The appearance and true identity of the most famous British intelligence
officer to have served in Ireland are shrouded in mystery. So how do you
recognise him amidst hundreds of people in a public place?
"I'll be the Irish looking guy in the blue coat," says Martin Ingram, which
is hardly helpful. But there he is, leaning against a pillar, of medium
build with dark eyes and hair, looking . . . well, Irish.
At this weekend's Sinn Féin ard fheis, British infiltration of the
republican movement isn't being debated. It should be, says Ingram: "It's
time ordinary republicans stopped being led like sheep and started asking
questions.
"At grassroots level, around one in 20 members are British agents. Higher
up, it's one in three." He claims 'X', a well-known figure and ex-Army
Council member, is a spy.
Former RUC Special Branch officers have lodged documents in London which, if
genuine, could lead to the man's exposure. Ingram is considering writing
his biography. "Short-term, 'X''s cover is safe but, eventually, he'll be
outed."
A Sinn Féin west Belfast representative, whose name is circulating among
republican grassroots, has been a Special Branch agent since the 1980s, he
claims: "It was common knowledge when I served in Northern Ireland."
'Martin Ingram' is a pseudonym, although the Government knows his true
identity: he has an Irish passport. He is giving the Sunday Tribune his
first full media interview in three years since co-writing the best-selling
book, 'Stakeknife', on IRA internal security head, Freddie Scappaticci.
So why did 'Scap' and Sinn Féin's Denis Donaldson betray their comrades?
"Usually, it's for the money. Donaldson would have earned at least €300,000
a year, tax-free. It's easier to recruit in cities. Belfast and Derry are
full of big-time Charlies. South Armagh was harder – the IRA there was built
around families."
It's less costly for the British if 'outed' agents break their security
links and reach a deal with Sinn Féin, as 'Scap' and Donaldson did.
"Relocating an agent and his family costs up to €1.5m.
"A house must be bought for him, a new identity created, and usually a
business set up. Most agents aren't suited to business. When they fail,
they're back at the trough looking for more money."
Ingram (43) served in the controversial Force Research Unit (FRU) for eight
years. He left the Army after marrying a Co Donegal nurse. Her family's
republican connections meant he could no longer work in a sensitive position
in the North.
He has two daughters – "one speaks fluent Irish, I've just left her playing
the tin whistle". He is self-employed: "neither a multi-millionaire, nor
poor". He has passed Gerry Adams on Co Donegal streets, and greeted
McGuinness in Irish during a radio phone-in programme.
Ingram makes no informer allegations about Adams but alleges his agenda –
"to defeat the IRA" – was the same as British intelligence's "which is why
they saved his life twice". Stopping a 1984 loyalist assassination attempt
would have compromised Brian Nelson, Britain's most senior UDA agent, so
instead the British doctored the bullets, ensuring they weren't lethal. In
1987, they thwarted the planting of a limpet mine on Adams' car.
Provisional leaders accuse Ingram of mischief-making to cause internal
dissension. "They never questioned my motivation when I spoke about the
British state murdering republicans or when I said loyalists, at leadership
level, were 100% infiltrated.
"I've helped republicans on collusion matters. Solicitors for Danny Morrison
and the Finucanes asked for meetings. The Andersonstown News published an
article by me. The Provos smear me now because what I'm saying is
uncomfortable for them."
How does he view leading republicans?: "An aura has been created around
Martin McGuinness's IRA record – it's bollocks. He never did much as an
operational volunteer and, under his leadership, Derry PIRA was riddled with
touts." Pat Doherty is "a nothing"; Mitchel McLaughlin, "a teddy bear".
Former Real IRA leader, Mickey McKevitt, "an unreconstructed, serious
f***ing terrorist". Slab Murphy is ruthless: "If he thought 'X' was a tout,
he'd have him killed. So, thankfully, he doesn't believe me". Although
Murphy's desire to "preserve his business empire" has blunted his militancy.
Gerry Adams is "a boring f****r – I'd rather spend a night at bingo with
Collette (Adams' wife)". Gerry Kelly is "like me, a bit of the lad, he'd be
great to go on the piss with."
Ingram, a working-class Leeds Utd supporter, was in Army training during the
1981 hunger-strike. Recruits bought burgers and phoned Sinn Féin "to taunt
them when eating Big Macs".
The diplomatic telephone directory was availed to ring Russian embassies
around the world "to take the piss". It was juvenile but "bored squaddies do
anything".
He didn't wanted to be posted to Germany, "too boring". Cyprus was his first
choice – "sun and shagging" – but he didn't mind Northern Ireland , "it was
exciting, you could make a name for yourself".
Once there, he increasingly sympathised with nationalists: "Protestants
seemed very bigoted. We called the RUC, the Stasi. We were out to defeat
the IRA but they were soldiers like us. Seamus McElwaine and Jim Lynagh
(shot dead by the SAS) were brave men. I was completely opposed to
terrorism but I had to admire them."
He liked some informers such as "Busty Brenda" from Co Fermanagh who slept
with an IRA man while FRU bugged his house. Others were "money-grabbing,
despicable people".
FRU paid some informers' telephone and electricity bills. A spy received a
set wage, plus a fee for every meeting. "Some would ask for three meetings a
week even if they had f*** all to tell because they wanted money. If you
liked them, you let them away with it."
FRU handlers were well-paid. "Our housing and food costs were covered. When
we went drinking, we kept receipts. Everybody fiddled their expenses.
Girlfriends were taken to dinner on FRU. If you wanted a book or CD, you
said the tout wanted it.
"FRU paid for handlers to socialise with agents. If there was a Man
Utd/Liverpool match, you'd suggest buying tickets for a weekend of social
bonding. If the tout said he wasn't interested in football you'd say, 'You
are now!'"
An English businessman in Co Monaghan, who informed on his IRA employees,
received no payment. Indeed, he would take FRU to Ballymena's Adair Arms
Hotel for a night out.
Unlike the RUC, FRU rarely blackmailed anyone into spying, Ingram claims:
"We used carrots, not sticks. A reluctant agent isn't a good one." Only one
in 20 approached agreed to spy. "A Derry Provo taped our offer and played
it on radio. We were done good and proper. We posted him £50 for the
craic."
FRU built up personal contact with potential recruits to soften them
psychologically for an approach. Republicans were relaxed, and so more
susceptible, when holidaying or engaged in leisure pursuits.
Ingram tried to recruit 'U', a Fermanagh IRA leader in her 20s whose husband
was in jail. "She went swimming in the local pool. I'd go down one lane as
she went up the other. I'd make eye contact. She was a tasty bit of stuff
and flirty.
"After weeks of this, I positioned myself on a vehicle checkpoint as she
crossed the Border, removing my helmet so she could see it was me. I
bantered with her, gave her a number to ring, and she took it.
"Twenty minutes later, she was back. She told me which phone in which
Portakabin in St Angelo's base the number was for. She'd access to someone
who could trace that. She was saying, 'you think you're smart boy, but I'm
one step ahead'. I was too frightened to drive back to base. I got a
helicopter to pick me up."
He wasn't always careful: "My nickname was 'Slack Jack'. You're meant to do
a reccy (reconnaissance) to check an area was safe before going out. Slack
Jack would said 'f*** that', and just go and do it. He'd confidence because
he knew he was good at his job."
Fermanagh republicans recall "Super-Brit", a soldier on the
Newtownbutler-Clones checkpoint, whose long hair and chat made him stand out
from his colleagues.
"I dressed and behaved differently so people would say, 'who the f*** is
he?' If they're interested in you, it's easier to develop a rapport, and
maybe recruit them."
Each FRU operator handled eight agents and co-handled another four. Handlers
lived (undercover) in ordinary houses in Protestant areas.
Informers were collected by van at an agreed location. They would be
interviewed inside the vehicle – which contained a sofa and kettle – or at
the handler's home. Informers wouldn't see where they were taken to and the
houses had no distinguishing internal or external features.
If publicly challenged about his identity, Ingram had a cover story: "I
worked for the BBC or BT, anything with a British connection. If you bluff
and think on your feet, you get away with it." Rural areas were more
difficult to operate in than cities: "Farmers are so nosey, they miss f***
all."
His FRU years were "the best in my life". "We worked around our socialising
- never did a job on a Friday night. In Enniskillen, you scored as often as
you wanted, even with Catholic girls. They called us 'Maggies' boys'."
FRU employed women, including Capt Margaret Walshaw who handled Brian
Nelson. "Mags was sex on a stick. I tried my hand there but didn't get
anywhere. She was the best female operator I worked with – single-minded,
ruthless and, by God, could she be a bitch!"
Ingram claims at one stage during questioning by the then Metropolitan
Police Commissioner, Sir John Stevens, in his collusion inquiry, Walshaw
retorted: "Why don't you go write a f*****g parking ticket?" Ingram says he
was told this by Stevens' detectives.
FRU drink-driving was common: "I fell asleep driving back drunk to Thiepval
Barracks. The car hit the kerb, overturned, bounced along the road and we
landed in a field with my mate covered in Chinese takeaway. The police
arrived. We were taken to hospital, but never charged.
"Another night, four of us were naked in a car in Fermanagh coming back from
a party. The driver was plastered. Police stopped us on the Lisnaskea Road.
We said we were squaddies, and were waved through and told to be careful."
He admits such behaviour was "reckless and put lives at risk" but claims
it was "a way of relieving tension for young men in their 20s in a
conflict".
Ingram says his motivation for whistle-blowing is to "tell the truth to the
innocent victims who deserve it". He sees himself as "a sniper shooting
down bullshit from whomever, f*****g off, then coming back again". "Slan
anois!" he says as he heads into the night.
