Ch 11

Sorry for not posting earlier…This story is longer than I thought…the pace should pick up soon…I hope that's OK.

HRFan

Election day – minus 4 weeks

1.

They have abandonned all thoughts of rota: four weeks before election day, we can't afford to take any time off, Harry muses as he looks around his team, assembled around the meeting room table. The strain is showing on all faces: pale skins, dark circle under the eyes, weight loss…

'Right', he begins decisely. 'Ros. Your turn for an update.'

'OK. We have secured all properties surrounding homes, constituency offices, electoral commission….you name it. No one will be able to use these as bases or trigger points for bomb explosions. We will also have in place clean police snipers and army troops around all sensitive areas. All three party leaders have been warned. All are willing to cooperate by not discussing the situation with anyone except the list of safe people we have given them. The Royal family will move to Edinburgh the day before the election – official engagements in Scotland for all senior royals have been set up as decoy to justify the move. The King will stay in London, with a BBC team on site at Buckingham Palace on standby for filming if necessary.'

'Katharine?', Harry asks. 'I've been out at meetings all day long and haven't spoken to her today yet…'

'She's been planted with the team. The filming team doesn't know yet; only the director general and the political editor. They're clean too. Frankly, with her experience in documentary filming, getting her the job was a piece of cake.'

'Good. Good. What about…' He trails off, unsure of how to phrase it.

'I paid my father a visit this morning', Ros pre-empts him in a toneless, flat voice. 'He is willing to cooperate but only if you try to have his sentence reduced.' She swallows – the very first chink in her armour since their meeting began. 'I accepted on yours and Andrew's behalf. He gave me interesting information which I passed on to Graham two hours ago. Graham?'

The young man - clean, fed, properly clothed, shaven, short hair – clears his throat. It's his first full team meeting since he joined the Grid the week before. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he's intimidated, partly because he is scared of making a fool of himself, partly because his father is looking at him, impassively, exactly as he stares at the others when they report back. He clears his throat, looking at everyone in turns except Harry. 'Right. Well. Ros's father only has five regular visitors. All senior executives in major corporations.' He reels off names, positions, gaining in assurance as he goes along. 'This is where it gets interesting. According to Ros' dad, those guys' chief execs are involved in something big. He said something cryptic about money transfers flowing from those corporations to some semi-senior political figures in all three parties. So I did some digging.'

'Digging?', Harry asks, coldy.

Graham starts fidgeting. 'Well. You know…I went into their systems. Some of their banks too.'

'Are you telling me that you hacked into the mainframes, or whatever you call them, of all three major parties, all five most important corporations in the country, and their banks?'

The younger man tenses up. He isn't used to seeing his father in work-mode, in fact, he isn't used to seeing his father at all, and mistakes his cold and brutal assessment of fact for anger and irritation. 'Yes. Well. How else could I…'

His tone is defiant, almost belligerent, a mask for the uncertainty and diffidence of a little boy scared by a father whose love and respect he desperately wants, but Harry only hears the tone and doesn't see the mask. His mouth tightens. 'Look', he begins.

'It's OK, Graham', Ruth interjects quickly. 'I once hacked into the French Secret Services' server. Outwardly your…Harry was annoyed. Inwardly…he loved it. Didn't you, Harry?', she addresses him, pleading with him with her eyes to go easy on the boy.

His face softens. 'I'm impressed', he tells his son, truthfully. 'Seriously. What did you find?'

'Transfers. Lots of them. Routed and rerouted via Jersey, the Caymans Island, the Bahamas…you name it. From those corporations to political parties.'

'Illegal transactions?'

Graham stares at him. How would he know? He's been living in squats on and off for years – though that didn't prevent him from acquiring a vast range of computer skills, thanks to public libraries and internet cafés, but the law on party donations? It is in those moments that Harry realises how much his son has to learn…he rubs his eyes, tiredly. 'Right. Well. We can assume that this isn't above board. Ruth, can you…?'

'Yes. I'll check. And if those transactions are illegal…'

'That's how we get them', Lucas says. 'We tip off the Fraud Squad. Bang go a few Nightingale members.'

'Good. Ruth, Graham, you work that angle. Lucas?'

'We're still not getting anywhere with the suspected terrorist cells. Harry, this worries me. They've all gone quiet. Too quiet. I mean…three weeks ago, we were definitely getting snatches of info, about projected coups in the two weeks leading to the election, but now…nothing. Zilch. Nada. It doesn't make sense.'

'That's right', Tariq confirms. 'Nothing on any of the bugs, or the phones we managed to tap into…but they're also using new phones…with a seriously tough encryption software. Can't crack it yet…'

'So they're planning something, but softly softly…' Harry muses. 'But why would they go all quiet suddenly?'

'Because they've completed all their preparations', John speculates, 'or because they've cottoned on that we are on to them.'

Harry's face is set in worry. 'If that's the case….look, we need to know what their big projected London target is. Or at least to narrow down the range of possibilities. We've covered Westminster, Whitehall, Buckingham, the Bank of England, the BBC, major financial institutions, all foreign embassies…the Met…'

'Have we covered Thames House?', Ruth asks.

Harry stares at her. 'My God. You're right. We didn't even think…' He gets up and starts pacing, furiously angry with himself. 'How could I not think…'

'Right. This is what we do', Ros interjects. 'We don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Lucas, John and I will continue with our undercover work with all three terrorist cells which we think are planning something on the day.'

'But..isn't that terribly dangerous?' Graham asks. The look she throws at him makes him feel like a fool. 'Yes. It is', she concedes calmly. 'That's what we do here. Meanwhile, you, Tariq and Ruth go through the files of all Thames House personnel who started in the last…let's say, six months. You leave no stone unturned. You check everything. Previous employment history, references, where they live, where they studied, parents' history, everything.'

'Does that include me?', Tariq asks, half jokingly. 'I started six months ago. So did Ruth in fact.'

Harry walks straight over to him and leans over his shoulder. 'Yes. It does include you. In fact, I will check you over myself.' Tariq pales, Graham tenses. 'Of course it doesn't include you, you idiot. Have you taken leave of your senses?' Harry goes on, shaking his head.

'Oh, good', Tariq sighs with relief. 'You had me worried there. I'm so glad you trust me, I mean…'

'That's because I checked you over myself thoroughly last month', Harry replies coolly. 'Believe me, if I had found the slightest hint of something dodgy, you wouldn't be here being a smart a..s'.

'Oh. I see.'

'I' m sure you do. Now let's get back to work everyone. See you back here at 4pm. Two things. One, we have to assume that whatever they are planning in London will happen anytime from a week before the elections to election day itself. We also have to work on the assumption that they are planning two major disruptions. One to create chaos and panic, probably a few days before the day itself, and one on election night. Two….I want everyone on deck or undercover, from 7am to 10pm, every day, until the elections are over. On the day itself, we'll take an hour each out of the office to go and vote, on a rota basis.'

'Excuse me?', John asks.

'Well, I assume that you will want to vote, no? I mean, this is about saving democracy in this country so I should bloody well hope that you will actually bother to cast a vote. Even if you spoil your ballot paper in protest.'

2.

'Is he always like this?' Graham asks Ruth. His desk is next to hers, and whereas he finds Ros both scary and exciting, he feels drawn to Ruth, to her calm demeanour, her endearing excentricities: she is the only one who drinks tea from a cup with saucer, instead of a mug; she kicks her shoes off when she is absorbed in something; she fidgets a lot…he likes that in her. And it helps too that she always has a kind word for him, that she never seems to judge him, the way his father does.

'Like what?', she pretends not to understand.

'Well. Brutal. Tough.'

She smiles at him. There's a hint of sadness in her eyes. He's noticed it. He's good at spotting those things: leaving in squats, on the street sometimes, does that to you. It sharpens your senses, your awareness of people's moods and quirks. And so he's also noticed the tension between her and his dad – a tension which doesn't seem to be there with the others. Whereas Lucas, John, Ros, will go into his father's office without knocking, she always knocks. Whereas the others sit haphazardly, sometimes next to his father, sometimes not, she always takes the seat that's the furthest away from him – or, if she is in the room before his father, the latter always makes a point of not sitting next to her. Yet, they do not hate each other, clearly…yet there is something going on there, something difficult, and dark, and painful. and he doesn't quite know what it is, and obviously can't ask either of them. So he files it away, and keeps working, pushed by the desire to prove himself, in his father's eyes, but as importantly, in his own eyes as well…besides, he loves the stuff. The digging. The ferretting of illegal transactions which the great and powerful believe they can carry out without being caught…it challenges his brain, and satisfies his desire for social justice, for fighting for the underdog…he is a bit like Ruth, in that sense…

'Well', Ruth says gently, 'he is often tough, but he can also be very kind.' She doesn't particularly want to be drawn out on Harry, of all people, by his son, of all people – though she is getting fond of Graham.

'You all worship him here, don't you?', he asks, with a hint of belligerence.

She looks straight at him, calmly. 'No. We don't. We're…loyal. As he is to us.'

He takes it as the rebuke it is meant to be and lowers his head. But he feels compelled to say something. 'To you…he's…he's the legendary Harry Peace. Tough, but kind and loyal. I can see what he is like, you know….he listens to what you have to say. All of you. He makes you feel valued. Respected.' He pauses, and looks away, tears pricking his eyes. 'But to us…my sister and I…he is the father who missed most of our school plays. Who made us feel as if we weren't important enough for him. He belittled my sister's film work for years, for God's sake, even though she's one of the best documentary makers around…I'd come back from school with grades, and he would never say just 'well done', he would always say 'well done but why didn't you get better marks?'…'

The picture he is painting pains her, though she had guessed as much. It's because he loves you and is afraid for you, she wants to tell him; and he doesn't know how to love you well, but God knows his own father wasn't much of a role model…and you should have seen his face, his eyes, when he thought you or Katharine were in danger…'He's trying as best as he can', she says simply. ' And I know that the best people can do isn't always good enough but…' She rubs her face, tiredly. 'He's trying really hard. Under appalling pressure.'

Graham returns her smile, turns back to his screen, and freezes. 'God. Ruth. I think…I think we've got something big. Really big. There's…' He prints out a file, in a frenzy, and keeps talking in rapid staccato…

'Graham.'

'What?'

'Go now and tell him yourself', she says firmly. 'It's your find. Take responsibility for it. And the credit too.'

'You're sure?I mean, he's busy and…'

'Go. Now.'

He hurries to his father's office.

3.

'Dad!'

He is startled by the urgency in his son's voice, and panic grips him. He springs from his chair. 'What? What's wrong? Are you OK…? Graham, please, tell me…and for Christ's sake don't call me Dad here! We've agreed that it's too risky and…….'

Graham stares at his father, taken aback by the strength of his reaction. 'I'm fine. Really. Cool it, Dad. There's no one else around but the core team.'

Harry sinks back down heavily. 'Yes. You're right. Sorry…for a moment I thought….anyway. I'm sorry. Go ahead. What did you want to tell me?'

'Look at this list of transactions. Look at the names, Dad….I've crossed-referred with this other list and…'

He summarizes his findings, concisely, clearly, and by the time he's finished, Harry looks at him with newfound respect. He is also very pale. 'My God…this is…' He gets up and start pacing, deep in thought. 'OK', he says after a few moments. 'I am going to go and talk to the Home Secretary. Meanwhile, you keep digging but please, please don't get too close. Don't let them rumble you, alright? And don't say anything yet to the others. We'll tell them at the afternoon meeting. OK?'

'Not even Ruth?', he asks innocently.

'Actually. You're right. She can start analysing some of this while I talk to the Home Secretary. Would you ask her to come in, please? And….Graham…well done. Really.'

There's no hint of condescension in his voice, just respect, and pleasure at a job well done. Graham nods, with a smile, and goes in search of Ruth.

4.

'Harry. You wanted to see me?'

'Hi…Yes. Come in…'

It's the first time since the night at the warehouse that they are alone together. He's barely had time to breathe, to think, to collect himself, but now that she is standing in front of him, her hair pulled back, her eyes clear, her skin fresh, he realises, as always in moments of serious tension at work, that however busy they are, however worried he is about Nightingale, she is never far from his thoughts. Paris, in fact, is never far from his thoughts, and in those moments when she is so close to him that he can see the fine lines around her eyes and smell her light perfume, he can't help remembering that night, and torturing himself once more with thoughts of what might have been.

'Harry?'

'Sorry. Yes.' He shakes himself. He must have been staring at her, silently, without realising it…'Graham's just found out that the deputy leaders of both main parties have received payments, via several intermediaries, from all five corporations whose senior execs we suspect of belonging to Nightingale. So…'

'So we have to assume that their whole teams are in on it as well. What's the scenario there, for election day?'

'This is how it will develop, I think. Chaos. Impossible to know who won. The leaders are made to look ineffectual. The results are manipulated to make it look as if it's a hung parliament. The deputy leaders take over and tell the King that they are ready to form a coalition government. On a strict security, law and order platform, with summary trials of opponents, systematic curtailment of civil liberties…'

She pales. 'This is grotesque, Harry…Also, this could only work if they could get the electoral commission on board. But we have checked out all commissioners. They are all clean.'

'Then, I don't know, Ruth…I simply don't know how they can make this work…Unless they have decided to bomb the electoral commission building. John is on to that.'

She can see how exhausted, drained he is by the sheer effort of trying to work out, in the very little time that they have, how best to thwart the threat. She too is exhausted: the worry, the fear that they will simply not be able to pull it off, but also the long, restless nights spent battling her feelings for him, are taking their toll. He is standing next to her, so close that she can see the lines on his face, smell his aftershave, and right now she would love nothing more than to lean against him, fully, to draw strength, warmth and comfort from his bulk.

'We're doing everything we can, Harry. Surely you know that. We can't expect more of ourselves', she says instead. 'Anyway. Katharine has just faxed this through the secure line. It's the speech she's written for the King, in case he has to address the nation…she's a great writer.'

He scans the document quickly, and a soft smile plays on his lips. 'Yes. Yes. She is….I'm very lucky with my children…They're…' He stops, annoyed with himself for being to thoughtless.

'It's OK, Harry. You've got two wonderful grown up children. I know that, and so do you, even if it's taken you a long time to see it.' She walks to the door, ramrod stiff. 'Don't treat me as if I were made of china glass, Harry. I cannot stand it', she says tightly.

'But I don't know how to treat you, Ruth', he whispers softly as he watches her sit down at her desk. 'THAt's the thing. I simply don't know anymore…'

With a sigh, he picks up his secure phone. 'Home Secretary. We need to talk. Now.'

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