"No!"
"The job's done!"
"If we take her out now, how will that look? Suspicious, is how it'll look. Convenient, is how it'll look. He's not stupid, Harry, he's a boy genius, for god's sake!"
"She can't do anymore."
"She can stay long enough to find a flat and the for the two of them to get bored with each other."
"He's not going to get bored with her, why would he?!"
"We are not extracting her now, for no reason."
The two men stare across the office at each other.
Harry's fists clenched. Adam leaning against the desk.
"She stays," says Adam and marches to the door.
"Go home, Harry. Have a drink. Sleep. Ruth is fine."
But Harry doesn't go home. He stands across the road from the house and looks through the large glass windows, but nothing…no one… can be seen.
When he does finally go, he climbs on the treadmill in his spare room and he runs. Runs until his lungs feel seared and scorched. Runs until there is nothing left in his legs. Runs to forget. Runs to not think.
Runs to stop every accursed thought that is going through his sad and sorry head.