Stalemate

by the lurker

"The dial tone sounded loudly in Mace's ear; slowly, he hung up the receiver. There was no way he would harm Harry Pearce physically. He would have to dig up something to discredit him that would get him out of MI5 for good. Without the resources of MI5 at his disposal, Pearce would have to stop looking for Evershed..."

1. Chapter 1

STALEMATE

stale·mate

/ˈstālˌmāt/

noun CHESS

noun: stalemate

1. a position counting as a draw, in which a player is not in check but cannot move except into check.

a situation in which further action or progress by opposing or competing parties seems impossible.

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Chapter 1

It was late and his eyes were tired from reading the endless pile of briefings on his desk. He rubbed at the tiredness and was nonplussed when it did nothing to relieve the feeling. He took in a large inhalation of air and tried to stretch the muscles in his neck and shoulders, which were tight with tension. His concern over the recent turn of events at the JIC and the subsequent shockwaves in the British intelligence community, he knew, was at the core of his worry. How Oliver Mace could be unaware of the actions of the people working around him was beyond Harry's imaginings… Harry didn't believe for a moment that Oliver was so bumbling, but rather was more likely behind the scandal causing the removal of several long-time committee members. As if Oliver was clearing the way for something; for a specific agenda. Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the sliding of his door and the quizzical blue eyes peering at him from behind it.

"Ruth?"

"It's late, Harry," she said matter-of-factly, "and I'm catching the last bus."

Of course you are, he thought, but all he said was, "Very well." She moved to slide the door closed again, but his voice stopped her. "Oh, Ruth… where are you on the reports I asked for about the new appointments Oliver Mace has made to the JIC?"

"I'm compiling it. I have the list and background checks, but I still need to do the in-depth security checks and crosschecks. I should have it some time tomorrow for you."

"Very good." She moved to close the door again, but again his voice halted her. "Ruth… thank you."

Her brow wrinkled slightly. "It's my job, Harry. See you tomorrow."

Before he could respond, she slid the door shut and made a hasty exit toward the pods.

Harry considered for a moment the very matter-of-fact tone their conversations – no, more accurately, brusque communiqués – had denigrated into since Ruth's return, and he felt a familiar pang in his chest. He slammed his eyes shut against the regret he held so tightly in his heart. After a moment, he let out a long sigh of air. There was nothing to do about it. She tolerated him on the job, and was courteous in the course of daily business, but that was the sad truth of it. He had to let go of it. Of her.

His mouth pulled into a straight line as he forced his mind back to the briefs on his desk. He opened the next one and began to read. But his mind wandered back to Oliver and the JIC. There was stench around it, something palpable. At least it was palpable to an old spook like Harry Pearce. But he couldn't broach such an accusation without proof that Oliver was clearing the decks for his own purposes. And if anyone could find something so rotten in Denmark, Ruth Evershed would make a good job of it. The straight line of Harry's lips pulled into a seductive smile; one that actually reached his eyes.