CHAPTER NINETY-TWO


Harry was right. Malcolm did make the connection between Sarkiisian and the millionaire owner of the Moscow-on-Thames mansion. As he told Lucas, the house was massive, secluded, with plenty of room to land a helicopter, and it was empty at the time of Harry's abduction. Lucas dispatched a team straight away to examine it, top to bottom.

When the team returned with their findings, Lucas shared the report with Ros, Malcolm, and Jo from his desk on the Grid. "Someone was killed there," he told them. "More than one person, actually. They did a pretty good job of cleaning up, but we found microscopic traces of three different types of blood. One matched Sarkiisian's. He was executed there. But none of the blood was Harry's."

Malcolm said, "They used the Russian's blood to simulate the pool at Harry's head."

With great relief evident in her voice, Jo said, "Then he's alive."

Lucas looked up at Ros, who smiled back at him. Yes, alive, she thought. But Ros knew they had to face facts. She turned to Jo, and said, "At least he was alive when they left there. We don't know what they've done with him since then."

Frowning, Jo said to Ros, "So Sarkiisian is dead. We still don't know why Stephen Hillier was wasting our time with the SARV connection, do we? And now that Malcolm has found the Indian voice on the tape, SARV seems not to be involved, in any case. So where does that leave us? Who are we looking for now?" She paused and looked at the others. "Who has Harry?"

Lucas looked up at Malcolm, who pursed his lips, and then nodded. Lucas inclined his head toward the meeting room, asking the three of them to follow him. Once inside, he closed the door, and said, "Malcolm discovered the voice on the tape speaking in Malayalam. That's one Indian connection. But there's another."

Lucas turned to Malcolm, who looked to Ros and Jo. He wondered how to say it, but then realised that directly would best. "Ruth Evershed is alive." There was more shock on Jo's face than there was on Ros'. Malcolm looked at Ros, narrowing his eyes slightly, and said, "You knew?"

Ros spoke softly. "After Adam died, Harry and I were talking, and I guessed as much. He didn't deny it." She sat on the edge of the meeting room table. "But I know nothing more."

Jo sat down, taking the news in, and looked up at Malcolm. She was surprised -- not so much that Ruth was alive, but that it had been kept a secret for so long. "Where is she? Where has she been all this time?"

Malcolm was silent for a moment before he spoke, his eyes looking down at the floor. "I'm already a bit uncomfortable sharing this much, so I think I'll spare details, if that's alright. I'll let Harry tell you ... when ... when he gets back."

Malcolm looked up again, and although he looked very tired from his long night at the computer, they could see that he had more resolve in his eyes that they'd seen earlier. "But there's part of this story that's germane to Harry's current troubles, and that's why we're discussing it." He looked at Lucas. "It seems that there was an Indian man looking for Ruth very recently, and we think that man, and the Indian voice on the tape, may be connected."

Ros began to put it all together. "If Harry's still alive, it's for a reason. They either want information from him, or they want to trade him on for a price. We need to find out which one it is. If they want information, and they're also after Ruth, she may know who they are, and what they're looking for." She turned to Malcolm. "Can you get in touch with Ruth? Can we ask her questions?"

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, but it's by email, and I don't know how fast she'll respond."

Ros smiled at him, "But you know where she is, don't you?" Malcolm nodded again, and Ros said gently, "You're very resourceful, Malcolm. I'm sure if you put your mind to it, you'll come up with a way to reach her quickly. We need to know if there's a connection. Perhaps Ruth can help us find it."


The flight attendant announced what Ruth already knew. They were approaching Heathrow. It was a clear day, and she'd seen the blue waters of the channel as they'd passed over it. In fact, as she looked below her, she'd even been able to see the cliffs of Dover. She'd closed her eyes for a moment, remembering that last kiss at the ferry. The last time she'd heard Harry's voice or felt his touch.

And now, she was flying over England, and close to him. Ruth truly didn't know how she felt. She was only aware that Harry was ahead of her, that George and Nico were ten rows behind her, and that she was in the middle.

Ruth laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes for a moment. Hadn't she tried to do the right thing, all along? She felt she had. She'd given up her life in London because at the time, there had seemed no other choice. She'd started a new life on Cyprus because it was offered to her. She'd tried so hard to let go of Harry, and to love George. Ruth thought she'd done the very best she could, every step of the way. And now this.

Whatever it was – fate, destiny, or just bad luck – Ruth was being pulled back to Harry, back to the Grid. She felt the plane slow, and she expanded her jaw slightly to release the pressure in her ears as they continued their descent. Ruth pressed her face against the window, looking down at the impossibly green fields of southern England and the irregular delineations of the farms there. Then houses, a few at first, then more, then the expanse of the city.

She had no idea what awaited her here in England, but as the plane flew further inland, she began to feel strangely protected. England. Ruth felt held within her borders, floating in her airspace, a part of her ebb and flow again. She knew that the dangers that had kept her from coming home for so long had not gone away. She would still have to face Cotterdam, and Maudsley, and the woman with the dark hair who had drowned in the Thames and lay in a grave with the name Ruth Evershed above it.

She knew that the cause for her coming here, the Indian men who were chasing her, were still out there. She dreaded the countless questions that George and Nico would have, questions that must be answered. And Ruth was particularly aware that Harry, the man she still loved beyond all reason, was here. There was so much yet to face.

But as the wheels of the plane touched the tarmac, a strange peace descended on Ruth. After everything that had happened, and within the turmoil of a thousand conflicting emotions, she was finally home.


Malcolm said thank you, and then hung up the phone. Although he'd been reluctant to seek the help of Six, he'd talked with Lucas and Ros, and they'd decided that the desperation of Harry's situation required every means possible.

So Malcolm had called in a favour of the newsagent in Polis, codename Stavros, the MI6 officer who was tasked with keeping an eye on the border tensions between Northern and Southern Cyprus. Malcolm had met him briefly years ago, when Stavros was still stationed in England. He'd done something or other for Stavros, probably computer-related. Malcolm couldn't honestly remember, but he'd been very glad that Stavros had.

When Malcolm asked him, Stavros did recall the two Asian men who had stopped at his booth and shown him a photo of a pretty woman with brown hair. Stavros knew her well from her Sundays in the Square, but he hadn't seen her often of late. Of course, Stavros had said nothing to the men asking about her, as he was a trusted member of the small community, and he would never jeopardise his reputation for two strangers asking questions.

Malcolm had asked Stavros to discover where Ruth lived, and after only a few inquiries of the locals, he'd travelled to the mountain house on his scooter. There was no one home, but the house was wide open, and they seemed to have left in a hurry. There were vegetables and fresh fish sitting out on a table by the pool, now providing supper for the flies. Other than the abandoned food, there was no evidence of foul play, and nothing seemed out of place.

To Malcolm's mind, there were two possibilities. Ruth had been found, and taken. Or, she had seen they were coming, and she'd run. Of course, there was always a third possibility, that some entirely unrelated emergency had called Ruth away from fixing her dinner. But as Malcolm had been the one in their meeting yesterday telling others that they were fooling themselves, he wasn't about to start deceiving himself.

For a moment, Malcolm sat, absently tapping his computer keys. Stavros had also told him that he believed Ruth was married to the paediatric doctor at the hospital in Polis. Malcolm released a heavy sigh. Too late. Harry's waited too long. A painful weariness suddenly descended on Malcolm. He knew that if ... and then he amended it in his mind to say, when .... Harry came out of this, there would also be that to face.

Malcolm went quickly out to the Grid and shared what Stavros had told him with Lucas and Ros, and then he walked back to his computer. He couldn't get the thought out of his mind of Ruth, married. His sadness for Harry was very deep, but it was tinged with something else as well. A warning.

Malcolm found that his head was suddenly filled with Sarah.

Before he began his search through flight manifests from Cyprus, Malcolm made a quick detour to what he called his "Sarah searches." He clicked rapidly through them, and breathed another sigh, this time one of relief. She was still living alone, still at the same job, no name change, no licences. He remembered what Harry had said in the car on the drive to Liverpool so long ago. I hope the lovely Sarah is still there, Malcolm. And Malcolm had replied, And I hope Ruth is still there as well, Harry.

As he sat staring at the small photo of Sarah that he kept hidden in the folder on his computer, Malcolm felt a quickening, a change in the balance of his own feelings. His need for the Services moved just a bit lower, whilst his wish for the feel of Sarah's arms inched up. He felt time closing in on him, inexorably, and a lassitude of What is it all for? began to grow in his heart.

Malcolm closed the window and turned back to the list of flights leaving Cyprus. He knew his primary task was to get Harry back on the Grid, but once that was accomplished, he told himself that he would look at his own future. He remembered another part of his conversation with Harry in the car, as he had said, softly, "We were very good together, Sarah and I."

And in his thoughts, he kept the hope: And one day, we can be good together again.


"Where are you taking us?" George was very angry, and Ruth felt a need to keep Nico between them as they walked down the long corridor toward the tube. George carried their only bag over his shoulder, and Ruth realised it had her things, but nothing for Nico and George. Luckily, hidden in a pocket, her carry-all also contained cash in British pounds from her own personal account, "just in case." They'd quickly purchased clothes for Nico at the Paphos airport, as he'd been wearing only swim trunks and a towel when they'd left Polis, but now Nico and George had only what was on their backs.

Ruth turned to George as they walked. "I need to make a phone call. And you need clothes, toothbrushes, that sort of thing?" George simply stared at her, tight-lipped, so she continued, trying to sound upbeat. "So I'll make my phone call and get us a place to stay, whilst you and Nico go shopping?" They exited the airport and entered the tube station, and George had finally had enough.

He turned to Nico and pointed toward the wall. He tried to speak gently to his son, but Ruth heard the thinly-veiled rage beneath his words. "Nico, please stand over there where I can see you. I need to talk to Ruth alone."

Nico did as his father asked and leant on the wall with his eyes down, gazing at his feet. Ruth watched him shuffling his feet against the dirty tiles, and she waited for the attack that she knew was coming. George took her chin and turned her face toward him, not violently, but firmly. She could feel the intensity of his fury even through his hand.

"Now, you'll tell me." George said, his eyes flashing. "You'll tell me what this is all about."

Ruth was frightened of him, but she also felt a kind of defiance. She wanted to say, I'm angry as well, this is happening to me too, you know. But she held her tongue, and took a deep breath before beginning. "As I told you before, I was a member of the British Security Services ..."

George cut her off with a sneer, "Ah, yes, Ruth the spy."

Now Ruth's eyes flashed, and she said, irritated, "Do you want to hear this or not?"

With narrowed eyes, George stared back at her. He said simply, "I want to hear it."

Ruth looked past George toward the tunnel in the distance, unable to meet his eyes. "I told you I had to leave England because of my work, and that was the truth." George made a slight snorting noise and Ruth turned sharply back to him. "I simply didn't tell you what type of work it was."

Raising his voice, George said, "I thought you worked for a bloody bank, Ruth!"

Ruth tilted her head and looked toward Nico, who was now watching them, distressed. She whispered, hoping George would take the hint, "I never told you I worked for a bank, I told you ..."

His voice went cold as ice, as he hissed, softly, "Enough. We'll simply leave it that you've led me and my young son... " he inclined his head toward Nico, "... into some kind of danger, shall we? So, where do you lead us now?"

She reeled back a bit, almost as if she'd been hit, and finally, Ruth felt the tears begin to form. She shook her head, and said, so softly that it was almost to herself, "I never meant to ... I'm so sorry ... I didn't ... " Her voice trailed off, and now a tear did fall, but George made no move toward her, gave her no comfort, no touch. He stood, watching her, and Ruth realised he had no feeling of compassion whatsoever for her. His eyes held only anger.

When she didn't answer, he began to turn toward Nico, "Okay, then, we go home ..." but Ruth reached out and, with surprising strength, grabbed his arm and held him there.

"You can't go home! Not until we find out what they want!" She lowered her voice again, "They'll follow you, George."

"Who will follow us? Who are these people?" He looked around him, and pointed to a man walking by, "Is it him?" Then to another, "Or him?" He looked wildly back at Ruth, "Why don't we talk to them, find out what they want ..."

"Stop ..." Ruth said the word quietly, almost absently. She was looking past George at the walkway from which they'd just emerged, and she saw the two men in the distance. Indian men. Ruth walked past George and went to Nico. She put her hand out to him and he took it. The train was beginning to rumble into the station.

"Come, Nico. We're going." She looked back through the crowds, and Ruth thought the men hadn't seen her yet. As she walked past George, she said resolutely, "We need to get on this train."

George exhaled loudly, but after a quick glance behind him, he followed her.


Harry was trying very hard to determine what time it was. It was certainly afternoon, so it had been at least twenty-four hours since he'd had his "chips down conversation" with Viktor Sarkiisian. Now Viktor was dead, and Harry had no idea whether his team on the Grid was aware that Amish Mani was involved.

He'd been sitting in the small, hard chair for so long, he could feel his back beginning to cramp, and although he was extremely fatigued, he stood to take another turn around the room. He raised his still-bound hands above his head and groaned softly as the stiffness changed into the conflicting pain and pleasure brought on by the extension of his muscles. He rolled his head on his neck, and groaned again. Then he began the walk that he'd made countless times in the hours he'd been left alone in this room with his thoughts.

He looked again for the cameras and microphones he thought must be here. Very small, very easily hidden, but lost in the breaks of form and colour in the old and dirty walls. Malcolm would be able to find them, certainly, Harry thought, and he allowed himself a brief, sad smile.

What is Mani waiting for? As soon as he asked the question, he was afraid he knew the answer. Ruth. And on the heels of that thought came, Ruth, married. Ruth, a mother. Ruth, no longer my Ruth. It was a fresh pain each time the memory of Mani's words took hold. And Harry knew that he had to get control of himself.

He was dehydrated, hungry, and exhausted. And now, feeling shattered by this news. Harry stopped walking and allowed himself a moment to lean against the wall. What had Ruth said about Mani when they were in Baghdad? It was as if he were looking through my clothes, Harry, as if he could see somehow how much we meant to each other.

If Mani knew, then perhaps he was simply using Ruth's name to put Harry into this panic. Perhaps Mani had no idea how to find Ruth. No, he'd said Cyprus. He knows where she is. Harry walked back and sat down heavily into his chair.

The throbbing in his head began again, and he closed his eyes, his face leant into his joined hands. Suddenly, inexplicably, the vision that he'd seen during his interrogation returned. Ruth on the carousel, one hand holding Catherine's, and the other lightly on Graham's back. The children were going up and down, but she held steady between them.

If what Mani had said was true, she was a mother now, with her own child. They'd talked about children, hadn't they? They'd decided against it, because of their jobs. But that would no longer apply to Ruth. Married. A mother. Lost to me. My Ruth. My dear love.

Harry was so tired and broken, that he stopped caring about the cameras or the microphones. He was silent at first, but then the muffled sound of his crying could be heard by those who were listening, and although his head was in his hands, they could clearly see the shaking of his weary shoulders.


Ruth looked like any other Londoner, except for the slightly browner skin. Those who noticed might have thought that perhaps she'd been on holiday, to Bermuda or to the Greek islands.

But as she walked the busy street, Ruth was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The last time she'd been in London, she'd been within Harry's protective arms, and so completely, utterly in love. They never would have walked out on a public street this way, because they'd had a secret. Now, as she walked alone, Ruth's heart was racing. She kept her head down as much as possible, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone around her. She was terrified that she would either see someone who would recognise her, or that she would sense someone following her before she could get to a telephone to call in to the Grid.

Ruth had loved London, and even through her fear, she still felt the city's energy, its people, the excitement of its activity. And as she felt it, another piece of Ruth Evershed edged back into her. The part she had anaesthetised began to come alive again, and she felt it fall into place.

But with that piece of her, Ruth inevitably felt Harry's presence swell inside her. He'd never left her memory, in all the time she'd been away, but now she'd walked back into his world, and he was closer, more immediate somehow. She almost expected to see him emerge from the crowd, moving toward her, his hands swinging easily at his side, his face wearing the peculiar mix of guardedness and intimacy that always seemed to belong only to her ...

Ruth looked down again, as her eyes began to mist. She knew now, beyond a doubt, that it would never work with George. Better to be alone than to try to find a cheap imitation of what had once lived in her heart.

It wasn't because George was angry with her. And she knew that he was, in fact, blindingly angry. It wasn't even because he was reacting badly in an unspeakably difficult situation, which he was. Ruth knew it couldn't work because she simply didn't love him, and she never would. She would go to her grave alone if she had to, and she would do what she had counselled herself to do since practically the first day she'd set eyes on Harry Pearce. She'd be grateful for what she'd had with Harry, however limited in time it may have been, with the understanding that so many never find even that much.

She would sort out this mess, whatever it was, and she would say goodbye to George. The harder task would be to let go of Nico, but Ruth had no doubt that George would find a lovely woman more like Christina to share his life with and to be a good Cypriot mother to Nico. A woman without a past, one who could be completely honest with him, one who could, finally, love him. And, in the end, that would be the best thing for Nico.

After this was all over, George would get on a plane back to Cyprus. Ruth would board a plane as well, but she would fly in the opposite direction. Perhaps she would finally find her way to New York, or to Australia, or New Zealand. She'd learnt her lesson with George. Unless she could tell the truth about her life, it made no sense to try and drag someone else into it. The only person who knew her whole self was Harry, and he was the only one who would ever know.

Ruth knew that she would always love Harry, but she assumed he had moved on. She'd flown into the sun with him, and even if he'd forgotten her, Ruth would never forget. It was real, and would be a part of her forever. Today, or tomorrow, or the next day, they would see each other again. There would be some awkwardness, this would all get cleared up, and she would leave. Forever.

She found the red telephone box, opened the door, and entered. For a moment, Ruth stood, listening to her own breath, trying to calm her heart. For all of her brave thoughts as she'd walked, now she was a mass of nerves. She was only one tube station from Thames House, and was about to connect herself through a series of wires and electrical impulses to the room in which it was likely that Harry stood. She picked up the receiver, but her hands were shaking, so she closed her eyes for just a moment to collect herself.

And unbidden, through her closed eyes, she saw him, sitting behind his desk. He looked up and took a deep breath, his eyebrows raised in a question. He stood, and she walked toward his office. His arms went out to her, and she folded into them. Suddenly, Ruth was there so completely that her eyes filled with tears, standing alone in a red telephone box on a busy London street. It was the missing piece, the feeling that had kept Cyprus and Paris from being her home.

It was Harry. Harry was her home. But she would leave him again, and find a new one. She had to.

Ruth quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks, and pressed in the numbers that were as easily remembered as her own name. She said the words that had been in her head since the day Zaf had given them to her on the cold docks so long ago. The words that she was to speak if ever she was in trouble and needed MI5's protection.

"Echo. Foxtrot. Lima. Lady Lazarus."


CHAPTER NINETY-THREE


On the other end of the line, Ruth heard Malcolm, lovely Malcolm, his voice still so familiar, even after all this time. She could hear a short gasp of surprise, but then he spoke, professionally, strictly according to the book. "Echo. Foxtrot. Lima. Lady Lazarus. Copy."

She continued the required message. "Code Ten. Please advise."

Malcolm pulled down his list of safe houses, and quickly chose the one he thought would be best, "SE16. Proceed directly." He was about to put the phone down, but he remembered what Stavros had said, and he asked, "Erm…how many?"

Ruth paused, and said, "Three." Malcolm thought he heard sadness and a tinge of guilt in her voice. He didn't want to leave her like that, so he added something that was strictly not according to the book, "Very good to hear from you, Lady Lazarus."

Ruth smiled, and some of her shakiness subsided. "Thanks," she said softly. "Hope to see you soon."

Malcolm hung up the phone and called the safe house, explaining that a woman, and two others, probably a man and child, were on arrival. The woman would speak the call sign Echo, Foxtrot, Lima.

Malcolm looked out at the Grid in wonder. He was realising that he had just spoken with Ruth Evershed for the first time since he'd been outside the Chapter Room with Harry whilst Davey King waited inside. How could it be nearly a year? Malcolm marveled, as he stood, seemingly paralysed. Ros saw him, and asked, "What is it, Malcolm?"

I've just had a Code Ten." So, Ros thought, someone wants to be brought in. She tried to think who was currently deep undercover, but Malcolm saved her the trouble. His forehead furrowed slightly and he said, "From Ruth."

Ros was taken aback for a moment, but then she repeated the name, "Ruth." She'd only just asked Malcolm to get in touch with Ruth, and now a Code Ten? In her head, she thought, Quick work, Malcolm, but outwardly, Ros simply stared.

Malcolm continued, "She's in trouble. She needs our help."

"Which safe house did you give her?" Ros asked.

"SE16."

Ros took a step toward Malcolm. "Good. You go and meet her there. She'll need to see a friendly face." Ros gave him a sad smile, also knowing that he would probably be the best one to break the news to Ruth about Harry's abduction. Ros hadn't shared all that Harry told her the night that Adam died, but now, as she looked in Malcolm's eyes, Ros could see that he knew about Harry and Ruth as well.

"Talk to Ruth, Malcolm. And then bring her back here. We need to find out why they've taken Harry."


It wasn't a bad place, as safe houses go, but Ruth, George and Nico were painfully aware of how very different it was from the mountain house on Cyprus. Just this morning, they'd been looking forward to a beautiful, warm day at the beach. And now, they were in London in a duplex with a view of the motorway.

And to top it all off, there were thunderclouds outside, and it was raining. The clouds had come in fast, although Ruth thought this was one of those London storms that moved out just as quickly. But for now, she could hear the low rumble and the sound of rain on the windows.

George sat at the small dining table, etching something invisible into its surface with his fingers, his anger still evident in the hard line of his mouth. He and Nico had gone shopping, but George had refused to buy more than one shirt and jumper, as he'd said he wouldn't be here long enough to use them. He was still wearing the khakis that he'd had on when he'd gone to get the wine this morning.

This morning. Ruth could hardly connect this day and all its parts. She didn't know what would happen next, but she had to assume that, by now, Malcolm had told Harry she was back in London. She wondered if Harry would come here, and if Malcolm had told him that there were three of them. Ruth wondered so many things. But she was exhausted from worrying and wondering. It would be what it would be, and if Harry was the one to walk through the door, she would deal with her emotions then.

Nico stood with his head under the sheer curtains and watched the rain as it pelted the cars on the road. His voice was sullen, and Ruth was surprised to hear him sound slightly spoilt. "I don't like it here." But then Ruth heard the sweet boy that she loved, and her heart clenched. "I just want to go home."

George had hardly spoken a word to Ruth since they'd boarded the train at the airport. He'd simply followed her silently, brooding, and when he did speak, it was in a cold, staccato voice. Now he turned to Nico, echoing the boy's feelings, and in the process, lashing out again at Ruth. "We can't go home."

Ruth looked down at her hands, and a frown wrinkled her forehead. She didn't actually know if she could feel any more guilt than she was feeling now, although she sensed that George would somehow like her to. She wanted nothing more than to tell him to go back to his beautiful house on his lovely, uncomplicated island. She could stay and deal with this herself. But she knew that would be too dangerous, so she held her tongue.

They were innocents, really. Unskilled in how evil people could be, not knowing how those in this business died horrible deaths at the hands of others. It was incongruous to think of Nico and George in this position, in this place, and Ruth began to feel her own anger increase. She directed it, of course, toward the Indian men who had started it all, but then, her resentment seeped and spread, until it encompassed the whole of the Services. Finally, it reached the one who held most of her emotions on this very emotional day. Harry.

Her anger wasn't rational or logical, but it grew, and it blamed. It asked why Harry had never gotten in touch with her, and why he had allowed her to find another life and pull these innocent people into danger. But most of all, in the depths of her heart, Ruth asked why Harry hadn't loved her as much as he'd said he would. Forever, come what may, until the end of time. Liar.

Nico turned away from the window, and looked toward George through the sheer curtain. He still wanted to go home, and couldn't understand why his father had said they couldn't. "Why not?"

Nico lifted the curtain and gazed at his father with the soft, open-faced look that Ruth so loved, and again, she felt the rage expand, quietly, inside her heart. She wanted to tell Nico why they couldn't go back to Cyprus. She thought that he was mature enough and strong enough to listen, but she also knew that George wasn't keen on her making, or even participating in, decisions about Nico's future. So Ruth clamped her lips shut. This was not the time to assert herself.

George took a breath, and for a moment, Ruth thought he might tell Nico the truth. But then he said, "Go upstairs and play, Nico. I'll be up in a minute." Nico walked past her, and the love she felt for him made her face fall naturally into a smile. He didn't smile back. He went to the stairs, and did what his father had told him.

"Any ideas, Ruth? How best to explain this to him?" George's questions were simple enough, and very reasonable, but his tone held an unmistakeable accusation.

Ruth could only think of one thing to say, and she wanted to say it over and over. "I'm so sorry." And she was so sorry, about so many things. But in this moment, the one thing she was sorriest about was that she hadn't listened to her own heart. She was bitterly regretting the fact that she had allowed George into her life, knowing that she could never love him. Right now, Ruth would do almost anything to turn back the clock and not make the decision to move in with George. To not have fooled herself into thinking there could be a life for her in his house, or his bed.

George had more to say, and she couldn't begrudge him the blame he wanted to place on her. She was placing it on herself as well. He spread his hands, incredulous, "You couldn't tell me?"

Ruth couldn't think of a reason that sounded logical, so she told the honest truth. "I thought there'd never be any need."

Of course, this was an opening for George's righteous indignation, and he leapt on it. "Truth is an end in itself. It requires no other justification." Ruth couldn't keep herself from a knowing laugh, as she thought, He's so naive, really. How can I expect him to understand? She shook her head, and felt further away from George in this moment than she ever had.

She looked at him, sadly, and spoke to him as one might to a child. "How much you have to learn."

George heard her patronising tone, and his rage welled up. "I don't want to learn your moral values."

Ruth simply glared at him. She was ready to tell him how often his peaceful life had been saved by the British Security Services and others like it around the world. How often the delicate balance of power had to be soothed or wrestled to the ground by the very "moral values" on which he was passing judgment right now.

Before she was able to allow free rein to her own righteous indignation, the door opened.

She stood, and she looked into the sweet, wide, and vaguely surprised eyes of Malcolm Wynn-Jones. Ruth's heart swelled, as he brought everything that was good about her past into this cold, accusatory room. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and have a good cry.

Instead, she smiled warmly, and said, "Hello, Malcolm."

Malcolm hadn't smiled yet. He still looked as if he was seeing a ghost. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"No." Nor did I, Malcolm. Ruth was painfully aware that George was still in the room, behind her, and that she should be introducing the two of them. She thought she should want to include George in this moment, but she didn't.

Ruth stood between her two lives, in a sort of vacuum, unwilling to blend the two. She needed to bask for just a moment longer in the warmth of Malcolm's gaze, in the familiarity that he was offering. Malcolm knew about her love for Harry, and Harry's for her. He knew about the letters, and had probably read some of them. The feeling of acknowledgement washed over her, and she found herself reeling slightly. But in such a very good way.

Finally, she turned to George. She smiled genuinely in the face of his glare. "George?" she said, now more confident in Malcolm's presence, "I'd like you to meet a very dear friend of mine. Malcolm Wynn-Jones."

Malcolm now smiled and turned to George with an outstretched hand. At first George didn't want to take it, but then his natural sense of politeness overtook his anger, and he stood and gave Malcolm's hand a perfunctory shake. George looked quickly at Ruth, raising his eyebrows in suspicion, and she could see the question there, Is this the man you love? She frowned and shook her head, just slightly.

George looked back at Malcolm, and then said suddenly, "I need to see about my son." He moved quickly past Ruth and Malcolm and climbed the stairs.

Malcolm's eyebrows raised slightly, and he looked to the floor. Ruth smiled, and said, "Sorry."

Shaking his head, Malcolm said, "No, no. No need. It's a difficult situation, I'm sure ..." He looked up at her, and gave a small shrug.

Ruth smiled, and even managed a short laugh. "Yes, and that's a bit of an understatement, Malcolm."

She inclined her head toward the balcony, and Malcolm followed her out the door. It had stopped raining, and the air felt fresh after the heat of the flat. After closing the French windows firmly, she said, softly, "I never told him about any of this ... about ... what I used to do ..."

Malcolm took a deep breath, and said simply, "Ah..."

Ruth leant on the railing, "He's not taking it very well."

Malcolm nodded, and said slowly, "Understandable, I suppose. It certainly is hard for ... civilians ... to grasp ..."

Ruth turned and looked deeply into Malcolm's eyes. "I thought I could do it, you know? Turn my back on it completely. To pretend this life never existed. I tried. I tried so hard to forget the work, the Grid, all of you ... " She didn't say Harry's name, but she could see that Malcolm understood. "But in the times that I did forget, when I was able to leave it behind, I was happy, Malcolm. Life was ..."

Malcolm had been in the Services for so long, he was trying to remember what life was like. Then, as he looked out over the street, glistening from the rain, he remembered, "Calm?"

Ruth managed a small laugh. It was so hard for her to describe the push and pull of wanting to forget, and not being able to. "It's like one of those scary dreams when you're taken back to a time and place you thought you'd left completely behind."

Malcolm couldn't restrain himself any longer. He was very fond of Ruth, and it suddenly filled him. He wasn't normally effusive, but he turned to her and gave her a proper smile. "I'm so glad to see you again."

Ruth wanted to say that she was glad to see him as well, but the circumstances simply wouldn't allow it. She looked at him, and then had to look away. Everything was so different. The last time she'd seen him was on the Grid, as Mace's men were leading her away. It seemed a lifetime ago.

And then she thought about Cyprus, and how this day had started. She'd told herself just this morning that she was going to try again to make a go of it with George. She thought of their picnic on the beach. "I left some fresh fish out on the side. It was so hot, they'll be completely ... "

Ruth suddenly thought she might cry. She felt firmly caught between two worlds. No way to return to the one she'd just left, and now she'd been thrust back into the world of her past. She looked down at the roadway, slick and black from the rain, and she felt weary, tired of fighting. "Doesn't really matter any more, I suppose."

Malcolm could clearly see Ruth's sadness, and he hadn't even told her about Harry yet. His heart went out to her, but he knew he had to get her debriefed as quickly as possible. He stepped back from the railing and said, "There's a car waiting. We'll take you straight back to the Grid."

Now Ruth couldn't prevent the smile that involuntarily curled her lips. She was thinking that very soon she would see Harry again, and whilst she dreaded it, she also longed for it. She was very angry with Harry, at the same time she thought she loved him right now more than ever. She was as confused as she could ever remember being, but there was one thing she needed to ask. "How is he, Malcolm?"

Malcolm couldn't meet her eyes, and he released a sigh. Ruth's smile transformed immediately into a frown, accompanied by a furrow in her forehead. She looked back at him, dismayed, "What's happened?"

"Harry's in great danger, Ruth."

Ruth's heart began to pound, as she turned to face him. "What kind of danger, Malcolm?"

Malcolm put his arm out, motioning her to the door. "We'll talk in the car. We need to hurry."

Ruth went inside and quickly got her coat. She called up the stairs to George, "I have to go out." She was met with silence, so she said, sighing, into the air, "I'll be back soon." She followed Malcolm out of the front door to the flat, not knowing what was ahead of her, but feeling a sense of relief at leaving the tension of George behind.

During their drive to Thames House, Ruth sat next to Malcolm in the back seat. She turned to him, and said, "Tell me what's happened, Malcolm."

Malcolm kept his eyes forward as he spoke. "Harry saved us. Again." Now he looked at Ruth. "There was a bomb, nuclear actually, and Harry needed help from the FSB in London. He went there, and he sorted it out. This time it would have been most of Central London up in smoke, including all of us." Malcolm waited for a moment to let it sink in, and then he continued. "He went there, but he didn't come back. Next thing, there's a video posted on the internet of his ... his ..."

Malcolm faltered, and Ruth leant forward in the seat, peering into his eyes. "His what, Malcolm? What was on the video?"

Malcolm sighed, and leapt. "It showed Harry being shot." Her hand went to her mouth, and Malcolm could see the terror in her eyes. And all he could think was, She still loves him. Quickly, he said, "We're certain it's a fake. It's not real, Ruth." Ruth breathed again, and sat back against the seat.

After a moment, she turned again. "Where is he?"

Malcolm told her about the Moscow-on-Thames estate and Sarkiisian, and then he explained the SARV connection, and how they'd been on the wrong track for awhile. He shook his head, and said, "As far as where Harry is now, we don't know. We're hoping you can help us."

Ruth was incredulous. "Me? How can I possibly help? I've been away for nearly two years."

"I got your letter, Ruth. The one from Isabelle, about the Indian man who was looking for you." Ruth said a soft, "Ah," and Malcolm continued, "There's a voice on the tape of Harry's ... well, on the tape, and the man is speaking Malayalam."

Ruth's eyes narrowed as she put the pieces together. "So you think that the men who are after me are also the ones holding Harry?"

"We need you to tell us that, Ruth. What could they want from both of you?" Ruth blinked back at Malcolm. She thought she had the answer to his question, but she'd sworn her silence to Harry after their trip to Baghdad. If she had to, she would tell them what she knew, but only if it was absolutely necessary to save Harry.

"So I'm going to the Grid to be debriefed?" Ruth asked. Malcolm nodded.

Ruth nodded back, absently. "How long have they had him?"

"Since yesterday at three o'clock." He looked at his watch. "Nearly twenty-six hours."

Ruth took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart. This had always been her fear for Harry, and she was right back in the middle of it, worrying for his safety. Her voice was soft, and shaky, "Did he see the letter, Malcolm? The one I just sent?"

Malcolm looked away. "No. There wasn't time."

"But the others? He got those?"

"Yes, all of them."

"Thank you for making those letters possible, Malcolm. They were like ... a lifeline ..."

A lifeline, Malcolm thought. But now she was married, and a mother. He needed to understand, somehow, so he turned to her and asked, "You have a son now? How old is he?" Malcolm hadn't gotten a complete answer from Stavros, only that there was a child living with them at the mountain house.

Ruth's face softened, and Malcolm saw genuine affection in her eyes. "He's ten. Nico." She saw the frown that began to form at Malcolm's brow, and she smiled, "Of course, he's George's son, but I care for him, very much." Her smile disappeared, and it was replaced with worry. "He's scared, and confused, and ... and ... his father isn't much help right now, I'm afraid."

Malcolm was thinking of Harry, and how devastated he would be once he found out that Ruth had moved on so completely. In fact, he thought it was a blessing of sorts that Harry wasn't here to see George, and Nico, and this new Ruth. Malcolm had no idea how to ask the question that was weighing on him, but he realised he wanted to ask it as much for himself as for Harry. Sarah had been on his mind all day, and the question seemed somehow to pertain to her, as well.

Finally, he just came out with it. "You've started a new life, then?" Ruth turned quickly to him, and Malcolm saw the pain in her eyes.

For a moment, she thought of simply saying, "Yes," but then she looked more deeply at Malcolm. Ruth saw the lovely combination of wisdom and innocence there in his eyes, and she couldn't lie. She looked away, and said, sadly, "I've tried. I've tried so hard, Malcolm. But I can't do it. When this is all over, I won't be going back with George."

She turned to him, and although he was trying to suppress it, Malcolm was smiling, a broad infectious smile. He said, "I'm so glad, and Harry ..."

Ruth cut him off. "I won't be staying here, either, Malcolm. I couldn't bear to be here without ... I can't...even if I were somehow cleared and could stay in England, Harry doesn't want me ... to ... " As her voice trailed off, Malcolm looked at Ruth, probing her eyes. There were tears there, and still, again, he saw love.

Malcolm hardly thought before he spoke. "I shouldn't say this, but I'm going to do it anyway. He still ... he cares for you ... Harry loves you, Ruth. Very much. He's never stopped."

Ruth inhaled sharply as his words sunk in. She'd waited for such a long time, and had wished so desperately to hear that Harry still loved her. With a soft oh, she closed her eyes and leant her head back on the seat, trying to catch her breath.

A part of Ruth thought herself ridiculous to be so susceptible to this news, willing to suddenly fall completely back into the dream of a life with Harry, but it happened in a flash, and in her head she said it again, He still loves me. Then, the car jostled, and reality descended upon her. Nothing had changed. Harry's reasons for denying his love still existed, whatever they were. She had still been left on Cyprus in confusion and bitter loneliness for nearly a year.

A frown creased Ruth's forehead as she opened her eyes and turned to Malcolm, her eyes pleading, "But why, then? Why didn't he come to Cyprus, or write? Why did he turn his back on me, Malcolm?" She stopped suddenly, her voice choked.

"I can't say anything more, it's not my place. I shouldn't have said what I did, really." Malcolm turned and looked out the window at the rain that was beginning to fall again.

Malcolm seemed angry and Ruth couldn't understand why, but he'd given her a gift and she was so grateful for it. She regained her voice, and spoke softly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Thank you, Malcolm. Thank you for saying it."

Malcolm was mumbling toward the window, and Ruth couldn't quite hear it, but she thought she heard him say, crossly, under his breath, Bloody job.


Ruth stepped through the doors, and felt she was stepping back in time. There were no more pods, simply glass doors. Other things looked different as well, but also the same. Different furniture, but the same activity. And she simply couldn't help it -- the moment she walked onto the Grid, she looked to her right, and into Harry's office. Still the fishbowl. Although the rest of the Grid had changed quite a lot, Harry's office looked the same.

It took only a moment, and the memories flooded back to her, of sitting in his chair, standing at his door, and especially that last day, when they'd talked about Maudsley, hidden from the rest of the Grid. His hand had been at her necklace, and her hand was on top of his. It was the evening he'd called her a mule for the first time, the evening they'd stolen a kiss behind the column in the car park below Thames House. The evening she'd gone to Maudsley's house. The last evening she'd been in this building, before Oliver Mace had escorted her from the Grid, from MI5, from her life.

But Harry's office was empty now. He was somewhere else, probably tired, hungry, thirsty, perhaps in pain. And she could barely bring herself to say the rest, even in her head. Perhaps dead. Ruth turned away and looked around her, aware that she was feeling some kind of shock at being back here. There were people and voices everywhere, but no one knew her. Only Malcolm, who now stood a bit away from her after being handed a report that he was now reading.

"Ruth. I'm Lucas North. I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances." Ruth turned to see a very tall man with angular features walking toward her. He was a complete stranger, but when he said his name, she recognised him as a former officer who had been held in a Russian prison for years before Ruth had even joined the team at MI5. Harry had talked about him with respect, and had called him a friend.

He looked at her with warmth, but by now, Ruth had left the niceties of polite conversation with strangers far behind her. She couldn't even manage a smile as she asked, "Why was I attacked?"

Lucas understood. He nodded, and took her arm gently. "We're going to find that out, Ruth." He pointed the way toward the briefing room, although he realised she probably knew very well where it was. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Are you hungry?"

Finally, Ruth acknowledged him with a small smile of apology. "Yes, please. Tea would be very good." She almost started toward the kitchenette to get it, and marvelled at how quickly she felt she knew this place. But she felt a pang as she realised that the faces she wished so much to see weren't here. No Adam. No Zaf. And no Harry.

Suddenly, Ruth felt a hand on her shoulder, and she heard a voice that she very much recognised. "Ruth." She turned to see Jo, and without thinking, the two of them enveloped each other in a hug. Ruth couldn't express how good it felt. She hadn't been held since all this began this morning, and until this moment, she hadn't realised how much she needed physical contact. Jo was warm, familiar, and obviously very glad to see her.

"Jo." Ruth looked at her and said, "So good to see you."

Jo laughed softly, "And you! I just found out today that you were still ..."

Ruth smiled sadly, "Alive? Yes, I know. Sorry about that."

Squeezing her arm, Jo said, "It was very good news." Lucas was walking back now with Ruth's tea, and Jo knew they had to get to the meeting room. She turned to Ruth and said, "We'll have time talk later. So much has happened ..."

Ruth saw a darkness pass over Jo's fresh, pretty face, and she reached up to the younger woman's shoulder. "I know." Unspoken were two names. Adam and Zaf. "I want to talk with you, too." Ruth could see that Jo had changed, matured. There was a new sadness in her eyes, a sort of latent terror that Ruth understood, because she had seen it in her own mirror. Ruth felt very drawn to this new Jo, and vowed that no matter what happened in the next few days, she would find some time to spend with her. She felt that talking about Zaf and Adam might finally offer some of the closure that had been so elusive.

But not now. Ruth knew that now was all about finding Harry, so she turned to follow Lucas and Jo to the meeting room. Someone touched her arm, and she turned to see Malcolm. He had a strange look on his face, and she tilted her head at him. "What is it, Malcolm?"

He looked suddenly embarrassed, but he said, "I was just wondering if you'd mind if I went back to the safe house and kept an eye on your ... on Dr Constantinou, and Nico. There's not really anything for me to do here, and I thought Nico might like to play a game or something. That they might be ... erm ... feeling a bit ... adrift, here in London."

"Oh, Malcolm, that's very kind of you." Ruth was so grateful that she reached her hand up and touched his cheek, which caused him to blush furiously.

"Well, I'm not very experienced with children, but I do know games, and I understand children are fond of games ..." His voice trailed off, and he looked quite nonplussed.

Ruth said softly, "It would ease my mind considerably to know you were there. Thank you, Malcolm."


Harry knew the signs of dehydration, and he was beginning to feel them as they took hold of his fatigued body. He was no longer hungry, and was alternately slightly chilled and then flushed. His mouth was dry, his lips were parched, and he was finding it hard to push the constant desire for water from his mind.

Of course, it didn't help that every time Mani came in to talk to him, he taunted Harry, drinking almost an entire bottle each time. The last time, the bottle had been covered in drops of condensation, as if it had been on ice. Harry had watched as the large drops gained momentum and fell from the outside of the plastic bottle to the dusty floor.

But Mani had seen Harry's eyes dart to the floor, and then he'd let Harry imagine leaning over and lifting the scarce, dirty drops to his lips once he was alone. Just before he'd left, Mani had smiled at Harry, and had taken his expensive, well-polished Italian leather shoe and spread the drops of water, watching them evaporate. He'd wagged his finger at Harry and laughed softly, saying, "No, no, no, Harry." Then, as he always did, Mani had pushed back his chair, loudly, suddenly, scraping the floor with the noise that was newly painful to Harry's head each time Mani performed the ritual.

Now, as Harry sat, he tried to figure how long it had been since he'd seen Mani, and he couldn't. All he knew was that it was still light outside. When the sun went down, he could begin to calculate another day. What was worrisome to Harry was that he was beginning not to care.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Harry looked up. This time, Mani didn't come into the room, but only stood there, one hand jauntily on the knob, the other on the door jamb. He called across the room as if he were giving Harry a wonderful piece of information.

"Harry! Good news! Ruth is back in town." Mani waited for Harry to react, but seeing nothing, he continued. "She's here, in London, and she's brought her husband and her son with her. Thought you would want to know."

Mani started to close the door, but then turned back, as if he had just thought of something else. His voice went lower, and became almost conspiratorial. "He's very handsome, her husband. Tall. Dark. Young." Mani paused, and then, shaking his head, he said, "Not like you at all." Then he slammed the door, and was gone.

Harry sighed, and let his head drop nearly to his chest. He didn't think he'd ever been this tired in his entire life. Not like you at all. A wound began to open up, as real and as painful as if Mani had actually taken a knife and thrust it between Harry's ribs. Harry could almost feel the blood flow and spread from his heart, like the blood he had washed off of his face and out of his hair last night. But this time it wasn't Sarkiisian's blood, but his own.

Oh, my Ruth. I always said you wouldn't be alone for very long. How could I ever have imagined I could hold someone as young and as beautiful as you?


CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR


Ruth walked into the meeting room and came face-to-face with Ros Myers. When she'd left London, she'd certainly felt less than friendly toward Ros, but her memories were now tinged with Harry's stories of what had happened since. Ruth could see that Ros was steeled for coldness, but Ruth surprised her by simply saying, softly, "Ros." She gave her a half-smile that offered an olive branch, and Ros took it.

Raising her eyebrows, Ros returned the smile, and said, "Ruth."

Ruth tilted her head, and said, still smiling, "Your house key was in the pocket of your coat. I assume you got another. I seem to have misplaced it." She grimaced slightly. "Erm ... and your coat."

Ros laughed softly, and said, "Good thing I know how to pick a lock, then." She motioned for Ruth to sit down. "And I've got other coats."

It was all they needed to say, but it said so much.

Lucas sat at the end of the table, and started right in. "Hypothesis? Whoever has Harry went after Ruth as well. The South Asian appearance of her attackers would certainly suggest that."

Ruth had determined that she wouldn't discuss Baghdad unless absolutely necessary, and she wanted to find out where Lucas was in his investigation so far. So she played dumb, and asked, "Why?"

Jo, sitting across from her, answered Ruth's question. "They're holding him because they want some information. The SARV red herring was just to buy them time."

Ros continued the thought. "Information that you and Harry share."

As Ruth looked across at Ros, she could still see Harry's face, close to hers, as they lay in bed talking at the Baghdad hotel. I'm only going to tell you, Ruth. No one else. There's no other person in the world that I trust as I trust you, my love. And I only tell you this in case anything ever happens to me. The uranium is in Norfolk.

Ruth kept her face open, and hoped she was convincing. "I don't know what that could be."

Ros was too skilled at interrogation to believe what she was hearing. Instead, she trusted what she was seeing, which was that Ruth was holding back. "What did Harry ever share with you that was for your ears only? That no one else could ever know? That would be worth all this effort?"

She tried, but Ruth couldn't keep up the pretence. Her eyes darted left and right, and finally, she simply shook her head, sighing.

Lucas tilted his head toward her, and asked softly, "Ruth?"

All of Ruth's reserve fell away, and she looked up at Lucas. She knew that if it could help Harry, she had to tell. "Baghdad. I think this might be about Baghdad."

Gently, Ros asked, "What happened in Baghdad?"

Ruth turned to her, and said, slowly, "Harry came across a clandestine operation there to smuggle weapons-grade uranium into the country and then discover it. Vindicate the war."

Lucas frowned. "Harry was involved in that?"

Ruth turned to him quickly. There was a tinge of pride in her voice, and a healthy dose of defence, in case Lucas should think that Harry was caught up in anything sinister. "Harry stopped it."

A flash of what Ruth thought was relief seemed to pass over Lucas' face. "So who else was involved?"

Taking herself back to Baghdad in her mind, Ruth remembered the dinner they had all shared, and the players that sat around the table. "Elements of the CIA, some cowboys from Six, and a freelance chap from the Indian Intelligence Bureau." Ruth looked across at Ros and Jo. "It was completely below the radar. When Harry discovered it, he went straight to the top and it was quickly stopped."

Jo leant forward. "But why now? What do they want from Harry now?"

Ruth paused, and then said, "The uranium, I should think. We got it out again. Brought it here."

Now Ros understood. "And Harry knows where it is, and he told you as back up."

Ruth sighed. There was so much more to it than that, and she had the feeling, looking into Ros' eyes, that she understood. "Harry was the only person other than the Americans who knew where it was. So yes, he told me."

Ros left to speak to the Home Secretary, and Ruth continued with the debrief. Lucas stood and began to pace as he asked questions. "So, Ruth, tell us whatever you can about the three men involved."

Ruth asked for a glass of water, which Jo brought to her. She took a long sip, and told them what she remembered. "Amish Mani was the freelancer from the IIB who stole the uranium in the first place. He was well-dressed, seemed to consider himself a player. I believe he's the one who was looking for me in Paris, and I'm certain it was his men who came to my house on Cyprus."

Lucas stopped pacing, and turned to her. "And the man from CIA?"

Ruth looked up at him. "The CIA guy was Libby McCall . Horrible man."

Lucas knew him, so needed no description. "He's been here for a few years. He's now on the point of retiring."

Ruth nodded. "He sided with Harry, in the end. Once it became clear the plan wouldn't go ahead, there was a lot of shape-shifting taking place."

Jo asked, "And the MI6 guy at the dinner?"

Ruth shook her head slightly, "Didn't know him. He used the name Ronnie." Jo looked up at Lucas, as both now realised that the same MI6 agent who had led them on the SARV wild goose chase was involved in Harry's disappearance. Ruth gave Jo an ironic smile, "Also wriggled around afterwards suggesting he'd never really supported it."

Jo pulled the photo of Stephen Hillier out of the file folder under her hands, and she placed it in front of Ruth. "That Ronnie?"

Ruth looked into the face of the man who had sat across from her at dinner in Baghdad. She swallowed hard, remembering, and then she nodded. "That's him."


"Thanks, I very much appreciate it." Malcolm put down the phone and smiled. Poor Nico had been terribly bored in the duplex, so Malcolm had arranged a new safe house for Ruth and her family, one with a garden where the boy could play. The thought gave Malcolm a wonderful sense of well-being. Even in the middle of the chaos and helplessness of Harry's predicament, at least the child could be safe and relatively happy.

He'd come back from the safe house after playing backgammon with Nico for a little over an hour, and had run into Ruth just as she was leaving the Grid. He'd told her that he thought Nico might have a future as an analyst, and Ruth had smiled affectionately, and thanked him. Malcolm had also told her that he was finding them a better place, one with a garden, and that the escort would come to the duplex as soon as possible to see that they made the transfer safely.

Malcolm truly took pleasure in having spent time with the boy, and he could understand completely why Ruth was so fond of him. Nico was very bright, and Malcolm had explained not only the rules of the game, but he'd also passed on some tips about possible dice combinations and the risk analysis involved in games of chance.

Of course, after being chastised by George, Malcolm hadn't phrased it that way to Nico. Although he wasn't very used to children, Malcolm did learn rather quickly what was the best way to talk to a ten-year-old, and he thought Nico had enjoyed the game. The boy had smiled frequently, and had even laughed several times.

George, however, was another story. He'd brooded in the corner, and Malcolm had found him somewhat sullen and prone to sarcasm. As Malcolm thought neither was a particularly attractive trait in a person, he'd talked a great deal more with Nico than he had with his father.

At one point, George had asked, "Wouldn't it be possible to get a house with a garden at least? So the boy can play?"

Malcolm had told him he would try, and indeed, he'd found them a very nice place, much larger, and with a back yard where they could kick a ball around. Malcolm was rather pleased with himself as he stood to brew a fresh cup of tea.

Jo walked toward him from the meeting room. "Malcolm, where's Ruth?"

"Gone home to be with her husband and step-son." Malcolm started to turn away for his tea, and then he turned back, thinking he should tell Jo that they would be in a different safe house. "Actually, I've just changed her location."

Jo frowned, and asked, "Why?"

"The boy was climbing up the walls, he was so bored. I've organised her a new safe house with a garden at least."

Jo looked concerned. "Did you put that through the system?"

Malcolm couldn't imagine why anyone would object, but he heard a tone of concern in Jo's voice. "Yes, was there any reason I shouldn't?"

Shrugging, Jo said, "It's just, we're being extra cautious.

Now Malcolm was becoming concerned. "Nobody told me there was an internal risk."

Jo said, "Well, there may not be. All the same, we should call her. We're afraid that Hillier has access to the safe house system and may compromise us. You gave Ruth a secure mobile, yes?" Malcolm nodded, and Jo turned to find Lucas. "Call her, please, and tell her to wait at the duplex. She's not to open the door to anyone but Lucas, or me. We're going over there."

Malcolm pushed in the mobile number, and heard it ring.

Back at the duplex, Ruth looked at the screen and saw that it was Malcolm. She started to press the button to answer, and George turned to her angrily, "Please, not now! We need to talk, Ruth. Turn that thing off. You still owe us a little of your time."

Ruth stared at the screen on the mobile as it continued to ring. She'd been gone for hours, and had just walked back in the door. It was probably important, but she had to draw the line somewhere. She nodded, and shut off her phone, saying, "Yes. Yes, I do."

George didn't even bother to keep his voice low in deference to Nico, who was standing across from them. "We cannot stay here! In this pokey little flat, practically next to a motorway."

Ruth was glad that Malcolm had given her the answer. "They've already got us a new location sorted." As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Ruth forced a smile, only too happy to have the discussion be over. "It's probably them now. This whole thing is only ... temporary. They'll have found us somewhere much ... nicer."

She went to the door and was greeted by two officers with the appropriate identification. They were MI6, but that wasn't surprising, as the safe house system was used by both branches. Ruth was so grateful to be going somewhere that would please George and Nico, she wasn't of a mind to ask many questions, in any case.

They were driven to a lovely area, and instead of a high-rise duplex, it was a family home, just like any other on the block. It had a beautiful stained-glass inset in the front door that reminded Ruth very much of the one she'd had in her own London home. She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped in and saw the wood floors, the intricately-turned banister, and the traditional, homey furniture.

It was serene, and cosy, and she actually saw a smile cross George's face. As Nico ran to the garden in back, they followed, and they stood on the porch and watched him run around the perimeter of the yard, laughing. George turned to her, and just a bit of warmth came through his anger as he said, "Thank you."

This was her friend, the George that she had first known, and Ruth felt a small pang at what she would have to do once this was all over. She was still committed to leaving him, but for the first time since she'd decided that it was what she had to do, Ruth was feeling remorse.

"Ms Evershed?" Ruth turned, and one of the officers who had brought them here was standing behind her.

"Yes?"

"You're needed again at Thames House. Ms Myers has asked for you."

Ruth turned to George and shrugged. He gave her a thin smile and shook his head. "Go. Do whatever you have to do so that we can go home." He looked at Nico, who was happily tossing a football in the air and kicking it, and George's face softened again. "We'll be fine, Ruth. Go."

She took one more look at George, and said, "I'll be back soon," and she turned and followed the two men. They walked out to the car, and she sat in the back. Instead of sitting in the front seat, the second man walked around and got in the back seat with her. Before she had a chance to wonder why, the straps were clamped onto her wrists, and they were driving away.

In a panic, she turned and said, "Where are you taking me? Who are you?"

Her voice echoed back to her in the silence of the car. Neither of the men said a word.


It was still light outside. The sun had travelled in and out behind clouds all day, and Harry had heard rain on the windows at times, but now it seemed to be clear. Harry wasn't sure why it mattered, but he needed to feel the comfort of orientation, the sense of time and place.

He wasn't certain how long it had been since Mani had stood at the door and told him Ruth was in London, but he thought it might have been between one or two hours. He had worn himself out wondering what that meant, if anything.

If she was back in London, she would have gone to the Grid. It was the only place she could truly be safe. Why she had come back, even if in fact she had, was a mystery to him, and there were far too many scenarios for him to make any progress, blind and deaf as he was in this room. Finally, he had allowed his exhausted mind a rest, and had stopped trying to understand.

Harry heard the door again, and turned his head toward it. He tried to arm himself for more of Mani's taunting with the water bottle, more of his vulgarities and innuendoes, but Harry found that his reserves were almost depleted. It was getting to the point where it didn't matter what Mani said. He was simply too weary to care.

Mani stepped through the door, still in the suit and tie, looking every inch the businessman. He walked into the room, but he wasn't alone. There was someone behind him. In an instant, Harry felt every cell in his body react, and he knew without a doubt who it was. He couldn't see her yet, but he felt her. Ruth. My Ruth.

In that moment, Harry understood again how connected his heart was to hers. He could close his eyes and still see her, still sense her presence. She was a part of him, always, and forever. But he didn't close his eyes, he kept them riveted on the small figure in the shadows, moving toward him. His mouth twitched slightly, involuntarily, as he used every ounce of control he had to hold back the tide of emotion that was surging through him.

He knew he was being watched. Mani's eyes were recording every movement, looking for weakness, searching for a crack in his exterior. A moment ago, Harry hadn't cared for his safety, but now, nothing mattered more. Now it wasn't only his own life that hung in the balance, it was also the life of the person dearest to him, as even now, she emerged from the shadows.

She wore blue. Midnight blue. Her face was grave, and indescribably beautiful. For all of the times that Harry had imagined seeing Ruth again, this particular circumstance had never entered his mind. But his heart was as full as he'd imagined, and he was as grateful for the sight of her as he'd known he would be. And despite his fervent wish that she could be somewhere safe, miles away from this room, the fact that he was this close to her again filled Harry with a sense of perfection, of rightness, that he'd not felt since he'd kissed her goodbye in the early morning mists of Dover.

She was his love, but she was now in desperate trouble. Because of him, because he'd taken her to Baghdad. He'd deprived himself of Ruth for all this time in order to keep her safe, and now here they were anyway, both in danger. As he watched her walk solemnly toward him, Harry's regret for the time lost now nearly matched the love he felt, and that was immeasurable.

And suddenly, she was seated across from him, her eyes locked on his. So exquisite, her eyes, with just a hint of moisture, communicating with him as they always had. Unspeakably sad, telling him of so much pain, so many lonely hours, her deep hurt, and thousands of unanswered questions.

Harry felt he was looking in a mirror, as her eyes held what he, too, was thinking. Is it too late? Have we gone too far? Is it broken beyond repair?

They were both, of course, realists. Harry could see that she was angry, and Ruth could see that he was frightened. Harry knew that she had another in her life, and Ruth felt that he had abandoned her. Harry understood completely the danger they were in, and Ruth remembered her promise to go as far away from him as possible. All of these thoughts hung in the air between them, and in truth, both feared that too much time had passed.

But at the same moment, could they have spoken it, they would have known that they were each thinking of Ruth's words in her letter so long ago: I know we will be together one day. There is no other outcome that makes sense, and whatever happens between this day and that one is simply the marching of time.

They'd each held those words in their hearts through the most difficult times alone, and now, wordlessly, they shared them across the short space that separated them. This space that could be spanned by an outstretched arm, or simply be leant across in order to touch cheeks or lips. They longed to touch each other, but couldn't. They couldn't even hint at the longing.

How could they have imagined that when they were finally again this close, they would be bound to stay detached? That they would have to protect each other with silence and the pretence of indifference? That any show of care would endanger the one they loved most in the world?

So they spoke silently, under the remembered constraints of a deeply-held secret. But they saw it clearly, each of them, in the other's eyes. Love. Still there. Still stronger than any circumstance. After all this time apart, it shone brilliantly between them.

What Harry and Ruth knew, without a doubt, was that the other still loved. And for one peaceful, heartbreaking moment of clarity, each acknowledged it with their eyes.