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Requiem for a Love Affair
Chapter 5
Malcolm hurried along the street, anxious to get out of the rain and into the warmth of his home. It had been three days since Harry's suspension and they were still being subjected to unannounced visits by the police. The permanent presence of two of Debra Langham's team did nothing to enhance the atmosphere on the Grid either. As he waited at the pedestrian crossing, his attention was caught by a man handing out leaflets. He seemed to be one of the usual types found on various street corners in London preaching their own brand of religion.
He was about to turn away when he spotted the board propped up against the railings near the preacher. On it was written 'Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.' He stood stock-still, oblivious to the crowds pushing past him to cross the road. He knew the quote. It was from John: Chapter 8, Verse 32 if his memory served him correctly…and it meant it was time to put Harry's plan into action.
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Tucked away in her quiet, neat house, Ruth was avidly trawling through every internet news site she could find. Although Harry's name had not been published, she knew he was the 'senior security services officer' who had been suspended following the death of Azhar al Khamir. After the initial flood of information had abated, the media were reduced to rehashing the story, desperately trying to find a new angle or lead. They had now taken to raking over the Cotterdam scandal.
Ruth felt ill every time she read that name; it had meant the end of her old life, leaving her friends, her job and Harry. She closed her eyes to try and stop the tears she could feel forming. If only she hadn't loved him… Her heart lurched at the thought; she couldn't imagine not loving him. Her thoughts became darker; wasn't love supposed to be a wonderful and joyous thing that made you happy? All it had done in the end was tear them apart; she hadn't even let him say 'I love you'. If she didn't hear the words then a small part of her could pretend it wasn't true. It had proved to be a pointless endeavour; she had seen it in his eyes and felt it when she kissed him. He did love her and she loved him.
She rubbed her hands vigorously over her face to try and scrub away the tears and the memories. She had to pull herself together and get ready to go to her neighbour's for dinner. Claudia was kind and generous but still something of an unknown quantity. Ruth would have to put on her best smile, make polite conversation and try to keep her thoughts away from events in London.
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Malcolm worked quickly and methodically; he'd already done the initial preparations when Harry had finally revealed what he wanted the Number 10 website for. He knew which dead letter drop to collect the information from, and he had rented an office in an anonymous block to use as the headquarters of the dummy company he had set up. The IT equipment was all leased and everything was paid for six months in advance; by the time any more payments were due, he'd be long gone and the computers would have been rendered useless.
Despite being pressed by his colleagues to reveal more information about Harry's plan, he had resisted; he didn't want any of them implicated. Reluctantly, they had agreed to let him get on with it, but only after Adam had extracted a promise that he would let him know immediately if anything went wrong or he needed help. Malcolm had agreed willingly, grateful for the younger man's support and trust.
As he tapped at the keyboard, a familiar feeling of anticipation started to dissipate his nerves. He could do this; he'd got into far more secure websites than this one. Tonight though, was just a dry run; the planting of a slightly corrupt version of a press release with the name of an MP spelt three different ways. It would be enough to prove he could get into the system undetected and would provide some amusement when the MP in question, noted for his vanity, complained vociferously.
---
Five days later, Malcolm was back in his rented office, ready to upload Harry's electronic time bomb. As he had prepared the web pages, he had been stunned by what he had read. He'd known Mace was a devious and untrustworthy bastard of gold medal standard but the revelations that were about to be unleashed were beyond anything even Malcolm had thought he was capable of.
With a final check, Malcolm clicked the mouse button and watched the counter on his screen: 80 percent, 100 percent, upload completed. It was done. Ten minutes later he gathered up his belongings, turned the light out and headed home.
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"The Prime Minister's Office is facing a raft of embarrassing questions this morning after allegations concerning Oliver Mace, the National Security Co-ordinator, were published on the Number 10 Press Office website. Updated biographical information flagged in the 'What's New' section of the site contained information relating to Mr Mace's activities in Kosovo and Northern Ireland and he is implicated in the deaths of several agents who were working on behalf of the Security and Intelligence Services. The revelations are believed to have come from a book written by Clive McTaggart, a former Security Services officer, who committed suicide in 2005. Today's disclosures throw into doubt the repeated denials of the existence of Mr McTaggart's memoirs. A police spokeswoman confirmed detectives are investigating several death threats made against Mr Mace. The website was shutdown as soon the problem was discovered but Number 10 have admitted it was too late to stop the information being copied and made available via other internet resources."
Adam switched the television off and looked at his colleagues. "Oh dear, seems Oliver's in a spot of trouble."
"Couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke," Zaf replied grinning.
"We can't afford to get complacent though; we need to prove Harry didn't give the order to shoot al Khamir. Malcolm, any more ideas about the comms interference?"
"Yes, I think I may have something."
---
Harry had also been watching the news but did not feel particularly euphoric. He had bought himself some time and, hopefully, derailed Oliver's career permanently. He still couldn't shake the sense of foreboding though that clouded his thoughts. Clive McTaggart's memoirs had been sitting in a safe deposit box the best part of three years; an insurance policy he had hoped he would never need. He had contemplated using them to help Ruth but there had not been enough time to get everything organised. Now he had played his trump card, at least where Mace was concerned. There was still plenty in the book that could be used but Harry needed to keep something in reserve.
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On impulse, Ruth had decided to take the ferry across Lake Como from Varenna to Mevaggio. She had spent the previous day in Milan with her neighbour, trailing from store to store as they hunted for a birthday present for Claudia's precocious teenage niece. Shopping was not her favourite pastime but she had been talked into going. It had, of course, been a total coincidence that they had bumped into Patrizio, who was Claudia's tall, handsome and single cousin, and ended up having a rather long lunch with him.
Her musings over her neighbour's attempts at matchmaking were interrupted by the day old copy of The Times she saw tucked into the rack outside the café. Ruth found herself a table, ordered a cappuccino and picked up the paper. She read the article twice, trying to take in as much detail as possible. There was only one person who could have made Clive McTaggart's revelations public: Harry. Somehow he must have got hold of McTaggart's book; she wondered how long he'd had it. She finished her coffee and returned the newspaper to the rack. Wandering aimlessly around the town, she tried to marshal her thoughts. Harry had taken a big risk; Mace must know he and Clive had been friends, so surely it was only a matter of time before he worked out what Harry had done.
Ruth found herself back at the pier and boarded the ferry back to Varenna. She needed to return to the sanctuary of her house and think about what to do next.
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Harry looked at the bottle of whisky in his hand: he'd picked it up and taken the cap off almost as a reflex action. He sighed; that was the trouble with being suspended – too much time on his hands. There was so much surveillance on him that going anywhere required detailed planning. He'd managed a quick meeting with Adam but couldn't risk anything more. He screwed the lid back on the bottle and put it back on the side. He wasn't going to spend his enforced leave getting drunk – he needed his wits about him.
He thought back to the last time he had consumed a large amount of alcohol. It had been the first night after Ruth had left; when he had finally got home after spending hours fending off questions about what had happened… after a tense meeting with the DG and an awkward telephone conversation with Juliet. He had reached for the whisky and, before he knew it, the almost full bottle was empty and his head was spinning. He had spent the next hour puking his guts up before sitting on the bathroom floor, crying like a baby. At some point he had dragged himself to bed, only to be woken a few minutes later, it had seemed, by his driver's incessant ringing of the doorbell.
It had been the only time he had allowed himself to wallow in such self-pity; it wouldn't bring Ruth back and she would not be impressed by his behaviour either. As his pounding headache had subsided, he'd vowed to deal with whatever was thrown at him and somehow find a way of clearing her name.
A loud knock at the front door terminated his reminiscing. He wasn't expecting any visitors and he entertained himself with the thought that perhaps it was one of the surveillance team wanting to use the bathroom. Harry was thinking of something suitably pithy to say when he opened the door. The words died on his lips as he looked at his late night caller: Oliver Mace.
"Harry, I need to talk to you."
"Oliver, what an unpleasant surprise. What do you want?" Neither man was going to bother with the niceties of polite conversation.
"Not on the doorstep."
"Why? Worried the neighbours might see you talking to me?" Harry replied airily.
"Stop pissing about and let me in," Oliver growled.
Reluctantly Harry stood to one side to allow Mace over the threshold. He was followed by a tall, heavily-set man wearing an ill-fitting suit.
"Brought a friend? How sweet; I didn't know you had any."
"I don't have time for your childish comments. I'm here to talk about McTaggart's memoirs. What the Hell do you think you're playing at?"
Harry watched Oliver deliver his short speech and noted the dark circles under his eyes and his pallor, which was even more deathly-white than usual. "I don't know what you mean," he replied quietly.
"Yes you do! McTaggart was your friend; his bloody memoirs disappeared after he committed suicide. You are the only person he would have trusted with them." Mace was mere inches from Harry as he spoke.
"How dare you come into my home, uninvited, and make these insane allegations."
"They are not insane; they're true!" Mace was shouting now and something inside Harry snapped.
"Get out! Get the Hell out of my house now Oliver!"
"Why? What are you going to do if I don't?" His tone was goading, pushing Harry to do something reckless.
"God help me Oliver, next time I'll cut more than your arm." The words were spoken quietly but the menace behind them was unmistakeable.
The bodyguard, who had remained impassive during the increasingly heated exchange, moved forward. "I think we should leave sir." Reluctantly, Mace moved towards the front door.
"Don't think you've won Harry; the war has only just begun."
Slamming the door hard and then leaning heavily against it, Harry became aware that his heart was racing. He took several deep breaths before heading back towards the living room and pouring himself a large measure of whisky; he'd decided to forget his earlier vow of abstinence. Damn Oliver Mace, he thought, damn him to Hell…and if Harry had anything to do with it, that's exactly where he'd be going.
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"So Mr Carter, tell me again what you know about Clive McTaggart." Superintendent Anderson sounded weary.
"I've already told you, I don't know anything other than he was ex-Security Services and he committed suicide in 2005." Adam was sticking to the answers he'd already given.
"What about Mr Pearce's relationship with McTaggart?"
"As I understand it, they knew each other and had worked together several times."
"Thank you so much for your help." The policeman's tone was openly sarcastic.
"My pleasure."
Anderson's phone rang and he answered it with a barked 'what'. He listened in silence before motioning Adam to sit back down again. "When was the last time you saw Oliver Mace?"
"What?"
"Oliver Mace – when was the last time you saw him?"
"Three days ago; he turned up at Thames House unannounced. Why?" The sudden change in direction of the questioning made Adam feel uneasy.
"He seems to have disappeared."
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The heavy rain and an over-hyped football match meant the streets were deserted. He was sure no one had followed him but he stopped in a darkened doorway to give the street a final check. Satisfied that he was alone, he retrieved the mobile phone from his pocket and switched it on as he walked quickly towards the bridge. It beeped at him, indicating he had voicemail. He pressed a button and held the phone to his ear:
"Good afternoon sir, this is Environmental Health. We can confirm that your vermin problem has been successfully dealt with."
He smiled, turned the phone off, dismantled it and deposited all the parts into the dark, swirling water. He quickly glanced round before heading back in the direction he had come from.
See? You send me reviews, I keep posting chapters... can't promise the next one will get done so quick but don't let that stop you... Thanks!