Three:
First Betrayals
Sitting out on the Embankment with Tom, listening to him accuse her of the things which she had been doing made Ruth feel like a right piece of shit. All of the justifications, the reasoning, they didn't matter anymore – she had betrayed her team, had put the fate of the free world in danger all by herself.
It was chilly, but she felt even colder inside. She knew they all thought she was mad – an utterly crackers lunatic that should be locked up – but she wasn't. Not really. She'd just been nervous, so nervous, and now this – and she would have to leave, wouldn't she? She'd have to go back to GCHQ and pretend that she'd not cocked everything up.
"I suppose you have evidence," she said, trying to keep her tone even and calm.
"Computer traffic from your station, yes." Tom's voice was carefully modulated and Ruth couldn't tell if he was angry, disappointed, or both. She could barely even look at him.
"I coded it good," she said, that hysterical urge to laugh welling up in her again and she couldn't hold back the hint of smile. She had – she really had. To the best of her abilities, she had covered her tracks. The one time – the ONE time – she had cocked up, it was this.
"Colin uncoded it good. You betrayed us." There is was, then: that invisible line in the sand. She wasn't one of them, then, was she? Not really. Not anymore. He'd challenged her to the defense of the Realm and she'd lost the pissing match by default because she'd undermined herself from the onset.
Worst of all, she'd betrayed herself. Or she would do, because this was an interrogation, wasn't it? Accusation, interrogation, elimination. She was a problem, and he was going to deal with her before she became Harry's liability.
"MI-5 is a government department. I only told Downing Street what you were doing." Her courage from a few weeks back had fled, and she was back to being small and insignificant – a cog in the system. A cog that was about to disappear for good. "The government can't betray itself to itself, can it?" The words were hollow and trite, even to her ears.
"Don't be naïve, Ruth. You know exactly what's going on here – GCHQ planted you on us." Tom was beyond angry, but she couldn't read how far beyond – would he come after her in her sleep, then? Or would he just go to Harry? Go to Harry and she was as good as gone – and she couldn't go, not now. This was her home, her team, and she would be lost without them. She would be all alone in her dingy little flat with the damn cat – and she'd become the crazy cat lady with a library full of dusty books and wearing a purple hat and red shoes to weddings and funerals.
She wasn't ready for that – any of it. So she took a leap of faith, a gamble. "Tom, I so much wanted to join MI-5. To be a real spy." It was the truth, wrapped in shining paper and a big red bow. "They said I could have the transfer if… very occasionally, I reported what you were doing. I mean, this is the first time I've done it." She couldn't possibly feel guiltier – couldn't possibly gild the lily because it was already tarnished. She'd been caught out and that was that.
"What, reported directly to Amanda Roke?"
She didn't even hesitate or try to form a real response – just nodded, bobbing her head in a motion that made her slightly nauseated.
"Well, now, you're a classic double agent!" Tom's sarcastic, flippant response made her feel even queasier. "How does real spying feel?" His censure was painful – not as painful as telling Harry would have been, but this was Tom Quinn. This was the man she reported to, who had risked his life to save hers from the fire in her house that was no more. And she was suddenly desperate for him to accept her again.
He was assessing her response, so she might as well be as forthright as she could. "The horrible thing is, it's rather exciting," she said, unable to look remorseful about the whole matter as she smiled nervously, awaiting the hammer and gavel of his pentultimate judgment.
"Ruth, I've got two officers in the field at high risk. You want to get Danny or Zoe crucified on Hampstead Heath?"
It was over, then: he'd made up his mind firmly about her. "Don't," she said, her voice falling. They were her friends, her family, now, as well. Yes, she had passed on information – that in and of itself was wrong and she knew it. But to insinuate that she didn't care enough about them to feel remorse for her actions? That was below the belt in so many ways.
"I'll have to tell Harry."
There it was: her heart fell. She was the one that Harry could trust, wasn't it? Hadn't he said it so many times already? Praised her for even getting his cup of tea right as well as correctly assessing the worst threats and categorizing data into tiny piles of minutae. God, what had she done?
"I'm so bloody good at this job," she said before she could stop herself. "You know I am." It was desperate, a plea and a promise – an appeal for Tom to please, just give her one more chance. She knew he didn't particularly care for her, but had no idea why. To have to appeal to his basest nature and beg for one more opportunity to prove herself was demeaning to them both. "Well, that's that, then."
There was a pause, and he said, "Of course, double agents can be turned."
Ruth turned her head to look at him, her jaw going slack, her mouth hanging open wide. "Oh, Tom," she said softly, in shock at the implication of his words.
He reached over and touched her leg, imparting gravity to his next words. "You're on probation."
All of the heart-stopping fear drained away and she exhaled, "Thank you."
Tom got up and slipped away into the crowd of strolling people, and she was left with her thoughts as she stared across.
Harry was having a bit of fun at his team's expense, playing like a victim of VX gas. The drill had to seem real after all – to all intents and purposes, this was real. They weren't to know any different. Of course, secreting himself in his office and locking the door to be 'quarantined' was all well and good when he could have a bit of a lie-in on the floor and watch their progress on the tablet hooked in to the undetectable bugs around the main office. Hell, he even had his whiskey and a secret supply of Ding-Dongs that the Home Secretary had begged him to take off of his hands the other day.
He watched the team with interest, following their motions and countermotions, dancing around the untenable situation with tenacity. Of all people, Tom seemed most like he was the closest to losing a grip – which was the burden placed on a good leader. Removing himself from the scenario was meant to pressure Tom into making the decisions that would shape the outcome; to determine if they would survive or just expire.
Zoe was shaky, but holding steady. Danny and Colin squared off and it was quite amusing to see the lanky tech flipping Danny the bird rather than apologizing.
And then there was Ruth. Tom had told him about her betrayal to Downing Street, but Harry had already known. There were very few secrets, honestly. Ruth's bumbling attempt had no bearing on anything but Harry's level of trust – which is why, he told himself, he was scrutinizing her the hardest. She was unflappable, a rock in the path for the others to lean on.
When Tom had told him, it had led to an awkward conversation that Harry hadn't wanted to have. "You're emotionally compromised when it comes to her," Tom had said, his tone low and full of rebuke. "You told me as much before."
"Yes, I suppose I am," Harry replied. "But she makes me smile. I don't indulge myself much these days, Tom – the time for fast cars and loose women has come and passed for me. She could have done much worse than spy for GCHQ. So much worse – like Tessa."
"It stands to reason that she might betray us again," Tom said. "And who's to say it won't be worse next time?"
"You spoke to her – does she feel anything but remorse?"
Tom's response had been calculated. "She is suitably ashamed of herself."
"Then let it go," Harry said. "Ruth knows better now. And if she doesn't, on her head be it."
Tom watched him warily, looking for some reason, some ulterior motive to Harry's lax judgment. "She isn't good for you, Harry. Just so you know," he had said quietly. "She makes you soft, undermines your effectiveness as a leader –"
Harry sighed, knowing that it was true. And the truth couldn't be changed, could it? It was black and white, stone and gem, absolute. There were no sides, just facts.
He cared for her, could well fall in love with that timidly goofy smile and self-depricating laugh when she buggered something up unintentionally. And that made him weaker for the emotion. Tom was right. Achingly correct.
Harry saw her coming toward his office and he hid the tablet and the Ding Dongs, proceeding to act his heart out. He knew it was working by the amount of devastation on her face and Tom's as they locked him away for good. He held back a snicker and went back to the cakes, wondering if Ruth liked them, too.
Maybe there would be one or two left to share after the drill was over.
When it was over, everyone was crying, emotional, drained from exhaustion and stress. Except Harry, because the only way to keep going – the only way to reassure them - was to laugh and joke about it. Emotions were running so high that he couldn't even feel momentarily put out by Ruth's snappish, "You bastard."
To be honest, he enjoyed her concern for him – he didn't want to play it up, but it made his heart do a sudden jerk to know that she had been concerned enough to be angry now.
She accepted him pouring her a plastic cup of champagne but didn't smile at him like she had the others – and that hurt. It hurt worse than he could say.
His suggestion of a liquid lunch at the George was met with an enthusiastic reception from everyone – and he would foot most of the tab. After all, it was his doing, this trauma, this pain. It was the least he could do.
He was right behind Ruth in the pods, and she turned to him, smiling – and his heart melted. All was forgiven in the span of minutes: and champagne. All was forgiven.
END PART THREE
