Thursday 22nd July – 8.12 pm:
There is still almost an hour until sunset as Beth quietly wanders around the back garden of Meg Meredith's house, trying (and succeeding, she believes) to fit in with the other people who are gathered there. Lifting her head, she catches the eye of DS Gerry Williams from the Met, who slowly strolls over to stand by her side. They both stare over the lawn, across which a couple more members of the Met are conferring with a member of Mi6.
"Pity there's nothing to see," Gerry says quietly. "Still, this must have been something big, given you spooks are interested."
"I knew her," Beth snaps. "It has nothing to do with intelligence."
"Pull the other one," Gerry replies, speaking close to Beth's right ear. "Six are here, now Five have turned up. What was she? A secret agent? Did she break cover and talk when she should have remained silent?" When Beth shrugs, he continues, his mouth so close to her ear that she can feel his breath hot on her earlobe. "They're saying that it was a suicide, but to me it looked a lot like a murder."
"What do you mean?"
"Her body was lying in the middle of the lawn, and her arms and legs were bent, forming a shape similar to a swastika." Beth turns to give him her best eye roll. Swastika indeed. "And my boss reckons she died elsewhere." Gerry turns to look at Beth, who is deliberately ignoring him. "Besides, there were bruises on her upper arms. And Six have taken her body, saying `this is one for the Home Office'. I think that speaks volumes."
Beth thinks so too. "So … what's the official story?"
"There isn't one, and there won't be one any time soon. We've been ordered from `higher up'," and Gerry uses air quotes on his last two words, "to pretend it never happened."
"Who is this mysterious `higher up'?"
Gerry shrugs. "The Commissioner, most likely. Maybe she was his lover, and she became too demanding, so he had her silenced."
Beth doubts that, although she believes the bit about Meg having been silenced. She also thinks that Gerry's mysterious `higher up' is someone much higher than the Commissioner of Police. Still, the trip to Meg Meredith's home has given her an excuse to get out of Thames House for a couple of hours, and that has to be a good thing.
"Has my name been mentioned?" Beth asks, trying to sound disinterested in her own question.
"By whom?"
"Anyone at all. By your boss, or Six."
"How should I know?" Gerry replies. "No-one tells me anything. I'm just a DS."
And I'm just an Acting Section Chief, Beth thinks, and no-one tells me anything either. There is nothing more to be found here, so she may as well head home. Ruth might be worried about her.
Thursday 22nd July – evening:
Harry is beyond being merely tired. He is exhausted. He is also wondering how long he can continue to do what he does, knowing that his style of leadership, along with his moral conscience, is no longer valued by the intelligence service (and perhaps hasn't been for some time), and that this has been noted by the other members of the JIC. He wants to speak to Ruth, but it's almost nine-thirty, and she'll probably already be in bed, so as he enters his house he emits a deep sigh, before heading straight upstairs. Perhaps a shower will lighten his mood.
The shower is cleansing and little more, so he dresses for bed, adding slippers and a dressing gown, before he pads back downstairs for a nightcap. Once he's stretched out in his favourite chair, with a warming whiskey in his hand, and his eyes on his mobile phone, dark and silent on the small table beside him, he wonders whether Ruth would welcome a quick call from him, or perhaps she'll think to call him before she falls asleep. It's not that he expects a call from Ruth, but he'd rather she ring him than he ring her, and so risk waking her.
Then, as if having willed his phone to ring, its ringtone shocks him into sitting up straight. Seeing the name of his caller, Harry smiles. "Ruth," he says warmly, pressing the phone close to his ear.
"Harry, just listen. I have something to tell you. It's not about us, but it could ultimately affect us, and we need to act on this ... tonight."
So he listens, and then quickly ends the call. He then gets up from his chair to unlock the back door which leads directly into his kitchen. Then he makes a series of phone calls, one of which is to Dimitri Levendis, who fortuitously has just arrived home. Each phone call yields results, so now all he has to do is wait.
Needing to keep busy while he waits, he fills the electric kettle and places three mugs on the counter top. Tea for three. He smiles. As critical as the situation may be, he feels uncharacteristically happy.
Thirty minutes later, he, Ruth and Sam are sitting at his kitchen table, a pot of tea between them. Ruth has given him only the briefest of eye contact as she'd limped through the doorway ahead of Sam, which worries him a little, but he'd do well to not focus on this. The reason the two women are in his kitchen late on a Thursday evening is more important than the state of his and Ruth's relationship.
"I suppose you heard about my boss," Sam begins, her voice unnaturally quiet, as though she expects the walls to have ears.
Harry nods. "Ruth told me earlier. Do you have any details?"
"Only what my husband was able to glean from his contacts. It appears that Meg was being followed for over a week, but it was when she met one of your agents that the decision was made to … eliminate her."
Harry nods, but his mind is rushing ahead of him. He knows that Beth met Meg Meredith, although the meeting was not successful, and Beth had left before the other woman had told her anything useful.
"Neither you nor your agent should feel bad about that, Harry," Sam continues, displaying a focus and efficiency lacking in the younger Sam. "It was just the excuse they needed, but she'd been in someone's sights for a while now … ever since she decided to blow her cover."
"Do you know who is behind her death?" Harry asks.
"Not really. I suspect that a paid assassin was hired, by whom is anybody's guess, but I imagine someone in our illustrious government is behind it … although it's just as likely that some of her pals in corporate media were sending out a rather blunt message."
Harry glances at Ruth, noticing the shining in her eyes as her own mind is active also.
"I think she sacrificed herself," Ruth says at last.
"I'm told it was made to look like a suicide," Sam adds, "but it's clear that she died elsewhere. I'm guessing … that her death will be covered up." When Harry has nothing to say, Sam continues. "And I agree with Ruth. I suspect that she gave herself up, hoping she'd be let off the hook, but it seems that no-one gets out alive, which is why ..."
"Sam requires help getting out of Britain," Ruth says quickly. "She accessed Meg's terminal, so ..."
As soon as Ruth had rung him, Harry had seen this particular scenario emerging, and so his phone calls were for the purpose of getting Sam safely out of Britain. He is about to explain what will happen next when he notices his state of dress. Perhaps he should have dressed before Sam's and Ruth's arrival, but it's too late now, and he has to convey the plans which are already in place. He leans forward, his eyes on Sam.
"My senior field agent will be arriving soon," he says, "and he will be driving you to a military airfield which is used by the intelligence services. From there you will be flown to a private airfield just outside Amsterdam, and this plane will then return to London. You will be taken by car to another airfield, from where you will be flown to Florence."
"That's where Brett is."
"Precisely." Harry chances another glance at Ruth, and sees the admiration in her eyes. He briefly wonders whether he pulled out all stops for Sam as a way of impressing Ruth. He really has no clear answer to that question. While he's been arranging her escape, he has been thinking of little other than Sam's safety. "The first plane is due to leave at fifteen minutes past midnight. If all goes according to plan you should be with your husband by seven-thirty in the morning, Florence time."
"I'm rather impressed, Harry," Sam says quietly.
"Why?" he asks. "This is what we do, Sam. We look after our own."
"But … I'm no longer one of your own."
"The intelligence service is like a family. Even once you leave you are still part of it."
"Once a spy, always a spy."
Harry nods. "Something like that."
Thursday 22nd July – late evening:
Harry had stood back while Ruth and Sam had shared a sad farewell. Dimitri was keen to leave, so Harry shook Dimitri's hand, then submitted to Sam's kissing his cheek. "Who knew you to be a peach?" she'd said, before she disappeared through the back door with Dimitri.
"She wasn't even able to go home to get her things," Ruth says sadly, once they hear Dimitri's car drive off.
"She'll be all right, Ruth," he says quietly, unsure about what will happen next.
"I know, and it's thanks to you." Ruth's eyes are wide as she looks up at him in the half light from the kitchen.
"And to you," he replies. "I notice you're walking without aid," he adds, not sure why stating the obvious is a good idea.
"I'm planning to return to work tomorrow," she says quietly, "so I'm … practising."
"Are you sure you can manage a whole day?" Harry asks.
"No, but I have to begin somewhere. I can't spend my life lazing about on the sofa."
Harry smiles into her eyes, desperately wanting to take her in his arms. He swallows, wondering why he's so nervous around her.
"Harry," Ruth says at last. When he lifts his eyebrows, she continues. "It's already late, so .."
"Yes," he says quickly.
"You don't know what I was about to say."
"I'm hoping you were asking to spend the night with me."
Ruth's nod is the green light he's been waiting for. He reaches for her hand, and leads her upstairs to his bedroom.