London - 31st December 2009:
"That will be all for tonight, Thomas," Harry says, opening his own door before stepping from the car.
"What about once the celebrations are over, sir? I can pick you up and get you home much quicker than a taxi. You'll be hard pressed to find one in the early hours."
"What if I ring you at midnight, letting you know my plans?"
"Right you are, sir. Have a good evening."
Harry intends to have more than just a good evening, which is why he'd instructed Thomas to drop him off here, at The Grenadier, a tiny pub within walking distance of Thames House. He knows The Grenadier stocks the brand of White Burgundy from Margaret River in southern Western Australia, the best of the variety he'd tasted since … that evening so long ago. He is also willing to accept that on the evening in question, a bottle of cheap grappa would have tasted to him like the nectar of the gods.
His memory of that night has his face relaxing in a rare smile as he crosses the narrow street to the front door. On entering the busy lounge bar, Harry glances around him, a habit he will most likely take with him to the grave. Better to be safe than dead, Connie had told him on more than one occasion, chiefly as a much younger adult, before caution and discretion had become his daily companions. The pub is crowded, but quiet for a New Years Eve, with most patrons in closed groups of a dozen or so. Allowing himself another quick scan of the room, and seeing nothing unusual, he heads directly to the bar.
He is standing at the bar, contemplating whether he has time for a quick whisky, when he feels a gentle hand on his arm. He is surprised, perhaps shocked, to learn that the hand belongs to an attractive blond woman, who can be no older than thirty-five. It is a very long time since a woman has approached him in a bar, and even longer since he has welcomed such an approach. At fifty-six years of age, and in love with someone who may forever remain out of his reach, he is not about to welcome the advances of some random stranger, no matter how appealing the idea may sometimes be. He glares at the young woman coldly, who then quickly drops her hand.
"You look like you could do with company," she says huskily, leaning closer to him, but not touching, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"You can't possibly know that," and as he speaks, he notices the woman's eyes flick over his shoulder at the same time as his phone buzzes from inside the top pocket of his jacket.
He is about to retrieve his phone when the large man who had been next to him at the bar steps from behind him to his side, effectively blocking his escape route. "I suggest you allow that to ring out," says the man. His accent is mixed, and Harry can detect a Russian dialect, and maybe some Balkan, but he can't be sure. Whoever these people are, he'd best cooperate, so he does as he's told, and ignores his phone. The very last thing he needs on this night is a beating.
Ruth waits until the call goes to voice mail, and then leaves a message. "Harry," she says quietly, turning away from where the others are arguing about whether it's better to take your life by shooting yourself in the head, or jumping from a tall building to the pavement below.
"I'd rather go out with a bang," states Dimitri.
"Wouldn't we all?" purrs Ros.
"I like the idea of jumping," states Tariq seriously. "Like, you can hardly change your mind once you've jumped."
Despite the racket created by her colleagues, Ruth lowers her voice as she speaks into her phone. "It's me," she says. "Where are you, or more to the point, why are you not here? It's almost nine, and Dimitri's been drinking steadily since six o'clock." She hesitates before continuing, unsure whether he will welcome a personal message from her. They have not been on the best of terms, which is mostly her fault. "What I'm saying is we miss you … I miss you. `Bye."
She turns towards the others, where only Ros has noticed her talking into the phone. "Is he on his way?" Ruth shakes her head. "Did you tell him to hurry up, and that Dimitri is about to fall down unconscious?"
Ruth is uncomfortable speaking about Harry to anyone, but especially to Ros. While Ruth had been in exile Ros had become his confidante, and on her return their closeness, their exclusiveness had shocked her. "He .. didn't answer, so I left a message."
"Right, so if he's not here by ten, we'll have to send out a search party."
And on the word `party', Ruth's phone rings. "That'll be Harry," she says, opening the phone without checking the identity of the caller. "Harry?"
But it isn't Harry.
As Ruth listens to her caller, Ros notices the smile quickly fade from her eyes, to be replaced firstly by a frown of confusion, and then a blank stare, which Ros recognises as a sign that Ruth is afraid. "What is it?" she asks, stepping further away from the others, who are now discussing the kind of firearm which will be most likely to spatter one's brains across the room.
"That was Thomas, Harry's driver," and in a dull voice, Ruth shares with Ros the bones of the call. Thomas had stayed parked across the street from The Grenadier, just in case Harry had changed his mind about needing a lift to Thames House. He was about to drive away when he noticed Harry leaving the pub, accompanied by a young woman and two rather large men in suits, neither of whom appeared friendly. As they had passed under a streetlight, Thomas had seen that Harry's face was set in a serious expression, hardly compatible with a night out. "They left in a car," Ruth added.
"Did Thomas get the registration number?"
Ruth nods, and then her phone chirps with a text message. "That'll be it now."
"Right, time to act," and Ros turns to the others. "You lot ... quiet!"
To everyone's surprise, including Ros's, the others fall silent, all talk of what kind of groundsheet to use to collect one's blood and brains forgotten in an instant … other than Dimitri, who is giggling to himself.
"Dimitri!" Ros barks.
"Yeah?" Dimitri's voice is slurred, his focus not quite steady.
"Can you please shut up and listen."
Even Dimitri falls quiet while Ros addresses them all. When she has finished, Tariq is the first to speak. "I can do a search for the vehicle. Audi, was it, Ruth?"
"No. It was a Lexus. Black .. or dark blue."
"And I have tracers on all your phones, so -"
"You have?" Dimitri interrupts. "Sneaky bugger."
"All our phones have electronic trace mechanisms … for security reasons. They are under the battery. I did that not long after … I joined." Tariq falls silent. He had been about to say `after Ruth returned', but he hadn't wanted to upset her. He'd already noticed how any mention of her return to London always results in her and Harry being odd and uncomfortable around one another, and he knows that's not good.
"What should I do?" Ruth says from behind Ros's shoulder. Seeing no response from Ros, who is poised to join Lucas at his work station, Ruth is about to repeat her question, when Ros stops and turns.
"Perhaps you should break into Harry's office and search through his diary."
"I … I can't possibly do that." She could, of course, but won't admit to it, and especially not to Ros.
"You can, and you will. I want Harry back intact and ready for work in two days, but I know you want him back tonight. If my instincts are correct, I think he has plans for the two of you."
And on that bombshell, Ros does an about turn, and hurries to join Lucas, leaving Ruth standing on the spot, her mouth open, her thoughts flying in all directions.
Of late, Ruth has been once again warming to Harry, but she hasn't known what to do about it. Only two weeks earlier she'd asked him to join her for a drink, but they had been unable to keep that date, as work had interfered. She would love to ask Ros what she'd meant by 'I think he has plans for the two of you.' That could mean any one of a dozen things. Harry could have plans to work late, to make up for him not being on the Grid all afternoon. He might want her to do some translating, or he may even have a private job for her, perhaps to analyse some information he has received through private sources. He might need her to listen to a feed, or to provide feedback about one of his meetings.
But she doesn't think so.
Over the past few weeks, she and Harry have been very slowly drawing closer, and Ruth has sensed in him a ray of hope … for them. He has smiled at her when she'd arrived on the Grid of a morning, and he has been making a point of saying goodbye to her when she leaves at the end of the day. And he has again begun confiding in her about his doubts, his worries, his many burdens. Sometimes Harry is stuck for a solution to a problem, and she has once more become his go-to person. Harry is again trusting her with his most private thoughts and fears, and maybe – just maybe – he is ready to seek something more with her.
The big question is … is she ready for `something more' with him, and Ruth has to admit to herself that had he not been about to suggest they do something together, away from the other members of the team, then she would be rather disappointed. Harry is a man with a surprising amount of hidden warmth, and she could do with sharing some of that. She would like to try for something more with Harry .. if that is what he has in mind for the evening. Had .. because it is clear from what Thomas told her that Harry is taking a detour, perhaps not one of his own choosing.
Ruth suppresses a shiver of fear. Please let Harry be safe, she says aloud, but to herself, as she enters Harry's office, not sure whether she should be invading his private domain. Ros clearly believes there is something going on between her and Harry – even when there's not – which means that in all likelihood the others also know. Ruth is determined to stop herself from thinking about whether the others know or don't know. What they think is none of her business.
"I've found the car!" Tariq's voice echoes across the floor of the Grid, and all eyes turn to him.
"But his phone is not in the same vicinity," says Kareem, Tariq's assistant, who has been with Mi5 for less than three months.
"How far from one to the other?" Lucas calls, standing.
"Around a kilometre."
Lucas looks around the room, and then back at Ros. "I think we need to form a posse," he says. "You, me, and Dale."
"But Dale is still in training," Ros objects.
"Who else is there? Dimitri is out of action."
"I can help. I'm fine."
"You're not," say Ros and Lucas in unison.
"What about Ruth?" Lucas asks, his voice little more than a whisper.
Ros shakes her head. "She's emotionally compromised," she whispers back.
"In what way?"
"Some spy you are," Ros says. "It's as plain as the colour of that awful shirt you're wearing."
"What's wrong with it? You're always saying I should wear something colourful."
"But puce?"
"It's red."
"It's awful. It looks like someone stabbed you, and you bled out."
Tariq stands and hurries to the desk where Lucas and Ros are still arguing about his choice of clothing. "I have the address of both Harry's phone, and the last CCTV sighting of the Lexus," he says, handing them some note paper. "You need to leave -"
"We need to leave immediately," Ros says, standing and shrugging on her leather jacket. "Lucas, you're driving."
And they leave, hurrying past Ruth, who is standing in the doorway to Harry's office.
"I'm sorry, Ruth," Tariq says, joining her. "This evening isn't turning out as we expected."
Despite her inner panic, Ruth manages a tight smile, one which doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I learned long ago to have no expectations, Tariq."
Tariq continues to watch Ruth as she struggles to maintain her optimism. He feels sad for her, knowing that her heart is with the gruff man they are all focused on finding. In that moment, Tariq is relieved that he prefers to play the field. That way, no-one will ever get close enough to him to be able to break his heart.
Harry is tired … and fed up. His working day had begun at five am, and now this. He's been sitting in the back of a car, his eyes covered, his hands tied behind his back, while being driven through the streets of London. When the car stopped, one of the men who had abducted him then left the car, leaving the woman in the driver's seat, and the other man beside him in the back seat. He has already asked numerous times what they want of him, and where they are taking him, but he has received no answers. Since leaving The Grenadier, Harry has been the only one to speak, so all he can do is wait. He knows that to say anything more is to risk his safety, and perhaps the safety of members of his team.
Less than two minutes later, the man who had left the car returns, and Harry feels something in the air – perhaps movement of the three abductors, as though one is nodding to the other, and the other is nodding back. Harry has been in situations such as this enough times to recognise the subtlest of movements of his captors. It is as though the air inside the car moves, and all he has to do is to interpret that movement.
No-one speaks, not even him. He is not yet worried. Were these people up to no good, they would have spoken to him, or hurt him. He is relieved that they have so far spared him the latter.
The car moves, joining traffic, and still heading north-east. Behind the blindfold Harry closes his eyes and thinks of Ruth. He hopes that when he is released – if he is released – she will be pleased to see him.
"This is the place," Lucas says, slowing his vehicle to a crawl, as he pulls off the road. "Dale? This is one for you. Get out, ring Harry's mobile, and hope that you hear the ring tone. Tariq assures us it's right here."
Dale bounds out of the car, and since the air outside the car is still and cold, he pulls on his gloves … but removes them again when he realises that he needs his fingers to scroll through his list of contacts. He presses Harry's name, and then the number of the phone, all the time walking along the verge of the road. He hears nothing. They are on a narrow street in an industrial district, so traffic is light, but the hum of traffic can be heard from the A10 to the west. Dale stands and listens, but all he can hear is the thump thump of music from a pub nearby.
"Over there!" Dale hears Ros bellowing at him, and he turns to see her pointing to a spot beside the road, surrounded by tufts of hardy grass. "I can see something flashing."
Dale follows where Ros is pointing, and he sees it – the flashing on and off of the screen of a smart phone. He jogs towards it, almost slipping on the grass, which is wet from rain which had fallen earlier. He bends to grab it, and seeing that Ruth is the caller, he answers with her name.
"You've found Harry?" Ruth says. Dale can hear the agitation in her voice.
"Sorry, no, but we've found his phone, and there's something else." The headlights of the car pick up something dark, and when Dale gets closer, he can see that it is Harry's jacket. "Harry'll be cold without his jacket," he says, bending to pick it up. Ruth is asking a string of questions, none of which he can answer with any certainty. "We have his phone and his jacket, but that's all," he tells her. "I guess our next stop will be the Lexus."
Ruth is agitated and upset. She is upset with herself. She allowed Dale – a young and eager recruit whom she barely knows – to know that her concern for Harry is more than professional. She hopes that Dale's awe at being in the field with Ros and Lucas will override any instinct he may have about her and Harry. After all, there is absolutely nothing going on between them, nothing at all, and that has her feeling sad and defeated. What a disastrous New Years' Eve it is turning out to be.
She glances around the Grid to see Dimitri asleep at his desk, his head on his arms, while working at his desk is Tariq, with Kareem at his side. Both men are focused on the monitor. Needing to know what is happening, Ruth hurries across the Grid to join the two technical officers.
Seeing her arrival, Tariq looks up. "The car has moved, but only a few hundred metres," he says, his eyes dropping back to his monitor. "Kareem," he says, glancing across at his assistant, "could you text the coordinates to Ros?" Kareem nods, and grabs his phone. "Let's hope Harry is still somewhere nearby," Tariq adds, to no-one in particular.
Before the car has stopped completely, Harry is dragged from the back seat by the man who has been sitting beside him. All he can hear is a grunt as the man drags him across an expanse of asphalt while he stumbles, trying to maintain his footing. They are soon inside a building, where Harry can smell grease and dirt and decay. The building is no doubt abandoned. They are just inside a doorway when he is pushed to the floor. Beneath him, he feels the cold hardness of concrete. He has fallen uncomfortably, his hands behind him, as his head connects with concrete. He wants to call out, but that would convey weakness.
He listens as the footsteps of the man who had dragged him into this building recede, and then he hears heavier footsteps, the tread of the man who'd been waiting for them outside The Grenadier. This man is much bigger than Harry, and several inches taller than the man who just left. The man draws closer, and Harry feels him leaning over him before he roughly removes his blindfold.
"This is from me," the man says, and Harry hasn't time for his eyes to focus before he feels a fist connect with his cheek jarring his skull against the wall behind him. "And just because it's a new year," adds the man, before he sinks his boot into Harry's hip.
He cries out. He can't help it. The pain in his cheek and his hip is excruciating, although not the worst pain he has experienced. He allows his body to go limp, waiting for the next blow, but it doesn't come. Instead, he feels the light weight of a blanket being thrown over him. The blanket smells musty, like it hasn't been aired in years, but it will be enough to keep him from freezing to death.
The second man's footsteps then recede, the car door opens and closes, the engine of the Lexus kicks into life, and the car drives away. Harry is alone in a building which is abandoned, his hands tied behind his back, with possible injuries to his cheek bone. His hip will bruise badly, but it will heal. His one saving grace is that the pain from his injuries is being numbed by the cold.
Harry considers the wisdom of leaving the building, and trying to find his way home. Lethargy overcomes him, and in an attempt to conserve his body heat, he curls into a ball beneath the blanket. He has no idea where he is, and he has lost track of the time. All he can hope for is that his team, who are celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of another, will miss him, and come looking for him. He also knows that finding him will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. He closes his eyes, and attempts to sleep.
Harry has almost fallen asleep when he hears a car pull up outside. He holds his breath, waiting until he hears voices. It is not the Lexus, but being an empty building, it could be anyone at all, from drug dealers, to people looking for somewhere to stash stolen goods, to a couple looking for some privacy. He hears voices, and such beautiful voices they are, too.
Harry uses all his available strength to call out their names. "Ros! Lucas! Dale! In here," before he falls back, exhausted.
Ros and Lucas follow the sound of his voice until they find him curled up against the wall just inside the doorway. "Jesus, you look rough," Ros says, having shone a torch on him.
"I'd really like a whisky," is all Harry is able to say.