"Get me a flight," Harry demanded. His mind was whirring, trying to figure out what he needed to bring, what he was going to do, how he'd find her, what he'd do when he did find her. It was all too much, but one thing was clear through it all: he had to get to her. Finally, after all this time, she was so bloody close, and Harry could not bear to let this miraculous opportunity pass him by.
Malcolm nodded. "Already done. I've got a car waiting for you to go to Heathrow. You'll be able to get right on the plane on the tarmac without customs and security and such. And you might want to pick up a sidearm on your way out."
Harry regarded him sharply at that. He wouldn't have left in a hurry to do anything without a gun anyway, but the fact that Malcolm had operationally warned him to do so was concerning. "What for?" he asked.
The look Malcolm gave him was in equal parts kind and patronizing. "Harry, you know Ruth. You know she's been careful the last two years. Why do you think she's used this particular name and gone somewhere so close to home? I think she wants us to find her, and if she does, after everything that's happened, I can't help but worry that she's running from something that might scare her more than getting caught by British Intelligence."
Malcolm was right and Harry knew it. Ruth would not have even used the name Ruth, let alone with his surname, if she did not specifically want them to find her. And Malcolm had found her. But the possible reason for her to need to be found was concerning, to say the least. "What makes you think she's running from something?" Perhaps there was more to this than Malcolm was letting on.
"I've got a bit more digging to do. I'll send my files to your mobile so you can read it on the way. But I do think you should be ready for anything, Harry," Malcolm replied with a grim expression.
He nodded. Ready for anything was part and parcel to his entire life. This was nothing new, in that regard. But this was Ruth. He was actually going to see her again. He was actually going to find her. Somehow, someway, they'd be together again. And if she was running away from something, if she was desperate and in need of rescuing, he was more than pleased that she'd thought to alert him to her presence, to go somewhere he could get to her quickly. A place that, to Harry's mind, meant something to them.
They wasted no more time. Harry put on his coat and took the flight details from Malcolm. He got his Walther PPK—the gun he never liked to use but rather liked to have in his own James Bond silly fantasies—out of the locked drawer of his desk. Harry checked that the magazine was full before tucking it into his belt for the time being. His suit jacket covered it well enough.
Malcolm accompanied Harry out the doors of Thames House to the waiting pool car. "Good luck, Harry. Bring her home."
Harry nodded resolutely. He would bring her home. He would find her and bring her home. And, god willing, she'd be safe and whole, and he wouldn't need to use the gun pressed into his hip where he sat in the car.