Memoirs: The Spy From Down Under

PROLOGUE1

 2

Being a spy isn't all that it's cut out to be. Trust me. I've been there, done that, and to complete a very overused expression, got the T-shirt. 3

James Bond films – now there's a piece of wishful fantasy. Suave suits, striking women always ready to put out, fast cars, a licence to kill, and unlimited ways out of a tricky situation – be it blowing something up with your specially modified wristwatch or calling in the special forces cavalry. 4

What bull. 5

Spies almost never wear suits, preferring cheap off-the-rack casuals, the women aren't always hot (or if they are, are married or extremely bitchy), spies never make enough to buy fast cars, killing is a last resort (provided you're even armed), and you're more often than not disavowed when discovered operating in hostile territory. 6

I didn't sign up because I saw a Bond film and thought it would be a cool career – I was one of those folks who actually wanted to protect and preserve the country. It was 2000, and I was one of the 10 newly minted Generalist Intelligence Officers who graduated from the year-long traineeship program at the Australian Security Intelligence Organization (ASIO) – the Aussie version of MI-5. (Domestic intelligence, unlike ASIS, which operates overseas.)7

GIOs weren't assigned to glamorous postings in Korea or the like straightaway – it was more menial, varied jobs that ranged from surveillance support, technical services, analysis, and intelligence collection. That's kinda what Generalist meant, I guess. The pay wasn't all that great (shy of 4 grand a month) – but for the first time in my life, I felt I was making a difference, doing something worthwhile. I'd been stuck in architecture for two years before this, and I felt like a man reborn. 8

A year after, I'd been promoted to Intelligence Officer – gathering intel on arms smuggling groups operating out of Sydney and Fremantle, with two officers under me. Still a minor tasking, but I relished it. 9

Then, September 11 happened. All the stops were pulled out. Agencies all over the world went on full alert, sharing information like never before and all determined to stop a repeat of the bombings in their own countries.10

ASIO underwent a massive growth surge from that time on – from a 1020 employees to more than 1209 in 2008. 11

I was pulled off the arms rings and set to work analyzing intel on possible jihadi extremist cells in Australia, along with maybe 500 others. 12

Much of being a spy is like any other civil service – there's paperwork, and you have a desk which you're expected to use. But for me, getting out into the field was one of the highs of the job.13

ASIO officers weren't authorized to carry firearms (The Federal Police were there to handle their dirty work – raids, arrests and so forth) so all the agents had to rely on were their wits. I've seen officers sweet-talk their way out of trouble with a gun to their heads, wheedled information out of a reluctant informant, bluffed with mob bosses and automatic weapons ... it isn't always foolproof, but spooks are good at their job.14

You might have noticed I've been using the past tense when speaking about my job.15

It started, as these things often do, with a woman. I can remember vividly the day I met her, every detail of it. 16

Ten in the morning, and I was sitting at my usual window table at the cafe across from the building we were using for operational headquarters. A shot of espresso and a half-eaten waffle sat on the table in front of me. The West Australian was folded open to the world news section. I was concentrating on an article about the war in Iraq and the impending presidential election, and I didn't notice her until her shadow fell across the paper.17

I looked up in irritation, but my semi-polite entreaty for whoever it was to move the heck out of the way stopped short at my larynx. A woman, aged twenty-three or thereabouts, red hair, dark eyes, slim and petite, and a wide smile slid into the booth, facing me.18

Forward much? A voice in my head was asking this question while at the same time begging me not to let this one go. To be perfectly truthful, I wasn't exactly Romeo when it came to relationships. Two of my last girlfriends couldn't stand the constant beeper summons and trips interstate, so broke up with me over that miracle of technology called email. My most recent girlfriend dumped me for not remembering her birthday. What can I say? I was on a job.19

I offered up a smile that made it look like I'd just swallowed something rank. It must have been the conflict within me. 20

Turned out that, while I was absorbed in current affairs, the cafe around me had filled up, so my booth was the only vacancy. She'd decided to take the risk of disturbing me by sitting down. 21

Oh, I wasn't disturbed, I assured her, with a more genial smile this time.22

Her name was Pat. Patricia Watts. She was an IT consultant with a firm of engineers down the street. I told her I was in architecture – since that was the one job I could actually expound upon, having actually done it – and we got talking.23

Talked for three hours, in fact. I found it strange that such a woman, who had men turning their heads for a second and third glance everywhere she went, would be interested in a nobody like me. In fact, if she were to check up on my spur-of-the-moment tale of being an architect, she'd find that the firm I allegedly worked for had closed down. 24

Our first official date was later that weekend, and, three dates later, my supervisor called me into his office. 25

“Mate, I understand you've formed a new liasion,” he said, with a smile. “I'm going to need her details and stuff so I can get vetting started.”26

It was routine for partners to get vetted for security reasons – you didn't want to tell them you were a spy and then have them blab it about the next day. Of course, it was illegal to ID an ASIO officer, so they'd be chucked in jail straightaway, but the damage would have been done. Hence the vetting. 27

Six dates. The relationship wasn't affecting my work, and vice versa, since I was posted to a desk at HQ for about three months, so no more interstate travel at odd hours of the night. 28

Pat moved in. She passed vetting, and four months into our relationship, I told her what I really did for a living. She took it well – considering I'd basically lied to her the whole way through – but then, she was from a military family, herself, with her brother serving in Iraq and her father a retired police commissioner.29

I told her my real name, too. Terry Williams. I'd previously gone by Barry Holtzman, among other names. She laughed and said she liked Terry better. She also said she was proud of me – serving my country and all that.30

Five months, and then seven. I applied for a permanent posting to Canberra – I wanted to stay put in one place, which was paramount if this relationship were to go any further. I couldn't be gallivanting all over the place if Pat and I were to settle down.31

We got engaged on the 23^rd of October, 2007. I was madly in love, and we couldn't be happier. The folks at the office threw us a little party. Her mother flew over. My brother showed up with his own wife and two kids. 32

I suppose I should have thought about the danger I might put Pat in, as the wife of an Senior Intelligence Officer. I didn't, and I paid the price. 33

I'd recently pissed off yet another crime ring in Melbourne (who were selling arms to rebel Chechens) and the buggers wanted revenge. Somehow – I still have no idea how – they tumbled to my real name and location. Stormed the house. Held my wife hostage. Demanded I tell them details of other ASIO officers operating undercover in Melbourne. They could have made a fair killing with that kind of information.34

But training was training. You never gave up your own. In fact, I hardly knew any of the operations running in Melbourne, and the few that I knew of I would never give up. 35

They started by blowing her kneecaps off, one at a time. 36

They did things to her I can't begin to describe – they were pretty angry, considering I'd put down their leader and lieutenants. I couldn't reach a panic button. My phone was ten feet away on the bedside table, but it seemed like ten miles. 37

They killed her after three hours. And made me watch. 38

They left me, bound, face down, attached to a ticking  Semtex bomb. A tad melodramatic, but they wanted to prove a point, see. Face down, I was left to stare at the lifeless eyes of my fiancιe, an image that's seared into my mind to this day.39

I managed to disarm the bomb and call in the cavalry, but it was too late. She was dead, and I had to explain it to her sobbing parents. They didn't blame me, but I imagine they sometimes did so, behind my back.40

I left ASIO on the 5^th of December, 2007. Been out of the game for almost a year. I cited 'personal reasons' on the resignation letter – and everyone knew what those reasons were. The boss tried to get me to take sick leave instead, with pay, but I was adamant. Perhaps foolishly so – but the thing of it was, I was no longer a spook. 41

I Couldn't take it anymore. I simply wanted a normal life, and a normal life was what they gave me – a nice little retirement present in the form of a consulting job with an architect's firm in South Perth, Western Australia, and a suburban one-storey house, coupled with a nice pension.42

It seemed like life, but it wasn't, really. Not after what I'd seen and done and been through.43

And then came the call, out of the blue, one Saturday afternoon, as I was sitting on the verandah with my yellow lab, Sunny, at my feet, reading the paper and grinning at the thought of Bush being shoved on a plane and shooed off.44

“Terry Williams? This is Assistant Director-General Illingworth. You've being reactivated.”45