Watch the spies!

Mr Jones's job is to watch, as it has been all his working life. He worked his way up to a supervisory desk from Field Services, where he (and his fellow operatives) furtively installed cameras and microphones in citizens' lives. And their toothbrushes. And their lapels, their pets, and behind their eyes. The technology has improved markedly since Mr Jones first started working. Lapels no longer weigh hundreds of grams and need steel reinforcement. Pets don't hum electrically. Except for some cats, who seem to have picked up the habit.

The Bureau that Mr Jones works for is secret, an arm of the Executive that is not ever mentioned in parliament. Its budget is entirely discretionary, and its executives are discreet. All they want to do is to watch.

Mr Green sits four desks away from Mr Jones, and watches him through the tiny camera he had installed in Mr Jones's bifocal spectacles. Right now, notes Mr Green, he's watching a cat perched on an anonymous window-sill, watching a blackbird through the glass. The bird hops nervously over the lawn searching for worms and watching for cats but is foiled by the window's reflection. Neither can the cat reach out to catch the blackbird.

Mr Jones sits back and takes a sip of cold milky tea from a mug that says 'World's Best Grandad'.

Four desks away, Mr Green watches him do it.