Cut to the Chase. Ray CW Scott
About the Author
Raymond C. W. Scott 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 in 2012.
First Published in Australia 2014 by Sid Harta Publishers Pty Ltd
This edition published 2014
Copyright © Raymond C. W. Scott 2014
Cover design, typesetting: Chameleon Print Design
The right of Raymond C.W. Scott 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 distribution by
Ebook Alchemy
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