A/N: I hope you enjoyed the rather light-hearted chapter 45, as things are about to get a little more serious, and will stay that way for quite some time. We're in the home stretch now, though! Thank you for staying with me on this meandering journey, and for all your enthusiasm and kind words of support. This chapter follows episode 9.6.
GCHQ and Harry both signed off on Martha's secondment, and she was set to start her time on the Grid the day after the Americans finished upgrading the computer systems. Non-essential personnel weren't allowed on site during the transition, anyway, and her clearances hadn't quite come through yet.
Ruth was looking forward to both Martha's arrival and to the electronic systems overhaul with no small amount of trepidation. She had reached the thirty-two week mark, and she knew the time had come for her to take a step back from life on the Grid. She felt as if she'd grown big as a house, and though she was loath to admit it, she knew the stress of her job was the last thing she needed right now. There were finishing touches to put on the nursery, there was the delivery of her things to Harry's house to be arranged, there were doctor's appointments and swollen feet and a baby still without a name, and on top of everything, she'd started to feel the first rumblings of Braxton-Hicks contractions, that relatively painless but deeply troubling clenching of the muscles surrounding the peanut that only served to remind her just how little time she had left. On the Grid she often worked late into the night, and was constantly having to be on her toes, and she knew it was not the sort of lifestyle she could carry on, at this stage, much as it rankled.
And so she had finally given in to Harry's quiet insistence, and agreed to start her leave after spending a few days helping Martha get adjusted. She would have liked to have had a month, at least, to train the new girl, but time was running out, and she would have to make the most of what little she had left.
And then there was the systems overhaul to fret about; the installation of Cybershell was being touted by the H.S. and the CIA as the perfect remedy for the out-of-date British systems, but the process itself worried Ruth more than any potential issues that might stem from running both nations' computers on the same network. No non-essential personnel on the Grid, all personal electronic devices banned, a bevy of American soldiers and one mysterious CIA cryptographer all descending on her beloved Grid at once added up to one catastrophic concoction, in her mind. And to cap it all, Harry had determined that Lucas ought to be the one to go and fetch the cryptographer. Lucas, who had grown steadily more despondent and increasingly unpredictable; Lucas, whom Harry trusted for reasons that he could not articulate; Lucas, who kept looking at Ruth like she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
Yes, she had agreed to trust Harry, and yes, she had halted her investigation into the man, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. In point of fact, she was absolutely bloody livid about the whole thing. The night before the Cybershell operation, she tried to talk to him about it.
They were lying in his bed (soon to be their bed), slightly sweaty and tangled up in one another after an uncharacteristically acrobatic round of love making during which they'd had to be extraordinarily creative in order to accommodate the size of her stomach and her own depleted energy levels. He was, as he so often did when they lay together like this, gently resting one hand on the rise of her belly, and she tangled her fingers with his as she started to speak.
"I know we agreed not to discuss this in bed, Harry," she began. Beside her he turned his head and buried his face in her hair, groaning.
"Ru-uth," he started to protest, but she carried on, heedless.
"I don't think Lucas is the right person for the job. I understand that you trust him, Harry, and while you may be certain that whatever it is he's doing is on the level, you have to admit that emotionally he's…unstable, just now."
Harry dragged himself up into a sitting position, scrubbing his hands over his face wearily.
"I trust him implicitly, Ruth," Harry replied. "I have assured Towers that I would send the best man for the job, and right now, that man is Lucas."
"Why not Dimitri?" she pushed. "He gets on well with everyone, he's more than capable of both making a good impression on the Americans and delivering their agent safely."
"He's also very young, and has been on the team for less than a year," Harry pointed out.
Ruth ground her teeth in frustration. All they needed was an agent who knew how to drive; why was Harry so convinced that it had to be Lucas? Why wouldn't he just bloody listen?
"Harry-"
"It's going to be fine, Ruth," he assured her. "Everything will be smooth sailing tomorrow, you'll see."
She grumbled a bit at that, but then he leaned in to kiss her neck, his hands gentle on her skin, and she sighed in resignation. Harry was bound and determined to get his way, and in just a few days she'd be leaving the Grid behind. Whatever was going on with Lucas, she had to have faith that Harry knew what he was doing. Pactum Serva.
"I'm worried about Marcus," Beth admitted, taking a sip of her wine. Tariq had come round to the flat for dinner, in order for them to discuss their growing fears about Lucas in private. It was rather nice, having a friend over for a meal, even if their original purpose had been entirely work-related. Ruth was moving out the next weekend, and she'd be leaving most of her furniture behind, for which Beth was thankful. She had almost none of her own, and it was kind of Ruth to offer to leave her things for Beth to use, though the offer carried with it the unspoken suggestion that Ruth needed a contingency plan, should things not work out with Harry. In just a few short days Ruth would be gone (most likely) for good, and Beth was dreading having the flat to herself. At least with Tariq here, she could pretend for a little while longer that everything was all right.
"When's the last time you heard from him?" Tariq asked around a mouthful of curry.
"It's been four days. He's never gone that long without making contact." Beth had driven all around London, checking all the usual spots, but Marcus was nowhere to be found, and his mobile had been cut off. The next step, she supposed, would be ringing the hospitals, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. What if he had been hurt, or worse? What if it was because of her? He was such a nice boy; she didn't want his death on her conscience.
And then there was the matter of the man he'd spotted with Lucas, all those weeks before. Nothing had twigged on facial recognition, and Beth had taken to staring at the composite during quiet moments, studying his features and asking herself over and over who the hell is he? They had just enough information to know that Lucas was up to something, and not nearly enough to determine what that something was. Beth felt as if a dark cloud was hanging over her head, following her everywhere she went, waiting for just the right moment to let loose a torrent of horror.
"Have you rung the hospitals?" Tariq asked.
She shook her head glumly.
"I'll do it for you, if you like?" he offered. It was a rather kind gesture, and she appreciated it.
"Maybe once this Cybershell mess is done, yeah?" she said.
Tariq's face darkened at the very mention. "That's going to be a fiasco," he muttered.
Beth knew he'd been against it from the start, and she understood his frustrations, really she did, but it seemed to her that if the systems were out of date, then they ought to be upgraded, and the fact that the Americans were offering to do it themselves seemed to be icing on the cake.
"Oh, cheer up," she said, trying to sound more optimistic than she felt. "It won't be so bad."
Cybershell was a bit of a fiasco, in the end. Lucas went spectacularly off-base, a team of Russian and Chinese hackers nearly brought them all to their knees, and to cap it all, the American cryptographer died while in British custody. Ruth was absolutely bloody furious; she had told Harry it was a bad idea, sending Lucas out like that. As far as Harry was concerned, though, whatever Lucas had done to delay the arrival of the cryptographer was a godsend, as it prevented the installation of Cybershell during a full-scale technological attack, which would have rendered both the British and American security services completely helpless. That the girl had died in the process seemed to him to be unfortunate, but not enough of a negative to outweigh what he saw as a generally desirable outcome.
It was times like this that Ruth was starkly reminded of just how fundamentally different they were. Harry still possessed the ability to be cold-hearted when it suited him, to cordon off his emotions and be brutally pragmatic. Though Ruth's own capabilities in that department had developed over time, she could not bring herself to a point where she believed that the girl's death was an acceptable loss.
They were in his office, after, in the midst of a very quiet, very intense row.
"I bloody told you, Harry," she all but hissed at him, trying to keep her voice low so that their team would not bear witness to their disagreement. "We have no idea if he's telling the truth or not about what happened to the girl, and we have no idea where he went. What did she see? What if-"
"I am sick to death of you questioning me on this!" Harry fired back. "Lucas has done nothing to make me question-"
"He has done everything to make you question him, you just refuse to see it!"
"That's enough," Harry said in a deadly quiet voice. Ruth recognized that tone all too well; her Harry, Home Harry, was nowhere in sight as Grid Harry leaned over his desk, his hands balled into fists, his knuckles digging into the polished wood as he rested his weight on them. "Lucas has told me what happened, I believe him, end of story."
Ruth was so angry she felt the prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes, and turned away so he would not see them. "What does he have to do, Harry, for you to listen to me? Who else has to be hurt before you'll realize that he is not who you think he is?" Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, and she knew he would mistake the cause of that tremor for sorrow, rather than rage. So be it; she didn't care what he thought of her, so long as he listened to her.
"Give me proof, Ruth," Harry said heavily, dropping back into his chair with a sigh. "If you're so certain he's gone rogue, give me proof."
I have! She thought dejectedly. Haven't I?
"Beth, could I speak to you for a moment?" Tariq had appeared beside her without a sound, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke. Everything was very quiet, just now; Ruth and Harry were closeted in his office, Lucas had filed his report and disappeared, and Dimitri was just staring at the wreckage all around him as if he couldn't quite believe he'd been allowed to detonate a bomb on the Grid, and had no idea where to begin cleaning it up.
Numbly Beth followed Tariq into the forgery suite. The computers were back up and running, and had survived the carnage of Dimitri's improvised explosive.
"I've got two pieces of news," Tariq began.
"Good news first, please," Beth all but begged him; she was in dire need of some good news just now.
"It's just bad and worse, I'm afraid," Tariq responded. "I was tracking Lucas's mobile, and I think that's how the hackers were able to lock onto him." The techie looked absolutely miserable at this pronouncement. "I think they used my software to follow him. If I hadn't been-"
"This is not your fault," Beth cut in. "If Lucas had come straight back like he was supposed to, the girl never would have died. That's nothing to do with you."
"Maybe," he allowed, though she could tell from his face that he didn't believe it.
"Where did Lucas go?" she prodded gently.
"That's the first piece of news. I don't know why, but he went to Malcolm's."
"Malcolm?" Beth had heard that name before, but to be honest, she had no idea who the man was.
"Malcolm Wynn-Jones. He used to be the Senior Technical Officer on the Grid. He's an old friend of Harry and Ruth's, and he worked with Lucas. He retired just after Ruth came back."
"What the hell would Lucas be doing there?"
Tariq shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea. I tried ringing him, but I didn't get an answer."
Beth went cold at the thought of what Lucas could have done to the former officer. "Do you have his address?" she asked.
"Here," Tariq handed her a small piece of paper and she tucked it in her pocket.
"What's the other piece of news?" she asked, wondering what could possibly be worse than this.
"I'm so sorry, Beth, but I found Marcus. At St. Thomas's. He's dead. Strangled."
Beth's legs all but gave out from underneath her, and she sank into the nearest available chair, burying her face in her hands.
Oh Marcus, Marcus what have I done to you? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…
Marcus was dead, and all because of her. Why hadn't she done more to protect him? How could she have chosen to drag him into this madness with her, that poor, bright young man with his earnest smile and his tender heart? All he wanted was a bit of food and a place to sleep, and it had cost him his life. She had cost him his life.
I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry…
It was entirely too late for her to be out, but Beth wouldn't rest until she knew that Malcolm was all right, that he had not also fallen victim to whatever nefarious schemes Lucas was involved in. She had to see him with her own two eyes, speak to him, had to convince herself that all was not lost. As she drove Marcus's face swam before her eyes, and more than once she found herself so blinded by tears that she nearly had to pull over. Frustration and guilt and confusion and doubt washed over her in waves, and with each passing second she felt herself slipping away, drowning beneath the weight of her mistakes.
She parked the car in a short drive beside a sturdy brick house, its front garden lush and lovingly tended. She dragged herself up the steps, her heart pounding maddeningly in her chest. Please be all right, please be all right, please be all right; she repeated the words to herself like a mantra, over and over again, desperately hoping that when she knocked on the door there would be someone inside to answer it.
The lights were off, but that was to be expected, given the hour. She marched right up to the door and rapped on it smartly, stepping back and holding her hands at the ready, wondering what on earth she'd gotten herself into.
Two full minutes passed with no sign of life inside the house. She knocked again, waited again. Rang the bell once, twice, three times, feeling almost nauseous now with nerves. Still no answer.
Finally she reached out, and tentatively turned the door handle. It gave beneath the pressure of her hand, and the door swung open silently. Beth's heart was beating so loudly now, the rush of blood in her ears the only sound she could hear, and belatedly she realized how foolish it was, rushing out here with no weapon and no backup plan. Tentatively, she stepped into the house.
The house was empty, as it turned out, much to her consternation. There was not a stick of furniture or a person in sight as she wandered from room to room, confusion mounting. This was definitely the right place, definitely the address Lucas had absconded to earlier in the day, but there was no sign of Malcolm Wynn-Jones or his elderly mother; in point of fact, there was no sign that anyone had ever lived here at all.
I have to talk to Ruth, Beth realized as she let herself back out of the house. Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and she had no idea what it was. Ruth will know what to do.
