The Watcher

By Gordon Wise

A footloose young graduate replies to a job advertisement and quickly finds himself swept into the world of counter-espionage. His journey through the system eventually places him in a series of difficult and complex situations as he struggles to find his place in this complex and tangled world, where things are rarely as they seem. We follow his journey, which is sometimes humorous and sometimes deadly serious, as he finds out about himself and journeys through the world of subterfuge and treachery. The author has applied a blowtorch to the world of “spookery” in a humorous and insightful exposure of the deep state.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398460850

Gordon Wise

The author is a retired surgeon who writes in a somewhat whimsical style. He mainly writes short stories but occasionally essays into the Novella format. His extensive life experience has given him insights into many life situations. He has travelled and worked in many environments and countries, which provides scope for his fiction and colours his acerbic views of the human condition.

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About the Author

The author is a retired surgeon who writes in a somewhat whimsical style. He mainly writes short stories but occasionally essays into the novella format. His extensive life experience has given him insights into many life situations. He has travelled and worked in many environments and countries, which provides scope for his fiction and colours his acerbic views of the human condition.

Dedication

To Moira who hates unnecessary commas.

Copyright Information ©

Gordon Wise 2023

The right of Gordon Wise to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398447806 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398460843 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781398460850 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Chapter 1

The dried brown autumn leaf, concave, broad, was dancing across the pond, scurried on with the gentle gusts of a breeze rippling the water. First, one direction, then another, as if there is only change and chance as the determiners. Shafts of sunlight glinted through the background conifers, creating rectangles of reflection on the pond lilies. An occasional duck glided over the surface, web feet beating backwards and forwards as it crossed the ripples and created mini-waves anew.

Standing on the path there looking at this Monet-type vista of pond, lilies, light and shade, it all seemed very peaceful. There were Japanese tourists clicking selfies, a couple with a pram, rugged up against the chill late sea breeze and me. The gravel path echoed with the scrunch of the passing parade. I waited, surveying the scene, watching the idlers, the tourists, the couples and sighed and waited some more. Waiting is what we do well and should do well. There is no substitute for patience was the constant refrain from the instructor. While you are watching and waiting, observe everything. Does that stray dog really belong to that couple? The enthusiastic, ginger-headed man zooming his Canon camera; is he really scoping his vista or are those hand movements really a signal to another watcher.

Always look in character, walk around and smile at the children and be what you are not; casual. Training drill or not, this could be the real thing one day, next week or it might be right now. Don’t try, just be in the scene.

Three times down the steps, around the outskirts of the café, an ice-cream to break up the pattern, not part of the expenses; under the Wisteria and back again to the focus, the bridge over the Monet-like lake scene. Two wedding parties had used the bridge in the last two hours with the usual paraphernalia of photographic activity. Still no obvious signs of what I sought. What did I seek? The instruction was vague – just be there, observe and report. Report what? Just report what you see and do not be recognised as watching. Was I being observed and if so, by whom? The couple with the pram; was there a baby in it, or was it a prop? ’Round the circle again, but this time in the opposite direction, sick of ice-cream I tried a muffin and was just taking a second bite when I saw the drop. An elderly man with a walking frame was overtaken on the path by a jogger. The accident occurred, the careless stabilisation of the frame by the jogger, as he slipped his message into the top of the walker tray. The jogger was off, and I followed the elderly and stooped senior citizen, who suddenly seemed to have acquired a new sense of life’s purpose. I made good time up the path, through the entrance. The walker ended up quickly in the boot of a waiting Audi and with remarkable agility, he jumped in the driver’s seat and took off. My instructions were to report, not to follow but to report and stand down.

Back at the Travel Lodge, I recorded in detail my surveillance and emailed it to central training. What did I observe and whom did I think was watching me? The necking couple on the grass were obviously watchers, the elderly couple just sitting near the native section of the gardens. The drop was definite, and the elderly gentleman was a dead giveaway. I felt very chuffed by my first outing into the world of the watcher.

Back in Melbourne the next day at training headquarters, in an anonymous building just behind the conference centre, we all gathered on the first floor. The instructor was there, and exercise by exercise, we were all examined in detail.

My turn was second. The instructor, Mr Appleby, congratulated me on getting on the plane and getting to Hobart on the correct day and going to the correct site. Things were going to get bad from there on after that comment. Excellent marks for picking the drop but did I not realise this was but a diversion. I was told to look out