Finch sat in front of his laptop, running the sequence of Shaw's disappearance again and again. He had eliminated all of the individual figures walking away after she had separated from McKay. He went back to the couples. The leather-jacketed man and the semi-conscious woman. Was it her? The image could only be enhanced so much. He began searching other cameras for a better look at the pair. He traced their journey along Third Avenue to… the Coronet Hotel? At least there was no need to hack the hotel's network. He smiled a little and made a mental note to check in with Mira soon; it had been a while... The security camera at the front entrance gave a good, high-quality image with excellent lighting. Proof positive that Shaw had entered the hotel with the man... Finch's fingers flew over the keyboard as he tracked their progress across the lobby and into the elevators. Off at the third floor and along the hall to Room 314. Which was booked to Mr Donald Myers, a currency trader from Dunbar Campbell Smyth, a brokerage firm in the City of London. It didn't take long to ascertain that DCS was in fact a shell, connected to another shell, which appeared to connect nowhere. Finch sat back. He'd gone as far as it was practical to go. There was no reasonable doubt that Myers was a cover identity and the company he worked for a mask for MI6. Which meant he needed to get in touch with Detective Carter and Mr Reese before they had their meeting. While he wasn't certain what Athene had up her sleeve, there was a better than even chance the meeting was with the SIS team. He pulled out his phone to call John and Joss.
xxxxx
The Lyric Diner at eight o'clock on a Saturday evening was doing good business. Martin and Kevin entered and began to elbow their way towards the back. You want the very last booth, said the voice in Martin's ear.
"We want the last booth," he said to Kevin.
Kevin shot him a fishy look. "Who the hell is talking to you?" he asked Martin bluntly.
"Honestly, Kevin, if I told you, you'd never believe me," sighed Bowen. "An ally. They can help us." I hope, he added silently.
Over there. The booth with the black woman and the tall man in the suit, came Athene's voice. Go up to them and say 'Hello Joss and John'.
He went over to the couple sitting side-by-side in the booth. Fuck! The man was the McKay lookalike from last night. He shook an imaginary fist at Athene for dropping him in the shit like this. He was intensely glad he had Kevin with him, veteran of a hundred Glasgow pub brawls. Too late to do anything but try to tough it out.
"Hello Joss and John," he said carefully.
The woman looked up at him. She seemed to be listening to something for a moment, then she relaxed a little and said "Hello, Martin. Hello, Kevin." Beside him Kevin shot him an incredulous glance.
"Why don't you sit down?" said the man – John, he supposed – after a moment.
Well, kids, I think I'll just leave you all to get to know each other now. Play nice.
From the exasperated expressions on both Joss and John's faces, they had heard the same thing he had. He was pretty sure his own expression matched theirs.
"So… I'm Martin, and this is Kevin. And you are Joss and John." Bowen hadn't felt this awkward since...well, actually, he couldn't remember feeling this strange ever.
The man in the suit, the one who looked so much like McKay, leaned forward slightly and said "We help people. And you kill people." The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable. Martin tried to think of a good response to this.
Kevin was sitting with a deceptively blank expression on his face, listening hard.
"We do a job. A hard, nasty job, but one that needs doing," said Martin.
"Well, it's a job you aren't going to do here. We know you're here to kill two people – Henry Harris and Patrick McKay. But it's not going to happen. So you should get back on the plane that brought you over here and go back to England, and never come back." John spoke softly, but the hardness in his eyes left Martin in no doubt at all that he meant every word he said.
"I'm afraid that can't happen," said Martin pleasantly. "Your friends have kicked the hornets' nest. One way or another, they're going to have to deal with the consequences."
John was opening his mouth to say something when the woman, Joss, spoke up. "Martin, I think we all need to put our cards on the table. Like John said, we help people. We try to prevent bad things from happening. I think this meeting was arranged to try to get us to help each other. Tell us what's going on, and maybe we can make a deal."
Martin avoided looking at Kevin, who seemed frozen in his seat. He thought for a long moment. "Okay. But not here. Can we walk and talk?"
The couple on the other side of the table exchanged glances. Then John nodded. "Okay. Let's go, then."
They all rose and negotiated their way through the crowd to the doors: an awkward period in which they were all jammed up together, unwillingly sharing personal space. The street outside was brightly lit and crowded, so they began to head for Central Park.
"Martin, what the hell are you doing?" hissed Kevin in his ear after they had walked a while.
He wanted to say "I wish to hell I knew," but this would hardly inspire confidence, and so he shrugged. He angled his steps to put a little space between them and the couple walking alongside them. "I don't think we have much choice right now," he murmured. "The file's our top priority. That's the thing we simply have to get, Kevin. I don't get the feeling these people care about it one way or the other. For some reason they're protecting McKay and Harris, but maybe-" He broke off as they approached the entrance to the Park.
"I hope to Christ you know what you're doing," muttered Kevin.
"I know exactly what I'm doing," muttered Martin back. "Just shut up and watch my back."
Kevin didn't reply, but Martin could feel waves of disapproval coming off him. As well he might; what Martin was about to do could arguably be called treason…
Xxxx
"Detective Carter, Mr Reese, I have an important piece of information for you," came Finch's voice in Joss's earpiece. She put her hand to it, shooting a glance at John who was mirroring her gesture. "Go ahead," she said quietly. The two men walking beside them were mere shadows in the gloom under the trees of the park, but she didn't want them hearing this conversation.
"I've just been able to confirm what I was starting to suspect anyway: Ms Shaw was abducted by a member of the SIS team. She's being held in a hotel room right now."
Joss put a firm hand on John's sleeve to prevent him from doing anything...unwise. Before he could say anything she murmured, "Okay, thanks Finch. We'll be in touch," and tapped the earpiece to end the call. She could see the anger in John's eyes even in the dim light. "Hold on, John," she said to him. "We're here to talk, remember?"
The grim intensity in his eyes didn't change, but he nodded.
As their group emerged from the shade of the trees onto the lawn, Joss slowed her pace until they were standing still, lit by a strange combination of a half moon and the light pollution of the tower blocks all around them.
"Okay, boys," she said firmly. "This is where you start talking."
Martin, apparently the senior of the two men before them, nodded to the big Scotsman. "Kevin, go and keep an eye out. No-one within fifty yards."
Kevin nodded, his eyes doubtful, and strode off. Martin, John and Joss made their way to a park bench and sat down.
Martin gave the couple in front of him one more long look, and began.
xxxx
She was starting to feel downright guilty about ordering things from room service. But, damn it, she was hungry. "Tell you what, this can be my treat," she said to David when he gave her another of his pained looks. "You order something."
"Oh yes? And how were you planning to pay for it?" he asked silkily.
"Uh..." Damn, hadn't thought of that. "Well… I could pay you back?" Her words hung in the air for a moment. Because that would imply keeping in touch, it would imply – all sorts of things she didn't really want to think about. Which floated glittering in the space between them for a moment.
"Yeah. Sure, Sameen." David's voice was flat, his expression closed.
"No, I mean it," she found herself saying. Astonished to find she actually did mean it.
David shrugged and turned away, giving her a look which said, "yeah, yeah, sure" as clearly as if he'd said the words aloud.
Shaw shot out an arm and grabbed him. "Hey. You got all offended when I didn't believe you."
He didn't reply.
"Pfff..." she let out a breath in aggravation. "Listen, I can't do this. On again, off again. Make up your damn mind."
His head flicked around, the green eyes meeting hers with a jolt. "Okay. Time to keep your side of the bargain, Sameen."
"Bargain?" She narrowed her eyes.
"You show me yours, I'll show you mine? I told you my story. Do you trust me enough to tell me yours?"
Shaw turned away from him, allowing her gaze to flick across the bland furnishings of the hotel room: pale couch, neutral carpet, beige and pale yellow striped curtains… "It's not very interesting really. Mom and I came to the States when I was six. I don't remember much of the trip over. We were in a car at first, I remember her telling me to lie down on the back seat and be very quiet a couple of times." She shrugged.
"Where were you coming from?" asked David quietly when she didn't immediately resume.
"Iran." Shaw shrugged again, trying to rid her shoulders of their sudden tension. David's eyebrows flicked up, but he made no move, simply sat quietly attentive.
She drew another deep breath. "Mom and Dad were having problems, I guess, even before we came to the States. They, um, parted a couple of years later. Then..." Her voice petered out. Why was this so hard to talk about all of a sudden? Well, not all of a sudden, it came to her in a flash. Because I've never talked about this to anyone, she realised. Not voluntarily.
As she sat there with her mouth opening and shutting but no sound coming out, David reached across and took her hand. "Hey. It's okay. If it distresses you, you don't have to-"
"No, I'm all right," she said, trying to smile. "You showed me yours, right? I never welch on a deal."
He settled back, still holding her hand.
"Dad was taking me on a trip. To see a football game. But we had an accident, the car flipped and he was killed." There, that wasn't so hard, right? Two small creases had appeared between David's eyebrows as he frowned. His grip on her hand tightened a little.
"I can only kind of remember the accident. It was in the evening, I think I was dozing a little, I just remember a loud noise and then the rescue guy's flashlight. They pulled me out okay, pretty much uninjured. But when they told me my Dad was dead I couldn't feel anything. Well, apart from hungry. I could see even the firemen thought that was weird. That's when I knew I was different to other kids." She gave David a defiant look. "So you see? It wasn't just that I read it in the DSM. I've always been like this."
He shook his head slowly, still clutching her hand. "You were a traumatised young child, Sameen. Of course you couldn't feel anything. And the fire fighters thought you were weird? Firemen are there to put out fires, they don't have expertise in bereaved children. So I think my analysis stands...anyway, go on." He settled back in his chair, his eyes on her face.
"Mom and I, well things were okay until I hit my teens. Then they kinda went downhill. Mother-daughter issues, you know? She was pretty proud when I got into med school. But when I didn't finish my residency and went into the Marines instead, well… we haven't spoken in years." For the first time in a long time she wondered how her mother was, if she was okay. She shook her head slightly.
"I liked the Marines. No-one gave a shit about my people skills or empathy or any of that crap. So when the ISA came recruiting, it was a no-brainer. I was made for it."
There was another long silence. "Why did you leave?" he asked softly at last.
Another silence. She let out a long sigh, and slowly disengaged her hand. "I really am sorry, David. But I can't tell you that. Not right now."
He shrugged his shoulders, smiling ruefully. "Worth a crack. But I understand, Sameen." And as she looked at him it suddenly hit her. He did. He really did.
xxxxx
"You want to know what this is all about?" Martin rubbed a hand across his chin, hating the itchy stubble he found there. He tried some humour. "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."
"You're welcome to try," said John softly.
"Seriously. This can never, ever come out."
"As long as it can't harm this country, you have our word."
Martin looked long into the man's eyes. Finally he nodded.
"It all goes back to 1945. No. Earlier." He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "In 1936 King Edward VIII abdicates, yeah? Leaves the throne to his younger brother and goes off to marry Wallis Simpson, the American divorcee. The happy couple end up living in France as Duke and Duchess of Windsor. He's a marked Nazi sympathiser and a complete waste of space, but when war comes he persuades the authorities to let him serve in the British Army in France as a Major-General. Where he's bloody useless, but then that's normal for a general, right?"
There was the smallest hint of a smile on the other man's face for an instant. "Go on."
"France falls, and instead of retreating with the Army to Dunkirk, the fearless Duke grabs his Duchess and flees south to Spain, which is neutral, and thence to Lisbon. They spend several weeks in the villa of another Nazi sympathiser being courted by the German Ambassador to Portugal. Then a British warship arrives and takes them both off to the Duke's next assignment, Governor of the Bahamas, where he spends the war, safely out of the way."
"I'm waiting for the part where you explain what's going on," said Joss dryly.
"At the end of the war, the Allies capture the archives of the German Foreign Ministry. They're taken to Washington DC and microfilmed. Copies of the microfilms were given to my government." He paused; they both nodded.
"Then in 1947, once there had been time to go through the sheer mass of material recovered, an urgent communique was sent from London to Washington, requesting that the State Department destroy one particular file. Which was done. The trouble is, someone had already taken an extra copy of that file. The man overseeing the microfilming. Henry Harris."
"My grandfather," said John quietly.
"Ah. That explains a lot." Martin ran his hand over his chin again. "When McKay – your cousin? - stumbled on the file he must have wondered what it was since most of it was in German. But evidently he puzzled it out. Google Translate is so helpful, don't you think?"
The American didn't respond to this, merely sat and waited. Martin took a deep breath.
"The file contained an agreement between the Duke of Windsor and the Nazis, drawn up in 1940 just before that warship arrived to take him off to the Bahamas. After the successful invasion of Britain by the Germans, the Duke of Windsor would have been installed as a puppet monarch. It was high treason. But faced with the prospect of executing his own brother, the King couldn't do it. So the evidence was made to go away, and the Royal Family ignored the Duke for almost the rest of his life. And it all became ancient history, until your cousin stumbled on the copy your grandfather made. And decided to try to blackmail our Queen."
Martin could see he had surprised them. He went on. "So you can see where that lands my government. The Queen faces the classic problem of any blackmail victim: if she pays up, how can she ever know it'll be the last demand? The scandal if her uncle's deal with the devil ever came out would be immense. No British government could ever tolerate being seen to have left Her Majesty hanging out to dry. And so the evidence must again be made to go away. Properly, this time."
There was silence between them.
"I hope you can understand," said Martin softly. "We simply must recover that file. And I'm sorry, but when your cousin sent that letter to Buckingham Palace he crossed a line. One way or another, the consequences of his actions are going to come home to him."
"There's another ingredient in this situation," said Joss. "You have a member of our team. A woman one of your guys snatched last night. It might be possible to make a deal here." Bowen looked surprised – and a little relieved.
The two Americans sat motionless for a moment. John was looking thoughtful as he rose to his feet, politely extending his hand to the woman. "We'll be in touch," he said to Bowen, and the two turned and strolled away into the shadows.
To be continued...
A/N: believe it or not, much of the history in this chapter is true. The Duke of Windsor did serve in France, did escape to Portugal, and was indeed evacuated to the Bahamas exactly as described. Furthermore, when the German Foreign Ministry archive was captured after the war, it was microfilmed by the American government. And one file, which apparently contained material embarrassing to the Royal Family, was destroyed at the request of the British government. The only fiction involved is the making of that extra copy – and the assumption that it contained an agreement between the Duke and the Nazis. Given what is known of the man's character – or lack of it – it's not a huge stretch to imagine that the file contained something like it. Since everyone involved is now dead, no-one will ever know...