Thanks for reading the last chapter and for the reviews. Now on with the another backstory based on the Kudos plot. There may be some minor variations from what was seen on screen, the dialogue and action in this part of the episode was so speedy it was difficult to break down.
The bustle of the city centre. The best place in which to become anonymous. The people, nondescript, busy, preoccupied with their own affairs – seemingly. Within that constantly swirling kaleidoscope of humans who would notice the planted watcher? Answer: a covert person would, one who knew they were wanted would, one who trusted no one would.
Which was why the woman wearing the long, dull purplish coat sporting a barely made up face framed by lank brown hair - a look deliberately designed to foster an impression of someone who was depressingly middle aged and unremarkable in anyway whatsoever - was currently occupied in a pretence of rapt window shopping as she attempted to out covert the covert. Had she told anyone what her job actually consisted of, that she watched people, followed them, tracked their movements, it would have sounded more than a mite creepy. To put it bluntly she earned her living by stalking. Overall then she considered it fortunate that the essential secrecy imposed by the job description meant she didn't have to explain any of this. Not that she felt the need, or any indeed any obligation, to justify what she did.
To those who had nothing to fear she was simply a dumpy ageing woman whose drab coat was symbolic of an equally drab life. A woman with nothing on her mind beyond fish fingers, who probably obtained her pathetic kicks from reading slightly racy historical romances. To those who really did have something to fear she presented likewise. It was her very negative physical appearance that made her so valuable to her employers. For the purposes of anyone who asked, a category that included her husband, she was employed as market researcher cum secret shopper. A cover that effectively explained why she spent so much time hanging around city centre streets and the occasional evening away – training and/or conferences she told those who needed to know, near enough if the not exact truth. When she had informed them during that final tough interview - grilling would have been the more apposite term - that 'no actually so far her family didn't know she was planning to join the security service and she'd be happy to keep it that way' some of the panel had actually forgotten themselves far enough to essay a sketch of a smile, before the Chairman commented, 'You sound like a born spook'. At the time of that declaration the issue of secrecy hadn't mattered. She'd been single and alone, then about two years into the job she'd begun dating the man destined to become her partner. She'd stuck to the legend of consumer research when they'd first met, and once he'd been positively vetted it had seemed an awful shame to worry him. Or was she really afraid that if he discovered her lie he'd walk away. To date she'd salved her conscience with the thought that 'everyone has some secrets' she just happened to have more than most, and who knew the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about anyone else anyway.
Spook. It fitted her well. As she'd quickly discovered 'Hiding in plain sight' was the creed of the surveillance officers, and no one outside of the service would believe the training she'd endured before the she could consider herself qualified to stand here, with her entire glassy eyed attention apparently riveted onto the advertising banner pasted on the side of a passing bus. In reality, as always when she was waiting for the fun to begin, she was pondering the road that had led to her transparent presence in this shopping centre. Ignored by the world at large who precisely would notice the extraordinary accoutrements to her cheap clothing, namely an earpiece discreet to the point of invisibility and a suitably doctored mobile phone, the latter hand held and switched on, ready at a push to contact the handler who sat observing the team's every movement from somewhere in the ether.
She had arrived as this destination via an almost casual combination of chance, dare and unsuspected aptitude. One day, now long gone, bored to the point of screaming with her repetitive unchallenging office job she'd begun googling about world affairs at large and happened upon the MI5 website. Intrigued as she idled her way through the map reading section she'd been astounded to discover that she'd found it too yawningly easy. A couple of days later, after yet one more session with a brainless boss who thought even filing was a task beyond her abilities, she'd applied in a fit of temper. To her apprehension and amazement the application hadn't been instantly binned. Instead following on from a very secret preliminary interview at a local office her name had gone forward for further consideration. That had been followed by a huge number of tests, at the conclusion of which she'd been accepted for training as surveillance officer. After an even longer drilling in such basics as counter interrogation techniques, speed reading, firearms, emergency first aid, use of call signs, decoding etc etc followed by psychological tests to ensure, she presumed, that she was stable, she'd formally joined the service. Once through that set of hurdles training for her chosen speciality had kicked in, heralding weeks of walking more miles that she cared to remember, in all weathers, as she practiced not being seen and remaining endlessly alert while mastering the intricacies of the various patterns of foot surveillance. So now here she stood, rewarded for all that effort by being required to dress in utterly frumpy clothes and a wig. So much for the glamorous life of a spy.
Today's job was, as usual, need to know, but it didn't take a genius to work out that it was related to the so called World War Two bomb that had killed Dr Karen Lynott yesterday. It was a given that she would never ever be entrusted with the whole picture. A necessary precaution, foot and car surveillance was nowhere near as dangerous as some parts of field work but one slip...well you never knew. Thinking about the odd pieces of gossip that sometimes filtered back with reference to the fate of certain operatives she reflected that perhaps it was better that they didn't. The work varied, today though she was to form part of what was referred to as an ABC grid, one of several teams of unerotic threesomes scattered around the city centre. Her role being that of C. A straightforward enough operation despite its requiring the involvement of large numbers of personnel to ensure an in depth, wide ranging cover, necessary since no one could ever predict for certain the route favoured by the watched. A simple truth that amply accounted for the low percentage of actual suspects glimpsed versus the total number of operations she'd participated in. Not that she was complaining about that, if the mind and movements of the tracked were obvious the service would have no need to maintain such a large staffing establishment, and she'd be out of a job that for the most part consisted of standing around in city centres being consciously inconspicuous. The accused of course also aimed at staying under the radar. 'Hiding in plain sight' was not just the prerogative of the security services, which was precisely why the majority of her work took place populous crowded areas. It was like a game of chess, although she preferred not to consider that particular comparison, not when her level equated to pawn and every player knew that they were the most disposable.
Earlier in the day they'd all met in a nearby office for the briefing. A money advisory outfit according to the external signage, while in fact it was a cover allowing for the regular comings and goings of individuals ranging from the smart suited and booted to the vaguely dodgy and scruffy. In fact to a certain extent the office did do what it said on the tin, like the best cover stories it wasn't an entire lie. True the premises were run and staffed by security service personnel, but those who occupied the front office were also qualified financial advisors, dispensing out advice to the genuine customers while, having sifted through various life stories, they subsequently reported back to base on those who were criminal enough, desperate enough, or possibly malleable enough to be recruited as assets. It was an effective unquestioned cover. Everyone was expected to have money troubles so no eyebrows would be raised by small groups arriving separately at different times and leaving likewise. No good them all going and coming out mob handed, that would be the definition of rotten tradecraft. The initial instructions were that they needed track a woman code named Osprey, but to be alert to the likelihood that it was her contacts that they'd really need to follow. So here they were, divided into trios, forming a human daisy chain across the shopping hub, lined up and primed to play pass the suspect or suspects with all bases were covered, including the possibility of their having to follow more than one person should Osprey met with a group.
Some of the operatives she already knew and today, as a happy bonus, she was teamed with two men she'd worked with before. Mohammed, his Pakistani origin was in itself a protection. To those who thought in stereotypes - and training had informed her that this common, regrettable trait was extremely useful for the task they were engaged in - his ethnic origin instantly dispelled any suspicion that he was an MI5 operative. Mohammed was her Alpha, with Beta being represented by the archetypal overweight, shaven headed incarnation of a bloke named Dave, leaving her as C. She supposed a rampant feminist would object to not being the Alpha or the Beta but in this they were all equal and anyway she was paid the same, which was all that really bothered her. Leaving as they'd arrived in their small groups, remembering to look haggard and careworn, they had proceeded to lodge themselves within mutual eyelines in strategic places around the city centre.
Now as she waited she felt the usual curl of excitement in her stomach, although with the inevitable apprehensions of failure. The task entrusted to them was important, as was every mission. Even though she rarely knew what happened in the end game it was a truism that frequently the eventual outcomes depended upon the comparatively lowly surveillance officers getting it right. She'd certainly never learn the ultimate result, successful or otherwise, about this one since, unusually, it was being guided from London with the buck stopping there as well. As an issue though that niggle was currently assuming a secondary importance when set alongside the more immediate question as to how much longer she could realistically feign an interest in tacky contents of the shop window she'd been staring at for several minutes without arousing suspicions that could abort the operation before it began. A consideration abruptly truncated when, with a warning crackle in the ear piece, it all kicked off. The call to action, even if for now she had to remain looking uninterested in anything, barring the joys of inexpensive retail therapy.
Without missing a beat she moved her position slightly, as if casually planning to move on, as she registered the first announcement,
'Osprey in sight. Sighted with a new face. Confirm.'
Silently catching her breath she waited. Osprey they knew about, but in these situations the question always remained, did they prepare to follow the asset or the contact? Much depended on the first movements observed, and then upon what was required when viewed through the perspective of the larger picture, and that was a judgement call that could only be made by the operation supervisor. Looking around with a pretence of the casual she registered the next instruction.
'Confirmed. All officers, new face is live.'
They were off. Checking surreptitiously the location of A and B she clocked her Alpha sitting quietly near the pair under observation. As the suspects bade each other farewell and the male began to move away the chosen name for the target was fed into her ear.
'Will identify as Falco.' Followed by the key order.
'Leave Osprey, follow Falco.'
Like the well drilled team they were in simultaneous synch with the words 'Pick up Falco' reaching her ear Alpha began his move, standing and nonchalantly following a few paces behind the target. Picking up on the cream coat of her A rated colleague she noted the salient facts of the target in detail as taught. If they failed to obtain a photograph then those who'd actually seen him would have to collaborate on an identikit to be run through the various databases. Not an easy task since his appearance was every bit as undistinguished as that of herself and her two well disguised colleagues.
Facial Features: Long face (slightly ratty or was that just her perception because of what he did) Short hair.
Body height; Tallish, thin.
Clothes: Standard denim jeans, black Tee shirt, lighter, possible blue and white striped shirt some form of jacket greenish – she couldn't be quite sure from this distance but he was moving with a steady gait, while it was announced to the listeners,
'Alpha picking up. Alpha still on Falco.'
Then it happened. Falco, who'd been moving steadily forwards suddenly halted, a pause allegedly to light a cigarette but from the way he searchingly scanned the area around him he was on the lookout for something, or someone. He was good she'd admit, only those trained to watch would have realised that their prey was checking out how the land lay, seeing if he was safe. The old competition of who could out watch whom was in playing in full force. On cue as Alpha, with an appearance of total unconcern caught up with Falco came the next instruction,
"Keep your distance Falco snagged. Beta."
As Alpha continued his seemingly unrelated stroll, approaching and then overtaking the target, Beta responding with hidden alacrity took over the close contact, still behind Falco, who after his short pause had continued on his journey allowing Beta cum Dave to whisper to their control, "Beta picking up".
From her positon on the opposite side of the road she began to move slowly, keeping her distance but still aligned with the walkers. Suddenly, so quickly it almost took her by surprise, Falco turned and crossed the road. As he did so she prepared herself to follow the orders now being transferred to her remit for direct action, "Charlie pick up. He's crossing the road. Pick up Falco."
She had only just managed an under the breath murmur of 'Picking up', when a red taxi suddenly drew up farther down the road. Schooling her well trained face not to show the sudden frission of apprehension that rippled through her as Falco seemed to approach, she was treated to the sight of him throwing his unfinished cigarette into the nearby waste bin. Suddenly connecting the disposal of the half smoked cigarette with the arrival of the taxi now halting at the kerbside she was forced into hurriedly advising. "Falco getting into car.'"
Damn they were about to lose him but she had no time to curse as the next urgent request came through, 'Alpha can you get a shot' Speedily she tried to comply and succeeded in capturing not Falco but a further new face appearing in the rear window of the now retreating taxi.
As L857 XEWP, registration automatically noted by her for further reference, pulled away she heard the reassuring sound of Delta picking up. With its standout colour tracing and tracking the vehicle should be a relatively straightforward task for another team. Now as she reverted to the status of a spectator she listened into the continuing saga.
'Another new face, another new face. Can you get a shot and continue following.'
Halted but still maintaining her window shopping cover she noted that the taxi was being followed by a surveillance car. The traffic staff would now take over, tracking, reporting, and then another batch of officers would continue with covert observation, take pictures, follow up contacts, but for her it was finished. As if to confirm that her part was over the next instruction arrived.
"Stand Down and return to HQ for your de brief."
And now the excitement was over with the passing of the adrenalin surge she felt flat, the initial elation of having been at the centre of the action receding into a feeling best characterised as: Was this it? Yes she knew it was, until the next time. Just another day's work completed. Job done, with the public none the wiser that they, that team of ordinary people, had just made the city streets, perhaps the country, a safer place. The irony never failed to tickle her, in most jobs the successful were rewarded and praised openly for the public to acclaim, in this world, except for a very few, success was measured in secrecy. With her eyes washing over the team members she couldn't publicly acknowledge, and to avoid blowing her cover just in case they'd missed someone they might have to follow in the future, she crossed the road, entering the small conveniently placed supermarket she'd noted earlier.
She'd make her way back to the office in a few minutes but now just had time to undertake some shopping for real as she set about buying some chops for Derek's dinner this evening. After all she had more than one cover to preserve.
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