back into my study, the article was still on my computer screen. I knew I should check and double-check what I was saying, maybe even get a lawyer to look over it, it was so controversial. But I was never going to make myself safe from repercussions if I broke this story. I either should do it now, or give up blogging and never mention it again.
I read through the copy one last time. I thought again about waiting, getting the story published by the Chronicle, or News Today, letting them take the brunt of the repercussions. But after the revelations that Mikin had fed me, my blog was big time now; over a million people would be reading what I posted. I hit Submit and watched the document being uploaded, going out live across the world. The computer gave a dull ping as the task was completed. I fired off a quick email to Alex at News Today with a link to the post. ‘Latest Developments’, I called it. The release of tension now that the story was live was almost palpable, and in its place came a wave of exhaustion as I was finally released from the pressure of the last few hours.
I drifted back off to sleep, trying not to think about what the world would be like when I awoke.
chapter fourteen
About seven in the morning, I stumbled into my study to see the reaction to the article. I stared in disbelief at my computer screen. The blog had disappeared.
For a moment, I thought I must have screwed up last night when I was tired. Then I checked my emails. A few alerts straight after I posted it, showing that it had been seen and that people were responding. The last one was four minutes after the first and then nothing until 5:18 this morning. When there was an email from a legal firm. The heading was Interlocutory interim injunction on Richard Foxe article. I clicked on it, full of trepidation.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. In the middle of the night an injunction had been sought and granted, instructing my website hosting company to take down the article. There was to be a follow-up hearing in the High Court at two o’clock this afternoon to extend the ban from its initial forty-eight hours and to make it indefinite. A second superinjunction prevented me from posting to say anything about what was taking place.
There was also an email from Alex from half an hour ago, saying she’d clicked on the link and got an error message, and asking me to resend. I banged my fist on the table. Whoever was behind this had finally gone too far. We didn’t live in a police state. When the injunction was overturned, the credibility it would give to my claims would mean they would be everywhere.
I texted Alex, asked to meet her urgently, promising she wouldn’t regret it. I couldn’t risk going into details in the text because of the superinjunction, and hoped that she wouldn’t ignore me. I needed a powerful ally if I was going to tackle this and get the injunctions overturned. Alex texted back, suggesting we meet at eleven. I texted that I’d be at her offices at ten. If she could see me earlier, that would be great. An exasperated emoticon was her only response.
I got to her office and kicked my heels in reception until I was ushered into her office at ten thirty.
‘This had better be important, Duncan. I’ve had to leave a staff meeting.’
‘You won’t regret it, I promise. I’m sitting on the biggest story of my life, but I’ve been gagged by Act Now!.’ I placed a printout of the email in front of her. ‘I posted an article last night, about someone who I thought was a friend and supporter, but it turns out they were working for MI5, feeding me leads and information that MI5 didn’t dare publish themselves. It was MI5 that sent me that plane ticket in Moscow, as a sick test of my courage. I thought it had to be someone here who had leaked that I was there. I was wrong. I owe you and News Today an apology.’
‘I should bloody well think so,’ replied Alex. ‘But we’ll save the hearts and flowers for later. Why would MI5 feed you leaks? Aren’t they supposed to be about stopping leaks, not starting them?’
‘That’s what so important about this story. MI5 suspect that Act Now! is being controlled by the Russians, but they can’t just come out and say it. For the security services to accuse the sitting government of treason would plunge the country into a constitutional crisis. They wanted someone else to reveal what they found out, so that the clamour for them to investigate would become overwhelming. And that someone else was me.’
‘You?’ Alex gave me an incredulous stare. ‘You’re working for MI5?’
‘Not exactly. One of their operatives was ordered to get close to me, feed me the information MI5 had, connect me to their sources, without me ever suspecting a thing. I was their patsy, their fall guy. The perfect foil to get their message across, because I was blissfully unaware that they were using me.’ I paused for a second to let the anger inside me subside. ‘When I found out what was going on, I wrote it up in a blog and posted it last night. It was live for less than an hour before it was taken down under a temporary gagging order, which is going to be reviewed in the High Court this afternoon. I’ve got about four hours to put together a defence before they decide whether or not to make it permanent. I can’t believe that this could happen in our country. I’m appalled.’
‘Let me see,’ Alex replied. She picked up the email. ‘“Order under the Dissemination of Terrorism Act”, it says.’ She frowned. ‘That legislation was brought in to stop terrorist grooming videos and atrocities being posted online. It was never intended to be applied to a case like this. Right, we need Barbara in here for this.’ She saw my questioning look. ‘In-house lawyer. I should have called her the second you said you had a gagging order.’
Barbara turned up, a severe-looking woman with bouffant hair, dressed in a grey business suit. She shook my hand like she was handling a dead fish. Alex introduced me, said I was the blogger they had used for the Act Now! troll factory story and was on the programme that forced the government to confirm they’d received illegal campaign contributions. And that my follow-up investigation had resulted in me being served a gagging order and a superinjunction.
‘So I immediately insisted Duncan stop what he was telling me, until I had a lawyer present.’ Alex shot me a look, daring me to contradict. ‘So here we are.’
The way she said it, I could sense the two of them had crossed swords before.
‘You did right this time, Alex.’ I saw Alex bristle at that.
Barbara turned to me. ‘For the purposes of this conversation, Mr Jones, you are a freelance consultant who I am interviewing in my capacity as in-house counsel, and this conversation would have to be disclosed in any legal proceedings. Ms Richards is here as note taker.’ I made sure I didn’t catch Alex’s eye.
Barbara picked up the email and the superinjunction document and read through them slowly. Alex and I stared ahead, not saying a word.
When she finished, she addressed us both.
‘Technically, they are completely within their rights to do this. It’s an interpretation of the new law that was raised as
a concern by legal experts at the time it was passed, but there was such public outrage over the atrocity that sparked it off, the protests fell on deaf ears. As things stand at the moment, if the Attorney General says something posted online is a threat that could lead to public disorder, then it’s a threat that could lead to public disorder and it gets banned. The ban only gets lifted when the Attorney General says so, or if the government’s Security Committee votes to repeal it. And neither’s going to happen as long as Act Now! is in power.’
‘We’ve sleepwalked our way into a police state,’ I said. ‘Can’t we publish anyway and take the consequences?’
‘Anything published will be pulled immediately,’ said Barbara. ‘And if it’s done with the knowledge that the banning order is in place, there’s immediate incarceration of everyone involved. That’s what happens when you pass legislation in a hurry while passions run high. You might be prepared to go to jail over this, but I’m not. I’ve got to keep the TV station on the side of the law, even if I don’t agree with it.’
‘But this is the twenty-first century,’ I protested. ‘Surely it’s impossible to keep a lid on scandals anymore? Won’t this story get out there, somehow, in the next few days?’
‘On the lunatic fringe of the internet, where people won’t notice it and even if they do, won’t take it seriously.’ Barbara paused. ‘It pains me to say it, but as things stand at the moment, there’s nothing we can do. And I have to insist that while these orders remain in place, you agree to abide by them. In particular, you are not to discuss the injunction or the details of the article that precipitated it with anyone at News Today. You are to have no further meetings or discussions with Ms Richards, unless I am present. In fact, it would be better if there was no contact from you on any matter until this is resolved.’
‘Barbara, we can’t do that,’ Alex protested. ‘The freedom of the press is at stake here. Let’s at least provide Duncan with some legal support for his hearing this afternoon. He gave us a major scoop on that Act Now! financing story, and he’s offered me an exclusive on this story. I’m sure that offer still stands.’ She looked over at me and I nodded. ‘We need to do everything to get this overturned.’
I became a bit of a spectator as Barbara and Alex locked horns, two alpha females duking it out for supremacy.
‘We have a duty of care to help reporters deal with the aftermath of stories we’ve sanctioned,’ Alex said. ‘Especially when that responsibility coincides with an attack where the very freedom of the press is at stake.’
‘And it’s my duty to stop the station from becoming entangled in court hearings,’ Barbara snapped back. ‘The only obligation we have to this reporter is a moral one at best. At worst, we could be becoming a party to litigation based on entirely spurious conjecture. We have no way of knowing that any of what Mr Jones claims to be true is not just a figment of his imagination.’
‘You do know I’m still here, listening to both of you, don’t you?’ I said.
Barbara looked daggers at me, a scowl of such ferocity that it took me back to my school days. ‘I’m glad you find this amusing,’ she replied. ‘Can you please enlighten me as to how you came across the evidence that this operative of MI5 is who you say they are?’
‘My IT guy used the same hacking techniques that we discovered the Russians were using on Act Now!’s opponents, and hacked into the British Council’s computers. He found that the person who was feeding me information was lying. She was using the British Council as a cover, and the only work she did there was to file a daily report to MI5 on a secure computer in the building about the latest status of my investigations.’
‘And what’s this person’s name?’
I hesitated. ‘I’m not ready to reveal that just yet.’
Alex looked astonished. ‘You want to protect the person who betrayed you? What’s going on, Duncan?’
‘I don’t name sources. I’m not ready to do that yet.’
Alex shook her head in disbelief.
Barbara continued her questioning. ‘So this story is based on evidence that you obtained illegally?’
I gave a slightly shamefaced nod. Got no reaction.
‘Have you seen the reports she sent from the secure computer? You can confirm they are about you and that the recipient was someone in MI5?’
I bit my lip and shifted uneasily. ‘No, I haven’t seen the actual reports or the recipient. But when I confronted her about this, she confessed everything. That’s why I’m hesitating about naming her. I don’t need to reveal her identity or that she confessed. With what my partner has found out, I can prove that she provided me with information and that her cover story was a lie.’
‘But I presume you recorded this confession? Or got her to sign a document admitting to all this?’
‘No, of course not. I went straight to her apartment after I was told of her deceit. I wasn’t thinking straight, I didn’t think to take along a voice recorder. Anyway, she will have signed the Official Secrets Act. Her confession would get her in a lot of trouble. That’s why she’d have to deny it.’
‘Duncan, what the hell is going on here?’ Now it was Alex’s turn to read the Riot Act. ‘This woman deceives you, treats you like a fool, then you look after her and protect her from any comeback? Why on earth would you do that?’
‘I don’t know. Seems the right thing to do, I suppose. She didn’t have to confess.’
Alex and Barbara looked at each other in disbelief.
‘Duncan, is there something you’re not telling us?’ Alex said eventually. ‘Is something else going on here?’
I shook my head. There was another pause, a longer one this time.
Finally, Barbara spoke. ‘I’m afraid all this does is confirm there is no way I can sanction this station becoming a party to these proceedings. I can give you a recommendation for a lawyer to speak to, but if you brief him, that will be on your own cost. Alex, I know you have a fondness for lost causes, but this is one lost cause that we have to stay well away from. Is that clear? Show Mr Jones off the premises, Alex.’
And with that, she left.
‘Well, you excelled yourself there, Duncan,’ Alex said, as she walked me to the door. ‘You even had me questioning whether your story was a crock with that description of events.’
‘It’s complicated,’ I replied. ‘There’s some personal stuff between her and me, which is why she confessed so readily.’
‘And how old did you say she was?’
‘Early thirties. Not that it’s relevant.’ I decided to change the subject. ‘So have you and Barbara have had some issues in the past?’
‘Fuck off, Duncan.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll just fuck off then. Thanks, Alex.’
I phoned the legal firm Barbara recommended and, after answering a few questions from their receptionist, was told I should talk to their criminal lawyer, Tristian Hawtrey. As I heard the words ‘criminal lawyer’, I had the sensation of things moving too fast to process. I went straight to their offices and asked for Mr Hawtrey. He was younger than me, but had the supercilious air of someone born to privilege, and spoke in a condescending Old Etonian accent. And it had been years since I’d seen someone in a pinstripe three-piece suit who was not on their way to a racecourse. I took him through the chain of events, having to explain to him what was meant by searchbots and filter bubbles. When he asked me to define what a portal was, I really began to worry.
‘To get this order taken down, we have to go before a judge. For that, you’ll need a barrister, and I would recommend Jeremy Hobbs. Sound chap, and he’s up to speed with the panoply of social media.’ That reassured me a little, and we headed off to Chancery Lane. We were shown into a cramped office, dominated by a large bookcase overflowing with legal journals, papers scattered on every surface. It did not exactly project the occupant as having the clear and uncluttered mind I was rel
ying on to get my injunction overturned.
Jeremy Hobbs stood up to greet us. Not exactly the young, thrusting computer-literate hotshot I was hoping for. His eyebrows extended horizontally a good two centimetres and strands of hair dangled from his nostrils, like he’d inhaled a Portuguese man o’ war. He nodded to Tristian and then addressed me. ‘Mr Jones, please take a seat. Tristian, good to see you again.’ He pointed to an old leather captain’s chair, with a worn green cushion and scuffed oak legs. In the absence of another chair, Tristian stood at the back of the room.
‘You’ve had an Order under the Dissemination of Terrorism Act served on you, you said on the phone? Can I see the Order and the article it relates to?’
His words were low and melancholic; he would have made Eeyore sound like a ray of sunshine. He read the two documents carefully.
‘Shocking,’ he concluded. ‘The Dissemination of Terrorism Act was never intended to be used in this way.’
‘We can get it overturned?’ I tried to take heart from his words and ignore his lugubrious delivery.
He sighed. ‘Depends on the judge. Not much time to prepare. But if common sense were to prevail, then I would hope so. It will cost £6,200 for me to represent you, up to and including the hearing today. That is, of course, on top of Mr Hawtrey’s solicitor’s fees. I take it that will be in order?’
Tristian had told me his bill was going to be around two grand. Eye-watering sums, but the clock was ticking and I didn’t have a lot of options.
‘Yes. Please go ahead. What happens next?’
‘I’ll need a sworn affidavit from you covering the facts of the case and your assertion that everything you state in your article you know to be factually correct. If anything is conjecture and hearsay, you need to clearly identify that, although the hearing this afternoon is strictly to do with the necessity and legality of the injunction, not the validity or otherwise of the allegations you are making. These would be contested at a later date.’