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Authors: Gerald Seymour
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paramount importance to us. It may be that false information’s been thrown at us or that we’re confronting a breakthrough that has – so far – eluded us. I don’t want to sound like a scratched gramophone record, but there won’t be an army of the SRI at your shoulder. I hope they’ll remain in blissful ignorance of your short spell in that God-forsaken country. Why you? I don’t think, Caroline, that anyone in this building – with the sole exception of Winnie – is better equipped to hear what the boy has to say.’
He was gone. She heard the door to the inner office close. Her hands shook, and she could barely restrain them.
The gratitude expressed for the tray of tea and biscuits was sincere.
They were not founding directors of a firm of chartered surveyors, lawyers or tax accountants. Known to all in their limited and highly specialised trade as Snapper and Loy, they were a photographic surveillance partnership. They were much in demand and their time was bid for at priority auctions by Thames House and Anti-terrorist Command. The elderly lady accepted their thanks and backed out of the front bedroom they now occupied.
The older man’s name was on a score of files, but in the trade he was known as Snapper. He sat on a hard chair with an upright back, and the curtains were drawn across the bay window in front of him. He’d borrowed a card table from the house owner and his main camera lay on it. His preference was for the Canon model, EOS 5D Digital, with an 80–400ml lens attached. His tripod was extended but not used, and 8×40 Swarovski binoculars hung on his chest. He dunked a biscuit in his tea and nibbled it, but his eyes never left the front door across the street. The ‘plot’ was a suburban 1930s pebbledash semi-detached home, and the ‘subject’ was a thirty-two-year-old mathematics lecturer. Snapper was a big man, not obese but overweight, and he was used to supplies of tea and biscuits; quite often cakes were made for him in a downstairs kitchen. Snapper did not exercise. He did not spend days and nights in farm ditches and undergrowth, fighting hypothermia and aggressive dogs. His employers were the Metropolitan Police Service, and he had the rank of detective constable. When he was in demand and hired out to Five, the MPS made a good profit. At heart he was a policeman, with their culture and disciplines. His eyes were only off the ‘plot’ when he briefly catnapped. Then Loy did the watch.
They were a team. Loy – short for Aloysius – was smaller, younger by twenty years, and powerfully built. He carted the gear, went over garden fences, climbed ladders and was the pack-mule and the errand boy. The relationship between them was such that Loy could anticipate what was needed and have it ready.
Their talents were many. Snapper could turn up at a front door in a utilities uniform and, once inside, could charm a resident into allowing their home to be used as a surveillance platform in the fight against terrorism. He could rustle up an image of decency and honesty to make that householder join the fight and not feel the risk of subsequent consequences. As a senior had once said, he’d ‘charm his way into a Rottweiler’s kennel, that one, and have it licking his face’. Loy never made a sound, never dirtied a carpet or took paint off a wall when shifting the kit, and was always punctiliously polite. He didn’t doze during the rare hours that Snapper slept, and was scrupulously tidy. When Snapper and Loy had left a surveillance job, many had mourned the loss of friends.
The ‘subject’ had started, abruptly, to visit a mosque in the town. The word was that the elders at his previous place of worship had found him increasingly strident in his condemnation of the ‘Crusaders’ who sent their armies to the Middle East and the sub-continent; there was intelligence that the ‘plot’ was used for meetings. Snapper photographed – Loy logged each visitor and their car
He was gone. She heard the door to the inner office close. Her hands shook, and she could barely restrain them.
The gratitude expressed for the tray of tea and biscuits was sincere.
They were not founding directors of a firm of chartered surveyors, lawyers or tax accountants. Known to all in their limited and highly specialised trade as Snapper and Loy, they were a photographic surveillance partnership. They were much in demand and their time was bid for at priority auctions by Thames House and Anti-terrorist Command. The elderly lady accepted their thanks and backed out of the front bedroom they now occupied.
The older man’s name was on a score of files, but in the trade he was known as Snapper. He sat on a hard chair with an upright back, and the curtains were drawn across the bay window in front of him. He’d borrowed a card table from the house owner and his main camera lay on it. His preference was for the Canon model, EOS 5D Digital, with an 80–400ml lens attached. His tripod was extended but not used, and 8×40 Swarovski binoculars hung on his chest. He dunked a biscuit in his tea and nibbled it, but his eyes never left the front door across the street. The ‘plot’ was a suburban 1930s pebbledash semi-detached home, and the ‘subject’ was a thirty-two-year-old mathematics lecturer. Snapper was a big man, not obese but overweight, and he was used to supplies of tea and biscuits; quite often cakes were made for him in a downstairs kitchen. Snapper did not exercise. He did not spend days and nights in farm ditches and undergrowth, fighting hypothermia and aggressive dogs. His employers were the Metropolitan Police Service, and he had the rank of detective constable. When he was in demand and hired out to Five, the MPS made a good profit. At heart he was a policeman, with their culture and disciplines. His eyes were only off the ‘plot’ when he briefly catnapped. Then Loy did the watch.
They were a team. Loy – short for Aloysius – was smaller, younger by twenty years, and powerfully built. He carted the gear, went over garden fences, climbed ladders and was the pack-mule and the errand boy. The relationship between them was such that Loy could anticipate what was needed and have it ready.
Their talents were many. Snapper could turn up at a front door in a utilities uniform and, once inside, could charm a resident into allowing their home to be used as a surveillance platform in the fight against terrorism. He could rustle up an image of decency and honesty to make that householder join the fight and not feel the risk of subsequent consequences. As a senior had once said, he’d ‘charm his way into a Rottweiler’s kennel, that one, and have it licking his face’. Loy never made a sound, never dirtied a carpet or took paint off a wall when shifting the kit, and was always punctiliously polite. He didn’t doze during the rare hours that Snapper slept, and was scrupulously tidy. When Snapper and Loy had left a surveillance job, many had mourned the loss of friends.
The ‘subject’ had started, abruptly, to visit a mosque in the town. The word was that the elders at his previous place of worship had found him increasingly strident in his condemnation of the ‘Crusaders’ who sent their armies to the Middle East and the sub-continent; there was intelligence that the ‘plot’ was used for meetings. Snapper photographed – Loy logged each visitor and their car
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