Chapter 13 - Pactum Serva
Make a friend of the wolf, but keep the axe ready. The proverb surfaced from the depth's of Harry's memory, though he could not recall where he had heard it. His time in Berlin, perhaps? Whatever the origin, he was certain that no one had ever said invite the wolf into the house. And yet, that's exactly what had transpired. The result was an aberration, an affront to Harry's entire career. With one single decree, an elected official (no doubt destined to serve one term) had erased decades of hard won advancements in the field of counter espionage. A betrayal of all the years that Harry had spent in Berlin, his work in Cologne, the ensuing fall out from Omega, nullified. Fighting a war without borders, conscripting informants, evading detection, the strain on his marriage all for nought. It was the last straw. But then, wolves were known for toppling houses of straw. The Cold War had left ice in Harry's veins where Russia was concerned. A KGB officer on the Grid. Ridiculous. Or FSB as they called themselves these days. They could dress themselves up with whatever letters they wished; a Russian was a Russian. It was tantamount to treason. Harry should have known better than to expect more from Towers. Like all politicians, the man possessed an evolving loyalty, hiding his lack of backbone behind diplomatic soundbites. But to have his own analyst turn against him - it cracked the rungs of command. Inviting the enemy into the heart of the operation. What had she been thinking? And to do so without his consent, choosing to go behind his back. She knew his past, what he had sacrificed. It smacked of gross indifference and insubordination.
Ruth stood in front of him, the personnel of the Grid blithely unaware of the hissing whispers of their conversation. Harry poured every ounce of his self-control into maintaining his mask of cool indifference. They circled the edge of an argument, threatening to be drawn into the maelstrom of personal grievance. It was only the timely interruption of Tariq that had pulled them back.
The Russian was on his way.
The news heightened Harry's already sour mood. He cast daggers of contempt at Tariq's retreating form. The young man was completely oblivious to the situation. The Cold War meant nothing to his generation. What did he know of a city split in two by a wall, living beneath the cloud of possible nuclear war, the paranoia of always second-guessing active measures. Not to mention what effect the presence of a Russian officer would have on Lucas. How would the man function knowing that a comrade of his former captors was welcomed on the Grid?
Ruth stirred beside Harry. Perfidious woman. Where was her loyalty? Talking to Towers without his consent. It was bad enough that Towers had felt he could go around Harry. He would brook no insubordination especially in front of the Russians. The levers of command must be maintained. Ruth made to leave. He was not done with her.
"My office. Now."
The sharp intake of Ruth's breath reached his ears. She would be wise to gird herself. He did not look to see if she had followed him to his office. He knew that she would.
"Close the door."
Ruth obeyed his command, a look of dread on her face. Harry abjured the comfort of his chair, deciding instead to lean against the desk. Their previous conversation had left him unmoored, unable to wholly settle down and concentrate. He crossed his arms, taking a moment to compose himself. He watched her squirm. Good. His eyes narrowed with the steely focus of a prosecutor pinning the defendant to the stand.
"Do you think I'm obstructive?"
Ruth held his gaze, refusing to answer, possessing the intelligence to sense that his question was a trap. Her silence fueled his anger. He forged on.
"Pompous?"
She looked down at the floor, but one raised brow betrayed her answer.
"A dinosaur?" he demanded.
"Harry," she spoke calmly in an attempt to mollify him. "What's this about?"
"Those were the words that the Russian Ambassador used to describe me. And the Home Secretary concurred. I wondered if you were in agreement with them?"
"Why would you ask that?"
"Surely, you must have discussed my attitude when you talked to him?"
"We didn't discuss you, Harry. Towers asked my opinion on the Paroxocybin, and I said it would be beneficial to know what intelligence the Russians have."
"So you suggested we invite an FSB officer onto the Grid."
"Of course not," she refuted. "Towers misinterpreted my words. Obviously, he's playing a political gambit, hoping to sweeten relations with Russia."
"Exactly. That is why we share intelligence judiciously. To make sure it isn't used for political gain."
"I know that, Harry."
"It has taken me years to master that particular skill, and yet here you are already proficient in it."
"I do possess a modicum of discretion."
"Where others are concerned, apparently, because it didn't occur to you to tell me about your conversation with Towers. I'm certain he is very appreciative of your 'discretion'."
"You're not asking that I run every conversation by you."
"No, only the ones that might give people the impression that I have no idea what my team is doing. As you can imagine, it doesn't instil confidence in my leadership abilities."
Ruth shuffled her feet, the wind of defiance falling from her sails.
"I didn't think the fallout from the conversation would be quite so dramatic."
"It must be nice to know that your words carry such weight."
Ruth narrowed her eyes, setting her target in sight. "At least with someone, yes, it is."
Her last sentence snapped the one remaining string of restraint that held Harry's anger in check. He pushed himself away from his desk and launched himself in her direction, coming to stand millimetres away from her face. Ruth blinked but held her ground. He would commend her for her strength if she was not using it against him.
"You talked to the Home Secretary behind my back," Harry hissed. "Countermanded my order to spare Aisbek on the ground, and now we have an FSB officer on the Grid. Our relationship does not give you the liberty to question my decisions and reverse my commands."
"Relationship?" she asked with bewilderment. "What relationship?"
Her question momentarily derailed him. Harry struggled to get back on track.
"Association then," he amended, waving his hand, dismissing the detail. "The point is we cannot continue like this."
"I agree. I believe I mentioned that earlier."
"Good. Then in the future, I can depend on you to support my decisions and run any outside conversations through me."
"I'm not some sort of marionette with strings to pull."
"I didn't say that you were. You just agreed-"
"I agreed that we cannot go on like this."
It dawned on him that they were having two different conversations. And if left to its current trajectory, she would take it down a path that he did not wish to tread.
"We stick to work," he cautioned. "Remember?".
"That's the problem. We need a working relationship. I mean, a way of working together. With proper boundaries."
Her tone of infinite patience riled him, leaving him feeling patronised. He was not a schoolboy brought up before the Head Mistress, he was the Head of Counterterrorism. It stoked his frustration, he wanted her to be as outraged by developments as he was. A bloody Russian officer was on the Grid as a direct result of her actions. She should be suing for his favour, not arguing with him. He didn't have time to spend on the minutiae of their interactions.
"How about this for a boundary? I'm your boss and you are my analyst."
Ruth's mouth clamped tight, her lips drawing into a straight line, her spine stretching as she stood taller. The words had left his mouth before his brain could weigh the consequences of their impact. He didn't care. She was his subordinate. The integrity of the team needed to be maintained. If boundaries were an issue, it was fortuitous that she had declined his proposal.
"Are you saying that you don't trust my judgement?" she asked.
"You have certainly demonstrated that you don't trust mine."
"I'm just suggesting that you may want to consider that your decisions might be tainted by past experiences."
"Isn't that what experience is for? To inform decisions. Or would you rather I depend on emotion." He directed the words straight at her.
"That's my point," she said, her voice eerily level. "I think that your recent decisions have been driven by emotion."
It was a slap in the face. The ability to remove emotion from his decision-making process had always been a source of pride. Compartmentalisation was his default setting, the cornerstone of his character. Granted, anger may have coloured his reasoning in the past but he had overcome such hotheaded tendencies. For her to insinuate that his rationale was now ruled by something as capricious as emotion was the epitome of insult. A ball of fire formed in his stomach, rising to his chest. If he was not careful, it would erupt into fury and only serve to illustrate her point. He gave a slow release of air through his nostrils.
"Go," Harry commanded, turning his back on her. He moved to the other side of his desk. "Lucas and I need to figure out a way to deal with this incursion."
There was no pause in Ruth's departure. The door swished open and closed. Harry yanked out his chair and planted himself in his seat. He would not admit that he had erred in letting Aibek escape, he would not apologise for his mistrust of the Russians, and he would not concede that he was stung by her betrayal. His fingers curled around his unsuspecting computer mouse, and he absently tapped it against the top of his desk. And he most certainly would not acknowledge the pang of jealousy caused by the fact that Ruth had sided with Towers over him. What was next - a date? Harry squeezed the mouse. His current mood was in no way a result of her rejection. He was the master of his passions. The walls of his professional world needed reinforcement. If she wanted boundaries he would give her boundaries.
.
A sharp gust of wind swept along the river, nipping at all who travelled along its banks. Harry walked at a steady pace, impervious to the sting of the elements. He had said his piece, he could do no more. Staring straight ahead, he resisted the temptation to look back and see if she had followed him. In his mind's eye, he saw her standing on the spot, watching as he faded into the distance. She was as stubborn and tenacious as he. Even at the end of the operation, she had still questioned his last decision, reminding him that he might lose his job; the consequence of revealing the location of the Poroxocybin. It didn't matter, it had been the right move. He trusted Kirby, knew the mettle of the man. Kirby's daughter had kept their pact, even though it had resulted in her death. Kirby would do the same. Leave the man her legacy. It was little compensation but it was the least that Harry could do to make up for the man's loss.
Harry inhaled a deep breath, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He had unburdened a lie and in doing so had set himself free. For the first time in weeks, he had made a sound, rational decision. It meant that the prognosis for his judgement was improving; his instinct, though shaken, still had a faint pulse. A measure of confidence filled his steps. The Paroxocybin had been kept from enemy hands, the operation a success. Admittedly, there had been collateral damage. The girl, of course. Aibek. The Russian officer. A slow smile spread across Harry's face. But that was the price that needed to be paid.
The river coursed along beside him, constant, uncaring, wholly absorbed in its timeless tide. It made no matter to the river what Harry had accomplished. It existed outside of the mortal coil. Pedestrian traffic streamed around him, unaware that the theft of a deadly nerve agent had been thwarted. Harry glanced at the faces of passing strangers. No one looked at him. There was no one to share in his success, no one to congratulate him on outwitting the Russians, no medal for saving the world. Not even a friend to buy him a celebratory pint. Who could he tell? A hollow victory indeed. Harry dipped his head.
The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, and in that moment he knew that she was moving. It may have been a slight hitch in the breeze, or the pull of his collar, whatever the reason he sensed that she was walking behind him. She kept her distance, as she did in his dreams, not quite present, but always hovering on the periphery. He usually took it for granted that she trailed behind him; a spaniel, Juliet had called her. If she had known Ruth as he did, she would certainly have changed her characterization. On other occasions, he had relished the power of that dynamic, but today it carved out his chest. Walking alone was no way to travel.
Harry slowed his pace. He wanted more. There must be a place between colleagues and lovers, an island where they could both meet. Thoughts of broken walls and scattered boundaries filled his head. He corralled his thoughts, the heady days of romance had slipped between his fingers. They needed to find a way to work together. Don't turn around. Keep moving, keep it professional.
He turned around.
As Harry suspected she was a few paces behind him, head bowed against the sharp wind, hands buried in the pocket of her coat. Ruth looked up and stopped abruptly. The width of a paving stone stood between them, but it felt more like a chasm waiting for one of them to cross it. Thoughts played across the fine lines of her face, never quite transferring to her tongue. Harry waited. Why was she following him? Had she seen the error of her ways? Ready to admit the merits of his character? He discarded those questions in favour of a different one.
"Where are you going? he asked.
"Thames House."
"We're done for the day."
"I've left my bag there." Hands still in her pockets, she gave a self-effacing shrug. "Besides, I've no place else to go."
Harry tilted his head, remembering their conversation from a few weeks previous. "Everything alright at home?"
"Oh, yes, yes," she assured him. "Everything is fine with Beth. Better than I expected."
The news that the two flatmates were getting along was strangely disheartening. Harry still harboured the fantasy that Ruth's living situation would become so untenable that she would have no choice but to come to him. He studied her, wondering if their conversation had reached its natural conclusion and if he should resume his walk. Before he could decide, Ruth took a step toward him, the gap between them slightly diminished.
"Pactum Serva."
He looked at her trying to puzzle out her words.
"Keep the faith," she explained.
"I know what it means." But he did not know why she was saying them to him. An oath, a blessing, a curse? The workings of her mind eluded him.
"I think we have something like that," she continued.
"Yes. It's called Regnum Defende."
"No, I mean between you and me. A belief in something that is greater than the sum of our parts. And we would do anything to preserve it."
Harry's arms hung by his side, his fingers sliding against each other as he acknowledged her observation. It was true, how many times had he justified the price in order to gain the result. Defend the realm, whatever the cost. He knew that she would do the same. He let her continue.
"I was part of the lie too, Harry. I sat beside you and let a man believe that his daughter had broken her bond, forsaken her honour."
"Sometimes you have to do what's necessary," he added. "As I recall, you were the one that pointed that out."
"I know." Her head hung heavy with remorse.
"I didn't do it lightly," he assured her. "There is no greater grief than thinking you have been betrayed by the one you love."
He was speaking of her, and she knew it.
"I keep thinking about how Agamemnon sacrificed his daughter, Iphigenia, to win the Trojan War. I suppose daughters are more expendable than sons."
"That's not always true."
A self-deprecating smile flitted over her lips, and she glanced out over the river. She kept her gaze focused in that direction. "As we were sitting with Kirby in the interrogation room, feeding him false information, I wondered …" She took a breath, gathering the courage to finish the sentence. "I wondered if you would sacrifice your daughter?"
The back of Harry's throat clenched, and his tongue grew heavy. How could he answer? The question was an exercise in semantics; it came from a world of black and white, bereft of context.
"Sacrifice doesn't necessarily mean death," he chose his words carefully. "In some respects, I would say that I did sacrifice my life with Catherine."
Ruth nodded, her head bobbing, though not necessarily in agreement. She was well aware that Harry was trying to slip through a loophole. Her head rose and her eyes met his, and in that second Harry knew that he was now in the defendant's chair. He sensed her next question and braced himself.
"Would you sacrifice me?"
Plain and unadorned, the question was asked without emotion or fanfare. That did not stop it from being supremely loaded with snares and pitfalls; say yes and be seen as a heartless bastard, say no and appear weak. It was not a conversation to be had in the middle of a crowded walkway. They should be in a pub, alcohol warming their bones, sitting beside a burning hearth that invited such intimacies. Or in a down-filled bed, protected by the counterpane, the strength of his arms shielding her from the invasion of such thoughts. But those locations were not readily available, and by the look of it, appeared to be out of reach for the foreseeable future. Harry's head swivelled as he looked for an appropriate spot. He cupped Ruth's elbow and gently steered her away from the throng. He drew her up next to a wall, away from the edge of the river. In the enclave, the wind could not so easily find them. The stone was covered with a fine grime, a tag of graffiti marring the surface. Not the most romantic of places but it did offer them a modicum of privacy. How many other almost-lovers had stood on that spot, talking, arguing, yearning for something frustratingly out of their grasp. Not knowing what to do with his hand, Harry left it resting on her elbow. The collar of her coat was turned up against the chill. He wanted to take the fabric in his fingers and pull her near, feel the softness of her lips, silence all this morbid discussion. She had told him earlier it was not the time for self-reflection, and yet here they stood, positing on hypotheticals. He searched for a way to evade her question. The years of her absence were still fresh in his heart, surely that must count as a sacrifice.
"I gave you up once already."
"We both did that - to save each other. When Kirby had the chance to save his daughter's life, he refused to give up the location of the Paroxcybin"
"You're not my daughter." His words were gruff, bordering on dismissive. It was the other side of the coin that he did not want to visit. A fear that his role would be reduced to nothing more than a benevolent father figure. He had fulfilled that with Zoe and Jo; he would become that to Ruth. He could think of nothing to deter her, and she carried on with her questioning.
"You were willing to sacrifice….."
Harry's hand fell from her elbow. She didn't need to finish the sentence. They both knew that she meant her son. His choices of that day would always cast a shadow between them. The muscles of Harry's stomach knotted.
"Ruth…"
"I'd like to believe that if it meant saving lives, you would let me go. I wouldn't want to think that I was any more valuable than anyone who had gone before me."
"It's a mute question," he argued in a fierce whisper. "It would never happen. I would find a way to preserve both. I don't think you know the depths of my cunning."
"I think I do." A knowing smile graced her lips, and then quickly disappeared. "I may not agree with everything you do," she said. "But I will always stand behind you. You know that."
"I don't want you to stand behind me."
Ruth blinked at him in surprise, the sentiment a sharp contrast to his earlier diatribe in his office. Harry lowered his head, his face coming closer to hers.
"I want you to stand beside me. And not just in an interrogation room. Out here. Among the living."
Ruth's gaze fell down to the lapel of his coat. "Please don't ask the impossible of me."
"Forgive me if I ask the impossible of you, for you are asking the impossible of me. To work together, after all that has happened between us." His voice dropped to a rasp, ripe with the air of intimate persuasion. "We're more than that.
"I know. I know. " She raised her eyes to him. "I know who you are, Harry."
"Do you Ruth? You have only ever seen me on the Grid. I'm asking you to know me away from all this."
"I know you," she assured him, her words wrapped with conviction. " Your code, the rules you play by, your sense of honour. That's why I would expect nothing less of you than to sacrifice me if the situation warranted it."
Where was this coming from? She was no Cassandra, privy to a coming catastrophe unknown to mortals. "You can't know what is going to happen."
"We all have our time. Isn't it better to go knowing that you have saved someone?"
Harry leaned forward, his hand returning to her elbow. Her arm moved in sympathy, her hand rising to hold his forearm. They swayed for a moment, relishing the mutual contact, the first made in weeks. The breeze lifted her scent to his nostril, teasing him. Her cheek so close he could feel the warmth. Her voice was low, inviting him in.
"If anything ….if we were to…"
Harry closed his eyes, wanting her words to stop. Wanting the world to stop. Let them be the last ones standing. Ruth leaned against him, using him for support. Her lips moved, her whispered words floating to his ear.
"If we were to be together, it would make any such decision that much harder."
Harry opened his eyes and looked at her. Her eyes met his, silently pleading for him to agree. The knot in his stomach dissolved only to reform in his throat. She had uttered the words of a true spook. He had expressed it himself. No sacrifice was too great. Slowly, his hand fell from her elbow. She followed his action, releasing his arm. The chattering of passing strangers filtered into their space, prying into the sanctuary. Aware of their closeness, they stepped back from each other. The conversation had resolved little, at least to Harry's liking, but it had illuminated her thoughts.. It wasn't a rejection, it was a pact. An agreement to let the other one go. She was right, any deeper emotional involvement would only create a host of agonies should the situation arise. The air shifted, a kissing wind from the west, meant for everyone but him. Harry swallowed, dissolving the knot in his throat.
"We had better go get your bag."
"Yes," she nodded.
Harry moved away from the wall, giving up the communion that they had found there. He waited for a moment, casting his gaze out over the water. She came and stood beside him. Her place, her rightful place. Without a word, they each stepped forward, compasses pointing in the same direction. Looking straight ahead, Harry walked back to Thames House, taking small comfort that at least on that short journey Ruth was by his side.