9
Reckoning ch 7
For the purpose of this fic, I am taking liberties with the truth as regards who is power in the UK, who the monarch is, etc. This is a long chapter, but I needed it to put some bits of the story in place. I hope you enjoy it!
1.
He gives himself half an hour, alone on the roof terrace, to gather his strength and collect his thoughts, before going back to the Grid. Half an hour to try and put his conversation with Ruth behind him. He can't. Her words 'I can't have children' sear into him. For the first time, he fully grasps what she lost, with George's death: her lover, her companion, but also, through Nico, the closest she had got, she would perhaps ever get, to motherhood. He remembers the accusation he flung at her, during their row – you don't have children of your own, so you can't understand what it is like to lose your own child….He closes his eyes, pained beyond description by the hurt he seems to keep causing her, again and again…
And so he makes a resolution. From now on, he tells himself, I will keep away from her. I'll be her boss, and nothing else. I will forget about last night, what it was like to hold her, to feel her against me…. I won't try and imagine what it would have been like to be with her properly…In two months, it'll be over. Two months. How hard can it be?
Immensely hard, as it turns out.
2.
He goes back to the Grid, notices that everyone is at their station, working hard, absorbed in the information reeling off their computer screens. Even Ruth.
He gets everyone to join him in the meeting room. 'All right everyone. Now listen. Here is what we know.' He summarises all the information which they have managed to gather. 'We have very little time. We need to go back to the beginning, and try to see what we have missed, what we could have done better. Any thoughts?' His tone is firm, calm, composed, focused. Ruth can't quite believe that he is the same man who, only the night before…she pushes the thought away firmly. Don't. Don't even think about it, she tells herself furiously.
'We need to go back to the murder of Nicholas Blake', Lucas says. 'We haven't really got anywhere there. But I think that this is the key. At least for the UK angle.'
'I agree', Harry concurs. 'They haven't released his body yet. But clearly, with the evidence of torture, the coroner will have no choice but to…yes, Ruth?'
She clears her throat. 'The police apparently found sado-masochistic porn photos on his laptop. Hundreds of them, apparently.'
'What?! How did you find that out anyway? Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know.' He clenches his fists. 'This is preposterous. The b…ds. They're going to pass his death off as a sordid sado-masochistic tryst gone wrong, which will blacken his reputation even more.' He is livid with anger. 'What more do you know?'
'Well, the Met Commissioner himself is apparently very insistent that the news should be released at a press conference first thing tomorrow morning.'
'So he too is on it', John states. 'He must be. In fact, for an operation of that kind…you've got to have the senior brass on board.'
'By that token', Ros points out, 'that means some of the top army officers as well.'
Harry sighs. 'Yes. Of course. It must be. The question is, which ones. I find it hard to believe that all four of the Chief of Staff, Head of the Army, First Sea Lord, and Air Chief Marshall would….'
'We need to put listening taps on them', Ros concludes. 'Mount surveillance, organise…'
'We can't do that!'
'Sorry, Tariq?'
'We can't just…just…bug the offices and homes of those guys! I mean…together, they control all of the military, they're…' Tariq blusters.
'We can, and we will', Harry says firmly. 'Tariq, you have got to understand: no one, and I mean, no one, is immune. So I want you to do this, and in such a way as to evade the most sophisticated anti-bugging equipment. Do you think you can do it?' He is playing on the young man's professional pride and bravado- not particularly subtle, but obviously effective, given the look of affront which Tariq throws at him.
'So, Blake?', Lucas interjects. 'Why was he tortured? Why now? Why not while he was Home Secretary? What did he know that they wanted? Was it something he knew as Home Secretary? Something he knew as Nicholas Blake, private citizen? What was it? I can't think of anything.'
They sit in silence, mulling it over. Ruth looks away into the Grid, through the glass panel, needing to escape from Harry's sight to concentrate…she fixes her eyes onto one of the TV screens, absent-mindedly. 'My God…' she whispers.
'Ruth? Ruth? Are you alright?'
She doesn't hear them. Her mind is solely focused on the screen, computing possibilities, figuring out possible outcomes and strategies. 'My God', she whispers again.
'Ruth? Would you please tell us what' going on?' Harry's sharp, tense call brings her back to the room. She is white as a sheet, and scaring them. 'I think I know what they wanted from him', she says simply. 'What is the one piece of information which the Home Secretary will know before anyone else except the Prime Minister, the PM's Chief of Staff, the PM's chief political adviser and the PM's wife? The one thing that a network planning a huge, anti-democratic coup…'
'This is not a guessing game!', Harry snaps, his patience close to breaking point.
She stares at him, seemingly oblivious to his anger. 'The exact date for the general election', she states simply. 'He would have known that ages before anyone else. Before us. He would have to. First of all, he was one of the PM's most trusted senior cabinet members. Second of all, as Home Secretary, he is in charge of the police and us – which means all the security arrangements in the months before the vote, during voting day, and during counting. That's what they wanted to know.'
'My God. It makes perfect sense', Harry says, in a toneless voice. 'Create chaos on election day, disrupt the counting, no one really knows what's going on; stage strikes and a few attacks in the major cities at the same time. Throw in a couple of assassinations of major political figures…and the stage is set. Especially if they have the Met Commissioner on board, and some senior military brass for good measure. Declare a state of emergency. And put pressure on the King to appoint their man as Prime Minister, irrespective of the election results since of course, we won't know the results.' He shakes his head. 'Beautifully simple. They couldn't afford to get to Nicholas while he was still in post. So they waited until he was out…he made it easy for them actually.'
'Why?', Ros asks.
'He refused to be subject to the special security measures which all former Home Secretaries traditionally enjoy', Ruth said. 'He said that this was a left over from the IRA bombing campaigns and that since Northern Ireland is no longer a problem there was no reason for this.'
They all stare at her. Lucas shakes his head in wonder. 'How do you know…forget it. Anway, when is the election?' he asks, shaken, in the resounding silence.
'May 4', Harry, Ros and Ruth reply at the same time.
'How did you guys know?'
'I got a memo from the DG just before leaving for Paris. Ros, no need to tell us how you found out, we can all guess. Ruth? How did you…please don't tell me that you have got a contact somewhere who….'
She smiles. Thinly. 'They've just announced it on television. I caught the headlines. That's what made me think of it.'
'But this doesn't make sense!', Lucas says. 'Why would they need to torture Blake to find out, a mere month or so before the news get public?'
'They couldn't know that the PM would choose to make it public so soon. There's been speculation for months now…', Harry counters. 'Right. Here is the thing. We think that this is what they are trying to do in the UK.' He looks away from Ruth. 'We're going to let the French worry about their side of the conspiracy for now, though I will tell Bernard about our own problem. I'll tell the cousins too, obviously. They've got their onw mid term elections in the autumn to worry about. For now, our task is pretty simple really: stop Nightingale from jeopardising the general election. And we need to do this even though we don't know, first, who amongst the police and the army is in on it, second, whether the PM himself, and/or the two leaders of the opposition parties are in on it too, third, who other top figure in the media and business are supporting and financing this. Not to say the head of the electoral commission, the Secretary for Constitutional Affairs, the Attorney General…..Christ. Right now, the only two people in government I am 100% of are the Home Secretary and the King. Who is not even in government. As for the service….'
He stops, he shakes his head, exhaustion and despair overcoming him. Ros looks at Ruth briefly, noticing how studiously Ruth avoids looking at Harry… 'As for the service, we can trust the DG, and heads of sections A and B. C, we're not sure. They handle estates so we don't have to worry too much about them, but still, to be on the safe side, we don't ask them for extra manpower', she states resolutely. 'OK. So this is what we do. I brief Andrew – well, forgive me Harry for not referring to him as the Home Secretary, but really this is not the time for niceties, now is it? – Right. So I brief Andrew, and get him to agree, orally, to putting taps on every single major political and military figure. Tariq, Ruth, you will listen to everything we get. You'll need help. Get Sebastian, Liz, Mark, Matthew and Rory to help you. I have checked them out myself, they can be trusted. Ruth, can you organise the rota? Good. John, Lucas, you need to get an up to date list of members for all three main parties. Check out anyone who has joined since Blake was abducted. Ideally we would…'
'Ros, sorry but…', John interject, immediately silenced by a glare from Harry.
Ros barely pauses, mildly annoyed at the interruption. 'Ideally we would look at all party members, but we don't have the time. So Ruth, activate your contacts in all three parties, and put out feelers: who joined recently, who is particularly keen to help during the counting, that kind of thing. Pass on what you find to Lucas and John for checking. Also, we need to know about properties recently put on the market, for sale or renting, in a ..let's see. 1 mile radius of the homes and constituencies office of senior party members – again, all three parties. Ditto with party headquarters in London. Check out buyers, tenants, and so on. The usual routines. Got it? Good. Harry?'
'I agree with Ros. A couple of other things. One, this, all of it, stays strictly us. The people you enlist for help, Mark, Liz, the others…they are not to know, under any circumstances, why they are doing what you ask them to do. Two – and this one is for all of you, but especially for you, Ruth. You are not, under any circumstances, to 'put out feelers', as Ros put it, with the Royal Family. I know you have contacts there, at the highest level but…'
'How do you know? I've never said anything here…' she protests.
'Please. Give me some credit. For a start I have yet to encounter an institution which is safe from you. Besides, I know your file. You were at Oxford with the King's sister in law. She wasn't as good a student as you of course, a 2.1 instead of a Double First but you were quite close were at one point, weren't you …'
'Yes, well…' Ruth is embarrassed. By his broadcasting her academic achievements and her connections. By the intimate knowledge he has just disclosed of her file. 'Look. I know her. Why can't I…'
'No. You don't go near them. Do you hear me? This as a direct order. Anyone, and I mean anyone, in this room, who disobeys at that order, will be dismissed from this unit and transferred to the traffic wardens unit. If you desperately want to regulate the traffic on Trafalgar Square for the next ten years, this is your chance. Otherwise, you do not, I repeat, do not, touch the Royals. …'
'So we can't even bug their phones?', Tariq asks, disappointed.
Harry stares at him, astounded by the young man's naivety. 'Tariq. We've been bugging them on a 24/7 basis since…well. You get the picture. Except that since they got burned by some idiotic amateur journalist they're very careful about what they say on the phone.'
'Precisely', Lucas interjects, 'if Ruth has that kind of connection…and I actually know one of the secretaries at Buckingham Palace too…why not try and see who…'
'Because Buckingham Palace is a viper's nest which is so leaky with rumours and confidential information as to make the 1953 London flood look like a puny Highlands stream. And it could be that the day after the elections, when all hell breaks loose, the King will be our best bet. But that won't work if someone, somewhere, is tipped off that we have that trump card up our sleeve.'
'Yes. Yes' Ruth concurs. 'Of course. Get him to address the nation and the armed forces… Of course… we get him to do a Juan Carlos on them, basically.'
'Exactly', Harry says, gripped by a flash of pain at the way he and Ruth somehow manage to understand each other so well, of regret of what it could have been like. He pushes his feelings aside. 'Tariq, you look…puzzled. What Ruth referred to was the coup which some high ranking officers in the Spanish Army attempted in 1981. The King, Juan Carlos I, phoned them up one by one during the night of the coup and got them to surrender or give up, then appeared on television the next day and addressed the Spanish people. It worked. Spain has been a stable democracy ever since. We might be able to get the King to do the same here but…'
John is dubious. 'You really think he can do this? I mean, this is someone who is more comfortable talking to turnips than to human beings here…'
'He won't have a choice', Harry says sombrely. 'He simply won't have a b.. y choice. Right. So we all know what we have to do. Let's get going. I'm afraid that it's going to be a long night, every night, until this is over. From tomorrow onwards, three of you go home at around 6 and get a long night's sleep. The other two stay here til late… Tariq, organise a rota, and pool cars to take the late-nighters home; arrange for fresh food to be delivered every evening. Tonight we all stay late; take-away diner on me. Now get going. John, Lucas? My office.'
3.
He beckons John and Lucas to his office and shuts the door behind them.
'Harry, this is crazy', John says, 'we can't do this other op now! Not when we are so understaffed here and…'
Harry shakes his head. 'Sorry. You' ll have to do it. I had a coded text from Bernard. More info.' He outlines what he has learnt. 'This gives you a week, starting tomorrow morning. I'm ordering Indian food for everyone on the Grid tonight. Phone in sick, both of you, with food poisoning tomorrow first thing, and don't show your faces around for a week. Clear? Good. Send Ros in, would you?'
He waits for her to arrive, tensely. 'Are you alright?', he asks softly, when she comes in. 'Impressive performance you've just put on here…it good to have you back.'
'I'm not quite together but…almost there', she replies, noticing the tiredness, the deeper lines of worry etched on his face. 'By the way, Harry…this rota business. You planned it for five people.'
Yes, and?'
'There are six of us.'
'I will stay late every night. I've got to be there. Won't make much of a difference to me anyway', he says in a matter of fact way. He rearranges some pens on his desks – stalling. 'Nightingale…it's very similar to the conspiracy your father was involved in and…'
'You mean, the conspiracy which my father led, and for which he is serving 20 years in jail.'
'Quite. Except that this time, it's on a global scale. It's not merely about finishing off democracy in the UK. It's about setting up authoritarian regimes in most of Western Europe.' He looks at her, directly, but not unkindly. 'It's likely that this will reawaken painful memories. I need to know that you can handle it.'
She smiles, wryly. 'I can handle it. Honestly. I wouldn't be here if I thought otherwise.'
He nods. 'Have you visited him recently?'
She looks away. 'No. Why?' She's wary. Pained too.
'I think that you should go. Ask him for information about possible members of Nightingale.'
'He's been in prison for three years! How would he…'
'He's bound to know who, three years ago, was in on it, and who is still at large. In the media. In the corporate world.' He hates what he is about to do. He pulls out a sheet of paper from his drawer and hands it to her. 'This is the list of prison visitors who have been to see him in the last year. As you will see…'
'So you knew I haven't seen him in a year. Why did you ask then?' she asks coldly, with a current of hot anger underneath.
'To see how you would react.' He lets that sink in. 'You might think that you have nothing to say to him. That he is dead to you….but that's a lie, Ros. You haven't cut him out of your life. Not completely. And for all you know….he might have changed.'
'Going by that list, he hasn't. Those people are all big on law and order. Not exactly friends of civil liberties.'
'But they are the only ones who visit him. It doesn't mean he still agrees with them. Will you give it a try? Please? Obviously, if he were to…cooperate with us, and if we do manage to stop this conspiracy….I might be able to get his sentence reduced.'
'God. How can you be so…'
'So ruthless? I have no choice. One another thing. Can you…can you keep an eye on the team for me? In the next few weeks I'll be out and about, reactivating some contacts, taking the temperature at Westminster….As you can't be out in the field yet, I need someone here to…'
'To act as your…deputy? You don't ask much, do you'.
'In a way, yes. As my deputy. I can think of no one better.' He doesn't add anything – and that's a mistake. For the normal, in-control Harry would have said 'but don't get any ideas from the Home Secretary about replacing me yet', as the kind of joke is also not a joke. But he doesn't say it. Either he's got a lot on his mind, or he wants out once this is over and is grooming me to succeed him as head of section D, she thinks. She hopes the former; she genuinely doesn't want his job, at least not for a long, long time. And she's worried about him – about his obvious fatigue, the poor care he is taking of himself these days….Don't break Harry, she begs him silently. We all need you, more than ever….
Somehow she manages to convey her feelings to him: he smiles at her, a small, sad smile, and dismisses her. As she walks out, she notices, from the corner of her eyes, that he is looking out onto the Grid – towards Ruth's desk. Surprise, surprise, she thinks. God, those two…Almost worth staging a lock-down of the Grid on one of those nights when they are the only ones left…I'll have to think about it…all in the interest of national security, of course…
Two months later, the thought would come back to haunt her.
