CIRCLES
I've always thought about the effect that Adam and Fiona's life must have had on their son ... so I wrote this to play out my version :) This takes place ten years after Adam dies.
CHAPTER ONE
"Ouch."
"Stop being such a baby!"
"I am not."
"You are."
"You really are mate."
"I'm just a bit tipsy."
The threesome stumbled down the dimly lit road and emerged on Ferndale Street. The road was empty save for a blue ford fiesta whose headlights were disappearing into the distance. The desolate sound of sleepiness seemed to reverberate around them and they remained silent for a few seconds to allow the peacefulness to seep into their intoxicated brains. A lamppost – the new kind that shone too brightly to look directly at – illuminated the path and they stopped under it.
The group consisted of two men and a woman, none of them over the age of twenty five. The woman's hair had a pale sheen to it in the artificial glow as her blonde highlights caught the light. One of the men, the shorter of the two, casually flung his arm around her shoulders. The second man stood slightly apart from them, his body facing the opposite direction to them. He called over his shoulder as he stepped out of the island of light: "Have a good time."
"Oh we will," The first man called back. "There's nothing like a year of travelling with my favourite woman."
"Ignore him. He's just trying to make you feel jealous," the woman interjected.
"Katie, if I was that jealous I'd be coming with you too. But as it is, I like my job and I'll see you when you get back."
The man made a small noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a groan. "Come on Wes. Where have you been these past few months? Ever since you got that new job you're hardly ever around."
"Peter ..." It was obvious that they'd had the conversation before.
"You would have jumped at the chance to do this. I thought you wanted to see the world."
"I do. Trust me, I really do but I can't just quit out on it. I've wanted this job since I was nine years old. That's ten years."
"Yeah well, you've changed since you got it. Don't forget about us Wes. Please."
Katie tugged on Peter's arm, pulling him in the opposite direction to Wes. "Bye Wes. Miss you already."
"Yeah. See you in a year time." Wes turned too and begun the short walk back to his flat.
...
The pods hummed a familiar tune as they slid open to allow him access to Section D. He'd been working there for only four months but his work had already been accepted as a fundamental contribution. He could only wake up and thank each member of the team for making him feel so included. He was all too conscious to the fact that if you didn't work well with your first team, the slow climb upwards through MI5's ranks would be very tedious and practically impossible.
His desk was closest to the pods so he was able to throw his things down onto his chair, where they landed in a messy heap of fabric and paper, before he encountered anyone else.
"Wes!" He looked up, his pale blue eyes meeting with an energetic pair of brown eyes that belonged to Jo. She stood about two inches shorter than him but nevertheless he immediately stopped to listen to what she was about to say. "Meeting in the board room, now. We've been waiting for you." She finished the last sentence with a smile and fell into step with him as they walked to the board room. "Peter and Katie alright last night?"
"Yeah, Peter wanted me to come with them. He reckoned I'd changed since I got this job." He stopped abruptly. Jo paused too, looking at him with an acute expression of concern. She concealed it expertly however as she remembered that this was Wes Carter and Wes Carter did not do mollycoddling. "Jo, have I changed? That much I mean?"
A slight pause stretched out. "This job," she chose her words carefully, "changes everyone. We deal with things on a daily basis that other people wouldn't dream of. Compared to us," she smiled wryly "most people on the street are innocent as children. But then if we weren't as we are, that peace would be stripped away from them."
Wes nodded. "Right. Thanks." He continued forward, smiling as he meet the gazes of the rest of Section D. Jo stayed outside for a second, reminiscing about the similarity between Adam and Wes in the rare moments that they let their guard down. It would be eleven years exactly to the day that Adam died in two days time.
When she walked into the board room, she brushed away the inquisitive glances with a slight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Once she'd sat down, Ros began talking.
From the day Harry had finally been forced to retire, Ros had automatically adopted the role of Section chief. With her sharp eyes and quick brain, she was an easy match to Harry and the rest of the team respected her judgement enormously, as they had with Harry's.
"Morning." She seemed to direct that phrase directly at Wes who was kneading his head tiredly. Then, she took up her professional demeanour and began to explain the real reason to this meeting. "As you know, or may not know," she added, speaking to Wes and his fellow newcomer Grant, "seven months ago Harry Pearce retired from MI5. It's partly thanks to him that several individuals are now behind bars. Now, whether they think it's because he automatically becomes an old codger when he retires or because last month, two would-be terrorists were released from prison on good behaviour, several threats have been made which threaten his life. The two suspects in question are Louis and James Miler." Two mug shots appeared on the screen at the end of the table.
Jo shrugged uneasily in her seat. "Isn't that ..."
"Yes." Alex replied suddenly. She fixed Jo with a piercing stare that Jo understood to mean 'please don't mention it'.
Ros watched the interaction with silent eyes, making a mental note to speak to Alex about the incident of four years past. "They're cousins who made extensive plans to suicide bomb the London Eye. They appear to have a thirst for revenge. Last night they contacted an asset of mine, a man who deals in illegal guns and similar products. He rejected the job upon discovering who they were and recommended a friend of his – Tony Spencer."
Wes rolled his eyes tiredly; he could see where this was going.
"Otherwise known as Wes Carter. You meet Louis in two hours at the Tate Modern. I want Grant to monitor CCTV for the Tate and surrounding areas. Try to get a fix on his car, anything like that. Jo, Kieran, you're going to develop a sudden interest in art. Alex, go round to Harry's, then come back here and stick with Grant. Wes, stay in here for a minute please.
...
He was dressed scruffily in jeans and plain blue t-shirt. He knew that his hair was in an arranged state of disarray and a small earring which concealed his com had been inserted in his ear. He touched it, hating the abnormal presence of his ear. "Stop it!" commanded Ros suddenly. He guilty lowered his hand, thrusting it into his pocket to help resist temptation.
The security guard eyed him up uneasily but allowed him to pass through. He knew that there was specific painting that Miler was meant to be meeting him by but he, having never been here before, was relying entirely on Ros' instructions in his left ear.
The painting in question was set away from the main thoroughfare of people and Wes recognised Miler immediately from the photo that he had been shown of him.
"Tony Spencer." He held out his hand. Miler scrutinised it, then shook it briefly. He heard Ros murmur in his ear: "Tracker's activated."
"Louis Miler. I've been told that you could be of use to me."
"If you want my body, I suggest you try down Eastbourne on a Saturday night." That was it. That was their agreed signal. They were each who they said they were.
"I was thinking more of ... goods."
"I've got it all."
"Slimeball," hissed Ros.
"I'm looking for a gas. It's only military issue at the moment but I've been told that you can deal with it."
"Name it and I'll tell you if I can." A sly smile slid onto his face.
"I'm ... unsure of its name." Wes had to stop himself from rolling his eyes; great terrorists they would be.
"That's because it hasn't officially got a name yet," Ros supplied.
"It can take someone to the brink of death, leave them just alive to feel the pain until someone comes and kills them. It's the ultimate torture weapon."
Wes nodded grimly. "It is my custom to know what my clients want their particular product for."
Miler paused for a second, his beady eyes sweeping across the corridor and the bright walls. There was one camera in the far corner and he tuned his back firmly on it, gesturing with a tiny movement of his hand for Wes to do the same. "A man has become more trouble than is worth it so I plan to kill him."
"But if you only wished to kill him, surely a gun would suffice. This is incredibly difficult to get my hands on. The price, I'm sure you know, will be extortionate."
"He will suffer at my hands as I suffered at his. The price will not make any difference to me, Mr Spencer," he spat out his name with contempt, agitated by the questions that were being asked of him, "I assure you. There are plenty of people who want this man dead and they will pay handsomely to see him so."
"Then when do you want it by?"
"I need it by the 11th November."
"That's two days time!" He was genuinely surprised at the hurried request.
"I know." A sick smile that twisted Wes's insides graced Miler's smug face. "In two days time, it will be the eleventh anniversary of the death of one of Harry Pearce's best officers. His protégé. And it will also be the death of Harry Pearce."
Wes stopped in his slight pacing. "Harry Pearce? As in Sir Harry Pearce. MI5 Harry Pearce?" He was beyond angry. He was livid. They were going to kill Harry on the same day they killed his Dad. "You want to torture him to death on the same day that Adam Carter was killed?"
Miler, who had been watching him warily, regretting his slip of tongue, suddenly squared up to him. "How do you know about Adam Carter?"
Wes was all for punching him, all for shouting that Adam Carter was his Dad and that he'd died doing his job. He was semi-aware of Ros, now yelling, in his ear.
"I ..." The words were stuck in his mouth.
Miler grabbed his shoulders and forcibly shoved him away. "I'm not sure you're the right handler for me." He had disappeared before Wes had taken three deep breaths to calm him down.
"What the hell was that?" demanded Ros.
"They are going ..."
"I bloody well know what they're going to do! But thanks to your blustering, we've got no chance of stopping them."
"He was my father! They're going to kill Harry on the same day as my father died! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" A slight desperation clouded his words before he could stop it.
"Of course it does." Ros sounded more human when she wasn't shouting. "Of course it does. Get back to the Grid. Now please."
...
It was only when Wes hadn't arrived within an hour and neither Jo, Kieran nor Grant had seen him leaving the Tate that the alarm was raised. It was an hour and a half later that the report came in that Harry Pearce was missing from the safe house where he'd been situated for the last two weeks.
Grant was running a full security check on everyone who knew Harry's whereabouts. Jo was on the phone to the police, issuing a warning about the nature of the Milers and the conversation in the Tate. Kieran was reviewing the CCTV of the Tate, trying to ascertain where Wes had disappeared to and Alex was talking to Ros, who was getting more frustrated by the minute.
Two of the most important people in her life were being held somewhere and she could only sit and wait for information. Or pace and wait for information, as Ros was doing now.
Alex watched her warily. She knew that given the chance Ros would happily walk out the door and drive around London until she had found and killed both Milers. She also knew that if Wes died, she would blame herself and if Harry died, she'd be distraught.
"Ros, sit down."
The scalding look she received in return signalled 'no' as the answer.
...
Four Hours Later
"Left here. Then take the second right. Third exit off the roundabout. Straight on. Left again. You should be in Halifax Drive."
"And there's me thinking it was Buckingham Palace," came the terse reply. "Where, now, Grant?" Ros accentuated every word, as though she was speaking to a child.
"Nowhere. I'm sorry Ros but you're not going anywhere until backup arrives. We're not losing anyone else," Alex broke across into the conversation.
Ros glared at Jo through the gathering gloom that had penetrated the car. Jo's eyes, she felt, must be an exact mirror of her own – desperate, determined, angry ... afraid.
"We haven't lost anyone yet." Jo sounded angry, as well looking it.
"But we bloody well will do if you don't give us the exact address!" flared Ros.
"I'm sorry you two. Backup should be with you in four minutes."
"Who long does it take to pull a trigger on a gun Alex? How long to break someone's neck? How bloody long ..."
Ros suddenly realised an avenue of blackmail that she could use and interrupted Jo's tirade. "You do realise that I could sack you over this - withholding valuable information. That's what a traitor does."
"I..."
"Address now please."
A resigned sigh floated down the coms. There was a momentary pause, then "Number 17."
"Glad that you could finally be of assistance," Ros deadpanned, already out of the car and moving down the street. Jo followed slowly, ready to offer surprise assistance when it was called for.
"I'm going to break a window, get inside quick and hide so that when someone comes to investigate the noise, you can jump them. Don't shoot to kill. Shoot to cripple. If nobody comes to the window, follow me in. I want us to split up and shoot at anyone who comes within two metres of you." Jo nodded once. Ros surveyed the window that was highlighted by the lamppost directly outside it. The houses were terraced, red brick upon red brick upon red brick, but they still managed to hold an aura of elegance and the secret whisperings of history seemed to echo in their ears; history that whispered to Ros that she had to save Wes or the history of Adam Carter would be in vain.
It only took an expert throw at the lower floor window with a small brick picked up the road to smash the singular pane of glass. The sudden sound vibrated around the street, playing a distinctively musical tune in Jo's ears. Ros had already moved forwards and had kicked the remaining glass from the frame.
Jo stood at a safe, but approachable, distance as the short blonde hair disappeared into the shadow of the house.
Yells. A man, Ros, a thud, shot, dark shapes tumbling forward, silhouettes engaged in a fight of guns and fists, another shot, silence.
Jo had moved forwards when the first breath of a cry had been uttered but in the seconds that it took her to jump through the gap in the house wall Ros had already triumphed over the man. She shone a torch on his face – it was swelling already and blood trickled from his mouth. It produced an odd gurgling sound, like someone brushing their teeth, and Jo was struck by how close the normal world and this world existed.
Ros, dodging the probing glare of Jo's torch, was moving again. Her face wore an odd mixture of bloodlust and fear.
"Wait." The voice in both of their ears made them pause fleetingly. "They know we're onto them. They know exactly who Wes is and they know that you're outside. They were on the phone not three moments ago. Wait for backup God damnit."
"Wow, Grant. You sure are smart. That's why James Miler is dead on his living room floor. Thanks for that useless insight. Who called?"
"One of them. We run a trace and it's at a different address. You're in completely the wrong place. He's four miles away from you. CO19 are already on their way there."
"No." Ros was barely audible; she was whispering to herself more than anyone else. "No. They're here. It's a diversion. They know we're onto them so they send us in the wrong direction. They are in this house." Her voice had gathered in momentum and she finished with a definite that left Jo in no doubt of their whereabouts.
"Ros..."
The stairs were negotiated in four long leaps. Jo hurried in Ros's wake, standing with her gun ready. The upstairs had a feel of a place where life was unwelcome – the walls were bare, the air was stuffy, there was no light switch, curtains were drawn over the closed window and the colours of the landing, once what must have been a warm yellow, had faded to an unpleasant sick colour. Ros threw open the first door to the right of the stairs. Her gun swept over it once.
Empty.
She moved to the next door, now opposite the stairs.
Empty.
There was only one door remaining. She pushed it open. It banged against the wall.
Empty.
"Fuck."
The profanity sounded alien coming from Jo's mouth when she stepped into the deserted room too. She blinked. They'd let Harry and Wes down big time.
"CO19 are at the second house Ros."
"Great."
The two women turned towards the door, failed soldiers in their mission. "I don't get how they could pull off such a convincing double ..."
The ceiling shook, causing the lights to swing wildly.
Jo was first back on the landing. Her torch flashed upwards as Ros pointed towards the harsh white glare with her gun. There was a gaping black hole in the flaking plaster. A ladder, on second observations, was stowed in the corner of the landing, hidden in the shadow of the curtains. Ros grabbed it, dropping her gun in the process. The ladder careened about violently before hitting the open hole edge with a resounding bang.
Throwing Ros her gun, Jo stood anxiously as her colleague shinnied up the ladder like a gymnast. There was a moments pause then "They're here. They're fine, they're up here!"
Harry was the first to emerge down the ladder. His left arm hung useless at his side and he sported a nasty black eye but otherwise seemed unharmed. Jo let out a long shaky breath, unaware that she'd even stopped breathing. Then, unable to restrain herself, she grabbed him for a fierce hug, tears threatening to overcome her as she was overwhelmed with relief for her friend.
"Harry. You're okay, yeah? Miler's dead. Ros ..."
Wes's legs were the next to appear. There was a distinctively sheepish look on his battered face. Jo winced just looking at him but he managed a crooked smile towards Jo and Harry.
"I'm sorry Jo." He sounded like a schoolboy caught passing notes and Jo instinctively reached for his hand. "Ouch."
"God, sorry. It was nothing Wes. Honest. We all make mistakes."
A small smile graced his features, revealing the loss of two teeth. "Yeah." He tried to walk down the stairs but crumpled when he put his entire weight on his right leg. Ros, spotting the warning sign of him turning a deathly pale, caught him before he fell.
"Everyone makes mistakes Wes," she whispered quietly as they descended after Harry and Jo. "Harry's told you about the Thames Barrier. We were both so stupid then."
Wes craned his head to look at Ros. Her usual unreadable expression was masking her face and despite growing up with her around, he still couldn't recognise what it meant. "Sometimes we have to give each other up. That's what Harry said. But you came for us."
"Yeah, well." She rewarded him with a true smile, shrugging awkwardly at the tender moment. Wes hadn't realised yet, that in this job, it was hard to embrace the emotions that you had to set aside if you aspired to do well. It wasn't a switch you could flick and she half envied him for being able to feel so easily still. "Lapse of judgement I guess." Wes grinned back at her and nudged his elbow in her ribs in a playful gesture as they come to a halt before Harry and Jo.
Jo watched the interaction between them with interest. Ros's reaction to the simple gesture was hidden as she re-erected her shield.
Jo was used to people who had been involved in their job for a long while hiding; she did it too. She'd also learnt long ago that remarks about any instants of vulnerability were frowned upon. Thus, the terror that she and Ros had shared in the car was forgotten. She had learnt from experience that it helped to have some protection. People hurt you. You couldn't let them do that.
She shivered as she opened the front door. The evening had given way to night, the only indication of the amount of time which had passed whilst they were inside the house. The sudden blast of air assaulted her exhausted senses. It was only now, with the adrenaline wearing off, that she realised how tiring her day had been and judging by Wes's yawns and the forced wide eyes of Harry and Ros, they agreed too.
The first step out of the house was torment. Dressed in only a thin cardigan and blouse, the air was numbing. However it blew the sleep immediately from her system and she was fully alert as she stepped onto the street.
Harry followed close behind her, with Wes and Ros following him. The street was empty. She spotted a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision but dismissed it as a cat streaked under a van.
Their car was ten metres away.
"Harry Pearce." It wasn't a question.
Jo was already pulling her gun on the deep voiced man hidden in the shadows when the gunshot rang out. She heard, in close succession, the dull thud of body meeting body, the combined 'oofff' of two men and then a different 'oofff'. One of bullet meeting body. The haunting scream of anguish that echoed from behind snapped her from her horror and she loosed a round of bullets into the man. It had all happened in seconds.
Taking a steadying breath she turned, dreading the sight:
Harry lay a metre away, unconscious from hitting the hard concrete path. His rhythmic breathing indicated that it was merely a bang on the head and she thanked god. She turned to smile thankfully at Ros.
Ros, who moving towards a familiar figure that was lying in a puddle of ever-increasing red.
"Wes!"
Jo stood dumbstruck, watching Ros run forward as though in slow motion.
"Wes!"
He was so still, too quiet.
"Wes!"
Blonde hair, matted with blood, glistened in the lamppost light - the new kind that shone too brightly to look directly at.
"Wes."
...
"Ashes to ashes."
A small crowd is gathered: Harry, Ros, Alex, Kieran, Grant, Katie, Peter, Auriel – Wes's grandmother, a couple of people from other sections. Jo recognises them all. Everyone wears a devastated expression and Jo feels a stray tear run down her frozen cheek. The cold is bracing and helps to obliterate the pain that overwhelms her as she surveys the hole in the ground. Despite attending so many funerals she still hates the look of it - it's daunting, final.
She looks around again. Katie and Peter are huddled together, sharing their hurt. They were told that Wes was in a car accident. Tragic ... but it happens everyday. No questions. On their left is Auriel. Her expression is heart-breakingly emotionless. Jo can only imagine the indescribable pain of burying a son and grandson before their time.
She stares skywards, more tears escaping. Are you up there Wes?
"Dust to dust."
Ros glares angrily at the coffin. She tried so hard to care for Wes but in the end she failed him. If she'd been quicker. If she'd pushed Harry out of the way. Protecting him had been her remembrance to Adam. She's failed him too.
She chokes up, mourns for both the Carters. She's half aware of Jo peering at her, probably surprised by the public show of openness. Ros glances across, taking in the tear tracks which stain her face. She reaches out and takes Jo's hand. It's cool and they both welcome the thought that they're not the only one who thinks of both Wes and his father. This is a funeral for two people.
"May glory be with him."
Harry watches the coffin being lowered into the earth. The cemetery is like something from a Christmas card: white, bare trees surrounding them, frost topping the headstones. Except Christmas cards don't normally portray such morbid scenes.
The air smells clear. A new beginning. Harry laments Wes's death - after all he does owe him his life - but he can't suppress the thought that Fiona, Adam and Wes are together again now. He doesn't normally believe in such things but in this case it's a comfort. Together again.
"Amen."
Alex is surprised that she hasn't started sobbing yet. Maybe it's because she's already shed her tears. She watches Ros and Jo, holding hands, Grant and Kieran leaning on each other. She is stood apart from them again. She might be a useless addition to the team but she's not one of them, not really.
But Wes had been different. They'd been friends. Good friends.
She remembers a conversation they once had:
"Dad didn't hear me come downstairs. They were all in the kitchen talking. I was eight then and that's when it first figured that his job wasn't really what he said it was." He had given her a sad smile then. "And a year later when Dad died I knew that I would become part of Section D. For him and Mum."
Alex gives a small smile, rubbing her stomach unknowingly.
Circles within circles.
I have to admit that I am proud of this ... just because I finished it ;) It's only taken me weekss.
I'd love any constructive criticism because I have my story coursework soon and stories are meant (:S) to be my strength. You know where the button is!
Thanks for reading.
Hannah