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Chapter Eight: The Frozen North
Mahdi had no idea of what had been going on between Ros and Lucas. But, he had deployed his newly honed spy skills into working out that it was definitely something. Sometimes, being alone with them was like walking into a room in the middle of a furious row about which one knows nothing, yet is suddenly commanded by both sides to deliver a decisive verdict. In short, he found it painful. With his equally high regard for both garnered through a chance encounter almost three years ago, he found himself trying to find ways to help one without mortally offending the other.
It came to a head just before he and Ros left the Grid to intercept a meeting between the Chief Executive of De Vere's diamonds and some highly dubious smugglers. All the more surprising to Mahdi, as it had seemed to him as though his colleagues were beginning to set their differences aside. Ros was fetching a digital camera and checking it over, while Lucas got his coat. The three of them meeting by the pods, where Ros proceeded to look Lucas up and down in ill-supressed surprise.
"Where d'you think you're going?" she asked, brow darkening into a frown.
Lucas, who'd been looking upbeat for the first time since Mahdi joined Section D, slowly became crestfallen. His gaze flickered sideways, in Mahdi's direction, reminding him that he was the one who'd intruded upon this long running row. In response, Mahdi found himself backing away before he'd even formulated a convincing excuse.
"Mahdi, stay there."
The tone of Ros' voice brought him to a standstill, trapping him between two quarrelling ex-lovers. Whatever Ros had planned, she clearly wanted a witness, making him even more nervous.
"I thought, after our conversation last night-" Lucas began.
"Actually, I asked him to come," Mahdi suddenly blurted out, taking both Ros and Lucas by surprise. They both turned to look at him, making him flush in the face. His mind whirled as he tried to construct an at least semi-plausible excuse for having done such a thing. "What I mean is, I just assumed he would be anyway-"
"Really?" Ros stated, monotone and giving a hard look.
What little resistance Mahdi had in him drained away.
"No, not really. But now seemed like a good time to make something up before this gets even more awkward," he replied with tension breaking honesty. "Hope you don't mind," he added, with a shrug.
After a long pause and a heavy sigh, Ros made for the pods. "We're going to be late," she stated, chivvying them along as if the holdup was their fault. She didn't say that Lucas couldn't come, so he tagged along anyway, nodding his thanks to Mahdi as they vacated the Grid.
The exchange was taking place in the Docklands. Ros' asset was already there, wired and ready to go, sat in the back of a gleaming company car along with his CEO. But they were out of sight, audible only to the techies secreted in the back of an observation van disguised as a maintenance vehicle for the nearby Hospital. Ros, Lucas and Mahdi stole out of the back, sliding the rear doors closed as quietly as possible before heading down towards the back, leaving Tariq alone to man the audio equipment. The day was clear, they were set back from the main city centre and, with luck, interference would be minimal.
The warehouses in this part of the Docklands had lain abandoned for years. It was one of the few stretches that had escaped the spreading stain of gentrification. The air of dereliction, emphasised by clapped out machinery, leaking nissen huts and cranes half submerged in the softly lapping Thames made it ideal for any illegal business transactions. The three of them spread out, Lucas skirting the clearing towards the main road, keeping an eye out for approaching vehicles. Mahdi, however, stayed close to Ros. He wasn't ready to strike out alone just yet.
Noticing just how far away they were from the car with the diamond traders inside, Mahdi squinted at him, keeping them in focus.
"I hope the zoom on that thing works," he remarked, with a nod to the camera in her hands.
"Zoom, and image enhancement back at the Grid," she pointed out, letting herself into a discreet nissen hut.
"Should have guessed you'd have some technological wizardry on hand," he murmured, looking down the steep incline to where the lone car was parked.
She was about to say something back to Mahdi, when Lucas' voice sounded in her ear.
"Black Land Rover approaching," he said, then repeated it again, reading out the number plate.
Ros could feel the new recruit go rigid as she raised the camera to her face. They were some way off, but afforded a clear enough view of what was going on down there. A small dust trail from the earth tracks followed the progress of the Land Rover as he drew to a halt close to the car. As a precaution, she took a backwards step, deeper into the Nissen hut as men dressed in sharp suits got out of both cars. There was only four of them, one of whom was their asset. That still left three that could potentially spot them, hidden away.
They gathered in a small knot around the back of the Land Rover, the boot was opened and Ros started taking pictures as soon as she zoomed in as much as possible. Mahdi took the initiative by drawing her attention to certain details, like when one of the men was looking in roughly their direction. She got a full face picture of the man, who was in the middle of setting out from documents on the roof of the first car, weighing them down before they blew away in the breeze. The tallest of the men signed them, but handed them over to Ros' asset for safe keeping. Ros smiled, knowing that photocopies of those same documents would be waiting on her desk come Monday morning.
Down by the river, boxes were quickly lifted from the Land Rover and transferred to the other car, Ros taking a shot of each transfer. Then, the end. Two of the men shook hands, Ros' asset and his colleague returned to their vehicle and drove away; the Land Rover men following suit moments late. Perfectly satisfied with the afternoon's efforts, Ros turned to Mahdi, surprised to see him wearing the startled expression of a bar room brawler thwarted of a good fight.
"Was that it?" he asked, looking from Ros to the fresh tyre tracks in the over grown dirt road.
Bemused, Ros' own expression lightened with laughter. "What did you expect? World war three?"
Mahdi shrugged, grimacing as though he'd just swallowed a bee. "I dunno," he replied as Ros led him out of the Nissen hut. "I just thought … well, I don't know what I thought would happen. Something else, I guess."
"Shows you expected the unexpected, I suppose," she reasoned. "Always be prepared for that in this job, you never know what might happen."
He would learn, she thought wryly to herself as they returned to the van. She found the rear doors open, where Lucas and Tariq were deep in conversation over a coffee from a nearby Starbucks. They hastily fell silent as she approached, almost standing to attention.
"Recording go okay?" she asked, glancing sharply at Tariq.
"Got everything," he replied. "Didn't say much though. But your man did get them to repeat what was in the boxes."
Another small success: spoken confirmation of their contraband dirty diamonds. They shut up the van and returned to the Grid, pulling out into the city bound traffic. It was only three in the afternoon, but she and Lucas were now done for the day. A whole weekend, far from the Grid, far from London in the wilds of Cumbria awaited them. The prospect becoming more appealing every time it crossed her mind.
Harry and Ruth called it a day earlier than usual, too. They were home by five, Ruth blitzing the whole house in a cleaning spree as though she expected a visit from the Queen at any minute. The acrid, sterile stench of bleach wafted from the kitchen and bathrooms, clouding even the hallways. In the living room and dining room, mists of aerosol air fresheners choked him, hitting the back of Harry's throat as he tried to breathe. Every spare inch of carpet had been vacuumed, and she had set him to work with strips of cellotape, the adhesive side used to clear dog and cat hairs from the upholstery and every cushion and throw in the place.
"Why not use the damn vacuum cleaner?" he moaned while trying to find the end of the tape on the roll.
"You'll stretch the fabric, Harry!" she shot back.
Harry scarped his thumbnail along the tape roll for a few more seconds before giving up and throwing it back in the kitchen draw with a muttered curse. When he returned to the living room, he simply reversed the cushions so the hair sides were obscured. All this for a quiet, "informal" meal with Catherine, who wasn't even due until tomorrow!
He put the kettle on, cursed at the sound of another muffled thump coming from upstairs and drummed his fingers against the kitchen counter. Even the cat had been banished from the living room, and the mournful yapping of Ruby the dog echoed across their postage stamp of a back garden. He resolved to bring her some bacon as a treat later, to fortify her for the long days ahead during their royal visit.
Once he'd made two cups of tea, he carried them upstairs to where Ruth was waging war on the first floor of the house. He found intimately entwined with a vacuum cleaner outside the guest bedroom, attempting to breach the door and wearing a grimly determined expression on her flushed face. She stopped, the upturned nozzle of the hoover smacking loudly against the upper doorframe and fixed him with a steely eye.
"You could help," she suggested, raising a brow.
"Or you could relax for five minutes and have a cup of tea," he replied, stepping round her and entering the guest room.
She didn't reply immediately and Harry thought she was about to argue. However, she merely dropped the vacuum where she was standing, sagged her shoulders and collapsed on the bed beside Harry.
"Sod it," she sighed, heavily. "I'm parched."
Harry smiled brightly, placing both mugs on the bedside table. It was unfortunate that neither Catherine nor Graham had made it to their wedding. Graham did not reply to his invitation (just as he hadn't replied to his dinner invitation) and Catherine had been on a fact finding tour of some god-forsaken, Central American hellhole that Harry didn't want to know about. It was easier that way. So far, Ruth and Harry's children's paths simply had not crossed. It was only thinking back on it that made Harry realise just how bad that actually was.
She sat up again, slouching against the headboard of the bed as she reached out for her tea.
"But it's got to be done now," she moaned. "Tomorrow I'm cooking the dinner."
"I can do that," he pointed out.
"No, I know, but…" her words trailed off.
"You know, Ruth, that contrary to outward appearances, I'm not entirely useless," he explained, clearly exasperated. "My life skills extend above and beyond filling in forms and paper work."
He had lived alone since the mid-eighties, when his marriage to Jane had collapsed and divorce ensued. Ruth, however, didn't seem to realise he'd survived in that isolation vacuum the same way everyone else did: by learning to do stuff all by himself. Still, Harry relaxed and reclined on the narrow bed alongside Ruth, who fell into a silence of uncertainty.
"I just want everything to be perfect," she stated, crestfallen. "Just for once, I want this to right."
Harry's irritation died a final death as he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead.
"It will be," he assured her. "But Catherine knows we live in a real house and not a sterile show home."
Her hair had been scraped back into a pony tail, but her toils had loosened long strands that fell by the side of her face. He couldn't resist batting it away, like a cat pawing at a loose thread. She laughed, batted his hand away and kissed him again before resting her head against his shoulder.
"I want to make a good impression," she said, imagining Catherine running her forefinger along every surface, looking for dust. "Anyway, have you heard from Graham?"
Harry drew a deep breath as his fledgling good mood crashed in the remaining dust.
"Play it safe," he advised her. "We'll cook enough for four, but if there's still only three us it'll be Ruby's lucky day."
"And Fidget," she interjected. "Got to treat them fairly Harry."
Harry pulled a face. "It's only a cat and she's a dog!"
"He!" Ruth snapped. "He is a cat!"
Ruth playfully swatted at his thigh, but she was grinning at the same time. Once she had composed herself, she checked the clock on the bedside cabinet, pointing it out to Harry.
"Eight o'clock," she said, warily. "They'll be there now. Ros and Lucas."
"Has no one ever told you that you spend too much time worrying about other people?" he asked.
"Harry, this is serious," she said. "If those two don't get their act together, one will have to be let go."
Harry wished more than anything that he could contradict her. But it was all too true, and well she knew it. He wouldn't condescend her with words of false comfort. However, if it did come to that, there was no real choice, as far as he was concerned and he was certain Lucas would, in time, be very happy in another department. He needed Ros right where she was, irrespective of what his feelings towards Lucas were. At the end of the day, Ros had not lied to them and only ever suffered one lapse of judgement: a miracle, in their business. But still, Lucas…
"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," he replied, pinning his last hopes on an isolated field in the middle of Cumbria.
Ros stepped out of the car and sniffed tentatively at the air.
"So, this is it then," she stated, "the frozen North."
Lucas glanced over at her, finding the look of uncertain distaste on her face amusing. While Ros adapted to her new, rural surroundings, he fetched their bags from the boot of the car and carried them into his old house.
It was no longer in the middle of a field. They had a rather new looking road cutting right through the middle of the field, and another house directly opposite them. But that was empty, with a 'For Sale' picket hammered into the front garden. Further down the road was a petrol station and convenience store, the last stop until motorists reached the nearest town, over eight miles away. Other than that, it was still unbroken countryside. Give it another twenty years and there might even be a second house next to the new one.
"Do they accept sterling up here?" asked Ros, glaring in the direction of the convenience store.
"No, we trade only in women and livestock," he called over to her from the doorstep. "It's not all bad though, the English language is widely spoken, replacing the guttural grunts that passed for conversation before the first Southerners arrived."
She walked slowly up the narrow driveway, her heels clicking on the tarmac. An interested and curious look on her face. "Oh really? When did the settlement begin?" she asked.
Lucas shrugged. "Erm, must've been about 1990-ish," he answered.
"Ah, after you left," she rejoined. "That explains a lot, you poor thing."
They exchanged beatific smiles as Lucas pushed the front door open. But the whining, grating noise that came from the rusting hinges made them both grimace. The gust of damp and wood rot that rushed out to greet from within almost had them reeling. Ros muttered an oath as she braced herself to follow Lucas inside. A copy of the Daily Telegraph, from 2005, was folded on the kitchen counter. An old tin kettle was still sitting on the hob, one of the ones that whistled when it boiled. Ros hadn't seen one of those in years. A Psalm was copied out in a childish hand, each line a different colour and decorated with a loopy, colourful pattern that didn't resemble anything, but was pretty all the same. It was framed and mounted on the wall, beside a window that looked out over vast, rolling acres of land. When she looked closely at the Psalm, she saw a little message scrawled in black: "For Daddy, by John." The year was 1977 and he must have been six years old. In all the years she had known Lucas, even after everything they'd been through, she had never imagined him as a child. Lucas didn't seem to have existed in her mind at all until the day he came back from Russia, like Harry had magicked him out of thin air.
Now, she had stepped into his personal History. The most intimate and honest of histories, uncensored and undoctored as chronicled by a long dead father who hadn't seen his only child in years. She turned to look at Lucas, who was sniffing cautiously at the interior of the old tin kettle and pulling faces at it. After a few seconds, he realised she was looking at him with a most peculiar expression on her face.
"You alright?" he asked, battered, blackened kettle sill in hand.
She nodded. "Fine."
Lucas resumed his sniffing, before evidently deciding the kettle's days were over. Luckily, he'd packed a travel one to replace it with. Ruth had also made good on her promise to get the electricity restored and the convenience store down the road would have milk and teabags. Feeling like an imposter in someone else's memories, she urged him to stay while she visited the shop down the road just to get some air.
"Don't forget the chocolate biscuits!" he called after her.
How could she forget?
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