THAMES HOUSE, LONDON

MI5 CENTRAL HQ

"RUTH!"

It was a familiar bellow sweeping through the MI5 offices, shaking the monitors all the way to Ruth Evershed's desk where it was answered with a tired sigh.

"You'll have to go..." her colleague leaned around his screen.

Ruth fussed with the corner of a file on a (quite frankly alarming) pile of meaningless requests from the Home Office. "I know." She looked up toward his office and caught her boss staring directly through the glass at her. "Shit." His eyes followed her progress across the room until she knocked uselessly on his door and slid in.

"I'm sitting next to the Minister for Trade." He announced irritably.

Ruth shifted, not sure what to make of that opening. She presumed he was referring to the state dinner planned for this evening. "...I know."

"No I can't sit next to the Minister for Trade. It's a four hour dinner, Ruth. My ears will haemorrhage if I'm forced to listen to one more sermon about 'the greater good'. Fix it. Now."

"It's your job to sit next to the Minister." Ruth pointed out, clutching a pile of paperwork in front of her chest like armour. He wouldn't be able to scare her into submission. Someone with higher clearance and a louder bark than him had gotten to her first. "You're head of counter-terrorism," she reminded him firmly. "If you don't sit next to the Minister there'll be nothing to separate him and the Defence Secretary."

"I don't follow."

"Think about it a little longer."

So he did. The two of them lingered in his office, unmoving – silent. His eyes finally rolled in reluctant acceptance as he caught up. "Oh. Oh."

"Don't look too forlorn," Ruth insisted. "There's a car coming to pick you up after you've survived the affair and we'll be with you all night offering helpful commentary."

"Why are we running an opp at the dinner?" Unless they were putting him under surveillance to make sure he didn't take out his general disappointment in humanity on a few deserving politicians.

"Mavrick's been invited. Thought it might be a good opportunity to fill in a few of the blanks we have surrounding his wonderful top secret proposal he keeps baiting us with. Most of what he says is either sadistic rubbish or egotistical fulfilment but every now and then one of his minions stumbles onto something genuinely worthy of our attention. Intel is good on this."

"Why aren't I sitting next to him?"

"George got dibs."

"MI6?" Harry's scowl was almost a moan of despair. "We're slipping, Ruth. Are you coming?"

She hovered at the door, about to leave. "Why would I come?"

"Plus one?"

"Harry, I'm flattered, really but it's not a 'plus one' sort of a dinner." Ruth stumbled over her words despite it being one of the more innocuous things he'd stammered out before thinking. "Don't worry," she softened her reply, "I'll be listening in along with the others. Try to keep your commentary on the house wine to a minimum."

"I don't want to go. Ruth!"

Ruth made him go. He was both alarmed and proud to discover that his Senior Intelligence Analyst could organise his life into a purpose, herding him toward the inevitable no matter how many detours he attempted to foil her with. One way or another, he'd ended up standing outside his front door, dressed in a dinner suit he'd had to dust off. The bow tie was the final nail in his coffin of certainty. This dinner was happening so he might as well relax into the finality of his fate.

'Are you in position?'

Her voice rang out of his earpiece. He wouldn't be surprised if half the Spooks went mad after retiring, wandering around the streets muttering things to the voices in their heads. "Don't pretend there isn't a tracker on me, Ruth."

'Car's approaching now. You'll be picking another diner up en-route.'

"Honestly?"

'Harry. It's the guest of honour. We're chauffeuring him in after there were some last minute security concerns.'

"It's not like he's developing the cure for cancer. Is he?" Harry's eyes had glossed over during that particular briefing. He'd been busy worrying about more important issues, like the upcoming Heads of State conference next week. All sorts of high security risk individuals were flooding the country and the terrorists were swarming in a thick haze of excitement. He didn't have time for dinner.

'Name's Dr Michael Rasmussen – Danish researcher. He's made serious advancements in telomere regeneration.' Harry was silent which Ruth knew translated to 'confused'. "The medical equivalent of the 'Fountain of Youth'. Every nut job with an internet connection will be trying to mob his car. There's been some alarming interest from foreign governments particularly those with dictators who believe it's their entitlement to live forever. The security risk is real. That's why you're taking him there and dropping him back into the waiting arms of his embassy. The sooner he's out of this country the better.'

"This the car?"

'Yes. You can practise your social skills on him.'

Those were non-existent. His car lingered outside the embassy, collecting the scientist. He was an unusually tall, suave creature dressed in a light brown chequered suit. Harry didn't know what he'd been expecting – maybe a lab coat and glasses... Whatever it might have been it wasn't the awkward politeness of the creature sitting next to him.

'Come on, Mr Talkative – dig for a bit of information while you're there.'

That ended up being more uncomfortable than the silence. Ruth had one of the junior agents feed him leading questions but Rasmussen kept his cards close. He sounded practised at avoiding interrogation. Probably came with the line of work. Some medical research centres had high levels of secrecy than MI5.

Harry understood how the wall dividing East and West Germany must have felt. He had a minister on one flank and the secretary hurling thinly veiled insults at his policies on the other. He couldn't even find the will to feign an interest in their war so he sat there, twirling red wine around his glass while his colleagues chattered in his ear. One of his agents was serving condiments. He watched as they slid a tracking device under the collar of a fellow diner. It was funny... When you knew what to look for it was all so terribly obvious. Spying was a game only most didn't know they were supposed to be playing.

"Tell her to be less obvious next time," he muttered into his glass. "Half the room spotted that." Glasses chimed around him. The lights dimmed. "Oh here we go, speech time."

The moment Rasmussen wandered onto stage Harry had the distinct feeling that this was all an elaborate sales pitch – a damn good one. Even Harry had no trouble following the narrative of a wonder nugget of technology that could halt age in its weary progress and march it backwards. He could not have had a more adoring audience. Harry watched the other politicians and high ranking persons as they shifted forward on their seats watching footage of lab rats living to extraordinary ages.

'Harry...'

"Not now." He murmured under his breath.

'Rasmussen.' Ruth ignored his protest. He could hear her shuffling papers in the background. She had something. 'We missed something on our first checks. It's his date of birth. Third of April, nineteen thirty-seven. Our doctor is seventy-four.'

Impossible. He couldn't be more than mid-thirties at best. Harry set his glass of wine down and shifted up on his seat.

'This could be legit, Harry. We're running his files now.'

If they were doing it, the Yanks were no doubt on it. Harry cast his eye around the table of diplomats and found them all paying particular attention. No one was drinking. The room was quiet. Several brushed their hands against their ears, listening to information like him. He was willing to admit that Ruth might have a point.

"When this is done, keep an eye on him."

A moment later, their waitress plant nodded back, receiving his instruction.

"Load of nonsense!" The disagreeable Minister for Trade lurched towards the sweets laid on the table once the lights came back on. "All of these things are a scam. Expensive, well presented scams. They're no better than those, 'save the world' speeches we had to sit through at the EU. Do you remember?"

To Harry's shock, the Defence Secretary nodded. Jesus. Something they agreed on.

'Harry, alpha one's comm has gone dark.'

He politely excused himself from the table and wandered over to the window, pretending to enjoy the view of parliament house lit up against the darkness. "What?"

'She went into a corridor following the doctor. Might be interference from the concrete walls.'

"I'll go..." Harry replied.

Slipping out from the clutches of the dignitaries was easy after decades spying on them. Harry took the same hallway as his alpha team member and followed Ruth's whispered directions until she made him stop.

'It's just through these doors, Harry. Be careful.'

He found his eyebrows lofting all on their own. "Your concern is noted." It was only then that he remembered he wasn't armed. There was no point bringing anything to an event like this because it was thieved at the door. Harry took a breath and then pushed on the double doors. They folded inward in unison. Harry stepped through, confronted by a standard empty corridor complete with flickering neon light on the edge of death. "Can you still hear me?"

'Loud and clear, Harry. Any sign of our agent?'

"Nothing. I'm going to have a look around." He pressed forward, nudging at a few objects in the corridor – worrying the handles of doors as he passed but they were all locked. "Whatever was our special guest doing down here?"

'We've got the blue-prints up. You're heading toward the private delivery entrance for the kitchens.'

"I don't like it."

'Neither do I.'

"Wait."

'Harry? Harry what do you see?'

Ruth ripped her ear piece out and swore so sharply the team backed away from her. "Harry's comm's gone dark as well. What the hell is going on down there?"

"Bad connection?" One of the kids offered.

She didn't seem convinced. "I'm going over there. Call one of the cars around. Simon – take my place. You hear anything from either of them, pass it through at once."

Storming out of the office, Ruth swung a left and checked a side arm out of the lockers, slipping it into her purse. If this was Harry's way of punishing her for making him go to this dinner she was going to shoot him herself – nothing fatal, just a clean clip on the leg should do it.

Her car pulled around the back, avoiding the queues of parading limousines waiting along the main street. It was far less salubrious – dumpsters on one side, emergency fire ladders folded up like the dried husks of spiders on the other. The few street lights that managed to remain on were scattered far apart leaving stretches of darkness in between. She searched for movement. Nothing.

"Wait here," she directed the car.

Sticking to the wall, Ruth slipped through the shadows with more ease than an analyst had any right. The entrance to the second carpark was woefully unguarded. Its entrance gaped like the mouth of a cave. She entered, reaching into her pocket for a torch. In her other hand, Ruth held her phone, staring at Harry's tracking beacon. According to this he was still in the building. She headed toward it.

Harry was about to reply to his comms when a gloved hand swept over his mouth from behind. Before he could react, he was dragged into a side room and slammed against the wall. The leather pressed against his lips.

"Quiet..." His attacker hissed.

He recognised his alpha at once and relaxed, nodding. Harry was about to ask Sasha what the hell she was playing at when he heard the commotion coming from the hallway. A team of armed men paraded Rasmussen past them. He wasn't struggling but neither would he if he had a half a dozen sullen escorts.

'Ruth. Something's happening. Ruth -'

"Comms are down," Sasha whispered. "These guys are wearing jammers. Soon as you get anywhere near them all our gear stops working. I ran into them earlier. Whomever they are, they're not here for the drinks."

"No." Harry replied, ducking away from the small window on the door to avoid being seen. "They're here for Rasmussen. We've got to get out of this room and raise the alarm. If they roll out like this we'll never see him again."

Ruth rolled, slipping behind one of the carpark's pillars. There was a forest of them, all with nasty gashes from ill-executed parking choices. She hid in the shadow. It was as though the sun had suddenly risen behind them as a line of cars started their engines. Their headlights faced her. She had nowhere to go without being instantly spotted.

'You guys still hear me back there? Hello? Hell-'

Nothing. Dead comms. It couldn't be the concrete. Something else was interfering with their communications. It didn't sit well with her. There was a large, curved parking mirror to her left. Reflected in it Ruth could make out a few black Landcruisers. One of their number plates was visible. She memorised it that started slipping from pillar to pillar, staying in the shadows, trying to find a way out of the parking area so that she could call it in. At the edge she heard a crackle in her ear. Back online.

'I need you to run a trace on the following number plate. Have my car follow – tell him, tell him to hang back. Give whomever these guys are some space.'

There was nothing Ruth could do as tires squealed against the cement floor and the cars pulled out. Three, in total, as they paraded past her. She sank down low, sitting in the dark until they were out of sight. Harry's tracking dot was still inside so she followed that, breaking through a kitchen door before finding herself in a corridor. Above, a neon light stammered, shifting awkwardly between light and dark.

A hand grabbed her arm.

Ruth startled, whirling around to find Harry. She shoved him in the chest.

"Dammit Harry!"

"Or hello." He offered. Sasha appeared beside him with a small wave, no doubt meaning to temper Ruth's ire. It failed.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Our scientist has been lifted." He replied. "And they weren't playing around."

"I've got a car following. We need to get back to the grid and out of this nightmare. We've been set up. This whole thing was probably a lure."

"I agree." Harry rubbed his chest then straightened his jacket. "Well come on, my car is still up top. Sasha, stay here and nose around. See if any one else has left the party." She nodded and left at once leaving Harry and Ruth at odds in the hallway. "Should have come to the party, Ruth."

Ruth, who was well aware of everyone listening in, narrowed her eyes at him. "If I find out this was your doing, I'll book you into every meet and greet scheduled for the next two months."

He raised his hands. "Truce."

Her lip curled ever so slightly. She lived to get a rise out of him.