Chapter 10 - A Boundless Drop to a Boundless Ocean

The sun shone brightly on the Albert embankment, oblivious to the cares of the world, but even in all its glory, it could not penetrate the cloud of irritation that hung over Harry as he walked along. Bloody politicians, acting on feelings instead of facts. He should have been more judicious in his sharing of information with the Intelligence Coordinator. His fingers flexed as he imagined them wrapped around Guy Facer's neck. The only reason he had disclosed the specifics of the attack on Pharmavor's systems was to instil a measure of calm in the public, that it was probably some crackpot in Coventry and not an external threat of terrorism. It didn't matter, Facer still saw it as an opportunity to alarm the populace and thus garner more support for government intrusion into the private lives of civilians, all in the name of national security.

In front of him strolled a young couple, holding hands, heads bent together in conversation, unaware of any possible threat to their idyll. Their happiness was almost as irritating as Facer's ignorance. Harry picked up his pace, closing in on the heels of the lovebirds, thinking that the sheer amount of frustration emanating from him would be enough to drive them from his path. They seemed to sense his animosity and quickly parted, leaving Harry to feel a brief moment of power as he walked between them. Taking no more than two steps, he slowed down, his eye catching a familiar figure sitting on a bench. His bench. As he stopped to contemplate the picture in front of him, the couple stumbled behind him, passing by on his right and turning around to give him an angry stare. He paid no attention to their aspersions but stood for a moment observing his analyst. For that is what he had come to see her as - his analyst, and only his.

Finding it odd that she would be out in the sun, so rarely did she leave her station before dark, he approached her with mild trepidation, uncertain as to what could have brought her to sit on that particular bench.

"Does your boss know that you're here?" He kept his tone light, not knowing the circumstances.

"I needed to clear my head for a moment." Her gaze remained fixed on her hands.

"Not too long of a moment, I hope."

"I'm sure no one will miss me if I'm gone for five minutes."

"Depends on which five minutes."

As he stood in front of the bench, he rocked on his heels, pulled in part by the need to return to the Grid, held in place by instinct telling him that he should stay. If he engaged her in conversation maybe he could coax her to walk back with him. The nation's pharmaceutical industry was under siege. Lives had been lost. He hardly needed to impress upon her the seriousness of the situation.

"We are in the midst of a possible act of domestic terrorism."

"I'm looking into the wording of those phrases."

"Don't you need to be on the Grid to do that?"

"Sometimes the answer is right in front of us, but we're too caught up in other things to see it."

There was an edge to her voice, and she still had not made direct eye contact with him. Ever since the disciplinary hearing over the whole Fortescue charade, she had been less than conciliatory. It wasn't an outright mutiny, only subtle insurgencies. She avoided sitting next to him at the briefings, went to Adam first with information, refrained from any extraneous conversation. The reprimand had been necessary; she had gone too far, too many people were involved, she had not listened to him. She had bridled at his heavy hand, using the opportunity to remind him of his lack of emotional acuity. In the end, she had accused him of having a heart of stone, and the phrase still sat heavy within him. Contrary to popular belief, he was not an obtuse man, and he sensed by her subdued demeanour that she was there for more than just fresh air. Pastoral care may not be his forte, but he needed his analyst functioning and at the top of her game. If he had to bend an ear to get her back on the Grid he would make the effort. He sat down on the bench making sure to leave an appropriate amount of space. Unsure of the waters, he decided to gently push off from the dock.

"You realise that this is my spot."

"Oh," she studied her intertwined fingers. "I didn't know that this bench had been officially sanctioned."

"I consider it my other office."

"Yes, you brought me here to talk about Tom."

He squinted at her. Was this about Tom? Lingering feelings for the former Section Chief? She raised her head and looked out over the river, the sun catching the lighter strands of her hair. In the rarefied atmosphere of the Grid, he only saw one facet of her, but in the light of the natural world, he always discovered deeper layers. The problem was, he didn't want to know the other aspects of his analyst. In his mind, he had cordoned off their encounter in the hallway, downplaying the spark that had passed between them, chalking it up to the lateness of the hour. The mastery of his thoughts had been successful for the most part, but there had been a few nights where she crossed over the sea of his consciousness and into the land of his dreams.

"There's something soothing about the water," she said, interrupting his study of her. "It continues on without us, regardless of human intervention."

"I think we've done quite a lot to this poor river."

"But it always finds a way to keep flowing."

He didn't respond, switching to the tactic of companionable silence wondering if that was the key. The sounds of the city clamoured around them as he waited; the hum of traffic, intermittent sirens, snatches of conversation from passers by. Eventually, his patience was rewarded and she spoke.

"You said that it would just be a slap on the wrist."

He looked at her, confused, thinking that she was talking about her disciplinary hearing until she clarified her meaning.

"Zoe."

She spoke the name so softly, he thought it was the breeze. So then, it was Zoe and not Tom that had caused this interlude of circumspection.

"That's what I was told." He looked out over the river, not wanting to revisit the loss of a prize officer.

"You didn't stop it."

"I tried, Ruth, believe me, I tried." As he spoke, suppressed anger leaked into his words.

"If we can't count on our own government to back us-"

Without thinking, he placed a hand on her arm, halting the discussion while he cast a suspicious eye over their surroundings.

"This is not the place," he warned her quietly.

"Then where, Harry?" she countered back in an angry whisper. "Danny says not the Grid, you say not here - then where?"

He let out a heavy sigh. In truth, he had no idea what say to her. Having lost a number of colleagues over the years, he had learned to deal with it by means of a large glass of single malt - but that would not do for her.

"You said it was all looked after." She moved her arm out from underneath his hand, pulling away from him. "That you had taken care of it."

He sank back against the wood of the bench. It felt like an eternity since they had sat on that bench, and he had secretly smiled as Tom's feet of clay were exposed. Now his own limited powers were laid bare. He could not fix everything, and of all people, he did not want her to see it, indeed, he did not want to acknowledge it himself.

"Unfortunately," he grimaced slightly, knowing his words would sound like a platitude, "In order to save people we have to let them go."

Turning away, she looked toward the sky. "It's a comfort to know that when I leave you will take it all in stride."

His head swerved around to her. "Are you leaving?

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I meant if circumstances ever transpired where I had to leave the country to avoid jail-"

A chuckle escaped his lips at the far flung prospect. "The odds of that happening are next to none. You're a desk spook. Stay on the Grid and you'll be fine."

"I'm not an indentured servant, Harry," she said wryly. "I'll have to leave sometime."

"Not if I can help it." Realising that his words sounded slightly proprietary, he directed the conversation back to its original subject. "People come and go in this business, Ruth, you have to accept that."

"Then why are we doing this?"

"You once said you had a duty to serve your country."

"But what about colleagues? Aren't we here for them too?"

She looked at him accusingly, daring him to come up with an answer that would appease her. He took a deep breath.

"Everyone leads this life for their own reason. You have to find yours. And once you've found it, hold onto it with both hands as if your life depended on it." His fingers curled into a tight fist to illustrate his point. "It could very well be the only thing that stops you from going over the edge. Governments change, colleagues move on, lovers will leave." He tapped two fingers forcefully against his chest. "It has to be something inside of you that no one else can touch. Do that and you won't be swayed by the vagaries of the day."

A warm breeze blew across the bench, and he took a moment to inhale the fresh tang in the air, collecting himself after his little sermon. Hazarding a glance at the woman beside him, he relaxed slightly as he saw the openness in her face, an agreement in her eyes, and dare he hoped a hint of admiration. Perhaps he had regained some ground in her esteem. It was important that this woman not lose faith in him, that the man behind the mask was never revealed. The were times when the facade was the only thing that kept him together. Stop the gap and carry on.

"We need to head back."

He stood and almost put out his hand to help her up as if coaxing a recalcitrant child. He thought the better of it and shoved it into his pocket instead. She remained sitting, reluctant to leave.

"I never got to say goodbye to her. Or to Tom."

He looked down into her plaintive face. Eyes large and blue, still imploring him to somehow make it better. He couldn't. She would have to construct her own shell or this business would destroy her.

"Sometimes there isn't time for goodbye."

She rose from the bench and stood next to him. "I would make time."

He did not respond to her assertion. It was a lesson she would need to learn on her own. Harry pulled out his phone and glanced at the display.

"We have to get going. We have a job to do."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the two lovers leaning against the rail. They were half turned to him, the man with a knowing look, the woman fighting a smile. Obviously, they thought Harry's earlier haste was caused by his desire to meet a paramour. As he slipped his mobile back into his pocket, he let out a sigh; how very wrong they were.

.

A pool of light illuminated the facade of Thames House, and Harry stood within its circle, taking a moment to enjoy the unseasonable warmth of the night. He was in a good mood. The operation had been a success, and as an added bonus, they had kept the G&J key out of the government's clutches. Admittedly, everything had not concluded under the best of circumstances, it was always unnerving when the enemy came from within, but still, Forrestal had been stopped. He wanted to celebrate that success, and not dwell on his earlier failures. He had decided to forgo the usual glass of single malt in his office, wanting instead to be around people. Adam had left for the evening and Harry was hard pressed to think of anyone else to commiserate with. The idea of going to the club felt interminable, he couldn't stomach the layered talk, the chance of running Oliver Mace or worse Guy Facer. So instead, he headed in the direction of the George. The place would allow him a degree of anonymity, where he could keep his own company and still be amongst a crowd.

The pub was busy, and he chose a seat at the bar, signalling his order to the bartender. While waiting for his drink, Harry casually scanned the room as was his habit, but stopped abruptly when his eyes landed on a table near the back. Side by side, deep conversation sat Danny and Ruth. A band of steel constricted around his chest. Immediately, he looked away not wanting to be seen by them. For a second, he debated walking over to the table and joining them but it was a fleeting thought. He was their boss, there needed to be a degree of separation between the links in the chain of command. After his drink was placed in front of him, he took a long draught and reluctantly admitted to himself that this was not his place. He belonged at the club, that was his milieu. He would leave after the one drink and his officers would be none the wiser. It was for the best. Scarlett needed a walk and there was an Alfred Brendel disc that still lay unopened.

"Harry?" The voice was near his shoulder.

Half turning in his seat, he was surprised to see Ruth. Danny stood a pace behind her. During Harry's ruminations, they had finished their drinks, settled up and had made ready to leave. It pleased him that they were not staying out too late.

"What are you doing here?" Ruth asked.

Harry held up his glass in response. There was a glow to her face, a slight sparkle to her eyes, and Harry let himself believe it was from seeing him, although it was more likely from the effects of alcohol.

"You should have come and joined us," she added.

"I didn't want to intrude."

Danny gave a Harry a cursory nod and then took a step toward Ruth, placing a possessive hand on her arm.

"I'm going to get a cab." He turned and headed towards the door.

Ruth turned back to Harry caught between the obligation to stay with her boss and the desire to leave with Danny.

"Go on if you're catching a ride with him." Harry nodded his permission.

"No, I just wanted to say goodnight to him."

"I'll walk you out then." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few notes, dropping them on the bar as he left.

What had possessed him to accompany her, he did not know, only that he felt compelled to be near her.

Danny was still on the street when they exited the bar, and Ruth left Harry's side to head over to the younger man. Harry held back, not exactly sure of the situation. Had he interrupted a date? It wasn't a scenario he wanted to contemplate, but it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Danny and Ruth were both hurting, vulnerable, open to overtures from the opposite sex, relationships sprung up between members of a team all the time. The pair stood for a moment, exchanging smiles, heads coming closer together as the talked.

And then they hugged.

Harry quickly looked down at the pavement, his breath shallow, the wind knocked out of him. Even though he had only moments ago rationalised that very scenario, seeing it in person left him feeling like he had been punched in the gut. It was a disproportionate reaction, it didn't make any sense. He concluded that he had drunk the scotch to quickly, he was functioning on an empty stomach. He looked up to see Danny getting into a cab and Ruth walking back in his air once again filled his lungs. She was returning to him.

"I just wanted to see him off. He's been through a lot."

"That's very good of you."

Over the years, Harry had lost many pieces of himself, and as he stood on the crowded pavement, he realised that Ruth held one of them. The ability to console.

Conversation not immediately forthcoming, they stood in awkward silence, he assessing her, she not daring to look at him. Pedestrians streamed around them, revelling in the hint of warmth that accompanied the promise of spring.

"I should head home." She moved her head to indicate the other side of the street. "My bus is over there."

"Let me get you a cab."

"Oh no, I can't afford a taxi." She gave him a crooked grin. "Not on what you pay me."

"I'll pay for it."

"I can't let you do that." The was a note of disapproval in her voice as if the offer were inappropriate.

"It's not a proposition if that's what you're worried about."

It was a vain attempt at humour, and from the look of alarm on her face, it had missed the mark.

"I didn't even consider it that way," she said.

Brillant. He had gone from bad to worse, giving the impression he was some sort of lecherous old sod. Was there a crack in the pavement large enough to engulf him?

"What I meant to say was that the Service would pay for it."

"Oh," she intoned with relief. "It's still too much of a hassle. I'd have to get a chit and a remittance voucher. Easier if I take the bus."

"I want to make sure you get home safely."

He looked at her sincerely, hoping this time his words came off with the appropriate amount of professionalism and the least amount of lechery.

"Thank you for your consideration."

Neither one of them moved. The swell of the traffic pressed closer around them, and they inched together, the air between them compressing, forming its own energy. The skin beneath his shirt grew hot, and a crimson flush stole across her cheek. Possessed of a need to detain this woman for as long as he could, Harry searched his mind for a reason, curiosity getting the better of him.

"What were you and Danny talking about?"

"Oh, you know, the person we're not supposed to be talking about."

"Ah. So you found a place."

"You could say that."

A young man accidentally bumped into Ruth's shoulder, and she inadvertently stumbled towards Harry. He caught her elbow in an effort to steady her, and she looked up at him with a smile of embarrassment. He kept his hand on her arm not wanting to let her go.

"And you. Are you alright?"

The huskiness of his voice surprised him, and a look of confusion crossed her face. He was assuming that she would respond with typical British forbearance, but his tiny slip of emotion had released a barrier within her.

"I saw him die, Harry."

"Who?"

"Andrew."

Completely unprepared for her answer, he let his hand drop away from her arm. It was only natural that she would have been traumatised by the experience, but in the aftermath of the operation, he had given little thought to her emotional welfare, satisfied with the fact that she had not been physically harmed.

"I couldn't do anything to help him." Her mouth moved in a delicate twist as she tried to compose herself.

"It wasn't your fault."

"It's a horrible way to die."

She looked down, the glitter of a tear caught on her eyelash. Harry's chest constricted in an altogether different manner. An overwhelming urge to protect her washed over him, countered by his natural inclination to turn away from any display of emotion. He shielded himself with reason.

"He was responsible for a number of deaths."

"You once said it wasn't up to us to dispense justice."

Mind like a steel trap.

"We had no other choice. He had lost his way, we couldn't bring him back."

Another surge of people passed, their voices raised in laughter. A siren blared as a car raced by, horns honking in its wake. Could the world not be quiet for one minute? He took her arm once more and guided her away from the commotion. Cloistered in the entryway of a storefront, they found refuge from the noise of the street. The intimacy of the space stripped away her reserve.

"I was such an idiot," she continued. "He asked me for over for pasta. He quoted Abu Nuwas, and I stupidly thought he…."

His grip tightened around her forearm, jealousy swirling inside him, mixing with the delayed realisation of the jeopardy she had endured.

"All the time I was tied up I thought…" She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stop an errant tear.

"What?" He leaned down in order to hear, pulling her in a fraction.

Close to him, almost touching, she whispered. "If I died, who would miss me?"

His throat constricted with the effort to swallow. The same thought had crossed his mind many times. His hand moved to her upper arm, feeling the smallness of her frame even beneath the bulk of her coat.

"We didn't know…" He searched for words of comfort. "There was a text.."

"I thought that you might …"

"Might what?"

She looked out onto the street. "But then Danny came."

He tried to decipher her incomplete thoughts. Had she thought that he would come for her? He was Head of the Section for God's sake. That wasn't his role. He wasn't some sort of knight riding in on a charger. He blinked, and the thought turned on its head. She had expected that he would save her.

"Danny and I made a promise," she continued, "That we would never let each other get old and lonely."

His heart sank, falling into his stomach. If he had saved her, would she have made that promise with him? Did she think it was too late for him; that he was already old and lonely. His chest heaved with the thought. He didn't want to be old and lonely. A memory surfaced of Catherine hugging him goodbye a few months earlier. The embrace of his daughter had left him with such a feeling of peace and contentment. Now, as he stood alongside this slip of a woman, a craving stirred within him; a yearning to comfort and to be comforted, to not have to weather the furies of the Service alone. It was on the tip of his tongue to invite her back into the pub, join him in a drink, talk things through, but she spoke before he could.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I think I might be a little tipsy." She rubbed the heel of her hand over her check in a subtle move to wipe away a tear. She tilted her chin up as she cleared her throat, showing him once more the mixture of vulnerability and defiance that he had observed during her interview. "I'm alright, really. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"It's no bother," he countered quickly, wanting her to confide in him, however inadequate a counsellor he may be.

"Oh look, there's my bus."

She turned away, stepping back out onto the pavement. His fingers reached out, slipping away from the fabric of her coat. He tried stopping her with his voice.

"No, let me-"

"I've got to run." She backed into the crowd, her voice raised over the noise. "I'll see you in the morning."

And then she was gone, swallowed up by the sea, her head appearing briefly as she ran across the street. Harry remained in the alcove, slightly dazed by the encounter, wondering if it had all been a dream. The sounds of the street slowly invaded his consciousness. No, he was in reality. If it had been a dream, he would have set aside his stubborn reservations and shown her that he did not have a heart of stone.