(I could have chosen to end the story here. But as you can see from the last few lines, I haven't. I hope you will stick with me for a couple more chapters and an ending that would never have made it into Series 9.)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Miss Myers. Miss Myers? Ros!"

Ros lifted her face an inch from the gravel and managed a mumbled 'yes'. The black-clad blur above her shouted something over his shoulder, and a moment later strong hands lifted her cautiously into a sitting position.

"Ros?" the voice repeated. "Are you hurt?"

Ros squinted up at the owner of it and recognised a CO-19 officer who had led the operation to release hostages from the Saudi Trade Centre.

"Greg." She coughed; the damp air was heavy with petrol and the stench of burned rubber. "I'm fine."

"You said that last time," the officer said wryly. "Why the bloody hell do you always insist on getting yourself into the merde when I'm on duty?"

Ros summoned up a glare. "You were late … again," she said pointedly.

Greg laughed. "You really are fine. I don't mind the damsel in distress routine; it's your overwhelming gratitude I find a bit difficult to cope with." He steadied her as Ros lurched to her feet.

"What happened?" Sirens were drawing nearer. The car, now surrounded by CO-19 men, had crashed into the bandstand; its bonnet and the left side of the vehicle had been crushed. "Where's Lucas?"

Greg looked puzzled. "The American?"

"No. One of ours. Tall, dark - " Ros stopped as her eyes found him, kneeling on the ground next to what she realised with a chill looked horribly like the body of Maya Lahan. Suddenly she remembered that bloodcurdling cry of anguish that she'd heard. Oh shit.

Greg followed her gaze. "Well, if that's him, you're in his debt. It's thanks to him you're still here. He fired at the car and shot the tyres out. Without him, you'd be road kill." He hesitated. "Is the girl yours too?"

"No." Ros gingerly touched her face; it was sore from the grit that had scored across her skin. "Civilian." Greg groaned, and Ros knew that her fears had been confirmed. Greg understood the consequences of a civilian being killed during a police or security operation. So did she, but for the moment she was more worried about the effect on Lucas North.

You're an intelligence officer. Not an agony aunt. She shook herself. Her wire, unsurprisingly, hadn't survived her fall, and she needed to contact the Grid. First, she had to know what to tell them. She ignored the ache in her chest and asked, "Where's John Wayne, then?"

The CO-19 officer had been looking preoccupied, but now he gave a quick smile. "Over there." He waved towards an ambulance that had just arrived. "He took a bullet in the arm. Went straight through, he'll be fine. He was more worried about that bloody envelope."

Ros stiffened. "Does he have it?"

"Oh yeah. Dripped blood all over the place to get to the car and retrieve it. What were you doing, trying to save the Crown Jewels?"

He wasn't expecting an answer, and Ros didn't give him one. Instead, she asked: "How many casualties have we got?"

The CO-19 officer ticked them off on his fingers. "One dented CIA officer, one very concussed Chinese, one dead Chinese, two Chinese physically intact, under arrest and spitting mad, one Chinese driver seriously injured, one dead European, one dead female civilian of Middle Eastern appearance, your chap Lucas and one very shaky MI-5 officer."

"One - " Ros hadn't heard much after the words 'one dead European'. Now she folded her arms defensively. "It's cold. Don't fuss." She swallowed. "Did you say the European's dead?"

"Yep." Greg nodded. "Cracked his skull on impact." He frowned, and Ros realised that her shock must be showing on her face. "Was he a hostage, or what?"

Or what. Ros shook her head. "Classified, sorry. I have to contact Thames House. Can you clear up? Get the wounded to hospital and take the others to Paddington Green?" She noticed that Lucas had stood up as paramedics ran across to where Maya lay. "Hang on to my colleague from the Land of the Free for a while, I'll need to talk to him."

She moved away towards Lucas, trying not to limp; her leg hadn't appreciated almost being run down either. Harry's words echoed in her mind. If he is innocent, only Vaughn can confirm it. So he needs Vaughn in custody. Lucas had needed Vaughn alive and in custody. With the mercenary dead, he had no way of proving that he hadn't known that he was carrying a bomb into the Dakar embassy. He had told her that he hadn't got much more to lose. He had been wrong. He had now lost any hope of proving he had been an unwitting pawn for Vaughn Edwards … and he had lost Maya Lahan.

The paramedics were lifting the doctor's body onto a stretcher as she approached. When Lucas saw her coming he took a few steps towards her and then stopped, as if he were fearful of what she was going to say. His eyes were red and his features drawn tight with grief and shock; Ros was reminded of the recently exchanged prisoner she had met on the day of Adam Carter's death.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have got her to safety."

Lucas shook his head. "It isn't your fault, Ros. It's mine." His voice was flat and mechanical but he made a visible effort. "You're bleeding. Are you all right?"

Ros ran her hand across her face again and winced. Her fingers came away bloodstained.

"It's nothing. Cuts, scratches, that's all." They fell silent and watched as the paramedics carried Maya's now blanketed body away towards one of the waiting ambulances. "They said it was you … you who fired the shots. Stopped the car." Lucas nodded. He seemed indifferent to the fact. Ros hesitated. "You know Vaughn's dead. When it crashed."

She waited for some reaction, but Lucas gave none that she could see. He was still watching the paramedics as they loaded the stretcher bearing the doctor's body into the vehicle. Unwillingly, she went on, wondering if he really hadn't understood the implications for him personally of the mercenary's death. "He never said, did he, that he tricked you in Dakar? Not on the phone … not here?"

Slowly, Lucas looked back at her. "No," he said at last. He rubbed his eyes with his fists like a child. "No. Maya's …" he stopped, and clamped a hand over his mouth as if he were afraid that the unutterable word would escape if he didn't. "It doesn't matter, Ros. I don't care."

"It matters to me!" Ros said sharply. "I'd have been killed if you hadn't stopped that car. You fired those shots for me, Lucas, and that's why the bastard's dead!"

"I wasn't going to do it a second time. Leave you to die alone." He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "He hated me. Despised me. I understand that, now it's too late. He didn't need to shoot her." His voice shook. "He did that deliberately because he knew … he knew what she meant to me. He didn't deserve to live and I couldn't let you die. The rest …" he shrugged. There was a long moment of silence. At last he broke it. "Cybershell. Is it safe?"

"Gutierrez has it. So they say." Ros snatched with both hands at the change of subject like a rope to pull herself free of the quicksand of swelling emotion between them. "I have to talk to him. Contact Harry. Report. Can you - "

"Of course. Go on." Something that could have been a smile was gone so quickly that she might have imagined it. Lucas walked slowly away to a bench at the edge of the trees and sat down on it with his head in his hands as Ros headed as quickly as her increasingly sore and aching limbs would permit to where Paco Gutierrez, his arm in a makeshift sling, was leaning against the open doors of a second ambulance. The Cybershell envelope was clutched tightly in his uninjured hand.

"So?" he enquired, as Ros came within earshot. "Gonna report me 'cause I opened fire without your permission, ma'am?"

His tone was belligerent, but she saw the twinkle in his eye and made herself respond in like vein.

"In triplicate." She gestured at his arm. "How is it?"

"Well, I guess I won't be throwing any curve balls for a while." He winced. "They CSS?"

"They don't look like founder members of the IRA." Ros shrugged, flinched at the resulting stab of pain and wished she hadn't. "We'll find out."

The American nodded thoughtfully. "Your guy was on the level, then." He jerked his head in Lucas's direction. When Ros didn't say anything, he added, "Got some guts. You too." He grinned. "Goddamned impossible to work with, but yeah, you got guts, all right. I thought you were a goner."

"You know what they say about cats. I've still got a life or two left." Ros forced herself to smile. "I won't shake your hand. Get that stuff back to Mr Beecher with our compliments. Harry'll be in touch."

She watched the two ambulances carry away the human debris of operation North Star, said her goodbyes to Greg Simpson and the CO-19 team as they removed the wreck of the car and the vehemently protesting Chinese, and when only she and Lucas North were left at the bandstand, phoned Harry Pearce and made her report. After his initial sigh of relief on hearing her voice, Harry listened in silence. By the time Ros had reached the end of her report her head was throbbing steadily. She waited for a reaction or an order, but neither came.

"He was telling the truth, Harry," she said at last. "He did everything right. Vaughn manipulated him from start to finish. But I don't know how we can prove it. I'm sure there has to be a way, but it'll take an effort. And time."

She heard Harry sigh deeply. "We haven't got time, Ros." She frowned. What the hell does that mean? "There's something else that you don't know yet."

Ros's alarm grew steadily as he spoke. She looked over to where Lucas sat, his head still lowered, totally indifferent to everything around him. When Harry finally came to a halt, she became aware that an unaccustomed feeling of absolute helplessness was slowly drowning her relief that Lucas North was the decent – if somewhat credulous - man she had always thought him to be.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked at last.

"Can you drive?" When Ros said yes, he said, "Get him back to the safe house. Quickly. Wait for me there. I've got to pour some oil on the troubled waters first - the Home Secretary, Beecher, probably with the Foreign Office too, if they really were CSS. I'll get there as soon as I can – before it spreads too far." He sighed again. "Well done, Ros. Good work. When they've finished pontificating they'll be pleased that Cybershell's safe. For now."

Ros hesitated. "Shall I tell him?"

"No. No, not yet. That's my job. Just take care of him. And yourself. Keep your heads down until I get there."

Ros clicked the phone off. Lucas was walking slowly in her direction. Ros momentarily closed her eyes as a wave of exhaustion hit her. Now she really was cold, reaction from yet another close shave mingling with her shock at what Harry had just told her, pain in her chest and the drop in her adrenaline levels. She zipped her jacket up to her throat and got up as he arrived.

"What now?" he asked.

Ros rubbed her hands together. "Back to the safe house. He'll meet us there." She saw the confusion in his eyes and read the unspoken words. Why the safe house and not Thames House? Do you still not trust me?

She was grateful that, whatever he might have wondered, he didn't ask. She wasn't sure that she could have borne telling him a barefaced lie. Instead, he said quietly, "Then lets go. You're shivering."

They headed without speaking towards the gates near which Ros had left the car. The mist, she thought, seemed to be thickening again. She glanced sideways at Lucas. The weather seemed a sickeningly apt metaphor for him at the moment; each time a ray of light drove the shadows around him away, so another bank of cloud seemed to roll in to obscure it.

Stop sounding like a sodding bad Poet Laureate, Myers. She switched on the car heating system; Lucas looked as cold as she felt. It was Harry's practicality that he needed, not her platitudes. She loosened the seat belt to ease the discomfort from its pressure, and headed for the safe house.

When they got there, Ros made coffee for them both, and over-ruled Lucas's protests that he didn't want anything. He looked dreadful, and as an afterthought, she found a few dregs of brandy in one of the cupboards and added it to both mugs before she gave him one of them. They drank in a silence that Lucas showed no inclination to break until Ros asked quietly: "Do you know how we can contact Maya's family?"

Pain flashed across his face. "No. Her family lived in Leicester when we … when I knew her before. Her father's a Lebanese immigrant. Ran a grocer's shop. But it was so long ago … I don't even know if they're still alive." He ran a hand across his face. I hadn't seen or heard of her since - " he flinched, " since I ran away. Not until – until Vaughn told me she was here in London. Where she worked. The hospital must know."

Ros stirred her coffee. "He used her too, then. To get to you."

Lucas nodded. "I used to talk about her a lot in Dakar. Missed her. He used to pull my leg about it … tell me I was like a teenager with a crush. I suppose I gave him the weapon he needed. That and the job."

Ros heard the self-disgust in his voice, and sympathy nudged aside her exasperation with him over how naively foolish he had been.

"She still meant that much to you nearly twenty years on that you wanted to go back to her?" He had, after all, been married and had several liaisons since then.

Lucas addressed the coffee mug rather than her when he replied.

"Yes … to her and everything that she meant. To the … to the way life was then, I think. Simpler. When … oh, I don't know. When so many … things hadn't happened. When it all seemed right." He put the mug down and raked his hands through his hair. "Stupid. I ran away, after all. So I don't suppose it ever was like that. It just seems like it now."

Silence fell again. Since arriving, he hadn't shown any further interest in what was going to happen to him now. Though concerned by the level of his detachment, Ros was grateful, since she had no idea herself. Both of them were half-dozing, wrapped in their own silent thoughts, when a key turned in the lock. Ros didn't have time to get out of her chair before Harry strode into the room.

"Good work," he said. "You too, Lucas." Lucas's mouth quirked slightly in acknowledgement; you couldn't have called it a smile, Ros thought. "You did well. We've got the Chinese bang to rights." He paused. "I'm sorry about Miss Lahan." Lucas nodded, but he said nothing. Harry watched him for a moment, and then took a deep breath.

"Lucas, I wish I could say this has made the difference and we can take you back into the Section with a clean slate. But there's a problem."

Ros clenched her hands in her lap, digging her nails into her palms. Everything Harry felt – anger, sadness, impotence – was written on his face.

"Vaughn Edwards must have hated you very much. Not only to shoot Miss Lahan in the way he did. The photograph from Dakar; the one he initially sent to us. I could have contained that; kept it within the Section. But for the last hour copies have been arriving at the Home Office, the Foreign Office, and at Vauxhall Cross. With a helpful written annotation linking the Dakar embassy bomb to a serving MI-5 officer. The next thing will be the papers." Harry stopped and thumped his fist on the table. The remains of Lucas's coffee spilled across it. "Damn it, Lucas, I can't protect you. We'd need time to investigate, to find evidence for or against. I can't buy that time, not now. I've issued a D-notice to the press, but it's only a matter of time before the photograph appears on the Net, and then it'll spread like wildfire. Anyway," he wrenched his tie loose, "anyway, the Home Office is already muttering about getting an arrest warrant issued."

Lucas moistened his lips. "What do you want me to do?"

"There's only one thing you can do." Harry had been carrying a small travel bag when he entered; now he held it out to the younger man. "I had Beth go take some clothes from your flat. There's cash in here, a passport and a credit card in the same name. You'll need to head for somewhere where there's no extradition treaty with this country. Somewhere well out of reach where you can disappear."

Ros fixed her eyes on her lap. I've heard this before.

"What – if I don't do that … what will happen?"

It was obvious from the dread in his tone that he knew, Ros thought. The question was more of an appeal to someone – anyone – to deny the truth that was staring him in the face.

"You'll be arrested, almost certainly found guilty, and imprisoned," Harry answered. "And you know how these things happen, Lucas. Once you're in the system … I'm sorry. It could be years."

Numbly, Lucas took the bag and stared at it. "I can't." It was a whisper. "Not prison … not again. I can't, Harry."

"I know." Now it was Harry's turn to look down at the floor. Ros heard Lucas gulp.

"May I … may I talk to Ros?"

"Of course." Harry's mobile rang. "I'll wait outside." He went into the kitchen to take the call. Lucas watched the kitchen door for a moment, blinking rapidly. Then, slowly, he turned to her.

"Ros." His voice was hoarse and filled with distress. "God, Ros ... I never meant to do this to you. We've been friends, you and I." She knew he was waiting for her to give some sign of confirmation, a nod or a smile, but her lifelong discomfort with showing emotion in public paralysed her. She sought refuge in her habitual flippancy.

"Yeah, well - with friends like me …" she trailed off and shrugged helplessly. Lucas looked shrunken, as if something of his essence had drained from him. His grief for the girl clung to him like an old coat that he couldn't quite bring himself to discard.

"I've let you down. Everyone, but especially you. Working together and being friends with you meant more to me than anything, and now I've destroyed it all." His voice caught. "I can justify all the rest of it somehow, but not that. Not losing you."

Ros wanted to say what she knew he was desperate to hear – 'you haven't' – but yet again embarrassment choked the words, and after a second's silence Lucas looked away from her.

"Don't be stupid." It took a huge effort, but she drove herself on. "We're still friends. You saved my life. The rest is all in the past."

Lucas shook his head wearily. "If only it were, Ros." He turned, as did Ros, as Harry Pearce came back into the room. He looked for a long minute at the younger man.

"Time to go." He nodded at Ros. "This is your only chance of avoiding a prison cell, Lucas. Take it."

Lucas's deep blue eyes flicked to him. "I know I was greedy and stupid by getting involved with Vaughn in the first place, Harry. But if I'd known … that day, that he'd switched that case, nothing – nothing he could have said or done would have made me take it into the embassy. I would never knowingly have done anything like that … never."

"I know you wouldn't, lad." Harry extended his hand, gripped Lucas's and shook it firmly. "Good luck. I'll wait in the car, Ros." He turned and left. The front door slammed. Lucas turned back to Ros. Tears were sparkling in his eyes.

"Whatever you think I am," his voice shook, "I'm probably all of it. But I'm not a murderer, Ros."

"Then don't hang around here and give people the opportunity to prove different," she said gruffly. "Go."

Still Lucas hesitated. Then, suddenly, he pulled something from his pocket.

"I want you to take this." He was speaking quickly, as if he were afraid of being interrupted. "An old lag in Lefortovo gave it to me. He said she'd protect me." His mouth twisted in an attempt at a smile. "She did get me home … temporarily, at least. Please. I – I just want you to be safe."

He pressed the object into her hand. Ros recognised an icon of Our Lady of Kazan. It was worn by handling and obviously very old.

"Please, Ros. For friendship. Please."

Almost involuntarily, Ros's fingers closed over it. Lucas smiled wanly in gratitude.

"I know you still can't really trust me. I understand that. I don't deserve your trust. But I can't give you proof of anything, only my word. I know it's not enough. I'm so sorry." He gave her a fleeting kiss on the cheek and turned for the door.

"Lucas!" He stopped. "Stay in touch. I'll find the proof." She saw his expression change. Doubt, disbelief, and an infinitesimal gleam of hope flashed in succession across his face. "I promise," she said. "Now go. Go." Her eyes were stinging, and she looked hastily away from him. After a second, Lucas's arms went round her and his lips gently brushed against hers.

"You're a better friend than I've ever deserved." His voice was roughened by emotion. When Ros thought it was safe to open her eyes, her vision was blurred by tears and she was alone.

Lucas North had gone.

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