Guilty Pleasures

Harry Pearce was a master at his profession. To say that he was an expert at planning and mounting all types of operations, surveillance or otherwise, would be an understatement. He approached them all in the same way, every last detail was checked and double checked. While on a surveillance mission, Harry would take the least direct route to where he was going, watching out for a tail while on the way. He could spot one a mile a way, and perhaps more crucially , he knew exactly how to lose one. He would then move into position, an optimum observation position, which had been thoroughly researched of course. One which would allow him to see everything, but ensure that no one would spot him, vital if the target was familiar with him. Once completed, Harry would return via a completely different, yet equally indirect route . It was good tradecraft. The method applied to every mission, every operation. Even now, with this surveillance operation, all these years later.

It was almost 10:30, as Harry glanced at his watch, waiting for his target to board the bus. He had gotten on 3 stops before, to ensure he would get the seat he wanted in order to maintain surveillance without being seen, and provide enough time to leave again if he didn't. It was good tradecraft, leave yourself enough room and time to abort, should the need arise. Luckily, so far this week , it hadn't.

Even at this time of night, there was still a reasonable crowd of passengers boarding the bus to leave the city for home following a busy day, briefcases and shopping bags at their sides. Just as it had been , every night this week. Despite this, the lower deck of the bus wasn't full, with most of the passengers opting to sit upstairs. Maybe they liked the view. Harry knew with some confidence, exactly where his target would sit. Downstairs, left hand side, 3 rows back. A whole week of surveillance had taught him that. This is what any successful operation required, get to know your target's daily routine, and immerse yourself in it. It still amazed him the amount of people that kept to some sort of daily regime, even in the most unpredictable of times and lives. We all need to cling to some sort of structure, no matter how manic things get, he knew that better than anyone.

The bus roared to a halt, and the passenger substitution began. Commuters got off the bus, and were replaced by new ones. She was one of them. She looked no different from the rest, shattered following a tiresome day, yet she still carried that extra something that set her apart from everybody else. At least, in his eyes anyway. Harry buried his head in a copy of the Evening Standard he had bought, while she made her way down the aisle to take her seat. As predicted , she sat 3 rows back on the left hand side of the bus. Like so many others, she clung to structure. Harry sat on the left hand side, 4 rows back, his tried and tested optimum observation position. He always made sure she wouldn't recognize him, made sure he didn't stand out. Tonight appeared to be no different. Completely oblivious to his presence, he watched her take out a book from her bag , something in French, he thought, different from last night, and begin to read. She always looked so tranquil when she read. That sadness that constantly lingered around her seemed to vanish. Whatever novel she was engrossing herself in, appeared to drive away the nightmare of the day , and maybe life in general , even if only temporarily.

A huge wave of guilt brushed over Harry at this thought. Guilt perhaps for this complete and utter invasion of her privacy, not just tonight but for the last week. Or maybe it was more a feeling of shame for turning what had started as a necessity for him to regain his job after the Lewis Khervin fiasco, into a different ,more selfish purpose. Probably a bit of both. But Harry knew that the majority of this overwhelming guilt simply stemmed from the fact that he was treating this just as he would an MI5 operation, when it was clearly something else entirely. A feeble attempt to detach himself from these feelings he had been battling, and at times absolutely ignoring, for what seemed to be an age now. All to make it easier on himself, to convince himself that what he was doing wasn't really so bad, or to put it another way, pathetic. He just needed to be near her, away from work, far away from the all too well trained prying eyes of the grid. To fully appreciate her without the need to guard himself, to watch out for the grid's numerous gossips, even if only for a 20 minute bus ride, and in a slightly stalker like fashion. A guilty pleasure perhaps.

He'd tell her soon. Not just about his surveillance activities, actually it might be better if he left that out, but everything else. Though not just yet. He somewhat liked this, unspoken agreement between them, maybe, to leave it alone for the moment. It all boiled down to clinging to structure again didn't it? Structure is safe, familiar, and comfortable. Completely free from the rather unsettling feeling of the unknown.A feeling he used to thrive on in the prime of his career, but definitley not in this case.

Harry's train of thought suddenly came to an abrupt halt, by the sudden awareness that she was moving. She reached up to press the red stop button, gathered her things, and made her way up the aisle . The 20 minutes had once again gone far too quickly. Harry would tell her soon, that he was sure of . But not just yet. For now though, he would just have to make do with a little guilty pleasure.

………………………………...

Ruth shoved her book into her bag on the footpath after stepping off the bus, desperately trying to prevent herself from staring outright through the window at the figure sitting to the right , 4 rows back, and simultaneously tame the smile that threatened to creep across her face. She was failing miserably with that last one. Harry had always said that she was particularly good at multi tasking, though not tonight apparently. She'd have to tell him soon. Let him know that she was fully aware of what he was doing. She'd spotted him the minute she had stepped on the bus at the start of the week, despite his attempt to "blend in", a thought that forced Ruth to surrender to that loosing battle with her smile. Maybe he had forgotten that even intelligence analysts are drilled in basic observation training. She would tell him soon, but there was something she quite liked about it, just knowing he was near her. Anyway, she had a feeling that if she did say something to him about it, Harry would immediately revert to the age old CIA rule of admit nothing , deny everything, and make counter accusations. He was supposed to be a master at his profession after all. No, she'd just leave it a little bit longer before letting on that she knew. Harry Pearce isn't the only one that can have a guilty pleasure.