It was eight in the morning and her eyes were itching with tiredness, but she had at least had a minor breakthrough. Harry was being held in a prison about ten miles outside of Moscow. Vragamov Rodini. A high security detention facility, specialising in foreign nationals. Another words, a building designed for the torture of spies. Ruth swallowed uncomfortably as that thought came to her. Harry would most likely be mistreated, and more than mistreated there. It had taken her about three hours to hack into those cameras, and once she had, she managed to find Harry on the footage. His head was covered with a bag, but she knew it was him being led into the prison. He still wore the same clothes he had the last time she'd seen him, though rumpled and looking more than a little worse for wear. But other than that, she knew it was him from the way he walked. She'd watched Harry from across the grid for so many years, that she just knew.

She wrote down the unfamiliar name of the prison and gave the note over to Malcolm, who looked as tired as she felt. "God, I've heard about there," he said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Not good."

"And?"

"I only know about it by reputation," Malcolm said. "Nothing more. And nothing concrete." He yawned. "I need to get some sleep," he said. "So do you."

"I can't leave," she said.

"We've found the prison. What more that can be done, will be done. A few hours won't kill anyone. Not even Harry," he said, guessing her concern.

"I can't leave," she repeated, her voice plaintive.

"Sleep on the sofa in Harry's office," Malcolm, suggested. "That way you'll be here if something happens or you're needed." She looked at the darkened glass windows of Harry's office. The idea had its attractions, she must admit. Being close to the action, but still being able to sleep. Her logic was suffering from tiredness and she knew it.

"Tell Adam to wake me if anything develops," she said.

"I will leave him a message."

"Good," Ruth said. She couldn't deny how tired she was, and as much as she'd like to go on working without sleep, she was only human. She closed the door and lay down on the sofa. Even through her worry about Harry, even through a night where she was verging on the edge of major panic for the entire time, she managed to let go of everything. She was asleep before she could even find the energy to kick her shoes off.

Harry winced as he was hit yet again. It had started early in the morning and it hadn't let up for more than an hour now. And they hadn't even asked him any questions yet. He had his arms tied above his head and he knew he'd be black and blue by nightfall.

"Why aren't you asking me anything?" Harry asked between clenched teeth.

"Are you familiar with the slaves of Ancient Rome?"

Harry was completely confused. "What the hell does history have to do with this?" He groaned as another punch landed on his ribs.

"Well, they had a theory," the Russian said. "Evidence from slaves wasn't considered accurate unless it was extracted under torture." Another punch and Harry hissed with pain. "The thinking was that slaves would lie."

"Oh so that's what's behind this," Harry said, sense clicking in his brain. "You think I'll lie."

"You're Harry Pearce. Even for me, someone whose main job is torturing people like you, even for me your reputation precedes you." Another punch, this time directly against his stomach. Harry closed his eyes, the sharp throbbing pain going through him in waves. "You can lie as easily as breathing. You can construct elaborate schemes on the spur of the moment. So it's fallen to my unfortunate lot to do what I'm told."

The Russian drew back for another punch and Harry braced himself but the door opened, interrupting them both. A Russian man Harry didn't recognise came in. Clearly he was going to be asked something now.

"Seraphim."

"Oh you made an appearance then?" Harry asked, trying to stay calm.

"I want you to tell me about Seraphim." Another punch for good measure.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said honestly. He'd never heard that word before in his life. It wasn't a code word, an operation, an agent or an asset that he was aware of. Of course he wasn't believed. A host of other questions were asked, but all he could do was grit his teeth through the pain.

Ruth awoke to a shake on her shoulder. "Hm?" she asked sleepily.

"It's me," Adam said. She opened her eyes and sat up, brought back to the present with a horrible thump.

"Harry," she said before she could form anything more logical.

"I have news," he said quietly. The tone made it clear it wasn't good. "I talked to the Home Secretary."

"And?"

"And he can put a certain amount of pressure on the Russians to give Harry back, but he can't make them do it."

"He can't…" Ruth struggled for a moment, absorbing that information. It took a while to permeate her brain. "So you're telling me that…"

"We can't get him back," Adam said softly. "Not politically."

"Oh God," she whispered. "So what do we do?" Adam was silent. And the silence was damning.

Harry collapsed on the floor of his cell feeling black and blue everywhere. His chest ached and he thought a rib had cracked. Maybe two. It hurt when he breathed, and even lying on the floor pressed against his newly forming bruises. And this was just day one. There would be more an worse where this came from. God, he didn't know how he would manage to cope with more torture. He'd been through all the anti interrogation courses, he knew what he was supposed to be doing, and what he was supposed to be thinking, but it just hurt so much. His chest throbbed. And his heart ached for his wife. He wanted to hold Ruth, and have her tell him that it would all be all right. So he closed his eyes, hoping that his dreams would take him there.

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