Nothing surprised him anymore, he'd been in this game for far too long. Well at least that's what he'd believed until the previous evening, when he'd opened his front door and found Ruth Evershed standing on his doorstep. Years since he last seen her. A worried Ruth, who metaphorically speaking had been looking over her shoulder. Scared of something or more likely someone, had been his first instinct. The second and an entirely selfish one, was that she'd be the perfect solution to a situation that just couldn't be allowed to continue. Connie James the traitorous bitch, was looking forward to a future that would see her detained for the rest of her life, whereas Ruth's minor indiscretion, that had seen Tom sending her back to GCHQ, had been the equivalent of a single raindrop falling on a very large ocean.
Added to which, the fact that Ruth had sought him out rather than phone him and was currently at his home where she was entertaining his mother, meant that whatever information she'd brought with her, she deemed a lot more important than the real risk of losing her job. More than that, by bringing it to him, she'd left him with no option, other than to do what she'd asked of him.
Armed, with what he had no idea, but with Harry only just back after his enforced stay in hospital, having been injected with what was generally referred to on the grid as the tell or die cocktail, during his two days of interrogation, he'd already been to talk to Ros. Not that Ros had solved his problem, far from it. In fact, she'd only confirmed what he already knew she'd say.
'I've never met her Malcolm, but if you think that she's genuine and you can swing it, then you to tell him,' she'd said, nodding in the direction of Harry's empty office, before heading off to the latest in the long line of meetings that she'd had to attend during Harry's absence. Handing the responsibility and any fall out that would follow, good or bad, back to him. It wasn't that he didn't believe in delegation because he did, but there had been far too much of it lately. Plenty of which had seen him as the recipient of more than one admonishment when things had gone wrong. Almost entirely unjustly in his opinion. Which was why he was pleased that Harry had rung him the previous evening, confirming that he'd be in the following day. Which again was all very well and good. He was pleased, of course he was that Harry had sounded so much better, but it still didn't answer the question. The one that had been bouncing around in his head, that maybe Ruth could come back permanently. It wasn't as though he'd even asked her if she wanted to. If she did and it turned out to be a mitigating disaster, then the finger, which in this case would be encased in the gloved hand of his already overwrought boss, would be pointed well and truly in his direction. The fact was that he was dog tired and if truth be told, the real reason for the upturn in his mood when he'd opened his door and seen her, was that it had been like the parting of the waves and the realisation that after all this time, that he had the real chance to spend his working hours with someone that he knew that he'd be able to communicate with on equal terms.
Already overloaded with work that wasn't his responsibility, maybe he was clutching at straws, but surely bringing Ruth back into the fold, assuming that Harry agreed with him, would be making the most of an opportunity. Optimistic maybe, but then none of them had anything to be optimistic about. Especially since Connie had cut Ben's throat. Something that was engraved behind his eyes, much in the same way that Colin's unnecessary death still haunted his dreams.
The news that any conversation he had with Harry would have to wait until later, was delivered to him with the arrival of Connie's temporary replacement.
'He's just left the Home Office and he's on his way to a meeting with the JIC,' Jade, whatever her name was, the latest in a long line of junior analysts told him, when he asked her where Harry was. Great, now he'd have to rein in his enthusiasm until the afternoon, when an even more than usually agitated Harry, would come huffing and puffing his way back onto the grid, demanding some positive news to cheer him up. Would the return of the prodigal and probably long forgotten Ruth, be good news to his esteemed boss? He had no idea. Maybe it would depend on whatever it was that Ruth had insisted that she needed to tell him?
.
If Malcolm was struggling, he was at least able to do it in an environment where he felt comfortable, whereas Harry was spitting feathers and had been for several hours. Apart from the fact that he still had an annoyingly persistent headache, his status hadn't prevented him from been side-lined in favour of some low-ranking politician, when he'd turned up for his meeting with the Home Secretary. The first he'd had since he'd woken up in hospital, the second had involved him pacing the corridors of power for more than an hour, without the offer of something to drink and with his blood pressure rising. Even more frustrating when he'd finally been deigned an audience, was that he hadn't had a clue as what Blake had been talking about, or as he suspected, hadn't been a forthcoming as he could have been, when he'd suggested that one of his team might have an alternative agenda and that they should all be watching their backs.
Unlike the Davy King incident, which up until that moment he'd kept locked away in his 'I'll get the bastard later box', this latest information had been delivered to him ahead of the supposed event. Was this just Blake's way of apologising yet again, or offering them some sort of olive branch, or was it just misdirection from something far more serious?
Leaving the Home Office and hailing a taxi, because he'd been told that he shouldn't drive for at least a week. Another thing that he'd have ignored, had Ros not overheard the doctor when she'd come to visit him in the hospital, which had resulted in her taking his car keys from him, he was late by the time he arrived at the JIC. Something that he'd have avoided, had it not been for Blake's coded message. He had enemies everywhere, including here and to have not put in an appearance, would have given them an extended free hand to talk about him behind his back. Pretending to listen, his mind, if not his body, was already drifting back to the grid. If what Blake was suggesting was true and there was a direct threat to his team, then their entire personal security systems would need upgrading.
Already woefully short on manpower, because Lucas was still waiting in the wings and would be for a few weeks yet, was just adding to the problem. Completely overlooked by those who spent their days in the ivory tower on the fourth floor and, in his opinion were no more that pen pushers, had given Connie the ability to run rings around them, and resulted in the loss of Ben. All of which wasn't going to improve any time soon, unless he could recruit a competent and trust worthy analyst. Someone with Connie's ability, but without the red flag that she'd been waving for decades behind everybody's back. A fact that for the first time in his tenure, was making him wonder just who he could trust and worse still, if his judgement was beginning to weaken.
Saved by the bell when his phone rang, none of his current companions needed to know that this his doctor, reminding him to come for his follow up appointment in a weeks time. Wonderful, as if he didn't have enough to do, now there was another thing that he had to contend with. Excusing himself with a cursory nod, he walked back out into the morning sunshine and in search of somewhere to get a decent cup of coffee.
.
Ruth had really loved the time that she'd worked at Thames House, short though it had been, and from the moment that she'd left, had been harbouring the idea that she might be able to return at a later date. That she could make more of a difference at the coal face, rather than be locked in a building without any hope of seeing the results of her labours, had been dependent on several things. One of which she'd been handed by accident when she'd been asked to stay late, on the presumption that she had nothing else better to do with her time, than to man the fort when her colleague had been taken ill. Fort being the operative word. GCHQ was in all but name, a faceless prison of a building.
There was no denying that what she did there had a huge value, in fact it was crucial to the nation's security and the civilised world's as a whole. But having kept a discreet eye on what had been happening at Thames House over the years and seeing the names of people that she'd once worked with and never forgotten, had kept that desire going. One that she couldn't quite put a finger on. Something that she'd always felt when she walked through the pods or when she'd discovered something that had made a real difference. When either Malcolm, or in particular Harry, had praised her work.
Now armed with information that she couldn't possibly relay, other than in person, she'd booked some leave. Having regularly kept an eye on the comings and goings, she already knew that Tom, Zoe and Danny were long gone and that one of the latest replacements was someone called Jo Portman. Adam and Fiona Carter, presumably husband and wife who she'd never met, were no longer listed and currently it was Ros Myers, originally from six, who seemed to be the latest in a long line of section chiefs. What was she like she wondered? Would it feel the same if she herself got the chance to go back? Plus, and here was the real draw. Harry. Would he have changed? Had he mellowed over the last four or so years? There had been something inherently dangerous and remote about him, that had excited her. That and his sense of humour and the contrast in the way that he'd treated her, even when she'd messed things up spectacularly. Which meant what? That she was kidding herself and it was the thought of working for Harry again, rather than the work itself that was the real reason that she so wanted to go back?
Whatever the reason, what she had hidden in the bottom of her briefcase, was for his eyes only.