PART I

04 December
London, the Grid

"Your boss is a right bastard."
It was, Ruth thought, some nerve on the part of her guest to make such a proclamation here on the Grid - the man in question's undisputed domain. And whilst sipping a cup of Ruth's tea to boot.
"Harry's a good man," she countered immediately, her voice carefully neutral. It wouldn't do to alert this woman – or anyone else for that matter - to the high level of her regard for her boss. It was something she had, in fact, been extremely careful to also hide from herself. But it had become increasingly difficult. Even as she spoke the words her gaze involuntarily slipped to him. He was ensconced in his office, frowning at the file in front of him, a pair of earphones clamped on his head.
"Hah!" the other woman said smugly, her bright beady eyes watching Ruth eagerly for a reaction, "You obviously don't know what he did to – and with – Mary from Accounting."
Ruth's full attention snapped back to her guest. "I'm not interested in gossip," she stated firmly, ignoring the hollow feeling that settled in her stomach.
"Oh it's not gossip. Ellen saw them. In the Executive bog."
Ruth swallowed. He wouldn't. Not at work. Surely not. And with Mary from Accounting of all people. Tall, big-breasted, vivacious Mary with her low-cut tops. Mary who was everything that she was not. That cleavage would be at a convenient height for a man of Harry's stature-
A shrill ringing interrupted her thoughts. The phone. Thank God. Ruth snatched it up swiftly, only for the last person she wished to speak to right then to murmur in her ear.
"Ruth. A word in my office, if you would."
Her gaze shifted back to the glass office and its occupant. "What, now?"
Harry's eyes were locked on her. "Yes, now."
He put the phone down without waiting for her answer, leaving her no choice but to obey.

0o0

He searched her face intently as she entered. She knew this even though she avoided direct eye contact; she was, by now, so attuned to him she could sense his attention as surely as she could feel her body's reaction to his presence.
"Close the door," he instructed, and her eyes lifted to him then. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, but his focus had redirected to her guest, and that provided an answer in itself.
She closed the door.
Harry stood and moved around the desk. When he finally came to a stop he was dangerously close to her. She could feel the heat of his arm next to her own. Did he stand this close to all his employees? She already knew the answer, and it scared and thrilled her in equal measure.
"Don't defend me to that woman," he said into the charged atmosphere, and her head jerked up.
"Why n- Wait, what?" Offence on his behalf had briefly dulled her wits, but it quickly turned to anger at him once her brain caught up with the implications of his statement.
"How do you know what we were talking about?" She looked stricken. "Are you eavesdropping on your team now? On me?"
He returned his attention to her, alarmed by her tone of voice. "Of course not." His own voice dropped lower, to that intimate register he seemed to reserve only for her. "I trust you implicitly." He was watching her intently again, and it seemed important to him whether she actually believed him, so she nodded briefly, mollified. Until she remembered about Mary.

Harry tipped his head toward her desk and the plump woman still planted on the visitor's chair, rapidly making her way through a plate of ginger biscuits. "I'm eavesdropping on Mildred over there."
Ruth frowned. "Millie? Why?" She was beginning to feel like a four year old; every second word out of her mouth seemed to be 'why'.
Harry ignored her question. "Is she a friend of yours?" he asked instead and watched in morbid fascination as the woman shoved another biscuit in her mouth.
"Er, no, not exactly." Ruth sighed as her last biscuit also disappeared. "She's a source of information. She always knows all the gossip from Six."
"Hmm. And from Five, it seems," he responded, and she didn't dare to meet his eyes. Bloody Mary from bloody Accounting, of all people. Suddenly she was angry with him for a whole different reason.
"You haven't answered my question," she persisted, becoming obstinate in her anger.
Harry didn't say anything for long seconds, and she finally looked up to find him watching her with an unreadable expression. He only spoke once she met his eyes. "Mildred is Andrew Pilkington's secretary, and his mistress." He paused briefly, then added, "Well, one of several, actually."
Ruth could not hide her surprise. This was news to her, but then Harry had a knack to obtain the dirty little secrets of people whose decisions he might need to influence at one stage or another. Pilkington was high up in MI6 and responsible for the Middle East, so he would be of obvious interest to the Head of Counter Terrorism. She wondered whether she could use this juicy piece of information to get more out of Millie herself when Harry continued.
"Malcolm and Colin devised a little bug that fits into the ID card clips. It has an amazing range and the quality of the audio is surprisingly clear for such a small bug. Something to do with the metal the clip is made of apparently." This last bit of information was relayed with a hint of long-suffering weariness and Ruth suppressed a smile. She had no trouble picturing the long-winded lecture Harry was probably subjected to by the two techies on the subject. A few seconds ticked by before she realised she was gazing into his eyes. Or he was gazing into hers. Or both. Oh, bugger.
She cleared her throat. "What's your interest in Pilkington?"
Harry weighed his words carefully. "I've picked up some disturbing whispers about him," he finally settled on.
"Are these whispers related to his over-active libido?"
"No. There's something darker there, but I don't have any specifics yet."
He waited as she processed this.
"I've been making some discreet enquiries, but I suspect he may have got wind of my interest. Hence Mildred's presence here." He hesitated, then added almost regretfully, "I fear, Ruth, that this time you may be the one who's being pumped for information."

Ruth stood immobile, frozen in shock. Her immediate response was to deny it, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised he may be right. It was Millie who had suggested they have a cup of tea; who had swiftly offered to walk over the river this time. Who had made a shocking statement about Harry without any provocation. She huffed an angry laugh. "So what she said about you…?"
"Not true," he said immediately, gently. "I've never even met, what was it, Margaret-?"
"Mary."
"-From Archives-"
"Accounting."
"-let alone engage in sexual shenanigans with her in a loo." He crinkled his nose in distaste. "Frankly, I believe that a lavatory should not be used for any other activity than the one it was designed for."
She was smiling now. "Good to know," she murmured, trying to hide just how relieved she was. "So what do you want me to say to her?"
He hesitated again and she looked at him curiously, to find him watching her intently again. He seemed almost apprehensive.
"…You could always tell her that I called you in here to ask you to dinner."
She cocked her head as she tried to figure out what he wanted to achieve by feeding Millie such a lie. "Why would I tell her that?"
"…Because I am," he said quietly.

She stared at him. This couldn't be happening. Harry Pearce could not possibly be asking her out. Such things didn't happen to her – her dreams never actually came true. "I'm sorry?" she croaked, convinced that there was a catch, that this was somehow linked to Pilkington and not real at all. The words had barely left her mouth before another thought took hold: what if it were real? Then she'd just given him a chance to backtrack, and more than anything she did not want him to do that.
She should have known, though, that Harry was made of sterner stuff. Once he set his mind to something, he did not easily deviate until he had reached his goal, and it seemed that he had firmly set his sights on her. He stood his ground and repeated his invitation, albeit somewhat bashfully.
"I'm asking whether you would like to have dinner with me, Ruth."
It took a while to get her brain functioning sufficiently to formulate a coherent answer and she could see the panic gather in his eyes during her silence. When she finally got her voice working, her answer rushed out of her eagerly. "Yes. I'd love to have dinner. With you."

0o0

She walked back to Millie, careful to hide her elation. They'd settled on Friday evening and she had to fight hard not to smile at the thought. They had set a date. It was not just a vague promise for the future, but a definite date. In both senses of the word.
"That looked cosy," Millie said the moment Ruth was close enough, and it burst the bubble immediately.
She let her annoyance show. "Harry becomes very charming when he wants me to pick up his dry-cleaning for him," she explained curtly, and out of the corner of her eye saw him smirk appreciatively at her performance. Life was very good at that particular moment.

0o0

Same day, 22:48
London Industrial Park, Eastbury Road

The Pakistani looked at his watch again. The truck was late. Very late. Any change in the normal routine made him extremely uncomfortable, and he wondered whether something had gone wrong at the Tunnel crossing. His contact had assured him that everything was taken care of, but you never knew – it took only one overzealous Customs official to scupper months of careful planning. His breath misted in the yellow light of the street lamps and he stuffed his hands back into his pockets. The temperature was dropping with every minute that passed and he wondered if it was going to snow later. It was then that he heard the distant droning of an engine. His hand automatically went to the butt of the pistol shoved in the waistband at his back, and stayed there until he saw the truck turn into the Industrial Park and lumber towards him. There was only one person in the cab and he relaxed slightly. He moved over to the warehouse wall and hit the switch to open the large doors, and the truck moved straight past him and into the cavernous empty space inside. He let the door down again and moved around the truck to the cab, just as the man inside jumped down and stretched his back gratefully.
"Whew! Wozzit, Wasim," he greeted and the Pakistani nodded curtly.
"You're late," he complained, observing the heavily tattooed man coldly.
"Ah fuck off," the driver said good-naturedly as he moved towards the trailer doors. "Had a tyre blow-out just before Dunkirk."

He opened the doors to reveal stacks and stacks of fabric. "There you go, the very best Syria has to offer," he said with a sly wink as a few other men materialised from the back of the warehouse and began to unload.
"Any problems?" Wasim queried as the men proceeded to stack the rolls of fabric against the walls.
"Nah. One bloke got a bit curious at the German border, but his superior called him off before he could cause a real problem. We may have to reconsider going through there again, though."
Wasim nodded absently. The last roll had been removed and he jumped into the back. The driver joined him and together they unscrewed the metal plate at the back of the trailer and laid it down flat. It revealed a hidden door with a heavy padlock, which Wasim unlocked with a key worn on string around his neck. He could feel the driver's hot breath against the back of his neck.
"We got a particularly lovely load this time," he said, leering over Wasim's shoulder. "Any time you need help to sample the goods, I'm available."
The Pakistani spun around and jammed the gun into the driver's stomach. "If you ever touch the goods, Johnny, I will kill you," he hissed, and the driver took a step back, fear in his eyes.
Wasim slid open the door and shone a flashlight into the small chamber beyond, running a critical eye over the five dark-haired women cowering inside.

tbc