In the run up to joining the section, Dimitri had spent most of his spare time with Tariq. During which, he'd learnt a lot about the section and what would be expected of him, especially by Harry. The one and only time that he'd met him, he'd believed Harry to be one dimensional. Something that had caused Tariq to smile. A smile that had had a real warmth about it, as he'd relayed the story of his own first day on the grid. That there was an inner core to Harry, which only those who were allowed to get close to him were privileged to see. That to a man, each and every member of the section respected him. Why? Because in return, his loyalty to his colleagues never wavered and that his motives over the years had got him into many a scrape, especially when it came to his dealing with politicians. Both attributes that Dimitri could appreciate and was determined to sign up to. The one thing that Tariq had advised him against, he'd described as Harry's ability to shun humour if it was misplaced. The result being, that Harry would to chop you off at the knees. His 'I want some good news face' and 'do you want my tongue down your throat?' Being cases in point.
The second of which had been employed, although not in those precise words, when Harry told the taxi driver, that he'd give him a hundred pounds cash, if he could do the ten-minute journey in five. The reason why they'd hurtled down a one- way street, jumped a set of lights and were screeching around a corner on two wheels as they approached the safehouse. Why? Dimitri knew better than to ask on only his second day, as he handed over the wad of notes.
Harry, ahead of him, with no regard for his own safety or what was carved in stone in such situations, had raced up the path and through the open front door. It was the silence that hit him as if he'd been punched, despite the fact that he was already pretty sure that Ruth wasn't going to be there. Trying desperately to turn a negative into a positive, by acknowledging that he wasn't being confronted by her body, still didn't prevent him from going upstairs with his heart hammering in his chest, at the same time as he tried Catherine's phone for the third time, with his message of 'ring me it's Dad,' going straight to her voicemail. The bedroom was as he'd left it, or as far as he could remember, so there was no point in them rifling through cupboards or drawers for clues. Clues being the operative word, until he heard voices coming from downstairs. Stairs that he didn't even realising he was descending, until his shoes vibrated on the tiled floor in the hall, and he saw Jo's wide eyes and ever dawning expression.
A fingertip search of the garden proved equally unproductive, by which time Ros had also arrived and calmed things down and he'd persuaded himself to have a word with Jo later, rather than apportion blame in front of her colleagues. Besides which he needed to focus. On what though? They'd rarely been faced with a hostage situation, but when they had, it had generally required them to wait for a call and with it a demand for money. Highly unlikely in this case, as he'd long since convinced himself, that handing over Albany, was the price that he'd have to pay to see Ruth and his daughter alive again.
'What do we know about Lucas?' Ros asked. Directing her question at him, in an attempt to get him to stop pacing the room like a caged tiger.
'Apart from the fact that he's not Lucas and a raving lunatic, who thinks that he'll get away with kidnapping my daughter and Ruth, without me ripping his head off?' Was exactly the response that she was aiming for, as he finally accepted the mug of coffee that Jo was offering him and sank into a chair.
'Habits. Places that he knows, or used to know well. Where he's been going for the past couple of weeks and what he's been doing,' came from Ros. Harry saying nothing. 'Dimitri, you go with Jo and search his flat. Tear it apart if you have to. I'm going to call Malcolm and Tariq and ask them to go through the CCTV for the last forty-eight hours. Not only here, but of every place that he's been. Meanwhile, you and I Harry, are going to sit down and go through every piece of information that Ruth and Malcolm dug up yesterday. What's that expression that Ruth always uses?
'The devil's in the detail.'
'Then that's what we'll look for, but not before you get out of that suit and tie and into clothes that look less formal. Who knows where we'll end up going, or who we'll have to question to get the answers that we need?'
Given a choice, he suspected that Ros would have preferred to go without him, crossed his mind as he pulled on his blue sweater black jeans.
.
To say the place was overstated was an understatement, as they drove the length of the drive that took them to the gated entrance where John Bateman's parents resided. Lived wouldn't have done it justice. Playing it by ear was the general plan, and that Ros would take the lead, Harry had agreed to. They needed answers, so aggression with someone who had a reputation for being able to buy himself out of any situation, wasn't an option.
'What's he done this time?' Asked his father, as though he wasn't at all surprised to find a middle aged man and a distraught woman on his doorstep. His mother having been dispatched to the kitchen to make coffee. Something that wasn't lost on either of them, but gave them a chance to move in quickly.
'We're not at all sure, but I'm his fiance and I'm worried that something might have happened to him. It's all very new you see and we had a celebratory dinner planned for yesterday evening. But he didn't turn up and now he's not answering his phone. He talked about taking me to somewhere special, somewhere that you used to take him as a child,' Ros whimpered into a tissue, with a supportive arm from Harry around her shoulders.
Their searches had already told them, that buying and selling properties at rock bottom prices, then renovating them on a budget, sufficient that he would more than double his money, was the way that Alan Bateman had made a living. Barely legal, but with his various contacts at the council, it had not only happened, but given him the retirement that he wanted. Whether it had made him happy, they both doubted, as his wife came back with the coffee and joined Ros in her weeping.
'We haven't seen our John for fifteen years and to think he's going to get married and we might never have known if you hadn't come to see us. You will tell him that we miss him won't you dear,' she directed at Harry, who had been nodding sympathetically throughout.
The response from her husband was less than supportive and suggested that any further bailing out of his son, was a ship that had long since sailed, as he walked them towards the door.
'Ungrateful little shit,' and 'do you know what you're getting yourself into?' amongst his comments. At which point, Harry said that they needed to rush and propelled the still snivelling Ros, towards the car.
'We need a list of all the holiday cottages that are currently occupied on Romney Marsh,' Harry told Malcolm, opening the computer, as Ros did a three-point turn at the first opportunity and headed south. There wouldn't be many, in an area that was described as the Fifth Continent. Being bleak and abandoned out of season and where the locals were outnumbered by sheep, it was bordered on the south side by the Kent Coast and to the north, by the majority of Kent's prettiest villages. This was late March and well before Easter, which meant that the bulk of tourists wouldn't have arrived yet. With only one church and close to the only public house of note, The Woolpack Inn was where they were heading.
On his own, Harry, in the mood he was in, knew he'd be reckless. Whereas Ros, who was listening to the weather forecaster telling them that there was a wave of low pressure that would bring heavy rain and possible thunderstorms, was staying patient. Lucas wasn't a fool. He'd know that Harry would be coming for him and probably bringing the cavalry. What he didn't know was when, and she intended to keep it that way. Not until they were good and ready, which also meant waiting for Dimitri and Jo. What she couldn't convince Harry, because in truth she didn't know, was whether Lucas had hurt Ruth or Catherine in any way? Yes, they'd be scared. Probably terrified, but if Lucas had thought this through and with the hope of getting what he wanted, then surely he wouldn't have been fool enough to hurt them physically?
.
It wasn't until six in the evening when Dimitri and Jo arrived, by which time it was pitch black outside. They'd booked all five rooms, telling the landlord that they'd driven half the length of France to get there. That they were expecting Harry's wife and daughter to arrive very late, so rather than him wait up until the early hours, would it be alright if they let them in? In March when it was barely worth opening, he was more than willing, especially when they told him that they'd probably stay for an extra night. Sticking to the theme that Ros had introduced earlier, they were going to a family wedding in Canterbury at the weekend. Now sitting in front of a blazing fire in the small lounge with their meals in front of them, to the outsider they looked every bit the family that they were pretending to be. Apart from Harry, who had said very little and despite being ravenously hungry, was struggling to eat anything. If he'd looked at his watch once, he'd looked at it a hundred times. Eventually saying that he was going to take his meal up to his room and that he'd see them later.
Assured by Ros that when the moment came, that Harry despite being personally involved would stick to the plan, Dimitri ordered himself a pint.
'Just one,' he'd assured Ros, who had read his file from cover to cover, and knew Dimitri almost as well as he knew himself. His career so far had been impressive. As had the many missions that he'd been on. Plenty of them at night. A cat in the dark, that could not only see, but climb to the heights. His last boss had written in his reference. Both of which would be needed, if they were going to succeed.
.
Lying on the bed in his room, Harry had his eyes closed. His partially eaten meal on the table beside him. There was no chance of him falling asleep, despite there being another four hours before they were going to make their move. It felt as though his entire career had been building up to this moment. On the one hand, he was a man who had the ability to love without question, whilst on the other, he was the person who was paying the price for what he'd done. The deaths that he'd sanctioned that he'd believed to be justified at the time. The colleagues that he'd lost and still blamed himself for, against the love that he felt for Ruth and his daughter. Now bound together in his imagination, within a few miles of where he was lying. Both of them believing, that somehow he'd be able to rescue them, he finally let the tears flow. The tears that he'd been holding back, since the moment that Ruth had told him that she loved him.