First attempt at a bit of a longer story. Set between 5.4 and 5.5. I think there's a gap in there somewhere. A bit of flashbacking in the first chapter but then it settles down.
St Angela's Hospital – 1300 Monday 16th January
Harry's shoes echoed upon the freshly scrubbed floor of the hospital corridor; his senses assailed by the overpowering odour of disinfectant. He ignored the bustle of the people around him. There was only one destination on his mind and nothing was going to distract him from it. She shouldn't be here; it shouldn't have happened and he shouldn't be here now, trying to find out what was going on. There were times when he hated his job, there were times when he wished that the decisions he made didn't have such consequences.
He glanced again at the signs on the wall and reaffirmed that he was heading in the right direction. Why was it, he wondered, that hospitals had to make things so difficult to find? He also couldn't understand why they felt obliged to name their wards after poets or flowers or something equally as vacuous. The names didn't fool anyone...if someone was in a hospital there was something wrong with them; hiding them away in a ward named Daffodil or Chrysanthemum did nothing to detract from that. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and continued on his way.
Thames House – 1900 Friday 13th January
A shadow fell across his desk; a shadow that was accompanied by a rather heavy sigh. Harry knew immediately who the shadow and the sigh belonged to.
"Ah Ruth. Good, good, you're ready."
Harry looked up from his work to see Ruth standing in front of his desk. It took him a moment to realise that she wasn't wearing her coat. He then took in the expression on her face. "You're not ready?" he questioned.
"I ...I can't do this," she tried to explain to him, her fingers nervously twisting the pen that she held.
"Yes you can," Harry countered, trying not to let his frustration show. "You sit in a car, you make small talk, you laugh politely at his humourless jokes, you get him to the safe house and then you leave."
Ruth pulled a face. "It's not that...I have a place, a place I have to be."
"Correct, and that place is downstairs in reception waiting for the car and the Special Branch officer to arrive."
"You're supposed to call them Counter Terrorism Command now," Ruth reminded him, more out of habit than anything else.
"Which I still think is a stupid name," he snapped. "What was wrong with Special Branch? Everyone knew what it meant; it didn't need sexing up for a new generation."
"Can't you send someone else?" Ruth brought the conversation back to the matter in hand.
"Certainly..." Harry paused and took in the hopeful expression on Ruth's face. "..If you can teach Jo conversational Arabic in the next ten minutes!"
He watched as her face fell and felt a touch of guilt.
"I'm sorry Ruth, but I really need you on this one. We promised to deliver Azhar al-Hassan to the safe house and I need someone to hold his hand on the journey."
"And this hand-holding is my responsibility?"
"It is now."
"Harry....he's..." Ruth stopped short of expressing her opinion of the man.
Harry could sympathise with her. Azhar al-Hassan had arrived in the country a week earlier, ostensibly a companion to his Government's foreign minister, but ever since his arrival he had been nothing but a nuisance. Never there when he was required and seeming to show no consideration for those who were supposed to be looking after him. His time in the city however had come to an end. The minister he had been accompanying had travelled on to attend to other business and al-Hassan had been left behind. All that needed to be done now was to get him to a safe place and then on to meet up again with the rest of his party. Like the foreign minister he had demanded a safe house out of town, convinced that the city was not a safe enough place to stay.
"It's a couple of hours at most," he told her, trying to make her understand that he wasn't asking her to escort al-Hassan to the other end of the country.
He noted the way that she opened her mouth as if to add some further objection and then promptly closed it again.
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," he reminded her.
"And neither would I."
Harry had no chance to reply as Ruth turned smartly on her heel and left the office. He stared after her and let out a heavy sigh. He was going to pay for sending her out on this trip. He didn't know when she'd get her revenge on him, but he was certain that she would. He was aware of the level of interference she ran for him with the pen-pushers from GCHQ and the Government; he had the feeling that his phone traffic from certain departments was about to experience a dramatic increase in volume. There was nothing to be done about the situation however. He could send Ros, but he really wasn't certain what her state of mind was right now; and upsetting al-Hassan at this stage of the game was something he was not prepared to risk. He'd contemplated telling Ruth that she was a 'safe pair of hands' but he wasn't certain in her present mood just how she'd take it.
He watched as she reached her desk and powered down her Mac, the precision of each movement, emphasising her annoyance. Harry's sigh deepened; he had the feeling that next week he was going to be drowning under the weight of phone calls.
St Angela's Hospital – 1305 Monday 16th January
Harry's pace slowed as he reached the end of the corridor and came upon the small boxed off area that served as the nurse's station.
"Ruth Evershed," he addressed the first nurse to turn round. "I need to know where she is."
"And you would be?" the nurse queried patiently.
"Someone who doesn't have the time to stand around observing the social niceties," he told her sharply. "A simple and straightforward answer to the question would be appreciated."
"I'm sorry sir," the nurse apologised. "We're not at liberty to reveal information regarding patients."
"Oh I think you can make exceptions." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his identification. "Tell me the room number...now."
St Angela's Hospital Accident and Emergency – 1310 Monday 16th January
Ros Myers pushed her way past the nurse who was politely but firmly telling her that she had no right to be in the room with the patient. The words didn't register on Ros's consciousness, she had only one thing on her mind and that was to get to the side of the man and get information from him before he did something as inconsiderate as dying on her.
The nurse looked around hopefully for support as the slender, blond-haired woman barged past her, but no-one paid her any heed, all their attention was focussed on trying to save the life of the injured man on the bed.
Ros stood just back from the bedside and waited for her opportunity to step forward, her impatience beginning to get the better of her. She watched the doctors work and wondered just how long it would take them to stabilise the patient.
As she looked on, she saw the man start to cough and twitch on the bed, signs of consciousness returning. Seizing her chance she made her way to his bedside.
"This is important," she told him quickly, forgoing the courtesy of introductions. "What did you tell them? I need to know what you told them."
She watched as he turned his head from side to side, pain etched on his features.
"Details," she told him coldly, switching into Arabic. "I need to know if you told anyone..."
She felt hands on her arms trying to pull her away from the bedside. She was certain that they were accompanied by choice phrases, telling her that the patient was in no state to be questioned but she really didn't have the time to listen to them, her attention was focussed on the man on the bed. She asked her questions again and hoped that he could still hear her.
Littleton Farm – 1320 Monday 16th January
Jo watched her own breath as it formed delicate white shapes in the cold air. The temperature was bitter and she slapped and rubbed at her arms with her gloved hands.
"You think we're going to find anything more here?"
Adam looked up from where he was picking his way through the debris that littered the torn damp linoleum floor. "The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can get out of here."
She met his gaze and pulled herself out of her revere. "Sorry," she told him. "It's just that this place gives me the creeps."
"Sir?" A gruff voice from the doorway interrupted the conversation.
Adam raised his head and acknowledged the black-clothed police officer who stood in the doorway.
"What is it?"
"We're ready to move the bodies, if you've finished with them."
Adam nodded. "I think it's safe to say that we've finished with them."
"Right," the man nodded and then turned and left the two officers alone.
Adam watched him go. "I don't think he likes us much," he noted. "Thought he was going to shoot us as well when he burst in through the door."
Jo smiled weakly and then looked down at her feet. "She is going to be ok, isn't she?"
Adam smiled. "Of course she is."
Jo wanted to press him further but the beeping of Adam's mobile ended the conversation before it could progress. She watched as he slipped the phone from his jacket and brought it up to his ear.
"Ros," he answered. "What's the news?" Jo watched his face, looking for some sort of reaction. As she watched, Adam turned away from her and began pacing the room, his free hand pushing through his hair. "Shit. He said nothing?"
Jo held her breath, waiting to hear if any more news would follow. The whole situation they were in was wrong. It should never have happened. It was supposed to be a simple babysitting job; no-one had foreseen what would occur.
Thames House – 2200 Friday 13th January
There was silence on the grid, apart from the steady hum from the computers and the air-conditioning units. Jo stabbed at the keyboard in front of her, not interested in completing the report that flickered on her monitor. She hated the quiet evenings; the place just didn't feel right without the buzz that usually filled the floor.
She cast her eyes around at the room's other occupants. Ros was typing at her station; her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she seemed to attack her report with a ferocity that Jo just couldn't muster. She switched her attention to Malcolm who was scrolling through pages of computer code, looking for the mistake that had been made by one of the external programmers. She'd heard his low muttering about their shoddiness and was loath to ask him anything more about the subject, fearful that he might answer with one of his long and involved explanations. Yawning, she leant back in her chair and asked after the only other topic of conversation she could think of
"So, where are they then Malcolm?"
Malcolm raised his head from the work that he was doing and cast an eye towards the monitor to his left. A small red light was flashing brightly on the map displayed on the screen.
"They're making steady progress," he told her. "What's the interest?"
Jo shrugged her shoulders. "None really," she admitted. "Just need a little distraction to brighten my otherwise dull evening."
"Sorry that you find our company so uninspiring," Malcolm replied smoothly, narrowing his eyes and paying closer attention to the flashing dot on the screen before glancing at his watch. "They really aren't making good time," he noted.
Ros glanced up from her work. "Ruth's probably persuaded the driver to stop the car to come to the aid of a rabbit they've hit." She looked at the expressions on the faces of her two colleagues. "Either that or she's stopped to smell the flowers."
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Flowers in January are pretty thin on the ground," he muttered as he stared at the flashing red indicator with more interest. "At this rate they're not going to reach the safe house until midnight."
Jo winced. "Ruth won't be happy with that."
"Why not," Ros asked coldly. "She's not planning on turning into a pumpkin, is she?"
Jo ignored Ros's jibe and moved to Malcolm's side to see for herself the slow progress of the escort car.
"So where do you think they should be by now?" she asked as she perched on the side of the desk.
Malcolm sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to get back to his work until he'd explained things to Jo. He knew full well that her interest had more to do with her desire for some distraction from the work she was supposed to be doing, rather than genuine interest in the tracker.
"The route and the timing of the journey were carefully planned," he explained. "By my reckoning, they should be here," he tapped at a point on the map graphic, "which is about twenty five miles away from their present location." He glanced up at Jo. "Has that sated your insatiable curiosity, or are you wishing to procrastinate further?"
Jo raised her hands in mock surrender. "Sorry Malcolm. I won't keep you from your own personal Da Vinci code any longer."
Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Oh wit, thy name is Jo!"
She smiled at the deadpan expression on her colleague's face and jumped off the desk, her eyes passing across the screen once more.
"Malcolm?"
"What is it now?'
Jo pointed a finger at the screen. "Where have they gone?"
Escort vehicle A40 – 2155 Friday 13th January
Ruth turned her head to the right and looked out into the night. Through the heavy fog that hung in the frozen air, she could make out the flashes of light from the cars that were speeding their way along the motorway. She sighed inwardly and wished that their journey would permit them to take the more direct route. She knew full well though that transport protocol meant that they periodically turned off the motorway and wended their way through more of the twisting A roads in an attempt to disguise their final destination, but she couldn't help thinking that in situations when the visibility was so poor, the precaution just wasn't worth it.
"There is something wrong?" Azhar asked her, his tone one of polite concern.
Ruth tore her attention away from the world flashing past the window and turned to face him.
Azhar's face wore an expression of concern and she immediately felt a twinge of guilt. She knew that she hadn't been the best of companions so far. She had politely introduced herself but then made little effort to engage the man in conversation. He, in turn had seemed reticent to talk and she'd convinced herself that the silence in the car was down to his reluctance to talk rather than her mood.
"It's nothing," she assured him, hoping that he wouldn't press the matter further.
"You don't want to be here?"
She forced a smile to her lips. "Forgive me; I'm just a little tired that's all."
Leaning forward, Ruth addressed the driver. "Marcus; how much further?"
"Another 40 miles...but there's something else I think you ought to worry about."
"And that would be?"
"Silver Mercedes behind us."
Ruth glanced back over her shoulder at the car that was following them.
"What about them?"
"We picked them up about 20 miles back."
"And you didn't say anything then because…"
"Because it could just have been another car heading our way. Special Branch don't tend to encourage all their drivers to be completely paranoid!"
Ruth's face wore a suitably contrite expression. "Good point. I'll call it in though, just in case it is something we should be worrying about."
She smiled, in what she hoped was a reassuring way, to Azhar and shifted in her seat, searching out her mobile phone. She knew that she'd have to tell him something but until she knew what that something was, she was just going to keep quiet. Unlocking the keypad she hit the speed dial and waited for the connection to be made…After a few moments she lowered the phone.
"This isn't good," she muttered.
"What is it?" came the call from the driver's seat.
"No signal."
"That can't be right. Try mine."
Ruth unclipped her seatbelt and leant forward, peering at the display on the phone that was attached to the dashboard.
"Same thing…not one bar."
She glanced up into the rear view mirror and met Marcus's gaze briefly. The look was long enough to establish that they were both thinking the same thing. Although they were off the main road, they weren't anywhere that should be registering as a mobile dead spot.
Ruth's eyes drifted nervously back to the car behind them. Was it possible that someone in the vehicle was using a handheld device to block their signal? Raising awareness of their tail wasn't something that was encouraged in the handbooks, but if the car behind had activated a jammer, then the chances were that they were about to do something.
"Get us away from them," she told Marcus decisively. "If we're wrong then I'll clear the speeding fines with Harry."
"You really want to sit through that 'more haste, less speed' speech of his?"
Ruth shrugged and settled herself back into her seat. "Just do it."
Ruth felt the acceleration of the car as the officer put his foot down and attempted to put some distance between them and the following car.
She glanced in what she hoped was a reassuring way at Azhar.
"There is a problem?" he asked her, turning in his seat and trying to get a better look at the car that was on their tail.
"It's just a precaution," she told him.
She glanced out of the window to her right again and looked at the flashes of light from the motorway; wishing that they were up amongst the late evening traffic. The motorway was relatively clear of the fog, whilst they were making their way through a heavy bank of it, the headlights barely lighting up more than a few feet in front of the car.
A powerful light washed over the backseat and edged its way forward. Ruth didn't need to turn round to know that it was the headlights from the other car as they drew closer. She bit down on her lower lip, trying to prevent herself from urging Marcus to drive faster. She knew he was concentrating on the road. With a jammer in operation, his GPS would be out of action as well and her remarks would only be another distraction.
"This precaution of yours," Azhar questioned. "Do you think it's going to work?"
Ruth smiled weakly at him. "It's not far to the next motorway junction. I'm…I'm sure it will be fine."
Thames House – 2202 Friday 13th January
Malcolm's eyes widened and he pushed his chair across to the monitoring position again. He frowned as he failed to spot the tracker. "Hmmm," he mused and tapped in a couple of commands. "This really is most odd."
"What's happened?"
Malcolm shook his head. "Probably nothing more than another shoddy tracker. I've told Harry time and time again that we really need to change supplier. It's getting so that you have to put a back-up on every car you send out."
Ros raised her head from her work again. "And have you?" she enquired.
Malcolm's fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. "Of course. Be prepared, that's what my mother always taught me."
"Malcolm that was the motto of the Scouts." Ros told him drily.
"I know…she used to be one."
Ros and Jo exchanged glances, neither one wanting to be the one to ask Malcolm to explain the statement.
Shaking her head slightly in disbelief, Jo turned her attention back to the screen, waiting to see the secondary tracking signal appear.
"Where is it?" she asked after a short while. She turned her head and met Malcolm's worried expression.
"I'm not picking up anything," he admitted. "Either from the back up or their phones."
"What?" There was a tinge of fear in Jo's voice.
Ros motioned for her to be calm. "Is this something we should be worrying about, or are we once again suffering because this organisation chooses to rely upon material supplied by the lowest bidder?"
"I think this is something to be concerned about," he said quietly as he tried again to get a response from the tracking equipment.
"Try and raise Ruth on the phone," Ros instructed Jo calmly, "Let's make sure that there's actually something wrong, before we start to do anything that we'll have to sit down in Harry's office and justify later."
Jo darted back to her desk and lifted the receiver.
Ros kept her attention focussed on Malcolm. "Nothing?"
Malcolm shook his head. "Nothing, it's as though they've just vanished off the face of the Earth."
"No response from Ruth's mobile," Jo's voice confirmed. "Call's going straight through to voicemail."
Ros exchanged glances with her colleagues. "Red flash Harry. Let's get to the bottom of this."
A40 – 2207 Friday 13th January
The black Lexus crashed through the undergrowth, headlights lighting up the densely packed woodland as it continued on its way down towards the bottom of the bank. It ploughed headfirst into the frozen trees, the bonnet crumpling on impact, metal twisting as though it were nothing but paper; the throaty roar of the engine dying and being replaced by the enveloping silence of the woodland.