CHAPTER FOUR
I found it harder than I expected to get used to Lucas's presence on the Grid. He was next in seniority to me, and inevitably we had to spend a lot of time working together. Habit meant that I often turned to him expecting to see Adam, and at least twice I actually called him by the wrong name. He just smiled slightly as if it didn't matter, but I wanted to drop through the floor. I remembered Adam telling me once that Ruth Evershed had done the same to him when he replaced Tom Quinn, and how embarrassing it had been. Now I knew what he'd meant.
Not, God knows, that Lucas was anything like Adam. In a lot of ways, and not just in looks, they were diametric opposites. Adam's personality had been an open book, and unless it was required by an operation, he was about as good a dissembler as I am a party animal. Lucas was far more self-contained - and calm. That was in direct contrast to Adam, too. His temper was always on a medium-length fuse at best, though his tantrums were usually short-lived. Lucas rarely so much as raised his voice and his control almost never slipped. In all truth, he was more like me than Adam.
Paradoxically, it was precisely that which bothered me. I had a nagging feeling that we hadn't dug deep enough, that there were stormy waters churning somewhere under that smooth surface. I had wanted to continue debriefing him and cover his time with Darshavin at Leshanko too, not to mention his feelings about Elizaveta, which no one seemed to have considered at all. But after Lucas's admittedly invaluable help with Kachimov, Harry pronounced himself satisfied and over-ruled me, leaving me frustrated, but with no choice but to go along with his judgement.
I had tried to convince myself he was right. After all, Malcolm had been correct; Lucas was good, damned good. He was also cheerful, friendly, and seemed totally relaxed with everyone - with one exception that worried me just a little further. Harry. It wasn't that their relations were tense, just … uneasy. It was touching, sometimes almost pathetic, to see how much Lucas needed Harry's approval; he would beam like a little boy with a bag of his favourite sweets, the idiot, when he got it. Yet at the same time, I thought I sensed a tiny undercurrent of antagonism – perhaps resentment would be a better word - towards Harry simmering just under the surface. That decided me; whatever Harry thought, and however long it took, I was going to get beneath that surface and know the whole of Lucas North, the shade as well as the light. I made a mental note to wait for the right moment and meanwhile, pushed my concern about him to the back of my mind.
Because, unfortunately, this most definitely wasn't the right moment. The terror threat level was jammed on 'severe' and we were working flat out. Just after Lucas's reinstatement, Harry and I had infiltrated Ben Kaplan into a group of low-level al-Qaeda gophers who, we suspected, were going to be used to launch a major attack in London. Ben was still young and fairly inexperienced, and I was worried about whether he could handle something so sensitive. I'd argued with Harry about it until he had pointed out that we didn't exactly have a queue of more suitable candidates for the job. A blonde, blue-eyed white woman with a model's looks wouldn't last five minutes, which ruled out Jo. Lucas's profile was better, but – however hot under the collar such a comment would make the Race Relations Board – he was the wrong colour. I did have one Pakistani field officer available, but Khalida was pregnant. Ben was the best, not to say the only option. So we sent him in with a rock-solid legend, and as a fail safe, I made Lucas his control. Meanwhile, we had two full teams of Watchers on Nadif Abdel Rashid, from whom the cell took its orders. Budget was throwing a fit about the cost, but so far Harry, by putting the frighteners on them about the possibly lethal consequences of being such a bunch of sodding cheapskates, had kept them at bay.
"Ros? Want one?" I jumped, and looked up. Lucas was waving a Danish pastry that would probably, from the looks of it, account for most of my usual calorie intake for the week. He took a large, enthusiastic bite out of what looked like its twin. Keep this up and he'd look like the Michelin tyre man by the summer.
"Young man, your teeth will rot if you carry on like that," Connie James said disapprovingly. She showed me a sheaf of papers. "From GCHQ, Ros. Nadif's phone calls from yesterday."
I glanced at them and whistled. "I wouldn't want his bills." I swivelled my chair round and almost head-butted the still extended pastry. "Lucas, for God's sake! Either eat it or bin it. Don't just stand there like a patissier's version of a Heil Hitler salute. Is there anything of use, Connie?"
She shook her head. "Not at first sight. Do you want me to get Malcolm to do a pattern analysis?" When I nodded, she said briskly: "Right. I thought you two were going to the meet with Marlin?"
"We are." I stared pointedly at Lucas. He shrugged and offered Connie the pastry.
"Go on," he said. "It'll make you sweeter than ever."
I watched in disbelief as she blushed, then took it and bustled off across the Grid like a plump, satisfied pigeon. Connie would have slapped down any other officer who tried being sassy with her, but like everyone else, she found it almost impossible to get annoyed with Lucas. I was about the only bloody female on the Grid even trying to resist his blandishments. He smiled as I got to my feet. I bared my teeth back at him. "Let's go."
oOoOoOo
We reviewed Ben's position as we drove to the meet at Greenwich. That was the thing I appreciated most about Lucas, not his easygoing charm on the Grid. If only those bloody doubts of mine hadn't persistently kept trying to sneak their way back into my mind he would have been the perfect colleague. He was a professional to his bootlaces, and the minute we were operational he was focused, alert, and not easily shaken.
Which was just as well, because Marlin's information was enough to shake even the most solid of nerves – including, apparently, his own. His tension was obvious, and it was contagious, too; both of us were on edge when we got back into the car. I phoned Harry and suggested he bring forward our next scheduled meeting with the Home Secretary to later that afternoon. That produced a discontented muttering that I allowed myself to believe was due to a poor-quality signal.
"You think we should warn Ben straight off?" Lucas asked.
"No. in the morning. Don't break routine. If Marlin's right and they're ready to go, they'll be looking for anything out of the ordinary. I'm going to call the Watchers." I went back to the phone. "If Nadif so much as hiccoughs I want to know how many Rennies he takes."
"You don't think Marlin's trying to throw us off the scent?" Lucas said, when I'd finished issuing instructions to an exasperated Watcher team leader. "You know, disinformatsiya?"
I shot him what I hoped was a withering glance. "Adam always trusted him, and he was a good judge. And disinformatsiya's a KGB trick, Lucas, not al-Qaeda. Autre temps, autre moeurs. The Arabs work differently."
He coloured slightly. "I do know that, Ros. I may not be the expert Adam was, but I have been ploughing through years of back newspaper reports."
I silently conceded the point. He had. And with his photographic memory he could probably quote me the articles word for word. Lucas had spent hours of his own time in the archives, filling in the gaps caused by an eight-year information vacuum. He'd also driven poor Malcolm to distraction by demanding detailed explanations about the technological developments that had passed him by in his cell at Leshanko. The only thing that ever really ruffled him was if someone seemed – as I had just done – to be suggesting that he was in any way behind the times.
"Malcolm's monitoring the website chat levels," I said. "We'll know more when you've seen Ben. Tell him to tread very, very carefully."
Lucas eased onto the bridge. "Jo's been getting a bit anxious about him; she thinks he's risking too much."
I caught the sideways glance in the mirror. "You mean, she thinks I'm forcing him to risk too much." His silence was confirmation, and I felt my temper rising. "Lucas, he's a big boy; he even learnt to tie his own shoelaces last week. Risks go with the job. This is no time for Jo to start playing Jiminy Cricket. God, didn't we have enough with bloody Ruth doing it!"
"Ruth?" He steered down the garage ramp and we both reached for our ID cards.
"Yes." I could hear I was biting off the words. "Ruth Evershed. Connie's predecessor. Left about two years ago. She used to give me lessons in morals, too."
"Yeah, she had to leave, didn't she?" He glanced at me across the car roof, and I slammed a door that could have been closed with a flick of the fingers. Whatever else his bloody reading had covered, I knew it wouldn't have included the personnel files. Only Harry and I had access to those.
"Jo been gossiping again?" I snapped.
"No." Lucas's voice was perfectly neutral. "Malcolm told me."
Clever. He knew I'd carpet Jo but would probably be more lenient towards Malcolm. I wondered whether he knew exactly why Ruth had had to leave, and the part I had played in her departure.
"He said she was a very nice woman," he added.
"She was." I wasn't. I stepped into the lift – a small one – and looked challengingly at him. Without a word, he followed me in. In the small space, we were wedged tightly, and pressed close to one another. By the time we reached the lobby the proximity was bothering me as much as him, and we walked to the Grid in a silence that I think we were both too embarrassed to break. It was almost a relief when Malcolm rushed up to me.
"Ros! It's starting."
oOoOoOoOo
It was still dark when my phone woke me the following morning, and a torrential rainstorm was battering the streets; I could hear it. I swallowed a gulp of mineral water from the glass by my bed and grunted my name into the phone. When I heard Harry's voice my stomach did a somersault worthy of Olga Korbut.
"Ros, Lucas has seen Ben. He says Nadif's instructed them to take the day off work and wait for orders. Lucas thinks it's the dry run. I need you here now."
I only managed 'I'll be - ' before he hung up. Something had to go, so I sacrificed a shower in favour of a cup of scalding black coffee swallowed in snatches as I dressed. I listened to the news on the way to Millbank, and muttered a prayer of thanks to the weather gods when the rain eased off. As I reached Thames House, the political correspondent was beginning to interview the Home Secretary. When he asked whether the government was exaggerating the current terrorist threat to Britain, I switched the radio off with a muttered obscenity. That would make Nicholas Blake's day. He'd spent a fair bit of our meeting yesterday trying in vain to cajole Harry into lowering the threat level – and in putting me in my place. He could do that any time; I'd rather be in my place than his.
Harry was in his office on the telephone; he looked relieved when I came in.
"What's happening?" I demanded. "Where's Lucas?"
Harry pointed out onto the Grid, and I saw Jo Portman hurrying in through the pods. "Mopping up; he got soaked. Malcolm's monitoring the traffic. It's going through the roof, apparently. We've got Watcher teams on Nadif and the other group he liaises with. Ben says Nadif left instructions with the other kid he's with, what's his name - "
"Jawad El-Khammoun," I said automatically. "We think this is the dry run, then?"
"Certain of it." Lucas came in, rubbing his hair with a towel. "It all fits. Waterfall, dry run …"
"Boom." I absently provided the end of Marlin's description. Lucas looked a bit green around the gills, but before I could say anything, Harry asked gruffly:" "All right now, lad? Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Harry. It's not a problem." Lucas shot a quick look at me. It took me a second to identify the mingled strands of gratitude and shame in the tangle of emotions on his face. "So, what do we do?"
What was that all about? I wanted to ask, but suddenly Jo rushed into the office. "Harry, Ros, the Watchers report they're on the move!"
"Right. Come on." I swept out, followed by Harry. "Jo, you join the Watchers with the pair in Stoke Newington. Lucas, tail Ben and Jawad. Keep in touch; regular reports. Go." As they left, I turned towards Connie, who was just shedding her coat. "Connie, contact Nadif's monitors and keep the line open, I want to know every step he takes. Let's keep on top of this."
Connie gave me her best 'headmistress' look before she turned to her phones. "And good morning to you too, Rosalind."
Behind me, I heard Harry tut. "Detention tonight." He patted my arm. "Ros, you can handle the dry run. I have some business I need to attend to."
I stared after him in surprise as he disappeared through the pods and into the lifts. This wasn't the first time in the last few days I'd had the impression that Harry was distracted by something. I might have objected if I hadn't relished the challenge of being in sole charge. I turned back and prepared to meet it.
oOoOoOo
'Pride comes before a fall, Rosalind.' I'd had a teacher in the International School in Lima whose favourite phrase that was. In my youthful arrogance I'd always considered it the last snarky refuge of those who were too stupid to have anything much to be proud of. I was just beginning to feel smugly pleased with my own performance as we carefully monitored the progress of four young men and their bombs when Lucas's voice, tense with urgency, burst through the loudspeaker into which Malcolm was feeding reports from the street. Ros, the bombs are primed! This is live, I repeat, this is live.
I remember thinking that it was as if someone had pressed the pause button on a recorded TV show. All movement on the Grid, including mine, stopped. In the echoing silence I felt the weight of fifty pairs of horrified eyes on me, and heard that precise, warning voice in my ears. Pride comes before a fall, Rosalind.
I flicked the transmission switch. "Understood. Keep them in sight, stand by." I span to Malcolm. "Call CO-19, put bomb disposal on alert. Start extrapolating for possible targets." I could feel twin trickles of sweat inching their way down my body, and irrelevantly swore at myself for having decided to wear a white blouse today of all days. "Where's Harry?"
I must have repeated that question a half-dozen times. Connie kept ringing, but when his phone went repeatedly to voice mail I knew I was completely on my own. I concentrated so hard that the faces around me blurred into little more an inchoate mass of colour at which I fired instructions as we inched towards success. My blouse was clinging to me when that last mobile rang and Lucas and I realised almost simultaneously that we'd been deceived.
We couldn't stop the third bomb from exploding. Two CO-19 officers died, and I stood there, listening to that crackling hiss of static from Jo's wire with tension cramps almost doubling me over. My chest was constricted with the scream of impotent rage I couldn't give vent to. That flat, mechanical, repeated 'Zulu Three, respond' seemed to come from somewhere outside of me; I almost turned to see who else had spoken the words.
Somehow, thank God, Jo survived. Connie stepped in and took her in hand when she got back to the Grid. I gratefully allowed Lucas to provide a supportive listening ear to Ben, fled to the toilets, locked myself in and threw up. Then I released the remaining accumulated tension in a thoroughly good, solitary, uncharacteristic bloody howl before briefing Harry.
A little later we reported to Nicholas Blake and took a mutual, gleeful, wonderfully uncharitable pleasure in witnessing the discomfiture of a thoroughly chastened Richard Dalby. The Home Secretary had even been complimentary, and I'd been touched, if embarrassed half to death, when Harry gave me a huge thank-you hug in the corridor outside his office. I asked Ben to take care of Jo and declined Connie and Malcolm's invitation to join them for a drink at the Cricketers'. The Grid had emptied out, and Harry had disappeared to 'a meeting'. I should have left too, of course. Any sensible person would have done, but I had always found the let-down of going home alone after a successful operation difficult to manage. So I was sitting at my desk absently watching a news round-up when a voice startled me. I swung round.
"Hey," Lucas said.
Hey. I rolled my eyes to heaven. He must have been watching too many episodes of The Simpsons since he came home. Speak bloody English. "Hey, yourself," I answered, ungraciously. I watched him move to his desk and pick up his mobile. With the operation wound up, I'd assumed he had long since gone home, and – professional paranoia oblige - wondered why he was still hanging about.
He frowned at the screen, and then looked over at me. "Hear you gave the politicians both barrels earlier."
I snorted. "When it comes to politicians I regret only having two to give them."
He gave a crooked smile and pulled his jacket on. "Harry was right, though. We've got nothing to reproach ourselves with."
At another time I might have let that pass, but I was tired, therefore tetchy, and the complacency of the remark got right under my skin.
"Yes, we have." His eyebrows went up in what looked to me like mocking enquiry, and I got to my feet. "Bastards got one past us. I've always been annoyingly competitive and perfectionist, and that really annoys me."
Again I saw the swift, slightly twisted smile. "Bet it really annoys your friends, too."
I wasn't sure whether he was flirting, and cursed my ingrained inability to take anything anyone said to me at face value. I repaid him in his own coin.
"What was it you said to Marlin about friends? Over-rated, I think it was." He murmured 'touché' at having his own words quoted back at him, and I allowed myself a smile. "Not a big one for dinner parties myself."
He raised an eyebrow. "Colleagues, then?"
"Yeah." I kept my tone light and airy, even as I wondered who was probing whom. "Lovers leave, friends annoy you, families mess with your head." As I said the words it occurred to me that the phrase could have been my own personal motto. "Colleagues are OK."
I was about to turn away when he said: "Ah. But are they to be trusted?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "They are."
"All of them?" Now he was the one doing the scrutinising. I hardened my tone. This wasn't playing any longer. There was something else here … something darker. Almost menacing.
"All of them."
"Even the most senior?"
I felt a stab of anger at the implication. "Particularly him." I glared at him. "Harry sweated blood to get you back here. He'd rather die than let anything happen to you."
He glanced down for a second, then half-smiled. "Yeah. Colleagues are OK." He turned away. "Night, Ros."
Oh no, you don't. This was the moment I'd been waiting for. I let him get halfway to the pods and then called: "Lucas!" He stopped. "In that case, how about that drink you mentioned?"
There was a pause, and although his face betrayed nothing, I knew he was trying to work out my motives. I bit my lip, and gave him my most appealing Shy Little Girl smile. It always worked on honey trap targets, and Adam had been a sucker for it too. It would work on Lucas North.
It did. "Yeah, sure." He smiled back, although the smile was guarded. "Why not?"
There were several answers I could have given to that, but I contented myself with a smile. "Good. Give me a few minutes."
He nodded, eased himself onto the edge of Jo's desk and sat there swinging his legs with a casual ease that I nonetheless thought was forced. "Any suggestions where?"
"There's a good place in Pimlico. Not far." I swiftly shut my mind to the thought that Adam and I had visited it together too. It was quiet, and the staff knew Rachel Marshall, Foreign Office translator, well. Privacy guaranteed. I closed the computer and took off my high-heeled shoes. Lucas watched me with a touch of amusement.
"I wondered how you were going to walk."
"I was thinking of putting one foot in front of the other." I pulled on my boots. "I usually find it's the easiest way. Maintains forward momentum. Avoids attracting attention unnecessarily."
He laughed. "Straight out of the Off-Duty Conduct Protocol. Do they still have it?"
" Yep. Decent, Discreet and Deceptive. The good old three Ds."
"I thought that applied to films these days," Lucas observed.
I silently and grudgingly admitted that he was quick. There weren't many people around who could out-quip me. I buttoned the heavy, fur-lined sheepskin coat that had been the last birthday present I had received from my father – from the good old days when he was in a position to go out and buy one. I pushed that thought away, too, and looked up to see Lucas staring at me, his face suddenly pale.
"What's up?" I asked, fastening the collar.
"Nothing. The coat, it – it's very Russian. You – er - you … you remind me of someone, that's all."
Elizaveta. I was going to find out how he felt about her, too. I picked up my bag and looked into those suddenly anxious blue eyes. "Well, shall we?"
oOoOoOo
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