Jon Stock's debut thriller has been snapped up by Hollywood. Here, the author describes how he gathered research for the book.
I know from the moment I see him that he works for the Secret Intelligence Service. There is no Aston Martin in sight, no green ink stains on his fingers and he hasn't just left a package taped underneath a park bench. So how can I be so sure? Because the man in question - British Asian, early thirties, lightly pinstriped suit - has just walked out of the front gate of Vauxhall Cross, headquarters of SIS (better known as MI6) on the south side of the Thames in London.
During the past couple of years, I have spent a possibly unhealthy amount of time loitering in my lunch breaks around "Legoland", as MI6 employees call their headquarters.
I have jogged unnaturally slowly along the river towpath, looking up at its imposing buttresses, I have done flypasts on the top of the 36 bus, admiring the huge maple trees that seem to flourish in the building's green-glazed atria and I have sat around Vauxhall's futuristic bus station, watching the steady stream of people leave Legoland at the end of their shift, checking for messages on their mobile phones. (They are not allowed to use them inside.)
I don't do this any more, I should hasten to add and I wouldn't recommend it as a screenbreak. The security guards on the gate have got meaner in recent months and the ominous cameras that sit on every corner of the building have spread like warts, tracking everyone who moves within 200 yards of the building. The threat of arrest is real. But my loitering was an essential part of the early research process for the spy thriller I have just written.
Dead Spy Running is about Daniel Marchant, a suspended MI6 officer who is determined to clear his family's name after the CIA accuses his father of treachery. As an admirer of the Jason Bourne films (particularly the first and third) and John le Carré's novels (the early ones and the most recent), I hope the book has elements of both.
It is with Bourne and Le Carré in mind, then, that I track my thirtysomething spy as he leaves the building and heads for Vauxhall Underground station. Like many of the other employees I have watched, he is from an ethnic background. But I want to know more. First, how he looks and carries himself in public. And second, how he might react if he realises I am openly following him. To look at, he is remarkably ordinary. Perfect spy material, in other words, who draws no attention to himself. He only made one mistake when he left home in the morning: his choice of shoes. They are the only hint of individuality. It is to prove a crucial detail as we head down the escalator to the Victoria Line.
My pulse quickens. For a moment, I feel like the hapless hack moving through Waterloo Station in The Bourne Ultimatum.
I give my quarry 20 yards, but when I reach platform level, he is lost in the crowd. Calculating that he is more likely to be heading north to Islington than south to Brixton, I head for the platform, but all I can see is people stretching in either direction. My heart sinks. Then I step to the edge of the platform and look down the row of waiting commuters. There, about 30 yards away, is one pair of shoes sticking out from the others. I have found my man.
It is a detail I will use in book two (I am writing what I call my "Legoland trilogy"). The biggest problem for espionage writers, though, is that most real-life spies suppress their individuality completely, making them quite dull as dramatis personae. Consequently, it is far more fun, as a writer, to make up your spooks, leaving the realism and authenticity to the world you create for them. Back at Vauxhall Underground station, I move in on my man and stand beside him, trying to regulate my breathing. A part of me also wants to laugh out loud as my behaviour is patently ridiculous.
A warm gust of air and the train arrives. As the doors open, he walks down the platform and steps into another carriage. It is an odd thing to do because the first carriage was empty. I assume it is a basic counter-surveillance technique to establish if someone is in pursuit. I oblige, confirming to him that I am on his tail.
Taking a deep breath, I then sit down in the seat opposite, close enough to swap stolen memory sticks. But he never looks at me. Not directly, anyway. It is only later that I realise he clocked me in a reflection from the carriage's double window.
I think about breaking cover. I could explain about the book and tell him about the shoes. But I know the spell would be broken, the reality disappointing. At Victoria, we finally exchange glances as he goes his way and I mine. My cover is blown, but the spying myth is intact.
Espionage fiction writer Jon Stock finds that people working in intelligence organisations try not to draw attention to themselves
