My apologies for the enormous delay in posting this chapter. This story is fighting its author every step of the way. Thank you for your patience, and for sticking with me!
Chapter Ten
As the pods swished closed, Lucas was thankful for Ros's trenchant ban on any celebrations ('sentimental fuss', she'd snorted) when the honeymooners returned. It was difficult enough watching the welcoming smiles fade as if someone had reached for an emotional dimmer switch.
"What happened?" Chen Liu whipped a chair out from under Khalida, who prevented herself in extremis from sitting down on thin air, and rolled it towards Ruth. The analyst smiled wanly.
"Nothing serious, Chen, we're fine." She gingerly touched the dressing at her hairline.
Callum's eyebrows shot up as he looked from her to Harry, whose mouth was swollen and who was sporting the beginnings of a black eye. "Well, I know you're a Lapsang Suchong girl and the chief prefers Earl Grey, but I didn't think you'd come to blows over it. At least not so soon."
There was a nervous giggle. Lucas, not for the first time, wondered if Callum and Ros didn't share roots under the same family tree; they certainly shared the same instinct for taking refuge from emotion in flippancy.
"Talking of tea, could someone bring some?" As Khalida scurried off, he looked towards Harry's office and confirmed his first impression that it was empty. As if in response to the realisation, Ros's voice slashed through the tense atmosphere like a scalpel.
"What the hell is going on here?" As two dozen heads turned as one, she glared down from the top step. "Don't you have anything to do? This isn't a bloody episode of Long Lost Family!"
As the group around Harry and Ruth scattered, Lucas had a fleeting glimpse of shock on her face. It vanished in the few strides it took her to reach them, and she turned an icy glare on him.
"What went wrong?"
Lucas told her as Khalida handed a cup of tea to both Ruth and Harry. Ros's eyes blazed.
"What were you thinking of?" She spat the words out as if she were trying to clear her mouth of a particularly nauseating aftertaste.
Lucas went to defend himself and then stopped, realising that his only defence was one he couldn't use.
"He was doing as he was told, Rosalind." Harry's enunciation made the word sound more like 'Wobble Wind', but his use of it diverted Ros's attention immediately. "I ordered him to take that route."
Lucas watched Ros wrestling with the need to remain calm and professional and her personal fury at what must be looking like a deliberate attempt on Harry's part to end his week-long marriage prematurely – not to mention permanently. The prospect of anything happening to Harry Pearce was one of the few things that panicked her, but she gained control of herself and backed down from the looming confrontation.
"You should be lying down," she said roughly to Ruth. Her gimlet gaze on Harry, she added pointedly: "Preferably at home, I'd have thought."
"Ros," Lucas interjected quietly, "we stopped off to see Dr Subrahamian at the clinic on the way here. He saw to Ruth. No serious damage."
Ros shot a wordless glance at the spots of blood that Ruth's injury had left on his shirt, and then returned her attention to the analyst.
"Would you like to take a breather, Ruth?" She was trying to speak more gently now, but Lucas could still hear the impatience bubbling under the surface of her voice. "In the office, maybe?"
"It's a good idea, Ruth. Finish your tea. I'll be there in a few minutes." It was a good thing that the encouragement had come from Harry, Lucas thought; Ruth might otherwise have rejected sympathy from Ros on principle.
Ruth gave a shaky nod just as Lizzie Sandell shouted: "Ros! Ros, newsflash!"
"I know what it'll be." Ros helped Ruth to her feet. "Watch it, Lucas. Then briefing room, ten minutes." She grasped Ruth's arm firmly. "Take it easy, Ruth, lean on me."
Lucas glanced uneasily back at them as he and Harry followed the others to the TV screen, wondering if Ros's action was motivated by compassion or calculation.
"They'll be fine." Harry was still speaking as if he had swallowed Lucas's childhood tin of marbles, but he snapped: "Turn it up," to Chen Liu, and shook his head impatiently at the junior officer who nervously tried to offer him a seat.
A tense silence fell as William Towers and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, with the Chairman of Harvey's Bank neatly boxed between them, walked into the Treasury courtyard. A sudden unwelcome memory of being escorted to interrogation in Lefortovo in just such a crocodile popped into Lucas's mind. Ignoring the instant Son et Lumière display of hyperactive flash-bulbs and clicking camera shutters that greeted them, Towers politely gestured the chairman towards a waiting podium. His fixed smile did little, Lucas thought, to dispel the impression of coercion. Only the handcuffs were missing.
"Ladies and gentlemen, quiet please. Quiet!" Towers gestured with his hands like a conductor trying to bring order to a particularly rowdy audience at the Last Night of the Proms. "As you know, COBRA has been in session to discuss the – ah – unacceptable scenes of – er –disorder that we've seen on our streets over the last few days." He cleared his throat. "Our session has just concluded, and the Chairman of Harveys Bank has an important announcement he'd like to make."
"He'd like to make that the way I'd like to buy a holiday home in Pyongyang," Callum muttered. Lucas shot him a warning glance as David Fisher unfolded a sheet of paper.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press." He made the words sound like an insult. In contrast to William Towers and Matthew Grosvenor, who both had the slightly crumpled look created by spending the night in an 'ergonomic' Civil Service swivel chair, he was impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed, and wore an expression that could have soured milk. "As you know, Harveys Bank has been a traditional, respected sight on the High Streets of Britain, serving communities up and down the country to the very best of our ability for over eighty years. In that time, our financial support and advice has helped businesses to grow and families to buy homes."
"And our shareholders to make a killing." Lucas glared at Callum, and only when the techie gave him a look of injured innocence, realised that the caustic mutter had come from the usually mild-mannered Chen Liu. David Fisher scowled directly into the cameras, which suggested that some of the assembled journalists had probably expressed similar sentiments.
"The harsh economic conditions of recent years have made sustainable operations difficult and forced Harveys to make some painful decisions, none of which were taken lightly." The banker paused. Clearly, the humble pie he was being forced to eat was proving difficult to swallow. "We understand that some of those have caused distress and some displeasure to our clients." His terminology produced a ripple of sardonic laughter, and both politicians winced. "It is because we value their custom and loyalty that the bank's senior management, with the support of the government, has decided not to implement its recently-announced policy to amend its banking charges." Lucas caught a sotto voce mutter of 'amend, my aunt Fanny' from somewhere behind him. "We look forward to continuing to provide our customers with the good value service they expect from us and trust that what the Home Secretary has quite rightly described as unacceptable violence will no longer prevent the bank and its staff from doing so."
A barrage of shouted questions instantly erupted from the watching journalists, but before Fisher could take one, Towers took two bouncing strides to the podium like an eager Tellytubby.
"Eh-oh," Callum murmured, as the Home Secretary welcomed the statement and then said a few stern words of condemnation for the rioters. His attempt at gravitas was seriously undermined by the fact that many of the journalists, obviously convinced they'd heard the only information that mattered, were already jostling for the exit, shouting into their mobiles with complete disregard for his comments. By the time he handed the microphone to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, only a handful of writers from the specialised financial and trade publications were still listening. Towers's face was red with anger at the display of indifference, and his habitual public bonhomie had completely vanished. Lucas glanced at Harry. His lips were pursed, his eyes hard, and when he felt Lucas's gaze, he said abruptly: "Right, he's talking to the markets, not us. Meeting room, come on." As they turned aside, he gestured to Lucas to let Khalida, Chen and Callum get ahead of them.
"How's Wob been coping?" he asked. "Any problems?" His expression dared Lucas to snigger at his mispronunciation. Lucas didn't.
"No, I don't think so." His mind flicked back to Ros's distress following their visit to Wormwood Scrubs. Harry didn't need to know about that. "She made mincemeat of the Home Sec." He let himself smile at the memory.
"He wouldn't even cause a crack in the ice." For a fleeting second Harry's one fully open eye twinkled, but the amusement was replaced immediately by a frown. "What was that business about trust?"
Lucas hesitated. He could see Ros watching them from the conference room, her arms tightly folded and one foot tapping impatiently. He turned aside slightly.
"Well, I told you about the grumbling and some of the comments. And she told the team about the coup – her own involvement, the lot. I think it … unsettled people, that's all."
"All?" Harry repeated.
Lucas could feel Ros's eyes boring into the nape of his neck. He swallowed.
"Yeah, almost." Quickly, he told Harry about Ros's rooftop phone call to her mother, and watched the older man's expression change.
"Sure you didn't mishear? The last close contact Ros had with that harridan was when Lady Annabel slapped her face at Myers's trial."
Lucas was sorely tempted; it already felt as if he had betrayed a confidence. He shook his head. "No. I'm sure I didn't."
Harry glanced at his watch. "There'll be a reason." His dismissive tone made it clear that – at least for the moment – the matter didn't warrant further discussion. "For now, let's crack on."
Lucas followed him. He had had one 'Light Brigade' moment today – albeit at Harry's initiative – and this time he had every intention of letting his superior make first contact with the enemy. He slid unobtrusively into a seat opposite Ruth, who was still nursing a cup of tea but who had more colour in her face than she'd had earlier. She nodded when he asked if she was feeling better, and looked towards her husband, who had instantly gone into a huddle with Ros; they were muttering, heads down, like two old dowagers at a society reception. Ruth gave a wry smile.
"At least I'll know whom to cite in the divorce proceedings."
Lucas returned her smile absently. To his surprise – and from their expressions, everyone else's as well – Harry, instead of taking his usual seat at the head of the table, moved on to the seat next to his wife. For a second, Lucas thought Ros looked almost bereft. As her gaze swept around the table, he caught her eye and winked. She gave a ghost of smile in return, then turned and slammed the doors closed, producing instant silence.
"All right." She pulled out a chair, hesitated, and then leaned her hands flat on its spine. "First of all, welcome back to Harry and Ruth -"
"Should we not be thinking Sir Harry and Lady Ruth now, Ros?" Khalida's beaming smile proved the comment was made in all innocence, but Lucas groaned silently.
"Looks more like Punch and Judy right now." The irrepressible Callum seemed to have recovered from his earlier demonstration of his ability to open his mouth and insert his size elevens straight into it. Ros's eyes narrowed, but she merely said smoothly: "Speaking of Mr Plod, Chen, what's your latest information from the Chief Constables?"
As Chen muttered the magic word 'iPad' and scuttled from the room, she said: "Right, you've all heard David Fisher's announcement of Harveys' altruistic, enthusiastic and totally spontaneous reversal of policy. A truly magnanimous gesture only slightly tarnished by almost seven hours unbroken application of the kind of political pressure that would leave a pedigree bull mooing soprano. "
"What happened to the Government 'not yielding to blackmail'?" Lucas asked.
"It's not yielding to blackmail, Lucas." Ros's voice oozed cynicism. "It's 'listening to the people'." She glanced round as Chen hurried back in. "Now, Harry - " Swiftly, for his and Ruth's benefit, she recapped the incidents of police unwillingness to take action against the demonstrators. Ruth looked utterly shocked, Harry incandescent.
"How widespread is it?" he demanded, as the young Chinese dropped back into his seat, his fingers already feverishly caressing his screen.
"The worst case was Harveys in Manchester," Chen said, almost apologetically. "They didn't lift a finger. But there are media reports of them being pretty lackadaisical in other places too, Harry – York, Truro … Ipswich. The CCs of all three counties confirm." He looked up nervously; it wasn't unknown for Harry to take his dislike of a message out on the messenger. " And in four London boroughs the Met refused to send police at all when banks called for help. Said the local stations couldn't spare the officers."
"Surely the Commissioner wouldn't have backed that?" Ruth said in alarm. "Harry, we should contact him; I've had dealings with him before. I could -"
"Just a moment, Ruth." Ros's voice was glacial. "Thank you, but we'll finish the briefing first, then I'll assign specific tasks."
"But Ros, we need to know if he still has control." Ruth was half out of her seat. "If it's still going on - "
"As I was saying," Ros cut in icily, "I'll conclude - "
"It isn't." Lizzie Sandell, who had also been tapping rapidly at her screen, broke in. Ros's already tight lips thinned almost to the point of invisibility at the interruption, but she said curtly: "Explain."
"The protests." Finally, Lizzie looked up. "It's on BBC24 and Sky, and the outstations in Birmingham and Manchester are reporting the same. They're not going on. All the queues began melting away as soon as Fisher made the announcement about dropping the fee rise."
Ruth resumed her seat as Lucas reached for the remote and switched on the TV monitor at the end of the room. Sure enough, three news channels were reporting precisely what Lizzie had said. Ros irritably waved for silence as a well-dressed, middle-aged woman in York told a journalist: "We just want the banking industry – like the public utilities, the media, the energy companies, the transport industry and others - to listen to the people they're meant to serve, the hard-working, law-abiding, tax-paying majority of the British people. No one is trying to bring the system down, Mr Brewster, merely keep it honest. If the government of this country is as unwilling – or possibly as unable - to do that as it appears to be, then it should take note - that silent majority, which has been silent for far too long, can … and will."
"And that is just one of many thousands of demonstrators whose protests appear to have changed the minds of the Board of Directors of one of Britain's oldest banks." The camera followed the reporter's arm as he gestured down the road. "Just an hour ago four banks on this street were under siege by angry customers queueing to remove their funds. David Fisher's decision to yield to People Power appears to have defused this crisis – for the moment. It may also mark a turning point in the balance of power between the rulers and the ruled in twenty-first century Britain. This is Geoffrey Brewster for BBC News in York."
Lucas switched the broadcast off. Ros cleared her throat.
"It's a message, Harry," she said quietly. "So that we understand exactly how much they can do, that there will be a next time, and that they can turn the pressure on or off at will."
Harry nodded grimly. "York, Manchester, London, Ipswich … and it's all stopped?"
"All of it, Harry." Chen and Lizzie both nodded. "All the Chief Constables I've been liaising with say the same," Chen added.
"Then someone – someone - has this planned and orchestrated down to the very last bloody detail," Harry growled.
Someone called Kallima, if Jocelyn Myers is on the level, Lucas thought. If.
"How much progress have we made on identifying this alleged mole – what was the name you got from the – er - "
"Zagadka," Ruth whispered in his ear a second before Ros could supply the word.
"Right. The name Zagadka gave you?"
Khalida raised her hand. "Kallima, Harry."
"Sounds like an Indian goddess," Harry snorted.
Khalida gave a rare smile. "That is Kali, Harry. I do not think there can be any connection with this chap."
"Because?"
"Because I have been researching this Kallima. Yes, it is Asian too, but the full name is Kallima inachus. It is in fact a butterfly, you see, the Oak Leaf butterfly."
"Fascinating. But is it relevant?" There was an increasingly impatient note in Harry's voice, and Khalida's skin tone darkened as she flushed.
"It tells us that our - our infiltrator - likes to play games, Harry. When its wings are folded in it looks exactly like any old dead leaf. Blends completely in with its background, you see. This is what it is known for. It can be right under your nose, but your eyes will not see it. Hiding in plain sight. That is Kallima's challenge to us, I think. He wants us to know that he is close ... but unseen."
There was an uncomfortable shifting around the table, but Harry snorted. "Games. I'll give him games - whoever he is." Then his brow furrowed, and he shook his head in a frustrated gesture.
"Harry?" Ros looked puzzled, but he shook his head.
"Doesn't matter. Later. Go on."
Ros looked as if she was about to insist, but then desisted. "We think we logged Thomas Laverne on the CCTV of the Crisis Crusade action at Waterloo. Talking to two other demonstrators. Callum?"
"Jean McKechnie and Oliver Vine." The technical specialist slid two photographic enlargements along the table and explained what they knew of them.
"Either on record?" Harry grunted.
"I recognise him." Ruth looked up in expectancy of confirmation. "Occupy."
Callum smiled admiringly. "Bullseye. There's a memory."
"And Laverne? Definite identification?" Harry snapped, in so far as anyone with a mouth that looked like a well-treaded tyre could snap, Lucas thought wryly.
Ros took over. "As definite as we can manage with blurred CCTV, Harry. But there's more." She nodded to the young Pakistani. Khalida stumbled at first, clearly apprehensive of Harry's reaction, but when she described the apparent links between Laverne, the two priests, Vine and McKechnie, a lopsided but encouraging smile appeared on his face.
"Well done, Khalida." His gaze switched to Ros. "Any trace of Laverne? Shouldn't the Scrubs have tabs on him?"
Ros shook her head. "He'd served his sentence, Harry. No probation, no need for a forwarding address. Wherever he's gone, I don't think he'll be sending postcards. "
Harry's scowl returned from its brief absence. "Family?"
"Not living with them. But I've had the house under surveillance, and it's thrown up something interesting." Swiftly Ros told him about that morning's incident involving Laverne's ex-wife.
"The Watchers have sent shots over," Callum added. "Pete's running them through face recognition now. Not sure how far he's got."
"Find out," Harry ordered. As Callum strode out, he turned a flinty, one-eyed gaze on Ros. "It's good as far as it goes, Ros, but the real problem is that everything's predicated on what you and Lucas learnt at the Scrubs from Zagadka. That's the crux of the issue. It's all based on his credibility." The word 'credibility' sounded like a swear word.
Lucas winced inwardly, but Ros, whose beliefs didn't include the meek inheriting much of anything except trouble, fired back instantly. "I'm aware of the risk. But his information has got us this far. If I had another source I could corroborate with, I'd use it, Harry."
Lucas looked down at the table. There was a note of aggressiveness in her reaction, and he couldn't help wondering if it would have been so marked if the asset had been anyone save her father. Harry showed no particular reaction, but there was a curious expression on Ruth's face as she watched Ros; something, Lucas thought midway between doubt and pity. He spoke before the analyst could; Ruth wasn't given to starting scenes in public, but anything to do with the Myers family was guaranteed to cause friction between her and Ros, and that was the last thing this situation needed.
"Harry, we knew you'd want to talk to Zagadka personally. They're expecting you at the safe house tomorrow, that way you can form your own impression, compare it with our conclusions."
He caught the flicker of gratitude in Ros's eyes at the word 'our' but just then Callum returned with Peter Davis at his heels.
"Can I, boss?" He pointed at the computer.
"May I," Ros muttered automatically. She leaned against the wall as Callum brought up several pictures on the screen.
"The Watchers tracked Chummy here for three hours after she left the café. She moseyed round the shops a while -"
"Buy anything?" Ros interrupted.
"Nope." Callum flicked up another photograph. "Window-shopping mainly." He glanced at Harry. "Plate-glass window shopping."
"Surveillance conscious?" Lucas's ears pricked; this was interesting.
"More like semi-conscious." Callum grinned. "Like someone who's watched too many re-runs of 'Smiley's People'.
"She didn't make the Watchers?" Ruth asked anxiously.
Ros's lip curled in disdain. Callum shook his head. "Takes more than a paranoid amateur to do that. They tailed her to her destination."
"Which was?" Ros snapped. Callum was obviously enjoying his moment in the spotlight, and was wringing every possible drop of drama out of it, but the fuse on her temper was burning dangerously short.
"A Starbucks round the back of Oxford Street." Before Callum could proceed to the culmination of his command performance, Ros did what Lucas had known she would and pulled the safety curtain down.
"Who is she, and whom did she meet?" she barked.
Like a magician's assistant introducing the night's star turn, Callum handed the floor to his apprentice. Peter, trapped between Ros's simmering irritation and Harry's steely look, gulped, and then said: "The face recognition software's identified her as Suzanne Anderson; she's a geriatric nurse. The bloke she met is Charlie Finnegan," as Callum put the man's photograph on the screen. "He's a Methodist minister – works in their central offices, specialising in social welfare work."
Ruth's eyes widened; further down the table, Khalida blurted: "Oh my goodness. The church?"
It was possible, Lucas thought, more than possible. Various religious luminaries had denounced the impact of government austerity measures; many of the food banks to which they had given rise enjoyed church support, and the congregations of most mainstream churches were comprised of the middle-aged from Middle England – a profile eerily similar to that of many of the Crisis Crusade demonstrators.
"Did she hand anything over?" he asked.
"Yep – whatever she picked up from The Laughing Teapot," Callum answered.
"Did the Watchers hear anything?" Ros demanded.
Callum shook his head. "Couldn't get close enough." Ros scowled, and Harry chipped in.
"Where does she work?"
Callum smiled triumphantly. "St Peter's Hospital, Chertsey. Lives in Addlestone. About ten minutes drive from - "
"Walton-on-Thames," Khalida, Chen and Lucas chorused.
"Good work," Ros said crisply. Callum gave a small bow from the waist and sat down. Peter Davis beamed and disappeared back to the safety of the tech suite, and Ros turned enquiringly to Harry. For a moment, the only response was his pen tapping on the table, and when he did speak, she blinked in surprise at the abrupt change of subject.
"What's the position with the security sweep?"
Lucas stepped in quickly and told him. Ros's face turned white with anger – at least Lucas assumed it was anger - that intensified as Lizzie added just how much data Guy Butcher and his colleague had extracted from the team's computers and phone records, and in her absence.
"They took away at least a year's worth of our analysis files, Ruth. I argued, but -" She shrugged helplessly.
Injuries and shock notwithstanding, Ruth's eyes gleamed with indignation. Being attacked by a mob was one thing; interference with her beloved files, the detail, order, and sheer size of which were legendary on the Grid, was in another league of horror altogether.
"That's iniquitous!" she exclaimed.
Harry patted her hands, which were clenched into angry fists on the table. "That's Internal security," said dryly. He was watching Ros closely as he spoke. For a moment Lucas thought he saw a trace of something – concern, uncertainty, he wasn't sure which – in his gaze, but there was no sign of either when he addressed her. "All right. Want to know what I think?"
Finally, Ros pulled out a chair and sat down. "Go on."
"You've done a good job -all of you. A really good job, so far. But we need more."
"We can do more, Harry, now we have positive I.D.s," Chen said eagerly. "Callum and I can hack into a few church web sites and e-mail accounts -"
"You mean you can apply for official authorisation to carry out enhanced electronic surveillance measures," Harry corrected, straight-faced. Chen blushed so fiercely that his glasses steamed up. Harry turned to Callum, who was shaking his head dubiously.
"I can do it, Harry. Dunno how much good it'll do, though. We've found out more about this shower from the Watchers pounding the pavements than from electronic gizmos. Told you, they're virtually invisible online."
"Exactly," Harry said. "Old-fashioned tradecraft, that's what we need. And someone on the inside."
Lucas frowned. "Turn one of them, you mean? That won't be easy, Harry, not in the current atmosphere. This isn't 2001; Middle England doesn't see the Service as the last bastion against the wild-eyed Wahabis any longer. More likely see us as one of the main threats to their way of life."
"Mm." Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully. "So then we do it the other way." He looked at Ros; a tiny smile was playing around her lips.
"Human intelligence. Send someone in undercover," she said softly.
"But good gracious, Harry," Khalida stammered, "how is that possible when we have a mole of our own? What about betrayal? Until Internal Security has snaffled this scoundrel this would be most terribly dangerous."
"We have been told that we have a mole," Harry pointed out. "By a source that may well be feeding us disinformation." Again his eyes slid to Ros; her face was grave, but again she nodded. "But if – if – the allegation should be true, there is no surer way to smoke him out."
Lucas felt his skin crawl at the implication that Harry was prepared to endanger a field officer deliberately in order to unmask Kallima. The younger officers looked stunned, Ruth disbelieving and disapproving; only Ros seemed unsurprised and unperturbed. Lucas swallowed.
"Well if … who?" he asked.
Harry sat back and looked slowly around the room.
"Someone who matches the profile of those who support Crisis Crusade's supporters," he said thoughtfully. "With experience of undercover work." His gaze lingered on Ros for a second. "Educated, probably fairly conservative in their social attitudes … and given the intel we have, I'd say some religious belief or knowledge would be helpful, too." He glanced at Ruth, who had been shaking her head and trying to get his attention. " And preferably a couple, I think." He smiled at his wife. "I think we've got the perfect candidates. Don't you?"
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