CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
On the other end of the line, Ruth heard Malcolm, lovely Malcolm, his voice still so familiar, even after all this time. She could hear a short gasp of surprise, but then he spoke, professionally, strictly according to the book. "Echo. Foxtrot. Lima. Lady Lazarus. Copy."
She continued the required message. "Code Ten. Please advise."
Malcolm pulled down his list of safe houses, and quickly chose the one he thought would be best, "SE16. Proceed directly." He was about to put the phone down, but he remembered what Stavros had said, and he asked, "Erm…how many?"
Ruth paused, and said, "Three." Malcolm thought he heard sadness and a tinge of guilt in her voice. He didn't want to leave her like that, so he added something that was strictly not according to the book, "Very good to hear from you, Lady Lazarus."
Ruth smiled, and some of her shakiness subsided. "Thanks," she said softly. "Hope to see you soon."
Malcolm hung up the phone and called the safe house, explaining that a woman, and two others, probably a man and child, were on arrival. The woman would speak the call sign Echo, Foxtrot, Lima.
Malcolm looked out at the Grid in wonder. He was realising that he had just spoken with Ruth Evershed for the first time since he'd been outside the Chapter Room with Harry whilst Davey King waited inside. How could it be nearly a year? Malcolm marveled, as he stood, seemingly paralysed. Ros saw him, and asked, "What is it, Malcolm?"
I've just had a Code Ten." So, Ros thought, someone wants to be brought in. She tried to think who was currently deep undercover, but Malcolm saved her the trouble. His forehead furrowed slightly and he said, "From Ruth."
Ros was taken aback for a moment, but then she repeated the name, "Ruth." She'd only just asked Malcolm to get in touch with Ruth, and now a Code Ten? In her head, she thought, Quick work, Malcolm, but outwardly, Ros simply stared.
Malcolm continued, "She's in trouble. She needs our help."
"Which safe house did you give her?" Ros asked.
"SE16."
Ros took a step toward Malcolm. "Good. You go and meet her there. She'll need to see a friendly face." Ros gave him a sad smile, also knowing that he would probably be the best one to break the news to Ruth about Harry's abduction. Ros hadn't shared all that Harry told her the night that Adam died, but now, as she looked in Malcolm's eyes, Ros could see that he knew about Harry and Ruth as well.
"Talk to Ruth, Malcolm. And then bring her back here. We need to find out why they've taken Harry."
It wasn't a bad place, as safe houses go, but Ruth, George and Nico were painfully aware of how very different it was from the mountain house on Cyprus. Just this morning, they'd been looking forward to a beautiful, warm day at the beach. And now, they were in London in a duplex with a view of the motorway.
And to top it all off, there were thunderclouds outside, and it was raining. The clouds had come in fast, although Ruth thought this was one of those London storms that moved out just as quickly. But for now, she could hear the low rumble and the sound of rain on the windows.
George sat at the small dining table, etching something invisible into its surface with his fingers, his anger still evident in the hard line of his mouth. He and Nico had gone shopping, but George had refused to buy more than one shirt and jumper, as he'd said he wouldn't be here long enough to use them. He was still wearing the khakis that he'd had on when he'd gone to get the wine this morning.
This morning. Ruth could hardly connect this day and all its parts. She didn't know what would happen next, but she had to assume that, by now, Malcolm had told Harry she was back in London. She wondered if Harry would come here, and if Malcolm had told him that there were three of them. Ruth wondered so many things. But she was exhausted from worrying and wondering. It would be what it would be, and if Harry was the one to walk through the door, she would deal with her emotions then.
Nico stood with his head under the sheer curtains and watched the rain as it pelted the cars on the road. His voice was sullen, and Ruth was surprised to hear him sound slightly spoilt. "I don't like it here." But then Ruth heard the sweet boy that she loved, and her heart clenched. "I just want to go home."
George had hardly spoken a word to Ruth since they'd boarded the train at the airport. He'd simply followed her silently, brooding, and when he did speak, it was in a cold, staccato voice. Now he turned to Nico, echoing the boy's feelings, and in the process, lashing out again at Ruth. "We can't go home."
Ruth looked down at her hands, and a frown wrinkled her forehead. She didn't actually know if she could feel any more guilt than she was feeling now, although she sensed that George would somehow like her to. She wanted nothing more than to tell him to go back to his beautiful house on his lovely, uncomplicated island. She could stay and deal with this herself. But she knew that would be too dangerous, so she held her tongue.
They were innocents, really. Unskilled in how evil people could be, not knowing how those in this business died horrible deaths at the hands of others. It was incongruous to think of Nico and George in this position, in this place, and Ruth began to feel her own anger increase. She directed it, of course, toward the Indian men who had started it all, but then, her resentment seeped and spread, until it encompassed the whole of the Services. Finally, it reached the one who held most of her emotions on this very emotional day. Harry.
Her anger wasn't rational or logical, but it grew, and it blamed. It asked why Harry had never gotten in touch with her, and why he had allowed her to find another life and pull these innocent people into danger. But most of all, in the depths of her heart, Ruth asked why Harry hadn't loved her as much as he'd said he would. Forever, come what may, until the end of time. Liar.
Nico turned away from the window, and looked toward George through the sheer curtain. He still wanted to go home, and couldn't understand why his father had said they couldn't. "Why not?"
Nico lifted the curtain and gazed at his father with the soft, open-faced look that Ruth so loved, and again, she felt the rage expand, quietly, inside her heart. She wanted to tell Nico why they couldn't go back to Cyprus. She thought that he was mature enough and strong enough to listen, but she also knew that George wasn't keen on her making, or even participating in, decisions about Nico's future. So Ruth clamped her lips shut. This was not the time to assert herself.
George took a breath, and for a moment, Ruth thought he might tell Nico the truth. But then he said, "Go upstairs and play, Nico. I'll be up in a minute." Nico walked past her, and the love she felt for him made her face fall naturally into a smile. He didn't smile back. He went to the stairs, and did what his father had told him.
"Any ideas, Ruth? How best to explain this to him?" George's questions were simple enough, and very reasonable, but his tone held an unmistakeable accusation.
Ruth could only think of one thing to say, and she wanted to say it over and over. "I'm so sorry." And she was so sorry, about so many things. But in this moment, the one thing she was sorriest about was that she hadn't listened to her own heart. She was bitterly regretting the fact that she had allowed George into her life, knowing that she could never love him. Right now, Ruth would do almost anything to turn back the clock and not make the decision to move in with George. To not have fooled herself into thinking there could be a life for her in his house, or his bed.
George had more to say, and she couldn't begrudge him the blame he wanted to place on her. She was placing it on herself as well. He spread his hands, incredulous, "You couldn't tell me?"
Ruth couldn't think of a reason that sounded logical, so she told the honest truth. "I thought there'd never be any need."
Of course, this was an opening for George's righteous indignation, and he leapt on it. "Truth is an end in itself. It requires no other justification." Ruth couldn't keep herself from a knowing laugh, as she thought, He's so naive, really. How can I expect him to understand? She shook her head, and felt further away from George in this moment than she ever had.
She looked at him, sadly, and spoke to him as one might to a child. "How much you have to learn."
George heard her patronising tone, and his rage welled up. "I don't want to learn your moral values."
Ruth simply glared at him. She was ready to tell him how often his peaceful life had been saved by the British Security Services and others like it around the world. How often the delicate balance of power had to be soothed or wrestled to the ground by the very "moral values" on which he was passing judgment right now.
Before she was able to allow free rein to her own righteous indignation, the door opened.
She stood, and she looked into the sweet, wide, and vaguely surprised eyes of Malcolm Wynn-Jones. Ruth's heart swelled, as he brought everything that was good about her past into this cold, accusatory room. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and have a good cry.
Instead, she smiled warmly, and said, "Hello, Malcolm."
Malcolm hadn't smiled yet. He still looked as if he was seeing a ghost. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"No." Nor did I, Malcolm. Ruth was painfully aware that George was still in the room, behind her, and that she should be introducing the two of them. She thought she should want to include George in this moment, but she didn't.
Ruth stood between her two lives, in a sort of vacuum, unwilling to blend the two. She needed to bask for just a moment longer in the warmth of Malcolm's gaze, in the familiarity that he was offering. Malcolm knew about her love for Harry, and Harry's for her. He knew about the letters, and had probably read some of them. The feeling of acknowledgement washed over her, and she found herself reeling slightly. But in such a very good way.
Finally, she turned to George. She smiled genuinely in the face of his glare. "George?" she said, now more confident in Malcolm's presence, "I'd like you to meet a very dear friend of mine. Malcolm Wynn-Jones."
Malcolm now smiled and turned to George with an outstretched hand. At first George didn't want to take it, but then his natural sense of politeness overtook his anger, and he stood and gave Malcolm's hand a perfunctory shake. George looked quickly at Ruth, raising his eyebrows in suspicion, and she could see the question there, Is this the man you love? She frowned and shook her head, just slightly.
George looked back at Malcolm, and then said suddenly, "I need to see about my son." He moved quickly past Ruth and Malcolm and climbed the stairs.
Malcolm's eyebrows raised slightly, and he looked to the floor. Ruth smiled, and said, "Sorry."
Shaking his head, Malcolm said, "No, no. No need. It's a difficult situation, I'm sure ..." He looked up at her, and gave a small shrug.
Ruth smiled, and even managed a short laugh. "Yes, and that's a bit of an understatement, Malcolm."
She inclined her head toward the balcony, and Malcolm followed her out the door. It had stopped raining, and the air felt fresh after the heat of the flat. After closing the French windows firmly, she said, softly, "I never told him about any of this ... about ... what I used to do ..."
Malcolm took a deep breath, and said simply, "Ah..."
Ruth leant on the railing, "He's not taking it very well."
Malcolm nodded, and said slowly, "Understandable, I suppose. It certainly is hard for ... civilians ... to grasp ..."
Ruth turned and looked deeply into Malcolm's eyes. "I thought I could do it, you know? Turn my back on it completely. To pretend this life never existed. I tried. I tried so hard to forget the work, the Grid, all of you ... " She didn't say Harry's name, but she could see that Malcolm understood. "But in the times that I did forget, when I was able to leave it behind, I was happy, Malcolm. Life was ..."
Malcolm had been in the Services for so long, he was trying to remember what life was like. Then, as he looked out over the street, glistening from the rain, he remembered, "Calm?"
Ruth managed a small laugh. It was so hard for her to describe the push and pull of wanting to forget, and not being able to. "It's like one of those scary dreams when you're taken back to a time and place you thought you'd left completely behind."
Malcolm couldn't restrain himself any longer. He was very fond of Ruth, and it suddenly filled him. He wasn't normally effusive, but he turned to her and gave her a proper smile. "I'm so glad to see you again."
Ruth wanted to say that she was glad to see him as well, but the circumstances simply wouldn't allow it. She looked at him, and then had to look away. Everything was so different. The last time she'd seen him was on the Grid, as Mace's men were leading her away. It seemed a lifetime ago.
And then she thought about Cyprus, and how this day had started. She'd told herself just this morning that she was going to try again to make a go of it with George. She thought of their picnic on the beach. "I left some fresh fish out on the side. It was so hot, they'll be completely ... "
Ruth suddenly thought she might cry. She felt firmly caught between two worlds. No way to return to the one she'd just left, and now she'd been thrust back into the world of her past. She looked down at the roadway, slick and black from the rain, and she felt weary, tired of fighting. "Doesn't really matter any more, I suppose."
Malcolm could clearly see Ruth's sadness, and he hadn't even told her about Harry yet. His heart went out to her, but he knew he had to get her debriefed as quickly as possible. He stepped back from the railing and said, "There's a car waiting. We'll take you straight back to the Grid."
Now Ruth couldn't prevent the smile that involuntarily curled her lips. She was thinking that very soon she would see Harry again, and whilst she dreaded it, she also longed for it. She was very angry with Harry, at the same time she thought she loved him right now more than ever. She was as confused as she could ever remember being, but there was one thing she needed to ask. "How is he, Malcolm?"
Malcolm couldn't meet her eyes, and he released a sigh. Ruth's smile transformed immediately into a frown, accompanied by a furrow in her forehead. She looked back at him, dismayed, "What's happened?"
"Harry's in great danger, Ruth."
Ruth's heart began to pound, as she turned to face him. "What kind of danger, Malcolm?"
Malcolm put his arm out, motioning her to the door. "We'll talk in the car. We need to hurry."
Ruth went inside and quickly got her coat. She called up the stairs to George, "I have to go out." She was met with silence, so she said, sighing, into the air, "I'll be back soon." She followed Malcolm out of the front door to the flat, not knowing what was ahead of her, but feeling a sense of relief at leaving the tension of George behind.
During their drive to Thames House, Ruth sat next to Malcolm in the back seat. She turned to him, and said, "Tell me what's happened, Malcolm."
Malcolm kept his eyes forward as he spoke. "Harry saved us. Again." Now he looked at Ruth. "There was a bomb, nuclear actually, and Harry needed help from the FSB in London. He went there, and he sorted it out. This time it would have been most of Central London up in smoke, including all of us." Malcolm waited for a moment to let it sink in, and then he continued. "He went there, but he didn't come back. Next thing, there's a video posted on the internet of his ... his ..."
Malcolm faltered, and Ruth leant forward in the seat, peering into his eyes. "His what, Malcolm? What was on the video?"
Malcolm sighed, and leapt. "It showed Harry being shot." Her hand went to her mouth, and Malcolm could see the terror in her eyes. And all he could think was, She still loves him. Quickly, he said, "We're certain it's a fake. It's not real, Ruth." Ruth breathed again, and sat back against the seat.
After a moment, she turned again. "Where is he?"
Malcolm told her about the Moscow-on-Thames estate and Sarkiisian, and then he explained the SARV connection, and how they'd been on the wrong track for awhile. He shook his head, and said, "As far as where Harry is now, we don't know. We're hoping you can help us."
Ruth was incredulous. "Me? How can I possibly help? I've been away for nearly two years."
"I got your letter, Ruth. The one from Isabelle, about the Indian man who was looking for you." Ruth said a soft, "Ah," and Malcolm continued, "There's a voice on the tape of Harry's ... well, on the tape, and the man is speaking Malayalam."
Ruth's eyes narrowed as she put the pieces together. "So you think that the men who are after me are also the ones holding Harry?"
"We need you to tell us that, Ruth. What could they want from both of you?" Ruth blinked back at Malcolm. She thought she had the answer to his question, but she'd sworn her silence to Harry after their trip to Baghdad. If she had to, she would tell them what she knew, but only if it was absolutely necessary to save Harry.
"So I'm going to the Grid to be debriefed?" Ruth asked. Malcolm nodded.
Ruth nodded back, absently. "How long have they had him?"
"Since yesterday at three o'clock." He looked at his watch. "Nearly twenty-six hours."
Ruth took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart. This had always been her fear for Harry, and she was right back in the middle of it, worrying for his safety. Her voice was soft, and shaky, "Did he see the letter, Malcolm? The one I just sent?"
Malcolm looked away. "No. There wasn't time."
"But the others? He got those?"
"Yes, all of them."
"Thank you for making those letters possible, Malcolm. They were like ... a lifeline ..."
A lifeline, Malcolm thought. But now she was married, and a mother. He needed to understand, somehow, so he turned to her and asked, "You have a son now? How old is he?" Malcolm hadn't gotten a complete answer from Stavros, only that there was a child living with them at the mountain house.
Ruth's face softened, and Malcolm saw genuine affection in her eyes. "He's ten. Nico." She saw the frown that began to form at Malcolm's brow, and she smiled, "Of course, he's George's son, but I care for him, very much." Her smile disappeared, and it was replaced with worry. "He's scared, and confused, and ... and ... his father isn't much help right now, I'm afraid."
Malcolm was thinking of Harry, and how devastated he would be once he found out that Ruth had moved on so completely. In fact, he thought it was a blessing of sorts that Harry wasn't here to see George, and Nico, and this new Ruth. Malcolm had no idea how to ask the question that was weighing on him, but he realised he wanted to ask it as much for himself as for Harry. Sarah had been on his mind all day, and the question seemed somehow to pertain to her, as well.
Finally, he just came out with it. "You've started a new life, then?" Ruth turned quickly to him, and Malcolm saw the pain in her eyes.
For a moment, she thought of simply saying, "Yes," but then she looked more deeply at Malcolm. Ruth saw the lovely combination of wisdom and innocence there in his eyes, and she couldn't lie. She looked away, and said, sadly, "I've tried. I've tried so hard, Malcolm. But I can't do it. When this is all over, I won't be going back with George."
She turned to him, and although he was trying to suppress it, Malcolm was smiling, a broad infectious smile. He said, "I'm so glad, and Harry ..."
Ruth cut him off. "I won't be staying here, either, Malcolm. I couldn't bear to be here without ... I can't...even if I were somehow cleared and could stay in England, Harry doesn't want me ... to ... " As her voice trailed off, Malcolm looked at Ruth, probing her eyes. There were tears there, and still, again, he saw love.
Malcolm hardly thought before he spoke. "I shouldn't say this, but I'm going to do it anyway. He still ... he cares for you ... Harry loves you, Ruth. Very much. He's never stopped."
Ruth inhaled sharply as his words sunk in. She'd waited for such a long time, and had wished so desperately to hear that Harry still loved her. With a soft oh, she closed her eyes and leant her head back on the seat, trying to catch her breath.
A part of Ruth thought herself ridiculous to be so susceptible to this news, willing to suddenly fall completely back into the dream of a life with Harry, but it happened in a flash, and in her head she said it again, He still loves me. Then, the car jostled, and reality descended upon her. Nothing had changed. Harry's reasons for denying his love still existed, whatever they were. She had still been left on Cyprus in confusion and bitter loneliness for nearly a year.
A frown creased Ruth's forehead as she opened her eyes and turned to Malcolm, her eyes pleading, "But why, then? Why didn't he come to Cyprus, or write? Why did he turn his back on me, Malcolm?" She stopped suddenly, her voice choked.
"I can't say anything more, it's not my place. I shouldn't have said what I did, really." Malcolm turned and looked out the window at the rain that was beginning to fall again.
Malcolm seemed angry and Ruth couldn't understand why, but he'd given her a gift and she was so grateful for it. She regained her voice, and spoke softly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Thank you, Malcolm. Thank you for saying it."
Malcolm was mumbling toward the window, and Ruth couldn't quite hear it, but she thought she heard him say, crossly, under his breath, Bloody job.
Ruth stepped through the doors, and felt she was stepping back in time. There were no more pods, simply glass doors. Other things looked different as well, but also the same. Different furniture, but the same activity. And she simply couldn't help it - the moment she walked onto the Grid, she looked to her right, and into Harry's office. Still the fishbowl. Although the rest of the Grid had changed quite a lot, Harry's office looked the same.
It took only a moment, and the memories flooded back to her, of sitting in his chair, standing at his door, and especially that last day, when they'd talked about Maudsley, hidden from the rest of the Grid. His hand had been at her necklace, and her hand was on top of his. It was the evening he'd called her a mule for the first time, the evening they'd stolen a kiss behind the column in the car park below Thames House. The evening she'd gone to Maudsley's house. The last evening she'd been in this building, before Oliver Mace had escorted her from the Grid, from MI5, from her life.
But Harry's office was empty now. He was somewhere else, probably tired, hungry, thirsty, perhaps in pain. And she could barely bring herself to say the rest, even in her head. Perhaps dead. Ruth turned away and looked around her, aware that she was feeling some kind of shock at being back here. There were people and voices everywhere, but no one knew her. Only Malcolm, who now stood a bit away from her after being handed a report that he was now reading.
"Ruth. I'm Lucas North. I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances." Ruth turned to see a very tall man with angular features walking toward her. He was a complete stranger, but when he said his name, she recognised him as a former officer who had been held in a Russian prison for years before Ruth had even joined the team at MI5. Harry had talked about him with respect, and had called him a friend.
He looked at her with warmth, but by now, Ruth had left the niceties of polite conversation with strangers far behind her. She couldn't even manage a smile as she asked, "Why was I attacked?"
Lucas understood. He nodded, and took her arm gently. "We're going to find that out, Ruth." He pointed the way toward the briefing room, although he realised she probably knew very well where it was. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Are you hungry?"
Finally, Ruth acknowledged him with a small smile of apology. "Yes, please. Tea would be very good." She almost started toward the kitchenette to get it, and marvelled at how quickly she felt she knew this place. But she felt a pang as she realised that the faces she wished so much to see weren't here. No Adam. No Zaf. And no Harry.
Suddenly, Ruth felt a hand on her shoulder, and she heard a voice that she very much recognised. "Ruth." She turned to see Jo, and without thinking, the two of them enveloped each other in a hug. Ruth couldn't express how good it felt. She hadn't been held since all this began this morning, and until this moment, she hadn't realised how much she needed physical contact. Jo was warm, familiar, and obviously very glad to see her.
"Jo." Ruth looked at her and said, "So good to see you."
Jo laughed softly, "And you! I just found out today that you were still ..."
Ruth smiled sadly, "Alive? Yes, I know. Sorry about that."
Squeezing her arm, Jo said, "It was very good news." Lucas was walking back now with Ruth's tea, and Jo knew they had to get to the meeting room. She turned to Ruth and said, "We'll have time talk later. So much has happened ..."
Ruth saw a darkness pass over Jo's fresh, pretty face, and she reached up to the younger woman's shoulder. "I know." Unspoken were two names. Adam and Zaf. "I want to talk with you, too." Ruth could see that Jo had changed, matured. There was a new sadness in her eyes, a sort of latent terror that Ruth understood, because she had seen it in her own mirror. Ruth felt very drawn to this new Jo, and vowed that no matter what happened in the next few days, she would find some time to spend with her. She felt that talking about Zaf and Adam might finally offer some of the closure that had been so elusive.
But not now. Ruth knew that now was all about finding Harry, so she turned to follow Lucas and Jo to the meeting room. Someone touched her arm, and she turned to see Malcolm. He had a strange look on his face, and she tilted her head at him. "What is it, Malcolm?"
He looked suddenly embarrassed, but he said, "I was just wondering if you'd mind if I went back to the safe house and kept an eye on your ... on Dr Constantinou, and Nico. There's not really anything for me to do here, and I thought Nico might like to play a game or something. That they might be ... erm ... feeling a bit ... adrift, here in London."
"Oh, Malcolm, that's very kind of you." Ruth was so grateful that she reached her hand up and touched his cheek, which caused him to blush furiously.
"Well, I'm not very experienced with children, but I do know games, and I understand children are fond of games ..." His voice trailed off, and he looked quite nonplussed.
Ruth said softly, "It would ease my mind considerably to know you were there. Thank you, Malcolm."
Harry knew the signs of dehydration, and he was beginning to feel them as they took hold of his fatigued body. He was no longer hungry, and was alternately slightly chilled and then flushed. His mouth was dry, his lips were parched, and he was finding it hard to push the constant desire for water from his mind.
Of course, it didn't help that every time Mani came in to talk to him, he taunted Harry, drinking almost an entire bottle each time. The last time, the bottle had been covered in drops of condensation, as if it had been on ice. Harry had watched as the large drops gained momentum and fell from the outside of the plastic bottle to the dusty floor.
But Mani had seen Harry's eyes dart to the floor, and then he'd let Harry imagine leaning over and lifting the scarce, dirty drops to his lips once he was alone. Just before he'd left, Mani had smiled at Harry, and had taken his expensive, well-polished Italian leather shoe and spread the drops of water, watching them evaporate. He'd wagged his finger at Harry and laughed softly, saying, "No, no, no, Harry." Then, as he always did, Mani had pushed back his chair, loudly, suddenly, scraping the floor with the noise that was newly painful to Harry's head each time Mani performed the ritual.
Now, as Harry sat, he tried to figure how long it had been since he'd seen Mani, and he couldn't. All he knew was that it was still light outside. When the sun went down, he could begin to calculate another day. What was worrisome to Harry was that he was beginning not to care.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Harry looked up. This time, Mani didn't come into the room, but only stood there, one hand jauntily on the knob, the other on the door jamb. He called across the room as if he were giving Harry a wonderful piece of information.
"Harry! Good news! Ruth is back in town." Mani waited for Harry to react, but seeing nothing, he continued. "She's here, in London, and she's brought her husband and her son with her. Thought you would want to know."
Mani started to close the door, but then turned back, as if he had just thought of something else. His voice went lower, and became almost conspiratorial. "He's very handsome, her husband. Tall. Dark. Young." Mani paused, and then, shaking his head, he said, "Not like you at all." Then he slammed the door, and was gone.
Harry sighed, and let his head drop nearly to his chest. He didn't think he'd ever been this tired in his entire life. Not like you at all. A wound began to open up, as real and as painful as if Mani had actually taken a knife and thrust it between Harry's ribs. Harry could almost feel the blood flow and spread from his heart, like the blood he had washed off of his face and out of his hair last night. But this time it wasn't Sarkiisian's blood, but his own.
Oh, my Ruth. I always said you wouldn't be alone for very long. How could I ever have imagined I could hold someone as young and as beautiful as you?
~~~~~
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
Ruth walked into the meeting room and came face-to-face with Ros Myers. When she'd left London, she'd certainly felt less than friendly toward Ros, but her memories were now tinged with Harry's stories of what had happened since. Ruth could see that Ros was steeled for coldness, but Ruth surprised her by simply saying, softly, "Ros." She gave her a half-smile that offered an olive branch, and Ros took it.
Raising her eyebrows, Ros returned the smile, and said, "Ruth."
Ruth tilted her head, and said, still smiling, "Your house key was in the pocket of your coat. I assume you got another. I seem to have misplaced it." She grimaced slightly. "Erm ... and your coat."
Ros laughed softly, and said, "Good thing I know how to pick a lock, then." She motioned for Ruth to sit down. "And I've got other coats."
It was all they needed to say, but it said so much.
Lucas sat at the end of the table, and started right in. "Hypothesis? Whoever has Harry went after Ruth as well. The South Asian appearance of her attackers would certainly suggest that."
Ruth had determined that she wouldn't discuss Baghdad unless absolutely necessary, and she wanted to find out where Lucas was in his investigation so far. So she played dumb, and asked, "Why?"
Jo, sitting across from her, answered Ruth's question. "They're holding him because they want some information. The SARV red herring was just to buy them time."
Ros continued the thought. "Information that you and Harry share."
As Ruth looked across at Ros, she could still see Harry's face, close to hers, as they lay in bed talking at the Baghdad hotel. I'm only going to tell you, Ruth. No one else. There's no other person in the world that I trust as I trust you, my love. And I only tell you this in case anything ever happens to me. The uranium is in Norfolk.
Ruth kept her face open, and hoped she was convincing. "I don't know what that could be."
Ros was too skilled at interrogation to believe what she was hearing. Instead, she trusted what she was seeing, which was that Ruth was holding back. "What did Harry ever share with you that was for your ears only? That no one else could ever know? That would be worth all this effort?"
She tried, but Ruth couldn't keep up the pretence. Her eyes darted left and right, and finally, she simply shook her head, sighing.
Lucas tilted his head toward her, and asked softly, "Ruth?"
All of Ruth's reserve fell away, and she looked up at Lucas. She knew that if it could help Harry, she had to tell. "Baghdad. I think this might be about Baghdad."
Gently, Ros asked, "What happened in Baghdad?"
Ruth turned to her, and said, slowly, "Harry came across a clandestine operation there to smuggle weapons-grade uranium into the country and then discover it. Vindicate the war."
Lucas frowned. "Harry was involved in that?"
Ruth turned to him quickly. There was a tinge of pride in her voice, and a healthy dose of defence, in case Lucas should think that Harry was caught up in anything sinister. "Harry stopped it."
A flash of what Ruth thought was relief seemed to pass over Lucas' face. "So who else was involved?"
Taking herself back to Baghdad in her mind, Ruth remembered the dinner they had all shared, and the players that sat around the table. "Elements of the CIA, some cowboys from Six, and a freelance chap from the Indian Intelligence Bureau." Ruth looked across at Ros and Jo. "It was completely below the radar. When Harry discovered it, he went straight to the top and it was quickly stopped."
Jo leant forward. "But why now? What do they want from Harry now?"
Ruth paused, and then said, "The uranium, I should think. We got it out again. Brought it here."
Now Ros understood. "And Harry knows where it is, and he told you as back up."
Ruth sighed. There was so much more to it than that, and she had the feeling, looking into Ros' eyes, that she understood. "Harry was the only person other than the Americans who knew where it was. So yes, he told me."
Ros left to speak to the Home Secretary, and Ruth continued with the debrief. Lucas stood and began to pace as he asked questions. "So, Ruth, tell us whatever you can about the three men involved."
Ruth asked for a glass of water, which Jo brought to her. She took a long sip, and told them what she remembered. "Amish Mani was the freelancer from the IIB who stole the uranium in the first place. He was well-dressed, seemed to consider himself a player. I believe he's the one who was looking for me in Paris, and I'm certain it was his men who came to my house on Cyprus."
Lucas stopped pacing, and turned to her. "And the man from CIA?"
Ruth looked up at him. "The CIA guy was Libby McCall . Horrible man."
Lucas knew him, so needed no description. "He's been here for a few years. He's now on the point of retiring."
Ruth nodded. "He sided with Harry, in the end. Once it became clear the plan wouldn't go ahead, there was a lot of shape-shifting taking place."
Jo asked, "And the MI6 guy at the dinner?"
Ruth shook her head slightly, "Didn't know him. He used the name Ronnie." Jo looked up at Lucas, as both now realised that the same MI6 agent who had led them on the SARV wild goose chase was involved in Harry's disappearance. Ruth gave Jo an ironic smile, "Also wriggled around afterwards suggesting he'd never really supported it."
Jo pulled the photo of Stephen Hillier out of the file folder under her hands, and she placed it in front of Ruth. "That Ronnie?"
Ruth looked into the face of the man who had sat across from her at dinner in Baghdad. She swallowed hard, remembering, and then she nodded. "That's him."
"Thanks, I very much appreciate it." Malcolm put down the phone and smiled. Poor Nico had been terribly bored in the duplex, so Malcolm had arranged a new safe house for Ruth and her family, one with a garden where the boy could play. The thought gave Malcolm a wonderful sense of well-being. Even in the middle of the chaos and helplessness of Harry's predicament, at least the child could be safe and relatively happy.
He'd come back from the safe house after playing backgammon with Nico for a little over an hour, and had run into Ruth just as she was leaving the Grid. He'd told her that he thought Nico might have a future as an analyst, and Ruth had smiled affectionately, and thanked him. Malcolm had also told her that he was finding them a better place, one with a garden, and that the escort would come to the duplex as soon as possible to see that they made the transfer safely.
Malcolm truly took pleasure in having spent time with the boy, and he could understand completely why Ruth was so fond of him. Nico was very bright, and Malcolm had explained not only the rules of the game, but he'd also passed on some tips about possible dice combinations and the risk analysis involved in games of chance.
Of course, after being chastised by George, Malcolm hadn't phrased it that way to Nico. Although he wasn't very used to children, Malcolm did learn rather quickly what was the best way to talk to a ten-year-old, and he thought Nico had enjoyed the game. The boy had smiled frequently, and had even laughed several times.
George, however, was another story. He'd brooded in the corner, and Malcolm had found him somewhat sullen and prone to sarcasm. As Malcolm thought neither was a particularly attractive trait in a person, he'd talked a great deal more with Nico than he had with his father.
At one point, George had asked, "Wouldn't it be possible to get a house with a garden at least? So the boy can play?"
Malcolm had told him he would try, and indeed, he'd found them a very nice place, much larger, and with a back yard where they could kick a ball around. Malcolm was rather pleased with himself as he stood to brew a fresh cup of tea.
Jo walked toward him from the meeting room. "Malcolm, where's Ruth?"
"Gone home to be with her husband and step-son." Malcolm started to turn away for his tea, and then he turned back, thinking he should tell Jo that they would be in a different safe house. "Actually, I've just changed her location."
Jo frowned, and asked, "Why?"
"The boy was climbing up the walls, he was so bored. I've organised her a new safe house with a garden at least."
Jo looked concerned. "Did you put that through the system?"
Malcolm couldn't imagine why anyone would object, but he heard a tone of concern in Jo's voice. "Yes, was there any reason I shouldn't?"
Shrugging, Jo said, "It's just, we're being extra cautious.
Now Malcolm was becoming concerned. "Nobody told me there was an internal risk."
Jo said, "Well, there may not be. All the same, we should call her. We're afraid that Hillier has access to the safe house system and may compromise us. You gave Ruth a secure mobile, yes?" Malcolm nodded, and Jo turned to find Lucas. "Call her, please, and tell her to wait at the duplex. She's not to open the door to anyone but Lucas, or me. We're going over there."
Malcolm pushed in the mobile number, and heard it ring.
Back at the duplex, Ruth looked at the screen and saw that it was Malcolm. She started to press the button to answer, and George turned to her angrily, "Please, not now! We need to talk, Ruth. Turn that thing off. You still owe us a little of your time."
Ruth stared at the screen on the mobile as it continued to ring. She'd been gone for hours, and had just walked back in the door. It was probably important, but she had to draw the line somewhere. She nodded, and shut off her phone, saying, "Yes. Yes, I do."
George didn't even bother to keep his voice low in deference to Nico, who was standing across from them. "We cannot stay here! In this pokey little flat, practically next to a motorway."
Ruth was glad that Malcolm had given her the answer. "They've already got us a new location sorted." As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Ruth forced a smile, only too happy to have the discussion be over. "It's probably them now. This whole thing is only ... temporary. They'll have found us somewhere much ... nicer."
She went to the door and was greeted by two officers with the appropriate identification. They were MI6, but that wasn't surprising, as the safe house system was used by both branches. Ruth was so grateful to be going somewhere that would please George and Nico, she wasn't of a mind to ask many questions, in any case.
They were driven to a lovely area, and instead of a high-rise duplex, it was a family home, just like any other on the block. It had a beautiful stained-glass inset in the front door that reminded Ruth very much of the one she'd had in her own London home. She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped in and saw the wood floors, the intricately-turned banister, and the traditional, homey furniture.
It was serene, and cosy, and she actually saw a smile cross George's face. As Nico ran to the garden in back, they followed, and they stood on the porch and watched him run around the perimeter of the yard, laughing. George turned to her, and just a bit of warmth came through his anger as he said, "Thank you."
This was her friend, the George that she had first known, and Ruth felt a small pang at what she would have to do once this was all over. She was still committed to leaving him, but for the first time since she'd decided that it was what she had to do, Ruth was feeling remorse.
"Ms Evershed?" Ruth turned, and one of the officers who had brought them here was standing behind her.
"Yes?"
"You're needed again at Thames House. Ms Myers has asked for you."
Ruth turned to George and shrugged. He gave her a thin smile and shook his head. "Go. Do whatever you have to do so that we can go home." He looked at Nico, who was happily tossing a football in the air and kicking it, and George's face softened again. "We'll be fine, Ruth. Go."
She took one more look at George, and said, "I'll be back soon," and she turned and followed the two men. They walked out to the car, and she sat in the back. Instead of sitting in the front seat, the second man walked around and got in the back seat with her. Before she had a chance to wonder why, the straps were clamped onto her wrists, and they were driving away.
In a panic, she turned and said, "Where are you taking me? Who are you?"
Her voice echoed back to her in the silence of the car. Neither of the men said a word.
It was still light outside. The sun had travelled in and out behind clouds all day, and Harry had heard rain on the windows at times, but now it seemed to be clear. Harry wasn't sure why it mattered, but he needed to feel the comfort of orientation, the sense of time and place.
He wasn't certain how long it had been since Mani had stood at the door and told him Ruth was in London, but he thought it might have been between one or two hours. He had worn himself out wondering what that meant, if anything.
If she was back in London, she would have gone to the Grid. It was the only place she could truly be safe. Why she had come back, even if in fact she had, was a mystery to him, and there were far too many scenarios for him to make any progress, blind and deaf as he was in this room. Finally, he had allowed his exhausted mind a rest, and had stopped trying to understand.
Harry heard the door again, and turned his head toward it. He tried to arm himself for more of Mani's taunting with the water bottle, more of his vulgarities and innuendoes, but Harry found that his reserves were almost depleted. It was getting to the point where it didn't matter what Mani said. He was simply too weary to care.
Mani stepped through the door, still in the suit and tie, looking every inch the businessman. He walked into the room, but he wasn't alone. There was someone behind him. In an instant, Harry felt every cell in his body react, and he knew without a doubt who it was. He couldn't see her yet, but he felt her. Ruth. My Ruth.
In that moment, Harry understood again how connected his heart was to hers. He could close his eyes and still see her, still sense her presence. She was a part of him, always, and forever. But he didn't close his eyes, he kept them riveted on the small figure in the shadows, moving toward him. His mouth twitched slightly, involuntarily, as he used every ounce of control he had to hold back the tide of emotion that was surging through him.
He knew he was being watched. Mani's eyes were recording every movement, looking for weakness, searching for a crack in his exterior. A moment ago, Harry hadn't cared for his safety, but now, nothing mattered more. Now it wasn't only his own life that hung in the balance, it was also the life of the person dearest to him, as even now, she emerged from the shadows.
She wore blue. Midnight blue. Her face was grave, and indescribably beautiful. For all of the times that Harry had imagined seeing Ruth again, this particular circumstance had never entered his mind. But his heart was as full as he'd imagined, and he was as grateful for the sight of her as he'd known he would be. And despite his fervent wish that she could be somewhere safe, miles away from this room, the fact that he was this close to her again filled Harry with a sense of perfection, of rightness, that he'd not felt since he'd kissed her goodbye in the early morning mists of Dover.
She was his love, but she was now in desperate trouble. Because of him, because he'd taken her to Baghdad. He'd deprived himself of Ruth for all this time in order to keep her safe, and now here they were anyway, both in danger. As he watched her walk solemnly toward him, Harry's regret for the time lost now nearly matched the love he felt, and that was immeasurable.
And suddenly, she was seated across from him, her eyes locked on his. So exquisite, her eyes, with just a hint of moisture, communicating with him as they always had. Unspeakably sad, telling him of so much pain, so many lonely hours, her deep hurt, and thousands of unanswered questions.
Harry felt he was looking in a mirror, as her eyes held what he, too, was thinking. Is it too late? Have we gone too far? Is it broken beyond repair?
They were both, of course, realists. Harry could see that she was angry, and Ruth could see that he was frightened. Harry knew that she had another in her life, and Ruth felt that he had abandoned her. Harry understood completely the danger they were in, and Ruth remembered her promise to go as far away from him as possible. All of these thoughts hung in the air between them, and in truth, both feared that too much time had passed.
But at the same moment, could they have spoken it, they would have known that they were each thinking of Ruth's words in her letter so long ago: I know we will be together one day. There is no other outcome that makes sense, and whatever happens between this day and that one is simply the marching of time.
They'd each held those words in their hearts through the most difficult times alone, and now, wordlessly, they shared them across the short space that separated them. This space that could be spanned by an outstretched arm, or simply be leant across in order to touch cheeks or lips. They longed to touch each other, but couldn't. They couldn't even hint at the longing.
How could they have imagined that when they were finally again this close, they would be bound to stay detached? That they would have to protect each other with silence and the pretence of indifference? That any show of care would endanger the one they loved most in the world?
So they spoke silently, under the remembered constraints of a deeply-held secret. But they saw it clearly, each of them, in the other's eyes. Love. Still there. Still stronger than any circumstance. After all this time apart, it shone brilliantly between them.
What Harry and Ruth knew, without a doubt, was that the other still loved. And for one peaceful, heartbreaking moment of clarity, each acknowledged it with their eyes.
~~~~~
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
"Friends reunited."
And, with the sound of Mani's voice, the moment passed.
There was still love, and Ruth knew again that it would always be there, like a river flowing deeply underneath everything she thought or did. But in the space of a breath, her mind was clouded by thoughts of resentment and anger, and suddenly, her love was weighed down with where they were, and why they were here.
Harry saw the light in her eyes fade. But he knew it had been there, it was unmistakable. When he first saw Ruth, he had expected to see coldness, but he'd seen warmth. Where he'd thought he would see the detachment of a woman who had given herself to another man, Harry had seen an openness and a vulnerability that had taken his breath away. And in that instant, he knew that she hadn't given herself fully to this new man in her life. There was still a part of Ruth that belonged to him.
She still loves me. Married, a mother, gone from me for a year, but she still loves me. For a moment, he breathed into the fact that Ruth hadn't forgotten. Harry feared that there was so much more to come on this day, but he knew that the thread held steady between them, strong and firm. For that moment of connection, Harry's exhaustion, this room, Mani, all of it had disappeared. It had been as if Harry and Ruth were the last two people on earth.
Ruth had felt confused earlier, but now the only thought she had in her head was how surprising it was to be seeing Harry again. For a year, she'd dreamt of looking into Harry's eyes, and now that she was, she could see that his pain at their separation matched hers. Malcolm's words came back to her: He still ... he cares for you ... Harry loves you, Ruth. Very much. He's never stopped. She believed it completely now.
And before she could push the thought away, Ruth realised that what she wanted most was to lean into him. With just a push of her feet, she could scoot the chair closer, and she knew, from the look in his eyes, that if she leant forward, he would too. It didn't even have to be a kiss. She simply longed for the feel of his cheek against hers.
She wanted to touch him, but fast on the heels of that wish, came guilt. For a year, George Constantinou had tried to win her heart, and in one split second, she was feeling more for the man across from her than she had ever felt for the man she'd shared a bed with just last night. And the man across from her, although he clearly still loved her, was the man who had left her in silence for the past year. With that thought, the pain flooded in.
It was the pain and the guilt that finally allowed Ruth to tear her eyes from Harry's. Her mind returned to her, still crowded with warring thoughts, but clearer. Ruth realised that Mani must now have Nico and George, and she feared for their safety. She thought they must be terrified, and Ruth began to worry especially for Nico. She turned and looked up at Mani. "What have you done with my family?"
Harry looked across at Ruth, and he felt the thread stretch and fray. My family. The two words re-opened the wound that Mani had started, and cut deeply into the peace he'd felt just moments before. He couldn't make sense of the words he was hearing, after what he'd just seen in her eyes. My family. It rang a dissonant chord, and inwardly, he flinched.
Mani looked down at Ruth. This was the moment he'd waited for all day, to see Harry and Ruth in the same room, and he could feel the tension between them as if it were a physical presence. But he had his own agenda, and it didn't involve Ruth's husband and child just yet. For now, he wanted to keep reminding Ruth and Harry of what they were to each other.
Of course Mani knew about the Hotel Anassa, and he'd already told Harry that he knew. Mani thought someone would have to be blind not to have seen what had passed between Harry and Ruth just a moment ago, but there was a delicate dance to be performed here, and Mani did so love this dance.
He looked in mock innocence from one to the other. "Were you two just friends back then?"
Harry couldn't take his eyes off Ruth, whose eyes were now down, looking away from him. She looked the same, but he thought something had been lost. Not innocence, because he'd watched that slowly fade over the last six years. The best way he could describe it was that a light had extinguished. He'd seen it come to life in her eyes when they'd first seen each other, but now it was gone.
It took Harry back to that first night, when she'd come to his house and told him that she wanted to have dinner with him again. He'd thought the same thing then, that he had extinguished the light in her eyes, but that night it had come back. His deepest wish right now, as he looked at her, was to see that brightness again.
There was something so sad about Ruth, as if she'd been beaten down until she was bereft of hope. Harry was exhausted, he desperately needed water, and his heart had been broken several times today. But paradoxically, his hope seemed to be growing. Ruth still loved him, and her love lived beyond the time they'd been apart, beyond his abandonment of her, and even beyond her family.
Mani's voice broke into Harry's thoughts, and Harry realised that he was still talking about Baghdad, in an irritating, sanctimonious tone, made all the more ironic by the offensive things he was saying. "There was an obvious connection, and everybody else out there was at it like rabbits. Adrenaline, I suppose. You two, though ..." Mani looked from Harry to Ruth, enjoying his dramatic speech, "You know, it wouldn't surprise me if it was all quite chaste in a frightfully outdated, Brief Encounter kind of way."
Finally, Ruth raised her eyes to Harry, and he read the plea there. Make him stop, Harry. I can't bear this.
Harry's eyes never left Ruth's, but he spoke softly to Mani. "I wouldn't speculate about it too much. It's probably a bit beyond your vulgar little mind." He said the words to Mani, but his thoughts were understood by Ruth. We know what happened on Cyprus and in Baghdad, my love. There's no one who can touch that, especially not this vile man.
Ruth thanked Harry silently, and looked away.
That would be enough for now, Mani thought. Now I give them time to get reacquainted. The affected kindness was gone from Mani's voice, and he was deadly serious. "One or both of you knows where the uranium is. I shall be back shortly to find out ..." Mani leant down behind Ruth's chair, but he looked at Harry, and smiled again, " ...Which one of you breaks first."
Mani continued to stare at Harry, but Harry couldn't take his eyes off Ruth. Mani watched for a moment, thinking, Ah, this will be so simple. Put Ruth in pain, and Harry will crack. He's already cracking, just sitting across from her. Mani walked slowly to the door, then stood there for a moment. He called out to them. "I'll leave you for a time. I'm sure you have much to catch up on. And don't worry," he said, laughing softly, "No one is listening." Then he slammed the door.
For a time, they were both silent. In truth, their hearts were pounding wildly, and through the fear and fatigue, each felt nervous, almost shy. There was so much to say, and neither knew where to begin.
Not to mention that the walls had ears and eyes, and they didn't want to hand any more ammunition to Mani. Harry started to say, It's so good to see you, but that seemed wrong somehow, given where they were and the circumstance they were in. She wouldn't look at him, so he said, "They didn't hurt you, did they?"
Ruth kept her gaze down, for the simple reason that every time she looked into Harry's eyes, she seemed to fall into them. His care for her, and the compassion she heard in his voice, was going straight to her heart and settling there, warmly. It frightened her how quickly her attempt at resolve over the last year had simply vanished into the brown of his eyes. She spoke softly too, her gaze still down. "No. They didn't hurt me."
"That's good," he said, sighing at the inanity of this conversation. He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth, set, downturned, sad. He wanted to ask, What are you feeling? He wanted her to rail at him, to beat at his chest with her fists. He wanted to explain, to justify. It was only out of love for you, my Ruth. Staying away was the hardest thing I've ever done. I was on my way to you, there's still a bag packed at my house, with your necklace, your ring, my diary for you to listen to...
And then, in Harry's mind, the words were unavoidable, deafening, and he whispered them, so softly that they couldn't be heard by the microphones, nor would Ruth have heard them unless her ear had been against his lips. The words escaped of their own volition, under their own power. "I love you, Ruth."
She wasn't sure she'd actually heard, or if the words had simply appeared in her mind, but Ruth looked up, sharply. She took a breath, as if she were about to speak, but she stopped herself, and released the breath in a sigh. She tilted her head just slightly, and spoke, as softly as he had. "I know."
Harry had many questions he wanted to ask her, but his primary goal had to be to get them out of here. He'd spent so many hours not knowing what was going on back at the Grid, he had to find out what Ros and Lucas knew. The question was, how to do it without giving Mani clues?
In an instant, Ruth saw his eyes change from the softness of her Harry, to the steel of Harry on the Grid. Her heart jumped with the suddenness of it, but it brought her back to an awareness of their predicament. No matter what her heart was feeling, her head reminded her that they were in very deep trouble. She looked back at him, and he saw his stalwart Ruth, his analyst. He smiled his thanks, and through that smile came all the respect that George had so recently denied her.
All Ruth could think was, Harry knows me. He knows me like no one else does. She sat up straighter, and waited for his questions. Even through the swirling emotions and the terror, the "born spook" rose up, and a small thrill went through her. She was astonished by it, but it settled in like an old friend, and another piece of her returned.
Harry began to speak to her, but he was speaking in German, one of their shared languages. It was a good choice. Mani might be multi-lingual, but German was unlikely to be one of them. But just in case Mani did understand, Harry spoke in metaphors.
"Warst do schon zuhause?" Have you been home? he said, narrowing his eyes just slightly. He spoke softly, but without hidden meaning, as if he were simply making conversation.
Ruth assumed "home" was the Grid, but she had to be sure. "Ja, die Türen wurden ausgewechselt." Yes, the front door has been replaced. She matched his tone, without emotion.
"Ah, yes. There was a break-in, so we had it fixed for you," Harry continued, in German.
Remembering walking on to the Grid, Ruth said, "It was ... different. So much was ... missing."
Harry's eyes softened, and for a moment, they shared the loss of Adam and Zaf. "I'm sorry," he said. "That must have been a shock for you."
Her eyes began to fill, and she looked down. She had to get hold of herself, because she didn't know how long Mani would leave them alone. "I spoke to my neighbours," she said, looking up again. "There's a new man living next door. He speaks with a Russian accent. He seems kind, and was very helpful."
So she'd spoken with Lucas. Now to the important question. "And what did you talk about?"
Ruth's mind was racing. How was she to tell Harry that Ros, Lucas and Jo knew about Baghdad, and about Ronnie, McCall, and Amish Mani? Quickly, she thought through what they had talked about in the Baghdad hotel room that would take Harry there. What came to mind brought a light blush to her cheek. The colour midnight blue, and the lingerie she had been wearing that night at the Hotel al-Rasheed. Suddenly, she smiled at Harry, and said, "He asked about my garden, actually. He wanted to know about the Midnight Blues. They're climbers, you know? I have three plants in front of the house."
Harry understood, and his eyes showed it. Not only that she had relayed the information about Baghdad and the three main players to Lucas, but also that she remembered the blue game, and that night in particular. Of course she remembers. We'll never forget.
Harry smiled back. "That's good. So your neighbour knows where to find them, to plant them in his own garden?"
Ruth's eyes were sad now, and she shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. They may be difficult to find this time of year."
Harry heaved a sigh, and shook his head in a way that was just barely perceptible. He spoke as if he were simply thinking out loud. "That's a shame. Perhaps there's still time." Time. We need time. He looked directly into Ruth's eyes, and she could see that he had shifted from asking to telling. "Time, Ruth. And patience. That's what it will take."
Ruth gazed back at him, and nodded. Harry was right. All they could do was make sure that they gave Ros and Lucas enough time to find them. So they would stall. Which meant that no matter what, Ruth was to hold the information about Norfolk.
Both took a deep breath, and they stopped talking for a while. For a time, their eyes remained locked, but finally, it was too much to bear, and Ruth turned her eyes toward the floor. Harry looked away as well, but now his mind was working, as he tried to reconstruct how this day had gone. If Ruth had been to the Grid, she had been under the protection of MI5. She would have been placed in a safe house, and since Mani couldn't have abducted her from Thames House, he must have gotten her from the house.
Harry looked up as it dawned on him. The safe house system. Shared with MI6. Ronnie is MI6. That was how she'd been found. Which meant that, for some reason, although Ruth had told them Ronnie was involved, she had still been sent to a safe house in the system. Why that had happened was eluding Harry right now, but there was one thing of which he felt fairly certain.
No one on the Grid had the slightest idea where Harry and Ruth were.
The listening suite had been set up on another floor of the warehouse. There were three monitors for the three cameras, and there were also three microphones, one in the wall facing Harry, an opposing one facing Ruth, and one in the ceiling far above them.
Mani was watching and listening intently, but Harry and Ruth hadn't spoken to each other yet. His mobile rang, and it was McCall. Mani had been trying to reach him all day, so he picked up. But before he moved away from the monitors and out to the hallway, he told Ojas, his Head of Operations, "Come and get me if anything is said that I should know about. And be certain the recorder is working."
McCall was his usual blustery self. Mani abhorred him, but he was a means to an end. In any case, McCall told him how his men had taken out that traitorous Stephen Hillier as he'd sat in his car and chatted with Ros Myers of MI5. The microphone in Hillier's car had picked up the entire conversation, and McCall's men had shot Hillier just as he was about to reveal the location of the new safe house, in exchange for "assurances." What a snake, Mani thought. And coming from Mani, that said quite a lot.
McCall's men had asked if they should also kill Ros Myers, as they'd had a clear shot whilst she was in the car, and also when she walked away, wiping Hillier's blood from her face. But McCall had said no. Killing Hillier was one thing, but killing Ros Myers was gratuitous and dangerous. After all, what had Hillier actually told Miss Myers? That Harry was to blame for everything that was happening because he had moved the uranium. That information was unlikely to further her cause of finding Harry. McCall thought it might have the added benefit of sending Harry's team on a wild goose chase, trying to track the uranium.
Mani needed to find out if Harry had told Ruth the new location. He was waiting for the camera to be set up at the safe house, and for the feed to connect to the laptop. In the meantime, he had hoped that he could listen to some insipid romantic talk between the two lovers. Perhaps they would forget themselves in their passion, and tell him something he could use.
Mani made certain that McCall's men were in place to pick up the uranium as soon as Harry gave them the location. After that, he would kill Pearce and his little girlfriend, and meet McCall. That was their plan, but what McCall didn't know was the rest of Mani's plan. One quick shot to McCall and to each of his men, and Mani would be off and out of the country with the uranium that should have been his in the first place.
Mani sighed. A tremendous amount of work, but it would be worth it. Millions. The millions he had expected to receive long ago, before he'd discovered that Harry had betrayed them. It was all so tiring, the business of betrayal. No one could be trusted anymore.
McCall was still droning on when Ojas came out of the listening suite. Mani put the phone to his chest. "What is it?" Mani asked.
"They're talking," Ojas said. As Mani started to pass by him, headed for the listening suite, Ojas touched his arm. "In German."
Although Mani spoke no German, Ojas knew a smattering of the language. Not enough to write or speak, but enough to understand rudimentary phrases.
Mani turned. "German?" He frowned, exhaling loudly. "What are they saying?"
Seeing Mani's frustration, Ojas stepped back a pace. "I ... I can't understand it all, but they began talking about her house, and now I believe they're talking about plants, and ... a garden."
This was clearly not what Amish Mani wanted to hear. He clicked off his mobile, pushed Ojas roughly aside and walked into the listening suite. Mani watched and listened for a few minutes, his eyes narrowed. Two bloody spooks. They were clearly talking in some kind of code, and he didn't have the time to find out what it was. But he had underestimated them. He'd thought that they would be so overcome at seeing each other again, that they wouldn't be able to resist talking of love. Instead, here they were, sharing information.
Mani burst out of the suite and took the stairs two at a time. He opened the door and walked quickly to where Harry and Ruth sat. They'd been silent when he walked in, but he had just missed Harry's final words, Time, Ruth. And patience. That's what it will take. But of course, it was in German, so he wouldn't have understood it, in any case.
"English!" he shouted at them. Then he calmed himself, and made an attempt to smile. He was breathing hard from the run up the stairs, and both Harry and Ruth could see the rage in his eyes. "We all want to share in this lovely reunion, you know?" He walked toward the door, and when he reached it, he turned. "English!" he said again, before walking through and slamming the door.
Harry knew there was nothing more to do but wait.
But he was fighting a growing sense of panic, and he feared this day would end very badly. He'd watched Mani execute Sarkiisian, and Harry had no doubt that Mani would do the same with Ruth or with himself. If Mani pointed a gun at Ruth's head, Harry knew that he would stand and sacrifice himself. He would promise, he would cajole, he would sell his soul before he would watch Ruth be killed. But the one thing he wouldn't do was tell Mani where the uranium was.
Harry was doing everything he could to think positively, but he had to prepare himself for the fact that today might end with his death and Ruth's. He knew Ros and Lucas were formidable, but if they were unable to piece together the path to this warehouse, he and Ruth would die. Actually, Harry believed that Mani would kill them whether Harry told him the location of the uranium or not, and he was still unwilling to add the lives of countless people to his list of mistakes. So he had determined that, no matter what happened, he wouldn't tell Mani what he wanted to know.
There was nothing more to do. And each minute that went by was another that Harry knew Ros and Lucas were using to find them.
Harry looked across at Ruth, and attempted a faint smile. Her reaction was a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, her lovely eyes moist and wide. He wanted so much to begin to understand what was going on in her heart. And if this was their last day together, and perhaps, their last day alive, Harry felt compelled to talk to her, but to do it softly, in English, without further antagonising Mani.
He knew that Ruth was locked in a struggle with herself, a war between the life she'd been living for the last year, and the life she'd had in England and Paris with him. Ever since Mani had told Harry that Ruth had married, he'd been trying to work it through. When Harry looked at it logically, it made perfect sense.
He'd been allowed the luxury of going back to his old life. Ruth had been forced to reinvent herself, to begin again, and to do it without the hope that he still loved her. Harry had already forgiven Ruth for getting married, because he understood. He didn't like it, and it hurt, but he understood. She was extraordinarily bright, beautiful, and full of love, and it would have surprised him more if she'd been alone all this time. His agony, ever since Mani had told him, had been in the process of trying to let go of her, to allow her to have that new life.
But then he'd seen her eyes, and his hope had unexpectedly risen. He'd felt like a man resigned to drowning, but suddenly her hand had reached out and pulled him to the surface. She still loved him, and that had changed everything.
So he had to ask the question, and for the first time, he was grateful for the cameras and the microphones, because Harry knew that Ruth would answer without emotion, and that he would be able to ask without blame. He spoke softly, and it came out not as a question, but as a statement. "You got married out there."
Ruth sighed, looking back at him. This was the moment she had imagined so many times, wondering, if she ever saw him again, how Harry would react to her relationship with George. She'd suspected that she would feel she'd cheated on Harry, and she'd been correct. Harry's words cut Ruth, because they were so incongruous, so wrong. She wanted to answer, I thought you'd forgotten me. And the answer is no. No, I didn't get married. I couldn't. Because I'm already married. To you.
Ruth didn't answer his question about marriage. She fought what was going on in her head, and she spoke with the same calm, clinical voice she'd used in the debrief on the Grid. She said, simply, "George is a doctor. At the local hospital where I worked for a while."
"Worked?" Harry realised that these were the questions he was planning to ask Malcolm, just yesterday, and he never imagined that he would be asking the questions of Ruth. Harry felt his whole being relaxing into the sound of her voice, the lilt that he'd not heard since he'd last seen her. He'd hungered for it, and it didn't matter what they talked about, he wanted to hear her speak. But beyond that, a picture was beginning to emerge of the life she had led for the last year, and he hung on every word.
"Clerical work." Ruth smiled when she said it, knowing what Harry would think. They had talked about Ruth getting a clerical job with Tom and Christine at Trans Atlantic Security. Ruth had been thrilled with the idea, because it meant she would be in Liverpool, in England, and she hadn't cared what type of work she had to do.
But Harry had thought it beneath her, and now, he repeated what he'd said then, "You were made for more than that, Ruth." He said it solemnly, softly, and both of them remembered.
Ruth was a different person now, and she wanted Harry to know that she'd changed in the year they'd been apart. She spoke firmly, with her chin up, and met his eyes without apology. "I loved it. I did my job correctly, and when it was finished I went to the market, or swimming. It was simple. Everything about my life was simple and elegant, for once."
They both remembered those words as well. She'd written them in a letter to Harry. She'd used them to describe her life in Paris, but in the context of the letter, she was describing how much she missed the Grid, and the work. She had said, Much as I would like to believe it, simple and elegant may not, after all, be my style.
Harry didn't know if she was trying to tell him something, or if she'd forgotten she'd written those words. But now he felt he'd held back long enough, and he had to know how she felt. He spoke slowly, deliberately. "And ... George?"
Ruth knew what he was asking, and she flinched under his stare. Her eyes spoke clearly to him. Yes, I said I would love you forever. Yes, I said there would never be another man for me. But you left me there. Alone. You broke my heart. "He's a good and kind man, Harry." Now she looked down at her hands, unable to bear the look in Harry's eyes.
"Do you love him?" It was a simple question, and Harry spoke it quietly, kindly. But there was so much pain contained in it. Harry waited patiently for her answer, unmoving, with so much hurt in his eyes, the brown of them deep and penetrating. Ruth knew that if she looked at him, she would dissolve into tears.
As it was, she felt the sobs begin to rise in her throat, and regret nearly overwhelmed her. If she had only waited, Ruth knew that she could be sitting here without this paralysing fear for two innocent people, and she would be looking Harry in the eyes with a clear conscience.
She couldn't lie to Harry. If she'd been passionately in love with George, she could explain herself. That would be the best excuse for what she'd done. As it was, Ruth couldn't even remember now what had made her accept George's invitation into his house, and his life. Now that she was here with Harry, none of that seemed to make any sense.
"I feel ... Very guilty." It was the most honest response she could give him.
"That wasn't my question," Harry persisted. Now Ruth did look in his eyes, and what she saw there was her Harry, the man she had given her whole heart to. He asked again, "Ruth?"
Ruth suddenly knew she was either going to fall completely to pieces, or she was going to survive this. With the tears still forming in her eyes, she forced herself to remember that Harry had abandoned her. That she had begged him to come to her, begged him to respond, and he'd given her nothing but silence. It was too easy for him to sit here now, with emotion in his eyes, asking her if she loved George. Where were you when I needed you?
As she knew it would, her anger gave her strength. "He doesn't deserve to be in danger. And I'm not going to start discussing my feelings about him."
She frowned and looked directly into his eyes now, but her anger gave her temporary immunity from them. "Not with you."
Harry could see what she was feeling, and he knew what she needed to hear. He opened his mouth to say, I'm sorry, Ruth. I'm so sorry. For everything. But just then, he heard a noise in the hallway. The door opened and Mani and another man walked through. Harry stopped himself from speaking and looked up. He saw the look in Mani's eyes and knew, Now it begins.
Mani's voice held no more playfulness. It was all business. "OK ... Time to get serious now. Where's the uranium?" Mani stood behind Ruth, exuding malice, and Harry felt it immediately. He looked at Ruth and she was suddenly terrified, her eyes pleading for Harry to do something.
Instantly, the rage that Harry had suppressed for a day and a half surged up, and he lost control. "Don't hurt her. You dare to hurt her!" Harry lunged at Mani before the man behind him could take him by the shoulders and pull him roughly back into his chair.
Mani pushed him back, "Calm down, Harry! No need to go all Shakespearean on us." Harry sat back, once he saw that Mani was not intending to touch Ruth, but his heart was hammering in his chest. If his hands had been free, he had no doubt that his fingers would still be around Mani's throat.
Mani had pulled a third chair forward, and the other man was setting up a laptop. The screen was filled with static, but it read, VIDEO FEED ONLINE IN 3 SECS, and as it counted down, a picture began to emerge. A back yard, and a man and a boy, kicking a football. Harry looked quickly at Ruth, and saw immediately that this must be George and her son. There was a despair on her face that he couldn't describe, and that he never wanted to see again. It cut straight to his heart.
Harry looked back at the screen, peering closer to see the two figures more clearly. The man was tall, dark, and Greek, and as Mani had said, he was not at all like Harry. Harry thought he knew what was going to happen next, but even in the midst of this horrible moment, Harry found himself feeling jealous.
Forcing that emotion away, and knowing he had to keep his wits about him, Harry turned his focus to the child. Another emotion took the place of jealousy. Relief. This couldn't be Ruth's son. The boy must be George's, because he was at least eight, probably older. So Ruth hadn't had a child, she wasn't a mother, and Harry felt still another piece of her return to him.
Mani was speaking to Ruth. "They think they are in their nice new house with a garden and that the men with guns are looking after them." Ruth looked away from the computer screen and up to Mani, who kept talking, gently, almost kindly to her. "Which of course they are, for the time being."
Harry looked at Ruth and read the pain on her face. He remembered her words, I feel...guilty, and all at once he understood. She didn't love George. She felt responsible for him, but there wasn't love there. Ruth spoke softly to Mani, without anger, pleading, "Please, don't do anything to them."
Mani sounded almost reasonable as he spoke gently to Ruth. "If you cooperate with me, then I shall have no need to do so."
Ruth turned and looked at Harry, terror in her eyes. She had intended that she would say nothing about Norfolk, but everything was different now. She'd thought she would only have her own life to lose, but Nico and George? They'd been dragged into this because of her.
Harry returned her look, and he understood exactly what she was saying. If only he could speak, he would have said, No, Ruth. Don't say it. As soon as you say Norfolk, you will cease to be useful to them. There are things even you don't know.
~~~~~
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