CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-FIVE
Ruth looked around the back room of The George, and saw Harry talking intently with Lucas and Ros. She went to get her coat, hoping to slip out quietly. Taking a quick look back, Ruth moved out of the pub and into the fresh air. She told herself that she hadn't wanted to interrupt Harry to say goodbye, but the truth was something completely different.
She'd had four glasses of wine, she was feeling vulnerable, and she didn't entirely trust herself. She was also craving solitude to think, and after this night, Ruth had much to think about. Harry had told her that her papers had come through, which meant that for the first time in two years, Ruth Evershed was officially alive and no longer on the run. The day after tomorrow, she would be back on the Grid, working. And earlier, when she and Harry had shared a drink together, it was in public and amongst colleagues, and they hadn't seemed to give it a second thought. Everything felt different, as if the rule book had been thrown out. Ruth's head was literally, and figuratively, spinning.
She was thrilled about returning to work on the Grid, but Ruth was also frankly a bit nervous. She wondered if the serenity of her time in the bookshop and at the hospital had dulled her "edge." She wondered how she would adjust to the unimaginable absence of Adam, Zaf and Malcolm from the MI5 she'd known. And as she tried to wave down another one of the taxis that flew by, Ruth wondered again how she would adjust to the daily presence of Harry.
As she'd sat across the table from him, sipping her wine, Ruth had realised that there was really no one she'd rather be with. The haunted, pained look he'd worn at the warehouse was utterly gone, and in its place was the intelligent sparkle of his eyes, the upturn at the corner of his mouth, and the warmth of his hand on hers, brief though it had been. And Harry's love had been so clearly written on his face, Ruth had felt herself being drawn inexorably into the past.
She'd felt tempted to simply set aside the ache of the last two years, and to fall into who they'd been together. The part of her that was warmed and loosened by the alcohol had argued that no one really wants to keep feeling pain anyway, and that what was done, was done. Tomorrow was another day. The aphorisms had flowed more easily with each glass of wine, and it seemed that every time she'd looked at Harry, his eyes had gravitated toward her, almost as a result of her gaze. In those split seconds of contact, he'd told her each time, "I know where you are, and I love that you're here."
Toward the end of the evening, Ruth had listened to a rapturous explanation of MI5's new face recognition software from an analyst she'd known on the Grid, and she'd nodded, and smiled. She'd positioned herself in such a way that she could see Harry a short way down the bar, and she was aware of the way he'd laughed and used his hands for emphasis in a story he was telling. She'd looked at his hands, and without warning, Ruth felt her familiar attraction to him nearly overwhelm her. She'd blushed suddenly, and had quickly ordered another glass of wine to cover her embarrassment.
And now, standing at the curb and feeling a bit wobbly, Ruth could only think about getting back to the safe house to try and make sense of things. She found she was wishing that she hadn't had quite so much to drink, but she had to admit that the mild numbness felt decidedly pleasant after the week's raw emotions.
Another cab drove past her outstretched hand, and Ruth muttered, "Bloody hell!"
"Can I give you a lift, Miss?" Harry's voice behind her took her immediately back to the bench of a bus stop, just a short way from Thames House, on a night that had held nothing but promise.
Ruth smiled and, with her back still to him, made the same reply she had on that night. "As long as you're not some weirdo." But then, as she turned around and looked at Harry, Ruth suddenly felt that too much had happened, and the pain started afresh. She thought that the innocence of their love on that night felt too foreign, too unrealistic to joke about.
The frown started between her brows. "Sorry."
Harry's smile transformed into confusion, as he shook his head gently. "Why on earth would you be sorry for saying that?"
"Because ... we're not those two people any more ... " Ruth looked down at her hands, and resolutely pushed aside the emotion that was starting.
Without thinking, Harry reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. "No," he said softly. "We're two different people." He laid his hand tenderly on her shoulder. And, with the courage that accompanied a number of single malts, and before he could think better of it, Harry said, "But I suspect...I believe... that these two people still love each other."
Ruth's eyes flew up to his, and for a moment, Harry almost wished he hadn't said it. She seemed fragile, as if the word love had started a tiny fracture that might grow into a full-scale fissure and shatter her as she stood before him. But then he saw her take control, and the resolve that he remembered so well came into her eyes.
Harry had to strain to hear her above the traffic on the street, but Ruth said, "Yes, I believe they do, too." She paused for a moment, and then said, softly, "But I need time, Harry. Can you give me time?"
"Yes." But even as he said it, he could no longer hold back. Harry pulled her gently into his arms and cradled her head on his chest. "All the time in the world, my Ruth." In the midst of a busy London Saturday night, with the noise of cars and people walking by, Harry and Ruth held each other in silence. As he felt her fit so naturally against him, Harry realised that not only was Ruth home, but finally, he was as well.
At just that moment, Jo exited The George. From the short distance of the doorway, she looked up and saw Harry envelop Ruth in his arms, and Jo stood under the awning, again the voyeur. From her vantage point, she saw the impossibly tender way Harry's hand stroked Ruth's hair, his chin resting gently on the top of her head, his eyes closed.
Jo hadn't really let go and cried in a long while, in fact, she'd wanted to cry whilst reading Bibi's note, but hadn't been able to find the tears. Now they came, and in her mind also came the thought, This is a love to live for. Jo felt a sudden connection with Zaf, and although she didn't know it, Zaf had stood once, just as she was standing, and had watched Harry and Ruth in an embrace much like this one.
It had been on Primrose Hill. Zaf and Adam had seen Harry and Ruth walk into each other's arms, and Zaf had been thinking something very similar. This is a love to live for. And just as Zaf had then, Jo turned her eyes away, allowing Ruth and Harry their privacy.
Jo began a slow walk away from them, staying close to the buildings. Wiping away her tears, she allowed herself a hopeful smile as she made her way home.
Harry convinced Ruth to let him take her back to the safe house, and they made a plan for him to meet her the next day, Sunday, to help her get settled into her old London house. At first, Ruth had protested lightly, saying that they hadn't worked out the financial arrangements yet, but he simply asked her if she was keen on spending another night at the safe house, and she shook her head. Harry told her that he would have the girls waiting there for her.
Walking Ruth to the door, Harry kept replaying the sound of her voice in his ear, firmly saying, I need time, Harry. He managed to keep his hands in his pockets as she searched for her key. In the year she'd been gone, it had never once crossed his mind to touch another woman, but now, Harry felt he hardly had the strength to keep himself from her.
Ruth opened the door and stepped inside, turning to face him. "Tomorrow at nine, then? It won't take me long to pack. I'll be ready."
Harry smiled and said, "Yes, nine. I'll be here."
Neither of them really wanted to stop gazing at the other, but finally, Harry felt he had to say something. "Goodnight, Ruth," he said softly.
"Goodnight, Harry." And then, to his surprise, Ruth leant up, just as she had that first night, and kissed him on the cheek. She held her lips there for a moment longer, and said, "Thanks for understanding," before she closed the door and he was standing alone.
Harry stood looking at the door for an instant before he turned and walked to his car. He felt a lightness that had been missing for over a year, and just as he had so long ago, he put his hand to his cheek where he could still feel the softness of her lips.
As he opened the driver's side door, his mobile rang. He looked at the screen and opened it. "Home Secretary."
"Sorry to call you so late, Harry. I was hoping you could meet me at Thames House."
Harry looked quickly at his watch. 10:30. "I can be there in twenty minutes, if that will suit? I'll call the officer on duty and let him know you're coming. He'll let you in, and show you up to my office."
In twenty-two minutes, Harry walked through the Grid doors and found Nicholas Blake standing behind the glass wall of his office. Harry made his way toward his desk. "Not often we see you this time of night. Must be something important."
Harry sat down, but the Home Secretary remained standing. "You think you're being bugged here? Spies listening to spies?"
Harry frowned. "What are you worried about?"
"I've been approached." Blake finally sat down across from Harry.
"By whom?" Harry asked.
"An American contact."
"Name?" Harry's curiosity was beginning to get the better of him.
Blake leant back in the chair. "I can't, Harry, but somebody high up. He had grave concerns about a plot to challenge the world order as we know it."
Now Harry's frown deepened. "A plot, as in ... ?"
"He didn't go into specifics, but he talked about divisions in their intelligence services and a high-level meeting in Switzerland. I think he wanted me to warn somebody." Harry tilted his head slightly, as the Home Secretary continued. "So here I am. Warning the somebody that I trust the most."
Harry nodded. Although he didn't show it, the compliment meant quite a lot to him. "We'll look into it."
"My contact is not a man prone to exaggeration. Whatever that meeting was about, whoever was involved, he made it sound very big." Now Nicholas Blake looked Harry right in the eye, and said ominously, "He was scared, Harry."
Harry paused for a moment and sat back. "We've received intelligence that the Bendorf Group is meeting on Monday, at Ashenden's house. We have no idea what the agenda is, but it seems logical that if there's a plot to challenge the world order, they would know about it."
Blake raised his eyebrows. "Most of the people in this country don't even believe that group exists. But it's quite a coincidence that they're meeting in the UK just as this threat comes to light." Blake leant forward slightly. "Can you get in there and find out?"
Nodding, Harry said, "I'll see if we can get a bug into the meeting room. The Bendorf members have a healthy sense of paranoia, and they always hire outside security. Ros Myers can go in as one of them."
Blake stood, frowning. "The Switzerland meeting is strictly 'need to know,' Harry."
Harry stood as well, and smiled. "I understand. The Bendorf Group has been on our radar for a while. No one on the Grid will question the need to have ears on that meeting."
"Good. Keep me posted, will you?" The Home Secretary shook Harry's hand and started toward the door.
Harry followed him, turning off his light. "Absolutely. I'll walk you out, Home Secretary."
As their footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, Blake said, "I know it's late, Harry. I hope I didn't take you away from the farewell party?"
Harry shook his head, "No, we said a suitable goodbye, and made it an early night. Malcolm very much appreciated your note, by the way. He said he would send you a proper thank you, of course."
Both men smiled, knowing that if anything was certain, a proper thank you from Malcolm Wynn-Jones was one of them.
When they reached the lift, Harry turned to Blake and said, "And you should know that Ruth Evershed is coming back to work for us."
"Ah, good, Harry." Blake motioned Harry to go first into the lift. "You're pleased about that?"
Harry turned around, but kept his eyes straight ahead. "Yes, very much so. She's an extraordinarily talented analyst, and a valuable asset to the team." Harry pushed the button for the Lobby.
Blake narrowed his eyes slightly at Harry's formal tone. But he, too, kept his eyes focused on the closing doors, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.
Ruth woke early, full of anticipation. As she packed her few possessions, she felt acutely all the packing and unpacking she'd done since the day she'd filled her carry-all for Bath, so long ago. Finally, after two long years, Ruth was going home.
There were so many emotions swirling in her that she'd gotten little sleep. She'd laid in bed going through the simple rooms of the safe house in her mind, mentally picking things up and putting them in boxes, and trying to imagine how Harry would look as she opened the door. She'd slept fitfully, and finally, as the morning light was beginning a soft glow through the curtains, she'd simply gotten up and started.
It was hard for Ruth to define her state of mind, but she had to admit it felt vaguely dreamlike. And with the dream came the fear that she might wake up. For so long she'd imagined coming home. Tonight she would sleep in her own bed, with Phoebe and Fidget at her feet. It was almost more than her mind could grasp.
Ruth filled the boxes that she'd emptied only days ago, and very quickly, she was done. She took a shower and got dressed, and just as she was filling the kettle, there was a knock at the door.
It was Harry. Ruth felt her heart swell, and she didn't think it was an accident that he was wearing the same blue shirt and black jeans he'd worn for their day at Henley-on-Thames. In one hand he held a paper tray with two take-away coffees, and in the other, a paper bag. His eyes danced, and Ruth thought there might not be two people in the world more content to be standing across from each other at this moment. Ruth smiled. This was Henry James Pearce who had come to pick her up, and she was very glad of it.
"Will this do for breakfast?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows.
Ruth reached out and took the bag, smiling. "I'll need more information," she said, peering in. "Mmm, yes." She could feel the warmth through the paper bag, and now she could smell the aroma of fresh-baked croissants. "Thanks, Harry," she said, as she stepped aside and motioned him in.
Walking to the kitchen worktop, he put down the coffees, and said, "There are a couple of strong men downstairs who will transport the boxes. You and I can go in my car, if that's alright?"
"I'm ready," she said, slightly breathless. Then she added, "I'm more than ready. I don't know quite how to thank you for this."
He turned and smiled at her. "Actually, you'd have to thank the real estate market. If I could've gotten the right price, I suppose I would've sold it long ago." But even as Harry casually said the words, he knew it wouldn't have been that simple. He'd always hoped she'd be home one day, and he had a feeling that selling her house would have been more difficult than he imagined.
Ruth got her purse and stood before him. "Do you mind if we eat when we get there?" She picked up her coffee and took a careful sip. "But this," she said smiling gratefully, "is very good."
"Just as you like it," Harry said, softly. Ruth looked up at him, and gazed into the eyes of the man who knew her better than anyone on earth. Not only how she liked her coffee, but how she liked practically everything. The collar of his blue shirt was turned slightly, and she almost reached out to straighten it, but she stopped herself. It was as if they were both standing on a precipice, and Ruth knew the slightest move would topple them over the edge.
Harry saw her looking at his collar, and self-consciously, he reached up to it, and said, "What?" Being this close to her reminded him of so many moments – of the Havensworth hallway, their first dinner together, the minutes in the alcove, their nights on Cyprus. But most of all he was reminded of the morning before everything had gone so horribly wrong, the morning she had tied his tie for him. He'd given her a key to his house that day, and Harry had thought it was the beginning of everything, when in fact, it had been the end.
Ruth still had her eyes on his collar. "It's ... turned ... there, yes, good." She watched him find the offending fold, and the moment passed, just in time for both of them to breathe.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He pressed in one number, and brought the phone to his ear, saying, "Yes, we're ready." Within moments, two young men stood outside the door, and Harry showed them in, saying, "You have the address, yes?" Ruth quickly gave them instructions on what was to be moved, and then she and Harry walked down the stairs and to the car.
While Harry drove, Ruth sipped her coffee and tried not to watch him. It was impossible not to think of the drive to Bath, and for a few minutes, they rode in silence. It wasn't the slightest bit uncomfortable to be with Harry again, in fact, Ruth was marvelling at how natural it felt, when her mind rebelled, and the questions began to flood in.
She simply blurted out the question that emerged as the strongest. "What's different, Harry?"
He turned sharply and looked at her, needing clarification. The question was too broad, and was germane to far too many subjects for him to know how to reply. He raised his eyebrows, but was silent, and then he looked back at the road, waiting for her to continue.
"I mean ... I understand that you smoothed things over with the Home Secretary, and I'll assume that I'm not wanted for murder or treason any longer ..." Harry nodded, but still he was silent, because she clearly hadn't finished her question yet. " ... But ... the Redbacks ..." Ruth was having trouble even saying the word aloud, but she found her voice again, and continued. "I know that now isn't the time to talk about why you ... why I was left on Cyprus for so long, but I've had to assume it was for my own safety..."
Now Harry needed to speak, and he interrupted her. "It was. It was the only thing that kept me from you." He turned to her, and said forcefully, "You have to know that."
Ruth knew where this was headed, and she simply wasn't ready for it. She wanted to say, You could have come, if you'd left your job. But you couldn't leave your job. The discussion that would follow was something that might break the fragile connection they'd just found together, and Ruth couldn't bear losing it right now. Someday, they would have that discussion, but not now, not so soon.
But still, she needed an answer to her original question, if only to be at peace with being back in England. "Then, what's different? Why am I safe now, if I wasn't then? Was this an option that was always available to me, even without Mani on my heels - to walk back into Britain as Faith Ruth Benson, to call the Grid and ask for sanctuary, and to be given back my name?" The emotion began to choke Ruth, and she turned away toward the window. She was surprised to find that it wasn't tears that were causing her throat to constrict, but anger.
Ruth managed to control her voice, and she asked again, "Why is it different now, Harry?"
Harry turned his eyes toward the road and held them there. His problem was that he didn't really have an answer to her question. The Redbacks had set their sights elsewhere of late, but it had been a movement by inches, with fewer and fewer cases of officers being abducted, even in Europe, and none from MI5 since Ruth. Now the word was that they seemed to be concentrating their energies on the Middle East. Yalta and Juliet had gone underground - there was no way of knowing whether they would surface again either, but the popular assumption in the intelligence community was that they had disbanded.
"Well, for one thing, we believe the Redbacks and Yalta are no longer the threat they once were."
Although she tried to hide it, Ruth felt something like a fist to her stomach. She said softly, looking out the window, "And when were you going to tell me that it was safe for me to come home?"
Harry felt her pain so acutely that he nearly pulled the car over. But he agreed with her that now was not the time. He wanted to say, I was coming to you. I had my bag packed, and my flight chosen. But he knew she would ask, Why didn't you? And he would say, Because I had to save the bloody world again.
Ruth was immediately sorry she'd asked the question. It was too painful to do this, and they were still too new together. He'd brought her coffee, and a croissant, and was taking her home. They would talk about this when they were stronger. She would ask him out for a drink, and they would discuss it calmly, rationally, without the anger she still felt in her throat.
Looking down at her hands, Ruth said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do this today. I just need to know that I won't be taken again."
He turned to her and shook his head lightly, "They're very reasonable questions, Ruth. And you've the right to ask them. We need to talk about this, but I agree with you it may be too soon." He turned back to the road, and said, "As to your safety, if you're amenable, I'd like to have you kept under surveillance for a time, to be certain." He looked back at her, "If you're willing."
Ruth managed a slight smile, and Harry smiled back at her. It wouldn't have surprised either of them to realise that they were thinking the same thing. Surveillance would not only keep Ruth safe. It would also keep Harry and Ruth from moving too quickly toward each other.
Unless, of course, they kept it a secret.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a house key. He handed it to Ruth, and with a look of gratitude that he would long remember, she put the key in the lock, and opened the front door.
Before she had a chance to get more than one step inside, Ruth found herself at the centre of a swirling mass of fur, half grey, half white, rubbing back and forth across her calves and ankles. There was no question that Phoebe and Fidget remembered her, and Ruth dropped quickly to her knees and put an arm around each, laughing as they wriggled and squirmed.
Harry laughed too, and said, "Fickle girls! Had me convinced that they loved me."
Ruth looked up with radiant joy on her face. "I'm sure they do, Harry." She stood, and managed a few steps into the hallway, saying affectionately to the cats, "Move now! let us in!" She opened the door wide for Harry, and looked back at him in invitation. Her cheeks were flushed with happiness, and he thought her exquisitely beautiful. He stepped in, closing the door behind him.
From there, Ruth simply walked around her house, running her fingers across the backs of chairs and the frames of pictures on the wall. She smiled, and murmured, and at times turned back to him, as he walked a short distance behind her. At the stairs, she paused, and Harry said, "Shall I go, and leave you to look around on your own?"
She shook her head, and said, "No, please stay for breakfast, will you? I won't be a minute." Ruth went up the stairs, and Harry walked into the lounge.
He'd been here so many times in the last year, and done just what Ruth was doing now. He'd walked around and touched things, hoping to feel some essence of her, to gain some residual energy from holding things that she'd once used. Often, Harry had made sweet tea, and had sat on the sofa where she'd slept the last night she'd been here. He'd closed his eyes and remembered her peaceful face, and the feel of her lips on his.
And now, Ruth was truly here, and upstairs. He could hear her quiet footsteps in the bedroom above, and it was almost more than he could comprehend that she was back in London. He told himself again that he would take whatever she had to give him, and happily. Even if it went no further than this, he would live each day being grateful.
He heard a noise on the stair, and turned. "I shouldn't be offering breakfast without having shopped, should I? I suppose it may be only the croissants? I can warm them." She was animated as she walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, and her happiness was infectious, making Harry smile. Out of habit, Ruth went to the refrigerator, although she expected it to be empty.
She looked inside, and was immediately taken back to Paris, when she had done the same thing in a strange, new flat. What greeted her were fresh eggs, vegetables, milk and bread - waiting for her, as if she'd just gone out to the shops. Ruth was surprised by the emotion that welled up in her chest, not only of gratitude, but from the juxtaposition of her desperate sadness on that day, and the elation of being home once more.
She turned to Harry, her eyes moist, and said, "Thank you." She paused for just a moment, and said, softly, "Again."
Harry smiled back, and the love in his eyes was palpable. "Not me. Faeries."
She laughed and said, "Then do me a favour, and thank them for me, will you?"
"They're very hard to pin down," Harry said. "But I'll give it my best." For a moment, they stood gazing at each other. Ruth still had the refrigerator door open, and Harry was perched on the back of the sofa. They could move into each other's arms so easily, and both knew it. Harry waited to see what Ruth would do, and, with a growing sense of hope, he watched the struggle she went through. He knew, as he saw her chest rise and fall with quickening breath, that if it weren't this moment, it would be another. He felt the inevitability of their love take residence in his heart.
Ruth smiled as she looked back at the contents of the refrigerator, and the world began to turn again. For the last few moments, she'd had the peculiar sense that they'd been in a tunnel, with no sound, and nothing outside her field of vision but Harry and the look in his eyes. Now, she began chattering about what she would make for breakfast, pulling things out and putting them on the worktop, but the connection between them had been hypnotising and unmistakeable.
She'd felt herself pulled toward him, almost as if she'd watched herself walk over to where he was, put her arms around his neck, and brought her lips to his. In that split second, she'd felt the length of his body pressing against hers and his breath on her cheek, as if she'd actually done it. And now, as she regained her composure, she wondered why she hadn't, and realised that she'd been afraid.
Not of Harry, certainly – Ruth knew that she wanted him more than anyone or anything she'd seen in two years of exile. She wasn't able to bring it into clear focus, but it was a vague feeling of fate, of that progression from one thing to the next that she'd tried to understand earlier. And the sense that if this was her second chance to do things differently, she didn't want to fall into the same trap. So in a fashion, half of her had walked to Harry and kissed him, and the other half had stood back and been cautious.
"May I help?" Harry stood and walked to the kitchen, pulling Ruth out of her reverie.
She turned and handed him the eggs, "Scramble, please." Looking around, she said, "It won't be full English, but ... " She stopped herself, blushed, and shook her head. She put down the things she was holding and turned to face Harry, taking a deep breath. It was not lost on either of them that they were in exactly the same positions they'd been in when Harry had made her sweet tea on the day of Maudsley's death.
"Look, there's clearly quite a lot we're not talking about here, and I appreciate that you haven't pushed me into doing it." Ruth's voice was firm, and Harry smiled, seeing her in full earnest analyst mode. If possible, he loved her even more in her seriousness.
"I'll wait as long as you need me to, Ruth. I promised that."
"Thank you," she said, more softly. She tilted her head slightly, and said, "There's so much to say, Harry, but I suppose what I want to say now is that in the last year, I missed you so terribly, of course ... " Ruth paused, choosing her words carefully, "But what I realised is that I missed my friend, the one I could talk to about everything, the one who knew me so well ..."
Harry understood completely. "I felt the same way," was all he could manage to say.
Ruth smiled. "That's good," she said. "I'm glad you did, because I need to find that friend again before I can complicate things with ... all the rest of it." She pulled herself up a little straighter. "But I don't want you to believe ... for a moment ... that I'm not thinking about ... the rest of it."
Harry's smile grew wider, and against all odds, he stayed where he was. "Thank you for saying that," he said softly. "It's very good to know."
Ruth felt her breath coming faster, and she knew they were dangerously close to doing the opposite of what she'd just described. Quickly, she pointed to the cupboard where the bowls were. "And this is where I tell you again to scramble the eggs."
Harry laughed, and reached up for a bowl. "You're quite bossy, you know that?"
Ruth gave a sigh of relief, and laughed as well, "You're not the first to tell me."
Ruth and Harry made breakfast, and sat at her table to eat. While they ate, the men arrived with Ruth's boxes, and after the men left, Harry and Ruth still talked on. Harry fed Fidget from the table, and Ruth chastised him roundly. Harry told Ruth stories of dinners with Tom and Christine, and of Ros' reactions to Tariq, and she laughed. He told her the complete story of Malcolm's courage, and his decision to retire, and of Lucas' return and Connie's treachery.
Ruth, in turn, told stories of Cyprus and the people there, of the harvest at the vineyard, and the peace of the sea. She talked of Christina and her earthiness, of the simple goodness of the Cypriot mountain dwellers, and the generosity of their spirits. She told Harry about her love for Nico, but she painted George with a broad brush, never getting into specifics, and never uttering the word, "love."
In short, two friends who had been apart for a long time caught up with each other's lives. There was such a lot they couldn't say, and they meticulously left out the heartache, the despair, and the anguish of their separation. But both realised how much joy had actually been in their lives whilst they'd been apart, although at the time it had seemed strongly tainted by missing each other. Now that they were together again, they could see the times for what they were.
And Harry and Ruth realised that what had been lacking during those times was the sharing of them. Most of all, they'd missed telling the tales to the one person they loved most in the world.
~~~~~
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-SIX
"You're all flustered," Ruth said.
Harry felt the joy of hearing her voice, even before he turned to look at her. She was with him on the Grid again, for the first time in such a long time, and just as he'd said to her at the Hotel Anassa, she was wearing blue. Ruth blue.
If he weren't in the middle of a crisis, Harry might have more time to enjoy this moment, but for now, he could only turn and gently point out to her what she already knew better than anybody, "Yes, well, that happens sometimes."
Harry walked toward her, quickly filling her in on the latest crisis. "Such as when a group of armed thugs kidnap eight of the wealthiest and most politically powerful men on the planet."
"And on my first day back, too. Harry, you shouldn't have," Ruth said, teasing him. In truth, she was pleased – not that something bad was happening, of course – but she was glad she might have a chance to be useful. She looked into Harry's eyes, and could see that her arrival was an emotional moment for him. She understood completely. Before she'd walked through the glass doors, she'd had to pause to calm her hammering heart.
Harry took her playfulness as permission to do the same. "Either that or a basket of muffins," he said, keeping his gaze firmly on her. Suddenly they were both awash in the memory of the balcony in Calais, two white terry robes, and Harry's eccentric description of the perfect gift.
Ruth responded with an easy laugh. "Oh, no, you really shouldn't have."
They'd gotten through the first moments of nervousness, and now Ruth was ready to get to work. "Someone's grabbed the Bendorf Group?"
"Yes." Harry was impressed. Two years away, and she immediately knows what's going on. He'd missed Ruth, but he'd also sorely missed his best analyst. "They've also got Ros."
"Is she alright?"
"We've no idea. We don't even know where they are."
"Harry!" Tariq called out from his computer station. Harry walked to him to see what he'd found, and Ruth followed.
Tariq pointed to a diagram on his screen. "These are the floor plans for Ashenden's house. Look at this here ... there's no tunnel going anywhere. Just this big space here. I think he's got himself some kind of underground rumpus room."
"Rumpus room?" Harry asked.
"Panic room," Tariq explained. "An underground bunker. That must be where they're holding them."
Harry said, "Get the plans to Lucas and Jo. If Ros is down there, she'll be without comms or support."
Ruth finally spoke from behind Harry. "Who else knows?"
Harry turned to answer her. "Just us."
Ruth nodded. "Good. Because once this gets out, you're going to get a lot of angry calls from some very powerful people."
Ruth was still looking at Tariq's computer screen when Harry moved close to her and said softly, "You come with me."
Harry led the way to his office, and Ruth followed him through the door. She was back in Harry's office, and watched as he pulled the door closed behind her. He motioned to the chairs by the glass wall, and said, "Take a seat."
Ruth smiled at his formality. This was certainly Harry of the Grid, but different somehow. His edges seemed to have softened, his voice was gentler, and there was almost an air of deference, of shyness about him. Ruth was never more aware that she saw a Harry Pearce that no one else knew.
On her way to the chair, she glanced at his desk, remembering the day she had sat there in the dark, feeling its power. Harry stopped and picked up an envelope, which he handed to her before he sat down. "Open it." Ruth did, and pulled out a brand new passport. Harry said softly, "Welcome back to the world of the living."
Ruth opened it, and there was her name. Ruth Elizabeth Evershed. She thought it would take quite a number of words to describe the feelings that welled up in her as she saw it written there. And above her name, the same photo that Malcolm had used for Sophie Persan and Faith Benson. Her eyes looked back at her almost triumphantly, as if aware that someone had finally gotten the name and the face matched correctly. And again, she thought with a smile, I really need a new passport photo.
She looked up at Harry. "It's a bit odd being back here..." His eyes were so full of kindness and compassion, that Ruth had to look away. She looked down to her passport again, as she continued, "...After everything that's happened."
"Yes. I know. I'm sorry." He was aware that he'd promised her some minor excitement, not a full-scale hostage situation. "I hadn't intended this to happen on your first day."
Ruth looked up with a slight frown. "But Ros?"
"Ros wasn't put in there because of any perceived threat. We had no idea anything was in the offing. I sent her in there because of something the Home Secretary asked me to look into. Quietly."
"Which is?"
It was an analyst's question. A reasonable question. And in the seconds before Harry answered her, he remembered the Home Secretary's caveat that the information he'd given Harry was on a "need to know" basis. Blake had said he was telling Harry because he was the person he trusted the most. Well, Harry thought, The person I trust the most is sitting here with me now.
And deep inside, Harry suddenly realised he was tired of always standing alone. Ruth had one of the most incisive minds he'd had the privilege to know, and for the most part, she had unerring instincts. If he was going to ask her to help him, she needed all of the information he could give her.
Harry turned to Ruth. "Some rumblings he heard from an American contact. Dangerous rumblings. A high-powered meeting in Switzerland. Talk of the need for change."
Ruth raised her eyebrows. "Change can be good."
Shaking his head, Harry said, "Not this change. I thought the Bendorf Group might be involved."
"Hence Ros."
"Hence Ros. Although she has no idea of the exact reason she was put in there. As does no one else here." Harry looked directly at Ruth. "Except you." Ruth glanced up quickly at him, her eyes wide. And then, just the hint of a smile came to her lips. No one. Except you.
Harry said gently, "I'm going to need you today, Ruth."
She smiled and nodded. "Damn well hope so," she said firmly.
Harry's mobile rang and he looked at the screen. Then, in a gesture she couldn't ever remember seeing him make, he held his phone out to her so that she could see the name "Nicholas Blake" on it before he answered. It was a very personal, almost intimate gesture from a man she knew to be very private on the Grid.
"The fun begins," Harry said to her as he opened his phone to pick up. Ruth stood, and let herself quietly out of his office.
Ros was in the bunker, Lucas was at Ashenden's estate with Jo, and now Harry was on the phone with the Home Secretary. Ruth walked out to Tariq, and realised she was still wearing her coat. As she hung it up on the coat rack, she looked around the Grid to orient herself, but very little was the same.
Tariq saw her standing in the middle of the room, and smiled. "You're next to me," he said, pointing to the desk at right angles to his own. "Harry had me set you up with a username this morning. The password is 'password'." Tariq winked and smiled at her. "But if you don't want your head taken off, I suggest changing it."
"I'll do that." Ruth smiled. She already liked Tariq. She'd not talked with him at Malcolm's party, although she'd hoped she would get the chance. He was clearly brilliant, but there was something else about him that put Ruth at ease right away – a sort of casual charm, and an accepting nature. She had trouble imagining him losing his cool. And although she already missed Malcolm, she thought she could learn quite a lot from Tariq.
Ruth sat down at her new desk and placed her purse in the bottom drawer. There were a few basic office supplies on and in the desk, but she found a pad of paper and a pen and quickly wrote down the additional things she would need. Once she had logged on and changed her password, she turned to Tariq, and asked, "So, what do you need me to do?"
For the first time, but definitely not the last, Ruth marvelled at Tariq's ability to carry on a normal conversation whilst tapping away at complicated programming on his keyboard. He continued in his task of trying to break through Ashenden's computer defences while he talked.
"All eight members of the Bendorf Group are in the bunker along with Ros. There are also at least five heavily-armed gunmen. According to Harry, the meeting they were about to have doesn't even exist, so any kind of back-up is out of the question. So basically, we have Ros inside, and Lucas and Jo outside, and you and me here." Tariq finally looked at Ruth, and smiled.
Ruth couldn't keep herself from smiling back. Tariq pointed at the CCTV of Ashenden's house that was up on his screen, and showed Ruth one of the gunmen. "I've identified this one, seems to be the leader. Finn Lambert. I have his current record, but can you see if there's some history on him?" Ruth nodded, as Tariq turned to yet another computer. "I'm going to see if there's a phone down there."
After quickly memorising the diagram of the house, Ruth moved over to her own computer and began researching Finn Lambert. She'd just pulled her research together when there was a call from Lucas. Ruth took the call, and then pushed the button to put it on speaker so that she and Tariq could both listen and answer.
Lucas' tone was urgent. "Tell me about this lift."
Ruth said, "It goes fifteen metres down into a panic room, which is sealed in reinforced concrete."
"The lift's the only way in or out," Tariq added.
"Right, well, we need to know who's in that panic room," Lucas said. "Get Harry to authorise a satellite thermal sweep of the building."
Jo's voice now came over the speaker. "Tariq, there's got to be a phone down there for them to call out. Some kind of emergency secure line."
Ruth said, "Tariq's running a GPS on the telecoms. We'll pick up every line within a hundred yards."
Lucas clicked off just as Harry emerged from his office. Tariq looked up at him and said, "Harry, I've managed to break the encryption around Ashenden's CCTV. The footage shows who arrived for the meeting."
Harry came to stand behind Tariq, but not before pulling out a chair and being certain that Ruth was seated comfortably in front of the computer station. One by one, members of the Bendorf Group came into sight and walked up the stairs to Ashenden's house. As Harry listened in admiration, Ruth described each one in turn, "That's B.S. Cheng, China's sixty billion dollar man." She squinted slightly at the screen. "Then we get ... erm ... Simeon Tarasovich, Russian steel magnate. Thomas Mickelson..."
Harry nodded. "Ah, yes. New York's finest. Big player in oil and gas. Are all eight members of the Bendorf accounted for?"
Tariq said, "Yes. Gevitsky was the last to arrive."
Harry frowned at the images on the screen. "Do we know how the terrorists got in?"
Ruth looked up at Harry, and said, "Yeah. Through Gevitsky. More specifically, his niece, Nina." Ruth pointed out a young woman, dressed entirely in black.
"What about the others?" Harry asked.
Tariq pointed to another window on the screen. "I've ID'd the leader as Finn Lambert. Thirty-two. French origin."
Harry leant down for a closer look. "He doesn't care whether we see who he is or not."
"Never a good sign," Ruth said.
Tariq pulled up Lambert's bio. "Lambert's been on file for years as a political activist. Cautioned at the G20 protests. Arrested last year for vandalising the property of a disgraced banker."
"A regular anti-capitalist crusader, then?" Harry said.
"Oh, no, he's more than that." Ruth looked up at Harry. "His parents were involved with a French left-wing terror group called Action Directe. He's been going to protests since he was in nappies. At seventeen, he won scholarships to Oxford and the Sorbonne, but he was thrown off every course for arguing with tutors."
For just a split second, Harry and Ruth looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. They were working together just as they always had. Just like that. Two years had passed, so much had happened, and it was the same. Harry was still asking the hard questions, and Ruth was still finding the answers. The look they gave each other was one of warm gratitude. Their relationship might be somewhat up in the air, but this still worked. It was a way for them to be together, no matter what, and each breathed a sigh of relief.
Lucas managed to talk to Lambert by phone, and was told that this was all about the fact that one-percent of the world's population controlled ninety-five-percent of its wealth, but he was giving no information beyond that.
Tariq started getting data from the protest blogs he monitored regularly, and they were saying to stay tuned for a major event that would be sent out as a webcast. Once he pulled it up, Harry, Ruth and Tariq watched in horror as Lambert explained that he would put the eight members of the Bendorf on public trial for their crimes against humanity and the environment. He started with Thomas Mickelson, the American. Lambert made it clear that he was going to give those watching the opportunity to vote on whether Mickelson was innocent or guilty of the crimes he was enumerating.
Harry moved to an empty computer station to watch the webcast. He was slightly removed from the noise of the Grid, but still close enough to get news from Lucas and Jo. On the screen, Lambert was berating Mickelson loudly. Harry had hoped to get a glimpse of the others in the room, to perhaps see Ros, but the camera was fixed in place.
Harry's mobile rang, and he exhaled as he saw that it was Nicholas Blake again. The first words the Home Secretary spoke were, "We have to find a way to end this, Harry." It was a very short phone call. Blake explained that he'd gotten a call from the CIA, and they were adamant. The trials had to stop.
"I understand," Harry said, and closed his mobile. He put his head in his hands, knowing that understanding was not the same as solving the problem. He had no way to communicate with Ros, no avenue to get into the bunker, and no means by which to negotiate with Lambert. Harry felt dead in the water.
"Harry." He looked up, and Ruth stood in front of him. Thank Christ, she had the look – the Ruth look, the one that said she had just solved the Sunday crossword, or had sorted the answer to a particularly sticky problem.
"You've found something," he said, suppressing the smile he felt beginning.
"I checked the immigration databases."
"And?" Harry asked.
"Lambert has been out of the country a lot over this year. Most notably, two long stints in Russia, where, not surprisingly, the trail ends, thanks to a spectacularly unhelpful FSB." Ruth's eyes were dancing, and Harry could see how much she truly loved this job.
"Not an unusual pilgrimage for an aspiring Bolshevik." Harry could tell she hadn't gotten to the gist of what she wanted to tell him.
Ruth tilted her head. "No, he flew First Class."
"Ah. So these are the antics of a rebel trustafarian?"
"He doesn't have a penny to his name." Ruth was clearly enjoying the guessing game.
Harry frowned. "Then what?"
"A benefactor." Now Ruth allowed herself a smile, as she sat back on a desk. "An offshore company, of course. But the lawyer who set it up is based here."
Finally, a lead. And a very good one. Harry's gratitude showed on his face. A moment ago, they'd had nothing on the supposedly idealistic Finn Lambert. Now there was a possibility of some connection to a benefactor's money, which did not look good for someone who was so violently opposed to capitalism. Flying First Class? Leave it to Ruth to discover something like that.
"Look into it," Harry said. She began to walk away, and Harry realised he had to give voice to what he was feeling. "And Ruth?"
She turned, expecting him to give her further instructions. "Yes, Harry?"
Harry had his back to her, because he didn't trust himself to be looking at her when he said it. He was remembering a night on the Grid, when he'd felt he'd been away for a long time. He'd been so grateful to step back through the pods after being cleared of unfair charges, and the one person he'd wanted to see was Ruth. He'd turned to look at her desk, and there she was, as he'd told her once, looking like an angel. She'd said something that night that had made him feel as if he'd truly returned, and now Harry wanted to do the same for Ruth.
"Good to have you back."
They were the words Ruth had dreamt of hearing, during the long days and nights on Cyprus. And Ruth knew that they were about so much more than the work, although that was what prompted them. They were about the talk she and Harry had yesterday over eggs and toast. They were about their laughter, and their friendship, and even the potential that was held in the love they still felt for each other. Ruth felt her throat catch, but she managed to speak with a strong, clear voice. She repeated the same words Harry had said to her, on that night that they both remembered so well.
"It's good to be back."
~~~~~
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-SEVEN
Ruth was afraid she might be sick. Until very recently, watching a computer screen as a man was executed was not something she'd ever done in her life, and now she'd done it twice in the space of fourteen days. The first was George, and now, Thomas Mickelson.
Finn Lambert was still talking in front of a curtain dotted with Mickelson's blood, and again, Ruth had watched someone senselessly lose their life. It was incomprehensible. Mickelson may not have been a particularly good man, but he had a wife and children, friends and colleagues. No one deserves to die this way, Ruth thought. For a moment, the shock stunned her. The parallels were too stark, and she thought she might simply stand up, get her coat, and go. Her hands were at her knees under the desk, clutching her legs so tightly that the blood was beginning to pool around her fingertips in angry red marks.
And then a hand laid on her shoulder, lightly. Harry still looked forward, his eyes riveted on Lambert, but his fingers touched Ruth's neck, and she felt them warm and steady there. Tariq was much too busy with his computer to notice, and anyone walking by would see nothing out of the ordinary in the gesture, simply Harry's desire to move closer to the computer screen, to fit himself between Ruth and Tariq in the close space. But it was so much more.
Harry was seeing and hearing it again as well. Mani saying, Now, kill the man, and the sharp ping of the silenced gun, the small puff of smoke as George went to his knees. And Harry knew that if he was remembering it, so was Ruth. He felt her desire to run, and he wanted her to know that he understood. After just a moment, Harry could see Ruth's hands relax their grip. He felt her shoulders move lower, and heard her exhale softly.
"They're going to kill them all," Ruth said. She was regaining control, blinking back the tears that had started. Harry's touch had reminded her that leaving the Grid wouldn't stop this from happening, it would only mean that she would be powerless to do anything about it. And Ruth had decided she was no longer going to feel powerless.
"I don't want this turning into even more of a media frenzy than it already is." Harry's voice was soft, low, and she could hear that he'd been affected deeply by what he'd seen. "The fact that this is taking place in London hasn't been made public yet, has it?"
"No," Ruth said. "But the press will figure it out before the next trial kicks off."
Harry turned to Tariq, "Keep trying to shut it down." Then Harry lifted his hand from Ruth's shoulder, and turned to her. For a moment, he simply looked at her with his eyes soft, wordlessly asking if she was okay.
Ruth gave him a small nod. She knew that the best way to get through this was to get back to work. After a deep breath, she said, "The name of the lawyer who set up the money is Timothy Benson, and he lives here in London. What we don't know is the name of the benefactor, but I have an idea who does."
Harry tilted his head as Ruth continued. "Benson has been under CIA surveillance for some time. I've a feeling they know who he's working with. There's a new CIA liaison, Sarah Caulfield?" Harry nodded silently. "Perhaps we could get her to meet with us?"
Raising an eyebrow, Harry said, "And why would she tell us anything?"
Ruth smiled wryly. "I think Fleet Street might be interested in the fact that Benson's been brokering deals that have led to this..." Ruth pointed at the computer screen. "If Sarah Caulfield won't tell us, perhaps the press will."
Harry smiled, his eyes warm. "I'm very glad you're on our side, Ruth. Set it up, please."
Knowing that Nicholas Blake wanted to be kept in the loop, Harry turned toward his office, pulled out his mobile and pressed in Blake's number. Just as he reached his office door, Blake picked up. "Home Secretary."
"Talk to me, Harry."
Harry walked into his office, and sat down behind his desk. "We've made a breakthrough. Something which may help us shut this down."
The Home Secretary sounded unconvinced. "The next trial is about to begin," he said, and then added ominously, "We can't allow it to go ahead."
"What are you saying?" Harry pulled up the webcast on his office computer.
"What do you think?"
Harry took a deep breath. He knew exactly what Blake was saying. The Americans were putting pressure on the Home Secretary to stop this, and Blake was planning to have CO19 do whatever was necessary. "Storming would be suicide. I won't do it."
The Home Secretary wasn't backing down. "I'm ordering you to do it."
Harry's voice rose in anger. "There is one entrance. It's a lift shaft, the room's rigged with explosives. If we go in, it'll be a bloodbath." He paused. "And I've got Ros Myers in there."
"I'm sorry, Harry. This is hard for everyone. But if you won't order it, I will do it myself." Then with the finality of a decision already made, the Home Secretary simply said goodbye and rang off.
Harry stood and walked out of his office. Now, not only did he have to prevent Lambert from executing the Bendorf Group one by one, but he had to keep the Home Secretary from blowing up the whole bloody estate. Harry meant to go straight to Ruth's desk to find out how soon Sarah Caulfield would be willing to meet - but on his way, he looked into the computer room, where a junior analyst was watching a tape of Mickelson's execution on multiple screens, and writing down her observations.
Harry stopped suddenly, transfixed. What a business this is, he thought. The world had changed so much, and spying had to keep pace. Harry found himself thinking it may finally have changed beyond his ability to comprehend it. The veterans he'd thought he could count on, like Qualtrough and Connie, had turned to a cause he'd never understood. Malcolm, who had been his mainstay for so many years, was on his way to the sea to read books. Others that might have taken his place, like Adam, had lost their lives, violently. And now Harry was watching this horrifying drama played out on the internet.
When Tariq had so casually explained "server jumping," Harry had nodded, but as he watched the multiple computer screens, he had to admit that it all felt quite beyond him. This had become a technical war, and to one accustomed to war in the trenches, it was a bit dizzying. Even Malcolm, with all his expertise, had become disillusioned. He couldn't seem to get Malcolm's words, and especially the tone of his voice as he'd said them, out of his head. Harry, I'm dog-tired, really.
A hand touched his arm, and Harry spun round, startled. Ruth was there, and had been for some time, he thought, watching him as he'd stared at the computer screens playing and re-playing Mickelson's death. In her eyes, Harry saw not only the empathy of their shared experience, but he also felt the comfort of her understanding. He could see that Ruth, too, despite all her wonderful logic and technical knowledge, was at a loss to comprehend what they were seeing through the doorway.
But however they might feel about it, there was a problem to be solved, and Harry knew he had no better ally than the woman who stood beside him. Ruth smiled slightly at him, her hand still on his arm. "Sarah Caulfield will be here in ten minutes."
Sarah didn't want to tell them, but in the end, she did. As Harry sat across from her with Ruth at his side, he marvelled again at Ruth's logic and ingenuity. And on my first day back, Harry. Indeed. She'd already shown him intricate pathways to solutions that would never have occurred to him, and the meeting with Sarah was just one more example.
Sarah tried to hold her ground, but in the end, all it took was Harry saying, "If we can come up with this much information in such a short time, I shudder to think what the combined resources of the world's media will find once we tip them off about Benson."
With narrowed eyes, Sarah frowned, and her voice went up a notch. "Are you blackmailing us?"
Harry didn't answer, but kept his gaze on Sarah as she attempted to call his bluff. She pushed Tim Benson's file back across the table toward Harry, letting him know that she was refusing to cooperate.
Without taking his eyes off Sarah's, Harry said softly, "Ruth." It was simultaneously a statement of power, and a threat.
"Sure." Ruth stood and went toward the door. Her attitude was unmistakable. Sarah could see, without a doubt, that Ruth was on her way to a telephone to call Fleet Street.
"Wait," Sarah said. Still she kept her eyes on Harry. "Tim Benson's a corrupt lawyer." Silently, Ruth turned back from the door and regained her place next to Harry.
"I think we deduced that," Harry said, the edge clear in his voice.
"He has one client. This guy's really important to us, Harry. He's a major European asset."
Harry stood his ground. "He's also our only chance of making sure no one else dies."
Reluctantly, Sarah told Harry the name of Finn Lambert's benefactor. "His name's Vadim Robinov."
"Thank you." Harry turned to Ruth and smiled. This morning, they'd had nothing. Now they had a viable way of preventing more deaths. Harry pulled his mobile from his coat pocket and pressed in Lucas' number. When Lucas picked up, Harry said, "Lambert is being backed by Vadim Robinov."
Lucas knew the name. "Robinov? So what's a billionaire oligarch doing in league with a Marxist revolutionary like Lambert?"
"I don't know, but you need to find out." Harry stood and nodded quickly to Sarah to say goodbye as he gently took Ruth's arm and led her out of the meeting room. He inclined his head, indicating that Ruth should join him in walking to his office.
On the phone, Lucas asked Harry, "What? Now?" Lucas had thought he'd be staying at Ashenden's estate until the hostage situation was resolved. He looked over at Jo, realising this would leave her as the only MI5 officer on site.
"This is our last chance, Lucas. Time's running out," Harry said.
Lucas raised his eyebrows at Jo in a question. With a smile, Jo looked up at him and nodded. "Go."
Jo watched Lucas drive away, and for a moment, she looked around her. Alone, with a roomful of explosives below her and an impossible situation to deal with. Just another day at the office. The odd thing was, there really was nothing for her to do but to wait and to monitor the computer screens.
The solemn quiet in the entryway belied the violence of what was taking place in the bunker beneath her feet. One screen in front of her had the website feed, and the other the satellite imaging. Jo had determined which red dot was Finn Lambert, and she watched him as he moved about the room. But it seemed less a room than a prison cell, locked away from the world with only one exit.
Jo counted the red dots, and made notes on their positions. There was a line of people against a wall, and from the position of their bodies, they seemed to be sitting. Jo thought those might be the Bendorf members and their security teams, which meant that if Ros was still alive, she would be there. Jo wondered if Ros was afraid. Because although Ros didn't like to admit she was ever afraid, Jo had seen it in her eyes before. Just a flicker, and it was rare, but there, nonetheless.
And as it often did these days, Jo's mind wandered to Zaf. She'd thought time and again that she would have given anything to have been with Zaf in those last moments of his life, if only to hold him and to let him know that he was loved. Unfortunately, she had an all-too-clear picture in her mind of the room he must have been in, and of the rooms the Redbacks had used to interrogate him. They were cold, lonely places in which to contemplate the end of your life.
Jo adjusted the focus on the feed, and again, she counted the warm, red spots that conveyed the human beings in the bunker below her. She looked again at the spot that must have been Mickelson's body. The red had faded from bright to dull as the coldness of death overtook his body, and finally it could only be seen if she looked to the side of it, as a slight pink hue in her peripheral vision. The end of another life.
A sigh escaped her throat, and it echoed through the marble columns of the estate's entryway. Looking around, Jo thought of the money that had purchased this opulence, and how little good it was doing Ashenden now. She reached out and put her hand flat on the column next to her and felt the natural cold of the stone travel through her skin and into her taut muscles, and then finally into the delicate bones of her fingers. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the coldness of death. The cold that Zaf had felt.
Jo was so very tired. She was aware that something fundamental had been lost in her when Zaf died, and then Adam, but the real exhaustion of living had come on as she'd watched Bibi Saparova put the gun to her own temple and pull the trigger. It had sent a wave of sadness through Jo that was so severe, it seemed to have numbed the part of her that was still alive.
She had said to herself then, We don't save anyone. They all die. And I will die. I'll join Zaf in a cold, metal drawer in the depths of the Archives, along with Adam and Ben. People will shake their heads at how young I was, and then they will say goodbye. Another bright young thing with potential and gravitas will sit in my chair and think they can change the world. And they won't be able to.
Jo forced her mind back to Zaf, but not the Zaf that lay in that cold cell. She saw his smile, and the look in his eyes that always told her she was special. He'd stopped her in the hall just before he'd left for Tehran, and had run the back of his hand across her cheek, saying there was something he wanted to talk to her about when he got back.
She'd had hope then, and now, as she counted the red dots that were living, breathing human beings, Jo tried to remember what hope felt like.
Harry closed the door to his office behind Ruth. For just a split second, he smiled, remembering the day he'd had to gently ask her to give him the seat behind his own desk. Now he extended his arm slightly, indicating that she should sit in the chair opposite his. Ruth remembered as well, and she felt a light blush come to her cheeks as she nodded and murmured, "Thanks."
Harry sat in his chair across from her. He knew they had very little time, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Are you alright?"
Ruth shook her head somewhat impatiently, and said, "I'm fine, Harry. It was just a shock to see that...again..." To her dismay, her voice trailed off, negating her statement of being "fine."
Ruth's hands were clasped in front of Harry on his desk, and he wanted badly to take them in his, but he resisted. Instead, he said softly, "I know what you were seeing, because I saw it too. I'm so sorry, Ruth." Then, kindly, he said, "Is this too soon? Everyone would understand if you needed more time."
"No." Ruth looked up sharply, realising her voice has risen more than she intended. She shook her head again, and said, more softly, "No. This is what I need. I've wanted this..." Hearing herself, she raised her eyebrows and corrected the statement, "...Well, not this situation, of course, but to be here on the Grid, to be useful again."
Harry sighed and gave her a resigned smile. "I'd really hoped we could ease you in a bit more slowly than this. That you could spend your day acclimatising ... " He looked over her shoulder to her new desk. Although he didn't say it, Ruth read the rest of his thought clearly. ... That I could steal looks at you, as I used to.
Ruth smiled and turned to where he was looking, and then tilted her head back at him. "I was wondering about the placement of my workstation." She turned round again to face him. "You can see me, but I can't see you."
He smiled shyly at her. "I didn't want to presume."
"Oh, Harry," Ruth said softly. In her mind, what came after was so natural, so completely true, that she almost said it. Oh, Harry, I do love you. In fact, Ruth knew she was so close to saying it that a shot of adrenaline coursed through her as she told herself that now was not the time, and this was definitely not the place. She sat a little straighter, and forced her tone to be light. "I'll restrain myself from moving furniture on my first day back, but we may have to revisit that arrangement. I'm not sure I'm comfortable having my back to the boss."
Harry laughed lightly. "You say the word, and we'll change it."
The air was still and quiet, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft whirr of Harry's computer. Ruth was again aware of how the glass behind her created a space that was a part of, but separate from, the Grid. She was looking at his eyes, brown and liquid, and then, in spite of herself, she allowed her gaze to wander to his lips. From the easy laugh of a moment ago, his mouth had slowly transformed into a soft, serious state, lips slightly parted, as if about to speak. Ruth knew the feel of those lips as well as she knew any part of her own body.
Harry felt the change in Ruth, and although he could still see the activity behind her, everything slowed suddenly, and blurred, until she was all he could see. She seemed to be in the grip of a sort of gentle confusion. It was as if she was standing on a street corner, wondering whether to turn or to cross, and all of Harry's instincts told him to simply be still, and let her decide.
Then Ruth took a breath, and moving her gaze from his lips back to his eyes, she said softly, "Would you like to come to mine for dinner tonight, Harry?" She hardly knew she'd said it, but she could think of nothing she wanted more than to be in her own home, with the smell of her own cooking, the girls around her feet, and Harry's eyes looking at her across a flickering candle. Ruth wanted to have his hand on hers, and more than almost anything she could imagine, she wanted to know again the feel of his lips.
"Yes." Harry thought the word impossibly inadequate for how very much he wanted it. "I'd like that, Ruth."
"Good." Ruth was about to tell him when he should arrive, but reality descended on her quickly. She shook her head as if to clear it. "Depending on how everything turns out here, of course, we need to ... Perhaps this isn't the best time ..." She realised she was babbling, and simply stopped.
Now Harry reached his hand out and touched hers. "We'll talk later, shall we?"
Her head bobbing vigorously, Ruth said, "Yes. Good idea." Suddenly it occurred to Ruth that Harry had asked her into his office for a reason. Her curiosity moved her effortlessly into analyst mode, as Harry watched, charmed. "You wanted to talk to me, Harry?"
Switching gears to keep up with her, Harry retrieved his hand from hers and took a breath. "The Home Secretary is planning to take the bunker by force. Destroy it, if necessary, to keep another trial from happening."
"Killing everyone?" Ruth frowned. "The entire Bendorf Group? Ros? He can't. The backlash would be..." Ruth looked down at her hands for a moment, considering it, then she looked up at Harry with new resolve in her eyes. "What do we do?"
Harry asked the question that had come into his mind the moment Sarah had told them who Finn Lambert's backer was. "Why would Robinov fund Lambert? To wipe out the competition? The man's already worth more than 20 billion."
Ruth looked down, thinking for a moment, and said, "What if Robinov wasn't just out to grab some other oligarch's oil fields? What if he was after something much bigger?"
"Explain?" Harry asked.
"If Lambert can make Gevitsky and Tarasovich spill their guts ... embarrass their patrons like this ... " Looking up at Harry, Ruth paused, letting him finish her sentence.
"... It could cause a popular backlash in Russia and even help bring down the government. " Harry smiled. This is where Ruth never ceased to amaze him. He'd been thinking of the Bendorf Group as a whole, but she was able to break things down into their parts and get to the answer. Robinov only cared about two of the men in that room, and he was using Finn Lambert to further his own ends.
Ruth voiced Harry's next question. "Do you think Lambert's idealistic crew know what this is really about?"
"I doubt it. But if they did, if they knew they were being played ..."
"...They might turn against Lambert."
They both felt it. It was like a dance between the two of them, one leading, and then the other, until they reached the truth. Harry and Ruth were certainly good at their jobs alone, but together, they were so much more. It was as if they were building a structure, playing a game - Harry would place a piece, and then Ruth would find the perfect corresponding piece to lay on top of it. They allowed themselves just a moment of recognition, of how much each had missed the other, and Ruth continued.
"How do we get this information to Ros?"
"It would have to come straight from the horse's mouth. We've no time for subtlety here, Ruth. Speak to Jo and tell her the situation."
~~~~~
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