to its position of abstaining, and that Russia and France could be convinced to go along. In that case, success was at least within the realm of reasonable possibility. It was, until travel along the secret road to war encountered a dangerous, and unanticipated, barrier.
And in Cheltenham: ‘I went to my local shop, as usual, on a Sunday morning to get my copy of the newspaper. It was 2 March. I was completely, totally bowled over – gobsmacked – when I saw what was on the front page. It knocked me for six, and I think that’s the point where it hit me that I was in trouble. Serious trouble.’
‘The United States is conducting a secret “dirty tricks” campaign against UN Security Council delegations in New York as part of the battle to win votes in favour of war against Iraq,’ Martin Bright, Ed Vulliamy, and Peter Beaumont wrote. ‘Details of the aggressive surveillance operation, which involves interception of the home and office telephones and the e-mails of UN delegates in New York, are revealed in a document leaked to the Observer.
‘The memo describes orders to staff … whose work is clouded in secrecy, to step up its surveillance operations … to provide up-to-the minute intelligence for Bush officials.’
Made clear in both the news story and the memo itself was that UNSC members not specifically named by Frank Koza also were of interest. These would include Russia, France, China, and Mexico. And it would be more than a year later when the full extent of the surveillance was known.
The Observer scoop noted that the disclosure came ‘amid increasingly threatening noises from the United States towards undecided countries of the Security Council who have been warned of the unpleasant economic consequences of standing up to the United States’. Attributed to Washington sources was information that President Bush’s national security adviser, Condoleezza Rice, requested the spy operation. It was predicted, albeit wrongly, that this NSA misadventure would be ‘deeply embarrassing to the Americans’.
The nature and depth of news coverage made it clear that this was not going to be one of the usual ‘reliable government source’ leaks. It was explosive, and there would be demands for accountability. Katharine made her way home in struggling slow motion, manoeuvring through a slog of sickening fear, apprehension, and guilt – guilt only so far as Yasar and her family were concerned. The full realization of what her action could mean to her husband’s safety struck her as solidly as a slap on the face. And there were her beloved parents and brother living and working in Taiwan, not to mention Gran in Yorkshire. All those who loved and trusted her.
It was not known who leaked the message or where that person worked. But the fact that the message had been replicated in the newspaper, not just its contents reported in an article, that it had been headlined on page one, signalled that naming the betrayer would be only a matter of time. Gobsmacked.
Katharine fell into the house and into Yasar’s arms, sobbing, so distraught that he was terrified and had difficulty making sense of what she was trying to say. Katharine handed him the newspaper. ‘It was me,’ she said. Slowly he read the headlines and the beginning of Bright’s story. His reaction was gentle, surprisingly so for a passionate Mediterranean temperament. ‘I understand,’ he told her. ‘You did what you had to do. I am proud of you.’
Yasar tried to comfort his wife, but she could not stop crying. He told her, ‘You don’t have to tell anybody. Nobody knows it’s you if you don’t confess. They can’t prove anything.’
The fear made her physically ill all that Sunday and throughout the night. Vomiting and diarrhoea left her weak, and she was barely able to dress for work in the morning. She thought about calling in sick but then thought better of it, not wanting to call undue attention to herself. This morning, when Yasar dropped her at the gate he held her close longer than usual, smoothed her hair, kissed her gently. ‘I am proud of you,’ he told her again when at last she pulled away from him. ‘Very, very proud.’
The manhunt was immediate, thorough, and tough. There would be no anonymous source; the source would be found and punished. Too much was at stake at the moment, principally the hotly debated US/UK draft resolution designed to legitimize a pre-emptive strike on Iraq and to build a broad-based supporting coalition. Throughout the day, various people were called in for interrogation; wide-eyed and apprehensive, they disappeared and, damp-browed and silent, they returned. The air was thick with fear and suspicion.
Katharine’s turn came on Tuesday. She had slept a little on Monday night, but not for long and certainly not peacefully. Her answer to the principal question was simple, direct, and patently false. ‘I read the message and I deleted it.’ The questioning session was just what she expected. She was well prepared and apparently convincing. Katharine remained outwardly calm during her interview but was mentally awash and weak-kneed when she returned to her desk, unable to focus. Blurred images floated mystically across her computer screen, refusing to settle into place, defying her ability to translate. Somehow, she got through the day. The night would be worse.
Yvonne, in Bahrain, was relieved to see the story published ‘after three nail-biting weeks’. Feelings of relief did not last and she feared she would be arrested. She debated whether she should go to Jordan, or even into Iraq.
‘Anything,’ she says, ‘seemed preferable to being arrested.’
CHAPTER 4: Conscience Meets Inspector Tintin
The Observer said yesterday that the memo had been leaked to it ‘by British security sources who objected to being asked to aid the American operation’ … a 28-year-old woman employee at GCHQ was arrested.
– Jeevan Vasagar and Richard Norton-Taylor, Guardian
I’m pretty rubbish at telling lies, and I try to be an honest person. If I had continued to lie, I would have been dishonest, like them. I have to say that I’ve only ever followed my conscience. And it, my conscience, is such a nuisance.
– Katharine Gun, to the authors
KATHARINE’S NUISANCE OF a conscience would not let her sleep after telling government interrogators on Tuesday that she had read and immediately deleted Frank Koza’s message, that she had assumed it had nothing to do with her. The magnitude of the lie was too great, the sense of guilt too strong. Her conscience had made her physically ill, and she reached the only decision possible. After a fretful, sleepless night, and tortured indecision, she determined she would admit to her crime. All hopes of anonymity had evaporated.
On Wednesday morning, Yasar did not drive directly to GCHQ; instead, in silence, he drove aimlessly around the city, delaying the moment when he would leave his wife at the GCHQ gate. She sat at his left, exhausted, head tilted back against the seat, numbed. A tape of Turkish music played softly. There was an amazing sense of serenity in the car.
Wednesday morning was chilly but lovely. The rush hour, such as it was, had passed in this city, a uniquely inviting place resting peacefully on the western edge of the lush Cotswolds. In the distance are ancient forests and gentle hills, a verdant green that extends down to gardens throughout the city. In spite of a modern mall downtown, Cheltenham is typically picture-perfect English, with its elegant Georgian architecture and palpable aura of the past. Here, one can reach out and touch the Middle Ages, can marvel at historic Regency influence.
Although she was raised in Taiwan, Katharine is fiercely, loyally British. She never felt her nationality, her fealty to birthplace, more vibrantly than this day when she knew she was taking the risk of being called ‘traitor’.
Finally,
