CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Harry closed the file on his desk. Thank God, the case was closed as well. The arsonist was Zakir Abdul, a member of Acts of Truth. Maudsley had let him into the prison that night, and Abdul set the fire specifically to kill his own men so they couldn't be interrogated. Maudsley committed suicide out of guilt.
Special Branch had covered it up because they didn't want anyone to know a senior prison official was assisting terrorists. It would look bad in the press. Abdul was found dead of a shot to the head, probably Acts of Truth, closing the circle.
Neat and clean. Ends tied up. The old spook, the one deep inside Harry, was narrowing his eyes in suspicion of the neatness. The spook that sat here at his desk was grateful. After the weekend at Bath with Ruth, he realised he was somewhat off his game. Like the feeling after too many scotches, his sharp edges were gone. He felt soft, and slightly disoriented.
All he knew right now is that he wanted to go back to peering out of his office and seeing Ruth at her station, parsing some Greek poem for clues, her smile uncomplicated. Ever since he picked her up this morning after her experience at the tube station, she had been different, driven somehow, and he hadn't quite been able to penetrate her armour. There was something going on with Ruth that he couldn't seem to touch. He felt a distance between them, and he wanted so much to bridge it.
Harry suddenly felt sorry for Jane. If this is what it felt like to love an impenetrable spook, he understood the screaming, the arguments, the crying, for he knew he had been much worse, and over a much longer period of time. Ruth was only distracted, and Harry was looking forward to the dinner she promised him, at her house, after which he could hold her and fall asleep with her in his arms.
He'd wanted this Maudsley business to be over. And now it was. Harry had just hung up the phone from his final report from Adam when Ruth came in.
She stood at the door, and her voice was soft. Harry thought she sounded so tired. "I know you're going to say I'm crazy. And … uh … I don't know, maybe, maybe I am. But I just don't think any of it makes sense." Ruth knew he was not going to like this. She knew Harry was ready to let it go. Ready to have her let it go.
Harry looked up from his file. "What?"
"Maudsley."
"Ruth." Harry sounded tired now.
"No, just hear me out. The way he looked." She felt this so strongly, she simply couldn't let it go. "He wasn't a guilty man."
"Ruth, you saw him for a split second. You couldn't possibly ... " She could hear that Harry was losing patience with her. Truth was, she was losing patience with herself, but Maudsley wouldn't leave her. She had listened to the tied-up ends, and he was still there in her head, trying to tell her something. She had come back from the mortuary with his keys still in the pocket of her coat, and she'd taken them out and looked at them ten times already, as if they would suddenly stand up and speak to her.
"I know, I know. Rationally I know that but ... "
"Ruth! Listen, you can relax." Harry rose and walked over to her. "Maudsley was the man on the inside. Forensics have found DNA evidence which proves he visited Zakir Abdul at the warehouse." Harry was speaking more softly now, as if to a child, trying to calm her. Ruth felt she was conveying fragility again, which was the last thing she wanted to do.
Harry continued, gently. "There was no drop. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, yes?" Ruth nodded, trying to believe what he was telling her. Really, it would be so much easier.
Harry walked over to get his coat from the rack. "I don't want you to get fixated on this."
"Fixated?" Ruth frowned. Wonderful. Now not only fragile, but he thinks I'm daft as well.
He put his coat down and walked back to her. "Well, no, not fixated, sorry, that's the wrong word," Harry was back-pedalling furiously. He decided to just come to the point. "But I'm worried about you."
Ruth snapped at him. "I'm fine." She knew she was far from fine, but this thing had taken hold of her, and she couldn't shake it. She wanted so much to just let go, to let him comfort her, but she knew she still had more to do.
As she looked at Harry, she could see the worry she was causing him. He had spent the day essentially trying to rein her in, except for the one time he said Do what you do best. What she realised now is that she would need to do this without his blessing. It was nearly five o'clock. She would go to Maudsley's house and see what she could find. And whatever she found would lead her where she needed to go. She was sure of it.
But that couldn't include a dinner and a long night with Harry. Ruth told herself there would be plenty of nights with Harry, but only one window of opportunity for this. Maudsley's house would be crawling with Special Branch tomorrow, and she needed to get there before that happened. Tonight.
She had come in to tell Harry she wanted to go to Maudsley's, but now Ruth realised that wasn't a good idea. He would try to talk her out of it, and he would succeed. Harry didn't have the voice in his head. He didn't hear the sound of the train as it ran over his body. She would tell him later.
Hadn't he said there would be times when he would need to lie to her? That the work would make it necessary? Their promise to understand had to go both ways, and he would understand. Later.
Ruth looked up and saw her Harry. His voice was sweet, gentle, and full of love. "You look exhausted."
"Oh, Harry, I'm ... " She stopped and looked at him. What she was going to say was that she was fine again, but she couldn't stomach saying it a second time. She wasn't fine, and she couldn't explain why, not even to Harry. Not yet.
"Let me give you a lift home." Ruth knew that was not a good idea. If he did, how would she say no to dinner? He would want to come inside, and then she wouldn't let him go, she knew it. "No, I'm going to go on the tube."
Now Harry had enough, and it popped out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Don't be such a stubborn old mule." He regretted it the moment it left his lips, except that he saw some of the fire come back into her eyes. For that, he was grateful.
She smiled at him for the first time since she had walked into his office, and he saw a glimpse of his Ruth. "Mule?"
"Well, I don't mean mule, it's a phrase.."
Now she laughed. "Oh, Harry. 'Fixated?' 'Mule?' Would you like a shovel? To dig a little deeper?" The laughter took some of the tension out of her, and she leant against the wall next to the door, putting her head in her hands. "This has been a very long day, Harry." She looked up at him, her eyes gentle. "For you, too, I know."
"You saw something very disturbing this morning." He shook his head. "I should have driven you to work. None of this would have happened if I'd just driven you."
"Maudsley would still be dead, wouldn't he?"
"Yes, but you wouldn't have seen it, my Ruth." Harry's eyes were the deepest brown, with just a hint of moisture. Ruth saw the love there. He turned away for a moment, and she wondered if it was to hide from the Grid outside the windows, or to hide from her.
She was still up against the wall, enjoying the fact that no one could see her. But she wanted to reach out and put her arms around him. "You can't possibly think any of this is your fault, Harry."
Harry sighed and walked back toward her. "No, but it would be nice to have some peace, Ruth. Just a little peace to be together. We had it in Bath, and now I want more. Can you imagine that it was just yesterday morning that we woke up there?" He moved closer to her.
He knew that Ruth wasn't visible against the wall, although he could see Jo out on the Grid, so he knew he was, just slightly. He moved a bit closer, until he could just touch her. He laid his hand on her necklace, as he had wanted to earlier in her kitchen. He found the charms with his fingers and held them there.
Ruth put her hand up and laid it across his. She closed her eyes and leant her head back on the wall. "Will anything seem real again? When we were there, this didn't seem real. And, now, Bath seems like a dream."
Harry wanted to kiss her. He looked past Ruth to the open door on the left, and the windows on the right. "You know, sometimes this office feels like a damned fishbowl. And I'm the bloody fish swimming around in it." He could see that Jo was looking directly at him, although she immediately averted her eyes. "I very badly need to hold you right now. Or at least understand what it is you're going through. Please let me take you home, Ruth."
Ruth thought, Can't I just let it go? Just forget what I saw, and tell the voice in my head to go away? She squeezed Harry's hand on her shoulder, and much as she wanted to she knew she couldn't. Her voice was soft, and she looked at Harry with the whole of the love she was feeling right now, which was enormous. "I love you Harry."
He tilted his head, and his eyes went soft too. "Ummm, feels good to hear you say that. I've been feeling like you were just out of reach all day. But it's like you came back in the last few minutes." He laughed quietly, "Actually, ever since I called you a mule."
She smiled back at him. "It's because I am a mule, Harry. Stubborn as they come. And yes, I have been away a bit. I've tried to explain it, but haven't done a very good job of it, I think." Neither of them moved, because they were now somewhat out of sight. Harry wanted her to talk, and Ruth needed to, so they stood between the windows and the door at arm's length.
"I'll try one more time, Harry. When I left the tube station, I felt as if I took Maudsley with me. At the time it felt like he … he … transferred something to me, some essence of himself. Bizarre, I know, but it's stayed with me, like a ghost. Everyone seems to be thrilled with the outcome of the work we've done today, but he's not, Harry."
Harry sighed, and his forehead creased into a frown. "I know how it feels to have a responsibility to the dead, Ruth. I've felt it before." His fingers played absentmindedly with the charms at her neck, where his hand still lay. "But you can't bring him back." Harry's voice grew quieter. "We can never bring them back."
"I know that." Ruth looked down, feeling suddenly as exhausted as she looked. She needed to get on with this, and get it over with. Then she would lay in his arms and let him comfort her. "I need you to trust me, Harry. And I need some time to be alone with this. Can you understand that?" She looked up into his eyes, and Harry saw so much longing there.
She was asking for space, something he had asked for so many times from Jane. And now he knew how hard it was to give when you truly loved someone and saw them troubled. Harry sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, "Yes. I understand. And I'll give you whatever time you need." He let his hand fall from her shoulder, and took the hand by her side in his. "I'll take a rain check on dinner and your bed, but I will take you home, Ruth. In return for your space, I need a long kiss. Non-negotiable terms."
She squeezed his hand. "Accepted, Harry. Now take your mule home."
Out on the Grid, Jo walked past Harry's office holding some files. They hadn't been visible for some time, but now Harry was switching off his computer and turning out lights. Ruth stood by the door. After what she had seen in the hallway today, Jo assumed they had made up whatever tiff they'd had after their dinner together.
Watching them, Jo spoke to Ros. "God, those two. One minute it's on, the next it's all off again."
Ros didn't even look up from her computer. She didn't give a damn what little intrigues Harry Pearce had going on in his spare time. He could go to bloody hell for all she cared. "I hadn't noticed."
Jo looked down on Ros' desk. Some of the tracking devices from Havensworth were still there. She picked one up. "This tracker should tell us. If it's straight home for Ruth then maybe not, but if it's out for a Chinese or a curry, then maybe." Jo walked around to Ruth's coat that was laid across the desk next to Ros'.
Ros was unmoved. She had her reports to log from the day's work, and would probably be here for another hour or two. She could care less about Harry's curry. "I'm really not interested."
Jo looked back at Ros. "Come on, there's not much else to smile about." She tucked the tracker into Ruth's coat pocket. "Ask Zaf. He's running a book." Jo walked away as Harry and Ruth came out of Harry's office.
Ros watched, unblinking, while Ruth collected up her coat, looking actually quite like a woman with a secret, Ros thought, nervous and skittish. And now that she looked at Harry, even he was just a little too studied, his chin held high, with the desire to look too normal, which usually reduced people to ridiculous abnormality. So there was something going on, that was clear.
Ruth stepped into the pod, and instead of taking another one, Harry stepped in with her. Face to face, crammed in a pod, trying to look normal. Bloody hell, Ros thought, they're like a couple of adolescents. Ros remembered her attack on Harry just four days ago. The fact that your own existence is a walking disaster zone does not give you the right to make judgments on other people's.
Still a disaster zone, Ros thought, just in a different geographical area. She smiled, filing the information away for later.
Harry and Ruth got out of the lift at the garage level of Thames House, knowing that there were cameras everywhere. Each had the same thought at the same time, although they didn't share it verbally. The cameras that made it possible so often for them to do their jobs now formed a grid of their own, a kind of prison for them. In sight lines, outside of sight lines, always aware of being watched, both calculated where it was safe for a touch or a look, even a kiss.
Harry made his final calculation, and he suddenly pulled Ruth with him behind one of the cement columns, into an area that was nearly black in its darkness. He pressed her against the column and kissed her, his breath coming fast in warm waves across her cheek. They were both back in the alcove in Henley-on-Thames, sharing a forbidden, secret moment.
It seemed an age to him since he'd last felt her lips under his, the softness, the warmth of them. How sweet she tasted, and how she responded to him. He needed to know that nothing had changed, and he knew this is where he would feel it, that this would reassure him that she was still his, no matter what had happened to her. It did. As his hands roamed from her face to her neck, to just lower, he knew that they were the same two people who had made love in Bath. The same two people who had shared their secrets, the ones they'd never shared with anyone else.
Harry pulled away gently and did the thing he'd been longing to do all day. He moved down to her neck and tenderly kissed the charms. Those tiny symbols of all they were to each other, warm from their proximity to her lovely skin, and he spoke the words that went with the kiss, "I love you, Ruth."
Ruth was floating, for the first time since early this morning knowing fully the peace that came with his love. She could let go into it, lose herself, and forget. And for just a few minutes, while she stood here in the dark with Harry, she couldn't hear the voice, as if it was giving her time with him, time to regenerate before doing what she had to do tonight.
And Ruth thought, this is my home, here in his arms. There was no place she would rather be, no place as warm, or safe. She sighed as he kissed her neck, and she knew that he was drawn to the charms, as if he was infusing them with his love, and that it would stay there on them, even when his lips were not. She heard him say the words, and she repeated them to him. "Oh, Harry, I love you too." She whispered it so it couldn't be heard beyond their ears, for now still their secret, no matter what tomorrow would bring.
Ruth paused for just a moment at her front door, waiting until Harry drove away. Now she was alone. Completely alone and on her own. She wondered how he would feel if he knew she had turned around and gotten in her own car and driven away on an opposite path from his. She thought if someone told him that, he wouldn't believe it of her. Wouldn't believe that she would so calmly lie to him.
He had offered to come in, make her sweet tea again, this time finishing it and sharing it with her. When she said no, he said, then at least let me come and say goodnight properly. "No, you've already done that, Harry," she said, smiling, reminding him of their kiss at the garage. Ruth told him she would take a bath and then crawl into bed, but she would call him before she went to sleep, just to say "I love you."
He called her a wicked girl again, bringing up the picture of her in the bath, and they'd laughed and remembered their afternoon together, with her sopping up the bathroom floor while the porter wondered about the madwoman in the other room.
She had looked at Harry then, and she thought for a moment he knew that she was lying to him, that he had entered her mind just by opening a door and walking into it. And that he was letting her lie to him, making it easier for her somehow, by not asking again.
He had given her a melancholy, trusting look, and set her free. And her heart ached with it now as she remembered, driving to Mik Maudsley's house.
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"No date, then."
Ros looked at her watch. Almost 6:00. She was finishing up the first of her reports when she saw the trackers stop. Harry's green one moved away from Ruth's red, and Ros smiled back at her report. Nothing sordid here. Pity.
But after a moment, another beep brought Ros' eyes back to the screen. Ruth was moving now, and at first Ros thought she might be following Harry, but she veered off.
"I thought you said you were going home?" Ros watched it until it stopped, and typed in the code that asked for the location.
"Maudsley's house? What the hell are you up to, Ruth?"
All of Ros' internal alarms were going off now. This was not a part of the op, and in fact, wasn't the op over now? They had wrapped it up late in the day. So why on Earth would Ruth be going to Maudsley's house? Ros knew that everyone thought Ruth was so bloody wonderful, in her clumsy, simple way. But Ros had heard the edge in her voice that no one else seemed to notice. Ros didn't trust her, and now it looked to be with good reason.
No time like the present to find out, once and for all. Ros made her way quickly to the pods and down to her car. She would need a witness, and who better than Zaf, who thought Ruth walked on water. He'd spent the morning singing her praises as they drove to Cotterdam, until Ros had nearly wanted to be sick.
She pressed his number into her mobile as she drove. "Zaf, meet me at Mik Maudsley's house."
Twenty minutes later, Zaf came up behind Ros just as Ruth was closing the front door and walking away in the other direction. He didn't know what Ruth was doing, but he was sure there would be a reasonable explanation. And he knew one thing, he wanted to follow protocol. After seeing Ruth and Harry in the meeting room today, he knew exactly what he and Ros should do.
"Phone Harry." Zaf caught up with Ros as she walked toward the front door.
"You must be joking. She's his rose-tinted blind spot."
Zaf switched gears. "Adam then." They should not be doing this on their own.
They were still walking toward Maudsley's house. "Sure," Ros said, "when we find out what she's doing here."
Zaf was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "Look, I don't like spying on Ruth."
"So don't." Ros hadn't even broken stride. She'd already accomplished what she wanted with Zaf, she'd made him suspicious. But Zaf could see that there was something else going on here. Ros was on some sort of mission, and it didn't seem to be in Ruth's best interest. Now Zaf found he was wanting to follow Ros in order to protect Ruth.
Ros picked her way through the front door lock with alarming ease. Zaf followed her, but declined to participate in the search she made. Finally, she bent down to look in a cupboard and found what she was looking for. A Chinese type 67 gun. A rather rare gun. Which also happened to be the gun that shot Abdul.
She held it up for Zaf to see. Zaf was trying to get his mind around what she was showing him, but it was very clear that Ros thought Ruth had put the gun there. "You're jumping to conclusions."
Ros stood up. "What conclusions? I've said nothing." She faced Zaf. "What's she doing here? At Maudsley's house? And if this is part of the team's operation, how come we don't know anything about it?" Ros walked past him, starting for the door.
Zaf followed her. "Ros." She stopped and turned as he moved past her on the stairs. "We need to find Ruth and ask her. I know there's a good explanation for this." Ros looked at him, shaking her head with a low, nasty laugh. Zaf continued, "Come on, Ros. You know Ruth."
Ros narrowed her eyes at him. "No, actually, I don't. And I don't think any of you do either. I'll do what I have to do, Zaf. You can follow her if you'd like." She turned on her heel and walked out of Maudsley's front door. Zaf watched her turn right toward her car. Zaf turned left and went to find Ruth.
Ruth thought she had found what she was looking for. When she'd first seen it, she felt the rightness of it. Maudsley had handed her a ten pound note, and here was a scribbled reminder: Pay fruit and veg stall. And the amount? Ten pounds. She didn't know exactly what it meant, but when she pulled it down and put it in her purse, she'd heard some quiet in her head for a blessed moment.
So she simply started walking and hoped to be led to it. She'd wandered just a bit, but now she saw it across the street, a fruit and vegetable stall, and a man with a wool cap. She still had the ten pound note in her wallet, the one Maudsley had given her.
"Hi, just the apple please." She handed the note to the man, giving him a clear look from under her lashes. "Sorry, I've only got a tenner."
He didn't hand her an apple, didn't even reach toward the apples. He looked back at her with the same clear look and reached around behind the apples to pull out a newspaper. Folded in the newspaper was an envelope. And in the envelope Ruth's experienced hands felt a computer disk.
"Thanks very much." She looked at the envelope as if it was a king's ransom she held. She couldn't begin to express her gratitude for the wonderful man in the wool cap, for the brilliant voice in her head, for her own mulish stubbornness. It was real. It had all been real. There was a drop. She hadn't lost her mind.
But there was something that Ruth hadn't noticed. The white van across the street. The same white van with the two men in it that was outside her house when Harry dropped her off. The same white van that had been outside Maudsley's house earlier, before there was a Chinese type 67 or a fruit and veg stall note inside the house. She hadn't noticed that the man in the passenger seat wore the coat, tie and regulation white shirt of Special Branch. And she couldn't know that his name was Baker.
And right now, she didn't know that he was talking on his mobile to Oliver Mace. And that Oliver Mace was currently on his way to the Grid to meet Harry and Adam and the rest of the team. Oliver had the feeling it was Christmas, actually, because he'd been given a gift. A phone call from Ros Myers that fit perfectly into the plan that was already in place.
Ruth started walking, making her way back to the Grid to put the disk in her computer and call Harry. To tell him that she was sorry, so sorry, but she'd had to do this on her own. But that she was right, she'd been right all along about the drop. And yes, they could have that dinner tonight. And yes, she would love to sleep in his arms if he'd still have her.
Suddenly, she felt hands on her from behind. She spun around, directly into Zaf.
"Ruth! What the hell is going on?"
"Oh, thank God it's you." He had really scared her, and that made Zaf even more nervous.
"Why are you acting like that?"
Ruth kept walking, out of breath, "I will tell you, but let's get back to Thames House. I'll tell you there."
When they stepped through the pods, Ruth had a moment of exhilaration, just for a split second. Oh, good, everyone's here. I can tell them all at once about the drop, and we can find out what's on the disk together. But then the moment fractured as she saw the two men in front of her. Oliver Mace. That can't ever be good, can it?
And Harry. Ruth noticed that he wore a different tie. He went home, after I lied to him, and came back again. And he's not wearing the tie I picked out for him this morning. She couldn't make sense of why the tie was so important to her, but it felt somehow connected to the betrayal she was feeling about having lied to him.
And Harry's face. It was the face he saved only for the gravest of situations. The one that looked to the outside world as if it were absolutely open and passive, unreadable, mildly concerned. Ruth knew it was fashioned of stone, meant to conceal all the seething anger and pain that lurked just below the surface.
And although Ruth suddenly feared greatly for her own safety, she almost feared more for Harry as she looked at him. For what he must be feeling right now. Because from his eyes, those eyes that could tell her anything, she could see that this was exceedingly bad. Whatever this was.
And what struck Ruth, what frightened her the most, was that Harry's face was very like the one she had seen him wear during Zoe's trial. It was an understatement to say that Harry was not comfortable with helplessness. He liked to believe that right could be done in the end, and Ruth had watched during the trial as Harry felt himself losing Zoe, little by little, to something he couldn't stop.
If Harry's look was any indication, Ruth thought she must be in a great deal of trouble. Right now, he would have told her that she was reading him perfectly. Every feeling in him was reaching out to her, whilst he was bound to simply stand there and let events unfold.
In fact, Harry was fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to calmly take her arm, go through the pods, and start driving. Somewhere, anywhere, it didn't matter. The gut feeling from earlier in the day was now coursing throughout his entire body.
Harry had thought about going round the corner after he had dropped her home earlier, and just waiting. He had felt it, had known she was going somewhere. Instead, he'd given himself an uncompromising lecture about trust, taken himself home, and poured a scotch. He'd gotten three-quarters through the glass before Oliver had rung him. "We'll need you back on the Grid, Harry. I'm afraid we have a traitor in our midst."
"Quickly, Harry." Oliver had hung up, and Harry knew. He'd heard it in Oliver's voice, a taunting, foul sound, almost pornographic, and Harry knew that somehow Oliver had learned about them. Oliver's tone had an eagerness, as if he were on his way to a particularly awaited sporting event. It was the superior, knowing tone used when discussing blackmail.
So, as Harry looked at Ruth, her sweet, downturned mouth so solemn, her eyes glistening, her face a distressing combination of openness and fear, he knew that whatever happened in the next minutes here would only be a performance. Oliver would be the star, and Ruth the lamb being led to slaughter. But this would all just be for show. The real negotiations would happen later, probably in Harry's office, or perhaps at Mace's club. Mace wanted Harry to do something, and Harry had a good idea what it was.
Right now, in the agony of looking at Ruth's gentle, beloved, terrified face, Harry thought he would give Oliver whatever he wanted. Whatever it took to turn her serious, somber mouth back to the one that teased and laughed and kissed him. But the worst of it was, as Harry looked at Ruth with his heart aching, he saw that she now stood well within his circle, the one painted with the target.
Ruth looked at Mace, and then back at Harry. She knew, down through her skin, that this was another of those defining moments. That she would count this minute as the end of one thing and the beginning of another for the rest of her life.
"Is there a problem?" She asked the question of Harry, but he didn't answer. It was Mace who answered.
"Yes, Ruth, I think there is." Why was Harry standing there so quietly? Why wasn't he looking at her and saying sternly, Ruth. A word. My office. She would be so grateful to hear that right now, to have him tell her she had done something wrong but then let her go back to her station to think it over.
"What's going on?" Her voice was coming from somewhere, but Ruth felt strangely detached. As if she were watching from a distance.
Mace spoke again. "We need to talk to you, Ruth." She looked at Harry, and wondered again why he hadn't said anything. His mouth was set, firm. That mouth that had just been so soft, the mouth she had just kissed behind the cement column, those lips that had just said I love you into the charms on her neck. She didn't want to talk to Mace anymore. Ruth only wanted to talk to Harry. She stepped down from the pods and walked toward him.
"Do I … uh … do I need to sit down, Harry?"
"It's going to be all right, Ruth." He moved slightly toward her, and now she could see it. A twitch, just a tiny one in his cheek. As if he might actually combust right before her. The twitch conveyed his anger, but his eyes conveyed the love. And the message he sent was, Together, always together. We will get through this. And Ruth felt herself grow a bit stronger.
"Let's go into Harry's office." Mace used the tone that made her skin crawl, the one that he probably thought sounded caring, or thoughtful, but in fact had a sort of poison dripping from it.
"No, no, whatever it is, let's just do it here." Ruth didn't want to be separated from the team. She looked around, at Malcolm's and Jo's eyes, and she felt their support . Adam's back was toward her, his jaw set like iron, with all of his anger pointed directly at Mace. But Ros, now she was a different story. Her eyes held pure hatred. All Ruth could think was, What have I done to you, that you hate me so much? She looked back at Harry.
"Are you sure?" Harry's voice was soft, controlled, but Ruth could see that the twitch was still there. Just at the end of his question, Harry tilted his head toward her, by a fraction of an inch, almost unnoticeable. But she saw it, and she felt it. "Yes." Ruth answered Harry's question, but then she looked at Mace. She tensed for the onslaught, and it came immediately.
Mace turned to look at Ros, and then turned back to Ruth. "What were you doing at Maudsley's house?"
Ah, so I was seen, and from the look that just passed between them, I will assume it was by Ros. Ruth paused and then answered. "Nothing, I mean, I was ... "
"You don't deny you went there?"
"No."
"Authorised?"
Ruth looked directly at Harry, and then back to Mace. "No."
"Luckily, you were reported. At the Maudsley house, a Chinese type 67 was found. The same one that killed Mr. Abdul. Do you know anything about it?"
A gun? What was this about? "No." Ruth was starting to feel real fear creep down her neck. Harry stood just to her right, and she could feel his anger mounting, even from where she stood. Harry turned to Mace, and spoke in a tone that let everyone know how ridiculous he thought this line of questioning was. "Of course she doesn't. This is insane."
Mace ignored Harry, and looked back at Ruth. "As you know, Maudsley was under suspicion of colluding with terrorists."
"I didn't believe that." Ruth's voice was starting to shake, and sounded very timid to her, but she was still drawing strength from Harry. In fact, she thought Harry might be the only reason she was still on her feet.
"Whether you believed it or not is immaterial. You were at his house. You went to the mortuary to search his body. You were behind him when he committed suicide. None of these events have been logged or officially trailed." Mace's voice was rising in volume, his accusations increasing in their intensity. Ruth felt she actually was on the stand in a trial. She felt panic beginning to take hold of her.
Harry stepped in again, trying to stem the tide of accusations. "She was following my orders." Ruth could hear some of Harry's anger moving toward the surface.
Ruth tried to explain. "I thought he was making a drop."
Now the final accusation, as Mace's voice rose dramatically. "You were working with him." Mace seemed to be enjoying this immensely.
Harry couldn't listen to this anymore. "That is ridiculous." He looked at Mace, incredulous.
Again, Mace ignored Harry. "And the two of you together were working for Acts of Truth. When Maudsley died, you went to his house to destroy the evidence."
Ruth shook her head, and looked at Harry, and then back at Mace. "That is not true, there was a drop."
"Ruth." Now Harry's voice held a warning.
"I found it." Harry looked over at her, surprised.
Mace raised his eyebrows. "So where is it?"
She pulled out the envelope from inside the folded paper. Harry turned and looked at Mace, a challenge in his eyes.
Mace said, "OK, let's see it." Harry took the envelope from Ruth and handed it to Malcolm.
While Malcolm opened it, Harry sought out Ruth's eyes. She looked back at him with a half-smile, hoping whatever was on the disk would make this all go away. Harry, unfortunately, knew that Mace had an entirely different goal in mind. Enjoying his own theatricality just a bit too much, Mace said, "Let's see where this takes us."
The disk wasn't opening. Adam looked at Malcolm. "Is there a problem?"
"I'm not sure." Malcolm tried again.
Harry asked now. "Malcolm?"
Malcolm spoke. "It's blank."
Everyone had been looking at Malcolm while he tried to open the disk, but Adam was watching Oliver, whose eyes never left Harry. Oliver Mace didn't need to hear that the disk was blank, because he already knew it had nothing on it. Adam realised that Mace was watching Harry's reaction for the sheer sadistic pleasure of it.
"What?" Ruth was starting to get a sick feeling in her stomach.
Harry narrowed his eyes at Malcolm. "Are you sure?"
Malcolm looked directly at Ruth. "Sorry, Ruth, there's nothing on it."
Oliver Mace felt as if he were watching a marvellous play unfold before him. One he, himself, had written. The hero and heroine, destined to be separated. And he, the protagonist, has his day. Oliver was having an exceptionally good time. "There was no drop, Ruth. You and Maudsley were working for Acts of Truth. Things got out of hand, you pushed him."
"That's not true." Ruth's heart was hammering in her chest. So it's to be murder then, is it? Prison?
Mace went to his briefcase and pulled out a disk. And then he did something so obvious that Harry thought Oliver must be quite beside himself. Instead of apologising to Ruth, whose fate he was currently sealing, he turned to Harry. And in a tone that completely negated the statement, he looked directly at him and said, "Sorry, Harry."
Ruth and Harry were only inches away from each other. Harry gazed forward, over the top of her head, and into the space beyond. Ruth looked down, her eyes unfocused, glazed. Both were in a sort of shock. They were seeing their future changing, its shape moving from something beautiful into something grotesque. Time stopped for a moment, and Harry could only think that if he just moved forward slightly, she would be in his arms.
But now Oliver was showing them the CCTV of Ruth at the tube station. The thing they had tried so hard to keep secret. For a moment, Harry thought that Oliver was going to tell it all, and Harry wondered how the team would react.
Ruth watched herself on the screen, at the ticket machine this morning. This morning? No, years ago, wasn't it? She was suddenly dreadfully tired as she watched herself run after the man in the wool cap. She'd only wanted to give him his change. It wasn't fair for her to come out ahead on the trade, was it? Oliver Mace was still talking, and Ruth wanted so much for him to stop. "You met Maudsley, followed him to the platform, and pushed him."
And there on the screen, the evidence. That Ruth reached out to get his attention, which she did. Ruth squeezed her hands together now, because she could still feel Maudsley's back on her fingers, as if it were happening now. But then, a gloved hand just like hers, pushing Maudsley on to the tracks. Zaf couldn't take it any longer. "That's been tampered with. It's a fake."
Mace looked at him. He made a sneer out of Zaf's name. "Please … Zaf? Let's not make this any more upsetting than it already is."
Harry hadn't taken his eyes off of Ruth through it all. He saw her faltering, and he was willing his strength into her body. He had never known a more tortuous feeling than the one he was having now, to have her so close to him, in such terrible pain, and he was unable to even give her the comfort of a touch, or a word.
Now Ruth looked up at him, and in her eyes was the question he knew would come. Does he? With his eyes, which were inexpressibly sad, he gave her the answer. Yes, I think he knows. And suddenly everything was very clear to Ruth. Mace knew they loved each other, and he was using her to get to Harry. She didn't know how much time she had now, or what would happen next, so she took the opportunity to tell him wordlessly, I love you, Harry. I'll always love you. And again, he said, love and anger blending into an electricity she could feel between them, I love you, Ruth, and I will make this right.
Mace's voice cut through Ruth's thoughts. He was looking at her, challenging her. "We have witnesses saying they saw you push him."
"What witnesses?"
"You were seen, Ruth. Apart from the CCTV you were seen." And in her mind, Ruth saw the woman. The blonde woman who was screaming with the sound of the sirens and the screech of the brakes. The woman who had never looked at her, had only looked at the train as it went past her.
A woman who probably now had a new car, or a good school for her children, or the same healthy bank account as Mik Maudsley when he went under that train.
There was a man pulling her now, his arm firmly on hers. And then there was Harry, standing in front of her as she walked by, his eyes so empty, his voice strong , "I will sort this out. I promise, Ruth. I will sort this out."
"Harry, I've seen it before too many times." Ruth remembered Zoe most of all in this moment. The trapped animal look she had as she stood on the stand in the courtroom. At the time, Ruth had thought how ungrateful the world was. How many times had Zoe saved countless lives, and no one hadn't known? Zoe had escaped prison, but she had lost the job she loved. Ruth knew now that it was her turn in the box, and she despaired of anything Harry could do to prevent it. "We've done it to too many people."
Harry was beside her now, walking with her to the pods. He reached out to touch her, one more time, to feel the warmth of her hand. He was nearly there, his hand just millimetres from touching her skin, when he was pulled back by a man behind him.
"Sir, will you move?" And she was gone, too far away, into the pods.
Harry turned on the man, his rage unable to be contained. "Do not address me!" Harry's body shook with it, and he felt he might actually explode, or reach his hands up to the man's neck. He wanted to ask him, When do you think I will be able to touch her again? Do you have any idea what you have just taken from me?
Ruth was behind the glass now, the pod turning, separating them. And she was gone.
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As Harry turned away from the pods, Adam was waiting. "So, do we back off Cotterdam?"
Harry was still seething. "Absolutely not. Cotterdam's the key." Harry walked past Adam toward his office. He needed to close his door, sit down, and think. He would not lose Ruth, he would not join Oliver Mace, and he would not be blackmailed. And although those seemed his only options at this point in time, Harry knew there were always options he hadn't thought of yet.
Ironically, this was the moment he would usually walk out on the Grid and go directly to Ruth's station. Harry would give her the facts and her mind would go to work on the puzzle. And then, some time later, with bright eyes and paper scattering in her wake, she would burst into his office without knocking and give him the answer. He would tell her to calm down, speak more slowly, and out would come a brilliant solution.
Still leaning against the door, Harry pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out what he had just seen. The anger was still flowing through him, the adrenaline giving him power, but he knew it would subside, and when it did, he would be left with the vision of her face. Eyes wide, lips parted in fear, breath coming quickly. She knew what awaited her, and she knew all too well that when the intelligence services framed someone, they did it well.
For a moment Harry was filled with a despair that was so deep it threatened to engulf him. He was unable to think, unable to move. His mind reached out for her, remembering Bath, her body, so beautiful, the feel of her skin under the lavender water, her face flushed with wine and happiness, her endless love for him. Harry felt himself slipping into a kind of madness, wanting to go back, find his way back to that place with her and never leave it.
Oh, my sweet Ruth. Harry took a deep breath and tried to imagine their future. Prison, exile, or freedom. And that choice rested in his hands. Freedom could be purchased by his allowing MI5 to become a puppet force, an instrument of the state. He could turn his head and play politics, nodding along with Oliver Mace when he knew wrong was being done.
Ruth would be freed, immediately, miraculously. But they would always be susceptible, she would always be a target. His love for Ruth and his fear for her safety would buy his silence at every JIC meeting, every investigation, any time Oliver Mace needed an ally. And Harry and Ruth would never be able to look each other in the eyes, knowing that their love had been purchased at such a cost.
Prison? Not an option. The third, exile, would happen first.
But if Ruth had taught Harry one thing, it was that there was always the fourth option, and that was the one Harry searched for now. He needed time. And he needed information. Where were they taking her? What was Mace planning to do? Harry needed to put himself in Oliver's place and think it through.
Harry willed himself to be calm. He was no good to Ruth in this condition. He still stood against the door, and as he lowered his hands from his face, he saw something glisten there on his palm. Tears. For a moment Harry just stared at them, trying to remember the last time he had cried. In Ruth's room at Havensworth, when he had gone to her and held her, thinking he might never have the chance again.
And since that time, Harry had allowed himself to believe, to dream. To hope. For a life beyond the one he had known. It was as if he had never seen colour before, had been blind to it, and suddenly the world was full of blues and greens and reds that he'd been unable to even describe until now. Until he held her in his arms the scent of lavender was simply a flower, a botanical fact. Now it was something that touched him so deeply he couldn't put a definition to it. It was Ruth.
He would not lose her.
Harry wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, and straightened. She needed him now and he needed a clear head. He walked to his windows and saw that the Grid was crawling with Special Branch, packing up boxes, carrying files. Members of the team, Jo, Malcolm, Adam, Zaf, watched. And Ros. How would he ever forgive her? And he felt for a moment what he imagined she had felt when she learned of her father's prison sentence. Now he was looking at the possibility of someone he loved going to prison, and Harry's heart opened to Ros' pain. He was very angry with her, but yes, he could forgive her. And he would need every member of his team now.
Adam was closest to the window. Harry rapped on the glass, and Adam turned. Harry beckoned him in. The door opened, and Harry stepped closer to speak with him. "What do we know?"
"Nothing. Mace is still here, directing his goons. They're tearing the place apart." Adam closed the door behind him.
Harry was barely suppressing his anger. "I need to speak with Oliver. Find him and send him …" Harry stopped and forced himself to be calm. He lowered his voice. "Find him and ask him to join me in my office, please."
Adam nodded and started toward the door. He stopped and turned back. He seemed to be weighing what he was going to say carefully. He had seen enough to suspect the answer, but he had to pose the question. "Harry, I need to ask you. Does Mace know something that I don't know about you and Ruth?"
Harry exhaled softly. He kept his eyes on Adam's, considering his answer. Of course, by taking the time to do this, he had essentially answered Adam's question. Harry knew that it was unlikely that this secret could be kept. He had already told Ruth that Adam might need to be taken into their confidence. But most of all, if they were to bring everything they had to save Ruth, he needed Adam to have all of the facts.
"Yes." Harry pointed to the chair across from him. Adam sat, while Harry stayed leaning against the front of his desk. "We've been seeing each other, off the Grid, for several weeks. But I think we've both known that it's been going on for much longer than that."
Adam said nothing, but gave Harry a nod and a small smile.
Harry continued, his eyes focused on the floor. "I apologise for not telling you the truth about my week-end away, but I was with Ruth." Now he looked up into Adam's eyes. "I love her, Adam. Very much. And she loves me. This is not something temporary, or transitory. It is permanent. And will be, once we have some bloody peace to talk about it."
"How does Mace know?" Suddenly, Adam put the pieces together. With an intake of breath, he said, "That tube station is right near your house. Nowhere near Ruth's."
Harry pursed his lips and nodded. "I should have told you sooner. I will admit to not thinking very clearly lately. I should have told you before our briefing about Cotterdam. It just seemed a freak coincidence, but now it appears that Maudsley was trying to get to me through Ruth. He must have been watching my house."
Adam leant back in his chair. "And Mace wants, what? Your silence on the Cotterdam cover up?"
"Yes, and so much more." Harry stood and moved around to sit in his chair. "He wants me to join his team." Harry practically spat out the word. "Walk in lockstep with him whenever he asks. Play politics with him."
Adam thought for a moment. "So we have to clear Ruth, but that's only a temporary fix. We need to find a way to neutralise Mace." He looked over at Harry. "That's quite a tall order, Harry."
Harry stood up, letting Adam know it was time. "I need to talk to Oliver."
Adam stood and walked toward the door. He stopped at Harry's desk. "Thanks for telling me, Harry. That can't have been easy for you. And although I suspect it's not as big a secret as you think, I won't share what I know with any other members of the team," Adam paused for a moment, "unless it's absolutely necessary to help Ruth, yes?"
"Yes." Harry looked very tired, Adam thought. And very angry. It seemed to be in every word he said, every movement. Adam was assessing Harry's fitness as one of the team members, and his assessment told Adam he needed to give Harry the night off.
Before Adam opened the door, he turned to Harry and smiled. "For what it's worth, Harry, I'm happy for you. I think you're good for each other."
Harry smiled for the first time, but it held sadness. "Thanks, Adam. I do too."
"If it turns out to be wrong, I'll be the first one to celebrate with you, Harry. My hands were tied, you can see that. What would you have done, turned a blind eye?"
Harry looked across at Mace, and it was taking every ounce of strength he had not to simply reach out and strangle him. Smug was the only descriptive word that came to mind, and Oliver's voice was dripping with false goodwill. But Harry needed information, and he needed time. For this moment, for Ruth, Harry would be conciliatory, he would grovel, he would beg if he had to.
"I thought that was your specialty." Not a very good start. Harry heard the venom in his own voice, and resolved to try a little harder.Remember, this is for Ruth. But the blood was pounding in his ears, and his jaw felt as if it were wired shut. Harry knew what angry felt like, but Mace seemed to have taken him to a whole new level.
"Once a report is made, Harry, you know there is nothing one can do."
"You know Ruth, you know what she's capable of."
"Chinese type 67?"
Harry realised it was pointless to discuss this any further. They were both just dancing around the truth anyway. And although Oliver seemed to be enjoying himself, Harry didn't have the stomach for it anymore. "Look, I don't pretend to know what's really going on here, but I'm asking for your help. I need time, Oliver." There, he'd said it. He'd begged. He would do it for her. Ruth is the only one he would do this for.
Mace considered. Actually, time was good. The best outcome was to send the little analyst back to Harry safely, and hope the relationship lasts. The Maudsley files would be put away for future use if necessary. All Oliver would have to do was whisper Maudsley's name, and Harry would step in line. Anyway, Oliver thought, this is fun. Enormously entertaining. This had looked to be a dull week, and now there was all this wonderful drama to contend with. Let's drag it out a bit, shall we?
"I'll give you a day. I'll have her put under surveillance. One day, and then she'll be arrested. Don't ask me for more." Oliver couldn't resist a little Shakespearian tragedy, so he added a last-minute inspiration. "And no contact. Any contact between you and her, and it's out of my hands." God, I love this job, Oliver thought. And I'm so bloody good at it.
Harry answered through his teeth, his chest heaving. "Thank you." The word he would have rather used in place of "thank" would have lent the phrase a very different meaning. He simply had to make do with saying it in his head.
Ruth was escorted to her home and left with surveillance, just two agents in front, in a van. Mace put them there just for show, really. How bloody stupid did they think he was? After all, she was only a desk spook. She'd been playing at being a spy lately, but not very well. She'd followed every one of his clues like a rat in a maze.
The rest of the team was another matter, and Oliver knew they would be plotting. Especially Harry. But that was part of the fun, wasn't it? Mace didn't really care if people came in or out, all he cared about was that Harry knew Oliver held all the cards now.
Mace saw to it personally. Actually walked Ruth into her home wearing his most compassionate face. She wouldn't let him past the front hall, and told him rather rudely, he thought, to leave. He understood. She was upset.
But before he left, he leant down and whispered, "I told him if he comes to see you, you'll be arrested, Ruth. So if he does come to see you, he's putting you in danger. If he doesn't, well, it will be a lonely night, won't it?" Then he had pulled back and given her a reptilian look. "Shame. No trusty knight on the white steed. You do like your books, don't you?" Ruth shrunk back, feeling suddenly that she needed a wash.
Oliver had taken a calculated risk in targeting Ruth. It could have been something that meant nothing to Harry. It wouldn't be the first time a Section Head did his thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But Oliver had replayed Harry's outburst in his head countless times, and it seemed he enjoyed it even more each time: Do not address me! Harry Pearce, man of steel, reduced to shouting because of his softness for a woman. It really was too delicious. Thank God for testosterone. It made spying so much simpler.
But it was more than that, wasn't it? Whilst Oliver had accused Harry's precious analyst, he had kept an eye on Harry. Harry was in love with her. Bloody Harry Pearce in love. And as Oliver looked into Ruth's eyes, he knew that she thought she loved him too. Even better. Well, Oliver thought, I'm a romantic man. Let them have their little fable, and I will have my control.
Ruth simply stood in her hall after he left. And suddenly, exhausted in body and soul, she was sitting. In her coat and her scarf, in her own hallway, on the floor. She leant up against the wall and the tears began to fall. The ones that had been lurking under the surface for the last hour, really for the entire day.
Now that they were alone, Phoebe came out from behind the sofa, tentatively. Ruth saw her and called to her through her tears, reaching her hand out. Phoebe came up under her hand and rubbed, letting her know she missed her. Suddenly Ruth realised that she was probably going to prison, and fear gripped her along with the sadness.
The house was dark now, the light finally faded outside. She hadn't been home for four days, and the house was cold. Ruth remembered how she had felt the last time she'd been here. Her bag was packed and in this hall, right about where she sat crying now. She was waiting for Harry to pick her up and they were going to Bath. She'd been nervous, and so happy, so in love with Harry.
Thinking about Bath turned the silent tears into sobs now. His voice, his hands, their bodies in the soft light of the lamp, his words of love, his tenderness. So beautiful that she hadn't thought a lifetime was enough time. The love she felt for Harry right now was a physical pain in her body. No trusty knight on the white steed. Ruth thought this might be beyond even Harry's reach.
But as she took herself back to that last night with Harry in Bath, she remembered what she had felt, what she had promised herself.Nothing can touch this. No outside influence, no person, nothing. She would never doubt him again. She had already broken that promise, but she didn't know how to crawl out of the abyss in which she found herself. She couldn't seem to find an answer to this puzzle.
How was Harry ever to have happiness in his life? He'd lived alone for so long, and now she thought she understood why. Self-control, self-denial. This is what it prevented. She was his weakness, and it was at her they had struck. She had seen his rage finally boil over as she stepped into the pods. Ruth put her hands up to her cheeks, covering the tears that were now coursing down her face. Was he sorry? Did he regret it now?
Ruth knew Mace wanted Harry to back off of Cotterdam, and she suspected that pointed to a larger issue. Oliver wanted to control Harry, to bind up the loose cannon. Now that Mace knew, would he ever stop? Ruth's hand went to her neck, and she touched the charms, trying to still feel his lips there. Harry's wonderful, soft, warm lips. Now the spot felt only of tears, and they were cold.
~~~~~
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