If there had been medals on offer for downright grit and determination, then Malcolm and Ruth would have surely won the gold. A sandwich which Harry had made them, they'd eaten at their desks, followed up several hours later, by a brief stop for something that was energy boosting, and for Ruth, the chance to take a quick shower to prevent herself from falling asleep. Until finally the screen had given up its secrets and the face of John Martin Bateman had stared back at them.
Exactly the same age as Lucas North, his early life had been made equally uneventful, by the ability of his affluent parents, to send him to a decent school and from there to the university of his choice. At which point the similarity ended. Because despite an equally impressive academic record during his years at school, once free from the restraints of living at home, the real John Bateman, had said the records, shown his face. Described by his tutors as a disruptive student, who had it not been for the fact that his father had contacts and influence, words that intimated that he'd do anything to protect his son, something that was born- out by the college's eventual acceptance, that maybe in some way they were to blame for his anti-social behaviour, he probably wouldn't have got past the first year. His dismissal finally coming, after a riot had broken out in the early hours of the morning in the student's union bar, after he'd refused to pay out on a gambling syndicate that he'd been running. Something that had seen the police being summoned and without a lot of arm twisting to make it go away, would quite probably have made the broadsheets.
Complex with the ability to deceive, was the sentence that jumped off the page.
From there, the trail had run cold for a while, until whether it had been his own personal choice, or on the insistence of his parents, he'd somehow managed to end up in Dakar, where he'd drifted in and out of jobs. Then nothing, until he'd arrived for his interview at Thames House. Which unfortunately meant, that they were currently no closer to finding out how or why, he'd managed to turn himself into Lucas North.
.
During the time that Malcolm and Ruth had been working, Harry, never patient at the best of times, had prowled around the house and garden until he knew every inch of the place. Barely able to make eye contact with Ruth all day, such had been her concentration, until at midnight, he announced that Malcolm needed to go home and that an exhausted Ruth needed to go to bed. That everything else could wait until the morning, despite the adrenaline high that was making her want to stay at her desk and keep digging. Something that as he'd watched her, during the course of what had felt like the longest day of his life, had made him realise that he'd been looking at a mirror image of himself and that when this was all over, that things had to change. For both of them.
That having left Cheltenham, Ruth was effectively homeless, so even if it meant him moving to somewhere that was less austere in order to make her happy, that he was going to ask her to move in with him permanently. If she wanted too, went without saying. Even if she didn't, that more than anything, he wanted them to have what amounted to a proper relationship. Not one that by the end of the day, you were both too tired to have a normal conversation, and the first thing you did every morning, was to watch the early news broadcast. As opposed to going out for a meal together or to the theatre. Listening to music, or the holy of holy's for anyone that worked for the Security Services, take a holiday. Which in his case, given the chance, would be a 'Grand Tour' where he'd take in all the cultural capitals of Europe. That and that there was more to life than what they were currently experiencing, and better men than him had died without the need to have their blood pressure checked on a regular basis, or updating their wills. Assuming of course that you were still alive do it and had someone to leave things too.
Was he suffering from some sort of mid-life crisis? Perhaps he was. Although according to Malcolm, who seemed to have accepted that he and Ruth were together and, dare he say it Ros, who for a long time now, had been encouraging him let her take more of an active role in running the grid, he wasn't entirely alone, in believing that there was an alternative to working all hours god gave you.
Checking the security as he always did, although he knew there was no need, he padded up the stairs and into the bedroom. Seeing his suit, shirt and tie hanging on the wardrobe door, was a stark reminder that the following morning, would be the first time in nearly three weeks, that he and Ruth would be separated from each other. How things had changed and that whether they'd been brought together by chance, or because some greater power had ordained it, the thought of her not being part of his life hereon in, was unthinkable. Stripping out of his clothes, he took a quick shower, before climbing into bed beside her sleeping form.
.
The car that Ros had ordered for him, certainly wouldn't have been necessary in normal circumstances, given the short distance to Thames House. On any other morning, he'd have enjoyed a walk through the park and the sight of the familiar building, as it appeared through the space between the trees. At least it was his regular driver, who greeted him with a cheery 'good morning sir,' and knew better than to ask him any unnecessary questions, as he climbed into the back seat. The pleasure of going back to work, still conflicting with his promise to ring Ruth as soon as he was sitting behind his desk and more especially, that whatever happened during the course of the day, that he wouldn't do anything stupid.
Adjusting his tie as he always did when he arrived, he crossed the foyer and walked into the lift, pressing the button and exiting on the third floor.
Once through the pods, everything was as he'd last seen it. People were buzzing about in the background, analysts with their heads down, none of whom were aware of where he'd been, or that this had the potential to be a game changing day. Ros, he knew was at a meeting with the Home Secretary and Jo would be with Ruth by now, so it was only Dimitri and Tariq who were occupying what were affectionately known as the 'cheap seats' because they were within spitting distance of his office. Today the only acknowledgement that he was back, was Tariq, saying that he was going to make some coffee and would he like one?
Shedding his jacket and loosening his tie, he looked around his office and smiled. Ros had obviously taken the time to make sure that everything was up to date and that there was no sign of any correspondence that related to Bateman. Nor was there any evidence of the man himself or that he was about to arrive. The opposite in fact, when a few moments later, just when he'd put his hand on the phone to ring Ruth, there was a knock on his door. Expecting it to be Tariq with his coffee, he paused mid thought, to see a face that he didn't recognise with a package in her hand. A package that was marked personal and according to the label, was extremely fragile. Apparently delivered overnight and kept in the post room for more than six hours, didn't prevent him from calling for Malcolm. To confirm whether or not it was likely to blow up in his face, the second that he opened it.
Assured that it wouldn't, blowing up in his face would have been preferable to the contents, as his resolve to remain calm, no matter what happened failed him. In one hand he was holding a framed photograph of his daughter, that could only have been taken from his desk at home, and in the other, a photograph of Ruth in the garden where they were staying.
Clutching both to his chest, 'with me now,' he shouted at Dimitri and to Malcolm, 'ring Ros,' as his feet propelled him towards the pods.
.
'Thank god you're here,' was all Malcolm could manage, when Ros arrived a few moments later, having abandoned the Home Secretary without an explanation and run as though the hound from hell were behind her back to Thames House.
If Malcolm had worries, then there were several questions and scenarios that were going through Ros's head. Each one more dreadful than the last. Why hadn't Harry waited before racing off like that? She knew the answer to. At least he'd had the sense to take Dimitri with him. Why wasn't Jo answering her phone? Was more worrying and something that could only be answered by her abandoning the grid and going to the safe house.
Putting the phone down, she looked across the small expanse of Harry's office at Malcolm's worried face.
'You and Tariq stay here in case anyone calls. I'll keep you posted I promise you,' she told the man that she knew more than any of them, would be affected by a less than happy outcome.
Well over her dead body. Enough was enough. She wasn't Harry's Section Chief for nothing. Not this time would he be faced with losing someone that he loved. Not as long as she lived and breathed!
Ignoring the lift, she fairly flew down the stairs and back out into the mid-morning sunshine.