Work Text:
Report by R. Cartwright
Subject: Operation Dead Pigeon
Filed: 17:42
Location: South Bank, near Waterloo
At approximately 16:20, Agent S. Webb and I were tasked with surveillance of a courier suspected of relaying data drives between two known intermediaries. Operation was meant to be covert — emphasis on meant.
Webb arrived eight minutes late, carrying a Costa cup the size of his ego and a folder labelled “Top Secret (Probably).” Claimed he was “in character.”
I suggested the unmarked van. Webb said the van “smelled like a corpse” and took his own car — a bright yellow Vauxhall Corsa that could be seen from orbit. He said it was “ironically inconspicuous.” It wasn’t.
We established position across from the drop point. I noted courier’s description: male, mid-thirties, grey jacket, distinct limp. Webb noted the barista’s phone number.
At 16:48, courier arrived. I advised minimal interference. Webb countered that “watching and waiting” was “the coward’s way,” which, I believe, was him attempting to provoke me. It worked.
During discussion, courier completed handoff and began to leave. We engaged in pursuit on foot. Webb’s shoelace came undone.
I shouted directions. He shouted back. Courier disappeared into side street.
At 17:05, Webb declared, “We’ve done all we can do,” and suggested the nearest pub for “post-failure analysis.” I declined. He went anyway.
Conclusion: Operation compromised due to Webb’s improvisational approach and lack of discipline. Recommend reassignment to desk duty.
Addendum:
Webb insists I grabbed his arm “unnecessarily.” For record: He stumbled. I reacted. That’s what partners do — even temporary ones.
Report by J. Webb
Subject: Operation Dead Pigeon
Filed: 17:44
Location: Also South Bank, obviously
Look, I’ll be brief, since brevity seems to be the only thing Cartwright respects — besides his own reflection.
We were told to keep eyes on a courier, nothing fancy. Cartwright took that as an invitation to play commander, quoting the Surveillance Handbook like he wrote it. I told him to chill. He said “discipline saves lives.” I said “so does a sense of humour.” That’s when he stopped talking to me.
Courier arrived on time. I told Cartwright not to spook him. He spooked him. Courier bolted.
Cartwright ran after him like a Labrador that’s seen a squirrel. I followed, because apparently I have a death wish. He darted into the road — nearly got hit by a bus. I reached out to stop him, but he turned, grabbed my arm instead. Firmly. Long enough that the bus whooshed past and I realised he hadn’t let go. His hand was shaking.
He mumbled something like “watch where you’re going,” which was rich, considering.
Courier vanished into the crowd. I suggested we call it and get a pint. Cartwright said, “This isn’t over.” I said, “It is for me.”
Conclusion: Operation failed due to poor communication and Cartwright’s inability to function like a normal human being.
Addendum:
He’ll say he grabbed my arm for tactical reasons. I think he just didn’t want to see me get hit. He’ll never admit that.
Internal Note – D. Lamb
Both reports demonstrate the professionalism and emotional stability we’ve come to expect from Slough House, i.e., none.
Cartwright: stop overcompensating.
Webb: stop existing.
Filed under Lessons Unlearned.
Supplementary Memo (Draft — not filed)
Author: R. Cartwright
Subject: Clarification of Incident Details
For internal accuracy, I’d like to clarify the circumstances of physical contact between myself and Agent Webb. It wasn’t — as his tone suggests — inappropriate or emotional. It was instinctive.
He was about to step into traffic, distracted as usual, and my reaction was automatic. He’s infuriating, but not expendable. None of us are, technically.
He called me “reckless” afterward, which is ironic. He’s reckless with everything, especially himself.
If this memo is ever read by anyone other than me: delete it.
Supplementary Email (Never Sent)
From: [email protected]
Subject: Dead Pigeon Debrief (or whatever)
River,
I’ve been thinking about the op. I know that’s a terrifying sentence coming from me, but still.
You were right about the courier — there was something off. I looked him up after, and guess what? The CCTV shows him double-backing twenty minutes later. We missed him by inches.
So, yeah. You were right. Don’t let it go to your head.
Also… about earlier. The arm thing. I didn’t mean to make it a big deal. Just wasn’t used to you touching me, I suppose. Didn’t know you could do that without a snide comment attached.
Forget it.
—Spider
(Draft saved 00:12, unsent.)
Supplementary Note Found in Cartwright’s Drawer (handwritten, unsent)
(Paper clipped to photocopy of Spider’s draft email — possibly printed by mistake.)
He still calls me River, not “Cartwright.” That’s something.
I don’t know why I printed his email. Habit, maybe. Or because part of me thought he’d send it.
He drives me insane. Always has. But there’s a weird comfort in it — like being perpetually annoyed is safer than being alone.
We didn’t lose that courier because of him. We lost him because I couldn’t think straight. Not with Spider beside me, close enough that I could smell his aftershave — cheap citrus, sharp — and hear him breathing too fast.
It’s easier to mock him than admit I notice.
I should burn this.
Internal Follow-Up — One Week Later
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected], [email protected]
Subject: Debrief (Pub, 18:00)
If I have to read one more “clarification” or “supplementary note,” I’ll throw you both in the Thames.
Meet at the Dog & Badger, 18:00. I’ll buy the first round. You can buy the rest.
— J.
Audio Transcript – Pub Recording (Extract)
(Recovered via CCTV mic, quality poor)
[17:59]
Sound of chairs scraping, pint glasses clinking.
RIVER: You didn’t have to come.
SPIDER: You didn’t have to look like you’d swallowed a lemon. Thought I’d do you a favour.
RIVER: I wasn’t— look, can we not do this here?
SPIDER: Do what? Talk like human beings? You should try it sometime.
RIVER: You mean “argue loudly in public.” That’s your thing.
SPIDER: Maybe I like when you argue back.
(Pause. Ambient chatter.)
RIVER: …You really can’t help yourself.
SPIDER: Nope. You make it too easy.
(Long silence. Someone coughs.)
SPIDER: So… you actually meant it, yeah? What you said in your report? That I’m “not expendable.”
RIVER: You read that?
SPIDER: It was on the communal printer. You might want to work on your operational security.
RIVER: Right. Well. It was just a phrase.
SPIDER: You don’t write “not expendable” about me unless you mean it.
(Pause.)
RIVER: Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t want to watch another person get hit by a bus.
SPIDER: Flattering. You must really care.
RIVER: Don’t push it.
SPIDER: You grabbed my arm.
RIVER: You’re still talking about that?
SPIDER: I think you’re still thinking about it.
(Sound: pint glass set down a little too hard.)
RIVER: You’re impossible.
SPIDER: And yet, here you are. Sitting with me.
(Brief pause. Muffled laughter from background.)
RIVER: Strictly operational.
SPIDER: Sure. Whatever helps you sleep, Cartwright.
Internal Note – D. Lamb (Final)
Pub CCTV shows no brawl, no broken glass, and no property damage (miracle).
Cartwright left five minutes after Webb. Webb lingered. Then doubled back and sat where Cartwright had been. Didn’t order another drink. Just… sat.
Either they’re about to start killing each other or shagging. Either way, I’m not cleaning it up.
— J. Lamb