Before Lucas, or John Hanlon as Malcolm had chosen to call him, had said goodbye, he'd rifled through Harry's pockets. Accepting his offer, but with the condition that he stay put, was an irony no longer wasted on Harry, who had been dumped unceremoniously onto the camp bed and no longer able to move. The second cup of coffee and whatever had been in it, responsible for the state he was in. Made worse as he watched the stove flicker and die. Leaving him with nothing other than a meagre blanket to keep out the cold. Cold that was increasing by the minute. That and not being smart enough to have realised that the entire scene had been stage managed, and that Lucas had never been living there.

His only priority now, to find a way to get help. But how? Moving if it were even possible, would require him to get some feeling back into his legs and some air into his lungs. His Ruth list that he'd been compiling in his head on the journey here, pleading with him to find a way to drag himself as far as the door and out onto the sand, where surely somebody would eventually find him.

In some of his more lucid moments, he imagined that he could hear a train somewhere in the distance. Only to realise that it was his teeth chattering in his head. Until the fog rolled in again and consumed him.

.

Ros who was flying above his head, no longer cared that she'd summoned a helicopter, without first getting authorisation to get her here, or that the coastguard was currently being deployed. Because after an hour of fruitless searching, her losing her job, was nothing compared to the human cost and the effect that it would have on the section and the service in general, if they failed to find him. Which was why Tariq had been ordered to hack into every agency that was offering holiday cottage accommodation in the area. To check and re check the details of the occupants. Something that was infringing every aspect of the data protection act and their civil liberties, including a very disgruntled and newly married Mr. and Mrs. Jones, who had been summoned from their marital bed, when Dimitri had hammered on the door of the cottage where Lucas had kept Ruth and Catherine.

Which meant what? That Harry was dead? That Lucas had dragged him off to god knows where in the boot of his car? Neither of which she was prepared to accept until she was absolutely certain. Because on a personal level, it wasn't just a colleague she was searching for any more, it was a friend. A close one and the prime reason that she wasn't going to call a halt to proceedings. Not until they'd covered every angle and every inch of the South East of England. The latest of which was being suggested by the coastguard, as she listened in over the intercom, to words like methodical and experience and not to worry and why her pilot was changing direction. A manoeuvre, that resulted in the ground coming up to meet them, as they dipped and then swung around to change direction.

Splitting the search into two parts, they were going to cover all the villages, plus the wide-open spaces along the coastline. Which to the west would be as far as Rye and the Cinque Ports where she was now heading and to the east as far as Folkestone, where the quickest escape route was through the tunnel. Beyond that, Dover where all ferry companies had already been alerted with a description of Lucas and his car. Told that if he was spotted, that they should do nothing other than detain him. She had plans of her own for Lucas bloody North. None of which would involve a holiday in the sun.

All of which had lit the blue touch paper for the hundreds of holiday makers, who'd abandoned whatever else they were planning for the day, in exchange for training their eyes on the sky above them. Far from ideal and the reason that she'd also had to bribe the local press office, to hold off for at least a few more hours, from printing a headline that started with 'Massive manhunt underway' and ended with 'The untimely death of Sir Harry Pearce, Head of MI5 Counter Terrorism, murdered by one of his own.' A very real possibility that she and every single member of her team, had been considering. All except Malcolm and Ruth, who they'd so far managed to keep in the dark. How much longer they'd be able to keep that up, rather depended on whether Malcolm rang her direct or rang the grid, or the two of them turned up in person. Knowing how Ruth had behaved the last time that she'd been here, she wouldn't have minded betting that she was already on her way.

Something that became a reality, when they landed to refuel and to grab a bite to eat and she got a call from Jo. At a time when they were still no closer to finding Harry and the only option left open to them, was to call in the army and the police with their sniffer dogs. 'Having failed to find him alive, the authorities are now looking for a body,' looming large in Ros's imaginary headlines, wasn't being helped by the message, that a frantic Ruth had somehow managed to read her mind. That she hadn't accepted Jo's explanation, that because it was such a large area it would take some time and had arrived on the grid. That she wasn't a child. That they had to tell her the truth. Not the load of old bullshit that everyone had been feeding her so far. Stopping just short of using words like love and bollocks according to Jo. Behaving in a way that she knew she'd have done, had it been Adam that they were searching for, but with far less restraint than Ruth had been showing up until now.

Knowing full well which of the two Ruth's was going to turn up and that it wouldn't be the contained and calm one when she was working, but the feisty one of a few nights ago, caused her to adjust her thinking. That this wasn't solely about them saving Harry anymore, because if they didn't, then Ruth would also become a victim. Born out, by Harry's decision to make her the sole beneficiary of his estate, which at the time that she'd read it, she'd thought to be one hell of a decision after what had amounted to only a few short weeks. Confirmed now by what she'd failed to recognise the last time that she'd seen them together. The depth of their feelings for each other and that Harry trusted Ruth implicitly, with regard to his children's future. Something that she'd never experienced and resulted in a small tinge of envy. One that she quickly put to one side to be dealt with at another time, because the pilot was signalling to her that he was ready to take off again.

.

Dimitri, the lone wolf in all this and with a free rein to search wherever he though appropriate, was still driving Harry's car. Having so far spent a methodical but very frustrating morning, searching dozens of empty farm buildings and sheds, his guilt hadn't diminished, far from it. He was the outsider, the new boy and the main reason that Harry was in this mess.

Needing a change of location, he'd abandoned his search of the marshes, in favour of a drive across the beach. Less desolate than it looked earlier in the day, because the sun was now shining and the tide was way out, he opened the car window and took in the view. As someone whose history dictated, that whatever the weather the sea held no fears, it was where he belonged, he scanned the vast expanse of water in front of him for inspiration. Knowing that it was the busiest waterway in the world, he wasn't surprised by the number of tankers, that to the naked eye were stationary on the horizon, or the stream of ferries, that were criss-crossing on route to France and beyond. Was Lucas on one of these? If he was, then he prayed that Harry wasn't with him.

Staying put for a moment, his eyes were drawn to the water's edge where there were dozens of children. Swimming, paddling and building sandcastles, supervised by their parents. That and the few intrepid souls who were enjoying the surf further out and waiting for the next wave to arrive. All from another world. One that was safe and uncomplicated and for him was a long way into the future, if ever. Shaking his head in order to get back to the job in hand, he started the car again and moved off. Taking care to bypass what was another pile of belongings on the beach, he was forced to turn inland again in the direction of the marsh, where there was a group of matchstick figures, probably children who were playing some sort of ball game. Not wanting to be distracted by the normality of what they were doing, he was just about to put his foot down, when he noticed that the tiny figures had stopped moving. With the exception of one of the boys who'd cut loose from the group, presumably to retrieve the ball. An action that resulted in the rest of them turning in his direction, their arms in the air like the sails on a windmill, they were racing towards him.

.

'Is he dead mister?' A lad who'd introduced himself as Rob asked him, as he rolled Harry into the recovery position and handed the boy his phone. The others looking on fascinated. All except one who was throwing up.

'No, he wasn't going to give him the kiss of life, because the gentleman was breathing. But he did have to tell the nice lady that answered the phone, that she needed to be quick, and to bring a doctor with her,' before asking them, 'to fetch their coats, because they needed to cover this gentleman up.' Relief flooding through him, that was overshadowed by him knowing that Harry was frozen to the bone and could have been lying there for hours.

A phone call that resulted in the coastguard who had a doctor on board, diverting to what the boys had told Dimitri was known locally as the stretch, and Ros and Ruth borrowing a car. Ros driving like a maniac and Ruth stonily quiet, until they got to the tunnel. At which point she leapt out of the car and raced across the sand, leaving Ros with the responsibility of dealing with eight small boys, who would later be described as local heroes, who had saved a man's life. A tourist who had slipped and fallen and was later identified as Alan Preston, who'd been on a coast to coast walking holiday from his home Yorkshire. Low key enough that it didn't warrant any major headlines, other than locally.

Glad to be side lined at the moment, Dimitri who had only seen Ruth for a few minutes when he'd collected Harry, hadn't really formed an opinion as to what she was really like. Yes, he'd heard the others talking and he knew from what they'd said that she was a brilliant analyst who was very close to Malcolm, but that was all. Watching on now, he doubted that he would ever forget the scene that was playing out in front of him.

Ruth was kneeling down on the sand next to Harry and holding his hand. Tears running down her cheeks, she was telling him that 'he was safe, that she was here and that her answer was yes.' Transforming a situation that had been bleak and without any hope, into something that caused him to turn away and give them some privacy.

.

Two days later and Harry was still asleep in bed. Not the hospital bed where it had taken them a long time to get his temperature back up to normal, or the bed at the safehouse, but his own bed.

The only words of relevance that he'd said during those early hours, had been to Malcolm, 'why's Ruth wearing my jumper' at a time when Ruth had gone to the canteen for a cup of tea and why Malcolm had replied, 'for the same reason that I'm going home.' At which point he'd waited until she'd come back and then left them to it.

The last of them to arrive home and even more convinced that he'd made the right decision, he'd looked in on his Mum and smiled. He'd tell Harry first, he owed him that. He'd miss his friends of course he would, but resentful – never. Maybe at some time in the future if Harry ever resigned, they'd be able to rekindle their friendship.

Where things would go from here, he still wasn't sure. There was the not so small matter of the fired- up Home Secretary that Ros was going to see the following day, but for the moment it had to be enough for him to know that whatever happened, that Harry would be in good hands. With someone that loved him and would look after him. The expression on Ruth's face that had never altered and the way that she'd on kept on talking to him, surely the foundation for a better future.