Malcolm's decision to leave the service had been a well-reasoned one, with no thought that he'd ever go back. He was bone tired, he'd done his bit and his ageing old Mum needed him at home and not just in the evenings and at weekends. So he'd shaken Harry's hand, fully confident that he'd be fine now that Ruth was back in his life. He'd been fairly certain that it wouldn't be an instant return to the equilibrium that had existed before she'd left. They'd need time to find a way to work together again, to resurrect what they'd once had, but they'd get there in the end they always had, he'd been sure about that. So when he'd answered his phone and heard Catherine's voice, he'd been overjoyed. It had been years since he'd seen her and been called Uncle Malcolm and it had warmed his battered old heart that after all those years that she still thought of him as her adopted Uncle. His immediate reaction was that it was just a catch up call and that she was ringing from Harry's, until she'd dissolved into tears and pleaded with him to listen to Callum because her dad was in trouble. The fact that she'd also mentioned Ruth's name hadn't come as a surprise until Callum had elaborated and his blood had run cold.
'Of course he'd help,' he told him, 'it went without question.'
He'd immediately taken to Tariq, in fact they'd formed an instant bond without any effort on either of their parts. He reminded him of Colin. Quiet and respectful but above all discreet and in this situation discretion was everything. He clearly cared about Ruth and Harry that shone bright like a beacon and to Malcolm was the crowning glory about the young man, in what would later prove to be a crucial factor in their working relationship.
The footage of Ruth had ended abruptly when she had arrived home and there was nothing to show her leaving again, which had to have been before 6am the next morning when Beth had called her but got no response. The outside of Ruth's flat had hidden surveillance which under Harry's instruction he'd added himself when she'd first come back, fearful that there might be repercussions after Mani's or maybe George's demise, so there could be no other explanation other than it had been tampered with. They were working blind.
'We make a list,' he told Tariq, 'and then we take an in depth look at all these characters, whether they're alive or dead. Unless I'm mistaken, then one of them has to be the link to what has happened now.' The list was long, but then so was Malcolm's memory and if Harry's extradition and now Ruth disappearance had been opportunist rather than a long term decision, then it could be related to something that had happened recently as well as in the past, when one of more of these what Harry would have described as bastards had crossed their paths.
'Start with the latest characters,' he told him, as Tariq typed in Erin Watts and William Towers. 'After this is where it gets tricky, because half of the others are dead or have conveniently disappeared.'
Harry's exploits in Ireland were lengthy and messy but were far too long ago for them to have any bearing, as was his involvement in the cold war days when he'd spent a lot of time in Germany and one very brief trip to Russia. That left the most recent years since Harry had become Section Head and since Ruth had stumbled her way onto the grid and more specifically into his life. The Cotterdam fiasco resulting in Ruth's exile and then heart breaking return, Yalta, Albany and with it Harry's subsequent suspension and then Connie's and Lucas's betrayals made a long list that Tariq had to research, but Malcolm had to believe that they would find the link. There was only so much time before Harry would break and would be lost to them forever.
'Cotterdam screams Mace, an odious man who at the time of the enquiry was head of six and is currently who knows where,' Malcolm told him, 'but you might be able to find out if you dig deep enough and assuming that it hasn't been deleted from the file. Yalta which you may or may not have come across brings all sorts of people into the picture, but we'll concentrate on previous associates or maybe friends of Juliet Shaw,' he suggested. 'She and Harry have previous.
'Then of course there's Albany which I do know about, which saw Harry play Russian Roulette with Lucas and the Chinese to save Ruth's life,' said Tariq, interrupting Malcolm's train of thought about Juliet Shaw and just how powerful and ultimately deceitful she had been.
Connie's betrayal, Malcolm thought it unlikely that there was a connection, but Richard Dolby had been around in those days and had tried to get Harry dismissed, so maybe he merited investigation?
On the grid, life had apparently resumed as though their colleagues were obeying Erin's instructions and any talk of Harry or Ruth's current predicaments were a thing of the past. Coded messages and a shared coffee or lunch break ensured that by the time Callum rang Malcolm each evening there were always a few titbits to pass on. The CIA or more precisely the lack of them was a case in point and it concerned them. They were usually all over section D like a rash but were currently conspicuous by their absence, having presumably been placated by the fact that they believed that they had got their man. One thing that Callum had managed to discover by talking to an ex colleague at six, was that the CIA had received an anonymous tip off that that Harry was the person who had given the order to kill Jim Coaver, but who it had come from he didn't know, so was at the top of his list to find out.
Erin more than anyone was relieved that things had seemingly settled down and that her staff had heeded her warning. She'd always craved promotion and the fact that it had come sooner rather than later didn't matter. Harry was guilty and as such he had to take his punishment, no one was indispensable and it didn't warrant the investigation that Callum had been demanding.
Also batting for Harry and by association Ruth, the first steps to their salvation were about to be fought on two fronts, the first of which was at the Home Office. The recently panicking Home Secretary had thought long and hard about his failure to prevent Harry's extradition and amongst all the protagonists, was the first person that was starting to buckle under the pressure. Consumed with regrets that both Harry and Ruth were no longer jointly part of the cog that ensured the safety of the nation, his conscience was telling him that it was still within his the power to help and if he had any self- worth or indeed conscience, then he should do it, no matter what the consequences to him personally.
He'd already sought out Margot and offered her his sincere apology before ensuring her that if she were to return to work, then her position as PA to his newly appointed security advisor was guaranteed. David Roberts, young and obviously ambitious had arrived within a couple of days of Ruth disappearance and was in Tower's opinion somewhat shady and far less forthcoming with the information that he was prepared to offer. He didn't trust this young man, he wanted Ruth back and it was this which had kick started his current thought process and was making him more and more convinced that he should discuss it with someone. He was fully aware that Erin Watts who was sitting in Harry's chair had arrived like a bolt from the blue, much as David Roberts had, so if he intended confessing his sins then he had to go elsewhere, and that meant talking to Callum Reid.
Across the pond, Harry's one time friend Bob Hogan had long since retired and was spending his days on the coast, wrapped in the arms of his recently acquired English wife Helen. Old spies didn't just fade away and he had heard a rumour that his one-time buddy Harry had been incarcerated and as the crow flies was 'just up the road'. He'd been curious, it wasn't like Harry to have got himself caught no matter what he'd done, never mind get himself extradited. Bob had been around for years and he also knew how close Harry had been to Jim Coaver and why, he'd read the files. There was no way in hell no matter what had happened that Harry would have sanctioned his death. Harry might be a ruthless bastard but above all he was fair and always loyal to his friends, so someone else was responsible for this and someone had speak up for him and tell them.
'I won't be long,' he told a smouldering Helen, as he climbed out bed, glad for the respite from her continual demands and walked into the bathroom. She'll be the death of me he thought with a grin.
The gun touting muppet on the door had never heard of him he said, but he stood his ground and having thrown him a few names, was eventually allowed back into the inner sanctum and up to what had once been his office. By the time that he left an hour later, he'd earned Harry a reprieve whilst they did some more investigating, they would let him know the outcome, but for now, no he couldn't see or speak to Harry.
Still fully dressed and feeling as though she had been wearing her current clothes for days, Ruth woke up to a sunny morning. She'd seen no need to draw the curtains the previous evening such had been the darkness, but now the sun was streaming in through her bedroom window and she could hear nothing apart from what sounded like sheep bleating. Dragging herself out of bed she walked across to the window and bent low, to a view that was all encompassing. She was facing east and with the sun just coming up over the horizon the sunrise was amazing. Between her and the sea, there was nothing apart from a field with a few sheep and an old man walking his dog. She was utterly alone in what to anyone who had chosen to be there would have been paradise, but to her was heart breaking.
'Shower first and breakfast,' she told herself out loud, biting her lip to control her rising emotions and then she needed to explore and to get her bearings.
The water was hot, so someone had obviously fired up the boiler assuming that there was one. Maybe there was a caretaker that she hadn't been told about? Her meeting had been a short one and she hadn't stayed long enough for him to elaborate, she'd just grabbed the file that had been handed to her and run, she needed to read it. That brought her thoughts back to Harry and her heart sank. She had to find a way to stop thinking about him which was virtually impossible at the moment, or she'd go insane. Time healed didn't it according to the experts, well she had plenty of that, but what the hell did they know had they ever been in love like she was?
Back in her bedroom she piled her travel dirty clothes into a basket and dug out her warmest trousers and her heaviest jumper and headed back downstairs. The washing up from the previous evening stared back at her from the draining board.
'Come on Ruth,' she told herself and the vacuum of the empty house that surrounded her. 'You need order, it's how you function and you need to decide what the hell you're going to do with the rest of her life.'
As it was a sunny day, a good point to start would be to walk into the heart of the village and to see what was there, she decided. Toast and tea demolished and with the washing up done, she made a list of what she needed, with another horrible realisation that she didn't have to buy coffee any more. She certainly needed some extra warm and completely casual clothes, would she ever wear anything formal, she doubted it. How far was it to the nearest large town, she needed to buy a map and she certainly needed to stock up in case the weather broke.
'I'm Susan Barnes, I'm a writer,' she told herself, as she shut the door behind her and walked out into the sunshine and breathed in the crystal clear air.
The walk to the village wasn't a long one although it was uphill and Ruth realised to her detriment that she was far from fit. Well that would have to change if she intended surviving which she did, she wasn't going to be remembered as a quitter. Everything looked so different from the previous evening when she'd first arrived, she just hoped she'd blend in and that no one would stop and ask her questions. It seemed highly unlikely though in such a small community.
'Susan,' said a familiar voice, as a hand rested on her shoulder and she very nearly jumped out of her skin. 'Have you settled in, do you fancy a walk around the village?'
Christopher she presumed on second glance was in his late twenties or maybe his early thirties, about the same age as Dimitri and with a similar twinkle in his eye. He was much too young for her to have been interested, with or without Harry, so why not she decided.
For the next hour they wandered, not at the route march speed that he had set off at but at Ruth's more leisurely pace, stopping outside the tiny church which Ruth thought was beautiful and that she would like to look at, until Christopher mentioned that it was here that his granny was to be buried and he wanted to walk on. Climbing even higher up the road to a spot that was appropriately called the High Point they reached the village hall, where according to Christopher there were apparently plenty of activities and groups that Ruth could join if she was interested. Behind that and to one side stood the primary school, in a position that even Ruth had to concede must be a wonderful spot to go to school. According to her enthusiastic guide he'd spent many happy years there before he'd gone to secondary school in Stornoway and then over to Liverpool where he'd attended University. He loved his island but he'd grown to love England and especially the Northern Counties which were less crowded than the south and he appeared to know well.
'I originate from Devon,' said Ruth, telling him the truth and realising too late that she'd veered away from her legend. 'The West Country's popular for holidays, it always has been,' she told him, 'but it's inundated with tourists.'
'So what are you going to do to occupy yourself here in this little piece of paradise,' was the one question that Ruth did have the answer to, but she needed to elaborate to avoid further questions.
'Write, I'm here to write a book and maybe find a choir to join,' she said without thinking, as Christopher told her that his Uncle was the choirmaster at the local church and he was sure that she'd be welcome.
'Maybe at some time in the future,' Ruth suggested backtracking and not wanting to commit to being part of the community just yet or appear pushy, which she certainly wasn't. 'I need to explore the island first and I have a lot of research to do for my book,' she lied to him. 'Maybe after a few months when I have more time on my hands, I might branch out a bit, but not just yet.' Time on her hands was the one thing that she did have, she had nothing to fill it and it started now.
Their tour ended at the village shop where she stocked up on groceries and bought herself a pair of walking boots and another couple of heavy sweaters. Elegant they certainly weren't, comfy was the way to describe them and so far removed from what she'd worn during her years at Thames House and then at Home Office as to look comical. But who was there to see her other than locals and she needed to blend in and keep warm with the winter fast approaching. With far too much to carry on her own, the ever gallant Christopher offered to help her carry her purchases back down to the house.
'I'll be gone after the funeral tomorrow and I won't be back until Christmas, so I'd like to repay your kindness yesterday,' had Ruth handing over a couple of her heavier bags.
Having walked for the best part of the morning, Ruth's legs were already aching, but she certainly wasn't going to tell him that. Maybe if I take to walking and do it more regularly she thought to herself, then by the time that Christmas comes round, I'll be able to match Christopher's pace. She'd never enjoyed walking but it was a challenge that maybe she should set herself, if she could cope with the inevitable blisters. The view as they walked back down to her house was beautiful, Ruth couldn't deny that, but it was to the east and not to the west where her heart lay. Would she have the courage to explore the other side of the island and to stand on whatever headland she found herself, knowing that Harry was out there somewhere? Of course she would, she wouldn't be able to prevent it. Which way was London, she was rubbish when it came to directions? He'd be back there soon, at the end of a phone and available to her, if she were to weaken. Perhaps she was already going insane considering that as an option? Harry was lost to her forever and she had to do as she had been told and move on.
'Are you alright Susan?' had her dragging herself back to the present and the need to appear contained and not someone who was mourning a loss.
'I'm fine just a bit tired,' she lied again, as it tripped off her tongue like the spy that she was.
She'd lit the fire before she'd gone out and the house certainly felt warm and cosy.
'I don't drink coffee,' she told him, apologising that it was either tea or water, as he settled himself down at her kitchen table and she felt obliged to offer him a sandwich, praying that she hadn't left anything lying around that would alert him to the fact that she wasn't who she said she was.
Her most prized possession was her one and only photograph of Harry that Zaf had insisted that she take with her when she'd gone to Cyprus. It had been wrong to take it then and it was certainly wrong to keep it now, but she knew that she'd never be able to part with it. It was in a small silver frame on her bedside table and she adored it.