Jimmy-the-Rat studied the photograph in his right hand and returned it to his jacket pocket. He closed his eyes as the train rattled through the Hampshire countryside.
This was a routine surveillance job, which, with luck, might take less than a week. If he played his cards right, he could drag it out to the full month. One hundred pounds a day plus expenses was easy money.
On arriving, he walked the short distance from Waterloo to Vauxhall. In less than fifteen minutes, he was in the front room of his favourite B and B. Old Mrs Brooks needed the money to supplement her pension.
He accepted the mandatory cup of tea, but with no time to waste, he travelled to the London Carriage Office in Penton Street, North London. Here he applied to learn 'The Knowledge.'
Armed with the book, which contained four hundred and fifty routes of inner London, Jimmy left the office. He did wonder why they called it the blue book when it was pink. At a nearby stationer, Jimmy purchased an A-Z of London and returned to his room. He spent the evening compiling a folder containing the bits and pieces needed for his cover.
The next day, he acquired and insured a small 50cc moped with the essential small wire basket and clipboard fixed to the handlebars. He was ready. Jimmy could merge into the brickwork of any street, a lone wolf who did anything to make a few quid.
That afternoon, he parked his moped by a bench where he had a clear view of the Ministry of Defence building's main entrance. He worked on the assumption most people never see what is in front of them. While he could be seen looking at street maps, he kept a constant watch of who came and went. At two in the afternoon, he disappeared to grab a bite to eat.
That evening he telephoned Janice, informing her of the day's activities. Their conversation was brief and to the point.
"Thanks. Talk tomorrow."
Jimmy pocketed his mobile and wandered to the local for a few beers before returning to the B and B.
He awoke at six, stared out of his bedroom window to a wet day. At eight, Jimmy arrived at his post. Patience was the keyword in surveillance, and he had plenty.
Two weeks of mixed weather came and went. One wet morning, Jimmy saw an impeccably dressed Harman-Smith arrive at the MOD main entrance. From his coat pocket, he removed a small camera and took four shots. In case anyone was paying attention, he turned and took more of adjacent buildings.
Three hours later, Harman-Smith left the building and strolled to his black Range Rover. Smith pulled away and into the traffic.
The density of the morning traffic enabled Jimmy to keep his distance and maintain a visual.
***
It went well until they reached Chiswick. Harman-Smith spotted the fool on a moped through his rear-view mirror, weaving in and out of the traffic. The machine with a clipboard attached indicated its rider was learning the Knowledge. But he knew assumption was the mother of fuck-ups and he memorised the incident.
***
The car proceeded up the ramp for the M4. Undeterred, Jimmy returned to his room and telephoned Janice.
It rang twice before she picked up.
"Hi Janny, I've found your man. Gotta pencil 'andy to write his car reg?"
"I'm ready."
"Golf, hotel, one, four, seven, and eight - 'ave you got it?"
"I have. Anything else?"
"No, but I'll keep me eyes open."
"You'd better, at the rate I'm paying you."
Jimmy continued with his routine. Harman-Smith maintained regular habits. Two weeks to the day, he reappeared.
Harman-Smith studied the scruffy individual and recollected the crazy moped driver. On leaving the Ministry, he strolled to his car and sat for a few moments. With his rear-view mirror angled in such a way, he saw Jimmy mount his machine.
"Bloody amateurs!" he muttered. "But is he following me?" Straight away, he caught sight of the moped, well positioned, two cars behind his. "Let's see how good you are."
He drove fast, not indicating his changes in direction. Other drivers braked, swerved and sounded their horns at his actions. Unperturbed, he turned left and right, as he attempted to lose his pursuer in the intricate maze of London's back streets. After ten minutes, he glanced in his mirror: the moped driver was no longer there. Driving with less urgency, Harman-Smith returned to his original route. He laughed at his own anxiety. Jimmy took the next left, rode to Chiswick, and padlocked his machine outside a taxi office. Here he hired a cab and waited. Harman-Smith's black Range Rover soon appeared, negotiated the next roundabout at speed, and headed onto the M4.
"Follow that Range Rover," said Jimmy to the driver.
In the period of waiting, he chatted to the cabbie, telling him he was a private eye working on a divorce case. The chase became monotonous. Junctions came and went until the turn for Swindon and RAF Brize Norton.
Relaxed in the comfortable seats of the cab, Jimmy wondered where Smith was actually going. They bypassed Swindon and continued their journey towards RAF Brize Norton. Two miles from the airbase, Harman Smith turned left.
"Go past and stop," said Jimmy.
A hundred yards along the road, the cabbie drew into a lay-by and stopped. Jimmy alighted from the cab and walked back. A few minutes later, he returned to the taxi and gave the driver fifty pounds. "You get the rest when I come back, so you'd better be 'ere."
"No problem guv."
Jimmy made his way along the track, using the overgrown hedges and trees for cover. He walked no more than a few hundred yards before a large rusty metal gate barred his way. There appeared to be no security guards present; he approached closer. His keen eyes detected the concealed CCTV.
From out of nowhere came a corporal wearing RAF uniform.
Surprised, Jimmy jumped "Sorry to bother you, mate. I am lost. I am on me way to collect a gentleman from the RAF base and must 'ave took the wrong turn. Me car's on the main road."
The corporal shrugged. "End of the lane and turn right; keep going, and you can't miss it."
Jimmy smiled. "Thank you." He read the sign on the brick building. When the young man left, he wrote on his pad and walked back to the waiting taxi.
Police Commander Harman-Smith of the Elite Action Unit turned to his assistant, Harry, as he watched the monitor. "That obnoxious creature followed me. I thought I'd lost him in the city. So why has he turned up here?"
Harry grunted. "Do you want me to arrest him?"
"Not for the moment; he may be of more use if we leave him alone. Print off a picture and send it to the boys at the Yard. Let's see if he has a record."
Harry left the control room, leaving Ronald wondering.
Jimmy contacted Janice as usual. "Hi, Janny. Good news. I know where our man works. It's the Government Accident (RAF) Research Centre. Looks a dump but that's it."
"Okay, Jimmy. It's time you came home.
