7

Anger

Set two weeks after the hotel explosion. Only two or three chapters....yet another (!) different take on bringing HR together. I can't get enough of them!

1.

'Ruth?'

'Yes, Harry', she sighs.

'Has Ros called?'

'No, she is still at the hospital checking in with the Home Secretary.'

'Right. Lucas?'

'Still on his way to meeting Sarah Caufield's replacement. He only left fifteen minutes ago, Harry.'

'Any news from the Russians?'

She grits her teeth. 'Not since you last asked five minutes ago, no.'

'Right. I want you to go back to all GCHQ intercepts, all MI6 reports –hack into foreign services databases if you have to, I don't care about triggering a diplomatic incident, but i want to make sure that..'

'That every single member of Nightingale is either arrested or put under surveillance. So you said. Ten minutes ago. Harry, would you please let us get on with ....'

'I'm off to a security briefing a Downing Street. Any news at all, you call....Tariq, what?'

'Sorry, Harry...Sir. Sorry. It's just...you know this sophisticated trace we put on some old contacts of Sarah's? Well, it went dead two weeks ago but I've got something and...'

'Good. Keep an eye on it. He's our best lead. We can't afford to lose him. Report to Ruth every ten minutes while I'm...'

'Every ten minutes? But...'

'Which part of 'every, ten, and minutes' don't you understand? None? Good. I'll see you all at 2pm, meeting room.'

2.

Tariq lets out a long sigh. 'Is he always this cranky when an operation goes balls-up?'

However impossible Harry is these days, she can't help feeling defensive on his behalf. 'Well, I wouldn't call it a balls up but...'

'Oh come on. Sure, the Home Secretary is alive, so are Ros and Lucas...but the explosion did kill ten people and we're no way near getting the big fish within Nightingale...'

She rubs a tired hand on her tired face. 'Fair enough. And yes. Harry doesn't take kindly to failure. Especially those he regards as his own. You'd better get going with those traces...'

She turns back to her screen, eyes gritty with exhaustion, her brain unable fully to engage with the task at hand, drained by two weeks of more or less constant work. After losing Jo, it's such a relief that both Ros and Lucas miraculously escaped, unharmed, from the hotel explosion. Especially Ros, who somehow found herself shielded by the Home Secretary's body. Since then, she's putting 15 hours long days on the Grid. She has so seldom seen the inside of her poky flat recently that she probably wouldn't be able to recognise it with all lights on. And Harry....he's so tightly wound up that she fears he will explode at any moment now. Angry, demanding, impatient, with none of the gentleness and kindness she had seen in him since her return from Cyprus.

She shakes her head and sets down to work again, pushing thoughts of Harry aside. Now is not the time to think about him in that way, and your relationship with him, or non-relationship rather...Now is not the time and so what if it is never the time...you have a job, a place to stay, colleagues you respect, and you no longer wake up every single night with nightmares about George and Nico. Only every other night. There's progress for you. So forget about Harry.

Somehow she manages to concentrate on the avalanche of data they have had to deal with since the explosion, cheered by Ros' and Lucas' return. She's warmed to Ros, and really, deeply likes Lucas, and the Grid feels so much more vibrant when they are around. So she prepares for the meeting at 2pm with a lighter step, hoping that Harry, who hasn't returned yet from Downing Street, will be in a better mood.

'Tariq, any more feeds on...what's wrong?' she asks sharply.

'It's those traces', he says, very pale. 'I've...'

'Right everyone, meeting room now!', Harry's commanding voice booms across the open plan office, cutting the young man short.

'You can tell me later', she says to the young man reassuringly, worried by how shaken he is, hoping that Harry won't get there first.

As they take their usual places around the table, they are all aware of how tense Harry is. He remains standing, his back and shoulders rigid. 'Right. Downing Street have expressed deep unhappiness with our lack of progress. Actually, deep unhappiness is an understatement. So. What have we got? Ros?'

'The Home Secretary is recovering well. But it'll take another two months before he can go back to work.'

'He won't. Go back to work. Or at least not to that job. Downing Street are already lining up a replacement. Can't say more just yet. But we keep monitoring Lawrence. Keep track of who comes to see him, who phones, who inquires about his recovery....and we check them all.'

'Harry', Ros protests, 'the man almost died...don't you think that...'

Harry shakes his head, impatiently. 'We check them all. We leave no stone unturned. I still don't like the way he was parachuted from nowhere as Home Secretary. Lucas?'

'No tips from the Russians. Either they really don't know more about Nightingale than we do, or they have something up their sleeve which they want to keep as a bargaining chip for later.'

'Christ. Bloody Russians playing games. The last thing we need. Keep at it with them. Ruth?'

'Nothing on the known Nightingale members' profiles.' She pauses, and because she is tired, and annoyed with his clipped, abrupt tone, she can't resist the dig. 'I mean, nothing we didn't already know as of 10am this morning when you left.'

He stares at her, not liking her sarcastic, exasperated tone. If she were anyone else, and if he had more time, he would challenge her. He doesn't. 'Tariq? Those traces?' he calls out instead, almost barking the name.

Tariq swallows. 'It's not good, I'm afraid. I was hoping we could bug one of Sara's contact...In case they too are Nightingale members..Malcolm had set up these really sophisticated transmitters which exchange vibes two ways via GPS...a nifty little sytem...'

'In your good time, Tariq. We have all afternoon', Harry interrupts coldy.

Tariq blushes. 'Well. I'm really sorry. Really, really, sorry. But the bugs went dead an hour ago. I mean, really dead. I can't get them back. And I have no idea where this guys are now. He's sort of...disappeared.'

'Disappeared', Harry repeats, in an ominous voice.

'Ye...yes. Disappeared.'

'How come?'

Tariq looks away. 'I....I stepped out for a few minutes to call this girl I met....Libby...We're meeting tonight. The guy was still at home in his pyjamas eating his breakfast...I thought I could... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry', he mumbles, on the verge of tears.

'Are you telling me' – and his tone is rising, and they all know, looking at each other, that the explosion is inevitable. 'Are you telling me that you have lost one of our top suspects because you wanted to talk to your girlfriend? Our best lead?! When I had specifically stressed that we could not, under any circumstances, lose him? Are you telling me', he yells, 'that we are paying you to cock-up something as basic, as elementary, as electronic surveillance, in one of the most important operations this service has ever seen!!? My God, where on earth did they pull you out from! The university of I-don't-give-a-damn-about-my-country but-hey-I'm having-a-great-time playing with all those 'nifty' toys?!'

'Harry', Ros interjects. 'Come on, give him...'

He turns round, incandescent with rage. 'Don't you dare interrupt me! As for you, you bloody idiot, this, here, is not some studenty bar where you can show off your technical skills! This is MI5, and we do not, I repeat, do not losethe only lead we have just because we fancy a little chat with our latest squeeze! Do I make myself clear?!' He walks around the table to the young man, breathing heavily. 'I don't have time to fill in the paperwork to send you back to wherever you've come from. So you're staying here for now. But one more cock-up like this, one dodgy wire, one scratchy transmission, I will find the time, and believe me, it won't be GCHQ, or MI6, or Special Branch. I'll make absolutely sure to pack you off to patrol the Antarctica for six months with one of our nuclear submarines! Are we clear? Good. Now get out. All of you, back to work. We reconvene here at 6.'

They all file out in silence. He goes back to his office, anger pumping through his veins, desperate for a few moments alone to calm down.

He won't get them.

3.

'Ruth. I don't have time now for...'

'How dare you', she says tightly, fists clenched by her side. The door to the open plan is open, and she is vaguely aware that her colleagues have not gone back to their workstations but are hovering nearby, but she is so angry with him she doesn't care.

'Excuse me?'

'How dare you speak to him like this! To all of us for that matter!'

He knows that he's in the wrong, he's already regretting his outburst, but he doesn't want to talk to Ruth about this. Not now. Not when all he wants is get out of the Grid for a few hours, go for a long walk, take her out for diner, have a drink, do the things that normal people do, instead of watching his life disappear down the years. 'Look, Ruth. This really is not the time and...'

'Yes, it is the perfect time, actually, and you will bloody listen! He made a mistake! We all do sometimes! That's no reason lay into him like this!'

'He's got to learn that this is not a game! Where on earth is he coming from anyway?!'

She stares at him hard. 'He was pulled out of GCHQ at the end of his first week there, Harry, having just finished his degree. Double First from Cambridge, by the way. He had to step in Malcolm's s shoes at a moment's notice! And within his first few weeks, he had lost a colleague and witnessed people die! So I'd say he's done pretty well considering. He stepped outside for three minutes. Tops.'

He bangs his fist on the table. 'Never, ever, let your personal life get in the way of the job! Not in the middle of an operation! He has got tolearn this, otherwise he might as well leave.'

'Oh. Because you never make those sorts of mistakes. Sorry. I had forgotten. You self-righteous hypocrite! Remember your daughter getting mixed up in between Palestinian activists and extremist Jewish organisations a few years ago? You had her put under surveillance just so you could hear the sound of her voice! And Juliet...Christ. Don't get me started on Juliet... your constant rows with her...nothing to do with your personal history with her, of course not! As for Cotterdam...' He's gone very pale, and she stops abruptly. She doesn't want to go there, it's too painful still, too raw, and there are too many people listening in.

'Ruth, I....'

She takes a deep breath. 'I'm not finished. You've been behaving like a bully ever since the explosion. Always angry, impatient, intolerant...so what, Tariq took a three minute phone call! He's also put in 15 hours long days for the last two weeks! As we all have! Well, you know what, Harry. We've had it. I've had it. You carry on like this, you'll lose more than your IT guy, you'll lose your analyst as well! So you might want to think about that!' She gathers her files. 'Oh, and you might want to think about this not-letting-your-personal-life-getting-in-the way-of-the-job thing. If you don't want to end up completely alone, that is. Then again, you probably do. Oh forget it. I'm getting out of here. I need some fresh air', she says through clenched teeth. She walks out, and childishly, but she can't resist it, she slams the door behind her.

4.

Tariq looks at Ros, stunned. 'How can she talk to him like that? What? You think it's funny?'

Ros smiles. 'He had it coming. And before you get any ideas into your head, Ruth is the only person here who could get away with it.'

'Oh. Are they...I mean...are they having an affair?', he asks, slowly putting some pieces of the puzzle together.

Ros snorts, fatigue etched on her face. 'Chance would be a fine thing. I wish they would. It'd make our life easier if they could screw some sense into each other.'

Tariq looks away, clearly embarrassed by her crudity. He clears his throat. 'It's nice of Ruth to stand up for me but I don't need her to do that for me. I can do it for...'

'Tariq.'

He looks up, blanching, ignoring Ros' amused expression. 'Yes, Harry?'

'My office. Now.'

He emerges a few moments later, dazed. 'So, what did he say?', Ros asks.

'He apologised. I mean, really apologised. Told me I deserved a bollocking but wished he hadn't got so angry. He even asked me how things were going with Libby. I mean...'

Ros chuckles. 'Oh so he went pastoral on you....well, you'd better prepare yourself for the grilling he'll give you when you fill your permission-to-socialise form.'

'Oh. Does he have to sign it, I mean, can't it be you?'

'Nope. It's got to be him. Then again, look at it this way. You're not a proper member of the team until Harry's blown up at you and put his nose into your personal life. Welcome aboard.'

Tariq laughs weakly. 'That's one way to see it. I bet he's never blown up at Ruth though', he says shrewdly.

'Correct. Oh. And here is another way to see it', Ros says sweetly. 'If you ever, ever make a mistake like this again...you'll have me to deal with as well. Got it? Good. Now go back to work. And don't forget to call Libby, or whatever her name is, to cancel your date tonight. You're putting in an all-nighter.' Tariq's face falls. 'Tell her to meet you for breakfast on the South Bank. Very romantic, beautiful early winter morning...girls like that', she says, sounding surprised, as if the very concept were alien to her. 'Now. Where has Harry gone? I need to talk to him.'

'He's gone out. Said he needed to run an errand. Do you think he's gone to talk to Ruth?', Tariq asks, the idea of Harry's having any sort of emotional life opening up endlessly fascinating avenues for gossip.

Ros raises her eyebrows. 'Get back to work, Tariq.'

She takes a quick look around. Ruth's handbag is still underneath her desk though her coat isn't: she's gone outside, but not far. Harry's coat has gone too. She smiles to herself. Thank God we have a roof terrace...

5.