Rachel's flat – Lima – next day – 11.12am:
When he and Ruth had arrived at the flat just before 10.30, Harry had been happy to step back for a moment while Ruth and Zoe greeted one another. He knows how important it is, when in a foreign country, to have close and trusted friends, and it is clear that in the weeks Ruth and Zoe had spent together in Peru, they had become unlikely friends.
Harry and Dimitri step into the bedroom for a few moments, to give the two women some time alone together.
"Juan Carlos has already gone back to his family in the mountains," Dimitri says, "and I've been in contact with Sean Holland from Six, and he and a couple of the others will sort out Mace's body, and then they'll sort out the flat itself. I have no idea whether they'll clean it or torch it. Either is fine by me."
"I'd prefer they clean it," Harry replies, keeping one ear on the women in the living room. He and Ruth have barely left one another's sides since he'd arrived at the beach house. He is not terribly happy about being in Lima, either, but in his opinion the occasion warrants it.
"I received an email from Erin this morning," Harry says. "It was the reason we were a bit late getting here. The contents of it were interesting, but I think that Zoe will want to hear about it."
Ten minutes later, the two men are back in the living room, and Zoe has made them all a pot of tea.
"No biscuits, sorry. I'm not a biscuit person, I'm afraid." She looks at Harry apologetically, as he frowns at the news.
"But I'm a growing boy," he says.
Zoe walks around the table towards Harry. "Ruth, I apologise for what I'm about to do. I swear I'm not trying to crack on to him." She then throws her arms around Harry's shoulders, and hugs him. Harry looks surprised, and then he carefully puts his own hands on Zoe's sides, while she holds him. After a while, Zoe pulls away from Harry, but still has her hands on his chest. "You're the nearest thing to my dad, so you're getting the hug I'd like to give him ... were he here."
"I feel very honoured, Zoe," Harry says gently. He looks across the table to see Ruth's eyes shining with love for him. Harry then steps away from Zoe, and pulls out a chair for himself. He and Dimitri sit one side of the table, while Ruth and Zoe sit the other. "This morning, I received an email from Erin Watts, my Section Chief …... soon to be my former Section Chief." Harry looks into Ruth's eyes again, because only the two of them know what he means by that. "My ….. intelligence analyst, George Fairbrother, did a deep search on Oliver Mace, and he came upon – he told me `by accident', but I suspect that he broke a few rules – a series of heavily encrypted emails which passed between Oliver Mace and both Ilya and Sasha Gavrik …... a year ago, when the Gavriks were in London, and going back at least 5 years prior to that. The theme was always the same."
Dimitri and Zoe both look bewildered, so Ruth fills them in on Oliver Mace's early history.
"Holy shit," says Dimitri, when Ruth reaches the end of the story.
"That explains so much," says Zoe.
Ruth continues. "Sasha Gavrik was Mace's nephew, and the man who stabbed me. His mother also manipulated Harry into believing – for 30 years – that Harry was Sasha's father. It is that little lie which allowed Mace to prey on Sasha's loyalties, leading him to wanting to hurt Harry …... and how better to hurt him than to get at me."
"So …..." Zoe takes a while to take it all in, since so much of the information is new to her. "So …... Oliver Mace had been playing the long game for years, and when the Gavriks went to London, he saw an opportunity."
"Exactly. My belief is that Sasha meant to kill Harry, but at the last moment, he made a snap decision to take me instead. After all, his mother had just been murdered by his father, and he had been brain-washed from an early age to hate Harry. In his mind, he would have not only have been defending his late mother's honour, but bringing some kind of long-standing imbalance into balance. He would have considered that to get rid of me would hurt Harry far more than killing him. Oliver Mace hated Harry for a lot of reasons, but one of them was that Harry's beginnings were comfortable compared with Mace's. And Harry's opposing Mace's plan for torturing terror suspects was just another thorn in his side."
"That is so Dickensian," sighs Zoe. "But I'm glad I killed that bastard. He was scum."
Dimitri reaches across the small table, and places his hand on Zoe's. Harry notices the gentle expression on Dimitri's face, and he hopes that The Job will not interfere with any closeness and happiness these two may be about to share.
"Ruth and I plan to take you both out to lunch. We can all pile into my rental car. There's a nice place in Miraflores which serves Peruvian food, but with Mediterranean influences."
"Good, because I'm starving," Dimitri says.
Just before three o'clock, Harry and Ruth leave Ruth's old flat – hopefully for the last time – and begin the drive back to the beach house. They all promise to keep in touch, but they know that they will only keep in contact with one another for a short time. The two couples are going different ways, and the four of them are aware that it is possible they may never meet again.
Ruth sighs as Harry pulls the car out from the kerb. "I never thought I'd ever say this, but I'm going to miss Zoe."
Harry reaches across to put his hand on hers in a gesture of reassurance. "We might get an invitation to their wedding."
"Do you really think they'll make it that far?"
"No, I don't. I was trying to make you feel better."
"I'm alright, Harry. While you're with me, I can face anything at all."
"Me too."
Highway 1N - 47 km north of Lima - 3.53 pm:
Harry and Ruth have driven much of the distance north of Lima in a comfortable silence, but Harry has been thinking, and feels that the situation is ripe for what he needs to say. Even the landscape suits. They have passed several small villages, little more than a collection of shanties, all colourful, but barely more than walls and a roof. The land either side of the road is vast, and trees are few.
"I know you're thinking," Ruth says. "Tell me."
"How do you know?"
"Your forehead. You get those vertical lines, and you purse your lips, and -"
"Alright, alright." He smiles then, knowing the time needs to be now. "I need to tell you, Ruth, that I have concerns about ... about us." When Ruth says nothing, he soldiers on. He has little choice. "I'm worried about us. I ..." And then, he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say.
"You're worried about me. Is that what you mean?"
Harry glances across the cabin at her, and smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Then he nods. "It's both of us, really. It's what happens when we get close. We've always done it, even before we ..."
"Became intimate."
"Yes." Harry's voice is quiet, and Ruth knows he's being careful. "I've not been successful in any of my long-term relationships, but I feel that I'm ready to settle down. I want to settle down ... with you. I know now what my problem has been all along."
"And what was it?"
He glances at her quickly before again watching the road ahead. "I always thought there was something better just around the corner. There wasn't. Until I met you."
Ruth reaches out and touches his bare forearm with her fingers. "But. There's a but, isn't there?"
Harry nods. "I know we love one another. That's clear, but love won't be enough to make this work ... this thing we have which draws us together. It can destroy us both ... if we don't nurture it, and respect it."
"What are you saying, Harry? It's about yesterday, isn't it?"
"It's about all the yesterdays. But yes, what happened yesterday illustrated what I'm trying to say. I'm so ... so scared of losing you, Ruth. I'm scared you'll just get up one day and walk away from me, and ... and I won't know how to stop you, and I won't know how to live my life without you."
They are both silent for some time, while Ruth digests his words. When Harry glances at her, he sees she is staring out the passenger side window at another collection of dwellings, residents' cars parked haphazardly on the dusty streets, a group of small boys playing in the dust with a football. He is not normally a praying man, but at this moment he is silently praying.
"I know that when I do that it scares you, Harry."
"So ... why do you still do it? The jealousy, Ruth. I can guarantee you will never have cause to be jealous. I've sown my wild oats - long ago - and I have no desire to be with anyone else. If you don't want this ... if you don't want me ... then tell me now. If we can't be together, I'm prepared to be alone for the rest of my life."
"I don't want you to be alone. I ... don't want to be alone, and I want you." Ruth waits before she continues, and Harry also waits. "I think I do that - the jealousy, the walking off - because I've always done that. When I feel uncomfortable, I walk away."
"When did it happen the first time?"
"The first time? I suppose it was when I turned down your second invitation to dinner. My real fear was how much I felt for you, and you were my boss."
"I suspect the first time was long before that, Ruth. I know your mother sent you away to boarding school after your father died. As I see it, that was the first time you ran, even though it wasn't your idea for you to leave home."
"How did you know that?" Ruth's eyes are on him, and she is glaring at him.
"You told me. Ages ago. It was during one of our late nights on the Grid, when you brought me a cup of coffee. As I see it, if someone matters to you - matters a lot - and you begin to feel uncomfortable, out of control, your default reaction is to leave ... to run. You have no other way of dealing with it. It's time that stopped, Ruth."
Harry feels the change in her before he hears her sobs. He slows the Toyota, and pulls into a roadside parking bay. Once he turns off the motor, he removes his seat belt, and turns to face Ruth. She is sitting, her head down, her hands wringing in her lap. Harry reaches out, and grasps both her hands between his, and he massages the backs of her hands with his thumbs. Then he waits for her crying to subside. When she is calm, Ruth reaches into her bag at her feet, and takes a few tissues, and wipes her face. When she turns towards Harry, he sees that her mascara has run, and she resembles a very sad clown. That is when he wraps his arms around her, and pulls her against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Ruth mumbles against his shoulder.
"Never apologise for honesty, Ruth. Your tears tell me you're being honest."
"I've been an idiot," she says, pulling away from him a little.
"Not an idiot, Ruth. You've been running on an old script. We all do that. I did it when Elena was in London last year. I'd always been taken in by her words. She can be very convincing."
"Will you help me, Harry? Will you help me to stop running ... to not flare up when I feel my safety threatened?" Ruth is now looking into Harry's face, but her eyes still convey her sadness.
"You have to ask for help when you need it, Ruth. I don't want to be telling you what to do. I can't stand husbands who do that."
"Husbands?"
"You don't expect me to be satisfied with being your toy boy, do you?"
She leans back, and smiles into his eyes. "I guess not."
"Shall we go?" he says, pulling away from her, and reattaching his seat belt. "We have a lot of planning to be doing."
Ruth nods, as Harry starts the car, and pulls out of the parking bay and on to the highway.
A/N: A brief epilogue to follow, just to tie off loose ends.