The air in the room was frigid, the intermittent clanging of an ancient radiator doing nothing to alleviate the cold. A hazy shaft of light filtered through a lone window placed high up on a wall, the rest of the room was illuminated by a rusty metal fixture dangling precariously from the ceiling. Lucas had arranged the location, the basement of an old abandoned factory, saying that it afforded them the security that they needed, although Ruth thought it more fitting for an interrogation site than a briefing. The Section Chief sat beside her; unsmiling, his arms crossed looking suitably imposing. The weight of his presence bolstered her confidence, and she was thankful for it. Lamott sat across from them, wrapped in a grey overcoat that showed the same lack of care as his clothes from the previous day. His leg jiggled under the table, whether from nerves or the cold Ruth could not tell.
"Who's this?" Lamott asked, pointing a finger at Lucas.
"A colleague," Ruth answered flatly.
"So he's the brawn and you're the brains?" Lamott looked pleased with his observation "You're certainly the beauty of this operation." He bestowed a crooked grin on Ruth and shrugged his shoulders subversively.
Ruth closed her eyes. Her first instinct was to shut him down with a withering glance but she stopped herself. Let him think you're weak. She opened her eyes and tilted the corners of her mouth in the barest hint of a smile, just enough to give him the impression that she was not immune to his attempt at flattery. No one had ever accused her of being a flirt and she wondered how long she could hold up the pretense. She pulled a raft of papers from a folder.
"You need to sign this." Placing a pen on top of the documents, she moved the pile toward Lamott.
"What is it?"
"The Official Secrets Act."
"I signed this already." He pushed the papers back to Ruth.
"Just covering our bases," Lucas answered tersely, returning the papers to Lamott with brokered firmness.
"Covering your arse is more like it," Lamott mumbled under his breath as he begrudgingly took up the pen and scratched his name on the bottom of the papers. Ruth retrieved the documents and slipped them back into the folder. Lucas leaned forward with his elbows on the table, forgoing the niceties of small talk and plunging right into the proceedings.
"There's a conference on infectious diseases starting tomorrow."
"We need you to befriend this man." Ruth opened the folder on the table and placed a photograph in front of Lamott, pointing to it as she said the name. "Vincent Otero." Lamott picked up the picture and scrutinised it. "Do you know him?" She asked on the off chance that they may have moved in the same research circles. If so they would have to adjust his story accordingly. He shook his head.
"Why do I need to get all chummy with him?"
"We have to know if he had dealings with this man." She extracted another photo. "Edward Kessel."
"He doesn't look too threatening," Lamott observed.
"He's dead," said Lucas.
The confirmation of Kessel's status dropped like a lead weight on the table.
"We believe that Kessel was in possession of an illegal substance," Ruth carried on from Lucas, not wanting to scare Lamott away. "He was handing it off to Otero who we think is using the codename Morningstar."
"What substance?" Lamott asked.
Ruth looked at Lucas. Of course, he would be curious, it was in his nature, but once they entrusted Lamott with the information there would be no return. The Official Secrets Act was not always a deterrent. Lucas gave Ruth subtle nod. She turned back to Lamott and cleared her throat before she spoke.
"It's a chimeric virus. A combination of Smallpox and the Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis."
"Veepox?" Lamott looked at her incredulously. "That's impossible. It doesn't exist. It's a story made up some Cold War Soviet scientist who defected years ago."
"Tell that to the technicians at Porton Down," Lucas countered.
"You're serious." Lamott's look of disbelief changed to one of reverence. His leg stopped shaking and he became very still. He leaned forward, his voice an intense whisper. "Can I see it?"
"No," Lucas answered firmly.
"If it's true…if it does exist," his voice rose with the excitement of the discovery, "Then there's the possibility that other combinations exist. There were rumours that they could do it with Ebola. Did they?"
Ruth cast a sideways look at Lucas as he sat back in his chair. He gave her an imperceptible shake of his head. Earlier, they had set down the parameters of what they could safely discuss with Lamott. Obviously, any discussion of a hybrid Ebola virus was out of bounds.
"All we need from you," Ruth steered the conversation back to the original subject, "Is a report on what this man is doing at the conference."
"So I get to attend this conference?"
"Yes. You'll be attending under your own name. You are now working for a private company." Ruth pulled out another folder. "This file contains details about your new life. I'll lead you through it now and we'll go over it again tomorrow." She took out a plastic card and handed it over to him.
"What's this? The company credit card?"
"You'll need a better set of clothes. And a proper briefcase."
He took the card and studied it, the plastic edge clicking on the table as he rotated it through his fingers.
"And after all this is over- is there a chance I might possibly work for this private company?"
"If you can get us the information." She did not mention that the company was nothing more than a dummy corporation set up by Tariq. It was a carrot, and she was dangling it.
"And how will I get you this information?"
"I'll be at the conference working as a translator. I'll be staying with you at the hotel."
"With me? Will we be sharing a room?"
His eyes ran over her form and she resisted the urge to draw her coat tighter around her body. She did not smile this time, there were boundaries to her flirtation.
"We will all be with you," Lucas interjected gruffly. "You don't need to concern yourself with the details.
"But you'll report only to me," said Ruth.
"That's good. You know what they say – more flies with honey."
Ruth clenched her teeth and focused on the folder in her hand. "Registration for the delegates starts at 11 am. Here are the sessions you have signed up for." She handed him a pamphlet. "And you'll be fitted with a tracking device so we know your whereabouts."
"Good to know that free will is alive and well." Lamott took the pamphlet.
"Mr. Lamott-"
"Call me Paul."
"Paul." She softened her voice. "These measures are put in place for your protection. There may be some risk involved." She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "I don't want to see anything happen to you." She underlined the sentiment of the last sentence with a smile.
He looked down at her hand, the flippancy fading from his demeanour, the hard lines of cynicism easing from his face. Perhaps like her, he had not felt the comfort of a human touch in a very long time. Strange how she could reach out to this man and comfort him but could not for the life of her, reach out and touch Harry. She made to withdraw her fingers but his grip tightened on her hand.
"I don't think you really care what happens to me, Evelyn, but it was nice of you to say."
He looked into her eyes, and she studied his gaze dispassionately. His eyes were darker than Harry's almost black and for a second she was struck by the similarity to George's. For months after George's death, she would see him at every turn, on the tube, walking in the midst of a crowd, but she had thought she had put that particular demon to rest. She needed to be careful about assigning any sort of familiarity to this man. He was nothing like George. She quickly withdrew her hand.
"How long is this going to take?" Lamott asked.
" A few hours," Ruth replied.
"Then I think I had better use the facilities before we begin." He looked at Lucas for directions.
"Through that door." Lucas motioned to the other side of the room.
After Lamott rose from his seat and left the room, Lucas turned to Ruth. "Looks like you've struck a chord."
"I didn't mean for it to get personal." She flipped through the papers in Lamott's dossier.
"That's good. If he thinks you care he'll listen to you. All you have to do is flirt a little." Lucas rose from his seat. "I'll just make sure everything is alright with our new friend."
Ruth's hands stilled on the papers as Lucas' retreating footsteps echoed across the floor. It should come as no surprise that Lucas' advice would follow along the same vein as Harry's - that a woman's strongest weapon would be emotional manipulation. She didn't even want to contemplate the number of people those two men had manipulated in their careers. She could handle Lamott. She could flirt if the need be. The problem was she wasn't sure if she remembered how.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with Lamott, and Ruth found herself begrudgingly admiring his sharp mind. He was a quick study, remembering the array of details the two agents fed him. At the end of the day, confident that he could carry out his part of the plan, they dismissed him, sending him off to get a good night's rest.
It was with that sense of accomplishment that Ruth found herself standing at the end of a corridor in Thames House. The length of the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before her and she stilled her mind, focusing on the task ahead. Her heart was suspended in her chest, not from fear but from something more akin to the state of a runner waiting for the starting pistol to fire. Like any athlete, she knew the race was one from mental preparation. Desk spooks were easy to break. She closed her eyes and counted down from three, pushing off from her spot before she had time talk herself out of it. The hem of her black coat flapped open from the force of her stride. She sailed past a cleaning cart and without missing a step, lifted a folding yellow sign from off its hook, red words of caution emblazoned across the plastic. With a graceful dip, she deposited it in front of a door and entered the tiled sanctuary of the restroom. Pausing for a moment, she assessed her surroundings. No one else was readily visible. She glimpsed a pair of shiny black pumps visible under one of the doors. She smiled to herself. Polished shoes would not be enough. With a cautious hand, she swung open the doors of the adjacent stalls making sure that there were no other occupants. Concluding that she was alone, she leaned back against the porcelain sink and closed her eyes. Thoughts swirled in her mind; a cold day on a park bench, sitting under the intense scrutiny of Tom Quinn. Oh, how she had thought her life was over in that moment with him, routed from her role as an informant. He had been unflinchingly hard, giving her no quarter, only to add a reprieve at the end. She conjured up the staccato clip of his voice in her head. That was what she needed. A rush of water sounded and she opened her eyes as a stall door creaked. The occupant stopped short as she recognised Ruth, confusion on her face.
"Ruth!" Sandra's eyes widened with surprise. "I thought you were out for the day."
Ruth kept her face impassive as she remained leaning against the sink watching as Sandra ran the tap water over her hands. "You have to watch out for these facets," Ruth cautioned, "They leak."
Giving no sign of nervousness, Sandra moved to the dispenser and squeezed a dollop of industrial grade soap into her palm. Ruth stepped closer, encroaching on the woman's personal space and reached across to the tap, letting her gloved fingers rest on the handle.
"It's over, Sandra. We know." With a flick of her wrist, Ruth turned off the water.
There was an almost imperceptible twitch in Sandra's cheek before she recovered. "Know what?" she asked airily.
"That you've been passing on information."
"I've no idea what you're talking about." Sandra gave a dismissive laugh.
"I have the intercepts." There was no anger in Ruth's voice, only disappointment.
"I don't know what intercepts there would be," Sandra countered nonchalantly, a shrug of her shoulders.
"Emails, phone calls to Prague."
"That's ridiculous."
"You were stationed there, weren't you? It must be nice to be back home."
"Yes, it is." Sandra reached towards the tap.
"To be able to look after your mother."
The tap was left untouched and Sandra raised her eyes to the mirror.
"How is she?" Ruth turned to the mirror meeting Sandra's gaze. The woman blinked. A crack.
"She's recovering from a stroke." Sandra turned to face Ruth, the soap on her hands forgotten. "But I think you know that."
"I do hope she has a full recovery."
"You wouldn't dare," Sandra whispered.
"I wouldn't," Ruth assured her, "But Harry - that's another matter." She watched the fear that Sandra had tried to contain creep slowly across her face. "Surely, you must have heard the stories about him."
"Even if I was passing information, we're both on the same side."
Ruth digested the words. They shared information with other agencies but not with the FSB. The same side. A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She kept her look blank, her voice even.
"You're channeling information back to the station in Prague."
"Yes, to Six. So it's all been sanctioned. So you see, the government can't spy on itself."
The familiarity of Sandra's statement rang in Ruth's ears, the same defense she had used with Tom. At that time, she had no idea how egos played off of one another, that internal subterfuge was a dangerous weapon. She grabbed Sandra's arm.
"Are you really that bloody naive?"
Ruth's voice echoed off the tiles, the force of her breath moving a hair by Sandra's ear. The woman tried to move back, but Ruth staunchly remained in her face. Another flash of fear crossed Sandra's eyes, the crack was spreading. One of the advantages of being mild-mannered was that when a blow was dealt it came down even harder. A shot of adrenaline coursed through her veins, not the heady euphoria of finding a salient piece of information, but an urge more compelling. This was about power. Saliva formed in the back of her mouth, her grip tightened on the woman's arm, she was in control, dominating the room. It fueled her words.
"Obviously the concept of loyalty means nothing to you. While you were sharing this information, someone was accessing it and leaking it to the public. People could die and it would be your fault."
"I only sent a few emails." Sandra waited for Ruth to agree with innocuousness of her deed but was met with silence. "It was part of the condition of my return." She appealed to Ruth. "I couldn't have done another tour, my mother is ill. I just wanted to come home."
Ruth let go of the woman's arm. She too had only wanted a transfer but she didn't let that commonality temper her interrogation.
"This is my house," Ruth told her quietly. "You have no one here to protect you."
"Please, don't tell him. They'll send me back."
"I won't. This can stay between you and me. I just need some information."
"Okay."
"Why is Six involved?"
"We got word there was a cache of smallpox vials. We were working with the BIS in Hungary but somehow we lost track of them. We suspected they were coming here and we knew Five would be on it but we were hoping to keep everything contained. Find the virus before word got out. No one would know."
Ruth nodded at her encouragingly. "Do you have any other information that would help us?"
"At this point I only know as much as you."
"Did Six have anything to do with, Kessel's death or Amaani's contamination?"
"No."
Ruth turned the tap back on; the sound of running water filled the room.
"If you tell anyone about this conversation, and trust me I will know if you do, you're on your own. And don't say anything about the operation we're planning. It might get out to the public. Agreed?"
"Yes, yes." Sandra put her hand on Ruth's arm. "You won't tell Harry?"
"Of course not." Ruth smiled back serenely.
She slipped her arm from out under Sandra's hand and walked through the door. Stopping for a moment, she picked up the yellow caution sign, and replaced it back on the waiting trolley, bestowing a smile on the night custodian. He watched her walk away, a confused look on his face. As she headed back to the Grid, her feet barely touched the ground, a wave of victory propelling her along.
After the coldness of the factory basement and the sterility of the ladies room, the warmth of Harry's office was especially welcoming. The lamp on his desk cast a burnished glow, the red of the walls muted in the subdued light. There was a contained heat in the room, the scent of a man having spent the day cloistered in his office. Ruth leaned back in her chair or as far back as she could, considering the uncomfortable design of the furniture. Lucas sat beside her, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated Ruth's news. Harry stood at the glass credenza tucked in the corner of his office, the clink of a decanter hitting his tumbler as he spoke.
"So you're telling me Six has dropped the ball and they want us to find it and hand it back to them without any questions."
"I don't know if that's what they want exactly." The muscle in her right shoulder was as hard as a rock and she subtly massaged it with her fingers.
"Well, what do they want if not for us to clean up their mess," Harry shot back at her as if she was the perpetrator and not just the messenger.
She closed her eyes, knowing that he was not angry at her but at the situation. The thought did nothing to alleviate the knot in her shoulder.
"You're going to have to confront them," Lucas advised Harry. "We can't go into the conference without proper Intel."
"The question is do we want to burn Sandra?" Harry asked.
Ruth's first instinct was to say yes but she knew the value of a turned informant.
"I said we would look after her. There's always the website that has been publishing information leaked by government sources. You could go to Six and say you got everything from that. Sandra doesn't even have to come into play."
"If that's all we have let's go with it." Harry sipped his scotch thoughtfully. "Can you get me some specifics from that website to back up these claims?"
"Yes."
"And do we know yet how this website got this information?"
"Tariq thinks it's all traced back to a hack on Sandra."
Harry took a final swig of his scotch a moved to refill his glass.
"Could I have one of those?" Ruth asked quietly. Harry stopped in mid-motion, the decanter poised in the air as if he hadn't quite heard her properly. "It's been a very long day." She looked at him, feeling that her tiredness must be showing in her eyes.
Harry turned over a glass on the tray and filled it. "Lucas?" He held up the decanter in question.
"No thanks. I've got Beth and Dimitri doing a final sweep of the hotel. I should brief them on this. Do we still need to keep this operation off the Grid?
"Yes. Let's move ahead as planned. We'll convene in the morning."
"I'll go down there now." Lucas stood and cast a look at Ruth. "Are you okay?" She nodded and he gave her a brief smile. "If you need anything let me know."
As he left, Lucas closed the door behind him, and the air of the room settled around them like a cocoon.
Harry walked over to Ruth and handed her the tumbler. She took it from him giving him a small smile of gratitude. Instead of returning to his chair, he sat down beside her taking up the seat that Lucas had recently vacated. The glass was reassuringly solid in her hand, the liquid bracingly potent as it burned down her throat. She took another large gulp on the heels of the first, the scotch flowing far smoother the second time.
"Easy now, that's Glenlivet," Harry pointed out. "It's meant to be savoured."
"Is it?" she asked innocently. "I've noticed that decanters around here don't stay full for long."
"Are you saying I drink too much?" Harry asked archly.
"I'll let you keep your own counsel on that subject."
"I know I drink too much. I have many long days." He spoke into his glass as he drank. "It takes the edge off regret and loneliness."
Ruth concentrated on her glass, turning if round in her hand and running her thumb along the valley at the bottom of the crystal. She didn't respond to Harry's comment, knowing full well that she was the person who could ease his loneliness. The kink in her shoulder was slowly dissolving; she could well understand the appeal of the drink. She took another sip, the warm liquid working its way through her limbs like a caress, leaving behind a moment of contentment. A small sigh escaped from her lips. Harry inhaled deeply and sat back in his chair, his arm moving to drape across the back of her seat. It was only a stretch on his part, an effort to relax, but she tensed at the movement, her shoulders rising slightly. It was not from the fact that he had placed his arm on her seat, but from the urge to fall back into him, to lean against him and feel the reassuring warmth of his body instead of escaping into a glass of alcohol. To feel his thumb move across the stubborn muscle of her shoulder, kneading away the tension.
"These conundrums are always so excruciating." He studied his glass as he spoke.
She licked her lips reflexively. "What particular conundrum would that be?"
"Having to call out Six. I have often found that when one hand isn't sharing information with the other it's usually because it's holding a knife that it would gladly stick your back."
"You still think it's personal?"
"Six created a mess and left it for us to clean up. Who do you think will get the blame if it all goes sideways? This section. Or more to the point - me."
"Surely not at the expense of the public."
"I've outlasted a great many of my friends. I don't have many allies left."
His hand fell to his lap, the glass resting against his thigh. Reach out, take his hand, assure him like you did with Lamott. She did not dare. The only thing she could do was look at him.
"You're not alone, Harry."
"Thank you," he said softly. Her eyes fell away from his, and he half turned in his chair, his voice a complicit whisper. "How many times has it been just us?"
Alone in his office, no one listening, they were a conspiracy unto themselves.
Unsure of what he was really asking, she lowered her eyes, drawn once more to the hand in his lap. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the exact spot where his eyes touched her. A familiar taste returned to her mouth, the remnants of the day's adrenaline stirring in her system. It had come upon her, unbeckoned, prowling like a panther, looking to sate its hunger. It folded in on itself, hungry, not for of power, but with an appetite far more primal. The office was so very warm and she had been cold for such a long time. All she had to do was reach out and touch him. Attempting to quell the impulse, she focused on his leg. The fabric of his trousers was stretched across his thigh, the carefully ironed crease pulled taut over the muscle. Reach out, a voice told her, touch him. She could almost feel the material beneath her hand, her fingers running along the crease, tracing up from his knee along the length of him. Touch him. Her hand pressing on his thigh, bracing her weight as she leaned into him, fingers slipping down the crook of his leg. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She needed a drink. The glass was empty. She was empty. What was she thinking? They could never be any closer than they were now. She stood up quickly, her movement shattering the shell of intimacy that had surrounded them.
"Thank you for the drink." She handed him the tumbler.
His fingers covered hers as he took the glass, their subtle pressure holding her to the spot. He looked up at her from under heavy lids, silently asking her to stay. She withdrew her hand from the glass as if she was holding fire.
"I'll get that info from that website for you."
She moved to the door.
"Ruth –"
She paused for a second before sliding the panel open, talking to it instead of turning to him.
"You need to speak with Six."
She left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Moving to her workstation, she sat down in her chair and mindlessly rearranged the objects on her desk, trying to process what had come over her. When she finally looked up from her desk, she found that he had not moved from his seat but remained where she had left him. Go back to him, you fool. She shook her head, it would never work. She needed to be careful. If she didn't watch her step in their fractured world of secrets, she might fall through a crack and straight into his arms.
