"I can't do it, Erin. I'm needed here. Without Ruth, we're way behind with the intel. I need to -"

Calum, this is an order. We need him as far away from the Grid in as short a time as possible. The CIA are planning to pick him up tomorrow morning, so we have to act fast."

"But why can't Dimitri do it? Or one of the junior field officers?"

"It has to be someone who knows him, someone who can put up with him in his current condition. And it helps that you can pass for his son."

"Thank you for that, Erin. Now you're saying I look like him."

"I think you'll find I didn't say that. You can pass for his son – you're around the right age, and you and he have a …... similar build."

"I'm too tall to be his son."

"Sons tend to be taller than their fathers. It's an observation backed up by the statistics."

"So what you're saying is that I have to accompany a grieving man to the funeral of the woman he loves, and then – somehow – convince him to board a plane and traipse around Europe with me."

"Yes. We already have your legends prepared, and the passports are ready. I'll forewarn him, so he'll be easier for you to -"

"Manage?"

"Yes. Manage. Your assignment is to manage Harry Pearce."


The man who opened his front door to Calum barely looked like the same man who'd crossed swords with him so many times at work. Harry's eyes were so dulled by pain that Calum could feel it vibrating in the air between them. His shoulders were hunched and rounded, like all the wind had been knocked out of him, and it appeared he'd not shaved for days. This was not the Harry he knew. This Harry had, just seven days previously, held the woman he loved in his arms while she died.

"I'm under orders from Erin."

"I know. She rang me."

"I'm to accompany you to …... to the funeral, and then I have to get you out of the country toot sweet."

Harry still had his hand on the door, and would find it easy to close it in Calum's face, and there'd be nothing he could do about it. "I'm not going to the funeral," Harry said quietly.

"Not going to Ruth's funeral?"

"You heard me. You'd better come inside. I have to pack some things. And I suppose I should shave."

"But it's Ruth's funeral, Harry …..."

The older man stopped in mid-stride in the middle of his hallway, and turned to face Calum. "I am fully aware of whose funeral it is today, Calum," he said coldly, each syllable delivered machine-gun-like, as only Harry could.

"Sorry, Harry. Sorry. I have our passports ready. Apparently I'm travelling as your son."

"Yes, the irony has not escaped me. I'm coming with you quietly. It will embarrass our government were I to be carted of to Guantanamo Bay, and we can't have that now, can we? Where are we off to?"

"Everywhere, and you can't say goodbye to anyone before we go."

"Who is there left for me to say goodbye to?" Harry's face was the picture of sadness and loss. Had either of them been the hugging kind, Calum would have hugged him.


"We have to change legends now, Harry," Calum said carefully. On the flight from Heathrow, he and Harry had barely exchanged more than ten words.

"Who are we pretending to be now?"

"John and Aaron Saddler."

"So we're still father and son."

"I'm afraid so."

And so it was that they criss-crossed Europe, from London to Venice, and then to Berlin. From Berlin to Copenhagen, and then to Graz. From Graz, a couple of Harry and Calum look-alikes flew on to Cape Town, (chiefly to put the CIA off the trail, should they be paying attention,) while Harry and Calum – as Roger and Matthew Milburn – stayed overnight at a hotel in Graz. In the morning they flew to Lisbon, and from Lisbon they flew to Madrid, and then to Glasgow.

"At the risk of asking the obvious," Harry said, his voice flat, "why are we back in the UK?"

"Cos," replied Calum, "your safe house is in Scotland. But first, we have a hire car to pick up, and then it's on to Kirkcaldy."

"This is my legend for my time in Scotland, I take it?"

"Lewis Mulholland, yes. And I'm your devoted son, Dominic."

"Hmm," Harry said, staring out the passenger side window as the grey streetscape of Glasgow gave way to the grey landscape. He was unable to appreciate the beauty of the stark countryside in the half-light of early evening. His heart, that part of him which he'd believed was beyond being touched by another, had been broken, and he was certain it was beyond repair. He lay his head back against his headrest, and pretended to sleep. The problem was that every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was her face as she'd breathed her last, her eyes closed, her lips pale, her words ringing in his ears: Harry, we were never meant to have those things. He was yet to come to terms with her prognostication.


Apart from two comfort stops, and a stop on the outskirts of Edinburgh to buy food and stretch their legs, Calum drove straight through to Kirkcaldy. When Harry had offered to drive, Calum had turned him down.

"I'm not about to drive us off the Forth Bridge, Calum."

"My orders are to drive all the way myself."

"Since when did you follow orders?"

"Since Erin was giving them. She scares me," he said, a grin on his face. "It's those stiletto heels. She could well put my eye out with one of those."

It was almost eight o'clock at night when Calum pulled the car to a stop across the road from a farm house just outside Chapel Farm, north-east of Kirkcaldy.

"Is this it?" asked Harry.

"This is it. The end of the line."

"You could have worded that differently."

"Sorry, boss."

"There's someone there, in the house," Harry observed.

"You can see through walls?"

"No. There's smoke coming from a chimney, and I can see a glow from a light at the back of the farm house."

"I think the owner may have come in and lit a fire, and left a few lights on. To make you feel welcome."

"You told me the owner was a retired asset of Adam Carter's, and that she's spending six months with her daughter in New Zealand."

"Well, yes, but there's a caretaker."

"Owner? Caretaker? Which is it?"

"I think it's a caretaker. Look, Harry, I have to deliver you to the door, you enter the building using the key I gave you, and then within thirty minutes if you haven't let out a blood-curdling scream, I'm free to leave and drive myself back to Glasgow in time to take a late flight back to London. So, let's get this over with, shall we?"

"How long am I to stay here?"

"Until you get the call. You have the safe phone, so keep it charged. There are a lot of people working on getting your charges dropped. The PM is even getting in on the act, and you know how he likes to keep his hands clean."

"I'll be forever grateful," Harry said sarcastically.

"I believe the caretaker has a spare car you can use. To go out for supplies."

"The only supplies I require come in a bottle."

"Let's go, shall we?"

Calum stood by as Harry turned his key in the lock. He then handed the older man his hold-all, and moved as if to shake his hand.

"I might be back out in a few minutes. Give me twenty minutes, and then I'll ring you. If I don't ring you, come knocking, just in case."

Calum walked slowly back to the car, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He kept turning around to look at the door through which Harry had disappeared. Despite his curmudgeonly manner, Calum was very fond of Harry, and he believed that life had dealt him a rough hand of late. He had witnessed Ruth's attempts to protect Harry from Sasha Gavrik, and then as Ruth lay dying, their true feelings for each other were on display for all to see. Calum hoped he could find some kind of peace during the time he spent alone in this house, a long way from London and his memories.


Harry closed the front door behind him, and walked quietly down the long and wide passageway which took him almost the entire length of the house, closed doors at intervals on either side. There was a light on somewhere at the back of the house, and so it seemed obvious to him that he should head in that direction. The passageway opened on to a large open plan room, part kitchen, part living room, part dining room. He turned towards the direction of the light, when from behind him he heard a sound. He stopped, still as a statue.

"Hello Harry," a familiar voice said, and heart thudding in his chest, he turned slowly to face the owner of that voice.