As Harry and Ruth stumbled their way through Thames House, they were struck by a jolting (and rather disconcerting) sense of déjà vu. So much had changed and yet, in other ways, it was like stepping through an anomaly into the past. The building hadn't changed. It was still all pillars and marble floors and grandiose design. The lift up to Section D even stuttered into life with the same creak and quiver it did seven years ago, and the corridors still smelled of that unique combination of ammonia, varnish and mildew.
But the faces they passed were strangers: young, youthful, untainted. It reinforced to them the changing ways of MI-5; the tide which had only just been turning as they left. Now, however, this fresh, innovative, new regime seemed to have settled very much into place. The new normal. The Security Services had become an exclusively young man's game, with no room for the dusty old ways that Harry had once known. Those in the upper echelons of power were most likely desk spooks with impressive CVs, but no real knowledge of the realities of battle. Because that's what terrorism was. A battle. A war. A mad scramble to hit the scum of the earth where it hurt before they had a chance to do the same. And bearing in mind London was still intact, it seemed the new regime was winning.
It was only when they reached the pods that they saw – really saw – the physical changes to this brave new world. Even through the distortions in the glass, it was clear how much the Grid had changed. The lighting had been replaced with harsh ultraviolet bulbs, which dimmed the room into near-darkness and gave everyone a pale, sickly pallor. Everything was now reinforced with glass – bulletproof, no doubt, but glass nonetheless. Hardly safe or practical, Harry thought, dryly. Where spatterings of desks used to stand, work stations were now arranged into rows; surrounded by a low, glass wall that left the workers isolated and alone; stripped of all humanity and physical contact. In place of the briefing room, there now stood one large glass-shrouded conference centre, with what appeared to be an interactive table running up its inside length. Harry rolled his eyes. Trust the Government to throw money at something completely unnecessary.
Malcolm slid easily into the pods and beckoned to Catherine to do the same. Harry and Ruth were a little more wary, stopping and side-eyeing each other. Ruth was the one now carrying Lottie – at her own insistence, to give Harry's back ample time to recover. The little girl was still fast asleep, her head lolling against Ruth's shoulder, her arms clinging koala-like around her neck. She was exhausted by the travel, and thankfully oblivious to all the changes going on around her. All in all, Harry counted it as a blessing. He wasn't sure he could cope with fielding questions from his inquisitive six-year-old on top of everything else.
Poor Ruth looked utterly drained. Her tired face was awash with emotion, and yet her expression was hard to determine. At one moment, her eyes were wide and fearful; reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights. But at another, she seemed bold and fierce and absolutely determined in the face of their troubles. Harry could understand such conflict. He himself was waging a war between fear, anger, guilt and mad exhilaration. The guilt, of course, was a due to the mad exhilaration. Was it so unbelievably wrong for a tiny, tiny part of him to enjoy being back? Realistically, he supposed not. MI-5 had once been his whole reason for living. Before Ruth, it had been the one thing that kept him going, especially after his marriage collapsed. Thus, it was probably only natural that, despite all the changes, Thames House still felt almost... home-like. Morally, however,he felt awful. His partner and child had been uprooted and thrust once more into danger. And all because they were bound to him.
"Alright?" he prompted softly, motioning towards the pods. "Shall we?"
Ruth swallowed thickly and took several long, shaky breaths before nodding. Drops of sweat were beading along her brow, which was odd because the temperature was so much cooler than they had become used to. She swayed somewhat dangerously and Harry immediately darted forwards, eyes wide with concern.
"Ruth?"
She quickly waved him off.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just... just give me a minute," she sighed, propping herself against the wall for support. "I'll be alright."
Harry frowned. He could see the tautness of her jaw, the curling of her fists, the valiant fight that every seam and sinew was putting up to maintain that all-important self-control. Ruth was terribly proud and in the intervening years since her ordeal, she'd become obsessed with proving her resilience. He wished he could make her see that she didn't need to prove anything to anyone. Not to herself and especially not to him. He already knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was the bravest person he'd ever met. It took courage abounds and sheer bloody perseverance to recover from all that she'd endured. But he still couldn't quite get through to her. He couldn't make her see that just because a person was brave, it didn't mean they needed to hide their fear away, like some dark, shameful secret.
"You don't look alright," he said, placing a steadying hand on her elbow.
"Way to flatter a girl, Harry."
She tried to smirk but the twinkle didn't quite meet her eyes.
"Ruth..."
She manoeuvred Lottie onto her hip and curled her fingers around his, "Really. I'm alright. Just a bit... overwhelmed. It's... it's odd, you know?"
Harry squeezed tightly in response. He did know. He knew better than anyone.
"I think the last time I was here, you were carting me down from the roof with hypothermia."
Her soft recollection affected him more than he knew it should have. Guilt twisted his gut for he truly (and tactlessly) hadn't even thought about that. He'd been so focused on their current calamity that he hadn't considered how difficult it must be for Ruth to return to Thames House after such an undignified exit.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out and caressed her cheek, silently thanking whatever deity it was that enabled Ruth to survive that awful day. Her soft skin clashed with his rougher, calloused fingers, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she leaned into the touch, standing on tiptoe to press a lingering kiss to his parted lips. Gone was the woman who deflected his advances; who shied away from anything that might trigger office gossip. For here she was kissing him just outside the pods – in full view of staff and old friends and even his daughter. It was a surprise, but a welcome one at that.
The moment ended all too quickly, with Ruth breaking away, now offering a much a calmer, more measured smile. Harry smiled back and relinquished her hand, though he kept a light grip on her elbow, just in case she wobbled again. Ruth sighed, cuddling Lottie a little closer and inhaling her daughter's sweet scent, before blinking up at him with a wry smile.
"Together?"
"Together," he agreed.
And although it was a bit of a squeeze, they stepped through the pods as one.
Things weren't much different on the other side of the doors. Perhaps a little sharper and, if possible, darker. But otherwise it was the sight of the same grim, newfangled Grid that greeted them. Harry was about to scope out his old office when he was distracted by the sound of a familiar voice.
"Mama Bear... Papa Bear..."
His stomach dropped to the floor. Rising slowly from his workstation was the older, graver, yet unmistakable form of Calum Reed. His immaculate strawberry-blonde hair had grown out into a mop of untamed curls, and he was sporting an impressive shaggy beard. His eyes held markedly less sparkle and his face was considerably more lined than it used to be. The last six years hadn't aged him kindly. Still, he was definitely the same man and as he edged closer, his dull eyes practically lit up with joy.
"Calum?" Ruth breathed.
"Mama Bear," Calum grinned, with a trace of the old mischievous charm. "You and your beau are looking remarkably spry for folks who've been dead six years."
Aha. There was Calum Reed.
Ruth broke away from Harry and hurried towards the younger man. For a moment, it looked like she was going to hug him. Then she seemed to realise the impossibility of this with her daughter in her arms. Calum seemed to realise this too, because he pulled out an office chair and gestured for her to set Lottie down. Ruth smiled in thanks and gently lowered the child into the chair before folding Calum into her embrace.
"Calum."
"Ms Evershed."
Harry waited for Calum to spout some lame joke or at least say something vaguely inappropriate. To his surprise, however, the younger man remained silent. Aside from appearing a little awkward, he permitted the hug, and even gave Ruth a brief squeeze in return. His smile when she pulled back was genuine and earnest, but tainted with sorrow. Harry had seen that look far too many times, and in far too many officers. This was a person who had been changed, marred – damaged, completely and irreversibly, by the job.
The rest of the Grid – faces that Harry didn't recognise – looked on in interest. A few heads huddled together over workstation walls and sowed the seeds for office gossip. Clearly their audience were unused to such public displays of affection. But then, Harry remembered, PDA hadn't exactly been rife during his time on the Grid either. It just wasn't done. Any friendships – or God forbid, relationships – that might affect an officer's ability to do the job were quickly eliminated. It was the line he himself had trodden. That was, until he could no longer deny that he was hopelessly and incontrovertibly in love with his analyst.
"You look great," Calum grinned, mainly at Ruth, though he also tossed a friendly smile in Harry's direction.
The two men didn't shake hands, but then they had never really reached that point. Harry and Calum had been colleagues, teammates, allies, but he wouldn't say they'd ever been particularly spectacular 'friends'. They hadn't known each other for long before the whole Gavrik debacle. At least Ruth had had a chance to build up a rapport with Calum and Erin before things fell apart. That was a point, actually. Where was Erin?
Ruth's smile faltered as her eyes raked over her now bedraggled friend.
"You look..."
Calum raised a rueful eyebrow, "Like crap?"
"No, I – "
He shrugged airily , "Nah. I look like crap. I know that."
"Perhaps a shower and shave?" Harry suggested, not unkindly.
Calum grinned, fingering his beard lightly, "Try telling that to the Admiral. He drives a hard ship. No time for luxuries like shaving."
"Where is Dimitri?" Harry asked.
"I'm here."
Harry followed the direction of the voice and found its owner standing just a few metres behind Calum. He heard Ruth gasp and knew immediately why. Dimitri Levendis did not look remotely like the cheeky young thing they had left behind. He appeared to have aged about twenty years, with flecks of premature grey tainting his cropped brown hair. Whilst Calum seemed fairly sombre, Dimitri appeared positively melancholic. His once blue eyes had deadened to dull grey, and his mouth was set into a hard, grim line. His handsome, chiselled features had sagged, with the right side of his face now disfigured by a large searing burn scar. It looked quite old – at least a couple of years. Clearly, whatever had happened had been pretty serious. And if the dullness in his eyes was anything to go by, the psychological effects of the job had penetrated deeper than flesh wounds. Harry's heart plummeted. This was always the worst part: seeing bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young things turn into PTSD-plagued machines.
"Dimitri," Ruth whispered, visibly anguished.
She approached him slowly, carefully, as one might a wild and wounded animal. Then, gently, ever so gently, she ushered him into her arms. He stood there, stiff and unyielding; blinking in bewilderment at her tender touch. Harry had the distinct impression that it had been a long, long time since Dimitri Levendis had been held. And despite outward appearances, perhaps he was even enjoying it, because he made no move to rebuff her. It was only when she reached up to touch his scar that he flinched away, folding his arms across his chest to form a simple but effective barrier.
"Not now, Evershed," he said curtly. "Come on. Meeting room. I need to debrief you."
"But – "
"Come on," Dimitri repeated, with a little more bite – and damn, the younger man had certainly mastered the mandatory Section Head glare. "The Horsemen won't stop for us to have a cuppa and a catch-up."
There was an awkward pause. The rest of the room gazed wide-eyed between Dimitri and Ruth, waiting to see how she would respond. Calum seemed distinctly uncomfortable, though Harry couldn't tell whether this was because he was embarrassed by Dimitri's coldness, or because he privately agreed. Ruth looked perplexed and more than a little put out. For an instant, Harry thought she might argue, but then she caught sight of a Catherine standing there, weary and woeful, isolated from the rest of the crowd. All conflict faded from her face.
"Okay," she agreed softly, retreating to where her daughter lay slumped in Calum's chair. "I'll just – "
"She can stay with Calum," Dimitri flashed his subordinate a do-or-die stare. "She'll be perfectly safe."
Ruth looked appalled at the thought of abandoning her daughter to Calum Reed, the man who'd once nursed an unhealthy obsession with gobstoppers and whistled The Lime and the Coconut under his breath at morning meetings. Harry wasn't too keen on the idea himself, but at the same time, he really didn't want Lottie waking to discussions of terrorist plots. He stepped forward and squeezed Ruth's shoulder.
"She'll be alright. Calum will look after her."
He shot the tech-savvy officer a menacing glare. Calum's eyes widened in abject horror.
"Hey, come on. I... I don't know anything about kids – "
But his protests fell on deaf ears. Dimitri cast him a withering glance and snapped, "Since you've just proven yourself to be one big kid, this should be right up your street."
It was Harry's turn to look uncomfortable. There was a painful friction crackling through the air that seemed just about on the verge of breaking point. Dimitri and Calum had never been bosom buddies. They practically defined the term 'love-hate relationship'. But now there was something cold... unsettling about their interactions.
"Harry," Ruth said quietly. "I'm not leaving Lottie alone. Not after –"
"The meeting room's just there, Ruth," Malcolm assured her, stepping into the fray for the first time. He pointed to the long, glass conference room. "You'll be able to see her the whole time."
Ruth didn't look convinced, but she glanced down at Lottie who was sleeping so peacefully and seemed to realise how senseless it was to move her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she nodded.
"Alright."
"Good," Dimitri said crisply, swinging round and marching purposefully towards the glass room. "Let's get started then. You too, Ms Townsend. I need to hear your story."
Catherine cast Harry a rather forlorn glance, but he could only give what he hoped was a reassuring grimace. The debriefing was bound to be long and hard and cripplingly embarrassing. But in the end, such details needed to be shared. Otherwise, what was the point in them being there?
And so, without another word, the three of them, plus Dimitri and Malcolm, shuffled off towards the meeting room, leaving Calum staring bewilderedly in their wake.
"This is bad," Dimitri muttered, slamming his hands down on the desk. He had plugged in Harry's USB and was currently skimming through the locations in which thousands of kilograms of uranium and plutonium had been hidden. "This is very, very bad. How the hell did your boyfriend get hold of this?"
"I told you," Catherine muttered, her cheeks still red from being forced to recount her story. "Karim. Karim Nahas. He could talk his way into anything. Said he had sources in MI-5."
"Yeah, but you'd have to have Gold Level Clearance to know about this stuff," Dimitri scowled. "Even I didn't know half of it existed."
"I wouldn't take it to heart, Dimitri," Harry murmured. "The Government always went out of their way to hide things from me."
"So what you're saying is that we've got moles in MI-5? Again."
"For as long as there's an MI-5, there will always be a mole," Harry sighed, hating the truth of his words. "The trick is to identify them before things get out of hand."
"Yeah, well I think we've already gone past that," Catherine muttered. "Karim's dead. My boyfriend's a sadistic bastard. And now he's after us."
Ruth was silent, but Harry didn't fail to notice the colour drain from her face. She was obviously thinking about Lottie and Kinkaid. He wordlessly reached under the table and squeezed her hand.
"He won't get to you here," Dimitri assured them, a flicker of kindness in his dull grey eyes.
"You don't know that," Catherine muttered, her knee jiggling up and down. "You don't know him. Once Ollie sets his mind on something, he doesn't let go. He'll come after us. I know it."
"And it won't take much more than a few calls and a wiz with a laptop to find out where Catherine's mother and brother live. And if he tracks them down, his discovery that my 'husband' is actually Catherine's long-dead father won't be far behind," Ruth reasoned.
"Then we'll be ready for him if and when he does come," Dimitri vowed. "We'll give you round-the-clock protection. After we're done here, some officers will escort you to a safe house. We can do all the formalities – reissuing of passports, revoking of death certificates – later. For now, I think this needs to be our priority."
"Of course," Harry nodded.
Quite honestly, he felt jet-lagged and world-weary. All he really wanted was to fall into bed beside Ruth and sleep.
"What about Mum and Gray?"
"I took them to another safe house," Malcolm supplied gently. "Don't worry, they're fine."
"I want to see them."
"I'll take you to them tomorrow."
"I want to see them today. I need to – "
"Tomorrow," Dimitri ruled. "We can't risk you endangering them."
"What do you mean? 'Endangering' them?" Catherine demanded hotly.
"You might have been followed."
"I thought you said he wouldn't get us here?!"
"He won't. Not if I have anything to do with it. And the chance of you being followed is slight. But we need to take precautions. We don't know who might be a member of Alfursan Alarbe here, in London. We can't risk you being spotted."
"And exactly what difference is one day going to make? What are you going to do when I visit tomorrow? Put a bag over my head?" she asked acerbically.
"Catherine, he's doing his best – " Harry began, but the blonde launched herself from her seat before he could finish.
"I need some water."
"Catherine – "
But his fiery-tempered daughter took no notice. She fled from the room without so much as a backward glance. The remaining four watched as she marched across the Grid, paused and swiped a hand across her forehead, before seeming to remember that she was in unfamiliar territory. A spark of panic filled her blazing brown eyes; a panic that quelled slightly as she spotted the kitchenette in the corner. She swallowed, took a deep breath, gathered her dignity and stormed off out of sight.
Harry stood there helplessly.
"Try not to worry," Malcolm murmured. "She'll be alright."
"Will she?" Harry asked doubtfully. "She's been through a lot. More than any normal person ever should."
"She's not normal though, is she?" Dimitri pointed out. "She's your daughter."
Catherine trudged across the Grid, sipping a glass of water and revelling in the way it soothed her scratchy throat. That was the problem with teetering on the edge of tears. Permanently. It created a tightness in the throat that was almost completely unbearable. It felt like she couldn't breathe; like she was suffocating. And the anger inside prevented her from explaining the extent of her unhappiness. Even to her dad. She hoped the liquid gold would do something to ease her queasy stomach too. It had been plaguing her for some time, obviously not helped by two long flights.
Moaning in relief, she took another small sip and glanced back at the 'inner sanctum'. Her dad, Ruth, Malcolm and Dimitri Levendis were still deep in conversation. She sighed. She really didn't want to go back in there. She didn't want to face what was happening. Truth be told, all she really wanted to do was burrow under a pile of blankets and hide. Hide from the truth; from Ollie Kinkaid; from her heartbreak; from everything and everyone. She raised the glass to her lips and was about to take another welcome sip, when something caught her eye.
The shaggy-haired bloke, who'd been left in charge of Lottie, was fiddling with the sleeping child's head. Catherine frowned. She might not nurture any warm, fuzzy feelings towards Ruth, but she had to admit: Lottie was a cutie-pie. And whether she liked it or not, they were sisters. And she had absolutely no intention of letting some demented pervert manhandle her baby sister.
"Hey!" she called, marching over with a renewed fire in her eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"
The man jumped.
"Jeez!" he exclaimed, clutching at his chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"What are you doing to her?!"
The man raised his hands in surrender, "Whoa. Hey..." He indicated the scrunched up jacket beneath Lottie's head. "She looked a bit uncomfortable, so I thought I'd... well... y'know. Then I realised I'd left my phone in my jacket. And I really ought to have it on me. Emergencies are kind of commonplace here."
Catherine narrowed her eyes. She saw no sign of deceit in his eyes, but then she'd trusted Ollie Kinkaid too. She'd always considered herself a pretty shrewd judge of character. Now, her confidence had been shot, stamped on, destroyed for what felt like eternity. She didn't think she'd ever be able to trust anyone ever again. Yet Lottie looked okay, and however much of an idiot this guy appeared with his straggly hair and vagrant-like beard, he seemed to mean well.
"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered, thrusting the glass into his hands and waving him away. "Come here."
With nimble fingers, she wormed her way into the jacket pocket and extracted the mobile, all without jostling the sleeping child. She tossed it to Shaggy, who caught it, dumfounded.
"How did you...?"
"I make documentaries. I'm used to getting into hard-to-reach places."
"As in lock-picking?"
"As in many things."
The bloke didn't press her, merely flashed an admiring smirk, "Wow. I wonder what Harry would think of that."
"Not much, probably. But then I don't really care what he thinks. He's undoubtedly done worse."
"Undoubtedly," Shaggy echoed, his eyes twinkling.
Catherine shifted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny. He wasn't leering exactly. On the contrary, he was gazing at her with such naked praise it made her cheeks burn.
"So," she said bluntly, keen to break the moment. "Are all spooks as useless as you?"
She regretted it as soon as she said it. Shit. What was wrong with her? Shaggy recoiled, looking alarmingly as if someone had kicked his puppy.
"Er... okay. Ouch."
Catherine winced, "Sorry. I'm sorry. Ignore me. I'm being a bitch."
"It's...er... it's okay."
He returned the water to her grasp and she cupped the glass between her hands, pressing it, reassuring herself of its solidity. It helped her to feel more rational, grounded.
"No... it's not. You didn't deserve that. I guess I'm just a bit... wound up at the moment."
"With good reason, from what I hear."
Shaggy offered what she supposed was meant to be understanding smile, yet all she heard was accusation in his words. Her temper flared, and before she knew what she was doing, she was snapping, "What do you mean by that?"
"Well... um... Malcolm told me the basics of what happened in Damascus. With you and...er... what's-his-name..."
"Oh, great. So now everyone knows my private life."
Shaggy's eyes widened and for the second time in just a few short minutes, he held up a placating hand, "Not everyone. Just me, Malcolm and Dimitri. Harry outlined the basics to Malcolm in his email. And Malcolm was our contact. Don't worry. He was the soul of discretion."
She rolled her eyes, riding out the pang of annoyance. On the one hand, she was conscious that these people needed to know her story if they were to stop the Horsemen. She had played a quintessential part in halting the group's activities. However, the less-rational side of her – the selfish, inner-child – hated that her private life had been displayed for all to see. It wasn't exactly flattering to be paraded as the girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) of a terrorist. She felt like a fool, not only in herself, but also in the eyes of others. She knew they were judging her; silently asking the same question that she was asking herself. Why didn't you see? Why did you allow yourself to be deceived for so long? The answer to that was, of course, simple. Love. Love blinded people to a great many things.
"I don't," Shaggy announced out of the blue, effectively ending her self-flagellation.
She blinked, confused. He didn't what?
"You had that 'You-probably-think-I'm-an-idiot' look on your face," he elaborated. "A look I've given out way too many times. So I just wanted to assure you that... I don't. I absolutely don't think you're an idiot."
Catherine swallowed, "You don't?"
"No. I think you're rather brave, actually."
Her throat tightened. But not in a bad way. That was the reassurance she had needed to hear, and even though her dad had echoed those same words, somehow it meant more coming from a stranger. Dads were built to be biased. They were meant to comfort their children, even at the expense of the truth. And Harry Pearce didn't have the best track record when it came to the truth. Hearing Shaggy's show of support, somehow made her feel less like an imbecile; less like something rotten and used and... tainted.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
She smiled weakly, tilting the glass to her lips in a bid to hide her filling eyes.
"Thanks," she said, once she was sure she wasn't about to start bawling. "That's really sweet."
He shrugged, "Just honest. I don't do sweet."
Her smile softened, "I beg to differ. And so does the jacket under that little girl's head."
Shaggy cleared his throat gruffly, "Right. So I'm not as useless as you first thought then?"
Catherine shrugged, "We'll see. Though we've managed to have a whole conversation without you hitting on me, which is an improvement on a lot of arseholes. So that's a point in your favour."
"Wow. What an honour."
She couldn't help but grin back. His smile was infectious. And it was nice. Talking about something other than her current calamity was... refreshing.
"So, then. Are you going to remind me of your name, or am I going to have to keep calling you 'Shaggy' in my head?"
"Shaggy?" he spluttered. "You've been calling me Shaggy? As in Scooby-Doo?"
"As in your beard."
Shaggy tugged self-consciously at his chin, "What's wrong with it?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
"I've a feeling you're going to."
"You look like a cross between a vagrant and Brian Blessed."
"Brian Blessed's a ledge."
"Yeah, but I'd say you're leaning more towards the vagrant."
"Thanks very much."
"You're welcome."
They both chuckled. Catherine appreciated the banter. It created a lightness in her chest that she hadn't thought she'd ever feel again. Shaggy held out his hand.
"Calum Reed, technical genius."
"And babysitter."
He rolled his eyes, "And babysitter. Apparently."
She chuckled again, "Catherine Townsend."
His palm wasn't grubby or sweaty, as she might have expected from a man who blatantly didn't tend much to his physical appearance. Instead the weight of his hand in hers was warm and comforting.
"Yeah, I know. I remember you now from the funeral."
She froze, "What funeral?"
Calum's grin faded.
"Er... "
His eyes flickered towards the office. It didn't take a genius to work out what that meant. His palm no longer felt warm and comforting, but horribly, horribly hot – stifling, even, and she quickly snatched her hand away.
"Oh, for the love of..."
"Miss Townsend..."
"Don't 'Miss Townsend' me!" she snapped. "You're as bad as the rest."
"Rest?"
"Spooks. You're all so expert at lying, I bet even you don't know what's true and what's not. And men. Bloody men! You're all shits!"
"Errr..."
Calum stared, utterly lost. Had she not been so angry in that moment, she might've felt sorry for him. But she was angry. And she couldn't... wouldn't take it easy on him.
"I can't believe I actually thought you were alright!"
"I am alright."
"No. No, you're just one more two-faced prick!"
"We have to tell a lot of lies in this job – "
She snorted derisively, "I've noticed."
" – But most of them are for the greater good."
"The 'greater good'. The 'greater good'. I swear, if I hear one more word about the greater fucking good... Did you know that my dad was still alive when you came to his funeral?"
Calum's silence spoke volumes.
"Tell me, Mr Reed. How were you and your merry band of liars achieving the 'greater good' by keeping my dad from me?"
"Surely Harry's explained all this – ?"
"Tell me."
Calum shuffled his feet warily, "We were trying to protect him. And Ruth. They were slated as conspirators... terrorists. We couldn't risk you knowing. You might've run off to find Harry. Say you were being watched. You could've led all sorts of danger to his door."
"So what... you all thought I was a liability?"
"No – "
"You didn't trust me to keep his secret? You didn't think that maybe – just maybe – I might've had the sense not to try and find him? That it would have been enough just to know he was still alive?"
Calum sighed. The mischievous glint had faded from his eyes, and that infectious smile had all but vanished. He suddenly looked a great deal older, wearier, than before.
"We just... we did what we thought was best. It was only a handful of us that knew the truth and... it was difficult."
"Difficult?" Catherine repeated incredulously. "He's my Dad. How would you feel if it was yours?"
For a moment, Calum didn't respond. He merely stared at her, an unnerving lack of expression in his navy eyes.
"I agree that it was a shitty thing to do," he said eventually. "And an even shittier thing for you to go through."
Catherine blinked. She had expected more of a fight than that – perhaps even wanted more of a fight. She had accepted her dad's revelation days ago, and truthfully, she did understand. So why then, did she still feel so angry? Maybe it wasn't solely about her father's 'death' after all. Maybe it was more about her trying to take all of her burgeoning anger out on someone... anyone.
"But, in my defence, Ms Townsend," Calum continued seriously. "Back then, I didn't know you. And you didn't know me. Would you really have believed it if I, a total stranger, had just swanned up to you, with claims that your Dad was actually still alive, innocent, and living a whole new life?"
"I'd have preferred it to the alternative," she muttered, though most of the fight had left her. After all, what right did she have, really, to pin so much blame on this man she had known for all of twenty minutes?
Calum sighed, soft and slow.
"Look. Life's too short, and I've made far too many enemies in this job. It'd be nice to think I've not made another one today. What do you say to starting over?"
"Starting over?"
"Yeah. I'm not sure I want Harry Pearce's daughter as my enemy."
Catherine folded her arms, debating his proposal.
"Fine," she said at last. "No hard feelings."
Calum grinned, "Great."
"On one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you never refer to me as Harry Pearce's daughter again."
His brow wrinkled in confusion, "But you..."
"First and foremost, I'm me. Not someone's daughter, sister, milkman's friend or otherwise. I'm my own person. And I'm not Miss Townsend. That makes me feel like an English teacher. I'm just... Catherine."
"Fair enough," Calum stuck out his hand once more. "Catherine."
"Calum."
She accepted the handshake, pretending not to notice his softening smile. And when their hands met, she ignored the sudden static rippling up her arm. That was fine. Normal. A result of the air conditioner. That was all.
"I'll need to go to the Home Secretary," Dimitri announced, his eyes raking steadily over the list of locations. "See what he knows about all this."
"Is that wise?" Harry asked, remembering the last time he put his faith in the British Home Secretary.
"This isn't a Towers situation, Harry. Believe it or not, I actually trust the Home Secretary."
"Wonders will never cease."
"And so should you," Dimitri frowned. "Given that the man saved both our necks, six years ago."
Harry struggled to recall a politician who adequately fit that bill. His eyebrows rocketed as he realised that there was only one person who did.
"You don't mean...?"
"David Rawle, yes."
"Rawle became Home Secretary? Again?"
Dimitri stared at him incredulously, as if trying to work out if he was joking. Once he seemed satisfied that Harry was being entirely serious, he scoffed and stared at the pair of them in wonder.
"My God, you really have been living under a rock, haven't you?"
Harry took offence to that.
"No," he growled. "Just the other side of the world. And we haven't wanted any truck with British politics."
He didn't appreciate Dimitri's tone. It was a touch too cavalier for his liking.
"Well, I don't think you've got much choice now. You're involved whether you want to be or not."
"You can say that again," Harry grumbled.
"Oh, come on. I can't believe the two of you aren't just a tiny bit thrilled to be back."
"Back to lies, conspiracies and dull, grey English weather. Oh, yes. Thrilled," Harry said dryly, squashing the little voice in his head that echoed the truth of Dimitri's words.
"You're home. Surely that has to count for something?"
"We had a home," Ruth whispered suddenly, so forlornly that it damn near broke Harry's heart. Dimitri looked as if he'd been slapped. "Don't get me wrong, Dimitri. We're happy to see you. And Calum. And dear Malcolm," she added, smiling at their old friend, who offered a bashful smile back. "And Erin – when we see her, I'm sure – "
Harry didn't know if he imagined it, but he swore he saw Dimitri flinch. Then he looked over at Malcolm. The paralysed horror on the other man's face made it quite clear that, no, he hadn't imagined it. Oh no.
" – It's just... life where we were..." Ruth continued softly. "It was... good."
Perhaps she could've, would've said more, but like Harry, she seemed to notice the muscle twitching in Dimitri's jaw. A dangerous twitch, and a sure-fire sign that the younger man was either about to break down or start roaring expletives. Given the way his eyes were bulging, Harry was leaning towards the latter. The question was... why? And did it have anything to do with his cold, robotic demeanour?
"Dimitri?"
Ruth's voice was gentle, ever so gentle, but still the younger man winced.
"Dimitri, where is Erin?"
Dimitri gulped, his chest heaving, his breath catching in stagnant little puffs. His gaze never left the table. Sensing that they weren't going to get an answer from their distressed young friend, Harry looked to Malcolm for answers. The former techie's face was crumpled into a grave frown.
"Erin... Erin's not here," he said delicately.
Harry's heart sank.
"No," Ruth whispered. "No... you don't mean..."
"She's alive," Malcolm assured her. "But she doesn't work for the Security Services anymore."
"Oh, God. What happened?"
"She – "
"It doesn't matter now," Dimitri suddenly spat, his gritted teeth and deadened tone a clear indication that the topic was off-limits. "She's gone. You're back. And now you're here, you might as well make yourselves useful."
"Dimitri – "
"Keep your nose out of it, Evershed!"
Ruth recoiled. Even Harry had to take a step back. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dimitri Levendis so angry. From his thunderous expression and to his stormy grey eyes, it was hard to believe he'd ever been the cheeky, easy-going lad they'd left behind six years ago. Had it been anyone else, Harry would've rushed to defend Ruth's honour.
No-one spoke to Ruth like that. No-one.
But seeing the underlying sorrow in Dimitri's face, Harry didn't have the heart to rebuke him. And he knew Ruth wouldn't want him to either. Their old friend was clearly broken; tormented by bitterness and despair, and haunted by a grief that still seemed too raw to discuss.
A strained silence fell over the room, filled only by short, sharp, sporadic beeps from the interface. Harry and Ruth stared at Dimitri, Malcolm stared at his clasped hands, and Dimitri refused to stare at anything or anyone. After a few moments, the Section Head released a slow and shaky breath.
"Look," he muttered. "I appreciate your concern. I do. But things have changed here. You can't just turn up after years and expect everything to be the same. Things happen. People move on."
"We know that," Harry replied earnestly. "Probably better than most."
"Then I trust you both to respect that I want to leave the past where it is and focus on the task at hand."
His eyes finally worked their way up to Ruth's. It was as if he knew that she, out of the two of them, would be most likely to press the issue.
"Please?"
She stared him down, eagle eyes raking over his stiff form and landing on his balled-up fist. It was only then that Harry noticed what she had. A thin silver band circling Dimitri's ring finger. Ruth inhaled sharply, and the younger man raised a solitary eyebrow, silently daring her to ask. She didn't. She simply frowned, ducked her head and nodded.
"Okay."
For a brief second, Dimitri seemed surprised by her restraint. Then, the same detached coldness swept across his face.
"Good. Let's get back to work then, shall we?"
"Hold on," Harry frowned. "What do you mean 'we'? Ruth and I don't work for the Security Services. Not anymore."
"I assumed, since you were back – "
"Just because we've been cleared of all charges, doesn't mean we're coming straight back to work," Harry declared, despite the slight pang of longing in his heart. "It's as you said, Dimitri. Things change and people move on. We've moved on. Three days ago, our life was simple. Clear cut. And it didn't involve Five or terrorist plots. The fact that we're here is out of necessity. Now, we've just stepped off a twenty-four hour flight. We're tired, shaken, and angry. You need to give us a moment to catch our breaths."
"But – "
"We didn't come here thinking about work, Dimitri," Ruth added seriously. "Catherine's terrified, and Lottie could've been killed yesterday. We're here to protect our family, and we're here to stop the Horsemen. We've done our bit getting that intel to you, and we'll do our best to help out. But that's as much as we know right now."
Dimitri looked between the pair, clearly ready to argue. However, he seemed to recognise that 'end of subjects' were a two-way street, so he just sighed and nodded, "Okay. Okay, fine."
He strode around the table, zooming in on areas here and there, dragging a weary hand through his cropped hair.
"I don't suppose either of you can tell me anything about Alfursan Alarbe? My analysts are useless. They've found nothing. Only some chatter from about seven years ago."
"I remember that," Ruth nodded. "I took it to Erin, and Erin took it to the DG. He ruled it out as harmless idealism."
"Well, it's not harmless anymore, is it?"
"Apparently not."
"And am I to take it the name has some sort of significance? The Four Horsemen. As in: of the Apocalypse?"
"That would be my conclusion, yes."
"If Catherine hadn't taken off with those plans, the UK might well have faced some kind of Apocalypse." Harry muttered.
"I think that might be the point," Ruth said grimly.
"But these are Islamic extremists," Dimitri frowned. "I thought the Horsemen of the Apocalypse was a Biblical teaching?"
"It depends. Some extremists believe that the fourth horseman represents the rise of Islam."
Dimitri stared at her blankly, "You're going to need to explain that to me."
Ruth paused, considering how best to explain herself, "Look, the book of Revelations depicts four riders – white, red, black and pale – appearing at the end of the world. They symbolise pestilence, war, famine and death, yes?"
"I'll take your word for it."
"Well, some extremists go one further. They believe that the white horse represents Catholicism; the red, Communism; the black, Capitalism, and the green, Islam."
"Wait... green? I thought you just said it was a pale horseman?"
"I did. Often depicted as being a pale, sickly green," she swallowed and glanced around at all three men. "And he goes by only one name. Death. Followed by Hades – the resting place of the dead, he's given the power to kill over a fourth of the earth."
There was a stunned silence.
"Shit," Dimitri muttered, echoing Harry's sentiments exactly. "So that would explain why they called themselves The Four Horsemen then."
"Yes."
"So, if you're right, and this group have combined their ideology with this... depiction..."
"Then they could well have decided that they are entitled to kill, yes. Without discrimination, and without guilt," Ruth nodded. "The usual claptrap excuse for mass slaughter. And that would explain their desire for uranium."
"And plutonium."
"And plutonium. There's no weapon like a nuclear weapon."
"They're cherry-picking bits of Christian ideology to justify their own vendetta."
"Exactly."
"Bastards," Malcolm suddenly spat out of nowhere.
All heads turned to stare. Such an outburst from gentle, mild-mannered Malcolm was a shock, to say that least. His cheeks flamed, and he gave a sheepish grimace.
"Sorry."
"No need to be sorry, Malcolm," Harry shrugged. "You're only voicing what the rest of us are thinking."
"The question is, what do we do now?" Ruth asked.
Dimitri sighed resignedly, "We don't do anything. You go to the Safe House. Freshen up. Get your daughter to bed, and get some sleep. I need to speak to David Rawle. And perhaps see about getting this uranium moved. You're sure this Karim Nahas only had one copy of the locations?"
"According to Catherine, yes," Harry nodded.
"Well, then at least Catherine's bought us some time. I'm going to get my analysts to look into Nahas – and this Ollie Kinkaid. See what we can dig up."
Harry nodded, "You'll let us know what you find?"
"Of course. Though, I'll be honest. I could really use your analytical mind, Ruth. You've just given me more in ten minutes, than a whole team of Oxford grads have in the last two days. And Harry, your skills are –."
"Dimitri, please..."
"Okay, okay." His face darkened as he removed the USB from its outlet. "I can't say I blame you. You were lucky to get out while you could."
"But we didn't get out, did we?" Ruth whispered, gazing pensively out at the Grid. "We tried but... I'm beginning to think that, really, there is no getting out."
Back after yet another long hiatus. It's taken a while to plan out the story, but I hope you like where it goes. Chapter 14 should be up very, very soon, and then there might be a week or so before the next update. Thank you for all the lovely messages. Take care xx