From
Paris with love
David Shayler,the former M15 officer exiled in France, reveals how the
Secret Service turned its back when Colonel Gaddafi's men came looking
for him
When I first went on the record, many people seemed not to be bothered
about MI5's unnecessary investigation into leftwing individuals. They saw
it as a part of the Cold War. What they found hard to accept were my
disclosures that MI5 simply could not do its job.
We have always believed that our intelligence services are "the best
in the world". But how would we know? The edifice of secrecy thrown
up around MI5 and MI6 has meant that we have little reliable information
about what is done in our name. When I went on record with tales of
incompetence and bungling, I was howled down. My information was banned
and my character attacked in a series of shadowy anonymous
briefings.
A government injunction prevents me revealing details of what I learned
about MI5's operational incompetence I can, however, relate a true story
that happened to me after I had left MI5...
In the week after I was released from prison in November 1998, John
Wadham, my lawyer and the director of Liberty, the human rights
Organization, forwarded a fax from the BBC Arabic Service. It requested
an interview with one of their freelance journalists, Souhail Rasheed. In
the same week, Anne Sophie Levy, my French lawyer, received a number of
calls from this individual offering me £50,000 to do a television
interview about my prison experiences.
We discussed the political sensitivities of giving an interview to an
Arab journalist, but decided that there was little anyone could do about
it as long as I didn't make any new disclosures. And, hell, for £50,000 I
was more than happy to oblige.
The Tuesday of that week, I called him on a French mobile number and
agreed to meet to him in the Cafe Beaubourg the following Thursday.
My girlfriend Annie Machon and I deliberately arrived about 10 minutes
early, hoping to see Rasheed's arrival. We sat in a corner but a waiter
approached us to say that Rasheed was waiting for us on the first
floor where he had an excellent view of both entrances. He looked
like an academic. He wore little round, tortoiseshell rimmed glasses, was
grey and balding with a pointy beard. The look was completed by a pipe
and newspaper like something out of a bad movie.
Rasheed told us he wasn't going to beat about the bush. He declared that
he was a
"representative of the Libyan Intelligence Services" (LIS) and
was licensed to carry a firearm. He patted a large bulge below his
armpit. He then went on to detail what we could get out of this meeting.
As he spoke, he kept sparking up his flamethrower lighter. Later, Annie
and I confessed that we could only think of one thing as he spoke: his
using the lighter to torture some terrified prisoner.
It transpired, unsurprisingly, that the LIS wanted me to go to Libya. In
return, I could name my price. "We are talking millions of pounds.
We have bank accounts already set up in Switzerland for this sort of
thing."
But I had no intention of being a traitor. I was just too scared to say
no in case he took this as a declaration of war. I wondered if the
lighter was in fact a recording device. I think he realised he had scared
us with the mention of the LIS. He began to backtrack. If we went to
Libya, we would, he elaborated, only be meeting the Colonel for tea. I
could give my evidence about MI6's failed plot to kill Gaddafi and about
Lockerbie in writing. And the Libyans would, of course, help me get a
book published.
I had absolutely no intention of betraying my country, but I did discuss
the possibility of giving some sort of statement to the Libyan
authorities on the Gaddafi plot. But without leaving France. Rasheed said
that any book deal or payment was dependent on my going to Libya.
"Don't worry," he said. "No one there thinks you were
involved in the plot," thereby immediately giving away to me that
they did. They wanted me in Libya to answer questions. Not as a witness
but as a coconspirator. For a second or two, I left the conversation and
let my mind follow this to its logical conclusion torture, show trial and
execution. The cynical might think I am overdramatising, but I spent two
years reading about atrocities committed by the regime that would have
embarrassed medieval despots. There was no way I was going to
Libya.
Rasheed, I think, suspected he had blown it. But he ploughed on,
switching tack. He asked me if I would be prepared to give a statement
about the Gaddafi plot to their lawyer in Paris. I could see no harm in
revealing information already in the public domain. Anyway, I had
information about the murder of innocent civilians. Didn't I have a duty
to pass evidence to those concerned with its investigation? I said that I
would have to consult my lawyer first.
Rasheed then started on about Lockerbie. He began to spin theories about
where the real responsibility lay, naming just about every Arab regime
apart from Libya. I smiled limply, giving nothing away, hoping that all
this would soon be over. Of course, if I could prove that Libya was not
responsible for the attack, I would be handsomely rewarded. Again, I said
nothing.
When he had finished his pitch, I agreed to get back to him within the
week, although I had absolutely no intention of doing so. It just seemed
the easiest way to get out of a nightmare situation. I said I didn't have
any contact numbers as I was in the process of moving to a new
flat.
"Don't you have a mobile?" He asked. I tried to show no fear.
But that very morning I had bought a no-subscription, no-bills mobile
phone at a shop near our flat.
(Did they have me under surveillance then?) I told him that I didn't. I
gave him my email address, although fortunately I later found out that
the account had been closed while I was in prison. Before we left, we got
him talking a bit, partly to alleviate the intensity of the
discussion it is not every day that a strange man offers you a
lifetime's financial security to betray your country partly to gather
information on him. He told us that he was a Jordanian by birth but was a
naturalised French citizen.
After a couple of minutes of this, Annie and I shook hands with him and
left, trying not to look like we were making indecent haste.
As we left, Annie and I tried to talk casually, in case we were still
being watched. We agreed not to return to the flat. We walked off in the
opposite direction towards Les Halles and then turned towards Place de
Chatelet. I had the feeling I was being followed.
Coincidentally, I had to make an urgent phone call about a completely
unrelated matter, so I went into a telephone box while Annie crossed the
road to see if anyone appeared to take the same route as us. One
character, an Arab, stopped, looked across at the phone box I was in,
paused and then went on his way. A couple of other unlikely-looking Arabs
hung around the square for no apparent reason.
We agreed to find a cafe where we could discuss what exactly we thought
was going on. But first, we had to get some distance between us and the
goons who we suspected were following us. We headed off up Avenue
Victoria and then turned right into Rue des Lavandieres. As we turned, we
risked a glance over our shoulders. One of the Arabs had moved off in our
direction and was using a mobile phone. We scurried off towards Rue de
Rivoli, doubled back on ourselves a couple of times and then found a
cafe.
We sat there for about an hour, drinking kirs to try and Calm down. We
eyed each newcomer to the Cafe with suspicion. Each person who came in
alone was immediately marked down for further subtle (we hoped) scrutiny.
We did the same in each cafe we went to that night until, nervous and
exhausted, we decided to spend the night in the 7e Art Hotel rather than
go home and risk blowing our address to the Libyans.
We phoned John Wadham that day but he was unable to meet us until the
following Friday. We realised there wouldn't be too much danger as we had
a week to decide. Or at least that's what the Libyans thought. So we were
safe until then.
When that week was up, we knew that the Libyans would be wondering what
had happened to our decision. That night, at around midnight, the buzzer
downstairs went. As no one knew where we were living, we froze. Not even
the letting agency knew we were David Shayler and Annie Machon, as a
journalist friend had completed all the paperwork and we had allowed the
letting agency to think we were a married couple called David and Anna de
Carteret.
We thought it might be drunks at the buzzer. But why did it have to
happen the very night our deadline with the Libyans ran out? The buzzer
went again. We turned off the telly and the lights, even though these
weren't visible from downstairs, and went to the cutlery drawer where we
both pulled out sharp knives.
The buzzer went again, but this time the unknown joker just left his
finger there.
For about half a minute. We cowered until the buzzing stopped. And that
was it.
Until one o'clock in the morning when exactly the same thing happened.
Again, we cowered, not sure what to do.
The following morning at 8am, we were woken up by yet another buzz, which
we tried hard to ignore. An hour later, it happened again. But that was
the last of it.
When we finally met John Wadham, we agreed that he should inform MI5:
officers and former officers have a duty to report approaches from
foreign intelligence services. John spoke to Paul Martin, the current
press liaison officer, while Annie and I sat listening. MI5 said that it
was not their concern, until John pointed out that we were merely
following Service guidelines. Martin spoke to Stephen Lander, head of
MI5, shortly afterwards and then called us back.
It was, they had agreed, a matter for the French intelligence services.
John pointed out that it was a threat to national security as I had
details that the Libyans clearly wanted, including the names of agents in
Libya who worked for MI5 and MI6.
A couple of weeks later, John Wadham phoned me to say that MI5 had again
been in contact. It wanted to pass on an "unconfirmed rumour"
that the Libyans wanted to kidnap me in connection with the
"so-called Gaddafi plot". I asked what MI5 was doing about
this. The answer was nothing.
Of course, if I came back to the UK, I Could rely upon the protection of
the authorities there, but otherwise I was on my own. John asked MI5 to
at least pass on the information to the French authorities, which they
reluctantly agreed to do.
In the meantime, Annie and I contacted our French lawyers. They phoned
the DST (the French Secret Service) to make them aware of what had
happened. They said that it was a problem for the Brits. Our lawyers then
wrote to them, which sent them into a flat spin, as they would have
looked extremely shortsighted and incompetent if anything had happened to
me.
A week or so after that, Paul Martin phoned John Wadham again with
similar information. The Libyans, according to unconfirmed intelligence,
were still planning an operation against me. Again, MI5 made it Clear
that it was not prepared to help me.
MI5 failed to do its duty. It failed to protect a British Citizen. And it
failed to follow up an investigative lead into a Libyan intelligence
officer, even though government policy dictates that it must identify
these operatives.
I studied the Libyan regime for two years. If I had been kidnapped, I
would have cracked when faced with torture. I would have given my captors
the identities of MI5 and MI6 agents, many of whom continue to live in
Libya. The agents would have then been tortured and probably executed and
the Officers certainly rendered ineffective. In all, it would have been
an enormous coup for the Libyans and would have left the UK's efforts
against the Libyan target severely depleted.
The Special Branch officers who protect Salman Rushdie may not agree with
his views on the police but they are still duty bound to protect him from
those who wish to undermine our democracy through the use of violence. By
refusing to act, the Service didn't just put my life at risk. It risked
the lives of MI5 and MI6 operatives and the compromise of its most secret
methods and operational techniques. It preferred to play politics rather
than talk to a whistleblower now threatened by a state with a record for
terrorism.
Ironically, by failing to react, MI5 potentially put the security of the
British state at far greater risk than I have ever done in my public
disclosures.
Punch, Issue 96, December 18, 1999 Jan 14, 2000
Advertisement for David Shayler
Amnesty for David Shayler
Accountability for MI5/MI6
PUBLIC FRIEND No1
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do
nothing”
Attributed to Edmund Burke, Philosopher and writer.
“They prosecute the critics, but they don’t prosecute the traitors”
David Shayler, ex-MI5 officer & whistleblower.
David Shayler spent four months in jail for revealing that MI6 used your
money to fund terrorism. Foreign Secretary, Robin Cook lied to the
British people.
Democracy has failed us.
We believe the people have a right to know about crimes committed in
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If you want more information, would like to help or make a donation to
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Telephone: 0033 6 82 63 70 91
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Who we are:
We are people from all walks of life who support what David Shayler has
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Supporters already include Gareth Peirce the Lawyer, Mark Thomas the
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All the activities of Public Enemy No1 will be entirely legal. They will
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