~ Explosive ~

Ruth's house - Friday afternoon:

"So ... all Eden did wrong was to trip?" Erin is making herself a fresh cup of coffee, Ruth having declined a third cup.

"So Gideon Forster told Anthea. She's known him a long time, and she said he sounded genuine. It seemed to him that the presence of Zhukov in the room, which Forster himself had not expected, had Eden moving quickly and so tripping on the edge of a rather large rug. It seems his death was down to ... misadventure."

Both women receive the news in silence. Ruth finds it sad that such a brave and skilled young man had to die so senselessly. She views it as yet another waste of a fine life. At least every other agent from Section D who had died in her time on the Grid had gone out with a bang ... sometimes literally. Poor Eden had died as a result of clumsiness in the face of perceived danger.

"But there's more," Harry says, glancing at Ruth, and then across the table to where Erin carefully sips her coffee, newly made. "I know that the Russian talks were meant to be about getting closer to the Russians - just in case we need muscle when dealing with the US -"

"I don't think that's likely, Harry," Erin says quickly. Ruth thinks it highly likely, and while a bond with China may be dangerous, one with Russia would prop up a struggling UK economy against the emergence of an Asian threat.

"I met Anthea on Wednesday afternoon, and what she told me was ... explosive." Harry glances down at Ruth, who is engaged in drawing an infinity sign on the table top with her forefinger. "This is a long story, but I'll try to be brief." Ruth smiles, keeping her face down. Harry being succinct; that she'd love to see. "As a result of the conflict in the Balkans in the 1990s, the first of the refugees from that region spread through Europe, many to the UK. Many were young - both women and men - and some were hand picked for ... specialist work."

"You mean prostitution," Ruth says snappily. She just wishes Harry would get to the point, tell his story, so that Erin would leave, leaving her and Harry free to talk.

"Yes. Those who were hand picked - both young men as well as women - were trained as domestic workers, and then sent to Russia. The metamorphosis of Russia resulted in the emergence of new wealth, and the wealthy needed home help - cleaners, maids, drivers, especially drivers. On the surface it all appeared legit and above board, but what happened in wealthy households all over Russia was a growing demand for a more personal kind of home help, and so the prostitution business boomed, and the demand for younger and younger workers increased."

"And the UK was involved in this?" Erin asks, clearly disbelieving.

"We still are. It's now a necessary part of our economy, with links which go as far as Westminster."

"Gideon Forster?" Ruth asks.

"Forster won his seat on the strength of his links to this racket, although his constituents believed him to be a man of charity ... you know, giving refugees a hand up, rather than a hand out. His links to this ... business are no longer direct, and it would be difficult for anyone to prove any of this, including Forster's involvement." Harry's coffee mug is empty, so he pushes it away. "What is most interesting," he continues, "is that the chief ... the CEO, if you like, of this underground organisation, is Igor Zhukov, and his benefactors, and protectors are Ilya and Elena Gavrik. They keep sweet with the Russian oligarchs, and in return they all make a lot of dirty money. My suspicion is that the proposed Russian talks were about solidifying the role Britain plays in all this, along with some legal trickery ... to ensure that if anyone ever discovers what is going on, those at the top will not be implicated."

Ruth hadn't expected anything quite like that. She takes a moment to absorb it all. Strangely, she finds that it all makes sense to her. "You mentioned that young men are ... recruited also. Are they also used sexually?"

Harry nods, and Ruth reads sadness in his eyes. "The young Kosovar and Albanian men and boys are especially in demand, and no-one who applies for these positions knows what they are getting into. It's a scam, in which the workers are paid, but not nearly enough, and the organisers take home all the money, which the Russians are only too happy to part with."

Erin stands, moving to the sink, where she places her empty coffee cup. "I'll have to inform Vice," she says curtly. "This is hardly an issue for Intelligence. Six will also need to be informed."

"I suspect both Vice and Six are already fully informed. I imagine they are somehow involved, and skimming rewards from the spoils. Pass it on, by all means, but don't expect any real action to be taken."

Both Harry and Ruth stand, accompanying Erin to the front door. As the three of them stand near the front door, Harry continues.

"It's likely an enquiry will be conducted, but any such enquiry will only ever be for show. They might even find some low life who's making a quid from the business, and they'll somehow deem him responsible, lock him up, and that will be that. The real perpetrators - those at the top - are all protected."

Erin turns from the door to face Harry. "Do you know this for sure?" she asks.

"I trust Anthea's word, and I know her to be discreet. She wouldn't have made this up, nor would she have embellished the facts. Perhaps Tariq needs to look into this digitally, so that when you contact the police you have some names. I'd prefer Gideon Forster's and Anthea Fox's names to be kept out of this."

"But Forster is heavily implicated," Erin points out.

"Forster is now a valuable asset, especially given what it is we now have on him. He won't be much good to us were his name to be splashed all over the evening news."

"I suppose you're right," Erin concedes, before saying goodbye, and quickly leaving.

"That was some speech," Ruth says quietly, as Harry closes the door. "How much of it is true?"

"All of it," he says quickly, "and there's more, but I figured Erin already has enough to keep her mind occupied."

"Don't tell me," she says, lifting her eyes as though thinking, "you left out the bit about the guns and drugs."

Harry frowns. "How did you know?"

"I didn't. It's just that where there's prostitution there's usually drugs and guns." Ruth glances at him quickly before looking away. She knows he's right about that, at least.

Harry watches Ruth as she brushes past him on her way back to the kitchen. To his practised eye she seems curt, even annoyed, but he knows her well enough to recognise that she is reacting, not so much to the story he has just shared with them, as she is to his shady connections to Anthea. "Ruth," he says quietly, and she stops, turning slowly. "Don't I even get a hug?"

While he speaks, Harry covers the distance between them, and when he stands close to her he reaches out to touch her arm with outstretched fingers. In the end it is all terribly easy, and perfectly natural. While they each have been worried about the response of the other to their five day separation, all but the deepest doubts are pushed aside as Ruth steps into his arms. As she presses her nose into his neck she feels his full body sigh, and his arms wrap around her, pulling her closer still.

They remain that way for some time, neither wishing the embrace to end. Once they pull away from one another they will have to talk, and neither of them do that well ... not with each other. They are prone to misunderstandings and assumptions, and they've already suffered a lifetime's worth of those.

It is when Harry begins circling Ruth's back with his hand that Ruth responds by pressing a kiss against his neck. He already knows where this will end. "Ruth," he says quietly, his mouth close to her ear, "we have to talk."

She knows he's right, so very reluctantly she pulls away from him, lifting her face to smile shyly into his eyes.

"Do you still have wine?" he asks.

"Of course."

They sit at the small table in the back garden, both lifting their faces to the afternoon sun, closing their eyes, both imagining that this talk-they-have-to-have is already behind them.

"We should make the most of this," he says quietly, and when he notices Ruth look of enquiry, he adds, "because summer has almost breathed her last."

"You've made summer female," Ruth observes lightly.

"Of course. Summer is warm, and sunny, and -"

"- unpredictable."

Harry nods. She's right, of course. "Summer has curves, while winter has sharp edges .. and a beard."

Ruth's eyebrows lift. "A beard?"

Harry nods. "A beard. A scratchy one."

Ruth smiles into her wine. Sometimes Harry says odd things, but he's never dull, and she likes that about him ... loves that about him.

They sip their wine, and nothing more is said until Ruth speaks. Harry is not surprised. She'd been wearing her Thinking Look, and if he knows her well, and he does, Ruth has questions, perhaps many questions.

"I've been wondering," she begins, examining her drink with more scrutiny than is required by a mere Italian white from Sainsburys, "where all these extra young people come from. The Balkan countries have regrouped, and are thriving. Perhaps -"

"Anthea told me they're currently mining Africa ... Libya, Tunisia, Morocco. There's a demand for exotic staff in Russia, and African children - because it's children who are being sent to Russia - some as young as nine and ten, are used to having to work."

"That's ... criminal," Ruth murmurs. "Do you think Erin will get anywhere with this?"

"Not a chance. The web has deep roots in our society, and given the court system and the upper echelons of the police are probably involved, anyone with the power to change this will simply turn the other way while this continues. Nothing is likely to change .. at least, not in the immediate future, and perhaps not even in our lifetimes."

Harry reads distress in Ruth's eyes. He has known for some time how dark the world is, and how evil begets even more evil, but Ruth still prefers to believe in a world where good always overcomes evil. Maybe one day ...

"You have something to tell me?" she says, effectively changing the subject.

"You're referring to my days away," he says quietly, lifting his eyes quickly, and just as quickly dropping them.

Harry knows that if he and Ruth are to make it together, he will have to get used to confiding in her. What he is about to tell her is not about some operation or other. This time it is not an inexperienced agent, or a politician who is causing him concern. This time it is personal, and he has no idea how Ruth will react. He shuffles on his chair, searching for the right place to start. He takes a big swig from his wine glass, hoping that the alcohol will help. It doesn't.

"I was upset about Eden's death, not because of the man himself, but because of what he represented to me," Harry begins quietly. "I spent the best part of two days grieving .. all the section's losses. I confess that I cried quite a lot." He lifts his eyes to Ruth's, catching her quick nod. "But ... the real reason I was so upset by Eden Hutton's death was not just because he was a young agent working at Section D. The real reason was his sexuality."

"I hadn't thought you to be judgemental, Harry."

Looking up at Ruth, he sees a frown on her face. "I'm not." Again, Harry takes a gulp of his wine, and once again, the wine has nothing to say to him. He is on his own. "A couple of weeks ago, when I helped my son move into a flat with his mate from work, I was dumping a pile of his things on his bed, and on the bedside table I saw a couple of photos in frames. I was in the room alone, and I confess that I took a closer look at the photos, and what I saw ... took me completely by surprise." He glances across the table to see Ruth's eyes widening with recognition of what he is about to tell her. "Both photos were of Graham with his arms around a young man."

"Your son is gay," she says, perhaps unnecessarily.

"It appeared that way."

"And no-one had told you? Not him, nor his mother, or your daughter?"

Harry shakes his head, and seeing the brief moment of distress in his eyes, Ruth quickly gets up and sits in the chair next to Harry. She leans close to him, and grasps one of his hands in both of hers. When she feels his lips touching her temple in a brief kiss, she knows how much it must have taken for Harry to have shared this news with her.