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watched himself enter the Savoy, briefly looking
straight at the camera concealed in the window of the Upstairs restaurant. Next he was seen reading his paper and drinking tea, replacing his cup without looking and, to guffaws from the audience,
spilling some. Then he was seen talking to the blonde foreign woman, his exercise ‘agent’, which provoked ribaldry. Finally he was shown walking briskly away from the Savoy.
    ‘The team was with you all the way back here,’ said Gerry, ‘and for a while before you reached the hotel. They picked you up in the Strand.’
    ‘Rather they’d picked up the girl,’ said Christopher.
    Charles tried to recover a little of his pride. ‘But I spotted the chap in brown shoes in Beaconsfield. And the Russian Embassy car at the station before.’
    ‘Nothing to do with us. You were on your own in Beaconsfield. Coincidence, chance, like most of life. Make sure you report the Russian car, though.’
    ‘The man was behaving oddly. He followed me most of the way.’
    ‘No accounting for taste,’ said Roger.
    Gerry shook his head. ‘Look around you and the world is full of people doing odd things. Cross my heart, cut my throat and hope to die, Charles, there was no surveillance on you until you
reached the Strand. Then you had the full works until you got back here. The team reckoned your approach to the meeting looked reasonably natural except that your walk was a touch too deliberate,
too slow. Let’s watch you arrive again – Becky, thanks. Here, see. Most people are walking as if they’re trying to get somewhere. You’re not. We’ll spare you the hotel
shots again but they reckon your body language and so on was okay except that you obviously relaxed after about half an hour, as if you were no longer looking, no longer alert, no longer seriously
expecting anything. The surprise encounter with your agent was handled well, they said. Looked very natural. Probably because it was a surprise. But afterwards you shot off from the hotel like
Buster Keaton speeded up – there, you see, completely different walk. Much brisker, much more purposeful, eager to get back before you forget it all. Looking forward to doing your write-up, I
daresay. And clearly no longer looking. Not surveillance aware.’ Gerry emphasised the words with his fist on the podium. ‘Serious point, this, for all of you. SV teams reckon they can
always tell the difference between – say – a KGB officer approaching a meeting, brush contact, emptying or filling a DLB – dead letter box – or whatever – and one
who’s just done it, because afterwards he’s relieved and his pace quickens. Remember that, gentle men. Do not let it happen. Whenever you’re doing any operation you should walk at
your normal pace throughout. You probably don’t know what that is. Well, get to know it. Measure it. And always, always, give anyone watching an obvious reason for your being wherever you
are. One day the lives of your agents may depend on it. And the rest of you remember that Carlos got clobbered this time, so it may be you next. Or Carlos again, who knows. But in case you think
you’ve got clean away with it, we’ve a further surprise for you. Okay, Rebecca?’
    Rebecca went out into the corridor and returned leading a line of ten men and women, several sheepishly grinning. ‘Gentlemen, your agents,’ Gerry announced with a flourish.
‘Come to tell each of you how you performed from the agent’s point of view, no holds barred. Nothing they say will be used in evidence against you’ – he opened his arms and
grinned – ‘yet.’
    Charles grabbed an extra chair and pulled it to his desk as the blonde woman approached. She carried an expensive-looking brown leather jacket. Her smile was very slightly crooked, he now
noticed. ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you lingering over your tea for so long,’ she said. ‘I was told to give them plenty of time to try out their fancy new cameras.
Apparently