Author's Note: thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your feedback it valued. The usual disclaimers apply: I own none of this. Thanks again for reading and reviews would be most welcome.

Chapter Twelve: No Man's Land

"Only four more miles to Nicosia, thank Christ," said Ros, as she pressed down on the accelerator.

When Lucas failed to respond with the expected exclamations of joy, she flicked her gaze briefly sideways to see if he was alright. More than alright, he was fast asleep, slouched against the door which she could only hope was securely locked. Although deprived of her only source of company, she couldn't help but feel relieved. Since their arrival on the Island, almost a week ago, she had listened helplessly to his nightly torments and endured the shame of intervening only once. At last, as they sped along the smooth roads, he slept peacefully – if not a little uncomfortably.

She remembered the night she woke Lucas from his nightmares, as well as the resultant kiss. Unconsciously, her grip on the steering wheel intensified as the shame washed over her again. Only now, with the benefit of hindsight and the passing of time had taken the sting out of her foolishness; she could no longer tell if she's ashamed of the kiss, or ashamed that it happened despite her continued grief for Adam Carter. Because she did miss Adam, every day. She regretted that she was not there when he died; regretted that she had been mixed up in Yalta and in exile for the last few months of Adam's life. How many times had she gone over what happened and how things could have been different, if only she was there instead of Lucas? The stark truth was, even if she was there, the outcome would have been two deaths: Adam's, as well as her own. Lucas thought she disliked him for not preventing Adam's death. The truth was, she had disliked Lucas for not getting in the car with him – as she would have done. Then, after their arrival in Cyprus, she had betrayed Adam's memory by developing actual feelings for this small, damaged soul. She felt angered by herself for doing it; she felt angered by Lucas for making her do it. Neither was particularly fair, she reasoned that it was just the way nature made her.

Before she could descend any further into the opaque depths of her own psyche, Ros swerved onto another road before she missed her turning for central Nicosia. The lights of the city filled the dark interior of the car, eliciting a small, subdued whimper from Lucas as he began to stir. She smiled, chanced a sidelong glance at him and turned back to the road as the buildings grew in density.

"We're almost there," she called out, jogging him along.

"Wha-," he murmured, stifling a yawn. "Have I been asleep? What time is it?"

"Don't worry," she answered. "It's the most exhilarating company you've been since we arrived."

The first glimmer of dawn penetrated the eastern horizon, but it was still too early for waking up if you had the choice not to. However, the empty roads saw them reach their destination earlier than expected. The hotel was close to the border with Turkey, the demilitarised zone cutting through the heart of the capital. Ros slowed the car to a crawl as she made her way into the car park at the rear of the building. She found a spot near the fire exit and shut off the engine.

"I put your phone in the glove compartment," she explained. "Give George a call back to let him know we've arrived."

While Lucas did that, Ros found herself strangely curious about George. What sort of a man would Ruth go for, after Harry? She couldn't help but imagine him to be an old-before-his-time palaeontologist, or specialising in some highly obscure branch of linguistics. In short, a rather more exotic, male version of Ruth herself.

Once Lucas had made the call, they got out of the car and inhaled gratefully at the cool, early morning air. Lucas stretched himself out, the cracking of his bones setting Ros's teeth on edge, before walking round to meet her. Together, they entered the hotel, finding it mercifully empty. At that hour, even the reception desk was empty. It suited them fine, so they made their way over to a seating area in the lobby and made small talk while they waited for George.

"Where are we meeting Harry?"

"He's still in the air, we'll meet at the barracks about midday-ish," she replied, casually flicking through a brochure.

It had been a relief to them both that Harry decided to join them. He had the political kudos to get them into Ambassadors offices, as well as to make them talk under the weight of his reputation. Ros felt Lucas's elbow nudging gently into her side. Putting down the brochure, she saw that he was watching a man enter the lobby area. Fully dressed and wide awake, it didn't look as if he's slept at all.

"George, is it?" Ros asked, getting to her feet.

Lucas did likewise and extended his hand to shake as they both introduced themselves, showing their identification.

Reconvening in the same seats tucked away in the corner of the lobby, where George sat opposite Lucas and Ros, a small table separating them.

"Ruth left here two days ago, but I had to stay for my sister – she's terminally ill," he said, before they had a chance to ask. Ros noted how nervous he looked, picking at a loose thread in his sleeve. "We've been coming here because of the excavations happening down the road. While we were here the first time, she saw someone she recognised from home."

"Did she tell you who?" asked Ros.

George nodded. "She said his name was Oliver Mace, but I forget who she said he worked for. You have to understand, I didn't know any of this. I didn't know why she left England, or what she did for a living. She only told me the day before she left and I haven't spoken to her since then."

"Has she been watching Mace, herself?" Lucas asked, clearly recalling the incident in the hotel room.

"Yes, she has," he confirmed. "I don't know what she's been doing; I don't understand how you people operate at all. I thought she would be safer back home in Polis, where she could look into Golden Dawn…"

His words trailed off, confusion and worry intermingled uneasily in his expression. Ros leaned forwards in her seat, addressed him directly.

"You need to tell us everything," she said, keeping her tone neutral. "She'll not be any trouble at all. What was she doing to investigate?"

Reassured that Spooks had special license to bend the law, he proceeded to explain about the hacking. It was the only option open to Ruth, in the absence of a back-up team or special surveillance equipment. Anyone else in her situation would have either done the same, or run away. They both listened to what George had to say, as well as recording it for official records. Then, once he was done, Lucas began theorising.

"Mace has been missing for almost four days now and Ruth for one," he said. "Is it more likely that Mace himself has got her, or is there a third party from within Golden Dawn holding them both? They were both investigating Golden Dawn, after all."

"But how did they know about Ruth?" Ros countered.

"Golden Dawn are just a joke around here," George chimed in over them both, drawing their eyes to him. "I mean, no one takes them seriously so how would they have the capability?"

He was half-smiling, as though not quite getting the punch line to a joke. His dark eyes flittered between Ros and Lucas, seeking affirmation that his darkest fear is ill-founded. However, Ros cuts it down.

"They take themselves seriously," she explained. "As such, they're a threat and we cannot discount what Lucas is saying. What we need to know is whether either one or both of them actually managed to find anything out. That could hold the key."

"Ruth wouldn't have had time to find anything out," said George. "A friend of ours picked her up at the station and dropped her off at just gone midnight. You called just six, you called not long after, and on the same day."

Ros sighed, leaning back in her chair. They really were being pulled deeper into a mystery without managing to pick up a single clue. Not even a hint. "So, we drive back to Polis and try Golden Dawn themselves?" she asked. "We have ways of making them talk, if all else fails."

"They have headquarters here, in Nicosia," said George. "Close to the border where they can cause more trouble with the Turks."

Beside her, Lucas sighed with relief. "That's something," he said, making a note of the address George gave him. "We'll need to talk to your friend, as well. See if they saw anything unusual while dropping Ruth off."

"In the meantime, we need to get back to the barracks," added Ros. "Harry will be here soon and before then we need to get some sleep."

They parted from George with the assurance that they would be back in touch once their boss arrived, later that day. Lucas took over the driving for the final leg of their journey, back into the demilitarised zone. They had one last detour – via the underground bunker – before they could get some much needed rest.

"Sir!"

The woman's voice sounded distant.

"Sir! Wake up!"

Much closer, now.

"We've landed, Sir."

"Huh?" replied Harry, lifting his leaden head up from the side of the plane. "Forgive me, I was out cold."

The airhostess with the fixed smile and shining teeth continued to beam at him as she handed his bag over. He noted with a flicker of embarrassment that most of the passengers had already disembarked the aircraft. So, wasting no more time he shuffled down the aisle and stepped out into the heat of the Cyprus morning that awaited him.

A light traveller, he hadn't bothered with a suitcase so by-passed the tiresome airport carousel and headed straight for the taxi stand outside. Instructing the driver to take him as far as the Government Offices in Nicosia after checking he'd accept a credit card. During the short journey, he fished in his bag for Mace's file and opened it on his knee to go over the information one more time. He checked the name of the Turkish diplomat who had granted Mace permission to enter the country once more, making sure he was going to the right place.

Twenty minutes later, and Harry found himself in the offices of the Turkish Intelligence Agency in a leafy district of central, Turkish Nicosia. Deploying his charms on the reception lady, he cajoled her into fetching Devran Asani from a morning meeting with his team. However, the charm didn't rub off on his fellow Intelligence boss. Asani returned with his receptionist with a face like thunder, offering Harry a terse handshake.

"Follow me please, Mr Pearce," he sighed, leading the way down a corridor. "I've had so many British Intelligence Officers pass through my door this week, it's beginning to feel like 1974 all over again."

Harry managed to raise a smile in recognition of his counterpart's attempt at humour. Asani led the way to a comfortable, private office at the end of the narrow passageway. He took the proffered seat and accepted the offer of a glass of Turkish apple tea. Once Mr Asani settled behind his desk, Harry got down to business.

"Yes, I understand a few of my colleagues have called in on you," he answered, handing over Mace's file. "Not least a certain Oliver Mace."

He had the file, ready to show to Mr Asani. However, Asani gave a knowing smile and a nod.

"He was here a week ago; we thought we could do business with him," he replied, not needing to look at the file. "Then, a few days later Ms Myers and Mr North were here, demanding Mace's head on a silver platter."

Harry raised a brow. "I see," he replied, at length. "We'd be forever in your debt if you could provide it."

Asani shrugged. "I wish it was that simple," he answered. "I promised Ros Myers I would run checks on everyone coming in and out of the country and, besides Mace, one more person who might be of interest to you showed up. But, I don't know if he's connected to Mace at all."

Hope flared inside Harry, but he was careful to school his reaction into complete neutrality.

"Who?" he asked.

"He entered Northern Cyprus using the name John Fraser," Asani explained. "But when we ran our checks and facial recognition, he turned out to be one Jason Belling. A former Government policy advisor. Furthermore, Belling – using the legend of John Fraser – crossed the border at one end, but did not emerge at the other. He's hiding somewhere in the demilitarised zone."

"Jason Belling?" Harry asked, leaning forward in his seat, reeling from shock. He honestly hadn't credited Belling with enough wit to pull off something as intricate and complex as this. But, after two attempts to wipe out Section D, Belling's existence here was too much of a coincidence. The error of hiding out in an area closely watched, however, was typical of Belling's hair-brained attempts at revenge.

Asani nodded. "The very same," he confirmed. "He has dropped off the radar now, expect for one sighting south of the border."

"You have southern Nicosia under surveillance?" asked Harry.

"You have to understand, Mr Pearce, our relations with Greece are somewhat … delicate …" he explained, phrasing the situation discreetly. "We watch over Nicosia, but to risk penetrating too deeply into the South is risking a diplomatic crisis."

However hard Harry found that to believe, he didn't push too far for the time being. "Where has Belling been sighted?"

"My sources in Golden Dawn tell me he's been in negotiations with them," he answered.

"The same sources Mace had?"

Asani nodded.

"There's someone else, too, going by the name Emily Austen-"

Harry smiled broadly, enough to stop Asani mid-sentence.

"Her real name is Ruth Evershed," replied Harry. "She is no threat to you, I promise. She no longer works for MI5 and she needed a new start two years ago, now. But, keep an eye out for her. She may have become unwittingly involved in all this."

A moment of understanding passed between them both. Both seasoned Officers in their respective agencies, they'd organised more than one or two emergency relocations in their time. However, Asani was clearly becoming weary at the every growing suspicion his stamping ground was being used as a background for British Intelligence to fight out their old grudge matches.

"Would it help you, Mr Pearce, if I offered you full access to our files on this case?" he asked. "Britain has always been a friendly nation to us, so I see no harm in full cooperation and, frankly, I want you all off my turf at the earliest convenience."

"That would be most helpful, Mr Asani. Thank you."

It was midday by the time Ruth gave up. She had been hiding behind the door of her cell since dawn and Belling still had not returned. However, not quite ready to give up on the great escape, she propped the wood plank against the wall and merely slid down to the floor alongside it.

Over on the opposite side of the room, Mace's battered face appeared over the partition. He looked like a dark oil painting, now. Purples and blues blossomed over his face where the bruising reached its peak.

"You're wasting your time," he told her, as though there were a million other things she could be doing while locked inside an abandoned hotel room. "You wouldn't listen though, would you?"

Ruth rolled her eyes, about to tell him to piss off when she heard a sound from deep within the complex. Her senses fired on full alert and she strained to hear the noise again. To channel her nerves into something, she reached for her improvised weapon and slowly raised herself from the ground.

"Was that you?" she asked, glancing over at Mace.

However, Mace was already gone. The unmistakable sound of footsteps made their cautious way down the passageway outside, pausing outside Mace's door. Ruth held her breath, inwardly threatening hell and damnation on Mace in the event of his blabbing to Belling about what she was planning to do. She listened to brief exchange of words, unable to make out exactly what was being said, before a muffled crash made her heart rate explode. Belling was laying into Mace again, she could hear kicks and punches landing, accompanied by grunts of pain from the victim.

It made her feel sick. She could feel the bile rising in her throat. For reassurance, she renewed her grip on the plank, making sure she had the right end and raising it above her head. The beating next door ceased as abruptly as it began and she listened as Belling approached her door. As the key fought against the rusty lock, she took a deep, steadying breath. The door opened, groaning against the old hinges, coming within inches of her body where she pressed herself against the wall. As soon as Belling stepped inside, looking around for her, she kicked the door closed and brought the plank down hard on his head with a crack that made her nauseas all over again.

For a moment, the two of them looked at each other as the pain of the blunt force blow registered in his dazed face. He staggered backwards, looking at her in incomprehension. Ruth seized the moment of his bewilderment to land a second blow with the plank across Belling's face before wrenching the door open and making a run for it.

"Mace!" she yelled out. "Oliver, get to the door now!"

She kicked at Mace's door as hard as she could, trying to get the wood to yield. Strength had never been on her side, most of all at that moment.

"Mace!" she cried out, slapping the door with the flat of hands. "Mace come on!"

Nothing. She pulled back, unwilling to stall any longer she set off down the corridor, hoping she was heading in the right direction. The signs had long since fallen off the crumbling plaster walls. She could hear Belling moving about, clumsily as his wits returned. With a renewed sense of panic, Ruth picked up speed as she hurtled down perilously decayed flights of stairs. She paused on the ground floor while she got her breath back, but with her adrenaline still pumping she didn't wait for long and lunged for the front door beyond the lobby.

As she reached the glass doors, she heard a roar of anger echoing from the upper floors, followed by the crash of glass. Ruth didn't stop, however, as she kicked through the glass in the doors and scrambled through the hole she created. Outside, he finally was brought to a halt as she saw what had been thrown from the upper floor windows. Oliver Mace's body lay crumpled on the asphalt, undoubtedly dead.

However, with no time to lament the loss she ran towards a van that was parked nearby. She wrenched on the doors, finding them locked and the windows fitted with reinforced glass. The option of a handy hot-wire vanished and, with Belling almost certainly still hot on her heels, Ruth had to make a run for it. She looked both ways down the abandoned streets, desperately seeking some way out of the ghost town. But the signs, like in the hotel, were long gone. All she could see were placards written in Turkish, assuring trespassers that death awaited them if they lingered too long in Varosha.

Deciding that it hardly matter in which way she ran, Ruth turned left and ran at full pelt down the road. She spun round corners, crashed through abandoned gardens of empty homes and ducked under an old bridge. She tried calling out for help in Turkish, but there wasn't even a soldier to be seen this deep in the town. The only regular patrols took place around the outskirts.

But, Ruth ran. She ran until the breath burned in her lungs and her heart was pumping so much she could almost see it through the fabric of her blouse. She only stopped when she tripped and fell on the swollen, cracked tarmac in the middle of the road and bashed in both of her knees. She cried out loud as pain shot through her legs and elbows, bringing tears to her eyes. Panting and sweating, she slowly drew herself up to get a proper look around. There was an abandoned car showroom to her left, more road straight ahead and an abandoned corner shop to her right. The showroom was glass fronted, offering no place to hide, so the corner shop won by default. Ruth as good as crawled through the unlocked door and right to the rear of the building, as far as she could go and curled into a tight ball.

Harry, Ros and Lucas all sat around a table in the empty barracks. Between them, they had the intelligence they knew to be reliable as they cast about ideas for starting points. Lucas kept a case fact sheet, on which the basic information was jotted alongside openings to investigate. However, he had been in deep thought for some time. Ever since Harry and briefed them about the involvement of Jason Belling.

"If he's been hiding inside the demilitarised zone," he said, still looking down at one of the maps on the table. "Then the best place to do it would be that ghost town."

Ros looked up at him over her steepled hands. "Famagusta. It's the first place I would think of going. Not a soul ever goes in there."

They both turned to Harry, waiting to see what he had to say. However, he was still fixed on the screen of the laptop. He was frowning at the screen.

"Someone has tried to access the bunker," he said, lifting his gaze to meet Lucas'. "We have company."

Connie and her kill order. Or rather, the man she sent to carry the order out. Someone from the FSB, no doubt. Or a rogue element from the FSB, acting under her orders rather than Arkady Kachimov's. Clearly, they had missed the message that Connie was under arrest.

"Is it Belling?" asked Ros, sounding optimistic.

Harry shook his head. "Malcolm is running facial recognition on the images he got. But, he'll be tailing us. You can guarantee that."

Lucas moved the laptop so that he could see for himself. It was hard to make the man out on the grainy images, taken by the cameras he fitted with motion detectors. But, he was undoubtedly there, sniffing around the opening to the bunker, but unable to get in. As far as the assassin's concerned, Lucas and Ros are still in there. At least he appears to be on his own. A small thrill of fear squirmed in his gut as pushed the laptop back to Harry. However, Harry had reached a decision.

"Famagusta is a large area, but it's the likeliest place," he conceded. "We try there first, with permission of the Turks. The last thing we need is them opening fire on us as well. Lucas, you're to stay with Ros and I at all times. No wandering off and-"

"No heroics," Lucas finished the sentence for him. "I know and I won't. I promise."

They had to take out Belling; possibly Oliver Mace and the unknown Assassin.

"Ruth's, er, friend is originally from Famagusta," Ros put in.

Harry sighed. "You can call him her partner, Ros," he pointed out. "It's only reasonable that she should have moved on in the last two years."

Lucas thought he could detect the hint of a blush in Ros.

"Yes, well," she continued. "He may remember the place, we should speak to him again."

"I quite agree," said Harry.

"That settles it, then," Lucas said, finalising the plans. "We get kitted out now and go."

There was no point hanging around any longer, not with lives at stake. Ros got on the phone to George, Lucas collected their weapons and Harry took off his tie to change into something more appropriate for running around abandoned cities in no man's land. Ros returned to the meeting area after a short call, confirming that George would be ready to meet them at the checkpoint in Nicosia. Lucas even managed to rustle up some flak jackets, while Harry went to fetch a vehicle. Mobilised and ready, they moved without hesitation.