Residential estate, Upminster
Dimitri didn't try to struggle; all that would do was ensure that his air supply ran out quicker. He could feel the rope bite painfully into his neck as he fought to draw another breath. Just as his vision began to darken, he was vaguely aware of a crashing sound, followed by shouting, and then another shot. The rope loosened and oxygen flooded into his lungs, making him dizzy. He was disoriented by it all until he heard a familiar voice say, "Oh God, D…" and cool hands caressed his face. He was lowered to the ground and he opened his eyes to see her beautiful face hover above him, and he knew everything would be all right.
- 0 –
The Grid
They had listened to the assault on the flat in tense silence, which only relaxed when Erin reported in a shaky voice that Dimitri was okay. Harry breathed deeply and smiled as he looked over at Ruth, aware that it was due to her idea that they got to his officer in time.
"Clever girl," he muttered proudly and pressed a kiss to her hair before taking himself back to his office. Malcolm watched the unguarded moment between them with interest, but made sure his attention was once again focussed on the screen in front of him by the time Ruth looked in his direction. He couldn't hide his delighted smile, however.
Ruth wandered over and peered over their shoulders. "How are you doing with that firewall?"
Calum rubbed his eyes. "We managed to get through it, only to find that the money was paid into the Cyprus account from yet another account, also held in Cyprus. But now we're stuck on the password needed to get us into the particulars of the holder of the second account."
"We have confirmed that the first account belongs to the Russian mafia though," Malcolm informed her.
Ruth frowned. This piece of information fortified her growing conviction that Harry's instinct had been right - she'd heard rumours that Putin had secret bank accounts in Cyprus. But how to prove a link between the FSB and the Russian government by extension, and the mafia group active in Tottenham? She sat down and began to jot her thoughts on a pad.
Russian mafia linked to FSB linked to govt linked to Putin. Therefore money used by mafia should follow same link. So money comes from secret slush fund set up by Putin? Likely.
She underlined the last word and chewed on the pen.
If money from Putin, password also Putin's. Something personal? Unlikely due to KGB background. Something professional? KGB… Secret police with roots in Stalin era. Putin known as hard man so probably idolises Stalin-
"Try Stalin's real name," she said suddenly.
Calum looked up in surprise, wondering by what convoluted thought process she had ended up at Stalin. He shook his head. "It has to be alpha-numeric, Ruth."
"Okay, try the name with his date of birth."
They tried various combinations of Ioseb Besarionis Jughashvili and 18-12-1878, but to no avail.
Ruth tapped the pen against the pad, convinced she was on the right track. Putin was proud of his KGB background and it was suspected that he had built up his connections with the mafia during his spell as a spy, so it had to have something to do with that. And spies love codenames, she suddenly thought.
"Koba 18-12-1878," she exclaimed excitedly.
Malcolm perked up. "Stalin's nickname! Of course." He typed it in and his finger hovered above the 'Enter' key for a moment before tapping it decisively. They held their collective breath as the machine processed the request, which seemed to take hours, but was in reality no longer than a few seconds. At last a block popped up, welcoming them into the database.
"Yes!" Calum exclaimed and immediately started to copy all information available. "Ruth," he said warmly, "you put Hal 9000 to shame."
Ruth smiled – that was high praise indeed from a science fiction geek. "Sometimes, Calum, all it takes is the human touch," she said before walking off to Harry's office.
She stood in the door, looking at him as he bent over his paperwork, a slight furrow of concentration on his brow. When he became aware of her presence and met her eyes she gave him a big smile. "We've got proof."
"The Russians?" he asked, wanting to make sure.
"The Russians, right back to Putin himself," she confirmed and he nodded. There was no self-congratulation in his demeanour, merely quiet determination.
"I'll wake Towers and inform him," he said as he stood and walked towards her. "Will you help Calum to put together the documentation I need to convince him?"
"Of course."
"Thanks, Ruth. For everything. Once you're done, I want you to go home and to pretend that you were never here. Towers will never know, I give you my word."
- 0 –
Early morning hours
Home Secretary's house
"Dear God," Towers said wearily as he put down the last of the documents Harry had brought, and glowered at the other man.
"One of these days, Harry, you're going to wake me in the middle of the night to give me good news, or I might become tempted to simply shoot the messenger."
Towers was swaddled in a fluffy blue bathrobe which made him look more like a worried father waiting for his teenage daughter to come home, than the man who had to make decisions that would impact on the country's international relations.
Harry was unrepentant about being the harbinger of unwelcome news. "We cannot let them get away with this."
Towers rolled his eyes. "Don't be naïve, Harry. Of course we're going to let them get away with it. We need Russia."
Harry stared at him incredulously. "What for?"
"To influence events in the Middle East, for one."
"Oh please," Harry scoffed. "Now who's naïve? Putin won't lift a finger to help us in the Middle East. The first thing he did since coming back to power was to snub the G8 meeting. And Russia has been nothing but a stumbling block to any international attempts to intervene in Syria-"
"All right! I don't need you to paint me a bloody picture!" the Home Secretary snapped irritably. "You really can be the most infuriating self-righteous pain in the arse, you know," he added grumpily.
"Someone needs to be," Harry said obstinately. "There are certain principles we should not compromise on, and this is one of them."
Towers held Harry's gaze for long seconds, before he sighed heavily.
"I'll speak to the PM and put a stop to the signing of the deal on the equipment. More than that I can't promise."
Harry nodded. "It's a start. If you'll excuse me, I still have a march to prevent."
- 0 –
Flat above Markham Mosque
A bleary-eyed and irate Imam yanked open his door and glowered at the unknown man who had banged on it incessantly.
"Have you any idea what time it is?"
The man shrugged and said, "When you've barely slept for almost three days because you are occupied with preventing BNP supporters and Muslims from turning the streets into a war zone, you tend to lose track of the time."
The Imam stared at him. "Who are you?"
"I work for Her Majesty's Government, and I'm here to tell you that it would be a mistake to go ahead with the march you're planning for this morning."
The Imam was taken aback, and obviously somewhat rattled that the man knew about the march. He took refuge in anger. "I see. So you want us to sit back and let those racists – who started all this in the first place-"
Harry cut him off. "I'm really not interested." He thrust an envelope at the Imam. "In there is evidence that the Russian mafia has been behind everything. Just as they provided you and the Al Shabaab cell you've been sheltering with funds and weapons, so they did for the BNP. Ask yourself whether you are comfortable being manipulated by murderers, thieves and smugglers to their own ends. If you are not, call off the march."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the Imam standing in the door, clutching the envelope and staring after him.
- 0 –
07:30
The Grid
Erin had just returned from the hospital when she received a call from Imran.
"Harry!" she yelled across the Grid, making her boss wince. He had developed a thumping headache and wished she wouldn't shout quite so loudly.
"Yes, Erin."
"Imran just reported that the Imam has called off the march."
"Good, good." Harry rubbed his temples in an ineffectual attempt to alleviate the pain. "How are we doing at Bruce Castle Park?"
"The police will pick up Simms as soon as he appears. Dimitri's there to help."
Harry lifted his head. "Shouldn't he be in hospital?"
"He wants to be there when Simms is arrested, so he discharged himself."
"Did he," Harry said with a small smile, which he smothered at Erin's disapproving look.
- 0 –
Home Office
By the time Ruth arrived at her desk the Home Secretary had evidently been in the office for quite some time. He bore down on her before she had a chance to switch on her computer, and tossed a heap of documents on her desk. She recognised them from the night before.
"Did you have anything to do with this?" he demanded brusquely.
Ruth took her time, picking up the documents and flicking through them.
"No," she lied artfully.
Towers stared at her and she held his gaze unflinchingly, and saw the doubt flicker across his face.
"You didn't help Harry gather this information?" he persisted, unwilling to let go of his foul mood so easily.
"Harry's angry with me – you made sure of that," she retorted in lieu of a direct answer, and the ploy worked. He deflated visibly and sighed deeply.
"Read through it and give me your opinion. And start to think about a strategy to protect our image whilst we continue to cooperate with the Russians."
Her disapproving gaze burned into his back as he walked back to his office.
- 0 –
07:50
Bruce Castle Park
Dimitri stood with a bunch of police officers and watched as the number of BNP supporters gathering for the march gradually swelled. He shook his head to himself, unable to believe that so many people would swallow the drivel that Daniel Simms was selling. It seemed that fear of the unknown was still a powerful motivator. A silver BMW with a broken left taillight pulled up at the gate and Dimitri nodded towards it.
"That's him."
They moved forward and as soon as Simms stepped out of the car, one of the policemen approached and held up his badge. "Daniel Simms, I'm arresting you on charges of kidnap, assault and murder of your brother, Gerry Simms," he said, and snapped the handcuffs on before anyone could react.
Simms opened his mouth to protest, but Dimitri moved into his line of sight and the colour drained from the BNP leader's face. The spook's face was mottled with bruises and there was an angry red welt around his neck.
"Prison should be an interesting experience for you, Dan," Dimitri taunted. "Lots of illegal immigrants in there to keep you company. I bet they'll be thrilled to see you."
He watched in grim satisfaction as Simms was led away.
- 0 –
Two hours later
Home Office
Ruth walked into Towers' office and laid a document on his desk. He grunted and reached for it, his eyes skimming the heading in a practised manner. They lifted to her face in surprise.
"This is a strategy to disengage from cooperation with the Russians. That's not what I asked for, Ruth."
"No," she said, not giving an inch. "But what we discussed a few days ago works both ways. You can't expect me to go against Harry when I think he's wrong, and not to do the same with you. In this case I think you're wrong. We should not ally ourselves with the type of people that are currently ruling Russia. As a matter of principle."
Towers took a few seconds to absorb her words, and then he smiled ruefully. "I'm beginning to understand why Harry is so besotted with you," he said, and there was a hint of envy in his voice.
Ruth dropped her gaze, slightly embarrassed by the personal turn in the conversation, before lifting it again resolutely.
"About that," she said. "I have a favour to ask."
- 0 –
Four hours later
Ruth stepped out of the taxi outside the cemetery gate and walked slowly along the well-manicured path. When she had looked for Harry on the Grid earlier and Erin had informed her that he'd left some time ago without saying where he was going, she had known immediately where he would be. Her pace slowed as she approached the section where Harry's daughter was buried, and her eyes unerringly picked out the solitary figure that stood immobile, gloved hands clasped together in front of him. He stood with head bowed, and those who did not know him might be forgiven for thinking that he was praying. She stopped and just watched him, unwilling to intrude on such a private moment. She might share his bed, but she was well aware that there were some things a person had to work through by themselves. However, when she saw his shoulders start to shake, she moved forward without hesitation until she was stood next to him. She didn't say anything; if he ignored her presence, she would retreat and leave him to grieve in private. He didn't ignore her, though. He leaned into her shoulder and his hand fumbled for hers, entwining their fingers and holding on tightly. His other hand wiped across his eyes as he focussed on Catherine's name on the headstone mutely. She moved closer, enfolding his hand in both of hers and resting her chin on his shoulder, and they stood quietly, each lost in their own thoughts.
Eventually he roused himself and squeezed her hand. "Let's go home," he said gruffly, and they turned away, hand in hand.
When they had put some distance between themselves and the grave, Ruth spoke. "I came to tell you that Towers has given you the rest of the week off."
Harry looked at her in surprise. "Really?"
She smiled knowingly, and he chuckled softly and nodded. "Five whole days," he mused, "whatever shall I do with myself?"
"Well, I thought we could go to the cottage, and spend the first few days catching up on lost sleep, and the rest catching up on other, er, luxuries we've had to deny ourselves."
He was amused by her unorthodox euphemism for sex, and couldn't resist teasing her. "Whilst I'm flattered by your inflated opinion of my sexual prowess, I think you may need to pack a book or two as well. Just in case I don't live up to expectations."
She laughed, relieved that they were back to the familiar ease that had existed between them before this whole debacle started. But still she felt the need to clear the air and tugged on his hand until he stopped and faced her.
"I'm sorry, Harry."
He sighed and looked down at his feet. "So am I. I shouldn't have gone to Towers on little more than a hunch. But it's done, we learn from it, we move on. Yes?"
She nodded, touched by the fervent resolve in his eyes, and said, "I've just handed Towers a strategy document on how to extract ourselves from the recent cosying up to the Russians."
Harry lifted his eyebrows. "And how did he take that?"
"Surprisingly meekly. Said it would come in handy."
Harry laughed. "You see," he said, running a finger down her cheek, "we're an unstoppable force when we work together."
His eyes twinkled mischievously and he leaned into her, whispering his next words seductively into her ear. "And that includes making love, which I would very much like to do sooner rather than later, so get a move on, Miss Evershed."
- 0 –
Three days later
The cottage, Suffolk
He was inside her, and nothing else mattered. Outside the cottage the rain fell softly, but in here the fire warmed his back and bathed her skin in a golden glow. His eyes devoured her; from the place they were joined, over her full, peaked breasts and up to her face and the all-consuming devotion in her expression. It was the only aphrodisiac he needed and he strained harder, buried himself even deeper until her breasts quivered on each forceful stroke and her leg slipped a little higher up his hip in response. Her back arched and she hummed appreciatively, her fingers digging into his biceps. He was only dimly aware of the crackling of the flames and behind that, the distant sigh of the ocean; the only sounds he focussed on were the product of this ageless dance of copulation, of bodies moving together in a rhythm that was probably engrained in their DNA. And they worked together well, guiding each other with fleeting touches and intimate murmurs to each derive optimal fulfilment. Yes, he thought hazily, they were so very good at this, and it was made all the more poignant by the heart-ache, loss and strife that had preceded it. But then he got distracted by the first contraction of her inner muscles around him, and he knew she was about to fall. He thrust hard and deep, once, one hand simultaneously finding her hip and pressing her flush against him, and then held still as her orgasm washed over her, every muscle and every sinew tensed with the effort. When his name tumbled from her lips in a low moan at the height of it, he finally understood the full meaning of the word 'bliss'. Perfect happiness or serene joy. The scrape of her nails over his buttock shattered his ability to think and he let go, thrusting haphazardly and focussing on his own pleasure for the few seconds it took to find his own release. Her hands smoothed down his flanks as her legs tightened around him, and her inner muscles squeezed him once, and then again quite deliberately until he spilled inside her. He was barely done when she pulled him down on her and wrapped her arms tightly around him. His lips found the pulse in her throat and rested there, feeling it gradually slow down in tandem with his own. When at last he was capable of speech, he murmured one word, his lips caressing her skin as he did so.
"Bliss."
Fin
