Two pairs of footsteps echoed along the stone-clad floor of the security stockade. They belonged to two suited men – one, young, lean and mostly muscle; the other, shorter, stockier and a good few years his senior. Both studiously avoided looking up at the CCTV cameras frequenting the ceiling, instead carrying on to the next security checkpoint. Two more, rather bored-looking, uniformed men blocked the gateway. One guard, who could not have been much older than the taller suit, stepped forward from his post. He silently held out his hand for their ID badges and regarded them with careful scrutiny. He barely glanced at the younger of the pair, but his eyes lingered on the other. He frowned, checked the ID pass again and narrowed his eyes.
"Here to see?" He asked suspiciously.
"Elena Gavrik." The taller suit answered calmly. "We cleared it with the powers-that-be."
The guard narrowed his eyes further. "I thought you Spooks were done with Gavrik. And her boy."
"A few last-minute questions we need answers to. Then she's free to be handed to the cousins tomorrow morning."
The guard pursed his lips into an ugly pout. "And who said she was going anywhere?"
"Like you said." The other man explained patiently, his face otherwise blank. "We're Spooks. We have friends in high places... and eyes everywhere."
The uniformed man heaved a huffy sigh, tutted, flashed the stockier suit one more suspicious glance before handing back their badges.
"Very well." He conceded reluctantly.
He gave his colleague a small nod, and within seconds the other man was speaking into his walkie-talkie, asking for Elena Gavrik to be brought to Interview Room 4.
"You won't mind if we check you for weapons, I assume?" The younger guard asked, already frisking each man in turn.
"We've been given the okay, but please," The lean suit muttered as his person was patted down. "go right ahead."
The guard's search turned up nothing, which visibly disappointed him. Still, with no more reasons to refuse their admittance, he grudgingly opened the heavy metal door and allowed them through.
"Interview Room 4. End of the corridor." He grunted.
"Thank you kindly." The taller suit said pleasantly, and he and his colleague sidled past.
They were hardly through the door when it was slammed right back into place behind them. Unfazed, neither man jumped; merely flashed each other a look as if to say 'typical', then carried on up the corridor. The taller man checked that the cameras were pointing the opposite way before he spoke:
"I definitely thought that was it, back there."
"Have a little faith, Dimitri." His stockier companion murmured. "A disguise and an ID badge can do wonders."
They were silent for a moment as they passed another set of cameras.
"Yes," Dimitri hissed once they were back in the clear. "But Calum's botch job with our IDs and your even rougher disguise don't exactly make for the best covers I've ever seen. He clearly smelled a rat back there."
"But you kept calm and clearly put your acting skills to good use again." His friend answered quietly. "They don't have to be the best legends as long as they serve the purpose."
"But we really are flying off the seat of our pants here, Harry."
"Just keep your nerve. I imagine you've had to do a lot of quick-thinking lately." Harry said softly, a nod towards Dimitri's sneaky undercover work. "This is no different. Keep a clear head and one step ahead of the game."
Dimitri huffed out a subtle sigh. "Right. Got it."
They hovered outside Interview Room 4, during which time Dimitri fiddled with his watch, and Harry kept an eye out for the arrival of their impending visitor. A minute or two later, a burly prison guard rounded the corner, dragging along a sallow-faced woman. His pudgy fingers dug painfully into her arm, and for an instant, Harry was tempted to object. Then he realised that the woman was actually Elena Gavrik. She looked so small next to the towering guard, her appearance so drastically different, that she had been virtually unrecognisable. Gone was her elegant updo as her unkempt, lanky red hair hung down in straggly rivulets around her shoulders. Her eye make-up had been scrubbed away, highlighting the great purple bags under her eyes, whilst the lack of lipstick revealed thin, cracked lips set in a straight line. Her expensive clothes had been removed and replaced by a thin, grimy, grey tracksuit with scuffed black shoes that looked far too big to be comfortable. Her hands were bound in tight handcuffs and her previously tall, proud posture had disintegrated into a subservient hunch. Once upon a time, Harry might have felt sorry for her. Now, however, all he felt was disgust. Plus he was powerless to stop the bitter feeling of satisfaction that rose up within him as he saw what this traitor had been reduced to.
Elena barely glanced up as the muscular guard stopped her, unlocked the door and shoved her inside.
"Sit." He spat, and Elena, taking a fleeting look around the cold, virtually empty room, took a seat at the far side of a small table.
The guard made to sit with her, but Dimitri, who just about levelled with the man's chin, stopped him, "We've been given permission to interview her alone."
The guard looked taken-aback by this declaration. He lurked nervously, peering between Dimitri and Elena, whose head had shot up upon recognising the MI5 officer's voice. Her expression flitted from hopelessness, to fear, to confusion, and finally to hopefulness. Perhaps she thought, very wrongly, that Dimitri was here to help her.
The guard radioed in to his commander, only to find that Dimitri's story was corroborated. Slightly put out at not being given all the facts before he fetched his prisoner, he mumbled something about being outside if needed. Dimitri shut the door behind him; then he and Harry, mirroring each other, movement for movement, sat down opposite the Russian.
"Elena." Dimitri greeted frostily.
"Mr Levendis." Elena replied curtly, though her voice did not match up to its civilised intention. It was low and hoarse, as thin and as fragile as her appearance. As if all the fight had been ripped out of her once and for all. Her gaze came to rest on Harry, who was sure she would identify him almost immediately. There was however, no recognition in her cold eyes. "Who is your friend?"
Harry glanced across at Dimitri, who consulted his watch, then nodded.
"Perhaps you'll recognise me now." Harry said softly, removing his glasses and folding them neatly on the table.
Shock consumed Elena's features. Her thin lips parted, releasing a harsh exhale as her deadened eyes widened dramatically.
"H...Harry?" She gasped.
"Elena."
"Wh...What... H...How? How did you get in here?" She demanded, crestfallen.
"It's funny what glasses, a bit of prosthetics, make-up, and a wig can do." Harry murmured coldly. "And a little help from above, of course."
Elena glanced up at the cameras hanging from the ceiling behind them.
"Don't worry about the cameras." Harry continued evenly, not sounding in the least bit perturbed. "Conveniently enough, they've just faltered. They won't be back on for... oh, a good few minutes. That gives us plenty of time."
"Why are you here?" Elena asked, sheer terror striking her formerly expressionless eyes. "Are you here to kill me?"
Harry paused, contemplating the enigma of a woman in front of him. His once-lover. His once-asset. His betrayer.
"No." He said eventually, before adding severely. "Death is too good for you."
Elena released a shaky breath, swallowing and blinking rapidly as effortless tears started to well. "You are harsh, Harry."
"No, Elena." Harry growled, leaning so close to her over the table that their foreheads actually touched, and she shrank back into her seat in a bid to get away. Despite the fact that his whole being began to shake with repressed rage, Harry managed to keep his voice quite level. "Harsh is what you were when you arranged for Ruth to be raped, when you arranged for her to be kidnapped and killed. Harsh is what you were when you took glee in blowing up a plane in Central London, with a view to bombing hundreds of people at the Anglo-Russian summit. What you did was far harsher than anything I could say or do. Your betrayal proved that you were a better spy than I could ever be. So wipe away those crocodile tears, Elena, because they won't work on me. Not anymore. I don't believe you're capable of real tears, not even in self-pity."
And just as quickly as the tears welled up, Elena swallowed them back down. Her face became dry, cold and expressionless.
"So why are you here?" She asked, her complexion resuming its old blank gauntness. "If you're not here to kill me, why would you risk everything to speak to me?"
"There's a question I want to ask you. And this time, I want the truth."
Elena cast a glance over Harry's shoulder at the door behind him.
"I could shout to the guard." She said shrewdly. "I could tell him that Harry Pearce is here. Then you will be caught and sentenced to life. Just like me. What's to stop me from doing that?"
"Your love for Sasha, I imagine." Dimitri interjected casually, showcasing his award-worthy cold persona. "Things can happen to a man. Even in prison."
"Especially in prison." Harry added darkly.
The smugness that had come as she offered her bargaining chip disintegrated. Her breaths became quick and fearful as panic descended.
"You... You wouldn't." She stammered, trying and failing to look defiant. "You are using simple breaking techniques. You wouldn't hurt Sasha. He's your own son."
This time, it was Dimitri's turn to look surprised. He let his mask slip only for an instant, but it was enough for Elena to notice.
"He didn't tell you?" She deduced, her face caught for moment between amusement and desperation. In the end, she produced a smirk that Ilya would have been proud of. "That we had a son together... a relationship all those years ago-"
"We had an affair, Elena." Harry snarled, casting a sideways glance at Dimitri and feeling slightly guilty at the hurt he saw beneath the young man's calm exterior. Hurt at not being told. After all, Ruth had been his only confidant. "We had sex. Carnal, sordid, red-blooded sex. Not a relationship. There's a difference."
"Well, you would know about that, wouldn't you?" Elena volleyed back, her eyes icy with contempt. "How is your dear Ruth? She looked so... pathetic back at the house."
A muscle in Harry's jaw twitched and his fist balled so tightly that his nails carved tiny crescent-shaped marks into his palms. For an instant, Dimitri was convinced that his friend was about to punch the smarmy woman. He wanted to convey somehow that Harry wasn't to let himself be goaded, but apparently his interference wasn't needed. Admirably, the older man reigned in his temper, restrained his clenched fist with his other hand and replied through gritted teeth:
"We're not talking about Ruth right now, Elena. We're talking about you. You and Sasha."
"You could hurt Sasha... hurt me... after all we shared?" Elena questioned, her eyes darting from cold and unfeeling to beseeching in a hot second.
"We shared nothing. Nothing real." Harry stated scathingly. "You made that perfectly clear back at the house. No. Further back than that... when you decided to become a triple agent."
"You would hurt your own son!" Elena burst out, more easy tears gathering in her eyes. And even Dimitri swallowed, his resolve wavering at the Russian's pleas.
This was precisely why Harry hadn't wanted Dimitri to go it alone. She was a skilled actress. After all, she had fooled him for decades. It was time he put a stop to the lies; to the hold she had over him. Once and for all.
"But he's not my son, is he, Elena? Not really." Harry hedged quietly, and the whole room fell silent.
Elena's noisy cries stopped immediately save for one tiny tear which trickled down her face upon his hushed inquiry.
"How... how could you say that?" She stammered, but her gaze faltered.
"He isn't mine, is he?" Harry repeated.
Elena stayed silent, refusing to respond.
Harry rocketed to his feet and slammed his fist down on to the table top, making Elena and Dimitri jump, and the table groan under the strain.
"IS HE?!" He roared.
They heard a shuffling outside the door and everyone froze, certain for an instant that the guard had been roused. However, seconds ticked by and the burly man still did not enter. It seemed they had got away with it. But only just.
"Easy, Harry." Dimitri muttered, placing a cooling hand on his shoulder. "The room's only marginally soundproof, and we don't want Attila the Hun out there to come bursting in."
Harry glared at Elena, then at the hand on his shoulder.
"Poor, Harry." Elena murmured in a mocking tone that just did not match the terror in her eyes. "You always did throw your toys out of the pram when you didn't get your own way. I wonder... does Ruth know you have such a temper?"
Harry's fist curled tighter, and with it, the muscles in his jaw started twitching dangerously once more. He threw another glance over his shoulder at a wary-looking Dimitri and pictured poor Ruth lying still so ill back at the hospital, needing him with her as soon as possible. So ignoring his baser instincts, he forcibly quelled the anger pounding through his veins, took a deep breath, loosened his fist, and sat back down. It took another few seconds for him to regain full composure.
"You will tell me what I want to know, Elena." He spat through gritted teeth. "I may not wield any power anymore, but I have friends that do. Friends that could make life very hard for you and Sasha in prison." He leant forwards, catching Elena's wild eyes. "Levrov has been dealt with by MI6; his followers have been arrested; Towers is throwing the lot of you under the bus, and Ilya is dead. No one is coming for you. It's over. I want the truth... and before you think of lying to me, just know this. Sasha will receive the same treatment whether or not he is my son. But both you and he will suffer the consequences if you lie to me one more time. I promise you that."
There was a long pause, during which Elena considered his words. Harry stared her out. After a moment, she exhaled a long, slow, shaky breath. She seemed to visibly relinquish control of any power she had left, because within seconds she had slipped from her automatically pristine posture to the hunched, submissive stance she had held under the grasp of the burly guard.
"Sasha is not your son." She admitted, deadened and defeated. "He is Ilya's."
This time, there was no looking away, no subtle batting of eyelashes, no distraction techniques. Just the pure and simple truth. And Harry knew it to be true, for it was a fact that he had been sensing in his heart for a while now. He had thought he might suffer a sense of loss. After all, Elena had masqueraded Sasha as his son to him for so many years. Yet oddly, he did not feel upset. If anything, he felt a deep-seated sense of relief. One of the men that had raped his beautiful Ruth was not, after all, his son – his flesh and blood. It helped to somewhat ease the guilt, though he knew he would continue to feel remorseful for that horrible night for the rest of his life.
"Telling me Sasha was my son was your bargaining chip." Harry surmised quietly. "As long as you had me emotionally involved you knew you could get away with anything. Feeding misinformation into the country during the Cold War; not to mention arranging a plot that's been going on for... what... decades? You accomplish acts right under my nose and play the victim card, knowing that I would come running. It was ridiculously easy to pull off because Sasha and I always shared some similar characteristics: the brown eyes; the smile... A pure coincidence that both you and Ilya used to your advantage. But even back at the house, when you showed your true colours, you lied yet again. Why?"
Despite her meek posture, Elena's eyes retained their cold, hard stare. The way she, almost gloatingly, met Harry's gaze sent shivers prickling down his spine.
"It was my insurance policy. I was never on the same side as you, Harry, but I never doubted your abilities. I knew that even in captivity, you might find a way out; that our plan might go wrong. And I was right. As long as you kept believing that Sasha was your son, I knew that you wouldn't harm him or me. Family is the strongest bond there is."
"Not quite," Harry corrected her grimly. "I think you'll find that it's love."
Elena laughed – an awful, hollow, deadened laugh.
"Love, Harry." She sniffed derisively. "Love is always something you were so very good at. But family... sticking by the people you loved in the face of hard times and... temptation. That is where you fell short."
This struck a raw nerve with Harry, who had never quite forgiven himself for letting his marriage fail; for allowing his children to slip away; for finding solace in endless conquests that inevitably distanced him from everyone he had actually truly cared about. But just as he was about to let his anger boil over once more, he noticed Dimitri pointedly check his watch.
"We've only got about three minutes left before the cameras go live again." The younger man stated quietly.
"Then I think we had best take our leave." Harry replied shortly, promptly ignoring the sallow-faced woman in front of them. "We got what we came for."
He stood and slid on his false spectacles, Dimitri following behind. But before they could make it to the door, Elena appealed to them:
"So that is it? After all we have been through...?"
Harry turned to stare at her with such incredulity and disdain in his eyes that the red-haired woman physically reeled back.
"I have nothing more to say to you, Elena. As far as I'm concerned, we've been through nothing together. Nothing."
"The Americans are going to take me away, Harry. I overheard them. They are going to take me away and you know I won't survive what they have in store for me."
"Bearing in mind you committed treason, no, I bet you won't." Harry agreed dispassionately.
"So you are leaving me to suffer while you escape off into the sunset with that pathetic... dryannaya suka!"
Any tiny sliver of sympathy Harry and Dimitri had had with Elena flew out the window the instant they heard Ruth be insulted in such a manner. This time it was Dimitri who made a beeline for Elena, and Harry who stopped him. The older man gently tugged the ex-SBS officer back by the fabric of his jacket and stepped forwards.
"Now, you listen to me, Elena." He murmured, towering above her and speaking so coldly that even Elena knew she had pushed him too far. "Ruth Evershed is kind and gentle and brave and compassionate – none of which you ever were... none of which you could even hope to be."
"Then why are you here with me now, when you could be with her?" The Russian demanded, summoning the last vestiges of her dignity.
"I needed the truth from you." Harry admitted reluctantly. "I needed to look into your eyes as you said it. And now that my suspicions have been confirmed, Ruth and I can finally shut the book on you and move on."
He allowed himself one last icy glare at the shell of the once great Elena Gavrik before walking back towards the door.
"If I am just going to be handed to the Americans, what is to stop me from telling the guard about you?" She asked, though this time all pretence of one-upmanship had gone, replaced by sheer, unmistakable desperation.
It was Dimitri who answered.
"The Americans may be getting you." He said in as sinister a tone possible. "But it has been agreed that we get to keep Sasha. I suppose it all depends on how much your son means to you. As we said before, things can happen to a man in prison. Terrible things."
"Po'shyol 'na hui!" Elena exclaimed, horrified.
"Language!" Harry chastised her. "Come now, Elena. Vulgarity doesn't suit you."
"You are threatening my son!" She spluttered, rising from the table with some difficulty.
"Call it payment in kind." Harry said dryly.
"You are bluffing." Elena trembled, and with surprising speed given that some of her limbs were tightly bound, she flew at Harry, seizing the buttons of his suit. "You were always good at bluffing. You are bluffing now, I know you are."
Harry shoved her off distastefully, wondering just what he had ever seen in this reptilian woman. She collapsed into a cowering mess at his feet. And she had called Ruth pathetic. Shaking his head at the irony, and ignoring the protests of his knees, Harry stooped down until their faces were a hairbreadth away.
"Look into my eyes." He ordered quietly.
She did not obey.
"I said..." He spat, grabbing Elena's chin and shoving it upwards until their gazes met. "Look. Into. My. Eyes."
Dimitri looked on, torn between admiration and dismay at his former boss's breaking techniques. He had known there was a dark side to Harry Pearce; not only was it legendary amongst MI5 recruits, but he had seen it first-hand during the brutal interrogations of Willard and Coaver. He came across almost as a Jekyll and Hyde character. When one saw how tender he was with Ruth, how vulnerable he allowed himself to be around her, it was hard to believe that this was the same man. Yet, for all his misgivings, Dimitri had to remind himself of who exactly this woman was: a terrorist, a conspirator, a triple agent, and someone who had orchestrated the event that led to his friend lying bloodied and broken on her kitchen floor – an image which would probably continue to haunt him for the rest of his days. And with those thoughts came an inner peace, which enabled him to stay calm and still as Harry washed his soul clean of the woman who had plagued him for so long.
Finally, Elena did as Harry commanded, but the revulsion she saw caused her to recoil back in fright.
"Do my eyes say that I am bluffing?" Harry asked, chillingly softly.
The red-head swallowed hard and shook her head.
"Then you know that whatever happens to Sasha will be up to you?"
Body thrumming and lip trembling, she nodded.
Dimitri consulted his watch. "Fifteen seconds, Harry."
Harry glared at Elena once more, stood for the last time, and brushed off his trousers.
"Goodbye, Elena." He announced with finality.
Taking that as his cue, Dimitri snatched a parting glance at the scene before him, before crossing to the metal door and knocking twice. Not a second later, it swung open and the burly guard appeared. He looked at the two suits standing at the exit, then at the bedraggled prisoner rocking and cowering on the floor. If he had any thoughts on the matter, he did not pass comment. Instead, he merely nodded at the Spooks, strode towards the prisoner and hauled her to her feet. Without another word, he yanked her from the room and down the corridor from whence they came. Harry and Dimitri exchanged a significant glance, certain that that was the last they would ever see of Elena Gavrik.
"I still don't get why Harry wanted to see Elena again." Calum mused, watching rainclouds disappear into the distance through the wing mirror. "What more could they possibly have to say to one another? She was an asset who turned out to be a triple agent. Boom – end of story."
Erin flicked the windscreen wipers off as they drove into altogether brighter weather. The sun broke free of its cloudy restraints and began to filter warm light into the vehicle, prompting Calum to roll down the passenger window and stick out his hand, revelling in the lukewarm air between his fingers.
"Cal, don't do that." Erin muttered irritably, smacking him briefly on the shoulder before returning her attention to the road. "It's dangerous."
Calum smirked, "Seriously? We were nearly blown up a couple of days ago, and yesterday you were held at gunpoint by a mad Russian terrorist. And you're telling me it's dangerous to stick my hand out of a car window?"
Erin flipped him off, hissing a small, "Shut up."
"Tetchy, tetchy." Calum teased, though he withdrew his hand anyway. "You're not still boiling over about Beth Bailey are you?"
Erin merely grunted in response.
"So you had to eat a slice of humble pie with Beth. So what? We need her."
"I felt like a complete idiot." Erin huffed miserably.
"Well maybe you shouldn't have behaved like a complete idiot the first time you were made Section Head." Calum told her, a devilish grin spreading across his face.
"Calum, I'm not above throwing you out of this car." Erin snapped.
She was in no mood for Calum's twisted sense of humour. Last night, she had been forced to negotiate with a rightfully sore Beth Bailey, who had been on the verge of putting the phone down until she had mentioned the dire situation Harry and Ruth were in. Plus Erin had had very little sleep during the night, what with preparing and applying a last minute disguise for Harry. And on top of that, at about three in the morning she had had a call requesting that she once again fill in the position of Acting Section Head until they found another replacement. Suffering from a severe lack of sleep, and without really knowing what she was saying, she had accepted. Yet in the cold light of day, she just remembered all the stress the position had brought. And to top it all off, the section's main current priority was locating any remaining members of the Anglo-Russian Terror circle – which, of course, meant Harry and Ruth. In other words, she was trying to scupper the work of her own employees.
One small mercy was that she, Dimitri and Calum had been given the morning off to recover from their ordeal with the Gavriks', and their 'unjustified' time on the run. But the pressure was on to drive all the way to Hastings (to meet with Harry's contact), and back again by the afternoon.
"Oh, come on, Erin, dear." Calum said lightly, clearly loving every moment of this. "You've got to admit: there's something really rather poetic about how full circle we've come. How did you begin our time in Section D? You were Section Head. What's one of the first big decisions you made? You sacked Beth Bailey. But," He continued, holding up a finger delightedly. "this is where it gets good. What did you sack Beth Bailey for? Going rogue to help an old friend who was mixed up in some bad business. What are you and what are we doing now? You're Section Head again and we've gone rogue to help some friends who are mixed up in some bad business! It's hilarious! You couldn't write it!"
"Yes, Calum. It's hilarious." Erin growled. "I'm laughing my head off, can't you see?"
Calum took one look at Erin's seething expression and decided it might be best to simmer down.
"Alright, alright. Shutting up." He muttered hastily, facing the window to breathe in some fresh air.
It was certainly fresher than the stench of London pollution. On the horizon they could see the sea, twinkling invitingly beneath the peeping sun. Calum wondered absently why he chose to live in the big city. His accommodation cost a bomb, he often had no time for a social life, and his workplace frequently put his friends' lives on the line. Then he remembered that his job also involved playing around with the newest, coolest technology, and though he hadn't a massive wage or a girlfriend, that was enough for now.
"Do you think the disguise worked?" Erin asked suddenly, filling the awkward silence.
"Yeah, 'course it did." Calum shrugged airily. "And I know I programmed the cameras at the facility perfectly. It should run pretty smoothly unless Harry or Admiral Pretty Boy messed up the times we agreed."
"What did you do exactly?" Erin asked curiously, having been so busy with her make-up job to fully process Calum's task.
"Essentially, the cameras in all Interview Rooms in the stockade will go dark for about twenty minutes."
"But won't security notice and come running?"
"Nah." Calum said confidently, leaning casually against the passenger door. "The cameras will seem to function as normal. Except what they'll actually be doing is looping about three seconds of footage. Fortunately, the cameras don't feed back sound. I checked. If they did, they'd probably be listening to about twenty minutes worth of 'Hello's'."
Even Erin could not help but give an appreciative nod, "That's... actually pretty smart."
"I try." Calum grinned.
His friend stole a quick glance at him and rolled her eyes.
"How are you so bloody chipper this morning when you've had about as much sleep as I have?"
"Because today is the best day of my life." Calum answered gleefully, his face lighting up like an excited schoolboy in a sweet shop.
Erin cringed, "Seriously, Cal. Your obsession with this man is borderline creepy."
"Erin," He whined. "The man's a genius... an MI5 legend! Think how he saved our backs with the Salenko op' and then with the plane the other day – and that was just from inventing the tooth job!"
"I understand that," Erin granted, checking her GPS before turning down a street of white-washed semi-detached houses. "He's a very impressive man, and we all owe him a lot. But you're acting like you're about to meet Beyoncé."
Calum frowned, "Who's Beyoncé?"
"Wow." She smirked, unsure of whether to laugh or not. "And you called Tariq Masood a geek."
"Are you calling me a geek?" Calum asked, sounding almost offended.
This time Erin did laugh. And oh boy, had she needed that laugh.
"Let me think," She pondered, reaching the end of the main street and turning onto a gravelly, single-track road. "You have no love life, your favourite song is Lime in the Coconut, you get your jollies from messing around with computers, and your idol is a retired MI5 technician. I'd call that a big 'yes'."
Calum blinked, thinking over his friend's rather accurate summation.
"You think I need a new favourite song?" He frowned.
"Forget it." Erin spluttered, shaking her head. She feared there was no hope for her snarky yet socially oblivious friend.
"Excuse me, but Lime in the Coconut is catchy song."
"I swear, Cal, if you start singing Lime in the Coconut, I'm going to take out my gun and shoot you in the foot."
"Okay," Calum muttered wide-eyed, raising his hands in surrender. "Because that's not a huge overreaction at all.
Erin's concentration strayed from the conversation as they approached a small Y road, neither path looking especially well-kept. She consulted the GPS, but it unhelpfully informed her that she had reached her destination.
"So much for technology." She muttered, impatiently tugging the useless GPS off the dashboard and thrusting it into a bemused Calum's lap.
Now running only on gut instinct, her keen eyes located faint tyre tracks on the left-hand road and she resolved to follow them instead. It turned out to be the right choice. A little less than a mile down the track, they came face to face with a small, stone cottage. Erin pulled up, removed the keys from the ignition and took a moment to gather her surroundings.
The cottage's peeling red door contrasted sharply with the dark ivy leaves that were crawling up the front of the building. A beautifully tended garden sprouting flowers of all varieties circled the outside of the house. Entirely free from civilisation, the cottage's only neighbour was a small, doorless woodshed, which was laden with damp, roughly chopped logs. The spot was so picturesque it might have been ripped from a book of fairy tales. Only the clapped-out Jetta, parked up by a thatch of bushes, clashed with the vintage theme.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Calum murmured doubtfully.
"It's what he said." Erin shrugged, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. Calum followed, a little more cautiously.
Erin knocked on the door once, left a beat, then knocked four more times and waited. At first there was no answer, but then they heard footsteps resounding against hard wooden stairs. The footsteps grew closer and closer, and then stopped. Frowning, Erin noticed a small peep hole embedded in the door, and realised what the man inside was waiting for.
"Cal, show your ID." She muttered.
For once, her friend did as he was told. She too rifled through her pockets for her badge and pressed it against the spyhole.
"My name is Erin Watts and this is Calum Reed. We spoke on the phone." She called.
There was a pause, then a few seconds later they heard a key in the lock and four heavy bolts sliding across the inside of the door. Erin and Calum shared a fleeting look but said nothing, waiting for their contact to show themselves. They glanced back just in time to see the door swing open, revealing a furtive, yet kind-faced older man. He was dressed in a blue soft-knit jumper and brown corduroy trousers, which seemed to be fading in the knees. His hair was greying and blatantly receding, but there was no mistaking him from the archive photos.
"Malcolm Wynn-Jones?" Erin checked.
The older man offered a half-smile and nodded briskly: "I think you'd better come in."
He stood back from the door to allow them passage and Erin quickly entered. Calum, on the other hand, stood stock still, his eyes as round as saucers, his mouth hanging open in awe.
"Is your friend alright?" Malcolm asked warily, leading Erin to turn and see what he meant.
"Oh. He's just star struck." She said with a roll of the eyes. "Come on, Cal, the nice man is letting us in."
"You're... you're Malcolm Wynn-Jones." Calum managed to stutter.
Malcolm blinked back, astonished, "Yes, I know I am."
"I'm a... a..." Calum trailed off, speechless for the very first time in his life.
"He's a big fan." Erin explained, though Malcolm, quite rightly, only looked bewildered by this. "Come on, Cal."
Calum still did not move, standing rooted to the spot, grinning like an idiot. Erin grunted, seized a fistful of Calum's jacket and shoved him inside so that the older man could relock the door.
"Come on in."
Malcolm led them through a fairly empty, darkened hallway into the living room. It was sparsely decorated, with only two armchairs, a coffee table, a standard lamp and a large bookcase, but it seemed to suit this unassuming man perfectly.
Calum was still staring agog at Malcolm.
"He's very quiet, your friend, isn't he?" He commented, rocking uneasily on the balls of his feet.
Erin snorted, "Hardly. I can't get him to shut up most of the time. You're just special."
"Okay." Malcolm murmured, sounding more unnerved than ever. He swiftly checked his watch. "You needed to get back by the Afternoon Briefing, is that right?"
"Yes. I'm afraid we haven't got much time."
"Let's get started then, shall we?" He said, sounding a lot more confident as they descended into the world of work. He rather reminded Erin of Ruth.
Without another word, he led them back through the living room and up a flight of wooden stairs – the stairs they had heard from outside. Framed and balanced precariously on the wall were what appeared to be hand-pressed wild flowers, with the scientific names written at the bottom in thin black scrawl. They passed a couple of bedrooms, which seemed to be as sparsely decorated as the downstairs. It was only when they entered the final room that Calum finally spoke.
"Oh, I am in Heaven!" He enthused, gazing around the space with wild, excited eyes.
Though it was by far the smallest room in the house, it was also the most crowded. Attached to three of the four walls was an enormous work bench, which was absolutely covered with computers, radios, wires, screws, scraps of metal, microchips, screwdrivers, touch-screen devices and other miscellaneous tech.
"Is that a Circadian Watch?" Calum blurted out, shoving past Erin to reach the item he had spotted. However when he got there, his eyes fell on another box-like metal object. "Wait, is that a hand-held printer?" And then he noticed the large, red, complex-looking telescope sitting on the tripod facing the window. "Oh my God, is that a SkyProdigy Automatic?!"
He scurried to the telescope and without waiting for permission, began to fiddle with a panel of buttons that were attached to the tripod.
"It is." Malcolm confirmed, once he had finally adjusted to the shock of hearing Calum talk
"Can it really locate asteroids in three minutes?" Calum demanded eagerly, thrusting his eye to the eyepiece.
"Less than three once you know how." Malcolm answered proudly, and Erin recognised the fire that sparked up in his eyes. It was the same passion with which Calum talked when he reeled off facts about programming. Facts that Erin just did not understand. She had entered the Den of Geek, and she had to put a stop to this madness before they strayed away from the matter at hand.
"If we could get down to business, boys." She called pointedly.
Calum peered out from the telescope, his bottom lip jutting out sullenly, whilst Malcolm, altogether more of a gentleman, cleared his throat and gave a brisk nod.
"Right, yes, of course."
He tugged open the draw of a nearby filing cabinet and took out three large, thick packages, handing them to Erin.
"Three false passports, birth certificates, references, emergency cash, and," He added, also taking out some soft, pink woollen fabric and draping it over Erin's arm. "a blanket for the baby."
Erin's heart practically melted, "Oh, Malcolm, you shouldn't have."
Malcolm shuffled his feet awkwardly, avoiding her eyes, "My mother made it for me when I was a baby – except I turned out to be a boy, so it just went into storage. I thought it might as well be used."
How could this sweet, somewhat self-conscious man have possibly worked for something as cutthroat and aggressive as the Security Services?
"Well, it's very kind of you, thank you." Erin smiled softly, before indicating the three packages. "And thank you for these."
The older man shrugged, "It's the least I could do." His expression turned slightly forlorn. "I wish somebody had contacted me sooner. I could have helped more. I thought at least Harry and Ruth would have trusted me with this but... Never mind, pardon a sentimental old fool." He cleared his throat again, and moved to a nearby computer. "It's the game – I do understand. When you're in the midst of something like this, you don't know who you can really trust."
"Harry named you specifically because he felt he could trust you." Erin assured him.
"He's my oldest friend." Malcolm murmured, sifting through a series of files on the computer's hard drive. "And Ruth is very dear to me. I had no idea they were in this amount of trouble. I don't often receive the news here, you see. I'm a rather out of civilisation's way. If I had known..."
"Hey, there's no need to feel guilty." Erin told him firmly, handing Calum the three packages to rummage through. "You've helped them more than you could ever know – just by doing this."
"Yeah, these passports are top grade." Calum commented, turning serious for the first time since seeing his idol on the doorstep. "Even I couldn't do as good a job as these. No one would know they weren't the real deal."
Malcolm smiled self-deprecatingly, "That's very kind." He paused, glancing up at Erin, before uttering quietly, "I'm very glad they found their way to each other in the end. It's a long story but I rather fear that I contributed to the thing that stopped them years ago." Erin could only smile politely in response. "May I ask, what did they call their little one?"
"Charlotte. Charlotte Pearce."
"Lovely." He beamed. "Though it's sad that the poor child might never know her real name."
"Joanna Knight." Calum began reading from the false passport. "Mother and father: Henry and Rebecca Knight."
"It's slightly self-indulgent, I admit." Malcolm murmured enigmatically, and though Erin shot him an inquisitive glance, he shook his head with a sad smile. "Don't worry, Harry and Ruth will know what it means."
"Maybe they'll be able to make Charlotte her middle name." Calum suggested, carefully sealing the packages back up. "Lots of people answer by their middle names."
"Yes." The older man replied, seeming a little cheered by this thought. "Yes, maybe."
His hand ran expertly across the computer keyboard some more before he finally brought up what appeared to be details of a bank transfer.
"I've created a covert account and transferred emergency funds so that they'll be able to function." He explained. "It's not a massive amount – the equivalent of an MI5 payoff, plus pension. But it'll tide them over until they can find a more sustainable solution."
"That's perfect, Malcolm, thank you."
"That seems to just about cover everything, unless there's something more I can do...?"
Erin bit her lip, hating to bother this man who, judging from the bags under his eyes, had quite plainly stayed up all night getting things ready for them. But, then again, he had just offered and they were in a very deep hole.
"Well, there were a couple more things, actually." She said slowly.
"Oh, yes?"
"Do you still have contacts at the mortuary in London?"
"Yes. Why?"
"How do you fancy one more op' – for old time's sake?"
Harry peeled off the excess rubber from his prosthetic make-up and discarded the tools of his disguise into a screwed-up carrier bag. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road, Dimitri passed him his own false ID. Harry added it to the bag and flung it into the backseat.
"All I can say is that I hope Calum took out those cameras when he said he would." He said fervently.
"If his work is anywhere near as good as Erin's prosthetics job, then I'm sure it was spot-on." Dimitri answered quietly. "And you have no idea how much it pains me to admit that."
"Will you and Calum ever get on?"
"Who knows?" Dimitri answered brusquely.
Harry frowned, feeling distinctly on-edge. Since leaving the stockade, Dimitri had been quiet – too quiet – and his attitude almost cold. Still, Harry decided that he would not pry just yet, but let the conversation play out. As it was, it did not take long for him to work out the reason behind Dimitri's strange new attitude.
"Don't forget to dispose of those things." He reminded the young man, indicating the incriminating plastic bag.
It was then that all pretence at civility shattered.
"Yeah, I know, Harry. I'm not a complete imbecile!" Dimitri suddenly snapped.
There was a long, tense silence. Rather than be taken aback, Harry exhaled wearily, realising that he should have been expecting this.
"You're angry." He acknowledged softly.
Dimitri snorted, and manoeuvred the car a little too vigorously around a roundabout.
"I wonder what gave me away." He muttered humourlessly.
"You're angry that I didn't tell you that Elena and I were once... lovers."
"Pretty much, yeah." Dimitri snarled, honking his horn violently as a reckless driver cut straight across him into another lane. "It would have been nice to know before I risked the necks of people I care about."
Harry sighed again, his shoulders drooping as he went from feeling fifty-seven to ninety-seven in three seconds flat. He had never seen the normally laidback Dimitri so irate. He had seen him reproachful, testy, annoyed and even (falsely) downright threatening, but he had never known him to be properly livid. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Is it because of the triple agent thing? After this whole mess, you still can't trust me properly again. Is that it?"
"No, of course not. I suppose I... I just wasn't sure that you would help me if you knew the... the intimate details of the situation."
"Intimate." Dimitri grunted. "Well that's one word for it: your having it off with an asset-turned-traitor and quite possibly having a child with her – "
"A child that we have just clearly established is not mine." Harry interjected loudly.
"Well whoop-dee-doo!" Dimitri cheered sarcastically. "It was completely worth us all risking arrest just for you to ask that one stupid question!"
"It wasn't a stupid question!" Harry retorted, his own temper flaring. "Not to me! And not to Ruth!"
Another long silence reigned, during which both men attempted to take a step back from the brink. Dimitri craned his neck to catch sight of a nearby signpost. He was following an unfamiliar route, planned by Calum to purposely avoid traffic cameras. Unfortunately, it meant mostly one way streets and queues a mile long. Snagged up in a particularly lengthy queue, he yanked his handbrake on and leaned wearily back against the headrest, contemplating Harry's words. He waited for further explanation, but wasn't given one. It became clear that the older man was waiting for him to initiate the next move.
"What do you mean?" Dimitri asked impatiently.
He turned to stare at Harry, and was struck dumb by the obvious change in his former boss. Harry's arm was resting against the passenger door, his hand splayed out over his tired face. He wasn't crying, but he looked incredibly close. And Dimitri saw not the dark and dangerous being that had driven Elena Gavrik into the depths of defeat, but the softer, gentler man, who had treated Ruth with such tenderness that awful night they found her; who had insisted on staying by her side every single minute in the hospital until she woke up. He no longer looked like an imposing and highly experienced spook boss, but a man of his age: verging on sixty, wearisome, fed up with the anguish, the deceit and the way the job sucked the life out of anyone who let it. It led him to inwardly question how exactly Harry managed to compartmentalise these different versions of himself. Which man was the real Harry Pearce? Or were they really one and the same? Were these contrasting faces what his friends saw in he, Dimitri, after his faux defection to the other side? So then, were he and Harry Pearce really so different? He was so deeply immersed in his confusing thoughts that he had to physically shake himself as Harry began to speak.
"The fact that this was the last chance for me to get the truth from Elena about Sasha's parentage – well... that reason is obvious. But think about it, Dimitri," The elder man murmured. "Ruth... Ruth and I are planning to leave the country together; to start a new life with our daughter. How painful do you think it would be for Ruth to be beside me each day, to maybe... eventually... wake up with me each morning and – ?"
"Too much information, Harry." Dimitri called, trying desperately not to imagine his two older friends together in such a way.
"Sorry, sorry." Harry apologised, frowning and shaking his head at his own inappropriateness. He ran a hand across his tired, reddened eyes and Dimitri wondered just how much sleep Harry had actually had in the last week. "Sorry. But you get the idea. How painful do you think it would be for her do those things... for her to heal – and I mean properly heal – when she knew that my son, a small part of me, raped her? I... I don't honestly know if she could cope with that. And Charlotte – Ruth might see her each day and be reminded of –"
"But I don't think she would, Harry." Dimitri interrupted, though much, much more softly than before. "Look, I'm assuming Ruth already knew about Sasha's alleged parentage." Harry nodded in confirmation. "Well then... I completely get where you're coming from... I do. But like Erin said, contrary to popular belief, Ruth's a lot stronger than people give her credit for. She's proved it time and time again."
Dimitri thought back to that moment at Doghouse 3 – when Calum had first announced that Sasha Gavrik had been one of her attackers. Now that he really examined the memory; Ruth had been extraordinarily distressed by the news. At the time, he had figured that she was just alarmed that one of the perpetrators was the son of Harry's asset. Now, he realised, it had hit a lot closer to home than that.
"Ruth was upset when she found out that Sasha was one of the four who... you know." Dimitri admitted quietly. "But she got herself under control and once she had done that, do you know what she said? She said: 'right now, all I want to do is help Harry.' I promise you that's what she said." He paused for emphasis, before adding gently: "She didn't see it in that way, Harry. Maybe at first she was a little shocked. But in the end, she got over it and she fought to help the man she loves."
The queue ahead began to move and Dimitri released the handbrake to crawl forwards.
"Honestly, I don't think it would have made much difference for her in terms of being with you. She loves you too bloody much to let it get in the way. More than you know, I reckon." He shrugged, rather glad that he had the road to focus on at that moment in time, such was his embarrassment at speaking so candidly. "But I get now why you did it. And you're right. Maybe knowing the truth will help her heal."
Keeping one hand firmly over the lower half of his face so that the younger man would not see his chin tremble, Harry just nodded. He was more grateful for Dimitri's insight and understanding than the ex-SBS officer would ever realise.
"Thank you." He said gruffly, once he felt composed enough to speak.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, safe in the knowledge that their quarrel was over. As they finally passed a set of road works, they began to pick up more speed, and Harry was content to just stare out of the window. He observed the grey morning and the pregnant black clouds that warned of upcoming rain. He loosely wondered whether he would miss the damp and dismal English weather.
"Out of curiosity, Harry..." Dimitri began, effectively interrupting his train of thought.
"Hhmm?"
"... What would you have done if it turned out that Sasha was your son?"
It was a good and fair question, but Harry realised almost immediately that he didn't have an answer. Ever since discovering Elena's betrayal, and following his showdown with Elena and Ilya back at that dilapidated house-turned-prison, he had suspected that Sasha's parentage was just one more lie.
"I'm not sure." Harry answered truthfully. "But it's irrelevant anyway. I think as soon as I found out about Elena's involvement, I just... knew... in my heart of hearts that he wasn't mine."
"That's a pretty big supposition."
"Not supposition. More like intuition."
Dimitri nodded, silently accepting the other man's correction.
"Do you think Elena will blab?" He asked instead.
Harry gazed pensively through the windscreen. He caught sight of a raindrop as it hit the bottom of the window, swiftly followed by a second, then a third, a fourth and then more and more in quick succession until it began to rain heavily enough to warrant Dimitri flipping on the windscreen wipers. It took him a few seconds to locate them. It wasn't his car, but a hire under a false name. After all, his own vehicle had been blown to bits along with Carl Bilberry.
"No, I don't think so." Harry replied at last. "She lost her husband, her ideals, her money, her dignity... Sasha's the only thing she has left, and I don't think even Elena's radical enough to risk his safety – not just for the satisfaction of revenge."
"What will you tell Ruth?"
It had taken the better part of the night for Dimitri, Erin and Calum to arrange the little escapade, and a fair proportion of the morning for Harry and Dimitri to get to the stockade and back. Even whilst drowsy on soporific pain medication, Ruth was bound to have noticed Harry's absence.
"For the moment, not much."
"But you are going to tell her, right?"
"Of course. It was a virtually pointless exercise otherwise. I'll tell her one day soon. Just not today. And probably not tomorrow. She's got enough on her plate right now."
Dimitri could hardly fault Harry's logic there. Adjusting to motherhood whilst also being on the run was hardly a stroll in the park. So he just gave a grim nod and carried on driving. They drove for nearly half an hour in complete silence, and all the while a horrible thought niggled at his mind. It was only when he saw the hospital signpost that he realised he was running out of time to voice his worry.
"Harry." He began tentatively.
"Hhmm?"
"I need you to promise me something."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the older man raise his eyebrows quizzically before prompting with another, "Hhmm?"
"The way you were with Elena, back there." Dimitri muttered tightly. "However, things go with you and Ruth in the future... I need you to promise me that you'll never be like that with her."
Harry's inquisitive gaze softened. It was touching how protective the young man had become of Ruth. However, he could not deny that he was a little hurt that Dimitri thought him capable of hurting Ruth like that. Although his interrogation of Elena had been mainly fuelled by genuine anger, a good fraction of it – the more physically aggressive parts – had been a role. A role he had perfected over thirty-odd years of conducting interrogations. He knew that he had a fierce temper, and that poor Ruth had been on the receiving end a number of times, especially during her early years on the Grid. But he had never done anything to intentionally hurt her, and he never would.
Plus, Ruth and Elena were practically polar opposites. Both were clever, but in entirely different ways: Elena was crafty and manipulative, whilst Ruth was nearly always the brainiest person in the room. Elena was outwardly sociable but ice cold inside, whereas Ruth was reserved yet full of compassion. Elena revelled in compliments, whilst Ruth preferred to shrink back into the shadows to avoid being seen. But Harry had seen her. He had seen her for a long time. And now, his once lustful desire towards Elena paled into nothingness when compared to the way he felt about Ruth. The sheer magnitude of his love for her often terrified him; he had never felt this way before and he knew that it made him vulnerable. Yet he would not trade those feelings, that dear woman, for anything. And he could attest, with absolute certainty, that he would never treat her cruelly as he had just done with Elena.
"I can promise you that whole-heartedly, Dimitri." Harry swore earnestly.
Dimitri pulled up into the hospital parking lot, and looked over at his former boss. His eyes were no longer dark and dangerous, but soft and tender and so full of love that Dimitri knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was telling the truth.
Translations:
"dryannaya suka" - "drippy bitch"
"Po'shyol 'na hui" - "Fuck you!"
Many thanks to you lovely reviewers for sticking with the story! I just had to include Malcolm as I always found him one of the most endearing Spooks characters. More will come very soon as I already have half of the next chapter written. All the best x