Parkstone Estate - 1105 Sunday 15th January
Ros felt the grip on her wrist increase and knew that Henderson was about to act. As the hand holding the knife flashed forward, she struck out with her free hand, catching Henderson's wrist and deflecting the path of the blade upwards. Hooking her right foot behind one of his, she used his own forward momentum to bring him down, twisting and wrenching her wrist away from his grip as he fell, preventing herself from falling with him.
Henderson crashed into the metal bars of the balcony and landed heavily on the hard concrete floor, twisting quickly, his eyes searching out the knife.
Ros coolly reached for the handgun that was holstered at the small of her back and brought it swiftly to bear on Henderson.
"Just stay where you are," she told him firmly.
Henderson looked up at Ros, his breath coming in fast uneven gasps, the expression on his face one of surprise.
"Don't try and punch above your weight," she warned him. "It's likely to get you hurt. Now if you want to avoid spending the next few weeks seeing a specialist and getting your knee rebuilt, then I suggest that you tell me what I need to know."
Henderson shook his head. "I can't do that."
Ros smiled at him. "Oh I think you can. I don't have time to piss about Henderson. I need to know who you told and what you told them." She raised the barrel of the handgun, indicating that Henderson could get to his feet. "I've been asking around; I've heard that you like a drink and that when you drink, you like to talk. Just who did you talk to this time?"
Henderson slowly climbed to his feet, making it clear that he wasn't going to try anything.
"I didn't talk to anyone."
"Now we both know that that's a lie. You may have managed to convince someone in 6 that you're a safe pair of hands, but that won't wash with me. Just tell me who you spoke to, and we can both go on our way."
Henderson shook his head. "I tell you that and I'm dead."
"You don't tell me that and you're certainly going to be looking for another career...one where it won't be important to have any motor function at all."
Henderson remained silent so Ros pushed again. "We've got footage that shows two stolen vehicles tracking the car carrying al-Hassan. Now, how many professional groups do you know who are sloppy enough rely on stolen cars? Tell me who you sold the information to. Who were they?"
"Why are you so interested in this?"
"Tell me."
Henderson shook his head. "No," he replied simply.
"I'd rethink that if I were you," Ros countered. "I get the feeling that there are some people out there who are unhappy with you right now. When those people start threatening to break your legs you may need friends."
"And you're offering yourself as a friend?"
Ros pursed her lips. "That may be over-stating it."
Henderson regarded Ros for a few moments.
"What is all this interest in the man about anyway? My contact just wanted him out of the way; you seem to be very interested in getting him back alive."
"Who did you speak to?" Ros ignored his question and continued with her own line of enquiry.
"No-one that you'd know," Henderson told her with a slight smile. "What does it matter? I was paid to get al-Hassan out of the way; no-one specified the means of his despatch."
"Well I'm certain that 6 didn't intend the matter to gain the interest of my colleagues and myself – trust me, that isn't something that they are happy about. If you want to make amends for your little indiscretion, I suggest that you tell me a little more about who you sold the information to. Who knows, I might be able to persuade them that you're not completely useless."
Henderson met her gaze; weighing up his options.
"It was just some local firm," he finally admitted. "Nothing special… you know, into bank jobs, post offices. Something with a bit of cash involved."
Ros cursed inwardly; Henderson confirming what she had suspected.
"How local are we talking? I mean are we talking UK Passport holders here?"
Henderson nodded. "I would have said so…Why the interest?"
Ros ignored Henderson's question. She now understood why Ruth had been taken and not simply dumped with the driver. She'd been useful to them. The thought had crossed her mind before, and she was certain that Adam had reached the same conclusion, but neither of them had said anything. There was little to be gained from speculating.
Ros narrowed her eyes. "Did this mysterious 'gang' have any idea of the importance of what you were telling them?"
Henderson remained quiet; his attention seemingly focussed on the floor.
"Did they know anything about what you were selling them?" Ros repeated, her tone taking on a harder edge.
"No," Henderson admitted. "They were after money; that much I knew."
"What did you tell them they were getting?"
"Access to money." Henderson shrugged his shoulders. "They were happy with that."
"And where are they now?"
Henderson shrugged his shoulders again. "I'm not their nanny."
Ros was about to push the issue further when the sound of raised voices reached her ears. She glanced left and caught sight of a woman with a buggy heading towards them. She had three children in tow, and none of them looked as though they were particularly happy.
"We're not done yet," she warned Henderson, stepping back to let the woman pass.
Henderson waited until the woman was in line with him before stepping forward and pushing the buggy in Ros's direction.
The woman yelled, and the buggy that was already overburdened with shopping, crashed into Ros's legs.
Swearing, Ros tried to extricate herself from the tangle. Henderson had set off down the walkway at speed and she knew that if she didn't get after him in a matter of seconds then she was going to lose him.
She struggled to keep her footing, trying to avoid tripping on the contents of the shopping bags that were now spilling out around her.
Ignoring the screeching woman, Ros forced her way past the buggy and headed off after Henderson. She sprinted the length of the walkway, heading into the shadows as she neared the staircase. There was the possibility that Henderson had taken refuge in the shadows of the stairwell and was waiting for her, but she knew that she couldn't afford to waste any more time. She sprinted into the darkness, taking the stairs two at a time.
Once at the bottom, she scanned the area quickly; hoping to spot Henderson but he was nowhere to be seen.
Swearing loudly she pulled her phone from the inside of her jacket and put a call into the grid.
Thames House -1130 Sunday 15th January
Adam sat back in his chair and regarded his colleagues as they worked busily away at their stations.
Malcolm's entrance into the meeting room had brought with it the first real sense that they might not win this one. Adam had watched as Harry calmly closed the meeting and thanked everyone for their continued efforts. He'd not betrayed one ounce of emotion but Adam knew how he must be feeling. Anyone taking on a job as a field officer with Section D knew what they were letting themselves in for; they knew the risks; they were continually reminded of the risks. But Ruth wasn't a field officer; her work with the department was not supposed to lead her into danger.
His thoughts turned to Colin. Colin's death had hit the team hard; it had only been a few short months since they'd lost him and emotions were still raw. It had brought home the very hard message that no-one was completely safe. He knew that that fear would be playing heavily on the minds of the rest of the team.
It was his job to keep their minds focussed on the case and not allow their own thoughts and feelings to distract them from the task at hand. He'd seen the glances that had been directed towards the empty desk and was almost tempted to move things around so that it wasn't there as a reminder. He couldn't bring himself to do it though; after all, she wasn't dead yet.
He sensed movement from the corner of his eye and watched as Malcolm headed across the floor towards Harry's office.
Harry raised his head as he heard a tap on the door. Malcolm was standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his face. Harry waved him in.
"What can I do for you?"
Malcolm edged cautiously into the office.
"It's about earlier," he apologised. "I didn't think...I just came in as soon as I heard the news..."
"It's ok," Harry assured him.
"But I should have thought about things...waited until there was a more opportune moment, rather than bursting in as though I was in some kind of West End farce."
"Malcolm it's alright."
"But it isn't, is it?" Malcolm questioned as he took a seat opposite Harry. "Ruth's out there somewhere and I feel as though there's nothing I can do but come in bearing bad news. The rest of the team; they are all out there doing things and I feel as though I'm letting her down by just sitting here."
"You are not letting her down," Harry was surprised by Malcolm's admission and sought to sooth his colleagues fears.
"I feel as though I am. Colin died and there was nothing we could do for him. The same thing is not going to happen to Ruth."
Harry took a deep breath, realising what was at the heart of the problem. Malcolm had taken Colin's death harder than the rest of them. He knew that Ruth had been spending time with Malcolm, and he suspected that she had been his shoulder to lean on. She had certainly settled into the role of section confidante during her time on the grid. If a member of the team had something that was bothering them, then it usually wasn't long before he spied them perched on the corner of Ruth's desk, or engaged in a quiet chat in the small area that had laughingly been designated as a kitchen.
"I'm sat there and I feel as though I'm doing nothing," Malcolm's voice rose with his frustration. "Give me something to do Harry...Give me something that I can do."
"The work that you are doing is useful." Harry tried to reassure Malcolm.
"Is it? Is it really? Because it just feels as though I'm just sat here, wasting my time when at least one of us should be out there actually looking for her."
"This isn't just about Ruth," Harry's voice was low. "You can't allow this to become personal Malcolm. al-Hassan has been...."
"I don't give a damn about al-Hassan," Malcolm railed, raising his voice. "I couldn't care less if he was staked out on the ground and had his eyes pecked out by crows. I don't know what friendship means to you Harry, but I know what it means to me. I'd do anything to help get Ruth back. What would you do Harry?"
"What?" Harry was caught off guard by Malcolm's question.
"You think that Mace knows something - go and see him. Consequences be damned. I'd rather we were the cause of an embarrassing international incident for the Government than have Ruth's death on our collective conscience."
Harry's face reddened with anger; the accusation hurt. He knew that Malcolm was upset but still the words stung.
"What would you have me say?" he queried. "I've already threatened to drag all his dirty laundry out into the street and air it publically."
"But that was before you knew about Henderson," Malcolm lowered his gaze. "...I read the files that Jo downloaded," he admitted.
"I need proof before I can rattle Mace's cage," Harry protested, reigning his temper in. "I need proof that the JIC or 6 are complicit in this before I can shake the tree. A lot of things could fall Malcolm and some of them will undoubtedly strike us on their way down."
"But this is Ruth we are talking about Harry; there are times when you have to put other things before your work." He met Harry's gaze. "It is not what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable."
Silence fell between the two men and Malcolm began to feel as though he had over-stepped the mark. Harry cared for Ruth, and it was blindingly obvious to everyone exactly how Ruth felt towards Harry. There had been a long time where he wondered if Harry would ever realise the level of devotion that Ruth felt.
He had watched the two of them over the course of the past three years; noticing their relationship grow stronger, and watching Harry turn to her more and more as a confidante and sounding board. He couldn't think of anyone else in the office who had managed to get Harry's ear so completely. He'd not said anything to anyone of course; that just wasn't his way. What people did was their own business...except of course when their business became his...in a professional capacity.
He regretted now mentioning anything to Ruth about her relationship with Harry. He felt more than a twinge of guilt and hoped that he wasn't the reason that things had become so awkward between her and Harry in recent weeks. He owed it to Ruth to try and put things right. This was the only thing he could do; he just hoped that it was the right thing.
"What would Colin do?"
Malcolm looked up suddenly, surprised at the sudden shift in conversation. "I'm sorry?"
"What would Colin do? You want to do something more practical, then think about the searches Colin would have tried. Try those."
"And you?"
Harry glared at him. 'I have a meeting to arrange. But I need facts before I go there, not merely straws to grasp at."
"Malcolm?"
Both heads turned to stare at Jo who was now standing in the doorway.
"What is so very important that you feel you can come barging into my office?" Harry enquired archly.
"I'm sorry," Jo apologised breathlessly. "It's just that one of Malcolm's computers is beeping at us."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "And that's unusual?"
"Which computer?" Malcolm wanted to know.
"The one you were using to track Ruth and Azhar."
Jo stepped out of the way as Malcolm rushed out of the office and headed directly for the terminal. Adam was already there, impatiently drumming his fingers on the top of the monitor.
"What is it?" he demanded to know as Malcolm began tapping on the keyboard. "What have you got?"
Malcolm was barely able to contain his excitement. "It's Ruth's mobile, it's transmitting again."
"What!" Adam moved round and stared intently at the display on the screen. "Is that even possible?"
"We assumed that the mobile was taken and turned off by the gang. What if it wasn't?"
"What if Ruth wasn't taken?" Jo joined the two of them at the monitor. "Or what if she was left behind somewhere and has only just managed to get the chance to use it?"
"Get me a fix on the location," Adam told Malcolm quickly. "Jo, go and tell Harry what we've found. Zaf?"
"Yeah?"
"You're with me."
Without waiting for a reply, Adam headed out of the office, Zaf close on his heels.
Sydenham - 1530 Sunday 15th January
Adam pushed the branch to one side and bought the binoculars up to bear on the property in front of him.
"I was expecting something a little more impressive," he admitted as he took in the low stone building and its crumbling slate roof.
"Shouldn't we call for back up or something?" Zaf queried as he moved up alongside Adam.
Adam glanced over his shoulder. "Not getting cold feet are you?"
Without waiting for a reply, Adam lowered the binoculars and crept further forward; using the heavy undergrowth as cover.
Zaf swore beneath his breath before setting out after him.
Littleton Farm - 1540 Sunday 15th January
The mug shattered into fragments as it struck the wall. Ruth flinched and waited for the next outburst.
"Tell him that we're not messing around," the man warned as he came to stand behind her, his hands gripping the back of the chair.
Ruth dutifully translated the sentence and then added on her own message to him, to remain calm.
The look Azhar shot back, told her that remaining calm wasn't something that was top of his list of priorities. His face was a mass of blood and bruises. His right eye was swollen shut and his left was only just managing to remain open. Every non-answer was now being met with a beating. Ruth wished that she could somehow remain detached from the scene; wished that she could somehow retreat and pretend that she wasn't there.
A hand gripped her jaw and her head was twisted painfully to one side.
"What are you saying to him?' the man demanded to know.
"Just...Just what you..."
"You see I don't believe that... I think that maybe you need a little persuasion to..."
"Nash!"
The door to the room was flung open and a short, stocky man burst in; his face florid with the exertion of running. Ruth grabbed onto the name that had been uttered; desperate to be able to pin solid identities on the group that were holding them. The short stocky man was Flynn; he was the thug; Ruth's sense of fear would ratchet up every time that he entered the room. The man broke bones and seemed to take pleasure in it. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, ignoring the pain in her left wrist, as images and memories of Azhar's screams flashed through her mind. The thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach; Azhar had cried and wailed and protested that he knew nothing. She believed him and had pleaded with the men to stop what they were doing. Her cries had fallen on deaf ears however and the session had continued until Azhar had passed out from the pain.
"What did I tell you?" the man who she was now able to identify as Nash snarled. "I told you not to come in here unless I told you."
"I'm sorry," Flynn apologised. "It's just that I think there's someone out there."
"What?"
"I can't be sure," he admitted. "But I thought that I caught sight of someone out there."
Ruth jumped as Nash's voice whispered in her ear; she'd not heard him moving behind her.
"Have you got friends out there who are looking for you?"
"I...I doubt it," she stammered back.
"Huh," Nash straightened up. "Find out who it is and let them know that they're not welcome." He paused. "Just to be on the safe side..."
Ruth yelped as she was hauled out of the chair and manhandled towards the door.
"If we've got unwelcome visitors; best to let them know that we mean business."
Sydenham - 1545 Sunday 15th January
Adam peered in through the grime encrusted windows at the rear of the building.
It was immediately obvious that the old cottage had not been lived in for a long time. The paint was peeling from the walls and the floorboards were rotting away. If he waited long enough, Adam was certain that he'd see a rat scurrying across the floor and into one of the large cracks that had formed in the walls as subsidence took hold.
A low hiss from Zaf made him turn his head and he looked to see his colleague pulling open one of the windows further along. He crouched down and hurried over to join him.
"Stroke of luck," he whispered as he helped to pull the window open wider.
As soon as it was open wide enough, Adam rose to his feet and began clambering through, careful to avoid catching himself on the broken panes of glass that still hung in the frames.
Safely into the building he crept towards the door, listening out for any sound from the next room. Satisfied that no-one had heard him enter, he turned back to Zaf and motioned for him to follow.
Reaching inside his jacket, his fingers closed around the grip of the pistol. The next stage of the operation had to be carried out carefully. There was no way of knowing exactly how many people were in the next room and no way of knowing how they were armed. He took steadying breaths and prepared to move.
Adam placed his foot against the lock of the door, testing its strength. It shifted beneath his weight and so he gently eased the pressure off. The door had rotted through and would only take one swift kick to break. He glanced back towards Zaf, checking that he was ready to move. Satisfied that all was ready, he leant back and kicked open the door and bringing his weapon to bear on the occupants of the room.
Malcolm's quote to Harry is by Moliere. 'It is not what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable.'