Harry was absolutely bloody fuming. No matter what he said, Ruth refused to go back to Thames House. She'd always been stubborn, his mule, but she rarely bucked his authority so blatantly, once he'd made up his mind. She'd argue, she'd cajole, and in the end, if he gave her an order, she'd follow it. She'd never had the confidence to deny him before. Or perhaps, if he were being honest with himself, it wasn't so much a lack of confidence that kept her in line as it was a fear of being sent back to GCHQ. Now that he could no longer threaten her with that, she was bound and determined to get her way.
He'd tried to tell her that it wasn't safe, that he couldn't bear it if anything should happen to her, but she refused to listen. Nothing, not even Harry himself, would stand in the way of Ruth being reunited with her child.
Their child.
He still couldn't quite believe that, couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that the bright, cheerful little girl in the photograph was his. His and Ruth's. Guilt consumed him; it was his fault Ruth had to leave, his fault that he had missed so much of their child's life, his fault that Ruth had been forced to carry this burden by herself for the last five years. His fault that she had no proper home, that she lived every moment in fear. His fault that the girl had been taken, his fault that her life was in danger. His fault. All his.
It weighed heavy on him, the guilt, but he prayed his judgment was clear. Desperately hoped he was making the right choice.
They didn't speak much, on the way to the church. Harry was too angry, too worried, and he feared that if he tried to give voice to his thoughts he would only do more damage. Ruth was twisting her hands together in her lap, her eyes distant and unseeing. He wondered for the thousandth time what was going on in that complicated mind of hers.
He parked the car in front of the church, and watched Ruth give herself a little shake, the fog over her eyes lifting as she forced herself back into the present.
"Harry," she said, looking around uncertainly, "Where are we?"
Harry killed the ignition, tucked the keys in his pocket, and reached for the door handle.
"Bateman wants Albany," he answered. "So we're going to give it to him."
She reached out and stopped him with a warm hand on his arm, and he was startled by how familiar the gesture felt. A flood of memories overcame him; the softness of her skin beneath his hands, the sound of her ragged breathing, the salty taste of her tears as he kissed her cheek. He struggled to drag himself back in to the present, and found her staring at him, her soft grey eyes full of fear.
"What is Albany, Harry?" she asked him in a small, tired voice.
He'd been wondering when she'd get around to that. Wondering if she'd ask at all. She must have been curious, he knew, but he imagined she was frightened of the answer, as well. What if it was something horrible, catastrophic, something more valuable to him than his own daughter's life? He knew the courage it had taken her to ask the question, and he promised himself he wouldn't lie to her.
"Albany is a fiction. It's a weapon that has never, will never work. We let the Russians believe it was successful, because we wanted to keep them in line, but it's a joke, really. And it's hidden in there." He nodded towards the church.
Her eyes had never left his face, watching, analyzing, searching for signs of a lie, but she was satisfied with his answer.
"What the hell is it doing in a church?" she asked wryly, and Harry had to fight the sudden, wild urge to laugh.
Harry had just finished stashing the case in the back of the car when the second call came in. Ruth came rushing to his side when she heard the shrill ringing, and this time Harry didn't resist the urge to hold her. He curled one arm around her shoulders protectively, drawing her close to him, and held the phone in front of him as he answered.
"Harry?" Bateman's voice came through the speakers, familiar and vile.
"I've got it," Harry said shortly. "Tell me where to go and we'll meet you there."
"We? Oh no, Harry, I didn't agree to a 'we'. Just you and me."
"Tell that to Ruth," Harry spat, and when he head the short bark of Bateman's laugh, he had to utilize every bit of will power left to him to keep from smashing the phone to bits on the curb.
"Fine," Bateman said, "Bring her along. She's tougher than she looks, your Ruth."
"Where are we going?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. Ruth was frozen still as a statue beneath his arm, but she was here, she was here, and he wasn't going to let her down. Not this time.
"Hang on a minute," Bateman said, his tone deeply suspicious. "Are you serious? You're really going to give it to me, just like that?"
"A straight swap. Albany for Emilia. That was the deal, Bateman," Harry growled.
There was a long moment of silence before Bateman spoke again.
"All right. Let's see how this plays out, shall we?"
Bateman's plan was at once simple and infinitely well thought-out, and somewhere in the back of her mind Ruth couldn't help but feel a sort of grudging admiration for it. He directed them to a warehouse and, once they were inside, had Harry strip his phone, smashing the SIM card on the ground. There was a little camera in the center of the room, and a fresh, untraceable mobile on a nearby table. Satisfied that Harry's mobile was sufficiently disabled, Bateman called the new phone, and continued with his instructions.
"All right now, both of you, strip."
Ruth knew there was nothing particularly unseemly in his request; Bateman knew every bit of tech in MI-5's expansive repertoire, and he wasn't taking any chances. Of course, he hadn't counted on Ruth's presence, so while there was a spare, supposedly clean, change of clothes for Harry, Bateman would just have to make due with forcing Ruth to turn out her pockets and hold each article of her clothing up to the camera for his examination.
It was a very uncomfortable few minutes for both she and Harry. Neither of them was willing to look away even for a moment in this unfamiliar space, lest Bateman spring some sort of trap on them while they were off their guard, but both of them bore such a deep, innate sense of propriety that even under the circumstances stripping down to just their underwear together left them blushing and muttering like schoolchildren.
Ruth was nervous for another reason, too; unbeknownst to Harry, tucked away inside the tunnel of her right ear was a small, nearly invisible earpiece.
Tariq had shown it to her a few hours before, explaining how he had tinkered with the existing model, creating a new piece that would both send and receive sound. Back at Thames House, Tariq would be able to hear every word Ruth said, and some ambient sounds from her environment, as well, if they were loud enough or close enough to her ear. And she would be able to hear him, too, loud and clear. She'd borrowed it from him because she knew it was likely that at some point she and Harry would end up incommunicado, and the potential for disaster in that scenario had terrified her. Ruth supposed she'd rather have it than not, and now she was grateful for that bit of foresight.
She stood in front of the camera, turning her shirt inside out for Bateman's inspection, wondering if he would be smart enough, quick enough to demand that she prove she wasn't wearing an earpiece. Slight of hand was not her forte; she'd always been a bit clumsy, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to ferret the earpiece away before he'd noticed it. There was nowhere else she could have put it; he'd demanded she remove her tights and turn them inside out, that she shake her boots vigorously, and even, at the very end, that she remove her bra and knickers, just to prove there was nothing tucked away inside.
It was at this point that Harry went a little…well…bonkers.
"You listen to me, you son of a bitch," he growled, pushing Ruth's half-naked form protectively behind him, "If you think, for one second-"
"Harry," Ruth stopped him with a quiet word, and felt her heart sink a little at the way his shoulders slumped when she said his name. She knew, though, that now was not the time to antagonize their tormentor. He had Emilia, somewhere, and Ruth knew that the important thing was to keep him happy. Comply with his demands, give the team time to work, and pray for a miracle. Bateman held all the cards, and Ruth had never been very good a bluffing.
Gently, she tugged on Harry's arm, and he moved away from the camera. His eyes were dark with rage, but he did not resist, and for that she was thankful.
She took the phone from his hand, and stared down the camera as she spoke, adding an extra little tremor to her voice in the hopes that somewhere deep inside Bateman still had a heart.
"I'll do it," she said quietly, almost pleading, "but could I at least turn my back to you? I'll keep my hands where you can see them."
Bateman was quiet for a long moment, but in the end he acquiesced. "Do it."
And so she did.
Ruth handed the phone back to Harry, who was simply staring at her like she was the most precious thing in his world. Slowly she turned her back to the camera, and did as Bateman asked, keeping her eyes on Harry all the while. He stood in front of her, not three feet away, but to his credit his eyes never once left her face. She knew she was blushing as she carefully removed the last of her clothes, keeping her hands up and in Bateman's line of sight. It had been five long years since she'd last stood naked in front of this man, and even now, even in the midst of all this horror, she couldn't fight back the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm her.
"All right, I've seen enough," Bateman's voice came through the phone, startling them both. "Get your clothes back on."
He hadn't thought to check for the earpiece.
As she hurriedly tugged her clothes back into place, Ruth wondered briefly just how clear the reception was from the camera in the warehouse to wherever Bateman was hiding. How much could he really see? Was he watching on a high-res laptop, or a grainy cell phone? How was it being transmitted? Was it something Tariq could trace? She knew the techie had planned to one day integrate GPS into the earpiece to create a sort of three-in-one super bug, but he hadn't gotten that far yet. He'd gone quiet at her request, but she desperately hoped he was close to an answer. They were running out of time.
Bateman directed them out of the warehouse and into a car he'd planted, Sat Nav already programmed and another tiny camera watching their every move. Harry drove with one hand on the wheel and the other clutching Ruth's, and she clung to him fiercely. Whatever happened next, they were nearing the end of this charade, and just having Harry near was a comfort to her.
They met Bateman by a long, crowded footbridge, and followed his instructions to the letter. Harry's heart was hammering in his chest as he dropped the case into the bin, and then led Ruth away, listening to Bateman all the while. He felt utterly powerless, cut off from the Grid with no way of knowing how the team was doing, forced to do the bidding of a madman he'd once called a friend. He fought back the urge to turn, run, and fling Bateman over the rail and into the water below; as satisfying as it might have been, without knowing where Emilia was being kept it simply wasn't worth the risk.
He and Ruth paused halfway across the bridge, watching and listening as Bateman opened the case and entered his codes. Harry had explained to Ruth back at the church that the case, which contained only a laptop, was a false lead; it would open when Bateman entered his codes and, at a cursory glance, it would appear to be genuine. If Bateman dug too far into the files contained on the laptop, however, the game would be up. He had to hope that Bateman would be so relieved at accessing the data, and so desperate to make his escape, that he wouldn't take the time to do any serious digging. It was a risk, but the truth was that the real Albany file had been destroyed long ago, and they had no other option. Let Bateman take it, let him run back to his masters, whoever they were; that laptop was less than useless.
"Where is she?" Harry growled into the phone, his patience having completely disappeared. "You've got the file, now tell me where she is. That was the deal."
"Harry Pearce," Bateman said in a tone of incredulity, "giving up a state secret. Committing treason for just one life."
"Not just any life," Harry answered. "Where is she, Bateman?"
"No," came the answer. Bateman's disembodied voice was deeply suspicious, a malicious spirit, bent on crushing their hopes. "It can't be this easy. You've found something, haven't you? You've found Maya."
Of course Bateman had wised to their game. Of course he had. Beside Harry, Ruth had gone white as a sheet.
"Bateman-"
"No, Harry. Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go to Maya. Your team is not going to interfere. We're going to walk right past them. When we're safe, I'll call to tell you where the girl is."
"And what's to stop me ordering my team to shoot you the minute you go near that hotel?"
Bateman laughed. "I've got a team of my own, Harry. If I don't check in sometime in the next two hours, they'll kill the girl and run. You really think that's enough time to find her?"
Ruth had wrapped her fingers around his wrist, gently trying to direct his attention away from Bateman and onto her. There was something in her expression, a familiar sort of triumphant revelation, that told him she had a plan. He had to trust her.
"Fine. I'll make sure they stand down."
"Good. I'll call back once Maya and I are safe."
The line went dead.
The minute Bateman hung up Ruth curled herself into Harry's embrace, burying her face against his chest. The gesture was intended primarily for Bateman's benefit; he could still see them, and to him it would appear that they had given up, that they were willing to wait him out. The truth was, Tariq had just come over the earpiece with fresh news, and Ruth needed to tell Harry without giving anything away.
"Harry," she spoke quietly, "Harry, they've found her."
Harry had wrapped his arms around her the moment she moved, and he leaned down to plant a kiss against her hair.
"How?" he asked, keeping his head low over hers so he could hear her answer.
"Something about cell towers and every computer on the Grid running a search for Bateman's phone. I wasn't really listening to that part. The important thing is that we know where Bateman was when he made the first call. When he put her on the phone. If we go, now, we may get there before he gets back to Maya's hotel."
It was a shot in the dark, really; it was possible Bateman had moved her after the call, but Ruth's instinct told her that he hadn't. This was it, their one chance to save their little girl, and she knew they had to take it.
"But how do you-"
"There's no time," Ruth cut him off, chancing a glance over her shoulder to see if Bateman was still hanging around. He wasn't.
"Let's go."
