The Grid, London – 30th January 2012:
Tariq looks up from his monitor to where Harry Pearce sits in his office in half-darkness. It is now 5:45 am in London, meaning it would be 7:45 in Cape Town, and the money he transferred to the Swiss bank account has not been touched. This means that Dimitri and Ed have had ample time to leave South Africa by air, and that it is probably safe to again ring Dimitri, just to check that the extraction has gone ahead as planned.
"Dimitri?"
"All's well, Tariq," Dimitri says warmly. "We're airborne – just - we have her, and ETA is in fourteen hours."
"It'll be dark," Tariq says.
"Yes, well, that's true, but these flying airships have lights these days, Tariq."
"Yeah, thanks for that. How's the cargo?"
"She's …... we have a medic on board, and she's checking over our cargo. You can tell Harry she's well, but shell-shocked. She'll need a lot of TLC when we get her home. Someone who cares about her will need to spend a lot of time bringing her back to good health. If you know what I mean."
"I'll tell him," Tariq says, before signing off.
Tariq hesitates outside the closed door to Harry's office. Tariq likes Harry. Likes is perhaps too strong a sentiment; he admires him, respects him, and often wishes he could be more like him, but Harry and Tariq have about as much in common as a lion has with a puppy.
"If you're coming in, then open the bloody door, Tariq," says Harry, his voice raised in irritation.
Tariq slides open the door, glancing at Harry, checking that he's not angry, but only on edge. "Sit down, Tariq. I didn't mean to raise my voice."
Tariq quietly crosses Harry's office to sit in the chair which Harry indicates with his hand.
"You have news?" Harry looks nervous.
"Yes, I do. Ruth – and all our operatives, plus Malcolm Wynn-Jones' cousin's son …..."
"Ed."
"Yes, Ed …... they're out of Africa …..."
Harry smiles at Tariq's choice of words, and Tariq stops speaking. "Out Of Africa is the name of a movie, Tariq. It was a movie based on the true story of a Danish-born writer. I doubt you've even heard of it."
"You're right. I haven't."
"It starred Meryl Streep and Robert Redford …..."
"Robert who?"
"Never mind. How long before the cargo lands?"
"ETA at the military airfield in Lancashire is 7.45 pm. Depending on wind speeds and all that stuff, it may be a half hour later than that. I'm assuming you'll be meeting it?"
"You've assumed right, Tariq."
Tariq is standing ready to leave when Harry again speaks. "Tariq, one more thing. Where did the money come from?"
"The money?"
"You know. The money to pay Ruth's kidnappers."
Tariq smiles. "That was my contribution to Operation Sleeping Beauty."
"I know how much you earn, Tariq, so I know you didn't come up with the money. How, pray tell, did you `contribute'?"
Tariq sits back down, a mischievous smile forming around his eyes. "I've written this genius little program that allows me to set up a dummy account with dummy money. It allows me to transfer said fake money into any account in the world. It appears in the other account until such time that the other party attempts to either withdraw it, convert it to another currency, or transfer it to another account. In all three cases, the money disappears …... poof …... into cyberspace. And the best thing is, it leaves absolutely no trace that a transaction ever took place."
"That's genius, Tariq."
"I know."
"You'd best keep that program under your hat, Tariq. It could be .. er ….."
"Dangerous in the wrong hands. I know."
"And one other thing before you go. You said …... er …... the operation is being called Sleeping Beauty …... Can you perhaps explain that to an old man?"
"You're not that old, Harry, just middle-aged."
"Thank you."
Tariq shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "Harry, can you keep a secret?"
Harry folds his hands on the desk in front of him, and leans forward, squinting his eyes, peering at Tariq, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "I am a spy, Tariq, and as such I am the very essence of discretion."
"It was Dimitri's idea. Well, Dimitri and Calum thought of it together." Tariq then drops his voice so that he is almost whispering. "The idea is that we thought Ruth was dead, but in truth she's just been sleeping."
"Perhaps that's stretching the metaphor, Tariq."
"That's what I said, but the best bit is that she'll be woken by a kiss from the prince who loves her. That's you, Harry, except you're a knight, and not a prince, but that shouldn't destroy the metaphor totally."
"That's very …... er … interesting, Tariq. What happens if I don't …... if I don't kiss Ruth?"
"You have to kiss her, Harry. If you love her, you have to kiss her. That's how all the fairy stories end."
"And does Ruth have a say in this?"
"Of course. When she sees you, she'll expect you to kiss her." Seeing the smirk on Harry's face, Tariq stops speaking for a moment. "You're taking the piss, aren't you Harry?"
"Only marginally. Thank you for your work, Tariq. I'll make sure Ruth knows the part you played in her rescue."
Tariq leaves Harry's office, relieved that his boss's sense of humour has returned. They had all missed Ruth, but no-one more than Harry. Even Tariq could see that his boss was grieving deeply. He is looking forward to the imminent return of the old Harry, the one who shouts at him for no reason. He's missed that Harry.
Cottage in Suffolk - 6 hours later:
Harry has no idea if Ruth will be happy to come back to this cottage and stay with him. She might not want to see him at all. After all, he hadn't kept her safe. He'd allowed her to take the attack from Sasha Gavrik. To be honest, Harry had not expected Sasha to carry out his threat. He'd believed that both he and Ruth had been safe from mortal harm. He'd expected to get a gash in the arm or the shoulder, but Ruth's injury had shocked and surprised him.
He's brought in enough food to last them 2 weeks at least. There's wine, whiskey, the freezer is full, and he bought every kind of breakfast cereal available in the shop in the village, not even knowing whether Ruth ate cereal. He feels he needs to cover all possibilities. He even had Erin go shopping in London for clothes for Ruth – underwear, jeans, skirts, shirts, pyjamas, coats, socks, shoes, tights, and anything else he hadn't considered, such as personal toiletries, brushes, combs, toothpaste, soaps, shampoo, tampons, skin lotions. He is no longer an expert on what women wear. It has been many years since he's undressed a woman, and he has no idea if Ruth would ever allow him near her. For all he knows, she may have spent the last five months cursing him for his inability to protect her.
He changes the bedding on the double bed. This is to be Ruth's bed, and he plans to sleep next door on the sofa bed. He's even bought bedding which he hopes will help her feel at home. Erin had assisted him in making his choice. He was ready to buy a striped duvet in pastel colours, but Erin suggested one with a floral pattern. The colour scheme he's chosen for her room is pale blue and lavender, with a little white and primrose. The pattern on the duvet is soft and subtle, like Ruth herself. Looking back at the bed from the doorway, he imagines Ruth in here, and his heart races. He knows to not expect too much from her, perhaps ever. He has little idea what she has had to live through. But he has hope. He hopes that one day soon they can again find the – largely unspoken - love they'd had before she'd been taken from him.
He visits the doctor in the village, and has her sign the Official Secrets Act. Lesley Fleming also has a degree in Clinical Psychology, and has expressed an interest in speaking to Ruth about her time of incarceration.
"Until Ruth regains her own identity, it will be difficult for you to treat her under the NHS," Harry says. "Perhaps we can come to some monetary arrangement."
"We can talk about that when I see her the first time. I have a number of private patients, so I can accommodate that. When do you expect I can first see her?"
"Hopefully, within the next few days," Harry says. "I don't yet know what state she's in."
"And what relationship is she to you, Mr Pearce?"
"I'm her …... er …... I care for her very deeply."
Harry leaves Suffolk for Lancashire with ample time on his hands. He has a deep fear of being late to meet Ruth. More than anything, he doesn't wish to let her down. He stops beside the road just as he crosses into Lancashire, and rings Dimitri.
A sleepy voice answers him. "We're still on our way, Harry."
"I know, and I'm sorry if I woke you."
"That's okay, I'd only just nodded off, but I know you're anxious about Ruth."
"Can I speak to her?"
"She's been sleep for the last five hours, Harry. I don't want to disturb her."
"That's not code for she doesn't wish to speak to me, is it?"
"No. No, of course not. She's worn out. She's spent the last five months being on edge, so she needs to relax a little."
Harry hesitates, not sure how to word his next question. He shouldn't have been concerned. It is as though Dimitri can read his thoughts.
"Ruth hasn't said very much at all, Harry. She thanked us for rescuing her. But she asked me about you."
"What did she say?"
"She asked me why you hadn't gone to Cape Town to get her."
"What did you say?"
"I told her the truth. That you were afraid of being too close to everything."
"Good, good. Thanks."
"And Harry …... she hasn't asked after anyone else. Just you."
Harry ends the call, a smile on his face.
Military airfield – Lancashire – 2 hours later:
Harry has parked a little way from the runway. He has the car facing east, from where the plane will probably descend. Suddenly his phone rings. It's Dimitri.
"We're about ten minutes away, Harry. Ruth is awake, and she's looking forward to being home. I haven't told her you're waiting for her. I thought that could be a surprise."
"Thank you, Dimitri, and …... thank you for …... everything."
"Just doing my job."
Harry smiles as he closes his phone. As cold as it is outside his car, he is nervous and agitated, so he steps out of the car and begins walking quickly around outside, on the edge of the runway. His staff would have called it pacing, but he is walking off all the nervous tension and worry which have built up inside his body during the previous few days. Naturally enough, he is worried about Ruth. He worries about her mental state, her physical state, the state of her emotions. He knows the effect incarceration can have, and so far he knows almost nothing about what has happened to her in the five months since her capture. She may have been beaten, or tortured, sexually abused and used. He imagines her being pack raped by a group of burly, sex-crazed men, and the bile rises at the back of his throat. He accepts that she may be so broken that even his love for her will not be tonic enough to mend her.
He sees the lights of the plane as it banks slightly to descend at the northern end of the runway. He can hear his heart beating, so rapidly that it must surely explode inside his chest. Then the plane lands, taxis to the end of the runway, turns, and then taxis back level to where his car is parked, headlights on low beam. It is then he see another car, parked further away, near the disused airport building. Calum steps out of the car and joins him.
"Hello," Calum says. "I'm here to pick up everyone other than Ruth. I'm assuming that'll be your job."
"Yes, I hope so."
Everything then happens quite quickly. People descend from the plane – Dimitri, along with the bulky shape of Ed Fairweather, and then he sees two shapes in the doorway of the plane. Both are female. One is small and slight, the other a little taller, perhaps older, and heavier."
"That's the doctor with Ruth," Dimitri explains. "She'll be handing Ruth over to you."
"Does Ruth know I'm here?"
"No, Harry. I kept your secret."
Harry can wait no longer. He quickly walks towards the plane, stopping about three yards short of the steps. When she reaches the ground, the doctor lets go of Ruth, and seeing Harry standing there, his eyes on Ruth, she walks past Harry to join Dimitri. Then Ruth's eyes meet his. It is just Ruth and Harry, Harry and Ruth, together at last. They stand like two statues, frozen to the spots on which they stand. Harry is aware that all conversation has ceased, telling him the small group of people behind him are waiting and watching.
He and Ruth are `the show'. Raise the curtain. Strike up the band.
Despite the gloom, they can each see the eyes of the other – her blue eyes seeking his hazel. He can bear the tension no longer. He reaches his arms out towards her, and very slowly and deliberately, she walks towards him.