Hello again. Wow, thank you all so very much for your wonderful reviews to my continuation of this story. You all blew me away and inspired me to keep writing despite hectic life threatening to get in the way! Thank you especially to r4ven3 and Gregoriana for you lovely PMs! Please forgive the gap between this instalment and the last - it took me a while to translate all the Russian! Here is the next instalment, and I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Harry sat for a good few minutes watching in awe as Ruth worked her magic, initially typing at lightning speed across the keyboard, then speaking diligently to a number of people on the burner phone. She used such a wide variety of personas and personalities that he was sure she could have struck up a back-up career as an actress. Once or twice, he even heard her flirt with a recruit at Air Traffic Control. It took a few seconds for him to overcome his shock at this, as even before the attack, she had still been quite shy and not in the least bit flirtatious (he hadn't seen that impish, playful side to her since she first arrived on the Grid). Once the surprise had died down, he realised that a small part of him was actually jealous; he wanted to keep her all to himself. Then the rational side of him kicked in and berated the awful, green-eyed monster for even thinking such a thing. The situation was dire and Ruth – brilliant, brave, beautiful Ruth – was doing everything she could to diffuse it. He could only imagine how difficult it was for her to flirt with anyone, let alone a complete stranger, when her ordeal; everything she had been through was still so raw. Her absolute exhaustion was plain to see via the dark purple circles aligning her eyes. The fact that her voice was beginning to develop a mild croak betrayed his suspicion that the tiredness was seeping into her entire body, including her vocal cords. However, her bright blue eyes remained ablaze and fiercely determined, as she focused steadfastly on her work. Once again, Harry's heart swelled with pride; some months ago when this darling woman had been cowering away from him following Willard's interrogation, or screaming her lungs out whilst confronting her demons in the throes of a horrific nightmare, he had found it difficult to imagine that this beautifully calm and confident side to her would ever return. Yet here she was, standing (or rather, sitting) side by side with him once more as they saved the country together. Some things never changed, he supposed, and for that, he was exceptionally grateful.

"Please," Ruth was now begging in a small, desperate voice that Harry genuinely couldn't distinguish from actual or faux despair. From the way Ruth's brow was crinkling, he suspected that it was the latter, and that the person on the other end of the phone was being exceedingly difficult. "I… I need to speak to the pilot. I… I'm having the child of a man on that aircraft and my waters just broke." Ruth suddenly winced painfully and put a comforting hand on her baby bump, which Harry could see was moving ever so slightly. Quite alarmed at how close to her story she was, Harry swallowed and prayed that her waters hadn't actually broken. Dear lord that would be a cruel twist of fate when they were ear-deep in this crisis. "I'm at the hospital and I need to speak to him before… before the baby comes."

Harry reminisced about a similar time when Ruth had needed to speak to someone she had been forbidden from contacting – him – and she had come up with that same story in order to emotionally blackmail the other person into passing on a message. He smirked slightly, wondering if this was often her go-to story in an emergency. Then again, her resourcefulness was clearly working, because he heard the vague, stumbling voice of a man backing down on the other end of the phone.

"No, I can't just call him." Ruth said in a tight voice that showed she was barely concealing her fear and impatience. "Everyone's phones on that plane are off, as I'm sure you well know. He told me before he boarded that all passengers have been strictly told to – "

Again, Harry heard mumbling from the other line, and caught the words 'status request'. He realised the operative was probably informing Ruth that they hadn't been able to make contact with the plane for a while.

"Please." Ruth begged again. "Isn't there anything you can do? Just let me try and speak to the pilot so he can pass a message to my baby's father. I know you're not supposed to but – AH!" She let out a convincing howl of agony that had Harry's stomach jolting in fear that she genuinely was going into labour. He was reasonably satisfied that it was an act however, when his critical gaze assessed that she seemed relatively pain-free, aside from the hand pressed tightly to her stomach, where it had lain for a while.

The operative was apparently disconcerted enough to finally relent under Ruth's desperate pleading, because Harry heard just a little more stuttering before Ruth gave him a small, triumphant smile and a thumbs up.

Good girl! He smiled proudly back at her, a softness in his eyes that was and only ever would be reserved for her.

"And when you patch me through, there won't be… I don't know… recordings? No one… no one will know about this will they? Please. I'm eternally grateful to you for doing this and I don't want this to fall back on you if someone catches you. For you to get into trouble for being a good and decent man… well… please know that's the last thing I want." Oh, she was good, Harry had to admit. She was very good. At telling lies that were so utterly believable, buttering people up and casting emotional blackmail without the other person even realising. She really was a born spook. More murmured reassurances from the other end. "Oh, thank you." She gushed. "Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to me."

A high-pitched ringing sound, then several seconds of static erupted from the other end of the line, which Harry assumed was Ruth's new friend attempting to patch them through to the plane.

"Dear lord, is any institution in this country safe from you, Ruth?" Harry asked quietly, grinning as he recalled asking her that same thing many moons ago.

Apparently, Ruth also recognised the reference and ducked her head bashfully, before surfacing again and saying with a twinkle in her eye, despite her exhaustion: "I like to think not."

Her brow crinkled a little as the static ended abruptly and radio silence came over the phone. She deftly switched it to loudspeaker mode and placed it on the coffee table in front of herself and Harry. Harry looked to her briefly to confirm that they were in communication with the plane, to which she nodded.

"Mr Pyotr Sokolov, I am speaking to you on behalf of the British Security Services," Harry said loudly and clearly, automatically sliding into his authoritative Section Head voice. "It has come to our attention that you may be harbouring explosives on your aircraft, which will could well cost the lives hundreds, if not thousands, of British, Russian and American citizens."

He paused, hoping for a response. There was none. He sighed, realising in his heart of hearts that he had known it would not be that easy. After all, the pilot had probably been well-stuffed with lies from Mikhail Levrov and his associates that what he would be doing was for the benefit of Russia. Silence continued to reign, and Ruth bit her lip worriedly.

"Mr Sokolov, we know that you can hear us. We are aware of your involvement with Mikhail Levrov; we know that he… persuaded you to pilot your aircraft and that you most likely accepted because of your love for your country. But we can also tell that you are a good man… a true patriot… you served your country in the Russian Air Force for years before piloting commercial flights. That's a brave job and I commend you. But Mikhail Levrov lied to you."

There was a small crackle. That was all it was – a crackle. But it was enough to let both Harry and Ruth know that the pilot was indeed listening to and taking in every single word.

"Mr Sokolov," Harry tried again, trying to remain as calm and controlled as possible in spite of his rising emotions. "You have become caught up with some very dangerous people, and what you are currently doing is an act of both terrorism and treason. Please make the right choice and respond."

There was another crackle, followed by further silence. Harry was almost ready to try yet again when a stream of virtually nonsensical Russian sounded from the other end of the phone:

"Oni skazali chto eto mozhet sluchit'sya."

The voice sounded tight and panicked, like its owner was beginning to lose control. Harry had been so unprepared for the response that time, and his Russian was so rusty, that he had glance at Ruth for a translation.

"Uh… he says: 'They said this might happen'" She murmured softly, so that the already apparently panicked pilot would not be able to hear her.

"Your contacts told you what might happen?" Harry asked, with what he thought was admirable constraint when all he wanted to do was yell at the pilot to come to his senses. Still, the rational side of him had been in the job long enough to know this hardly ever helped. This man was already unstable and he needed talking down calmly.

"Oni skazali, chto kto-to mozhet popytat;sya menya otgovorit – " The male voice almost whimpered, and Ruth's heart went out to the man. His illness had made him vulnerable and he was being exploited because of it. He had done this because he thought it was the right thing to do at the time, yet she could tell by his shaky voice that he had his doubts and that his resolve was wavering every time Harry spoke. She saw the man she loved glance at her hopefully for another translation, which she quickly and deftly provided.

"'They said someone might try to talk me out of it'" She mouthed.

"– Chto ty skazhesh' mne lozh –"

"That you will tell me lies." Ruth supplied.

"– No ya bol'na zheludkom, kogda mne Igut."

"But I am sick of being lied to."

"Bol'she ne bol'she."

"No more, no more."

"But Mr Sokolov, it is Mikhail Levrov or the person he sent to hire you who is lying to you. What did he tell you? That your flying this plane… having the bomb go off… it will make Russia great?"

The voice became less upset and more inclined to anger. Harry glanced at Ruth, aware that they were treading an extremely fine line. "Eto spaset rossiya ot vas angliyskiye svin'i."

"That it will save Russia from you English pigs." Ruth swallowed, glancing in panic at Harry. Pyotr Sokolov seemed to have at least in part been indoctrinated by these bastards.

"And what is it that we have done wrong?" Harry asked, wondering just what was motivating this man. He wasn't a terrorist. He knew terrorists and their ideals… the relentlessness of their beliefs, and the ruthlessness of their actions. Sokolov was regurgitating all right fanatical things a terrorist might say, yet he could tell his heart wasn't truly in it. There was that flicker of fear and doubt in his tone that made all the difference.

"Vy tseplyayetes za rossiyu kak parazita –"

"You cling to Russia like a parasite" Ruth translated softly, rubbing her baby bump thoughtfully.

"Szhimaya zhizn' iz nashey prekrasnoy strany."

"Squeezing the life out of our beautiful country."

"Vy pytayetes; oslabit' rossiyu I sdelat' yeye uyazvimoy –"

"You seek to weaken Russia and make it vulnerable –"

"Kak ovtsa v odezhde volka, ty protvoryayesh'sya nashim drugom –"

"Like a sheep in wolf's clothing you pretend to be our friend –"

"No poka nasha spina povernetsya, vy voz'mete nashi oruzhiye I nachnete strashnuyu voynu."

"But while our back is turned you will take our weapons and wage terrible war." Ruth finished, a frown etched into her features.

"Mr Sokolov, I can assure you that the British Government has absolutely no intention of going to war with Russia. Indeed, I don't know what Levrov and his conspirators told you, but the partnership that most of your passengers are on the way to oversee, is designed to make relations between Britain and Russia better. So that we can help each other."

"Vran'ye."

Lies. Even Harry could translate that.

"I give you my word that I am not lying. The person who hired you is working for a man called Mikhail Levrov, a political fanatic who does not care about ensuring a safe and peaceful Russia, but about money and power. He is using you as a dogsbody to carry out his dirty work. You are currently a co-conspirator in a large terrorist cell that spans Russia, America and Britain. I am not working for that cell. I genuinely do want peace and safety for all the countries concerned, but let me tell you that that is not going to happen if you continue to block communication with Air Traffic Control and allow a terrorist to blow up your aircraft at London City Airport."

There was a pause, and then the pilot elicited a noise that could easily have been either a whimper or a sob, before he said tightly and nasally, as if he had a very bad head-cold, "Ty vresh. Ya delayu eto dlya bol'shego blaga."

"You are lying. What I am doing is for the Greater Good." Ruth surmised.

Harry rubbed a tired hand over his aching eyes, trying to structure his jumbled thoughts and emotions into coherent sentences. What could he do or say? As if sensing that he had hit a metaphorical brick wall, Harry suddenly felt a gentle pressure on his arm and looked up to find his guardian angel, Ruth, jerking her head towards the phone, questioning whether or not he thought it prudent for her to try speaking to Sokolov instead. Though thankful for her support, Harry was initially doubtful; he wanted to protect Ruth from the fallout of this. She had already suffered so much at the hands of these people. What if they couldn't stop Sokolov and Zykov and the bomb did detonate? The combination of Ruth's compassion for others, and her presently tattered (albeit slowly improving) self-esteem would unquestionably lead her to blaming herself. Paradoxically, this would then destroy the careful steps she had taken to recovery. Yet at the same time, he knew that he had to stop treating her like she was a delicate china doll. He had to let her… well… do her job… do what she was good at. For her sake, and for the lives of thousands, he had to let her try and work her magic. Harry gave just a single nod of consent, which was all Ruth needed to lean forwards so that her tired voice could project far enough to reach the other end of the phone.

"Mr Sokolov, forgive my impertinence as I am fully aware I do not know you personally, but I do believe those aren't your own words." She said softly.

There was another pause and then the man's voice sounded again, a little more panicked than before, presumably startled by a new, unfamiliar voice. "Kto eto? Kto ty?"

"I also work for the British Security Services." Ruth said as soothingly as possible. She glanced warily at Harry, as if wondering whether to give up the next titbit of information, before apparently making an executive decision. "And… and my name is Ruth."

Harry only hoped this small information exchange would not impact negatively on them. He had deliberately avoided giving away his name to reduce any connection being made between them and the interception of the plane. Yet he could see Ruth's angle perfectly well – she aimed to create a personal connection with the pilot, which might ultimately make him more willing to come onside.

"Mr Sokolov, the words you are saying sound very well-rehearsed, almost like you're reading from a script." Ruth said softly and perceptively, though there was not the slightest hint of accusation in her voice.

There was another pause, then: "Eto moi sobstvennyye slova."

"Forgive me Mr Sokolov, but I can't accept your insistence that they are your own words." Ruth told him in a hushed and gentle tone. Her words were spoken unhurriedly, measured with tremendous caution and care, as if trying to tame a wild animal. "What you have been saying are the words of a nationalist fanatic – a terrorist. And if I was to examine just the surface impact of those words, my years of working for the Security Services would typically lead me to the conclusion that you are just that – a terrorist and a radical." She paused slightly, to allow Sokolov to process this information, before continuing gently, "But my instincts… my heart tells me that you are neither of those things. And… and I would generally like to believe that I can trust the judgement of my heart."

Silence reigned again, stretching out for long seconds, until nearly half a minute had gone by. So much so, both Harry and Ruth were terrified that the pilot had gone dark. However, just as they were giving up hope, casting each other wary looks, Sokolov's voice sounded again, though this time he spoke in perfectly fluent English:

"I am not a terrorist, Ruth."

Ruth breathed an audible sigh of relief, and briefly closed her eyes, rubbing a soothing hand over her expanded stomach. She drew in a shaky breath and responded quietly: "I… I know you're not, Mr Sokolov. My job is to investigate people… to find out about them. I know you flew in the Voyenno-Vozhushnye Sily Rossii – "

Even with Harry's rusty Russian, he could translate what she was saying as the Russian Air Force. It was a smart move; using Sokolov's native tongue to develop a bond with him. Harry would have done the same thing had his language skills been more adept.

"You served your country with flying colours. You've received several medals and awards of recognition. For the last twenty years, you've flown private flights and commercial aircrafts carefully and by the book so that people have been able to get to their destinations safely. You've given so much."

A desperate whimpering was audible from Sokolov, followed by a small sniff and a croaky, "Da."

"That doesn't sound like a man who's prepared to let thousands of people die." Ruth hedged softly.

A small keening sound then a series of small sniffles could be heard from Sokolov's end of the phone. The man was breaking, albeit slowly, but nevertheless, he was beginning to break. "I do not want to kill people. I am not a murderer." He stuttered in a terrified, high-pitched tone.

"Then please, Mr Sokolov… please help us."

"They told me what to say if someone tried to stop me from… from doing this."

"But you deviated from that script to speak to me. And you know what? That tells me that at least some small part of you knows this isn't right. I think a tiny part of you wants me to talk you out of this. You're not a terrorist or a murderer, I can see that." Ruth assured him softly, so softly. "So why agree to do this?"

Another pause, then: "You know all about me, yes?"

"Yes."

"You know about… the illness?"

"… Yes… yes, I do." Ruth winced, looking over at Harry, who gave her a soft, encouraging smile to let her know how well she was doing. "I'm so very sorry."

"I am dying, Ruth. I… I have tried so hard to serve my country… to do the right thing… my whole life. But… but Levrov's man, Schepansky… he told me that with this… this partnership… we are being lied to. We are always being lied to… by the government in your country… in mine…"

"I'm so sorry Mr Sokolov… but governments… politicians… they lie. It's what they do." Ruth said sadly, thinking of Towers' betrayal, and hating the matter-of-fact way in which she spoke. "I only wish it could be different."

"I am sick to the stomach of being lied to." There was a hardness, a deadness in his tone that chilled Ruth to the core.

"What do you mean?" She asked gently, but received no response. Ruth thought hard for a few seconds, before the answer hit her square in the chest. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably, and not just because the baby was turning. "You're not talking about politics are you, Mr Sokolov?"

There was a beat. "Nyet."

"This was never really about politics, was it?"

Another beat. "Nyet."

Ruth had never exactly had a photographic memory, but she could remember details extremely well even after only skimming through them. She recalled what she had read of Sokolov's personal details. "This is about your wife."

It was a simple statement, but it was enough to make Sokolov start weeping inconsolably. Ruth's heart went out to the man, and she felt hot tears prickle in her own eyes. She was vaguely aware of Harry's warm, calloused hand coming to rest gently on hers, and though she did not feel able to look at him at that moment for fear of crumbling completely, she clung to the solid, steady, comforting weight that hand provided, like it was a life preserver keeping her afloat in a stormy sea.

In between spasmodic sobs, Sokolov managed a few words, "The doctors… they lied… they to-to-told me she w-w-would be alright. B-B-But they lied. They lied."

Ruth swallowed, trying to formulate the right words. A long, long time ago, when her father was dying, both the doctors and her family and told her the same thing ('it will be alright'), and she remembered how betrayed and angry she had felt when their reassurances turned out to be bare-faced lies. It was only later, when she had been given adequate time grieve that she realised that they had only been trying to appease and protect her, as she had only been eleven at the time. It had been the wrong thing to do, but she had eventually seen their kindly motivation behind the lies. And it was only when she had tried to comfort Nico when the poor child and his father were ripped from their home in Cyprus, that she had truly understood why one felt entitled to lie at such a time: to comfort both oneself and the people suffering. However, she could tell that Pyotr Sokolov was still in the early stages of his grief; saying any of this would only exacerbate his anger, and the effects of this could potentially be disastrous. So instead she eventually croaked:

"Your… your wife's name was Misha, wasn't it?"

"Misha. Da. Moya lyubov. My beautiful Misha."

"What was Misha like?"

Harry consulted the laptop's clock function and frowned anxiously. Time was not in their favour, and they were quickly running out of it. Yet he knew Ruth was slowly building a vital bond with the pilot that he had failed to do, so he couldn't be so callous as to hurry them up. He could only hope that she could break Sokolov in time.

"Prostite?"

"Tell me about her, Pyotr." Ruth encouraged, sounding much calmer than she felt. Her heart was thumping a mile a minute. Out of the corner of her eye, she had glimpsed Harry conspicuously checking the clock, and knew she did not have much time to try and turn the pilot. She tentatively experimented with Sokolov's forename, and was thankful when he raised no objections. "Tell me about Misha. Please."

"We were married for forty-six years." Sokolov sniffed tearfully, in a tone that betrayed exactly how he felt – like nothing in the world would ever be okay again… because Misha, his childhood sweetheart, had been cruelly snatched from his grasp. "I… I asked her to marry me on her on her eighteenth birthday. She was my world… my wh-whole world."

"What things did she like?" Ruth pressed gently, clinging to Harry's hand with every precious ounce of strength she had left. Every inch of her was doubting her ability to talk this man down, and yet she couldn't stop herself from trying. What other choice did they have? Sokolov apparently appreciated the chance to talk about his late wife, because both Harry and Ruth could hear a slight smile and fondness in his voice when he responded eagerly to her question.

"She… she loved Tyurua – this is like… cold vegetable soup for you English, I suppose… she could not eat enough of it, even though I told her it was… horrible. Her babushka used to make it for her mother in the war because of the little food that they had, and then her mother for her because they had not much m-money, but she still l-loved it. She loved all the simple things, like a walk in the park, and flying kites – red ones, always red ones… they had to be red because she loved the colour red. And her eyes… green like an emerald and… oh they were so, so bright… they sparkled brighter than any diamond… any emerald, and she looked so, so b-beautiful. Misha, moya lyubov." There was a brief pause as he gasped for breath in between his sobs. "She was a nurse… she loved people. She loved talking to them and helping them." Another pause and then a wracking sob. "She said I was a grumpy old fool because I just wanted to get on with life and leave people alone."

"I'm sure your wife loved you very much, just as you love her." Ruth whispered, tears trickling slowly down her pale face, her resolve fading fast as she realised how useless her words were at consoling the devastated man. She could not do this. Why did she ever think she could do this? She wasn't strong or brave enough to talk him down, and she like she was slowly crumbling to pieces hearing this poor man talk about his treasured wife. Her head was throbbing where Harry had attentively bandaged it, and the baby kept thumping her so hard in the ribs that she was left feeling weak and breathless.

"Misha… she gave everything she had to everybody. But when she died… she just… f-faded away. And no-one seemed to care. It w-was like she was n-n-never there. But I knew she had been there. I knew her. I loved her."

"Pyotr –"

"She faded away. Just like I'm going to fade away. Unless I do this. I don't want to be forgotten, Ruth." Sokolov's trembling, panicky tone returned. "I… I know it is cowardly, but I… I am afraid of death… of there being nothingness out there. I might never see my Misha again, and no one here will remember I was even alive."

"I will. I'll remember. Pytor, please, this isn't the way to be remembered."

"They said… they said that this will help Russia. I am doing my duty for m-my country and stopping a partnership that could lead to another Cold War… or worse… to killing and violence. I… I'm trying to go by making a difference for the greater good. That's what Misha would have wanted. That… that's surely what she would have wanted –"

"Misha sounds like a… a brilliant, incredibly kind and caring lady." Ruth whispered in earnest, before pleading softly. "But Pytor… with that kindness and that love she had for people… would she really want you to go out like this… by allowing a bomb to go off on your plane that could kill thousands of innocent people?"

Sokolov did not respond this time, too overwhelmed by the force of his sobbing. Every sinew in Ruth's tender, humane heart wanted to stop and let the poor, grieving pilot get his bearings. However, the spook side of her – that horrible, cold, callous, intelligence officer that haunted the very depths of her soul – knew now was exactly the time to strike. While he was distressed and confused and vulnerable. She loathed that side of her, even as she pressed determinedly forwards.

"Pyotr, there is a little girl on board your plane. She's just six-years-old and so innocent in all of this. I'm begging you – please, please don't let her die. And there are hundreds, if not thousands of innocent civilians on the ground who are going to be killed if that bomb is allowed to detonate. Who knows how many more children will die? Children are always the first, major casualties of war, Pyotr. And that's what a bomb is… an act of war."

"I… I…" Sokolov stumbled amid spasmodic sobs.

"The people who hired you, Pyotr, are not doing this for the greater good of Russia. They are doing it because they are terrorists. They want poor relations between this country and yours because they crave fear, uncertainty, and conflict – all because it will make them more powerful. I've seen people like this before. This bomb is just a smokescreen for their main strategy: to create a cloud of commotion that will make it easier to supplant decent politicians with the corrupt in both our governments. War is much easier to induce that way. Your hirers are not your government, Pyotr. They are radicals. They are not asking you to do something heroic that you will be remembered by. They lied to you and singled you out to be a scapegoat for their plan. The death and destruction that this bomb will cause isn't going to prevent violence or, God help us, war between England, Russia or even America. In fact it may well trigger it. Rather than enabling people to remember the good and kind man that you are… the brave patriot… they are trying to ensure you take the fall, while they remain shut up safe in their little offices."

Ruth finished her speech, heaving in deep, gasping breaths due to the extent of the passion she poured into it. She had to make Sokolov see. Harry put a steadying, soothing hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed her back gently. He gazed at her in complete and utter awe and adoration. Each time he did not think it possible to fall even deeper in love with her, this kind, brave, passionate woman proved him wrong. Had the situation not been so urgent he might not have had the restraint to stop himself kissing her right there and then. Sokolov was silent for a long while, save for his gradually quietening sniffles, indicating that he was mulling over Ruth's argument.

"Please Pyotr." Ruth whispered. "I'm asking you on behalf of my country and yours. Please help us."

There was another brief silence and then Sokolov spoke in a slightly calmer tone, "You say that they are lying to me. How do I know that you are not the liar?"

Ruth briefly shut her eyes, biting her lip anxiously, "Pyotr, myself and my colleagues… we do a lot of lying in our line of work. We have to, otherwise we'd never get the job done." She took a beat to consider how to phrase what she wanted to say. "But I'm not lying now. I promise you I'm not. I would never lie about the impact of an explosion, especially when thousands of lives are at risk. The people who hired you are traitors. Please don't be a co-conspirator."

"How do I know that your promise is true?" Sokolov asked warily.

"I give you my word that my promise is true." Ruth confirmed earnestly, silently willing this to be enough for the pilot. "There is no piece of paper or evidence that I can give you right now to make you believe me. All I can offer is my promise… my promise that I am telling you the truth… and my word that even in my line of work, promises are still sacred."

There was another lengthy pause and then more weeping could be heard, "Der'mo! Der'mo! What… what have I done?!"

Harry and Ruth glanced warily at each other. Now that he was on the cusp of being turned, Sokolov was beginning to panic.

"Pyotr, listen to me." Ruth placated him as best she could, when internally she felt just as terrified as Sokolov. "Please, listen to me. I need you to calm down, okay. Believe me, I know how hard it is, but I need you to keep calm and keep flying that plane as normally as you always would."

"But I… I… I have allowed a bomb to… a bomb. All those people… they will die. I will kill them… I'll be a murderer!"

"No you won't." Ruth promised fervently, still clinging to Harry's hand and drawing strength from the solid weight it provided. "You won't be a murderer. You didn't bring that bomb aboard."

"Nyet, but I let that man bring it through customs. I got him past security."

"You made a mistake, but you can put it right. You can help us stop the bomb from detonating. Nobody has to die today Pyotr."

"What do I do, Ruth?" Sokolov croaked, his voice emitting shuddering gasps that indicated he was trying to get his crying under control. "Tell me what I can do."

Harry squeezed Ruth's hand gently and nodded towards the phone to indicate that he wanted to speak to the pilot again and Ruth nodded, knowing she would have to mediate the situation so that Sokolov was not spooked by Harry re-joining the conversation.

"First of all I need you to try and keep calm. Just take a few deep breaths, Pyotr." Ruth murmured, instructing herself inwardly to do the same just as the baby aimed another sharp kick at her abdomen. "Be brave. Be brave for Misha, okay?"

Sokolov could be heard taking long, soothing breaths, "Da."

"Pyotr, the man you were speaking to before – my… colleague," Ruth flashed Harry a guilty look to let him know that he was so much more than that to her, but he smiled softly at her, squeezing her hand gently to let her know he understood. Now was not the time to divulge their personal relationship. "My colleague is going to speak to you again, alright? He can help."

"Khorosho." Sokolov sounded wary, but thankfully, did not appear reluctant to speak to Harry.

"Mr Sokolov," Harry said softly, in response to Ruth's meaningful stare warning him to be gentle with the vulnerable pilot. "May I call you Pyotr?"

"Da."

"Good, thank you. Pyotr, is your First Officer in the cockpit with you?"

There was a pause and then a wavering breath, "Da. Well… nyet, I… I put a sleeping tablet in his midday drink. He is asleep beside me. He is a good man; I thought he might try to commandeer the aircraft when I did not respond to Air Traffic Control." He sounded immensely guilty, and there was another tiny waver in his voice. Harry continued on swiftly so that the other man would not have time to dwell on the subject.

"Alright. Are you aware of any other members of the crew, or indeed, any other passengers aside from the suicide bomber, that are part of this plot?"

"No, no I don't think so."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Having as few obstacles as possible at least made things a little easier.

"Alright, Pyotr. This is very important. I need you to get a message to a passenger, David Rawle, preferably using a member of staff you know you can trust. Don't make an announcement as that will only spook our bomber."

Still sounding slightly flustered, but admirably calmer than before, Sokolov responded, "Our senior stewardess is always very discreet."

"Good. Get her to tell David Rawle to report here to the cockpit – we need to speak to him. Make sure she does it discreetly, without another passenger, Pablo Zykov, knowing. If possible, get another stewardess to keep him distracted. Can you do that for me?"

"Da." Sokolov replied, though still sounding slightly unsure of himself.

Ruth must have sensed this too, because she added in a kindly, encouraging tone:

"You can do this Pyotr. Do this for your country and Misha."

"It is funny." Sokolov murmured, in a dark tone that suggested that what he was going to say was not really funny at all. "They said the same thing to me – the people you are now asking me to stop."

"It's what they do, Pyotr." Harry said calmly, hoping fervently that they were not about to go backwards. "They're trained to tell you things you want to hear."

"But so are you I think, no?"

Neither Harry nor Ruth had an opposing response to that. It was, after all, exceptionally close to the mark. They heard the pilot heave a heavy, shuddering sigh, as if mentally steeling himself for what was about to come.

"You promise me, Ruth, that you are telling me the truth?" He sounded so confused, so vulnerable, like a little boy looking to his mother for answers, that Ruth's fragile heart, just about holding together with sticky tape and hobby glue, almost shattered into a thousand pieces. Squeezing Harry's hand tighter than ever and receiving a tender, reassuring squeeze back, she replied emphatically:

"I promise, Pyotr. I promise that every word is the truth."

Another pause followed, as if Sokolov was trying to gauge if what she was saying was indeed the truth. Then his voice came again, this time an impressively steely resolve audible in his tone, "I will contact my stewardess and get her to pass on the message. It may take a little while because of the sterile cockpit rule."

"Good man." Harry praised calmly. "But please act as quickly as possible. You know better than most that we are running out of time."

"I will do my best." Sokolov answered quietly. "You… you will stay here with me, yes?"

"Of course we will, Pyotr." Ruth agreed softly. "Good luck. And… and thank you."

As they heard Sokolov making a calm announcement about a spillage in the cockpit, asking for the senior stewardess to come and assist, Harry and Ruth glanced simultaneously at the laptop's clock function. They had just under an hour before the plane would be landing. Just under an hour to take down an incredibly dangerous maverick, and diffuse a bomb that, should they fail, could kill thousands, and change the face of Anglo-Russian and Anglo-American relations forever.

Ruth gritted her teeth and winced as another wave of pain tore through her abdomen, courtesy of the baby. She tried very hard not to cry out for fear of worrying Harry, who already had so much on his plate, and instead rubbed a soothing hand over her swollen stomach.

"Not yet, little one." She murmured, so faintly that Harry would not hear. Fortunately, he was entirely occupied, focusing determinedly on Sokolov's interaction with the senior stewardess. "Please not yet."

I hope that was okay for you. Thoughts or reviews are most welcome. I will try and have the next chapter up as soon as possible. All the best xx