The Spies Who Decked Me

The man I’m writing about lived in my neighbourhood, in the west end of Edmonton, Alberta. Geographically speaking, we were close, only a tall wooden fence separated us. The truth is, we were continents apart … 

I knew nothing about the guy and his wife, [both in their 40s, I figured.] I did not know their first or last names, where they worked or their thoughts on the price of tea in China. But I suspect the man knew a lot about me — and that’s just what our federal government wanted.

That’s not because I was breaking the law, it was because of my line of work …

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Red Flags

This is a story about taxpayer-funded sleaze. To start, let’s go back a few years …

On a bright sunny day in 2003, the strangest thing happened: I was standing on my deck, and my neighbour — whose back yard faced my back yard — was on his deck, some 40 feet away.

For a brief moment, our eyes locked — then suddenly — the man took off like a bat out of hell. Zip, right into his house. Without a nod or a smile, he slammed the door behind him.

My goodness. Weird. What was that about???

A few months later, I again spotted him on his deck — only this time he was resting on a chair, leaning back and chatting on his cordless phone. And guess what happened? Same thing. He glanced my way and bolted! It was déjà vu all over again.

What the hell was going on? Now I was really curious.

Other than having a sudden attack of diarrhea, one possible explanation for the fellow’s odd behaviour was that he was in a witness protection program. Perhaps he’d been warned he was living alongside a news reporter. Better keep a low profile.

Hmmm … could that be it? I had no clue.

My digs are in the foreground [recent photo]. The red line shows how close the houses are. In 2003, there were no tall trees in our backyards. Click to enlarge.

I was puzzled by this and tried to make sense of it. And so I talked things over with Fred Lennarson, an advisor with the Lubicon Cree of Northern Alberta.

I respected Lennarson, a Chicago native and a trained social scientist.

Not for a moment did Lennarson believe that ‘buddy’ was in a witness protection program. No way. When I described how my neighbour had reacted to being spotted, Lennarson quickly announced, “That’s a surveillance house!”

“What??? …” I shot back. “Are you serious?? … who’d they be spying on?”

“You! …”

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• Red Flags
• An Explanation
• The Talisman Controversy
• Libel Chill … and More
• Media Coverage
• “My Spy Buddy”
• Agent Frost Informed About the Suspicious House
• Another Get-Together with Lennarson
• Finally. A Face-to-Face Meeting with Frost
• More Cloak and Dagger Stuff
• Decked Again – Russian Visa Revoked
• A Good Trip Anyway
• Tips About Spies and Surveillance
• The House Today

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An Explanation

“I saw your story on Talisman Energy,” Lennarson explained, “… that’s precisely why the Canadian government would keep an eye on you. You’re trouble.”

I was stunned. I didn’t buy into what Lennarson was saying because it seemed so far-fetched. A spy house on a little-known reporter?

How could it be that someone who is obeying the law and doing their job would be under surveillance — by their own government? Like, how crazy is that … government-funded stalkers?

I shook my head. Lennarson picked up on my disbelief and threw out a challenge. “Don’t believe me?” he asked. “Okay, tell ya what … you fire off an email to your ‘spy buddy’ in the Maritimes, tell him what you saw — and that your next-door neighbour is spying on you from a SURVEILLANCE HOUSE.”

“See what happens …”

I did just that. And that’s when the shit hit the fan …

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The Talisman Controversy

It was the 1990s, and Talisman Energy, a Calgary oil and gas company, was operating in Sudan, a poor north African country run by a ruthless government.

A bloody civil war was underway between the [dominant] North and the [rebellious] South — and the Canadian firm was in the thick of it.

Talisman provided hefty oil royalties to the government in Khartoum, which — according to several foreign aid organizations and church groups — was using that money to buy helicopter gunships. And to fund death squads.

Blood money.

The North had money and muscle, and the South had the oil and a desire to have its own country. Now there’s a recipe for a revolution, if there ever was one.

Click on this link to read the story Lennarson referred to … http://rabble.ca/news/civil-suit-civil-war.

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Libel Chill … and More

The article in rabble.ca — at the time, a fledgling online news organization in Toronto — had been vetted by three lawyers, two in Alberta and one in Ontario. Such was rabble’s fear of publishing stories that put Canadian energy companies [and our country] in a bad light.

Funding death squads that nail spikes through the heads of opponents? Try putting a positive spin on that.

Libel chill is a genuine concern because … a] lawyers are expensive and b] you may lose. I can’t speak for most countries, but anybody in North America can sue anyone over anything. The courts accept all lawsuits, whether legit or frivolous. A judge will not determine if a case has merit until years have passed. You may be broke by then.

The media had libel chills, and a Sudanese woman living in exile in the US had chills, period, and it wasn’t because of her Minnesota winters. She was the wife of one of the two rebel leaders in South Sudan. I’d gotten in touch with her as I could not connect with her husband, who was preoccupied with rebellion.

We talked about her husband’s position on the issue of foreign oil companies and their staff in South Sudan. If the rebels gained power, would these workers be set free? Or held for ransom?

Would they be executed?

The woman phoned back within a day or two — and she was pissed. Somehow, her computer had been wiped clean, and she hadn’t done a thing to it. She felt that whatever happened was because of our interview.

I believe it was.

The woman then got in touch with a contact who worked at the Central Intelligence Agency [CIA] in the U.S. He thought the computer hack was the work of either the US National Security Agency [NSA] or its Canadian counterpart, the Communication Security Establishment [CSE]. 

There you go. My first known experience with an electronic spy organization.

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Media Coverage

The spring 2004 edition of the Ryerson Review of Journalism, a glossy magazine in Toronto, featured an article about how difficult it was for reporters to cover the Talisman-Sudan story.

Check it out. There’s no need to squint; just click on the article to enlarge it.

Calgary-based Alberta Views also wrote about Talisman and Sudan and how the media handled the controversy.

A reference to my work is highlighted with a yellow border. Again, click to enlarge.

Alberta Views – June 2006 – Story by Jeremy Klaszus. In the first pane, a quote is attributed to [Linda] Slobodian, the former Sun crime reporter.

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“My Spy Buddy”

The agent Lennarson referred to was Mike Frost, a retired agent with the Communication Security Establishment.

Canada has several spy agencies. The largest [but one of the least known]is the CSE. The electronic spy agency operates out of a new complex in Ottawa, not far from CSIS. You can’t park near the place.

The CSE monitors our phone calls and emails. The agency specializes in communication matters … plus a discipline known as ‘signals intelligence.’ All clandestine stuff.

The CSE is a mini version of the mighty US electronic spy organization, NSA. 

Agent Frost helped set up Canada’s spy operation in Moscow in the 1970s. All his intel, he shares, was promptly handed over to Washington. You’re surprised, right? Oh, Canada, the errand boy.

In the early 1990s, Mike Frost parted ways with CSE and authored a best-selling book called Spy World. The 1994 tell-all book detailed how his taxpayer-funded employer freely spied on Canadians — all the time. Search warrants? Never heard of ’em.

In his book, Frost revealed they tapped the phone line of Margaret Trudeau, wife of PM Pierre Trudeau, to see if she was smoking pot. They also eavesdropped on phone calls made by two dissenting British MPs who disagreed with PM Margaret Thatcher.

You’ll find Frost’s book on Amazon. https://www.amazon.ca/SPYWORLD-Mike-Frost/dp/0385254946

According to Parliamentary records, the Communication Security Establishment has files on one in four Canadians. Let that sink in. One in four.

It’s hard to believe that every fourth person in Canada is a terrorist, drug dealer or a threat to national security. Considering that children and 80-year-old grandparents are included in the stat, it’s truly amazing.

Mike Frost lived in Ottawa. I interviewed him by phone when I worked as a reporter for 630 CHED Radio in Edmonton. At the time, CHED billed itself as “Alberta’s Information Superstation.” When it came to radio journalism in Western Canada, we were the runaway leader.

Why talk to a veteran spy? Because the public has a right to know how its money is being spent. In a word, accountability.

Mike Frost had been interviewed extensively by reporters, including some who worked for the major American television networks. He once shared that he held the ‘Canadian record’ for most interviews [3] on CBS’s investigative flagship program, 60 Minutes. 

Courtesy of YouTube, here’s a short video featuring Mike Frost in an NBC feature on the extent of electronic spying by both the US and Canadian governments … https://youtu.be/WIFIH12JHIc.

The piece was done by award-winning reporter Ike Seamans.

The gist of Frost’s grievance about his agency was that it was essentially a sleazy operation and that Canadian taxpayers were paying through the nose for snooping that was not only dirty but unlawful.

One morning, I received a high-priority email from the retired spy with a frosty message: if anything tragic ever happened to him [i.e. a sudden, unexpected death], it was no accident. Here’s how Frost put it: if his body was discovered in his car at the bottom of the Rideau Canal, it was not suicide nor an accident.

He asked that I record his email and do a story on it if he suddenly perished. I said, “Sure thing.”

Mike Frost had made the dire prediction to give himself some protection.

We then talked about his email. The reason for it, he said, was that he’d just received a phone call from a man whose voice he recognized as a former co-worker at CSE. The caller warned, “You’re going to have an accident, Mike … you’re going to have an accident.” Click. End of call.

Mike Frost knew he was not liked at the Communication Security Establishment. After reading his book, I understood. He was a whistle-blower big time.

It was time for Agent Frost to get out of Dodge.

Not long after the threat, Mike Frost and his wife were moving to another part of the country. They packed their bags and left the nation’s capital to live a quiet life in New Brunswick. He later phoned to give me his new address.

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Agent Frost Informed About the Suspicious House

After my chat with Fred Lennarson, I whipped off an urgent email to Agent Frost.

Lennarson had pointed out — rightfully so — that the CSE would certainly monitor Frost’s emails and phone calls.

Mike Frost and I had planned to meet that fall to review the manuscript for his new book. He asked if I could edit it, and I said sure. But Frost only wanted to do this in person, not on the phone … nor by email. I recall him saying that the safest way for us to communicate was to talk in the middle of a field on a windy day.

Frost’s previous book had been edited by Michel Gratton, former Parliamentary reporter — and, later, press secretary to Prime Minister Brian Mulroney.

I told Frost that I looked forward to meeting him — and was wondering if he could possibly identify an agent working in a surveillance house that was kitty-corner to mine. I advised that I had a photo of the suspect, which I’d show him when we met. Perhaps he knew the spook.

In fact, I had NO such photo, although I now wish I had. I planted the misinformation in my email to see if Frost’s communication was monitored.

It sure as hell was. Lennarson was right again.

The day after I sent the email, the wife of my mysterious neighbour appeared on her deck. She was holding a watering can, about to tend to her plants. When she noticed I was watching, she didn’t flee [like hubby had]. However, she did something I hadn’t seen her do before: bend her head down so I couldn’t see her face as she sprinted across the deck.

And I thought the Kardashians were weird.

That same day, Mike Frost’s doorbell rang … he opened the door, and there stood a man from CSIS, Canada’s best-known spy agency. The stranger wasn’t there to update him on his pension plan. He ordered Frost to immediately end his relationship with reporter Byron Christopher.

Frost then fired an urgent email my way, saying we could no longer communicate. So much for the editing assignment. And just like that, what I thought was a good relationship just vanished. Poof.

Given the sharp tone of Frost’s email, it was probably written for both my benefit and CSIS’.

The next day, a large moving truck pulled up to the ‘spy house.’ I watched as workers removed furniture and other belongings.

“Busted,” I thought.

Thank you, Fred Lennarson. I phoned Fred with news that the suspicious residence was emptied — and to apologize. He laughed, and the way he told it, “Nice country we live in …”

It took two days to empty the house. A ‘For Sale’ sign appeared on the front lawn two weeks later. ‘For Sale’ signs normally appear before people move out.

Well, I was happy to see them go … and it wasn’t just because of the suspected surveillance. Their two cats had been shitting in my garden.

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Another Get-Together With Lennarson

Lennarson and I met at a noisy neighbourhood pub to discuss current events and old times. He was soon on the move and he wanted to say goodbye.

I reminded him that somebody had gone to the expense of running a bloody surveillance house in my neighbourhood. Lennarson took a sip of cold beer, studied me for a good 10 seconds, then announced, “Byron, you still sound surprised …”

“Canada protects the status quo,” he explained, “and both the government and media know their place,” adding, with a shrug, “… and Canadians seem to be okay with that.”

He then joked: “How do you get a thousand Canadians out of a swimming pool? You say, “please leave the swimming pool.”

According to Lennarson, Canadians are not only reluctant to speak out against injustices, many actually defend the system — even when they know it is wrong.

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Finally. A Face-to-Face Meeting with Frost

A few years ago, I finally met Mike Frost in person. I was in the Maritimes working and visiting family and friends and I decided to drop around — unannounced — to the last address I had for the agent. [I will not divulge that address.]

Agent Frost was not at home. However, his garage door was wide open … suggesting he was close by, perhaps out for a walk. I got behind the wheel of my rental and headed out of town — but not before leaving a hand-written message on a piece of paper sticking out of his mailbox.

Remember that Frost had been ordered never to communicate with me again.

An hour later, I was in a restaurant in another town when my cell phone rang. Well. Well. It was Agent Frost. “If anyone had bet me a million dollars that Byron Christopher would be at my door today,” he said, “I would have taken the bet! How are you doing?”

Frost revealed he had been out walking his dog when I dropped by. “A female dog,” I interjected. “Yeah. How did you know that?” “I saw a pink dog leash hanging by the door.” He laughed. I laughed. But we were faking it because we both knew that the spy business was toxic.

We agreed to meet in a few days at a Tim Hortons’ [doughnut shop] not far from his house. Very Canadian, I know. We set a time: 9:45 am. At 9:45 exactly I was standing at one of the two tills, putting in my order, when a stranger walked up to the till on my left and placed his order.

It was Mike Frost. With his neatly trimmed beard, good attire and composure, he looked very distinguished. Mr. Diplomat.

I recognized Frost’s voice and he must have recognized mine … but he said not a word. Not “Good morning” … “how are you?” nothing. It was like two strangers in a line-up in Toronto or New York.

Frost walked away with his coffee. There was no need for me to watch where he was headed. The agent would have his back to the window so he could keep an eye on both doors. It’s an old spy thing.

I walked up to him, placing my tray on the small table. “Agent Frost,” I said, “we finally meet.” The man smiled, stood up and shook my hand. “It’s an honour,” he said.

I wanted to know what went down the day Frost had sent the ‘dear-John’ email, and so he told me all about it. He explained that a CSIS agent had ordered him to ‘divorce’ his relationship with me immediately. I said, “Divorce? Mike, I’m not even hitting on you …”

Well, I thought it was funny.

“We had them scared, Byron,” Frost pointed out. I said, “Shit, Mike, they had you scared, you shut down completely. I would’ve told them to fuck off.”

Frost and I talked a lot about news reporting and the spy business … why he became a spy [“for King and Country,” he said], his disappointment with CSE, a drinking problem that led to his demotion — and that he and his wife had decided ‘no more media interviews’ because they wanted to spend their retirement years in peace. Fair enough. I get that.

I found it interesting that much of Frost’s training was not done in Canada nor England but in the United States … at Fort Meade, Maryland — home of the NSA.

I asked Frost, “How many people here in New Brunswick know your past?” He replied, “Only one … my pastor.”

Agent Mike Frost died from cancer in 2017.

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More Cloak and Dagger Stuff

In the 1980s, while working as a radio reporter with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation [CBC] in Edmonton, I covered a story that had been broken by the Edmonton Journal: The U.S. military was testing a new high-tech weapon — the cruise missile — and it was doing it in Alberta because the terrain in Alberta was similar to that of the Soviet Union.

The story was hot stuff and our national desk in Toronto to know more about it.

The unarmed, laser-guided cruise missiles were being flown from a location in Northern Alberta to the Canadian Air Base at Cold Lake, in the eastern part of the province.

No one seemed to know much about the new weapons, their size or what they looked like … and so I put in a call to the military brass in Cold Lake. “Talk to the Americans,” they said.

“Sorry, classified information, can’t help you,” the Americans said.

I decided to reach out to the Russians, since cities in the USSR were the intended target. Perhaps the Soviet embassy in Ottawa had some intel on the mystery weapons.

I asked Alexander [Aleksandr] Podakin, Press Attache at the Russian Embassy and if he had any information on the cruise missiles, perhaps photos of them. He said he did.

Podakin then mailed our newsroom several 8×10″ sharp, colour photographs of the cruise missile. I didn’t ask how he got them.

The pictures were real. Turns out, the missiles were identical to the weapons launched by the Americans in their attacks on Iraq.

I remember the day I was in the newsroom when Podakin’s envelope arrived. Out popped these beautiful photos of the cruise missile. We weren’t quite sure what to do with them. I put the pictures in my trusty Samsonite attache case — which I never locked. The photos vanished. Don’t know who grabbed them.

Alexander Podakin later came to Edmonton on official business. He phoned from the posh Westin Hotel downtown. I hopped on my motorbike and dropped around to see him.

We decided to have lunch. We walked to a yuppy-type, dimly-lit restaurant where we found a table for two.

Podakin immediately asked if we could switch seats. The Russian wanted to see who was entering the restaurant. He felt he was being followed.

We had a long chat. The diplomat spoke about his homeland [Ukraine] and that — for five years — he’d studied the Canadian news media. The guy knew way more about the owners of our major media than I did. I was shocked at how much he knew.

About an hour into our get-together, Podakin suddenly became agitated. I said, “What’s up?” The Russian shot back, “It’s the man who followed us … he’s sitting over there by the door.” I turned to see a guy, mid-30’s perhaps, plain clothes, eating alone at a table.

Oh shit.

Podakin and I soon left the restaurant, but not before my guest walked over to the stranger and glared at him. It was tense. They were only about a metre apart and I thought they might duke it out, but nothing happened. The man who had been slowly eating by himself for more than an hour looked totally embarrassed … but he said not a word.

Busted.

The CBC picked up the tab for our meal. I explained to our financial wizards that I was buttering up a news source.

“I hate that about your country,” Podakin snapped as we made our way across Jasper Avenue, “we [Russian embassy staff] are always being followed when we come here.” I shot back, “So how’s that any different from what happens in Moscow?”

Podakin shared that he was restricted to a 25-mile radius of Edmonton — but that the same conditions applied to foreign diplomats based in Moscow.

I then phoned a good contact at RCMP Headquarters in Edmonton [K Division], explaining to the Mountie what had just happened at the restaurant. I was fishing for information … but also hoping there were no hard feelings.

I was told, “The officer was just doing his job.”

It’s funny he should say that. Because that’s the impression I got when I saw the man. He struck me as a decent sort with a mortgage perhaps who was caught up in a conflict that was none of his doing.

I saw Podakin once more, this time in Ottawa. Still 1980s. He picked me up at the airport in an embassy vehicle — a Chevrolet sedan, of all things. I asked, “What’s with the American car … why not something posh like a Lada [a small Russian sedan]?” Podakin smiled but said nothing, weaving his way through traffic as though he had spent his whole life in the city. Or at least had studied its road map.

Podakin worked out of the Soviet Press Office at the end of Stewart Street. It was in one of the rooms there where I recorded an interview with another Russian diplomat — for a CBC Radio feature on agriculture challenges in the Soviet Union.

I found the Russians to be up-front about their problems, which surprised me. I expected a lot of ducking and diving, but that didn’t happen.

Podakin was a great contact. I once asked for his help in getting an interview with Виктор Васильевич Тихонов — better known as Viktor Tikhonov — the legendary coach of a dominant Soviet hockey team that captured eight world championships and three Olympic gold medals.

CBC Sports in Toronto wanted to score an  interview with Tikhonov, and so I pulled some strings to make it happen. The first string was attached to Podakin.

Podakin complained that he was “crossing a line” to get involved in a sports matter … but he came through just the same. The exclusive interview — a scoop — was a go.

I met Tikhonov in his hotel room close to the Alberta Legislature in downtown Edmonton. In front of the coach were three small televisions which he was using as monitors. The hockey legend was watching VHS tapes of games. Tikhonov hit pause, removed his glasses and stood up. We shook hands.

On television, Tikhonov came across as a dictatorial coach, shouting at the officials —  and sometimes at his own players. In person, well he was somewhat the same … stern. He answered all my questions — with the help of a Russian translator who was a sports reporter with state-run Novosti Press.

Tikhonov gave enlightening, straight-ahead answers … which CBC Sports loved. So did the Novosti reporter as he ran a story about the interview in his homeland.

One response from Tikhonov stands out after all these years. I wanted to know which was greater … the Canadian influence on their game, or Russian influence on our game. “We have influenced your style more than you have ours,” he said.

Before Alexander Podakin left Canada, in the mid 1980s, he was interviewed on the CBC’s Fifth Estate, giving the USSR version of how a terrible famine in the Ukraine in 1932 claimed millions of lives. The West claimed the disaster was man-made, genocide. Podakin denied that.

Podakin returned to Moscow to work for Novosti. I recently Googled his name … and the latest I could find on my old contact was that he was reporting for Moscow News. But, that was in 1992 — a long time ago.

I have no idea where Podakin is now. He’d be well into his 80s. He may not even be alive.

I then sent an email to a major news outlet in Moscow about Alexander Podakin … but haven’t heard back.

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Decked Again – Russian Visa Revoked

If you thought I had an “in” with the Ruskies, think again.

Any connection I had with the USSR quickly vanished in early June 1986 when my Russian visa was yanked — within just days of flying out of Edmonton to visit three major cities … Leningrad, Moscow and Kiev.

It was at the Edmonton International Airport where I popped some quarters in a pay phone to return a surprise call our newsroom had gotten from the Russian Ambassador in Ottawa. He left an urgent message for me to call.

Mr. Ambassador had some bad news: my visa to enter the USSR had been revoked. I could get as far as the Russian border, he said, but no further.

I was shocked and, of course, disappointed.

I recall that the ambassador — whose name escapes me now — spoke good English. He shared that it was the first time his embassy [in Ottawa] had issued a visa only to have it cancelled by Moscow. No explanation was given.

I suspected that embassy staff in Ottawa were just following orders.

I’d been decked again — but this time by someone in the Russian intelligence community in a country I wasn’t supposed to visit.

Does 1986 ring a bell? On April 26th of that year, an explosion ripped through a nuclear-power plant at Chernobyl, north of Kiev. Two workers died on the spot … but it’s believed that thousands more people were fatally exposed to radiation poisoning.

Kiev was to be one of my stops.

It didn’t take a social scientist to figure out why I was the only one of some 30 tour members to have their visa pulled.

Truth is, I was hoping to sneak out of Kiev and make my way up to Chernobyl. I shared these plans with CBC Radio co-worker Anna Maria Tremonti, who went ballistic. Anna Maria pleaded with me to cancel my Russian trip, fearing I’d die because of the radiation fallout.

I fired off a postcard to Podakin at Novosti, asking if he knew anything about my visa being revoked. I thought if anyone could relate to the goings-on of intelligence-gathering spy agencies, he could.

Never heard back.

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A Good Trip Anyway

I got as far as Finland, which was still very nice. It was late spring, the weather was beautiful … and I didn’t have much owing on my VISA card.

I lived in Finland for nearly all of 1972, working at the large Wärtsilä shipbuilding yard in the old port city of Turku. While not fluent in Finnish, I was familiar with the language … and I still knew a few people there.

I also got to hang out for a while with some missionaries I knew in Germany.

So, in spite of the Russian visa being cancelled, the trip wasn’t a complete bust.

I wrote about my return to Finland in the Turun [Turku] Sanomat which, at the time, had a circulation of about 300,000. The article was published on Tuesday, 9 October 1986.

I had help with the translation from an English-speaking reporter at the paper.

The article focused on the changes I’d noticed in the 14 years I was away from the country … and that I missed it. Don’t try to read it … none of it will make sense. The Finnish language is so different from ours.

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Tips About Spies & Surveillance

Some of these takeaways may be old news … but they’re a good reminder.

#1: A landline telephone is a LIVE microphone, even if the phone is hung up. Police and spooks can hear everything in a room with a landline phone. For that very reason, be aware of landline phones in your bedroom. Those intimate moments may not be so private.

#2: ALL emails in Canada are monitored. Certain words in an email will cause correspondence to be flagged and read by a clerk at CSE headquarters in Ottawa. Key words include cocaine, bomb, women’s rights, native rights, rally, Iran, demonstration, etc.

A professor at the University of Alberta in Edmonton boobytrapped his emails with fake key words just to mess with the CSE, such was his contempt for the organization.

#3: CSE agents do not get warrants to snoop.

#4: The Communication Security Establishment has files on 1 in 4 Canadians. I touched on this earlier.

#5: The Communication Security Establishment is part of a top-secret, five-country intelligence-gathering organization called Echelon. The other members are: USA, Britain, Australia and New Zealand. These folk trade information like we used to trade comic books and sports cards. They spy on each other’s citizens.

Courtesy of BBC archives and NeedToKnow, this 1990 story on the spy network and how it works.

[Echelon] spy network revealed
November 3, 1999, BBC News
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/503224.stm

Imagine a global spying network that can eavesdrop on every single phone call, fax or e-mail, anywhere on the planet. It sounds like science fiction, but it’s true. Two of the chief protagonists – Britain and America – officially deny its existence. But the BBC has confirmation from the Australian Government that such a network really does exist. The base is linked directly to the headquarters of the US National Security Agency (NSA) at Fort Mead in Maryland, and it is also linked to a series of other listening posts scattered across the world, like Britain’s own GCHQ. The power of the network, codenamed Echelon, is astounding.

Every international telephone call, fax, e-mail, or radio transmission can be listened to by powerful computers capable of voice recognition. They hone in on a long list of key words, or patterns of messages. The network is so secret that the British and American Governments refuse to admit that Echelon even exists. But another ally, Australia, has decided not to be so coy.

The man who oversees Australia’s security services, Inspector General of Intelligence and Security Bill Blick, has confirmed to the BBC that their Defence Signals Directorate (DSD) does form part of the network. Asked if they are then passed on to countries like Britain and America, he said: “They might be in certain circumstances.” They are looking for evidence of international crime, like terrorism. But the system is so widespread all sorts of private communications, often of a sensitive commercial nature, are hoovered up and analysed.

Note that this is a 1999 article. The capability to monitor all communications has existed for a long time. For a powerful, well documented 20-page paper in the Federal Communications Law Journal providing strong evidence that this program is unconstitutional, click here.

#6: CSE agents receive some of their training at the massive NSA complex in Maryland, much of it underground. The NSA hires the best brains, according to Agent Frost who got some of his training there. He recalls how difficult it was to move from one part of the complex to another.

#7: Diplomatic staff smuggle material in so-called diplomatic bags, which aren’t opened by customs or excise inspectors. Smuggling? No problem.

#8: Even from a distance, spy agencies can determine what you’re typing at your computer. They don’t have to install a small camera in your room, or to bug it. That’s the idea behind a surveillance house.

#9: According to Agent Frost, agents aren’t too worried about home ‘security systems.’ They are easily defeated.

#10: How insidious is the relationship between Big Industry and Big Government? According to Fred Lennarson, there was a time when the head of CSIS and the  head of the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers were brothers, giving a whole new meaning to all in the family.

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The House Today

The residence [about 15 years on] in a May 2019 photo. The current owners — immigrants from Mexico — knew nothing of the building’s past. My house is to the left, now hidden by tall trees. Only the grey roof is visible. Click to enlarge.

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On a Lighter Note …

[Credit: cartoonist Dan Piraro] Click to enlarge.

THE AUTHOR

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Byron_Christopher