CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
Ros strode onto the Grid hoping that she'd gotten all of Stephen Hillier's blood off her face and out of her hair. She walked directly up to Malcolm and said, "Ruth and her family are in one of Hillier's safe houses. Tap into their system, find out where it is."
Malcolm was still immersed in the guilt of having put them in danger, and he was glad to have some way to help. "I'm on it."
Ros had learned from Hillier that Harry had betrayed Mani and McCall by moving the uranium, and that now, Harry was the only one who knew where it was. So it was Baghdad reunited. They couldn't find Harry through Hillier, of course, because Hillier had just died right in front of Ros. Mani was probably with Harry. That left only McCall to lead Ros to Harry.
Ros thought it was time to call in Lucas' burgeoning and somewhat congenial relationship with the new CIA liaison officer. "Sarah Caulfield may still have access to McCall. I want a tracker on him. See if he can lead us to Harry."
Lucas frowned, and said, "How do I persuade her to do that?"
Ros had that look that always worried Lucas. She wanted answers, and didn't really care how he got them. "By any means necessary." Then she smiled at Lucas as she walked away. "I'd try charm first."
Ruth couldn't stop watching the screen. George and Nico were playing, just as they always did. Her mind was drawn back to the morning, only two days ago, when she had stood out on the upstairs balcony and watched them, just like this. Not on a computer screen, but from around the wall, unseen, as they played in the pool with the ball. How had things changed so drastically from that moment, and gone so unbearably wrong?
She held their lives in her hands. Two lives, for just a simple piece of information. In her agony, Ruth began to justify, to bend the facts. What if she had never gone with Harry to Baghdad? What if she and Harry had never heard about the uranium in the first place? What if Harry hadn't been able to convince McCall during that shape-shifting dinner in Baghdad? Wouldn't the uranium now be in other hands anyway?
Indeed, how many terrible things happened every day over which they had no control? Nico laughed, bringing her mind back to the screen, and Ruth smiled sadly. Her boy. Not hers, but loved as if he were. Where would they go from this day forward? She would never see him again, probably. And then the terrible thought entered her mind. One way or another I won't see him again.
Mani's voice broke through Ruth's thoughts. His tone was sickly sweet, and made her feel vaguely nauseous. "How nice," Mani knelt down beside Ruth, and gazed at the screen with her, as if they were watching the joy of shared family members. "A bit of father-son bonding. See, there's no need for torture." He looked up at Ruth, smiling.
Ruth's eyes filled with tears. "You think this isn't torture?"
Mani's voice went immediately cold. "One of my men will first shoot your husband and then the boy if you do not tell me where the uranium is."
Ruth gasped, and began to sob. She looked desperately at Harry, and then back to Mani. "Please, I'm begging you!"
Mani still knelt close to her. "Tell me where the uranium is."
Now Harry spoke, with conviction. "She doesn't know."
Mani glanced over at Harry, but didn't move. "We'll see."
With more urgency, Harry said, "I'm telling you, you're wasting your time. She doesn't know where it is."
Ignoring Harry, Mani said, softly, "Tell me, Ruth."
Harry had to stop this. He knew where it was leading, and he had to convince Mani. "She only thinks she knows where it is."
Now Mani's voice became low, ominous. "Your husband and the boy are about to die."
Ruth had been looking between Harry and Mani, trying to decide what to do. Now she looked at the computer screen at George and Nico, and all she could think was how much she wanted them to be back in the pool on Cyprus, playing together, safe. She felt the tears welling up again, and she knew that she would do anything, say anything, to get them back there.
Ruth looked at Harry, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't."
Harry didn't look at her, but he focused every ounce of energy he had toward her. Don't tell, my love. Don't say Norfolk. It's not in Norfolk anymore, and Mani knows that. Don't tell.
A sob escaped from Ruth's throat, and she took a deep breath. "It's in Norfolk. An abandoned nuclear shelter from the Cold War years." She turned to Harry, and whispered, again, "I'm sorry."
Harry closed his eyes in despair. He knew that George or the boy would now die, maybe both. Mani looked over to him and smiled as he stood and walked around Ruth's chair. Harry looked at Ruth, whose head was tilted in apology, her face so filled with pain that Harry felt it enter his own heart.
Mani pulled his mobile from his jacket. "Oh, dear, Harry." Harry kept his eyes on the laptop screen, dreading what was about to happen. He was praying it would be the man instead of the boy. Not for himself, but for Ruth. She didn't love the man, but somewhere, he felt she cared deeply for George's son.
Mani spoke into his phone. "Take the boy inside." Ruth and Harry watched together as Nico kicked the ball to his father. George stopped it with his foot, and was just about to kick it again, when a man walked out to them. George turned in response to something the man said, as did Nico.
Ruth was still crying. She didn't regret what she'd done. She would do it again to save them. And it was to save them, but it was also to save herself. She didn't think she could live with the guilt that would come with being the cause of their deaths. She thought if that happened, she would have to ask Mani to take her too.
Nico went inside, and in the back of her mind, Ruth wondered why they were being separated. Harry watched with mounting dread, because he knew exactly why Nico was being taken inside. Now, it was simply a question of which one of them was to die. Knowing Mani, he thought it would be the one still visible. The sick bastard would take pleasure in watching Ruth's face as he killed her husband.
Ruth turned and looked at Harry, and saw his thoughts written on his face. She looked back at the screen, and then quickly back to Harry. Her eyes wide, she tried to get Harry to look at her, but he wouldn't. She'd stopped crying, but the alarm was starting inside her that something was terribly wrong.
Mani spoke calmly, quietly into his mobile. "Now, kill the man."
And in a flash, Ruth knew. What Harry had said was true. She didn't know where the uranium was. He had moved it and not told her. And because he hadn't told her, George Constantinou was going to die before her eyes.
"No!" Ruth looked up at Mani, her eyes frantic. "No, what are you doing?" Mani was closing his mobile. "I ... I told you what you wanted to know." Now Mani was calmly watching the video feed, as if they were still playing. Not a smile on his face, but anticipation, a veiled eagerness. Ruth stood, and looked Mani in the eye, saying, "Please ...!" Ruth begged him, but he wasn't pulling out his mobile again, he was just standing there, watching.
Ruth looked down at the screen just in time to see the man behind George pull out a gun and aim it at his head. And then he pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the back of George's head with a light puff of smoke, and Ruth watched in disbelief as the man she had held in her arms just last night fell to his knees, then collapsed to the ground, and then ceased to exist.
She screamed at what she was seeing, unable to accept it, "No! Oh, God! Oh, God!"
Mani leant over and pulled the chair closer to Harry, scraping the floor, and yelling to be heard over Ruth's anguish. "This is all your fault, Harry! If you'd played by the rules, none of this would have happened!"
Harry's rage came to the surface, and he shouted back, "If I'd played by the rules, the uranium would already be in the hands of terrorists." Ruth was still screaming, looking between George, face down on the grass, and Harry. He was still talking about terrorists, about his job, while George lay dead in front of him. Her hands at her mouth, and her heart breaking, Ruth suddenly thought she didn't know Harry Pearce at all.
Mani lowered his voice, and said to Harry, "OK, let's see how far your duty will go." Harry finally looked at Ruth, but now she wouldn't meet his eyes. He was sorry for George's death, as he would be for anyone's. But as Harry looked at Ruth his thought was, We will never come back from this. You'll never forgive me. It's over, isn't it, my Ruth?
Mani knelt down again and spoke softly to Ruth. Her crying was calming to choking sobs. "You were right. You told the truth, for which I commend you. But we've already looked in that place that you said. Now Harry will have to do a whole lot better or the boy will meet the same fate."
Harry thought he had never felt so much like killing someone with his bare hands as he did this very minute. His rage was so enormous, his pain so deep, that he lost control. Ruth's husband was still lying face down on the grass, dead. His first thought was that he didn't want her to have to look at that picture any more.
But then, within the irrationality of his fury, Harry also realised that George and Mani were the reasons that he would never have Ruth again. His rage constellated in the only part of his body that he could use to express it, and he kicked furiously at the laptop on the chair, sending it flying across the room.
Mani glanced up impatiently. He was tired of playing games. He turned with annoyance to Ojas. "Fetch me a new laptop."
Ojas went out of the room, and Mani stood between Harry and Ruth. He forced a smile at both of them, and took a deep breath. His voice took on the quality of ice, sharp and cold. "Well, that was rather exciting, wasn't it? Perhaps you'd like to discuss how you feel about each other now." He added with a sneer. "Use whatever language you'd like." He turned and walked out of the room, leaving them alone.
Harry's chin lay on his chest. He was suddenly so overcome by the exhaustion, hunger and thirst he'd been holding back, he thought he might pass out. Ruth still whimpered, but he could tell by the sound that she had turned in her chair and was facing away from him. When he looked up, he could see that she had her bound hands up to her face, and was leant on the back of the chair.
He managed a breath, and said, "Ruth."
She didn't turn. Her voice was muffled, but firm, and choked with sobs.
She said only, "No, Harry. No more."
Ros tapped her fingers sharply on her desk. She didn't like waiting - she liked doing. But for now, all she could do was wait. Lucas was talking with Sarah Caulfield, and if Sarah agreed to put a tracker on McCall, there was still a chance that they could find Harry and Ruth. But time was ticking away, and with every minute that went by, Ros' hope that they were still alive diminished.
"I found it!" Ros heard an uncharacteristic outburst from Malcolm and turned. She walked over and saw him looking intently at his computer screen.
"Found what, Malcolm?" Ros looked at the map, and then looked up at Malcolm.
"I've found Hillier's safe house. It must be where they're holding Ruth's husband and child."
Ros nodded. "Okay, keep a watch on the house." She turned to go back to her desk.
Her calm reaction left Malcolm dumfounded. "We can't just leave them there."
Ros spoke firmly, "We can't go charging in there either, with Ruth and Harry still captive. Keep it under surveillance." She turned again.
This wasn't the answer that Malcolm wanted to hear. "But if I hadn't moved them, maybe they wouldn't have been found." Malcolm's eyes were desperate. "..the boy wanted a garden…"
Ros interrupted him before he could go any further. "Malcolm, stop blaming yourself. Hillier would have found Ruth anyway. Organise a surveillance team. We're really close to Harry now."
Malcolm had spent the last hours in desperate regret, and finally it all spilled over into anger. "I was the one who put them in danger!"
Ros spoke softly, and shook her head. "No, Malcolm, you weren't . Get some rest, we're dealing with this." She turned away, but then had another thought, and looked back at him, speaking more gently. "Remember, whilst the rest of us were sleeping last night, you were awake, discovering the Indian's voice on the tape." The corners of Ros' mouth turned up just perceptibly. "We need you, Malcolm. At your best."
When she walked away, Malcolm stood for a moment. It didn't matter what Ros said, he knew it was his fault, and now, instead of seeing the Grid and all its activity, Malcolm could only see Nico's eyes looking back at him. Malcolm had told George he didn't have much experience with children, and it was true. But the boy had entered Malcolm's heart somehow, and had affected him in a way that was completely new and slightly bewildering. As Malcolm had driven back from playing backgammon, he'd thought of Sarah again.
Before he'd known it, he'd imagined himself with Sarah by the seaside, Liverpool to be exact, and he'd found himself wondering what it might be like to have a child there as well. Not their own, of course, as they were a bit long in the tooth for that and Malcolm doubted that he had the ongoing patience for raising one. But perhaps Tom and Christine might, and ...
He'd laughed at himself, shaking his head, wondering what on earth had gotten into him, and then he'd turned on BBC radio, loudly, seeking to return to the Malcolm he knew himself to be. But the memory had persisted of that time spent playing backgammon, and of the brightness of Nico's eyes.
As Malcolm watched Ros walk away, he remembered something Adam had said to him once. It was when they'd gone in search of the Aurora spy plane, and Malcolm had thought he was going to die from exposure to its radiation. Adam had let Malcolm believe the contamination was real, even after it was determined that he hadn't been exposed. When Malcolm asked Adam why, Adam had replied, "Because this Malcolm was invincible."
Allowing himself a wistful smile for Adam, Malcolm thought, I still am.
As he continued to look out at the Grid, Malcolm suddenly understood the tales of mothers who could lift automobiles off a child in danger. Then and there, he made a promise that nothing would happen to Nico Constantinou. If Malcolm had to go there himself, he knew he would stand in front of a bullet to save that boy's life.
"Malcolm?" Ros was looking quizzically at him from across the room. She lowered her head a bit and looked at him under her brows. "I said, get some rest."
Taking a deep breath, Malcolm finally focused his eyes on her, and nodded. "Yes, I will. Definitely. Soon." He turned back to his computer station, and began to sort the surveillance team for Hillier's safe house.
He'd tried to honour Ruth's request, but Harry couldn't sit still any longer, and finally, he had to go to her. She'd been faced away, with her back to him, ever since Mani had left them alone. She'd been silent for a time, but then the realisation of what had happened had descended on her again, and she began to sob, murmuring "Oh, God, how could..." Her voice faded away, the thought unfinished.
"Ruth?" he said again, plaintively. He moved slowly toward her, as if she were some mortally injured animal that he didn't want to frighten. He spoke softly, "What can I do?"
Harry stood behind her and watched as her shoulders rose and fell raggedly. She seemed not to have heard him, and then, he couldn't stop himself. His hands were still bound together, but he reached them out, almost involuntarily, and he laid them gently on her shoulder.
He was expecting her to push him away, to turn on him full of the anger and hurt he'd seen in her eyes just minutes ago, but she didn't. She seemed to be somewhere else, in a state of shock so profound that she couldn't even remember being angry with him. The chair that held the laptop was still there, and Harry sat down wearily, his hands still lightly on her shoulder.
"Ruth," he said again, softly. She turned and looked at him, and he saw the overwhelming sadness in her eyes. Her tears spilled over, and she said, "They trusted me. They shouldn't have ..." She tilted her head toward her shoulder, and her despair touched him so deeply that he reached his hands up and held them to her cheek. She closed her eyes and took the comfort he offered, pressing her face lightly against his palms, her tears caught by his cupped hands. "They shouldn't have ... " she whispered. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him, as if she were just now seeing him for the first time, "Harry?"
He wanted to lean across the short space between them and touch his lips to hers, but it would be unspeakably inappropriate, so he sat, gazing into her eyes, and said, "I'm so sorry." It was all he could think of, and it came directly from his heart, but it was the wrong thing to say.
Ruth took a shallow breath, and he saw the recognition return to her eyes. She reached up and took his hands and pushed them away as she said, firmly, "No!" She shook her head, and Harry saw the fire blaze up in her cheeks. "You can't make it all go away, Harry. Not this time."
She turned away again, and Harry fell back in the chair. He could feel her tears on his palms, and he held his hands out and looked at them in some disbelief. Ruth's tears. She was here and he had touched her again. Harry thought he had never loved anyone more, nor felt more helpless than he did in this moment.
And then, the door opened. Harry sighed roughly and tried to reach down into his reserves for the energy he would need to face what he knew was coming next.
Mani set up the new laptop, and again the video feed counted down. Ruth was terrified that George's body would still be there, face down on the grass. But when the picture appeared, there was only Nico and one of Mani's men, playing football. Not George and Nico, as it had been just an hour ago. George is dead. A fresh shock passed through Ruth, but she breathed into it. Although she would have liked to curl into a tiny ball and disappear, Nico needed her.
Ruth watched him for a moment. He was laughing, happy. So he doesn't know, she thought. She had to turn her eyes away.
Mani began to pace back and forth beside Harry and Ruth. "Alright. I'm going to count to ten. And Harry," Mani turned and smiled indulgently, "If you haven't told me the new location of the uranium by the time I reach ten, I will call my man, and he will shoot the boy." He looked from Harry to Ruth and back again. "Are we all clear on the rules?"
The hatred in Harry's eyes was palpable, and it hung in the air between them. Ruth was beginning to cry softly again, moving her gaze rapidly from the video screen to the floor, and then to Harry. The vision of George's death was playing in an endless loop in her mind, and especially that small puff of smoke as the bullet entered his head. She looked again at Nico. Oh, God, no. Not him. Please not him.
Mani smiled again. "I'll take that as a yes." He began to pace again. He walked toward the window and peered at the torn paper that covered one of the panes. "One ..." Mani paused and looked at Ruth. She was crying freely now, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Two..."
Harry looked up at him. His voice was soft, it's hoarse roughness brought on by sheer fatigue and raw emotion. "You'd kill a child?"
Mani answered calmly, as if he were talking of the weather. "Of course I would. Children are the first casualties of every conflict..." Mani's voice rose ominously, and his impatience began to show. "Three..."
"Harry ..." Ruth said his name in the middle of a sob, and she tore her eyes from the screen, to look at him, frantically. Now nothing mattered but Nico. Not her anger, not anything that had happened in the last year. All that mattered was a little boy who couldn't be blamed for any of this. I am responsible. Her tears continued to fall, and with her eyes she begged Harry to do something, anything.
"Four ... " Mani looked at the video screen. "He doesn't know his father's dead yet, of course. We'll bury them together, though." The words tore through Ruth. His father's dead, bury them together. This can't be happening. Nico had lost his father because of her, and now, she was going to watch as Nico suffered the same fate. Ruth couldn't bear it.
She looked across from her again, a cry escaping. "Harry!"
"I can't," Harry said. Now he couldn't take his eyes off the screen. He was seeing Nico, but he was thinking about other children, just like Nico, playing in all parts of the world. Didn't they need to be kept safe? He had to be responsible for them as well. And the bottom line was that once Harry told Mani where to find the uranium, they would all be in danger. Including Nico.
"Please!" A large, hot tear wound its way down Ruth's cheek, and another was fast following it. Harry couldn't look at her.
Mani was still counting, relentlessly. "Five ..." His voice was continuing to take on a more impatient tone.
Harry had to try to explain it to Ruth, although he could see that she was past justifications. "The uranium will be used to build a dirty bomb. It could kill thousands of children."
Ruth watched Nico kick the football again, through the blur of her tears. "But I can only see mine in front of me."
Harry shook his head, and almost whispered to Ruth. "I can't tell him."
Mani brought his voice down to nearly a whisper as well, "Listen to her, Harry. Listen to the voice of compassion."
Harry watched Nico as he played. The boy had no idea that his father had been shot, and that he was only a count of five from the same fate. Narrowing his eyes at Mani, Harry looked up and said, "You know nothing about compassion."
Mani had little interest in receiving a lecture from Harry Pearce. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his mobile. "Six..." He began to press in some numbers.
Ruth gasped. First George, and now Nico. She looked at Mani, her breath coming in short bursts, "Oh, God."
Mani was counting quickly now, "Seven ... eight... nine ..."
Her voice rising, Ruth watched Nico, wondering if this was the last she would see of him playing, running, laughing. "Please, don't kill him!"
She turned desperately to Harry, searching his eyes. You said you loved me. I saw it. "If you have any feelings at all ... " Do it for me, Harry! Please! "If you have any feelings for me ..." Harry wouldn't look at her. He kept his eyes on Nico, seeing hundreds of children, thousands of them, playing in that yard.
"... Ten ... " Mani's voice had a finality to it. In horror, Ruth recognised the same tone he had used to give the order to kill George.
"Harry!" Ruth's voice was a shrill cry, and it went straight to Harry's heart, but he was waiting until the very last moment, still buying minutes.
Mani took a breath as he held the mobile to his ear, but he didn't give the order yet. "All right ..."
Now it was time. "Stop!" Harry yelled.
Mani clicked off his phone, and smiled, standing over Harry. "Good." Ruth gave a relieved sob, and finally took a breath. She looked at the screen. Still alive. My Nico.
Ruth looked gratefully at Harry, but as he began to speak, her gratitude turned slowly to disbelief.
Harry spoke evenly, without emotion. "Listen to me, Mani. I won't tell you. And if I won't tell you now, killing the child is totally pointless. What would you have then? A dead child and no uranium."
Harry couldn't look at Ruth, his beloved conscience, because he knew what he would see there. He was certain that the furrows had begun in her forehead, but this time not in displeasure over the use of an inaccurate word, or of his coldness when referring to one of her colleagues. It wouldn't even be the look that expressed her deep disappointment at learning of the Contingent Events Committee.
No, this look would be one of such profound distress, of such utter disillusionment, that it would convince him there was no way back from it. As they had driven home from Bath, Harry had told her this would happen someday. But neither of them could have imagined it would happen like this.
Ruth spoke softly, incredulously, "You heartless bastard."
Mani was pacing again. Unfortunately, he believed Harry, and this new understanding would require an adjustment to the plan. Perhaps he had misread the amount of love Harry Pearce felt for this woman. Perhaps it had merely been Brief Encounter after all. "You're calling my bluff?"
Harry kept his eyes on the video screen, and on the thousands of children he imagined there. He still couldn't look at Ruth, but he'd found a reservoir of energy now, and was using every last bit of it. He spoke firmly, with no hint of the exhaustion that had been there just moments before. "No. I'm making a cold statement of fact. If you kill the child, it will be for gratification, but not for any purpose, because I won't tell you, if you do ... " finally, Harry looked up a Mani, " ... or if you don't."
Harry saw the weakening of resolve in Mani's eyes, and he knew he'd won this battle. "Come on, Mani, you're an intelligence officer, you know when a man is bluffing."
Ruth turned away now, unable to watch any longer. "Oh, God," she said again, softly. Harry was doing his job. His bloody job! The man was made of stone. Not flesh and blood or feelings, but pure granite. What a fool I've been, to think that he was capable of love. She began to cry again, this time for the life of the sweet, innocent boy who was to be sacrificed on the altar of bloody Harry Pearce's convictions.
Mani was still thinking, his eyes gazing off to the distant wall of the cavernous room. Finally, he took a breath, and said, "All right." He looked back at Harry. "We'll see how strongly your will holds out, when the child's in the room with us." Then Mani smiled as Ruth let go into wracking sobs.
Still looking at Harry, Mani said softly, "A child in pain is a very distressing sight."
Harry looked back at the computer screen. Time. He had bought them time. He still wore the face he was showing Mani, but inside, Harry's heart was breaking. You heartless bastard. The words had cut him in the deepest way possible, and at the same time, Harry knew that this was the only way he could live with himself.
But he felt the fear begin to creep into his chest. He was afraid he'd lost his Ruth forever.
~~~~~
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
"You promised the CIA both Mani and the uranium?" Ros looked up at Lucas in amazement.
Lucas smiled back at her as she shook her head. "Huge propaganda coup," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Sarah Caulfield finds a corrupt ex-contractor from Iraq with stolen uranium. How good does she look?"
Ros agreed in principle, but she saw one little problem. "Harry will never agree."
Lucas shrugged slightly. "If she doesn't help us, he won't have a say in the matter."
"But if we save him, he'll countermand the deal. You know that," Jo said.
Lucas turned to Jo and smiled ruefully. "Yeah, it's the flaw in my plan, but luckily, we'll only cross that bridge once Harry's safe."
Ros had to admit that Lucas was using perfect logic. And what he was doing certainly took some nerve. She looked at him with respect. "Double-crossing the new CIA liaison officer on practically her first day. I like your style, Lucas."
Lucas smiled at her and started to turn back to his desk when an alert came from Ros' computer, announcing an incoming tracking signal. Ros looked up at Lucas quickly, "Well, she obviously likes you. She's got a tracker on McCall."
Lucas turned and leant on Ros' desk, peering at her computer screen. Good girl, Sarah. He hadn't been sure he'd convinced her, but he must have said something right. "Okay, let's keep an eye on him." He looked back at Jo. "Can you coordinate the teams following him?"
Jo nodded her assent to Lucas, as Malcolm came up behind her. Agitated, Malcolm said, "We've got surveillance up on the house but we can only hear the boy. It's like he's there on his own."
"Keep monitoring it," Lucas said to Malcolm, still watching the tracker signal.
Malcolm sighed, nonplussed. He simply couldn't understand why no one else felt his urgency about Nico's safety. Beyond the fact that Malcolm felt personally responsible for having moved Ruth's family, didn't MI5 have a duty to protect civilians who got caught up in operations? Once again, impatiently, Malcolm tried to get their attention. "But he's alone. What have they done to Ruth's husband?"
Lucas still wouldn't turn. "I don't know, Malcolm, but we can't go in just yet. We have to get to McCall first. He's the only link we have left to Harry and Ruth now."
For a moment, Malcolm stood frowning, watching them as they worked. No one cares.
The last time Malcolm had seen Nico, he was with his father. But now, Malcolm had to assume that George had been taken to where Ruth was, and Nico had been left with one of Mani's men. The boy was in a strange country and without family. Malcolm slowly moved his hand up to his chest in an instinctive reaction to what he was feeling. This was new for him, and he didn't completely understand it, but he felt somehow responsible for Nico.
And now, Malcolm was beginning to feel angry. He seldom felt anger, but it seemed to be coming up more often of late. There was an unfairness to this business that was beginning to rankle, a sort of "picking and choosing" mentality of one life over another. In this case, it appeared wrong to Malcolm. Why does it have to be either/or? he thought. Why can't it be both? Why can't we save Harry and Ruth AND Nico and George?
Malcolm started back to his desk to sit down. It was second nature to him to be the good, dutiful spook and to follow orders. But he stopped and looked back at Ros, Lucas and Jo, all immersed in watching McCall's tracker as it made its way across the city. Malcolm stood in the middle of the room, undecided, as his eyes were drawn back to the screen showing the location of Hillier's safe house. The surveillance had told him there was only one man with Nico.
This is my fault, he thought, suddenly feeling resolved, I will fix it. Malcolm looked around him. No one was paying attention. He stared back at the safe house on the computer screen, memorising its location. Then he quietly pulled his overcoat from the rack, put it on, and walked toward the doors without anyone noticing.
Before he stepped out into the hall, Malcolm gazed across the Grid one last time, knowing that it might, indeed, be his last time. His heart was pounding so loudly that he was surprised no one was turning around to see what the sound was.
Malcolm Wynn-Jones was in his fiftieth year of life, and he was doing something he hadn't known was in his job description until this very minute. He was going to offer himself as a sacrifice. To give whatever years of life still remained to him in exchange for the future of a little boy he hardly knew. But in this moment, Malcolm thought he understood Harry better than he had in all the years they'd worked together. He knew now what it felt like to have the power to save a life, and although he was terrified beyond speech, it was, incongruously, a rather invincible feeling.
Turning through the doors, Malcolm again remembered his day with Adam, when he'd thought he was dying. He'd felt then that his life could be measured in hours rather than years, and he'd wanted to make those hours count for something. He felt the same way now. Malcolm knew that the bravery he was feeling was only possible because of that day, and he sent up another silent thank you to Adam Carter. Adam would be a part of saving Nico Constantinou, and that thought gave Malcolm comfort – the idea that even after death it was possible to affect life.
Before he could change his mind, Malcolm quickly went downstairs and found a cab. After a brief trip, he asked to be let out of the car early, so that he could have a short walk to the safe house. He wanted to feel the cool air on his face, and to smell the early summer flowering of the clematis and wisteria. He was focused on what he must do, but at the same time, Malcolm thought he had never loved life more than in this moment, as he readied himself to lose it.
Too quickly, he stood in front of the house, and he could only think, Is this where I will die? Malcolm had always thought himself something of a coward, but he was feeling curiously strong. For a moment he felt the sun warm on his shoulders and the back of his neck, and he filled his lungs with the crisp, fresh air. Malcolm felt grateful, and with the gratitude, a new thought materialised.
In the way that had been a part of humans going to their deaths since the beginning of time, Malcolm found himself bargaining. If I live through this, then I will ... A wistful smile crossed Malcolm's face as he finished the sentence.
If I live through this, then I will find Sarah. I'll beg her to take me back, and we'll move to the sea, to Liverpool. I'll withdraw my ill-gotten gains from the Highland Life fiasco and I'll purchase a house on the water, with a spacious balcony and two chairs, side by side. We'll make our way, one by one, through every book we've ever wished to read, and in between, we'll talk. I'll marry her, if she'll have me. And if her dream is different from mine, I'll follow her, wherever she wants to go.
If I live through this. Malcolm took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at the house in front of him. It's in God's hands now.
He walked purposefully up the stairs and stood before the door, gazing at the blues, greens and golds of the stained glass window. Another deep breath, and Malcolm reached out and pressed the button for the doorbell.
When the door opened, Malcolm was face-to-face with the man who was holding Nico. He had to admit he was surprised and somewhat proud that his voice didn't shake. He felt strangely calm now. He'd made his bargain, and all that was left was for the drama to play itself out.
"My name's Malcolm Wynn-Jones. I'm an MI5 officer with a great deal of knowledge of how things work at Thames House. I'm unarmed. My superiors don't know I'm doing this. I've come to offer myself for the child you're holding here."
Malcolm stood on the front step of the safe house with no clear idea of what was going to happen next. He wasn't sure if the man understood English, and for a moment, he tried frantically to remember the smattering of Hindi he had learned. Fortunately, he was saved the trouble, as the man stepped aside, and in a heavily-accented voice, said "Come in."
The man closed the door behind Malcolm, and pulled a handgun from his belt. Raising his hands slightly, Malcolm felt for a moment that he might be preparing to shoot him, but instead, he motioned for Malcolm to turn around and lean against the wall. The man patted him down, obviously looking for a weapon or a wire. The combination of his fear, and the unusual feeling of having this stranger moving his hands over him caused Malcolm to jump slightly, and the man pushed him back against the wall, not roughly, but firmly.
The man said, "Okay," and stepped back. Malcolm turned and straightened his clothes, looking down the hall. His first concern was to be certain that Nico was safe and well. "May I see the boy?" he asked.
The man stood for a moment, frowning, and Malcolm could see that he was trying to decide if it was a good idea. It was apparent to Malcolm that Nico's fate, and his own, were being held in the hands of this man, so he determined to break through what seemed to be an impenetrable facade.
Malcolm reached out his hand and held it there, hanging in the air between them. If this was to be the person who would pull the trigger to kill them, Malcolm wanted him to know, face-to-face, whose life it was that he was taking. He had already introduced himself, but he wanted to make it more personal.
"I'm Malcolm." The man looked slightly confused by the contact that Malcolm was offering, but finally, after allowing his eyes to dart from side to side, he took Malcolm's hand and shook it, quickly. Malcolm raised his eyebrows in the universal question, And you are?
The man realised that Malcolm was waiting to hear his name. "Tarun," was all he said, but he gave an abbreviated, self-conscious nod.
Malcolm smiled just a bit, feeling that this was going very well so far. He nodded and said, "Ah, yes, Sanskrit." He thought for a moment, and translated, "Youthful one. Boy." He left the words suspended there, and finally, embarrassed, Tarun inclined his head toward a room down the hall, letting Malcolm know he wanted him to walk before him.
Malcolm nodded, and said, "Yes, of course. Well ... good to make your acquaintance, Tarun." He held the eye contact for just a moment longer, and then he walked tentatively down the hall. He had achieved his aim. They had acknowledged each other. Malcolm could only hope that Tarun would find it harder to kill someone whose existence he had acknowledged.
Tarun motioned for him to go through a door, and Malcolm sighed, relieved. Nico was sitting at a table, unharmed. He looked up at Malcolm in recognition and gave him just the faintest of smiles. There was a chair across from Nico at the table, and after getting assurance in the form of a nod from Tarun, Malcolm walked to the chair and sat.
He looked at Nico and felt a nearly overpowering sense of gratitude that the boy was unhurt. But beyond that, Malcolm had absolutely no idea what to do next.
Mani's rage was threatening to overwhelm him when Tarun finally picked up. "Where the hell have you been?" he shouted into his mobile. "You have one job, and one job only, and that's to babysit. Now how hard can that be?" The ridicule in Mani's voice cut through Tarun, as it always did, filling him with a sort of mindless fear, and rendering him speechless.
Tarun had the look of a formidable man, and his scowl could immediately strike fear in an adversary. He was physically very strong and muscular, and he was one of the best shots on Mani's team, but he had a confidence problem. He'd never been able to understand why Mani rode him harder than any of the other men, but he was certain it had to do with his own stupidity, because Mani took every opportunity to tell him so. Tarun had tried to be smarter, but could never seem to please Mani.
The last few hours had actually been very pleasant ones for Tarun. With Mani far away and the young boy as his only company, Tarun had felt himself relax for the first time in as long as he could remember. The boy was scared, although he was trying to be brave, and he missed his father. Tarun could understand that, because when he was Nico's age, he, himself, knew what being afraid was, although he also made a good show of being brave.
The only part of this day that was bothering Tarun was the fact that Mani had given the order to kill Nico's father. In his time with Mani, he'd watched more people die than he wanted to think about, but this felt more personal somehow, because he'd looked into the boy's eyes afterward and had seen an innocence, an openness, that had shaken him. Tarun was certain that Nico didn't know yet, but for a moment, he had felt uncharacteristically guilty for having deprived the boy of his father.
Mani was still speaking to him on the mobile, but his voice was calmer now. "I need you to bring the boy to the warehouse..."
Tarun stuttered slightly, and interrupted Mani, although he wasn't quite certain how to relay this news. "T-there's someone here. He s-says he's an officer with MI5. He's unarmed, and wearing no wires. He wants to exchange himself for the boy."
This information so surprised Mani that he was silent for a moment, thinking. "Alone?" he asked. "You're sure there aren't others outside? Watching?"
Tarun was gaining in self-assurance, as Mani seemed to be interested in what he had to tell him. "He says his superiors don't know he's here. He's not a field agent. He says he simply cares for the boy, and doesn't want him hurt. He seems ... very nervous. Frightened. I think he..."
Mani sighed heavily, and then spoke impatiently, with derision. "Try not to think too much, Tarun." He paused for a moment. "Keep him there. But keep a close eye on him, do you hear me? Don't do anything stupid."
The mobile clicked off in Tarun's ear, and he looked over at Malcolm, who was staring at him. Tarun was embarrassed, and covered it by saying quickly into the dead phone, in Hindi, "Yes, of course. It's under control." For a moment, the two men looked at each other, and Malcolm had a surge of hope. He suddenly saw a kindred spirit of sorts. A frightened man, somewhat out of his depth, like Malcolm. And between them, only a child.
Malcolm smiled vaguely at Tarun, and let hope spread throughout his chest. It was fuelled by Sarah, and a balcony, and a view of the sea.
"An MI5 officer has turned up at the house where the child is being kept." Mani stood in the listening suite as he talked with Libby McCall on his mobile.
"They're closing in." McCall was hoping that it would have taken a little longer for MI5 to find them, but since that wasn't the case, he would have to work with it. He looked at his watch and saw how late it was. Obviously Mani's soft-touch psychological tactics hadn't worked. It was time to take off the gloves.
McCall crossed the bridge on the way to his car. "Okay, we'll take one last shot at the woman. I'm coming over. We're going to have to really work them this time."
Mani couldn't entirely read McCall's mood, but he heard something that rang all his warning bells. He could just imagine McCall cutting his losses by riding in on the white horse to save Harry Pearce and his girlfriend, and then saying the whole idea was Mani's. Of course, the reason Mani even thought of it, was that it would have been what he would have tried, if their positions were reversed.
Mani's tone was threatening, "Don't even think of double-crossing me to save your own skin here."
McCall laughed and said lightly, "If it were to save my own skin, I'd do it, of course. But it's not necessary."
"What about the child and the MI5 officer?" Mani asked.
McCall gave the obvious answer. "We're running out of time, and they can't help us now."
Mani could hear the noise on the bridge in the background as McCall spoke the words he'd expected.
"Kill them both."
Tarun stood blocking the door to the room, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his frown deepening. He hadn't meant to take Malcolm's hand when he had introduced himself, but he'd been so...decent, and had looked at Tarun as if he existed. Most of the men he encountered in his line of work followed Mani's lead and ridiculed him, but this man had met his eyes. In fact, he'd given him a sort of respect that Tarun hadn't seen in a very long time.
Tarun thought if the others could have seen him take Malcolm's hand, they would have laughed. And he was afraid that, again, he was being stupid. But he wondered at this man who was so prepared to give his life for the boy. He thought it must have taken great courage to come here.
Malcolm hadn't removed his coat, so he sat with it still on, facing Nico at the small dining table. Tarun listened as Malcolm spoke softly to the boy. "Are you alright, Nico? They've treated you well?"
Nico nodded, looking down at the table top. "I'm fine." He'd found a toy dinosaur somewhere, that he held in his hands on the table. He wasn't playing with it, just holding it.
"Tyrannosaurus Rex," Malcolm said. He sat up straighter, and raised his eyebrows, speaking grandly, "Tyrant Lizard King, Cretaceous period. Did you know they had only two fingers? And very short arms in relation to their bodies ... " Malcolm's voice trailed off, as he saw Nico begin to narrow his eyes slightly.
Nico looked at Malcolm and simply said, "I want my dad."
Malcolm looked around for a moment, hoping to see some games, but there were none. He tried to remember what had calmed him down when he was afraid as a boy. And suddenly, he remembered a time when his parents had gone to London and left him at the vicarage with an aunt. She'd been cold with him and somewhat gruff, and he'd spent the week-end hiding in his room with his books.
One book in particular, A Dog So Small, had given him comfort that week-end, and he'd read it as he'd waited for his parents to come home. Malcolm remembered it, nearly word for word, to this day.
He looked across the table at Nico. "Do you want me to tell you a story?"
Nico sounded so sad that it pulled at Malcolm's heart. "I just want my dad."
"He's gone to see your ste ..." Malcolm started to say stepmother, but then he stopped, and realised he didn't know how close Ruth's relationship was with Nico. He'd certainly seen the love in her eyes when she talked of the boy, but he wasn't sure how Nico felt. So he asked, "What do you call her, actually?"
"Ruth," Nico answered.
"He's gone to see Ruth." Malcolm paused. He'd been so focused on getting here and making sure that Nico was safe, that he hadn't given George a lot of thought, except to wonder where he was. For the first time, Malcolm began to fear that something very bad had happened to George. The man he'd seen at the duplex would not have left his son willingly. It began to dawn on Malcolm that he was looking at a boy who would possibly live the rest of his life without a father at all. Malcolm 's week-end alone at the vicarage faded and paled by comparison.
Nico was still gazing at him, and Malcolm realised that the boy was looking for answers. Suddenly Malcolm was struck with the realisation that comes to all parents sooner or later. That children believe adults know what the answers are, and that adults are often more in the dark than the children. All he could think to do was to offer comfort where he had found it as a boy.
"Now listen, OK? Er ... here's a story I like very much. It's about a little boy ... who wants a dog for his birthday." Nico leant back in his chair, listening, as Malcolm continued, "But he doesn't get a dog, he gets a picture of a dog instead."
Nico frowned at this, and asked, "Why?"
Malcolm could still remember how he felt as he'd read the words of Ben, the boy in the story. It was Ben's birthday, and he'd been promised a dog. But instead, he'd gotten a picture of one, in wool. Did you expect a real dog? Ben had been asked. Yes! Malcolm, the young boy, had thought. A real dog was promised. The story had resonated deeply with him. Malcolm had read the book on his four-poster bed in perceived abandonment by parents he'd thought would never do such a thing. Yes, I expected a real dog.
But now, Malcolm was nearly fifty years old, and he understood the adults in the story. He knew dogs required care, and that living in the city made that care even more difficult. He heard himself answer Nico's question in the way that adults do, in words that ask children to simply accept unhappy events as a part of life.
"Because adults often make a mess of these things. We don't always get what we want," Malcolm said softly.
Malcolm was sorry he had to brush Nico's very reasonable question under the rug. It was a question Malcolm himself had when he was Nico's age, but he wasn't certain how to answer it adequately. Adults often make a mess of these things. Malcolm nearly shook his head in wonder at the bloody understatement of that sentence. But he sighed, and kept on with the story, "So this little boy ..."
Nico interrupted, tilting his head, wanting to understand. "How old is he?"
"He's about your age." Malcolm paused, realising that not only was Ben the same age as Nico, but that Malcolm had been the very same age when he'd first read the book. There were now three boys in the room, Nico, Malcolm and Ben, and they were all dealing with disappointment.
Malcolm had to look away for a moment, as he felt his heart well up in sympathy for the boy in front of him. There was such a storm of emotions flooding Malcolm that he wondered if he'd be able to withstand it. The control of years was beginning to fall away, and although he was suddenly overwhelmed with regret for all the things he hadn't yet done, Malcolm knew with complete certainty that he would lay his life down for this boy.
Taking a deep breath, Malcolm willed himself to finish the story. "Anyway, he shuts his eyes and he imagines things." Malcolm couldn't look at Nico's face any longer, so he closed his eyes tightly, as he had when he'd imagined his parents coming through the front door after their week-end. "He imagines a dog so very, very small, that nobody else can see it."
Malcolm opened his eyes again, and looked at Nico, who was staring, mesmerised by the story. "Shut your eyes, Nico." The boy squeezed his eyes closed, listening.
Malcolm kept his eyes open now, watching the concentration on Nico's face. "Imagine a dog. It's your dog and nobody else's."
Malcolm could feel Tarun listening as well, waiting to hear the end of the story. He glanced quickly at him, and Tarun's forehead creased with an understanding of what Malcolm was doing. Should the worst come to pass, Malcolm wanted Nico to have the ability to transport himself to another place before Tarun pulled the trigger. Tarun knew that Malcolm would do everything in his power to stop it, but he wanted to give Nico an escape. Tarun saw it clearly, and he found himself drawn into the story. He felt himself admiring what this slightly awkward, but kind and generous MI5 officer was attempting to do.
Malcolm looked back at Nico, whose eyes were still shut tight. He spoke gently, as if he were telling Nico a story to put him to sleep. "And while that dog's there ... everything else is OK."
For a moment, there was silence in the room, and then Tarun's mobile rang. It was Mani. Malcolm didn't need to hear what was said on the other end of the line. All he had to do was to look in Tarun's face and he knew it had been said.
"Kill them."
~~~~~
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
Ros and Lucas raced to join the Alpha intercept team following McCall as he travelled through the city streets. McCall's black Cadillac Escalade came into view, and Lucas spoke on comms to Jo back at the Grid. "OK, I've got him in sight. Jo, he's slowing down. He must be close."
Jo studied the tracking signal on the map in front of her. "There's a disused warehouse behind the flats on your left. He's pulling into the flats."
In the passenger seat next to Lucas, Ros said to Jo, "We're on him."
As Lucas blocked McCall's exit from one side, the intercept team drove their car across the only other way out. McCall got out of the car and looked around him, angrily. He didn't know how they knew where he was, but considering the questions she'd been asking lately, he had a feeling it had to do with Sarah Caulfield. Never trust a damned Democrat.
McCall turned and Ros Myers was standing directly in front of him. With narrowed eyes, he began to regret his earlier decision to spare her life.
Her voice was flinty, and cold. "Where are they?"
Malcolm could see that Nico was utterly engaged in the story. Tarun had left the room after he'd gotten the phone call from Mani, and instinctively, Malcolm knew that time was short, so he was speaking quickly now.
Malcolm wasn't certain why it was so important to him to finish relating the story to Nico, but he hurried to reach the end. He especially wanted to get to the place where Ben realised that his imagination had been very useful for a time, but that dreams could come true in the real world as well. Whatever horrific thing was about to happen here, Malcolm wanted Nico to take that idea - that dreams could come true - with him.
As he continued to tell the story, what was worrying Malcolm most of all was what Nico was about to see. He was afraid that the boy's eyes would be fixed on Malcolm's as he died – and Malcolm wanted very much to be brave as it happened. If a child is going to take a memory with them through life, he thought it should at least contain dignity and courage.
"So, after he's been hit by a car, they give the boy a real dog. But he doesn't want it. He tries to push it away."
Nico frowned, not understanding. "Why?" he asked.
Malcolm gave the boy a lopsided smile. He'd asked the same question, all those years ago, as he'd read the book. And word for word, Malcolm remembered. "Then, suddenly, when Ben could hardly see, he saw clearly. He saw clearly that you couldn't have impossible things, however much you wanted them. He saw that if you didn't have the possible things, then you had nothing."
Malcolm smiled because now he knew the answer he hadn't understood before. "Well, because, you see, he's grown to love the dog that lives in his head too much. He has to learn to love real things again."
Nico's mind was working. He was trying to make sense of what Malcolm was saying when a movement to his right caught his eye and he turned. Tarun had come back into the room, and simultaneously, Nico and Malcolm saw the handgun at his side. Malcolm stood immediately, and walked to Tarun. He moved into the doorway and whispered, hoping that Nico couldn't hear.
Malcolm hardly knew what he was saying before he spoke it. He only knew that he couldn't bear what he thought was going to happen. "If you are a human being, if you have an ounce of humanity or compassion in you, then kill me but do not harm the boy."
To Malcolm's amazement, Tarun didn't move. Not only that, but he seemed to be listening. Tarun stood still whilst his eyes moved back and forth from the floor to some spot in the distance of the room.
Gaining courage, Malcolm moved closer. His voice felt strong, although his knees were a bit weak. He realised that his best hope was for Tarun to say, Alright, I won't kill the boy, I'll kill you instead, and the absurdity of that hope was just beginning to sink in. But right now, Malcolm wanted nothing more than to take Nico's place if it had to be done. His tone begged Tarun to do as he asked.
"Just walk away from this. Please."
Through the broken pane of an upstairs window, Mani looked on the scene below, and exhaled loudly. McCall has led MI5 here, the idiot. And now McCall was surrounded, his hands were up, and Ros Myers and another officer were talking to him. Mani saw McCall look up and point to the window where Mani stood.
Still looking out the window, Mani spoke with his back turned to Harry. His voice held none of the superior, taunting tone he'd been using for much of their time together in the warehouse. Now it was resigned, defeated, and Mani knew he'd lost.
"McCall's been detained by your officers. They'll be downstairs cutting a deal, and I'll be the fall guy."
Harry's heart began hammering, because this was possibly the most dangerous moment he and Ruth had faced today. This was the moment that Mani would take whatever revenge he could, knowing that he had nothing to lose. Harry watched him at the window, and then he looked at Ruth. His beloved Ruth, whose eyes looked back at him, empty, with no light, no animation. She was beyond helping him now, seemingly almost beyond caring what happened to her.
The team was probably downstairs, and Harry had to give them time to find this room before Mani took action. Harry tested the straps on his wrists for the thousandth time, and found them still tightly bound. But his legs were free, and if Mani made a move toward Ruth, Harry would stand and put himself between her and whatever weapon Mani pulled.
But first, he had to try to reason with Mani, or at the very least, buy some time for Lucas and Ros. Harry listened carefully, and thought he could even hear, in the distance, the sound of footsteps in the stairwell.
"Stop this now." Harry spoke softly, hoping that Mani would continue to stand by the window. Mani seemed transfixed with what he was seeing below, as if his mind was far away. Harry spoke almost as he would to a child. "They'll be here any minute now. I can fix this for you. You don't need to be the fall guy, Mani. It doesn't need to be that way. We can do a deal, too."
Now Harry was certain he heard not only footsteps, but doors opening and closing, echoing through the cavernous empty space of the stairwell.
And the sounds were getting closer.
Tarun looked at Malcolm, searching his eyes. He frowned at what he saw there, because it was out of the realm of his experience. Tarun had killed many times, and he'd seen his share of men pleading for their lives. He'd seen fear and desperate negotiation, and although both elements were present in the MI5 officer's eyes, there was something else there that was new to him. He couldn't quite define it, but it brought up feelings that confused him.
He'd been given a direct order to kill both of them. He was to take their bodies downstairs and leave them in the basement, next to the boy's father, and then to proceed to the meeting place. Tarun had only killed one child in all his years with Mani, and it had been an accident. The boy was a little older than Nico, and he'd tried to be a hero and protect his mother. Remembering now, Tarun squinted his eyes slightly, trying to banish the picture it brought back. The look in the boy's eyes had been terrible. Tarun had managed to forget most of the faces of those he'd killed, but that boy's eyes seemed to always be on him.
Tarun turned and searched Nico's eyes, wondering what their look would be. Still in the doorway next to him, Malcolm spoke again, quietly, deeply anxious. "He's just a boy. What has he done?" Then, quickly, Malcolm said, "Tarun, do you have children?"
Turning sharply, Tarun meant to send a warning glance to Malcolm, to let him know he was crossing a line. But for some reason, he felt himself wanting to answer the question. Tarun sighed and shrugged slightly, and then shook his head, slowly. He wanted to say, This is not a life for children, but he stayed silent.
And then, in his head, Tarun again heard Mani's accusing voice, saying "Don't do anything stupid." Tarun forced himself to regain control. What am I doing? I have a job to do.After this he could choose to leave this work if he wanted to, but for now, he would follow his orders.
Tarun tightened his grip on the gun, and moved quickly past Malcolm. He sat down across from the boy and pointed the gun at him. Tarun suddenly saw himself through Nico's eyes, and the expression on Nico's face told him he was a monster.
From his left, Tarun heard Malcolm's voice. "Close your eyes, Nico." Tarun looked back at the boy, who shut his eyes tightly. Again, Malcolm spoke from the doorway. "Think of your dog, tell me what it's like." Tarun looked again to Malcolm, and for the first time the thought entered his mind, I don't think I can do this. How do I live with myself if I do?
Nico said, "It's a brown dog with a white bit on the end of its tail." Tarun glanced back at Nico, and listened to the innocence with which he spoke. So young, that face, Tarun thought, So much of life still ahead. And in one moment, I will take all that away. One moment for the child, but a lifetime of remembering for me.
Tarun felt the gun in his hand, and he realised it was pointed at Nico's heart. At the heart that right now was creating an imaginary dog. A unique mind and heart that would be forever erased with just the slight pressure of his finger on the trigger. Tarun released the breath that he only now realised he was holding.
Tarun shook his head, almost imperceptibly. No. Not on this day. Mani can find someone else to do this. Today, I am doing something stupid.
Tarun turned the gun and clicked the safety on again. He laid it on the table, and reached his hand up to touch Nico's hair. He ruffled it and felt the softness there, and he stood and looked down at the boy. His eyes were still closed, still imagining. So young, and still alive. Today I don't take life. Today I give it. And if that's a stupid thing to do, then so be it.
As he passed by Malcolm on his way out the door, Tarun gave one quick nod of his head to a man he thought very courageous. Then he went to the front door, leaving his mobile on the table in the hall. He walked out into the crisp air and used his own imagination to envision a new life for himself.
Mani didn't turn. He still stood, looking out the window. His voice was low, measured. "I'm a dead man walking. So I might as well finish what I was going to do at the end of this, anyway."
Harry's head turned sharply toward Mani. He felt the adrenaline surge through his body as he readied himself to leap from the chair. One of Mani's men was behind him, and he knew it would take a great deal of strength to break that man's grasp once Harry's shoulders were pushed down, as they would certainly be, the moment he stood.
Harry looked at Ruth, and she looked back at him, but now there was something else in her eyes. There was life there now, and the same look he had seen when she had first been brought in. Harry tilted his head slightly, and he saw it. Through everything that had happened - through her anger, her despair, her fury with him, there was still love.
It seemed that Ruth knew, as Harry did, that this might be the last moment they set eyes on each other, and he felt from her that she wanted it to be a true moment. In the suspension of time, Ruth's eyes blinked almost in slow motion, but they never left Harry's. He watched as Mani came up behind her, his right hand at his side, holding something.
A glint of steel caught Harry's eye, as the blade came into sight. He saw it out of the corner of his eye, because he couldn't pull his gaze from Ruth. Her thoughts, as always, were communicated, as if she said them. I know I'm going to die. And after what I've done to George and to Nico, I deserve to die.
No, not you, Ruth. Now was the time, and Harry rose up. His intention was to block Mani's way as the knife swung around to Ruth's throat. Harry knew the blade would tear at his midsection, and he prepared himself for the pain. But after nearly two days of no food and water, after emotional stress that had drained what little reserves he had left, Harry simply didn't have the strength to withstand the power of the man behind him. The man clamped his hands firmly on Harry's shoulders, and it was as if concrete pillars had suddenly pushed Harry back into the chair.
Mani was moving closer to Ruth, and Harry watched helplessly, pinned to the chair, as the steel blade came fully into view. On an intake of breath, Harry thought, What has it all been for, these years of protecting this country, of saving lives, if I can't save this one? This one life that makes mine worth living. He nearly closed his eyes, but Ruth's eyes were still on his, and he couldn't leave her to face this alone.
Dear God, don't make me watch this and then allow me to live. Harry thought that he would welcome the feel of the knife that would come after he watched her die. Ruth gasped loudly as her hands went up to her face, as though she could fend off the slash of the knife moving toward her throat. Harry was still struggling to stand, but he knew it was over. In his exhaustion and horror, he could almost see the blood.
Then the sound reached his ears, delayed, echoing, and Harry realised he had heard two shots coming from the doorway. The arm that was around his neck was suddenly released, and the man fell back onto the floor behind him. And then, the knife stopped its movement toward Ruth's throat and began to spiral down, pulled by Mani, who was collapsing to the floor.
Harry looked first to Ruth, and he saw no blood, only the horror on her face, as she looked at Mani, now lying dead from a single shot to the skull. Harry looked at the doorway and saw Lucas still aiming the gun that had killed Amish Mani and had saved Ruth's life. Harry thought that for as long as he lived, he would never feel more grateful than he did in that very moment.
Ruth was rocking back and forth slightly, catching her breath. She looked back at Lucas and then again to Mani, and began to cry. She turned and looked at Harry, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes stricken. He understood her thoughts completely.
This was the end of the danger, of the threat of death, of Mani's torture. But it was only the beginning of all that was to come. Of recriminations, guilt, blame, a boy who no longer had a father, and a man and a woman who loved each other beyond all else, but could see no path back to their love.
Ruth looked at Harry, her eyes overflowing with tears, and said in a cry, "Harry?"
He looked at her, and although he didn't speak, in his head he heard a cry as well. My Ruth.
Malcolm stood in the doorway where he had watched Tarun as he'd walked down the hall and out the front door of the safe house. Malcolm was aware that he hadn't breathed properly in some time, and his lungs suddenly filled from pure need. He felt his head spin a bit, and he leant back against the wall and closed his eyes.
After a few more breaths, Malcolm opened his eyes and walked decisively toward Nico, putting out his hand. "Come, Nico, we need to leave this place." He gave a glance to the gun on the table, and although he wanted nothing more than to leave it there, he realised he might need it, so he reached over gingerly, picked it up by the handle and put it into his coat pocket.
"But how will my dad find me?" Nico asked.
The boy wasn't moving fast enough for Malcolm, so he put his hand behind Nico's back and pushed a bit. "We'll find him. But we need to get out of this house now." Malcolm walked him quickly to the door, and then, after looking both ways, into the hall. He opened the front door just wide enough to look outside, and taking Nico's hand, they walked into the sunshine.
It wasn't until it was clear they weren't being followed, and they were very far away from the safe house, that Malcolm felt he could breathe normally. He made his way to the first telephone box he could find. When Jo picked up the phone, Malcolm said the words he had known for his entire time at MI5, but had never used. "Bravo Tango Whiskey," and then, he went blank on the rest of his call sign. His mind had finally ceased to function entirely.
Jo paused, and then said, softly, "Malcolm?"
Malcolm exhaled. "Oh, God, yes. Please, I need a taxi."
"Where are you?" Jo asked.
Malcolm told her, and then, with infinite pride in his voice, he said, "And I have the boy."
Lucas picked up the knife that had fallen next to Mani's body and used it to cut the straps on Ruth's hands first, and then Harry's. Ros had come into the room right after Lucas, and she called out a question to him about the coordination of the team that had secured the listening suite below. Lucas walked to the door to talk with her, and suddenly Harry and Ruth were virtually alone.
Ruth was still crying, and Harry could see that her hands were shaking badly as she held them up to her mouth. She looked around her, first at Mani's body, which was on the floor next to her, and then to Harry. Her eyes held his for a moment, and he saw that all the anger was gone. It was the same look he had seen as she'd called his name just moments ago. Then, he'd been bound, unable to move, but now they were both free, and it was impossible for him to stay in his chair.
Harry wanted so much to touch her, to hold her, but he was afraid to get too close for fear of bringing up her anger again. His aim was to move her away from Mani, to take her as far away as he could from the man who had killed her husband. Harry stood shakily and started to reach out and take her arm. He meant only to walk her to the window, to liberate her from the chair that had held her through the last terrible hours.
But before either of them could prevent it, Ruth was standing just inches from him, her eyes looking up at his. And before Harry could stop himself, he had wrapped his arms around her as if holding onto life itself. She was crying again, sobbing, and Harry suspected that he was as well, although no sound emerged. Again, she said, "Harry..." but now she said it over and over again into his chest.
No matter what had happened, no matter how angry she had been, Ruth knew that this was where her only comfort lay. In Harry's arms. She hadn't meant to move toward him, but every bit of energy she had to resist was gone, and Harry was all she wanted. Her arms went round his neck and she buried her face there, her tears mixing with the faint traces of Sarkiisian's blood that still clung to his skin.
For a year, Ruth had dreamt of being in his arms again, and in her entirely vulnerable state, the welcome familiarity of his body was almost more than she could bear. She melted into him and felt safe for the first time since she'd seen the black car drive up to the mountain house. If she really thought about it, it was the first time she'd felt truly safe since she'd kissed him goodbye in Dover so long ago. She felt the warmth of his skin through the cotton of his shirt, and heard his breath catch with the emotion he, too, was feeling.
Harry's hand moved up to stroke her hair, and he took a handful of it gently, burying his face in it. Even now, here, after this horrible ordeal, the lavender infused him with memory. If this was all there was, this moment together, he thought it might be enough. Suffering from exhaustion, hunger, thirst, and sick at heart from all that had transpired on this day, Harry only wished to have Ruth in his arms, just like this, saying his name.
Ruth's crying calmed finally, and Harry continued to stroke her hair, gently, memorising her. But then, he felt her stiffen slightly, and he knew that the moment was over. Harry knew that she had remembered George, and the silence of the last year, and her anger. With a pain like death, he steeled himself to let her go again.
Ros stood a bit apart from them, not entirely sure of what to do. She felt she was intruding on the most private of moments, but she had news that she felt Ruth would want. She waited for a moment longer, and she was saved from having to make a decision, because she saw Ruth pull away and step back, her eyes toward the floor.
Ruth wiped her eyes with her sleeve and took a deep breath. She looked once more at Harry, and he could see the marked difference in her. A coldness had crept in, mingled with the openness he had just seen. This was a Ruth who was saying simultaneously, inharmoniously, I love you, and You heartless bastard. He had to look away, and as he did, his fatigue overwhelmed him, and he sat heavily back into the chair.
Ruth swayed a bit, and Ros moved toward her to be sure she wasn't hurt. She took her arm, and asked, "You okay?"
Ruth looked at her, and asked, evenly, "Nico? Is he alright?"
Ros spoke gently, "Malcolm is with him. They're being picked up right now. They're both fine."
Ruth's eyes filled with tears again, and she took Ros' hand, "Oh, thank God..." Then she looked at Ros with despair, "Oh, God, his father, how will I tell him?"
"We've got another house for you. Jo asked to be there, if that's alright?" Ruth nodded, and Ros started to walk her to the door, "Come on, we'll take you to him."
While Ruth and Ros talked, Lucas turned to Harry. Lucas started to ask if he was alright, but Harry waved him off, rubbing his wrists, "I'm not hurt." Lucas stepped back and Harry said wearily, "But I need water."
Lucas walked to a place just outside the door and came back with a plastic bottle of water, which he opened and handed to Harry. After finishing it, Harry wiped his mouth and looked up at Lucas, who said, "There's an entire case of it just outside the door."
Harry's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Mani's lifeless body, still on the floor. Well, I reckon I outlasted you, you bloody sadistic bastard.
Motioning for Lucas to come closer, Harry said softly, "Ruth's husband was killed at a house with a yard. Mani had it on a video feed."
"Probably Hillier's safe house."
"You need to retrieve his body, if it's still there." Harry was almost at the end of his strength. "For Ruth."
Lucas put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll find him, Harry. Don't worry."
Harry tried to stand, but faltered. Lucas took his arm and helped him up, remaining there to steady him. Harry looked at Lucas and said, "Thank you."
Lucas nodded, but Harry said it again, this time deeper, more heartfelt. "Thank you, Lucas. For everything. You saved her life. And mine."
Ros and Ruth were at the door, but before she walked through it, Ruth turned and looked once more at Harry. The memory of holding him was still fresh in her mind, in fact, all it took was this look to feel his arms around her again.
But both knew that there was a chasm between them, and too much had happened. They had watched George Constantinou die, and in that shared memory lay the obstacle that Ruth couldn't overcome. Right now, she couldn't see her way there. Not with all the hurt, the abandonment, the grief, and the anger.
Not today.
~~~~~
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