Late Winter 2007

It was cold. Too cold for Harry to be standing up on the roof of Thames House. Too cold for snow, even. They hadn't had any in London since just after New Year's.

Harry rubbed his leather gloved hands together and thought how he wished he had his scarf. A small smile played on his face. Ruth would have brought him a scarf. She was always scolding him for forgetting it.

But the thought of Ruth, as quick as it warmed him, left him cold and empty again. In two days' time, it would be Valentine's Day. He should be filled with distracting thoughts of romantic plans for the two of them. Instead, he was feeling wearier and wearier by the day. There would be no candlelit dinner, no wine and roses, no diamonds to adorn her, no sensual massage, none of the sickly sentimental things Harry had scoffed at for years before he'd had someone on whom he wanted to dote in such a manner.

Ruth had been gone for nearly four months. Over twice the amount of time he'd promised her. He had failed her, he knew. They'd not been able to find a way to exonerate Ruth, to prove her false confession for what it was, to crucify Oliver Mace as he deserved.

Adam had gone off the rails, the trauma of losing his wife and fearing for his son finally taking its proper toll on him. Harry hadn't fully realized how much he relied on Adam Carter until he found himself unable to depend on his Section Chief. The breakdown was perhaps more expected than it had been with Tom Quinn, given what Adam had gone through. Tom had shot Harry in the shoulder—a scar that still twinged to this day—but seeing Adam falter had hurt Harry even more. Adam and Fiona had been dear friends to him. As dear of friends as spooks could have, he supposed. And their dear little Wes. That beautiful boy who called him Uncle Harry, who had probably done more to facilitate the increasing closeness between Ruth and Harry than anything else. The Carters had given a real, living, happy, beautiful example of what sort of life two spooks in love could lead. Ruth had focused her attention on Wes and had done so with Harry at her side.

Thankfully, Adam had put in the work to cope better with his trauma. He'd done the work so he could return home to his boy. They'd spent the holidays together, and Adam had been back on the Grid on January second. Ros had done a remarkable job leading the field agents during Adam's absence. Harry was immensely proud of her. For one who had only joined Five as a reluctant last resort, Ros Myers had done rather well coming onside. She got along well with Connie, which in turn made Harry's life significantly easier. And now that they had a full staff of competent, reliable officers once more, Harry had a smidge of hope that they might be able to get back to the covert task of bringing Ruth back home.

Malcolm had done well in making sure no one let Ruth's memory fade too much. And Jo missed her terribly, Harry knew. He had noticed the young officer gaze forlornly at Ruth's empty station nearly as much as Harry himself did. But of course there were always more pressing things to take their attention. Threats of biological warfare from Iran in the form of a new plague. Rumors of collusion between the Russians and the Saudis in toppling the oil supply. Constant chatter of terrorist attacks, both from foreign cells and domestic extremist groups. It never ended. And the team all looked to Harry for guidance, which he gave to the best of his ability. That was his sworn oath, not just to his country and his job but to Ruth, as it was her sacrifice that had kept him there doing what needed doing. He wanted nothing more than to drink himself into a stupor and just say sod it all. But he wouldn't dishonor her that way.

Harry sighed, doing his best not to let a groan of frustration escape his lips. Nothing was going as it should. There was finally a slight lull in the terror level, the kind of lull that would have lent itself to investigating Oliver Mace, but instead, the Grid was alight with a problem of a different sort.

Ros was missing.

They'd finally gotten Adam back, they'd finally had a week where no one was rostered off, they'd finally not had an emergency operation occupying their time, and where was Ros? No one knew. Adam had tried calling her. Malcolm had tried tracing her mobile. Connie had scoured CCTV footage all around the city. Jo and Zaf had searched her flat and tried to interview friends and neighbors. Well, just neighbors. Ros didn't really have friends out there in the real world. She wasn't the sort. She was very like Harry that way.

Having Ros vanish and not know who to ask reminded Harry very acutely of his own dire situation. Ros herself had once admonished Harry for his personal life being in shambles. And she was right. Other than the people he worked with on the Grid, there was no one out in the world who would ever notice if he disappeared one day. Harry had long known that a spook's life was lonely. He'd massacred his marriage and his attempt at fatherhood. And at fifty-two, he'd just managed to carve out some semblance of hope for a life outside his work, but before he'd turned fifty-three, Ruth was gone as well. Not forever, certainly.

Well, Harry was less certain of that with each passing day.

The door to the roof opened behind Harry. He would have expected Ruth, but obviously that was just his maudlin mood running away with him. He turned to see who had joined him.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" he growled.

Ros Myers pushed back her chin-length blonde hair as the cold breeze blew it about. "I got kidnapped," she bit back.

Harry did a rather good job of hiding his shock. "By whom?"

"I'm fine, thank you for asking."

"You wouldn't be standing here talking to me if you weren't fine, Ros. Who kidnapped you?" Harry asked with increased frustration.

Ros came to stand beside him at the railing. "Am I correct in assuming there isn't any surveillance up here?"

"Unless there's a satellite above us, you're correct, yes."

She huffed slightly. "I have spent the last two days…I think it was two days…being strapped to wooden blocks as water slowly dripped onto my forehead. And after the delights of that torture, when I was weakened into submission—or so they thought—I was given a polygraph and 'rescued' by the same bastards that took me to begin with. Apparently it was a test to see how I'd cope under the pressure."

"I have no doubt you coped admirably."

"You're damned right I did," Ros scoffed. "I was then taken into a room and given a lovely meal with Lord Young."

"Lord Young?!" Harry asked in surprise.

"Apparently he likes to go by Sholto now. And it seems he's heading up a group hellbent on changing the world order, to keep the power in England and trying to keep us from following America like pathetic sheep to their shepherd."

"A noble ambition."

Ros just laughed humorlessly. "They call themselves Yalta. They've got operatives all over the world in every single intelligence group known to man, trying to undo what was done by Churchill, Stalin, and Roosevelt at the Yalta Conference that shaped the modern international power structure. And given my father's beliefs and my role in assisting his plans, Sholto wants to recruit me. To give Yalta a mole in Section D."

"And why are you telling me this?" Harry asked her.

"Because I am not a person who makes the same mistake twice. I saw firsthand how good intentions can so easily be corrupted. My own father may have fooled me into believing such things, but Lord Young and the rest of his well-meaning lunatics will not be so lucky. That being said, I didn't want to refuse the offer," she added with a small smile.

Harry regarded her carefully for a moment and had to smile a bit himself. "Well done, Ros," he told her softly.

She nodded curtly. "I'll keep you updated. I want to talk to Connie and get some more information before I go back to talk to Sholto."

"Keep it there for now. You, Connie, and I will keep this to ourselves till we get a better sense of the actual reach of Yalta, not just what Lord Young might be spouting as recruitment rhetoric. We can bring in the others as needed," Harry instructed.

"Agreed. And now I'll go back inside. You've got to be a masochist to stay out in this cold for so long," she chided, turning and hurrying through the door as quick as she could.

Masochist indeed. Harry sighed once more. He was pleased Ros was back and unharmed, but this mysterious Yalta was yet another threat to keep his team too busy to find Ruth. Though Ruth would have absolutely loved this, Ros playing double agent with a group of Yalta's purported credentials. Connie would hopefully be able to work with Ros to dispense with all of this in an efficient manner, since Ros had astutely come to Harry first with the information. But until then, it was another problem, another dire setback. And it seemed to Harry that they'd never end.