New York, New York
Chapter 11
Ruth was up and dressed by 7.00 am. She had agreed to meet Harry and Adam at breakfast and she wanted to make contact with Malcolm. She needed to update him on Harry's instructions regarding information on Michigan and possible CIA connections, as well as focusing on locating the Guntanamo stooge. It was a tall order for Malcolm when he was having to operate on his own and she knew he certainly would not be pleased by Harry's emphatic command that he do what it took to find the information and quickly. Malcolm was resourceful and efficient but he liked rules and regulations and was never at his best when required to act unofficially or spontaneously. Ruth on the other hand shared much more Harry's view that moral necessity and codes of practice did not always go hand in hand, although she sometimes clashed with him as to what constituted moral necessity.
She sat down at the desk and started typing. It would be a few hours before Malcolm picked up her e-mail but hopefully they would have an answer by early afternoon local time. Not soon enough unfortunately to be available to Harry and Adam before they went off with Cynthia. Ruth frowned and nodding affirmatively to herself, picked up her mobile and pressed in a UK number.
"Hello Malcolm, it's Ruth … yes it's great to hear your voice again as well. I'm sorry to have to ring you in the middle of the night but we have an urgent situation here …."
Ruth went on to outline to Malcolm the danger that Harry and Adam were in, what they were proposing and what information was needed as soon as possible.
"I know you won't be able to access some of the files until the record offices open up and go online, but you can reach GCHQ and try to hack into the CIA immediately. Yes Malcolm I know you're not happy about that but I can't do it from here and Adam and Harry are putting their lives on the line, we've got to help them all we can even if it involves rule breaking. Yes, I appreciate it's not just a minor infringement Malcolm, but will you do it please? … Great .. . Thanks. I'm contactable through the laptop you sent – thanks by the way, it's wonderful to be back in the saddle so to speak and also this number if you have an emergency but obviously make sure it's a secure line. What's Roscoe doing? What? Again!!? That man is really disgusting, but at least he hasn't made much effort to contact the stooge – it looks as if either they haven't put him in place yet or more likely Roscoe is not in the loop. OK Malcolm, thanks bye"
Ruth's next task was to email her FBI contact. This required some careful wording. Clarice James had been a sleeper contact of Ruth's since her days at GCHQ, when she had uncovered and repressed some minor but incriminating information on Clarice's husband involving money-laundering for Saudi businessmen. Not exactly high treason, but enough to see him prosecuted and her career in the FBI finished. Ruth had seen the information as a useful opportunity to create a sleeper and her boss had agreed. Whether after a period of 6 years this contact was still live, she was not as confident as she had suggested to Harry. So the email had to be firm and direct without being too hostile, at least initially. Ruth typed out her message rapidly on the keyboard and concluded by requesting that Clarice reply by 9.30 am.
Having done as much as she could, Ruth opened her bag and extracted a discreet surveillance device that she had secretly emailed Malcolm to send over and which she had picked up from a PO Box when she went dress-shopping. She knew Harry would not let her monitor their movements for fear she would follow them and she was equally determined not to leave them to walk into a potential trap without any backup. She was the first to admit that if they needed to 'call in the cavalry' and there was only her then they were in trouble, but it was still better than nothing and she could at least try and find help. Her initial challenge would be to plant the bug on Harry without he or the eagle-eyed Adam, detecting what she was doing.
Ruth decided that entrapment was her safest option for avoiding detection, so she took extra care with her makeup and hair and selected what was for her a tight-fitting top in a pale smoky-blue colour that complemented her eyes. She teamed it with a dark grey silk skirt cut on the bias that clung in all the right places and finished the outfit off with a pair of boots and an additional beaded necklace with a tassel that hung provocatively off the curve of her breasts. She looked in the mirror and was pleased with the result – not blatantly a sexual tease but alluring enough to tempt the frustrated Harry into a stolen clinch. She felt momentarily guilty about manipulating his feelings as she had once accused him of doing to her, but it was justified, it was for Harry's own protection, besides which he was always complimenting her on her natural abilities as a spook – here was an opportunity to put them to the test.
Ruth entered the hotel dining room and paused briefly, partly to locate the two men and partly to make sure that Harry had time to admire her appearance before she sat down. Ruth had to put a firm lid on her own reactions not to let them see how attractive they both appeared in their uniforms as she approached the table. They were seated in an alcove that was framed by mirrors and so Ruth had the added distraction of being able to see Harry from all sides simultaneously as she sat opposite to him – rather like one of those triple-view portraits that seventeenth century patrons were so fond of – only in this case she had a living, breathing, flirting version in front of her! For Harry, both in response to her beauty and as a foil to disguise the gravity of the mission they were about to undertake, was at his most charming and suave. Chatting and laughing with Adam whilst throwing Ruth inviting and smouldering glances. Ruth retaliated by licking her fingers free of butter in the most suggestive manner possible without being arrested for soliciting in a public place and smiling at him with a 'come hither' expression in her eyes. Adam not slow to pick up on the undercurrent thought to himself:
"I definitely feel like the gooseberry at the moment, but it is not the right time for these two to be playing this game, what the hell are they both up to?"
Ruth decided to alter tack and leave Harry hungry for more. She dropped her gaze from his devouring eyes and leaning back, began ostensibly to read a file she had brought down with her. She was very far however from being able to concentrate on the pages in front of her. The sight of Harry resplendent in his uniform brought back to mind the last birthday party they had sprung on him that Ruth had been a part of. It of course had been Zaf's idea. They had dug into confidential records and delved down into dusty forgotten files in the basement of Thame's House before he was satisfied with their haul. When they had switched on all the lights, let off the poppers and shouted 'Surprise!' they really meant it – for festooned with balloons all round the Grid had been poster-sized blow-up images of Harry since his teens. Where Ruth had managed to find the picture of him aged about 16 astride an old motorbike with long curly blond hair like a halo around his handsome youthful face, was a mystery even to her fellow conspirators. Less of a mystery was how small copies of all the photographs had found their way into her handbag and back into her house – still hidden she presumed where she had first concealed them – in a dictionary of classical mythology, filed under 'Adonis'!!
She supposed that is where the physical fascination with Harry lay. Yes, he was strikingly handsome, but not in a model-like Adam sort of a way – his frame was too stocky and his features too irregular for that. It was rather that he looked as though he had stepped out of another era. The fleshy sensual features were literally those of a Greek God or those later recreations of ideal classical beauty in the Renaissance: the naked bronze David by Donatello and the angels of Piero della Francesca. The heavy-lidded eyes, generous nose and thick, pouting sensual lips were immediately recalled by Ruth when she admired the ethereal beauty of an Archaic statue or the impassive staring features of a Renaissance painting. Not all shared Ruth's appreciation of Harry's beauty. Zaf, having imbibed way more that was good for either his liver or his long-term career prospects had cheekily enquired of Harry whether he was any relative of the comedian Charlie Drake given their similarity of facial features and lack of stature; fortunately Harry had decided to see the humorous side as the rest of the Grid stood there in horrorstruck silence and had commented that obviously they must share common genes as both had an endless source of witty remarks and were never knowingly upstaged!
As she stood in front of one of the photographs Ruth had mused that it wasn't just those with an awareness of classical culture however, that were attracted to Harry; even in the frozen moments of old images glued to the walls of the Grid, the intensity of his stare mesmerised her. There was one picture from his university days where he was laughing at whoever was taking the photo, where the force of his magnetism was most apparent – his eyes shone and glinted with merriment and his lips had a sexual invitation caressing the viewer with his smile. Zaf's haul had also uncovered pictures of Harry in uniform from his army days. His curly hair cut short and hidden beneath the regimental cap, his face had that enigmatic forceful expression that all on the Grid were familiar with when they were called into the office and reprimanded. There were various official photos of Harry with politicians and colleagues over the years, when his hairline gradually receded, his features softened into middle age and his body became stockier. Ruth actually fancied him even more as the years began to take their toll. As a youth, even into his thirties, he had been almost too beautiful with the smooth rounded features framed in a mass of soft bond curls. Now in his early fifties he was more manly Ruth thought, with his more heavy and rugged features; besides which lusting after the man you love, back when he was twenty was not so attractive when you made the calculation and realised you would have been three at the time!
The last photo in Zaf's chronicle of Harry's life had been secretly taken that morning as he left his house for work. Zaf had been very careful to position himself at a safe distance, but he was still not sure whether Harry had spotted him as he had noticed just a flicker of amusement on his quarry's face as he was focusing the camera lens. That momentary softness had been captured in the picture which when blown up to poster size was unforgiving in its revelation of every crease and crevice.
"Oh great!" Harry had groaned when he saw it "Remind me Mr Younis, why you are still employed in this department?"
"Oh because I take great surveillance shots? ventured Zaf
"Go away and enjoy your youth before I terminate it" Harry had growled with a rueful smile. Ruth had stood next to him gazing from the image to the reality. Harry had regarded his younger self:
"Age is a very cruel master Ruth"
"Not always Harry, I much prefer the older you ….. I mean …. Um" at this point Ruth was beetroot in colour and wishing the ground would open up and swallow her, but decided to try and salvage herself with impersonal analysis:
"I mean your younger self was beautiful like a Piero della Francesca angel but not of this world. The now you is more earthy and accessible. I really wouldn't worry in your case Harry about 'time's winged chariot' it's definitely been kind" Even as she said this Ruth was aware that it was an extraordinary statement for an employee to make to her boss, for a friend to make to another, for a woman to make to a man. Only as shared intimacies between lovers would such revelations be acceptable. "Oh God, why oh why had she drunk that second glass of plonk, why oh why had she opened her mouth and let these things out …." Her reveries were interrupted
"Why thank you Ruth" Harry murmured into her ear with an intoxicating sensuality and a definite 'come-to-bed' look in his eyes. Ruth's knees had trembled and her heart pounded but she had managed to reply in a light tone:
"Oh any time you want uncalled for personal remarks from your staff you know where I am Happy Birthday Harry".
Ruth had thrust into his hand a package containing a book on Archaic sculpture and a leather-bound copy of Machiavelli's 'The Prince'; hoping that her reference to his looks and capabilities as Section Head would not be too glaringly obvious and she had vanished before the urge to kiss him had become overwhelming.
Ruth smiled to herself at the recollection of that time and others when they had been on the cusp of admitting their feelings and yet had always drawn back from the brink – she didn't want to compromise him and also didn't think that he could feel for her as she did for him. He, she imagined was very wary of taking advantage of his seniority and also was aware of the consequences for both of them and the complications if they crossed the line and the relationship didn't work out. All those missed opportunities! Life passes by so quickly you only get one shot at it and to have something so perfect, so special and to almost never have realised it, was both frightening and magical. The poet Shelley had believed in the Greek idea of Epipsychidion – a mirror soul – literally your other half, who you are constantly searching for but whom most never find. She had found her epipsychidion :
"I am not thine: I am a part of thee", and no matter what the outcome of this operation or the circumstances that followed, she now knew an intensity of reciprocated love that would remain with her 'even unto the edge of doom".
These thoughts that raced through Ruth's mind were signalled to Harry through the fleeting emotions that passed over her expressive face: contemplation, anxiety, agitation, affection, serenity and finally a transfiguring expression of love that made his heart pound in his chest – the combination of physical and spiritual beauty caught that moment in Ruth's features was literally breathtaking to him. He willed her to look up and sensing his eyes focused on her, she did so. The intensity of love that she found there made her stomach flip over and her heart palpitate; it was as if all extraneous sound and movement in the room faded away and there was just her and Harry in a frozen moment of communion.
Adam unconsciously broke the spell as he looked up from buttering his toast and inquired whether there was any marmalade to be found on the table. Ruth who had noticed some at the huge breakfast bar area that literally groaned under the weight and variety of provisions, stood up to fetch it and felt her legs wobble. She reached out a hand to steady herself – obviously the emotional rollercoaster she had just subjected herself to was taking a physical toll. She smiled apologetically as Adam reached up and supported her.
"Sorry, I'm being a clumsy oaf as usual" she avoided Harry's eyes as she knew the worried expression that would be there without looking – she couldn't exactly explain that he literally made her go weak at the knees!
Ruth left the dining room first, closely followed by Harry, who bounded after her and caught her as the lift opened:
"Are you alright Ruth? You seemed unwell just now."
"It was nothing Harry, my usual clumsiness that's all."
She smiled up at him and the effect was like turning up the gas on a naked flame. As the lift door closed Harry enveloped her in searing kisses whilst his hands moulded her contours into his body. Ruth kissed him back with equal desire but at the same time manoeuvred towards her fingertips the tiny tracking device that she had been concealing in the palm of her hand all through breakfast. She began to stroke the back of Harry's head, feeling the soft texture of the hair that was just long enough to reveal its natural curl. He moaned gently and pressing his lips harder to hers also explored deeper into her mouth with his insistent tongue. Ruth could feel her treacherous knees giving way again so she caressed her hand down Harry's neck and onto the stiff brocaded collar of the uniform jacket. Finding a small niche under the gold braid, she pressed the device to the bottom of the collar whilst tickling the bare skin of his neck to direct his attention away from her action.
"I want you" he murmured in a deep hoarse whisper
"I know, I want you too Harry, but we've got a job to do and you're about to go out on a highly risky op; you've got to focus on that. I'll still be here when you get back."
Her words sounded rational and convincing but her body was in open rebellion: her heart was pounding, her brain was pleading for intimacy with Harry and her lower body was aching and contracting in agreement. The words 'want', 'desire' and 'lust' all seemed woefully inadequate for the overwhelming intensity of these sensations. Ruth had never before experienced such heightened sexual desire and she was almost frightened by the poltergeist that seemed to have inhabited her body and destroyed her equanimity and self-control. The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. Harry very reluctantly was forced to separate hastily from Ruth and straightening his jacket he strode down the corridor to his room without looking at her. He know if he saw those soft features or heard that low dulcet voice anywhere near his bedroom door he would not be able to control himself.
Harry kept repeating the mantra "self-control, self-denial, stay focused" as he splashed his face with cold water, but every fibre of his being wanted to cross the corridor take Ruth in his arms, remove her clothes and melt into her body. Adam, unaware of the physical and mental turmoil that Harry was grappling with, came into the room and collapsed onto the bed.
"It's got to be a deliberate tactic of counter-surveillance, to stuff the military and political personnel staying in the hotel with so much food that they are incapable of coherent thought for at least six hours, by which time they are subjected to more meals of obscene portions and decadent choice. This overload of food saps all the energy out of you, I'm definitely going to put myself on war rations till we go home."
Harry grunted his agreement although food was the last thing on his mind.
"Are you ready then Harry? We're just going to have to manage without further information. Malcolm's been in contact with Ruth, he says he cannot find any reference to groups linked to Michigan and hacking into the CIA computer is going to take several more hours. Let's go over the background legend one more time, we've got to be absolutely word perfect, any slip-ups could have fatal consequences, these bastards are insane but they're not stupid and I for one would like to make sure that I'm back in one piece to watch the Chelsea v s Real Madrid match next Wednesday."
Harry made a supreme effort to refocus his mind: "Right, we met when?"
"Three years ago when I joined the 'Shamrock' as your second in command and we hit it off socially as well. Currently I'm dating your sister, well your half-sister to be precise, hence the age difference between you."
"Name, age, occupation?"
"Siobhan Hennessy, aged 33 and a ward sister at the University Hospital, Dublin."
"Will the records confirm this?"
"Yes, Malcolm had edited and updated the computer files, she has been on their payroll for six years. When did you take command of the 'Shamrock'?"
"2001. Before that I was second in command on the frigate 'Michael Collins', which was seconded to the British fleet based in Cyprus. I'm able and ambitious but have not been promoted as quickly as I would have liked because I don't like playing politics with the senior military; I refuse to use Gallic and also I have a drink problem."
Here Harry paused and looked quizzingly at Adam
"This legend does tend to skirt rather close to the truth in parts Adam. Are you suggesting that I am too senile to retain a more distinct legend or is this what passes for irony on the Grid these days?"
Adam put up his hands in a protestation of innocence
"It was Malcolm who organised this and I can't see him attempting veiled insolence can you?"
"Hmmm, yes well, I still smell a rat and it probably drives around in a black sports car."
Adam smiled, he had to admit that he also suspected that Zaf had had a hand in the legend when he first read it over.
"Anyway, this is what we've got, so you're a non-conformist, stubborn individual with a taste for fine malt. What about political interests?"
Harry narrowed his eyes at Adam as a warning that he was treading a fine line between familiarity and insubordination.
"I've been disillusioned with the political affiliations of the hierarchy of the Irish Navy and with EU foreign policy in general. I've joined several unofficial right-wing alliances including the 'Officers for Irish Nationalism' and the INP (Irish National Party) but I avoid any groups which have links with Sinn Fein or the Irish National Federation."
"You've spoken about your concerns to me and have encouraged me to attend meetings with you. OK that seems fine, we'll have to wing it and hope we don't contradict each other too disastrously. Malcolm only had two hours to put this together, so it's bound to have gaps."
At that moment the hotel phone rang. Adam picked it up:
"Fine, yes, tell her we'll be down directly, thanks."
Picking up his cap he turned to Harry:
"Cynthia's here, are you sure you want to go through with this Harry?"
"Absolutely, we don't have a choice, if we don't try and break them at source there is no chance we will be able to stop the assassination attempt in the UK. Ring Malcolm, tell him we're about to leave and if he doesn't hear from us in three hours he is to contact Juliet and put in place the instructions I left in my office."
"Are you going to say goodbye to Ruth?"
Harry looked grave and momentarily stricken:
"No better not to, she'll only start to panic and demand she comes with us and I need her out of harms way and accessible. I've written her a note telling her to leave the hotel, but remain contactable until we get back."
"What if we don't – come back I mean?"
"Then she is hopefully not immediately traceable and can revert to her identity as Jane Pearce and get back to London to help the rest of the team. I've instructed Malcolm to smuggle her back into the country and keep her below the radar of the bloodhounds at MI6. come on let's go."
Harry adjusted his cap and straightened his uniform; those years in the army meant that he was at ease in the uniform and familiar with the jargon and attitudes of the military – at least that part of his legend would not need monitoring. Harry slipped his note under Ruth's door and then the two men strode along the corridor and disappeared down the stairs. One tall blond officer with an elegant, insouciant posture, the other shorter, stockier and more aggressive in his stride. Perhaps the main weakness of their cover was the fact that they were too striking, too charismatic, too handsome and go-getting to be believable as small-fry officers of a minor league military force. Some men are defined by their uniform, but in this instance it was the men who made the uniform stand out in the crowd.
Ruth was tapping away at her laptop when she heard the sound of something being pushed under the door of her room. Picking up the note, she opened it quickly as she heard the sound of retreating footsteps.
My Dearest RuthI don't intend this to be a dramatic epistle of the "If I should die think only this of me…" variety; but nevertheless we have to face the fact that something might go wrong. In the first instance, I need you safe and able to respond to any crisis that may arise, so no heroics please. Leave the hotel as soon as you read this note. Take all your possessions, leave no trace of your identity and make sure you have your 'Jane Pearce' ID with you, because you may need to assume it. If you do not hear from us in three hours contact Malcolm. I have arranged with him to get you out of the country and keep you safe. Don't return to your apartment in New York. If anything goes wrong with our op then the CIA will be searching out all links to us and they will start with you.
So much for my instructions as your former boss. The next part is more difficult. I don't intend for Adam or I to be detected or harmed by this venture, but as you know my dear Ruth ours is a perilous profession and this is a particularly hazardous undertaking. If the worst should happen I want you to know that the last two days have been the happiest I have ever known. My only regret is that we let so many opportunities pass us by through a misplaced sense of duty or failure of nerve on both sides. As Malcolm is always fond of reciting: "Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt". I am so glad Ruth that we did find the courage to overcome the fear to attempt.
Even so, despite the intensity of our physical intimacy it is the sense of a close and intense bond that has existed always between us in some form that I prize most highly. Ever since you arrived at Thame's House I have experienced a renaissance of emotion. There was not a day went by that I did not feel your companionship and respect and increasingly love your dedication as a professional and your dignity and warmth as an individual. I have loved you Ruth for so long that I cannot put my finger on a particular date on the calendar and say yes, at that point respect and admiration became love and desire. All I know is that I was aware of you and wanted you near me at every minute of every hour that we spent in each other's company. I would find myself inventing reasons to visit your desk and stand close to you as I suspect you found excuses to barge into my office and reel off some vital information that I needed to hear but perhaps not so personally or in such proximity – or at least I like to think the need for intimacy was not just one way! The best times were always late at night when we were alone on the Grid and I could feel the connection between us like a physical bond. It was frustratingly not enough and yet by the same token it was everything.
The physical intimacy of our time in New York was wonderful but it was only a concrete expression of a profound emotional tie that has only grown in the time we have been apart. Blanche DuBois describes her great love as being like a floodlight being turned on her, which when gone left her in shadow for the rest of her life. That was how I felt left on the harbour on that miserable morning and how I have felt every day since. It makes me more fearful of what we go into now because I feel I have so much more to lose than I would have done only a week ago.
If I don't return Ruth please know that I have loved you unreservedly and to the depth of my soul and that although I don't believe in life beyond death, yet I would like to think that this love will remain with you and sustain you through the dark times.
I kiss you, I hunger for you, I love you
Always
Harry
Ruth sank down onto the side of the bed and wept. Not as she had done on the barge out of despair and loneliness, but this time, out of fear and trepidation. She had had to face an existence without Harry but knowing he was safe and carrying on with the life they had shared together. To contemplate Harry dead was so horrifying that she felt an icy grip on her heart and a wave of nausea sweep over her. She had to stop the rising panic from paralysing her if she was going to carry her plan into operation and try her best to stop such an eventuality – she had to move NOW!
She inelegantly rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her top and grabbing her handbag and coat rushed out of the room and down into the hotel lobby, in time to see Harry and Adam exit through the main door with an elegantly attired Cynthia who looked like the cat that had got several tubs of cream, sandwiched as she was between the two elegant and striking officers.
Ruth dodged behind a pillar and switched on the tracking device that began to beep reassuringly. She didn't need to carry out Harry's instructions to clear her room because either they would return safely or if not she intended to try and rescue them and would either succeed or be captured herself. She did however have the presence of mind to bring her Jane Pearce passport with her. She dug into her bag and brought out her mobile phone:
"Hello Malcolm it's Ruth. They've met up with Cynthia and are on their way to the meeting. The tracker is functioning so I am going to follow them at a distance. Are you picking up the signal strongly enough? On good. Now as we agreed I will phone in every half an hour and if you don't hear from me within one hour of the last contact then ring Clarice and get the FBI involved. Yes I am sure Malcolm, yes I know what diplomatic furore it will cause but we can't risk what these people will do to Harry and Adam if their cover is blown. Have you managed to hack into the CIA computer files yet? Oh dear. Well let me know the minute you find anything. Yes, yes I promise to be careful. Yes I will tell Harry that it was all my idea. Bye Malcolm"
Ruth thrust the phone back into the organised chaos that was her bag and hurried out of the hotel and across to the car she had hired the night before
"I really am a lot more devious and a lot less naïve than Harry gives me credit for" she thought to herself with a wry smile as she placed the tracker on the dashboard and grinding the automatic gear lever into D, pulled out in front of an alarmed limousine driver and zoomed off onto the main road.