The slippers were a hideous brown and green plaid, woven from some unnatural fibre, but Ruth did not care, they kept her feet warm. Swimming in the one size too big casing, she tapped her toe on the floor, the strains of an ancient tune wafting from the speakers of her laptop. Baroque, she absently thought, Handel perhaps, though the name of the piece eluded her. The music helped to fill up the emptiness of the room, the space across the hall from her bedroom that was now her designated work area. She was flanked by two desktops, whirring as their systems trawled through data, isolating accounts, tracking transactions. A soft ping sounded and Ruth glanced over at the screen to her right. It was a transaction from the Seychelles. Ruth sighed with frustration. Another offshore account, another wall that she could not breach. The music on her computer switched to a different composer, and she absently hummed along, the strings of a harpsichord tickling the periphery of her concentration, her focus returning to Kaspgaz.
The company was a Matryoshka doll, one large shell hiding many smaller companies. For all intents and purposes, everything about Kaspgaz was above board. It's listing on the LSE, its board of directors, trading index. There was, of course, the usual accusations of polluting, bribery and illegal drilling, all areas ripe for illicit funds to change hands. As Ruth peeled back the layers, she found a Mobius strip of investors winding in and out of each other. It would take days, possibly weeks to unbend it all. A blessing in disguise, for it kept her mind busy, giving her cloistered life a sense of purpose. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she created file folders with possible leads, flagging a number of British overseas territories. Another ping on the computer, this time from an account in Cyprus. Her hands stilled over the keys. It had been a long time since she had thought about Cyprus. Don't, her mind told her, don't go there. Too late, the thoughts had already formed. She was destined to lose everyone she had ever loved.
"Oh, Harry."
His name left her lips in a plaintive whisper, the notes of the music overriding the sound and diluting her sadness. Muted light filtered through the frosted panes, basking the room in a soft haze. She was in a dream. Any moment she would wake up and find herself sitting on the Grid. No, she would be at her desk outside of Towers' office; that was the last place she had sat. Pride had taken her from Harry's side and driven her to accept the Home Secretary's offer. Silly fool. A tear dropped from her eye and landed on the back of her hand, and she watched as it slowly rolled over the skin. There was nothing to be gained from crying. If her grief over George had taught her anything, it was that tears do not bring back the dead.
The door opened, and Ruth sat up, quickly wiping the drop from her hand. A barrel-chested man with closely shorn hair and bushy eyebrows entered. It was Eddie, one of the men assigned to her security detail, and her only other contact with humanity besides Anna. He walked toward her carrying a small tray. There was no need for her to venture to the floor below; they brought everything up to her.
"Got a bit of lunch for you, Miss Evershed."
"Thank you." She gave him a smile of gratitude, happy to hear a voice other than the ones in her head. "Can you stay for a bit?"
Eddie brought a chair around and sat down beside her. "I'll take a bit of a break if you will."
"What are you taking a break from?"
"Taking a break from sitting around down there," Eddie laughed at himself.
Ruth lifted up the top slice of bread and inspected the sandwich. Turkey, the same as the previous day. The diet of lean meat was meant to speed her recovery but at that moment she would sell her soul for a piece of chocolate or at the very least a biscuit.
"Do you think you could bring me something sweet the next time?"
"I'll put in a request." He leaned back absently rubbing his hand over the stubble on his head.
Ruth chewed on her sandwich, wondering if he was ex-military. The dark blue ink of a tattoo peeked out above the collar of his shirt and a permanent five o'clock shadow gave him a menacing air. It was a comfort to know that he was protecting her; it would be dangerous to be on that man's bad side.
"What's that you're listening to?" he asked.
"I think it's Vivaldi," she turned off the music knowing that it wasn't to everyone's taste.
"Maybe you should leave it on. I hear it makes you smarter. Look what it's done for you. Don't know how you can work three computers at a time." He gestured toward the terminals exposing fingers yellowed by nicotine stains.
"I just have to set up programs and parameters."
"It's all a mystery to me. More of a hands-on man myself." He crossed his arms, biceps bulging under the fabric of his shirt. "Frank is in later, we can play some cards after supper if you're up to it."
"I'd like that."
The two men had taken pity on her solitary life, arriving at her room the previous evening with a deck of cards.
"You're one of the better details I've worked." He leaned forward and gave her a little wink. "It's good to be working on the same side for once."
Ruth smiled, taking no offence to his familiarity. She tried to place his accent but found it hard to pinpoint the exact spot in Britain. Perhaps he had moved about in his youth. Before she could catalogue any other observations, the door opened. It was Mark Wilson.
"Oh, oh," Eddie raised his hands in mock surrender. "I've been caught. Better get back to work." He rose from his chair and gave a nod to Wilson as he passed by the man and exited the room.
Wilson closed the door and took up the chair that Eddie had vacated.
"He's not bothering you, is he?"
"Oh no, it's nice to have a bit of company. Don't worry, I'm still ploughing through things."
"Any progress?" Wilson asked.
"Pretty much as expected so far, money coming in from shell companies, going out to other shell companies. Bermuda, Caymans, Turks and Caicos. All the usual offshore hideaways."
"That's because he has something to hide."
"No doubt. A few transactions caught my eye, but I'm not a hacker, so when I come up against a firewall, I have to figure out another way around it."
"You're one of Five's best. I'm sure you can handle anything."
"I'm an analyst, not a technician. Usually, I work with a team. If you could find a person with some technical expertise…"
"That's not possible."
"Surely, there must be someone at Six."
"We're keeping this investigation under the radar."
Ruth sat back and reflected on his statement. "Are you telling me this isn't a sanctioned op?"
"There's a great deal of political sensitivity around all this, considering all that has happened. The fewer people that know about it the less likely there will be a leak."
Taking another bite of her sandwich, Ruth nodded her understanding, minimal as it was since she had no concept of the bigger picture. It wouldn't be the first time that she had investigated someone without knowing the details of the operation.
"I do have this though." Wilson reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a silver thumb drive. He handed it to Ruth.
Ruth took the device and turned it over in her hand. It looked vaguely familiar, similar to the type of data spike that Callum had favoured. Wilson nodded in the direction of her computer, and Ruth plugged in the stick. Within seconds, a window opened revealing the contents of the drive. Ruth stared at it in amazement.
"These are Gavrik's personal files from Kaspgaz. You could find out everything here."
"If you know what you're looking for. That's why we need your analysis."
She glanced down at the data spike. "How did you get this?"
"We got it as part of an Intel share from Five."
A memory surfaced of a stolen laptop, the files of grade A level assets. There was a woman who had worked in the London office of Kaspgaz. She had pilfered some files but in the end, Erin had burned her. Ruth tried to recall if they had ever gone through that information. No - events had snowballed, Tariq had died, and her focus had been directed on investigating Coaver. No one had ever disseminated the information on that drive. At what point had Five shared the information? It may have happened recently; after all, she had been out of commission for a while. Still, the information on that drive was incredibly valuable. Harry had always made it a practice not to share more information with Vauxhall than was strictly necessary. Unless he had gotten something in return. For a woman who prided herself on knowledge, being completely in the dark was particularly annoying. Her eyes returned to Wilson. The man was studying her, watching as the wheels of her mind turned. She cursed the malleable features of her face; she must remember to mask her thoughts.
"What were you thinking about?" Wilson asked.
"If I could get back to Thames House, I could take advantage of their technology."
"No," Wilson countered abruptly. He softened his denial with a consoling smile. "It's not safe for you."
"But if I'm not safe on the Grid..."
"If they got to Harry, the can get to you."
He was right; she had no rebuttal to his argument. The sandwich lost its flavour, the bread dry in her mouth. She placed it back on the plate.
"Was there…" She paused, surprised by how quickly the tears reappeared in her eyes. She blinked them away. "Was there a funeral? Is there any way-"
"I'm sorry, Ruth. We have to keep you hidden."
"It's just that…." Her eyes pleaded with him. "If you could tell me something, any detail about what happened."
"The best thing you can do now is to find out how Gavrik is using his money, and then we'll have our revenge for Harry."
Wilson moved his chair back to the corner of the room and let himself out, leaving Ruth to stare at the half-eaten sandwich on her plate. Gavrik's files sat open on her computer screen patiently waiting for her to resume her investigation. At any other point in her career, she would be doing cartwheels over such a treasure trove of information. Suspicions tickled at her brain, the fact that Wilson refused to bring anyone else in leaving her unsettled. They were all working for the same cause as Eddie had said, they were on the same side. If anything nefarious was at play, she would not be allowed access to the internet.
Turning back to her screen, she let her fingers hover over the keys as she debated her next move. Slowly, she pressed down on the letters, entering his name into the search bar. She held back knowing that the second she hit the enter key there would be irrefutable evidence of his death. It would be far pleasanter to remain in that little room, pretending that nothing had ever happened, that he was waiting for her somewhere. She could live on that little piece of illusion. The cursor blinked at the end of the name, waiting for her decision. She had never been one to labour under any sort of delusion, she thrived on information, ran on curiosity. She needed to know.
The doorknob clicked and Ruth started, quickly closing the search window, hoping that no one was tracking her history. Anna stood in the door frame.
"May I take a look at your sutures?"
The search bar abandoned, her questions unanswered, Ruth nodded and followed the nurse back to the bedroom.
The ceiling sloped at a slight angle, and Ruth lay staring up at it, her ribcage exposed as her dressing was changed. Anna rhymed off Ruth's vitals, but none of the numbers registered in her patient's brain. Think, think - her mind rotated on an endless conveyor belt. She could not conjure up any memories of the hospital. She must have been in one; Harry beside her bed, holding her hand, speaking to her. She needed to believe in that scenario but it was no use, her memory stubbornly refused to give up any such images, sounds, or sensations. Only a black void of emptiness. He was in her dreams, he must have been by her side.
"Have you been running? Or jumping?"
"What?" Ruth blinked, her attention returning to the present moment.
"Your incision is weeping a little."
"I haven't been doing anything besides sitting at a computer."
"Let me take your temperature."
Anna placed the thermometer under Ruth's tongue and waited patiently for the instrument to beep. "It is within normal range." She disposed of the plastic cover. "You are very quiet today."
"I was just thinking about a man I used to know."
Strange how when one's circle of acquaintances was diminished, barriers between the personal eroded. It had long been Ruth's practice to never confide in anyone, but Anna was a stranger, a clean slate, free of judgement.
"Maybe you will see him soon."
"I don't think so. They tell me he's dead."
"I am sorry," Anna's face held a look of concern. "Was he important to you?"
"Very. We were going to-" Ruth cut herself off, unsure exactly what they had agreed upon. Live together, leave the Service, spend the rest of their days with each other, words spoken without even so much as a declaration of love.
"You are not that old," Anna consoled in a perfunctory tone. "You will find someone else."
The young woman had obviously never suffered from a broken heart. Anna helped Ruth to sit up in the bed. She brushed against Ruth's dangling feet as she worked.
"Do you think you will be able to change the dressing by yourself?"
"Why?" Ruth was instantly on alert. "What's happening?"
"For when you leave."
"Leave? Have you heard something about me leaving?
"No, I…" Anna looked away, busying herself with the cap of the disinfectant bottle. "I mean, you won't be here forever."
"Yes, but how long do I have to keep this bandage on?"
"For a few more days at least."
"And you won't be coming back in that time?"
The young woman did not answer. Instead, she unfurled a blood pressure cuff and rolled up Ruth's sleeve. The scratch material tightened on Ruth's arm as the pump was inflated. When Anna leant down to read the dial, Ruth took advantage of her closeness and whispered into the woman's ear.
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
The young woman's eyes flew up to Ruth's. Her mouth opened and then closed.
"You've been very good to me," Ruth prodded maintaining her conspiratorial whisper. "No one will know if you say anything to me.'
Anna's eyes darted to the door and back. Ruth put her hand on top of the blood pressure cuff, trapping Anna's fingers, and forcing the young woman to look at her. Anna brought her head in close.
"They told me that I wouldn't be needed after today. I told them you weren't entirely healed. They said you were leaving."
"Where to?"
"I don't know." Anna shook her head.
Ruth nodded, absorbing the implications of the information. The vain hope surfaced that they were releasing her from the safe house, that she had given them enough information to take down Gavrik. But she had barely scratched the surface of Gavrik's financial dealings. A more disturbing reason crept into her thoughts. They were moving her because she was no longer safe. Someone had alerted the Russians of her location.
The air hissed as the blood pressure cuff was released.
"Your pressure is a little high," Anna noted. "You should try and relax."
Ruth's mouth drew in a thin line; yes, worrying about one's life does tend to elevate blood pressure.
"I will leave you a few things. Gauze and tweezers." Anna packed up the rest of her supplies in a little blue bag. "Remember - try not to exert yourself too much."
Ruth reached out and grabbed Anna's elbow. "Will I see you again?"
The young woman shook her head. "I'm sure you will find love again." Disengaging her arm from Ruth's grasp, Anna left the room.
If her mind was spinning before, it was now running on overdrive. Sliding off the bed, Ruth paced the room in a frantic circle, trying to order her thoughts. She made her way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Take a breath, calm down. There was no need to worry, Mark would have everything in hand. He had just forgotten to mention that she would be relocated. He hadn't wanted to alarm her. The tape around her bandage pulled at her skin and Ruth rubbed at the spot through the knitted wool of her top. It did nothing to ease the irritation, and she lifted her cardigan to have a better look at the dressing. Anna's handwriting was visible on the tape. Ruth twisted her head; it looked like the date; a record of when the dressing had been changed. Ruth squinted. Unable to read it properly, she stood on her tiptoes, using the bathroom mirror to better see the writing. The writing was still illegible. She slowly ripped the tape from her stomach. It wasn't that handwriting was messy, she couldn't read it because it was written in Cyrillic script. Funny, she was certain that the Polish language used the Western alphabet. She slowly let the fabric of her top drop back into place, her blood turning to ice. Anna wasn't Polish, she was Russian. Ruth held onto the lip of the sink, letting it bear her weight as the realisation sank in. Anna was the leak, she was the one who had revealed Ruth's location. That didn't make any sense. Surely, Six would have vetted her. But this was an unsanctioned op. Maybe it had been rushed, they hadn't used the proper protocols. If it was Anna, it would stand to reason that the Russians would know that Six would be moving her to another Safe House. She had to tell Eddie.
Her feet tripped over each other as she ran out of the bathroom. She took a moment to school herself, forcing her steps to stay calm. Bile rose in the back of her throat and her stomach churned. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, briskly walking to the top of the stairs. A few steps down, she narrowly avoided running into a table that stood on a tiny landing. A vase of fake flowers wobbled on the table, and she quickly reached out with her hand to steady it. Voices drifted up to her from the floor below. It was Eddie and an unknown man. She remained on the landing, instinct telling her to wait. The two men continued their conversation.
"What time is the flight?" Eddie asked.
"We have to be there for ten."
Ruth leaned back against the wall, merging her body into the wainscoting, straining to listen. What flight were they talking about?
"It's a private plane," the other man continued. "They won't be able to track it."
Who would track her? The Russians? Were they taking her out of the country? Her eyes darted around the space; she had absolutely no control over her life. A cloud of doubt descended on her. What if she wasn't even in England? She hadn't seen the outside world; she had no idea where she was. Leaving the support of the wall, she took a slow step back. Her thigh hit the table and the vase thudded onto the floor. Her head swung towards it in panic. Footsteps sounded on the stairs below. She crouched down and began picking up the fake flowers and a few broken pieces of the vase.
"Everything alright, Miss Evershed?"
Ruth stood up, the stiff stems of the flowers in her hand. Eddie waited on the tread a few steps down.
"Yes, I…I…I'm sorry I was just looking for some water. I accidentally walked into the table."
"I'll bring you some right away."
Unable to move, Ruth stared at the man. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he looked at her.
"Anything else I can do for you?"
Her stomach knotted, a bubble of fear rising. He was not there to protect her, he was her guard. All of his kind gestures, the marauding accent - part of a role easily played. Her first instinct was to run, but the man was twice her size, she would never make it past him.
"Is Mark around?" Her voice squeaked with the first thought that came to mind. "There's something I want to show him."
"I'll get him back here as soon as I can." Eddie gave her a mollifying smile. "Don't worry about that mess, I'll clean it up."
He walked up the few remaining steps and held out his hand to take the flowers. She looked down at the flowers, hardly worthy of a weapon. Her lips moving stiffly in a smile of thanks and she handed him the fake stems. Feet heavy with dread, she slowly climbed her way back up the stairs to her room.