Labels:text | screenshot | font OCR: 12 From earlier communications Jakeman knew that he was looking for a clean-shaven man in his mid-thirties, wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. Rather than apprehend the suspect as he landed, the DIS co-ordinator had opted to corner him up on the coastal road, away from prying eyes. It was a policy that all concerned agreed with, knowing that it would save acute interdepartmental embarrassment if the suspect was only an incompetent sailor. Peering over the edge of his paper Jakeman watched the curve of the road, its surface dappled with leafy shadows by the fading summer sun, and as promised saw the individual who'd been designated the Sailor come into view. The man was walking calmly down the middle of the road, looking for all the world as if he were out for an evening stroll. ...
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