CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Harry couldn't seem to stand still. It was cold, but that wasn't the reason. He simply could not keep his feet from moving. He supposed it was because he was feeling more helpless, more ineffectual, more bloody useless, than he could ever remember. The feeling was of being in a prison cell. No matter where he was, his office or the street, he felt he was in a cell, pacing, measuring a small, claustrophobic space.
He couldn't see her, and he didn't know how to help her. And he loved her more than he thought possible. In fact, his love for Ruth seemed to have taken on a monumental proportion in his life. He was unable to go for more than a few minutes without thinking about her, without seeing her face behind his eyes, the fear and resignation of that last look through the pods. He knew this was not rational behaviour, but he had no road map because he had never felt this way before. And there seemed to be no antidote.
He ached to hold her. It was a physical need, in his arms, his shoulders, his hands. It was like hunger, really, as if there were an emptiness that needed filling. And like hunger, he knew that it could be satisfied, but would come again and again. He knew that if he held her now, he would want to tomorrow, and forever. So he paced. And not in a good way.
Of course, it was made unbearable by the fact that this separation was imposed by Oliver Mace. Harry knew that until Mace was stopped, the feeling would never go away, even with Ruth firmly in his arms. One look, one tilt of Mace's repulsive head, and Harry would see Ruth being taken from him again, see her again being led through the pods, the fear in her eyes.
It was cold, and the dark was coming on. Had this day really started with Ruth standing at the top of his stairs in his shirt? Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself back there, back to the hope he had felt. I will feel that way again. We will get through this. These were not just empty promises to himself. He had already laid out the full spectrum of possibilities with Adam, and every one of them ended with Ruth safe. Any other possibility did not exist.
The Grid was swarming with people, and Harry knew that everything they said would be scrutinised, so they met at the doghouse. One by one, the team gathered to regroup, and Adam took charge. "We need to stay calm. Work at our best to clear her name."
Harry and Adam had agreed that it simply would not be prudent to have Harry running any part of this operation. He had agreed to stand by and trust Adam, because both of them knew he was unable to separate his personal feelings from any appropriate action. In fact, Harry had admitted to Adam that he was so overcome by emotions, by anger, fear, love, and the need for retribution, that he was having difficulty even functioning. He had handed Ruth's life to Adam, and still stood by that decision. But that left Harry with nothing to do but try to keep himself out of trouble, and to stall Mace if possible. And pace. And worry. As everyone moved into a circle, Harry asked them, "Was anyone followed here?"
"I think we're clear." At the sound of footsteps, Adam wheeled around to see Ros walking toward them. "Surprised to see you here."
Ros spoke softly to Adam. "Can I have a word?"
"No, whatever you've got to say, say it here to us all." Adam was still quite angry with Ros. He knew that her betrayal had more to do with getting back at Harry than it did with Ruth, even if Ros wouldn't admit it herself.
Ros was typically unrepentant. "I'm not sorry. I was doing my job."
"But you were wrong."
"I agree she's been set up if that's what you mean," Ros said. Adam nodded. He thought he would have to trust her, because he needed everyone now. And he would give her a chance right away to prove that she was trustworthy. Adam had been planning to have Jo stand in for Ruth so they could get Ruth out to help them find the drop. But he decided now that he would ask Ros after this meeting, and see how she reacted. Then he would decide if he could trust her.
Jo asked the question that everyone was thinking. "Why frame Ruth, though? What do they gain?"
Harry finally spoke, answering the question. "They get to me." The ache in his voice, his clear agitation, the combination of worry and hurt in his eyes, told them all they needed to know. It was the most admission they would get from him, but it was enough. Now every suspicion, every whispered piece of gossip was as good as confirmed.
Everyone knew that when Harry Pearce's people were in danger, or were being treated unfairly, he was a terrible thing to behold. This was not that man. The man who stood with them now wore a look that resembled nothing so much as grief. Mind-numbing, paralysing, agonising grief.
It even managed to melt a small corner of Ros' heart. She had never seen Harry like this. "How is she?"
Malcolm spoke up. He still couldn't look at Ros, so he focused on a spot of pavement, sounding incredibly sad for his two friends. "No one's been allowed to speak to her."
Harry spoke directly to Ros. "How do you think she is? Scared out of her wits." Hard as he tried, he couldn't keep the accusation out of his voice. Ros had handed their lives to Mace. He would still have known about them, but Ros' report opened the official doors for Ruth's arrest. And the fact that it had come from inside the Grid made it feel like a personal betrayal. Ros at least had the good grace to look a little contrite.
Adam knew this processing was necessary, but it wasn't entirely helpful right now. They had one day, from now until about 7:00 p.m. tomorrow, if Mace were to measure it to the minute. They would need to develop a plan now, and would wake early to begin implementing it. But they needed a plan. "We need to think quickly, find out whatever it was Maudsley was trying to get to Ruth."
Zaf was glad to hear this. The last few hours had seemed surreal to him. Finally, they were believing her. "So we're all agreed. Maudsley made a drop."
Adam nodded. "Yeah, I think it's time to trust Ruth."
"If I hadn't been so pig-headed, I would have done that in the first place." Harry knew he wasn't helping Adam, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He kept replaying every conversation with Ruth, hearing again every condescending, patronising thing he'd said to her. Relax. Don't get fixated. It's over. He wanted nothing more right now than to turn back the clock.
Adam continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "Let's assume for a moment that Maudsley is innocent. He's in the prison that night, he knows Special Branch are hiding something in their report. He identifies Ruth as the right person to get information to Harry." Adam stopped himself, and looked over at Harry, wanting to assure him that he wouldn't say too much. "It's a good choice, close but not too close."
Ros asked the obvious question, although she thought she knew the answer. "Why not go straight to Harry?"
Adam answered, "Too risky, chances are he's being watched."
So then this would have to be something big. Ros asks, "What the hell is it?"
Adam was starting to believe this was very big. "Pandora's box. Something worth dying for to expose."
Everyone was aware that Harry was contributing nothing to this exchange. Not only was he not speaking, but he had now consolidated his pacing to a small invisible box just below him on the pavement. He stepped forward, and then back, keeping his eyes down, moving obsessively, without purpose. And to those who didn't already know, his feelings were as clear as if he has spoken them.
This was more than a Section Head concerned for an agent in the field. They had seen Harry in that circumstance more times than they wanted to remember. This was different, although they had all seen this often too, from the people they were protecting. This was fear, pure and simple. Fear for the fate of a person deeply loved.
It was so raw, so open, and Harry seemed so vulnerable, that it was almost hard to watch. And Harry deserved their respect, so they ignored it. They let him pace, and continued to do what they could, which was work through the problem. But everyone knew now, even more, what was at stake here.
Zaf spoke up, "What do we know about Maudsley?" Adam replied, "Military background. Before working in prisons he had some intelligence training."
Jo said, "So the drop could be anywhere." Ros knew that if the drop was targeted at Ruth, it would have to do with her precise knowledge, "No. It'll somewhere very specific."
Adam continued, "Somewhere only Ruth would be able to uncover. He'll have laid the drop with extreme care." Adam turned to Zaf. "Zaf, I want you to check all satellite images of Cotterdam that night. We can't rely on the official evidence."
"And Harry ... " Adam turned to him. Everyone in the circle wondered what there was to say to Harry.
Harry looked at Adam. If they thought he didn't already know that he was the weakest member of the team, they were wrong. He practically growled his answer. "I know, stay level-headed."
Harry agreed with Adam's concern. He was concerned for himself.
As Harry drove home, he wondered. What exactly does level-headed mean anyway?
What Adam would probably prefer is that Harry go home and make his way through the better part of a bottle of single malt, stay out of the way, and let him do his job. That scenario had definitely crossed Harry's mind. But he knew it wouldn't make the ache go away. It was like the feeling of having drunk too much coffee, or insomnia, when a physical sensation makes sleep or relaxation or even intoxication simply impossible.
How do you think she is? Scared out of her wits. Harry was actually having trouble staying in his body. As if his hands gripping the steering wheel were the only thing keeping him from flying off in space. The combination of rage and desperation had clouded his thinking so completely that he was considering turning the wheel and driving to her house. He would walk right through the front door, put his arms around her and go to prison with her. At least they would have those few moments of peace together. Simply thinking about it calmed him somewhat, and his senses returned.
Harry pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the ignition. In the sudden silence, he could now hear his breathing, fast and hard, as if he had just run up a flight of stairs. He began to measure his breaths carefully, and closed his eyes. I have been interrogated. I have been tortured. I have seen and heard things that would chill the blood of any ordinary citizen. And this … this loss of her… reduces me to a helpless man.
Harry breathed again, deeply. I need to get hold of myself. Ruth needs me to. Harry brought all his strength to bear, and when he ran out of that, he brought her love. He saw her face, her eyes, and remembered the feeling of invincibility he had in Bath. After they made love, the feeling that together they moved within a force field, a protective shell that was impervious to the world. He had said he would never doubt its strength, and now, here he was doubting it.
Another deep breath, and he was feeling the control returning to his body. His hands were still on the steering wheel, but gradually the knuckles lost their white pallor, gradually the muscles in his hands, his arms, his shoulders, let go and relaxed. Another breath, and he opened his eyes and let go entirely of the wheel, putting his hands limply at his sides. Now he could think.
Harry put himself in Mace's position. What did Mace want? Control. What gave him that control? Ruth. Not in prison, but in Harry's arms. Prison wasn't the result that Oliver wanted. The relationship was. Mace didn't want Ruth locked away, he wanted her free and accessible and in Harry's heart, so that Harry could feel constantly what the loss of her would be.
Any contact between you and her, and it's out of my hands. As Harry replayed that final conversation in his head, he saw what his enormous rage had prevented him from seeing. Mace has gotten too cocky. That last bit, the dramatic final slap to Harry, was really more the stuff of soap opera. It was beneath Oliver, of course, but more than that, it tipped his hand. One of the cardinal rules of being a spook. Never, neverbelieve that you have all the cards. Always hold out the belief that there's something you don't know. Some angle you haven't calculated.
Harry remembered his early training, although it now seemed hundreds of years ago. How they would stand to be ready for attack. Muscles coiled, feet apart, knees bent, arms wide, ready for anything. Right now, Mace was sitting comfortably, probably with an expensive scotch in one hand, and an expensive cigar in the other. He was enjoying his own little personal debrief long before the operation was over. And sitting by the side of the road, Harry realised that Mace's monolithic ego became his own advantage.
The surveillance would be cursory, wouldn't it? Simply a part of the performance. It would amuse Mace that he had kept Harry away with just a few threatening words and a couple of bored agents playing rummy in the back of a van. It was a game to Oliver, and Harry was unwilling to let his Ruth go through this night alone in order to take part in Oliver Mace's game. Harry wouldn't play.
And once he had that firmly under his belt, Harry knew he had to see Ruth. It was not going to be physically, psychologically or emotionally possible for him to prevent it. And he knew that it wouldn't hurt anyone, despite what Oliver had said.
He sat just for a moment more, assuring himself that he wasn't rationalising all of this, before he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out on to the road. For the first time since he had left Ruth early this morning, he felt calm, and he allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. Whatever tomorrow brought, tonight he was going to her. His Ruth.
She still hadn't taken off her coat or turned on the heat. She had managed to stand, and she'd walked over to the window to pull the sheer curtains aside. The white van was still there. The men weren't sitting in the front any more, but Ruth assumed they were in the back of the van. She could see a faint glow through the windows.
The tears had stopped because she didn't think she had any more of them. She'd thrown her shoes off, and now she walked in bare feet, feeling the cold of the wood down to her toes. The fluffy girls followed her everywhere she went, right around her legs. Ruth thought that either they had missed her, or they felt her distress, in the way that animals do, and wanted to be beside her in case she should need them. Likely a little of both, Ruth thought.
She was tidying up the house. If I'll not be back for awhile, I'd hate to think of people finding dust bunnies in the corners. She knew she wasn't being rational, but she didn't seem to have the energy necessary to search for her common sense. She felt as if she were dying, sort of, but with some notice, which most people don't have. So she walked around her house seeing it from the eyes of whoever would next walk through it. A stranger, probably. What happens to the house of a person who goes to prison? It was a question she'd never really considered.
Ruth picked up her mobile again, checking for messages. Of course there weren't any. And there wouldn't be. She thought that last bit from Oliver Mace was a smidge over the top, actually. Salt in the wound, and so evil. If Harry contacted her somehow, he was being reckless. If he didn't, she would be alone all night. And this promised to be a very long night indeed. How can someone take pleasure in making another person feel this way? And Mace did find it pleasurable. He even licked his lips for emphasis, like a snake. Ruth shuddered, and the cold really did start to enter her body.
She flicked on the furnace, and heard it start up. Well, at least they wouldn't find her frozen in the morning. Then she went to the kitchen, finally, to do what she knew she would do all along. She would make sweet tea for herself. Harry would want her to.
She followed the path he had followed, slowly, methodically. The sink to the cupboard, then back, fill the kettle. Turn it on. Measure the sugar, pull down the cups. She brought down two, without thinking, and slowly moved one back up to its place on the shelf. And she checked her mobile again. No messages.
But then she thought of something, and as she leant back on the counter, she pushed another button on her phone and held it to her ear. She closed her eyes, and they quickly filled with tears that squeezed through her closed lids by their sheer weight, falling through the lashes, down her cheeks and on to the kitchen floor.
Ruth. I'm only calling to say goodnight, and to say that my mind is filled with you. I wish you sweet dreams, my Ruth.
His message from Havensworth. The one she had never deleted. Before she knew he loved her. Before she had felt the skin on his back, soft and strong under her fingers, before she knew the power of his body when he wanted her. And here she was, crying, desperately sad, feeling she'd lost him again. The only thing really that had changed was that she wanted him more.
She pushed the button over and over, until she could hear it without the phone to her ear. His voice was in her head, on an endless loop. And the tears kept falling.
"Ruth."
Yes, there it was. The beginning of the message, but this time it sounded like it came from another part of the room. Ruth opened her eyes, and there he was.
"Harry?"
Not just irrational. Insane. In the half-light he looked almost ghostly, but he was coming toward her, and then she was in his arms. Not a ghost at all, real, solid, feeling like Harry, his coat softly scratching her cheek, his chest moving with his breath, his voice at her ear, "Ruth, oh, my Ruth. God, I couldn't bear it. I couldn't leave you alone tonight."
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
She put her hand up to his face, feeling him, making sure he was real. "Harry, you're here. You came." She nuzzled into his shoulder, holding him tightly, and she whispered, very softly, "My trusty knight."
He pulled back and looked in her eyes to see if he had heard her correctly. She smiled sadly at him. "He said you wouldn't come … that you couldn't come."
Harry kissed her, gently, "I won't let Oliver Mace tell me what I can and cannot do. Especially as it concerns you." He held her more tightly to him. "Christ, I needed this. To feel you next to me." The pain he had felt earlier, the restlessness, subsided and disappeared. Harry exhaled deeply into her hair, and he felt calm and centred.
He could feel her crying now, as she held him. "Harry, am I going to prison? Can they do this?"
Harry stroked her hair, tenderly, but his voice was firm. "No. No matter what, you're not going to prison. Believe that." He moved his mouth closer to her ear, and repeated it, more softly. "You are not going to prison."
Now she spoke all her fears from the last few hours, the ones that had been rattling around in her head as she wandered alone through her house. "But Zoe, she had to leave, she's gone, no one will ever see her again. That would be worse than prison, Harry. Never to see you again?"
He held her tighter, as if his arms could press the fear out of her. "That will not happen. I won't let it. I couldn't bear it, Ruth."
"But this weakens you, your power against him, I've done that to you." She pulled away now, trying to wipe the tears from her face as she spoke. Her voice was rising with the intensity of her feelings, "I never wanted that, Harry. I was afraid of it, all along. That somehow my loving you would make you unable to be what you needed to be. And now it's happened."
Harry took her face in his hands, making sure her eyes were on his. He brushed away the tears with his thumbs as he spoke. "Ruth. I'm here now. You're safe. Please stop." He kissed her, feeling the trembling of her lips under his, tasting her tears. "Stop. Please." As she started to calm, he placed her head on his chest again, and held her there. He spoke the words as if they were a mantra, a chant. "I love you. You are part of my life. We will get through this."
"How, Harry? How?" Now her voice was like a soft wail, the question hanging in the air between them, and he felt her quivering under his hands, like that bird that landed on his doorstep not so long ago. That had been the beginning for them, and Harry searched in his mind for how this would end. He didn't have any more answers than she did, really.
As he heard the last of her question fade out in his mind, Harry heard the kettle begin to boil. He pulled away, gently, and whispered, "The tea."
Ruth nodded, sniffling. "Do you mind?" she said, softly, and Harry nodded back as he turned off the heat. She pulled a towel from the counter and held it to her face to catch the tears that were beginning to subside. She thought of how she must look to him. "I'm a disaster, Harry." She tried to smile, and Harry felt his heart almost break, it was such a lovely attempt at being brave.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He moved to her and stroked her cheek, brushing her lips tenderly. "Now stand there and watch me make tea. We tried this once before, but I was called away." He pulled another cup down from the shelf. "It won't happen this time. I have been excused from all current operations because it seems I am unfit for duty."
Ruth tilted her head and then understood. The tears had stopped now, but her voice was so quiet he had to concentrate to understand her. "That's what I'm talking about, Harry. I never meant to take you from your job."
Harry took her hands, letting the tea steep. "Nothing is perfect, my Ruth. Things change. I have been very good at my job, but I've been an unhappy man. I can realise it now, with you in my life. I'll still be good at my job if they'll let me, but I won't sacrifice you to it." He turned back to the tea. "I refuse to believe that this is an 'either-or' situation. I know I can love you, and I can be Section Head. And I can do both well."
"If Mace will let you." Ruth was feeling herself coming back now, and was grateful that she could look for solutions with Harry. She had missed him so much tonight. He was the only one she really wanted to talk to, and it had been so hard to think it through alone.
"Yes." Harry handed her a cup of steaming sweet tea. The kitchen had warmed somewhat, due to the now-running furnace, but it was still cold. Harry pointed to the lounge. "You mind if I make a fire? It's a little chilly in here, Ruth." Harry took her hand and led her over to the sofa.
Harry took the tea out of Ruth's hands and set it down. He turned to her and pulled the woollen scarf gently from her neck, and began to unbutton her coat. Ruth stood passively, watching his eyes, feeling like a child, but so intensely grateful he was here. Harry pushed the coat off of her shoulders and laid it across the chair. Then he lifted the afghan from the back of the sofa and placed it tenderly around her shoulders before moving her to sit on the couch and handing her the cup of tea.
Now Harry was taking his coat off too, and loosening his tie. He laid both next to Ruth's things, and moved over to the fireplace. He removed his cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves and began to make the fire. Ruth marvelled that she had watched him dress this morning, and now she was watching him undress. The continuity of that pleased her. Fidget hopped up on the chair and started to knead Harry's coat. Phoebe joined her on Ruth's, and both soon made themselves comfortable on the warm wool.
Ruth smiled sweetly at Harry, curling her legs under her as she sat. "Well, Harry, it's chilly in here because I've been away for a few days."
Harry inhaled deeply, remembering. "Ah, yes, you have. And being a very wicked girl, if I recall."
Ruth laughed quietly, for the first time in quite a while. The tears had made her voice a bit raw, and she spoke softly, seductively. "I was led to wickedness, by a man with a silver tongue." She blew across her tea, cooling it, but holding him with her eyes.
Harry stopped what he was doing and looked at her with a shake of his head. "Now, how am I supposed to do this whilst you talk in such a manner? I'm being very primitive here. Allow me to continue without seducing me, if you please."
"I was talking about how you spoke to me, Harry." Ruth sipped her tea, an innocent, angelic look on her face.
Harry laughed and said doubtfully, "Of course you were."
For a time they enjoyed the silence, with Harry making the fire, and Ruth watching him. She never took her eyes off him, as he methodically tore the paper and laid it under the logs, kindling poking out from between. Ruth loved every movement of his hands, the expression of his mouth as he concentrated. She thought she could watch him forever.
Harry's playfulness had helped a little, but it couldn't help for long. There was too much on her mind.
"What's the plan, Harry?" Ruth made it sound offhand, but she was still terrified, and Harry knew it. He put the last log on the fire and lit the newspaper he had so carefully placed, watching it as it crackled and caught. Harry waited until he was certain the fire was going, and stood.
He spoke as confidently as he could, hoping to allay her fears. "We discover Maudsley's real drop and find out what it has to say. My hunch is that it will implicate someone in the Cotterdam fire, and I can only hope it will be Oliver Mace. Then he and I sit across from each other at his club or mine, and we dance around who has the nastier bit." Harry sat down next to Ruth and put his arm around her. "My guess is that it will be mine." He kissed her on the head.
Ruth sat up and looked at him. "But you can't do that, Harry. He doesn't send me to prison, and you don't expose Cotterdam? That's seven lives for one. It's not worth it."
Harry looked down at their hands, which were now entwined. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But I promise you, Ruth." He looked up at her and held her eyes. "You are not going to prison."
Ruth's eyes grew dark. "And when does it ever end, Harry? You bury this one, and what's next? You disagree with him in a JIC meeting, you look sideways at him, and he whispers my name to you? How long will it take for you to come to despise me? To despise us?"
Harry pulled her to him, and his confident tone dissolved a little. "I can't think that far ahead. I need to get you safe, and once that's done we will work through the rest." Harry paused, and Ruth could feel his heart, loud and steady, in his chest. He was trembling slightly, and she put her arms around him, finally understanding how desperate he felt. He didn't have all the answers.
Harry realised how tightly he was holding her, and released his grip slightly, taking a deep breath. "The best news would be that Maudsley's drop gives us what we need to neutralise Oliver. That it's damaging enough." He moved his head down so that he could touch her lips with his. "So we need your help."
Ruth sat up, alert. "How can I help? I'm in here." Suddenly it hit her, and she smiled. "Do you know, until this second it hadn't occurred to me how you got in here. How did you do that, Harry?"
He smiled. "I wish I could say that it was through my superior skills, but I picked the lock on your back door and walked in. No guards in the back, and I think the two out front are asleep."
Ruth frowned. "Then what was the point?" His look told her that Mace never really intended to keep them apart tonight. She sighed, and shook her head. "Oh, he's an evil man. He had me so scared, Harry. Horrible, horrible man."
Harry stroked her hair, gently. "He can't win, Ruth. We're too strong for him."
Ruth smiled at Harry's determined look. "So how do I help?"
"Ros will come tomorrow, early, to take your place here whilst you and Adam look for the drop." Harry looked back at the fire, now blazing. "Maudsley had an intelligence background, so it should be something specifically aimed toward you. We need your eyes." Harry gave her a teasing look. "Probably some obscure reference to Sumerian demi-gods or some such that only you and six other people on the planet would understand."
Ruth smiled. "God is in the details, Harry." Then she looked more seriously at him. "Everyone believes me now? About the drop?"
He turned to her, nodding. "Yes. I should have believed you when you first told me." Harry's fingers strayed to the necklace again, his arm laying across Ruth's on the back of the sofa. "I was being selfish. It wasn't that I didn't believe you, I didn't want to believe you. I was afraid you would get too involved and it would become dangerous. I seem to remember at one point calling myself a patronising, superior, selfish bloody bastard." He shook his head. "Or words to that effect."
Ruth put her hand over his on her shoulder. "You're a little too hard on yourself, Harry."
"I just keep thinking of all the ways this could have been prevented. Starting with staying in Bath an extra night." He leant in and kissed her tenderly. "That's one instinct I should have followed."
"This is our work, Harry. And it will always be dangerous. We had to come home sometime." Ruth put her hand on his shoulder, right where Tom Quinn shot him. "You're the one who keeps finding bullets, you know."
Harry looked down at her hand, and then at her. "Do you know what happens when you get shot, Ruth? When you look down the barrel of a gun and think it's the last thing you'll ever see? You want to do everything, experience everything. Unfinished business. All of it floods you. Regrets. What won't I have time to do? And it happens in a fraction of a second."
Harry looked over at the fire again, and Ruth watched the lights dance in his eyes. "I've felt all of that, but I've felt also that there was nothing in my life that gave me deep regret to lose. The kind of searing regret that someone who truly loves another person has, about the loss of another day with that person." He looked back at Ruth. "I would have it now, with you. The loss of one more day."
Ruth leant over and kissed him. She kept her lips on his, not moving, for a long time, as if she were transferring some part of her, or partaking of some part of him. He felt her love profoundly. When she pulled away, she smiled at him, and simply said, "Thank you for that, Harry."
He smiled back at her. "So, you see, Ruth. I can't lose you now. I won't."
"Then you won't." Ruth moved back toward him and leant her head on his shoulder. They both looked at the fire for a moment before she spoke again. "So Ros will take my place here." Ruth paused, then asked, "She reported me to Mace, didn't she, Harry?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think she did that?"
"To get to me." Harry shook his head slightly. "I seem to be saying that rather a lot today. You may be coming to the conclusion that it's hazardous to love me."
Ruth snuggled in closer. "It's worth it, Harry. That's actually somewhat of a relief. I thought she personally hated me. So this was still about her father? "
"She wouldn't say that, but yes, I think that's why. Funny how quickly everyone figured out that hurting you is the one way to hurt me." Harry smiled sadly. "Zaf said she called you my 'rose-tinted blind spot.' Perhaps she's right."
Ruth smiled against his chest. "I've thought at times that you dealt more severely with me than with anyone else on the Grid, just to prove there was nothing special between us. Remember that bloody disciplinary hearing you gave me? About my listening in on John Fortesque?" Ruth sat up and looked at him, remembering. "Oooh, I was so angry with you."
"There's a simple explanation for that, Ruth. I was jealous. That's why I had Sam watch you." Harry looked down at his hands, slightly embarrassed. "I suppose I didn't think I could have you, but didn't want anyone else to, either." He looked back at her. "So you were right to call me a coward, weren't you?"
Ruth smiled, her voice calming. "No, not a coward. That was a cruel word. I just couldn't understand why you made such a game out of it. Being watched like that, my emails scrutinised, bringing Sam and Malcolm in on it. I felt silly, like I'd been caught in the cookie tin. And pathetic. And lonely." Ruth moved her hand over to Harry's and curled her fingers around his. "And it was worse that you saw it. I thought you were laughing at me."
Harry brought her hand to his lips. "Not laughing. Never laughing. I was afraid it might go further. I wanted to be sure I wasn't losing you completely to this perfect, singing, handsome man."
Ruth laughed softly. "Oh, Harry. It was always you. I just didn't think I could have you." She kissed him lightly, and then curled back into his arm. "I said something terrible as I left you that day. I think I told you that your heart had turned to stone."
Harry sighed. "Yes. But the tape was still running. When I got the transcript for the file, they caught something I said after you left."
Ruth tilted her head up so she could look at him. "What did you say?"
"Not stone, Ruth. Far from it."
She ran her hand across the front of his white shirt, feeling the strength of his chest under the starched cotton. "What a waste, Harry. We could have been doing this all this time."
Ruth sighed heavily, and hugged him. "So, to tomorrow. We find the drop and I come back here?"
"Yes."
"And if we don't?"
"I will find a way to keep Mace from having you arrested."
Ruth tilted her head up at him, suspicious. "What, Harry? What will you do?"
Harry played with a strand of her hair, and smiled at her. "That would assume I know at this point what I'm going to do, Ruth."
Ruth felt a chill run down the back of her neck. She pulled away and looked at him, searching his eyes. She was suddenly so weary of everything, of this day, of worrying. "Please don't do anything stupid, Harry."
Harry heard the tone in her voice, so beaten, so tired. He reached down and lifted her chin with his finger, and touched his lips to hers. Ruth put her arms around his neck, her breath soft against his cheek. His hand went to her necklace, as it always did now, and as he kissed her, Ruth could feel him touching the charms, as if he gained some secret power from them, or perhaps just to remind himself that it had all happened, that it was real.
Harry parted his lips, feeling hers warm and yielding on his mouth. The fire filled the room with soft light that flickered and played on their skin, causing gold highlights behind their closed eyes. As they pressed still further, both felt that this was time they thought they wouldn't have, stolen time together, and it was more precious for that. Their quickening breath and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds in the room.
Ruth pulled away from him, her eyes soft, her voice low. "The truth, Harry. Is there any chance that this will be our last night together? I'm so tired, all I want is to lie here with you and watch the fire burn out in your arms. But if there's any chance at all, I don't want to spend the rest of my life wishing we had made love."
Despite the seriousness of the question, and he knew she was absolutely serious, Harry had to smile. "The truth? No, this is not our last night together. No matter what happens. You have me, body and soul, and I will crawl to the ends of the Earth to make love to you again." Harry kissed her lightly. "And I'm tired too, and so grateful to have you in my arms right now. This is enough. This is more than enough."
Harry felt her relax as she cuddled back into him. He adjusted several pillows behind him so that he was almost reclined, and pulled the afghan around both of them. And as he had been thinking about it all day, he had to say it.
"After this is all over, my Ruth, when we are safely back in my bed or yours, there's something I want to tell you about my plans for our future. Something I planned out years ago, after my dream. I should have told you then, but I never seemed to find the courage."
Ruth looked up at him. She thought she knew, and she wanted it too, so much. But not with all of this hanging over their heads, everything so unsettled. Ruth knew that Harry wasn't thinking clearly right now, everything between them was heightened by fear and uncertainty, and it was not the time to be discussing the future. "When we're safely back in your bed, Harry, yes, we'll talk about it."
Harry kissed her tenderly. "Good. Now sleep. I love you, my Ruth. Everything will work out."
Ruth's eyes were starting to close. She was surrounded by Harry, warm and familiar, and feeling so strong beside her. The fire danced on his arms where the blonde hairs caught the gold and orange light from the flames. She felt a need to say something, but she was so tired. It came out sleepy, muffled, but she could tell by the way he held her that he had heard.
"No matter what happens, Harry, I am happier in this moment than I have ever been. I know what love is now, and it is this. I didn't think I would ever find it. You are my love, and I have no regrets."
~~~~~
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ruth had fallen asleep in Harry's arms, although it was only for a few hours. Harry didn't sleep at all. When the fire started to die out, he moved gently away from her and put another log on, and then he crouched next to the sofa and watched her sleep. Tonight he did listen to her breathing, and he gazed at the flicker of her eyelids as the light from the fire played across her beautiful face.
He had told her it wouldn't be their last night together, and Harry believed that with all his heart. What he didn't tell her was that he couldn't be certain how long they would have to wait for another night. So he wasn't willing to lose these last few hours to the oblivion of sleep. He wanted to drink her in, to have as clear a picture as he could of her face, her lips, her eyes.
Of course he had the file photo of her, but he wanted more. So as she slept he wandered her shelves, with Phoebe and Fidget following suspiciously behind. He found what he was looking for, a small framed photo of Ruth. It was winter, her face was flushed with the cold, her scarf bundled tightly about her neck, some sort of wool cap covering just the top of her head. Her brown hair spread across the scarf, and there was the blur of snowflakes dotting the strands.
She was looking up, toward the grey, snow-filled sky, smiling. Her eyes were laughing, and she was achingly beautiful. Harry tucked the frame into his coat pocket and hoped to be returning it to her soon. He hoped he would confess his kleptomania and be embarrassed about having taken it, and they would laugh about it. Soon, he hoped.
When it was time, when the light was just starting to change outside, he awakened her with a kiss. For hours he had looked at her lips and wanted to kiss them, and now he finally did. She stirred, and sighed, and opened her eyes. For a moment, she looked at him with the same tranquil gaze he had seen in Bath. She was happy just to see him, and the world was a safe and untroubled place. But he knew that consciousness would soon descend, and it did.
Slowly, a frown started, as she remembered. Then her eyes grew sad, and she put her arms around him, holding him close to her. "Oh, Harry." It was all she needed to say. He kissed her again, and whispered, "I love you," feeling he couldn't say it enough now. Just in case.
Harry didn't want to frighten her, but the gut feeling had now become a part of his anatomy. It was a presence that never left him, and melded with his heart and his mind. Just in case. The words preceded every thought. So he stood up and went to make tea. He wanted sweet tea with her this morning, just in case.
Ruth sat up and pulled the afghan to her, watching him over the back of the sofa. He brought her a cup and she sipped at it. It was hot and delicious, and Ruth thought again how much she would like to have tea with Harry every morning. Fidget leapt up to her lap and immediately formed herself to it, surrounded in the warm wool, with Ruth's hand absentmindedly stroking her.
"What will you do today?" Ruth sounded like any English housewife, perhaps the shopgirl. For a moment, she could believe the fantasy. In the warmth of the room, with the cat on her lap, tea in her hand, and a wonderful man in her kitchen. A man she loved very much. But she wasn't asking him an ordinary question, was she?
He smiled at her and shrugged a bit as he brought his own cup over to sit by her on the sofa. "As I said, I've been effectively banned from the field for this operation." Harry leant down and kissed her soundly. "Too emotional," he said, as he then pulled a face that made her laugh. He snuggled in next to her, upsetting Fidget as he did so. "I suppose I'll wait to hear from you and Adam, and then wait to hear from Mace. He'll want to press his advantage."
"What will you say to him?" Ruth sipped her tea again.
"Depends on what he says to me." Harry's eyes took on the steely glint that told Ruth how angry he was. She put her hand, warm from the cup, on his cheek and held it there. Harry looked over at her and the steel disappeared into a smile.
"Be careful, Harry. He wants to make you lose your temper." Ruth laid her head on his shoulder and changed the subject before Harry could object. "When do I need to be ready for Ros?"
Harry looked at his watch. "You have a couple of hours." He hadn't realised it was so late. "I, on the other hand," he kissed her quickly and then set his cup down on the table, "must go much sooner than that. It's getting light out, and I don't want to be too blatant as I sneak out of here."
Harry stood up and started to button his shirt completely. She saw him pluck his tie from the chair and proceed to tie it, without mirror, into a perfect Windsor knot. She thought it was quite a stunning thing to watch.
Harry smiled over at her, affection filling his eyes. "You're studying me again, Ruth."
Ruth looked back at him unflinchingly. She spoke softly, with love. "I doubt I'll ever tire of it, Harry." She suddenly set her tea down, stood, and went to him. Putting her arms round him, Ruth laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes, silently. Harry's arms went round her, and they stood that way, quietly, for some minutes.
Finally, Harry moved his lips close to her ear and whispered, "You remember what I showed you, Ruth? When I talked about Sunstrike?" His voice had a sudden urgency to it. "You go there if you should ever need a place to be safe. You go there, and I'll find you. Do you understand?"
Ruth nodded against his chest, and she felt both their hearts begin to speed. Now she knew how truly worried Harry was. And as was her way, Ruth felt a need to give him care.
She pulled back and showed him a brave smile. "You should go now, Harry." She leant up and kissed him, lightly. "I'll see you tonight." Neither of them knew what that meant, but both were willing to pretend they were sure it would happen. Ruth looked deeply into Harry's eyes, and he could see every emotion written there. "I love you, Harry."
She saw the same in his eyes. "I love you, Ruth." And then he was gone.
Ruth ran from her back door toward the alleyway behind her house, and then on to the street. She was on her way to her meeting place with Adam, because Ros said he would be waiting there.
I never apologize, by the way. Ruth supposed that would be the best she would get. She had asked Ros, "But if you did?" and Ros had simply told her, "Four hours, Cinderella, then you turn into a pumpkin." They had exchanged coats, and now it was Ros that stood in the window, parting the curtains slightly so that the surveillance team in the van could see her.
And Ruth was free. She caught up with Adam just as Zaf was handing off an envelope to him. Adam pulled some photos out of the envelope. Ruth looked over and asked, "What are those?"
"Zaf's contact at the Russian Embassy passed them on."
"They look like satellite photos." Ruth squinted at them, trying to make out what they were. "It's Cotterdam the night of the fire."
Suddenly Adam stopped. "Oh, my God."
Ruth looked more closely, to see what he had seen. "What? What is it?"
Adam handed her one of the photos. "There." Taken from above, it looked at first to Ruth like seven smudges, dark spots next to the top of a bus. She strained to understand what she was seeing, "There what?" Then Ruth saw them, and she froze. "Seven people have been removed from the prison."
Adam looked at the time stamp on the photo. "It's two hours before the fire." He shook his head. "This isn't Acts of Truth. We've been looking in the wrong direction."
Ruth studied the photo. "Well, who removed them?" And then it came to her. She looked up at Adam, distressed. "The intelligence officers."
"Well, who else could have pulled it off?" Adam looked at her. "It explains the Special Branch rushed report, the attempted cover up, even framing you."
Adam started walking out of the square, and Ruth followed. It was all becoming very clear to her. "They removed them. They faked their deaths."
"They become the living dead. No one ever hears from them again."
Ruth looked over at Adam, frowning, "What, meaning we can do what we like with them? Adam, they're being tortured. That's what this is about."
"We have to find that drop. Maudsley might have the only evidence that can stop them." Adam stopped and looked at her. "So how do we find it?"
Ruth looked at the pavement, her face a mask of concentration. "I don't think it was at the tube station, and I didn't find anything on his body." She looked up at Adam. "We need to stay away from CCTV. You have your car?"
"Yes."
Ruth sighed. "I don't know why, but I want to go back to his house."
Adam shook his head, "No, there's Special Branch swarming all over the place by now. We'd never get in."
"Not in, Adam. I just want to go there ... to ... to be close to where he lived." Ruth shrugged. "I can't explain it." Finally, she exhaled and gave in. "He's in my head somehow."
Adam smiled at her. "Well, as I don't have a better suggestion," He took her arm and started walking. "Maudsley's house it is. But we'll have to stay out of sight."
Harry had got the call when he was just about to force the issue. His patience had worn thin from lack of sleep, worry, and having read the same bloody file nearly ten times with no recall of it. He really couldn't remember a time when he had been this disjointed. Always before, he could separate his feelings into boxes, compartmentalising. Put this box off to the side, and work on the one at hand.
No, not always. Not with Catherine. Yes, this was like that. A woman in danger. A woman he loved. One he felt he should have taken better care with, should have protected. But with Ruth it was even deeper, more complex. She was already a part of his future, had become so tied up in it that he was having trouble imagining himself without her. That thought simultaneously elated and horrified Harry. The box that held his heart revelled in what another part of him would call weakness.
His instinct regarding Mace, which he didn't currently trust, was of the bull-in-the-china-shop variety. Harry had certainly seen enough warning looks from those around him to know that he should keep that one well under wraps. So he sat at his desk rearranging pencils, and going quietly mad.
And just when he thought he couldn't sit for another minute, his desk phone had rung. It was Oliver.
"It's time to talk."
"I thought we were talking."
"No. Talk properly. Come for lunch." Oliver took a dramatic pause. "Without your disciples."
So Oliver wanted to talk. And Harry knew just exactly what he wanted to talk about. Oliver was coming in for the kill, ready to make the ultimate offer. Join my team.
And Harry had absolutely no idea how he would respond. All he could hope was that Adam and Ruth would find what they were looking for before he had to answer.
Harry pressed a button on his mobile. "Adam. Any progress?"
Adam sounded like he was walking. "Not with the drop, but we've managed to get some satellite photos, Harry." Adam paused for a moment, then continued. "They were removed. The seven. Two hours before the fire. They may still be alive."
Harry dropped his head into his hands, sighing. "Oh, Christ, so that's what it is. They remove them, they can do anything. This is about torture."
Adam was still walking. Harry couldn't hold back the question, but at least he tried to keep his voice light. "Ruth is with you?"
Adam smiled despite himself as he answered, "Yes, Harry."
Harry lowered his voice, "Use Sunstrike if you need to, Adam. Ruth knows about it."
"Ah, yes. Okay, Harry, thanks." It sounded as if Adam was crossing a busy street. "We're on our way to my car. I'll let you know as soon as we know anything else."
"Good. I'm meeting Mace for lunch. I would be grateful to hear from you before then."
"We'll do our best."
Harry clicked off his mobile and looked at his watch. Eleven. The actor's nightmare again. Standing on a stage, everyone waiting for you to open your mouth, and you haven't a clue what you're going to say.
~~~~~
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