Chapter Eleven
"Watch it, Ruth," Lucas admonished mildly, as the analyst came barrelling out of Harry's office and almost trampled him underfoot. He hurriedly raised his cup of coffee skywards in order to prevent it being knocked from his hand by the heap of files she was carrying. "I try not to wear cappuccino; doesn't suit my complexion."
"Sorry, sorry," Ruth said breathlessly, steadying the teetering paper pagoda in her arms. Lucas skimmed the top half off before she dropped the lot.
"What's all this?" he enquired as he accompanied her to her desk and managed, with an effort, to find a space on top of it. "I thought the latest edict from Admin was that we were all going paperless?"
Ruth pulled a disbelieving face, and took a cautious look at Ros's as yet empty work-station. "After he saw My -"
"Zagadka," Lucas corrected automatically.
"Yes." Ruth flushed. "He wanted everything we had on the coup attempt. We went through it over the last few nights, and - "
Last few nights? Lucas raised his eyebrows, and Ruth's flush deepened. "At home. Harry wanted to talk it over with – with someone."
"I see," Lucas said slowly. He moved the few feet to his own desk, and removed his coat. "Ros know?"
"No." Ruth lowered her eyes so quickly that he couldn't be certain that he wasn't imagining a quick gleam of triumph.
"Right." He was about to say something else when his desk phone rang. "Lucas North."
"Lucas, office, please; we need to talk." He glanced across the Grid and saw Harry, phone held to his ear, beckoning him imperiously.
"Now?" Lucas was puzzled; Harry's instructions to him and Ros had been that he wanted to see them at ten, which was why Ros was currently in the Medical Service undergoing the same examination that had been given to him the previous day.
"Yes, now," Harry said abruptly, and the phone went dead. Lucas rolled his eyes, finished his coffee and put his Danish pastry in his desk drawer for safekeeping. When he rapped on the office door, Harry said irritably: "Come in and sit down." He gestured Lucas to a seat on one of the unyielding, minimalist Scandinavian chairs. Ros had a theory that during the last refurbishment at Thames House Harry had purposely selected the cheapest Eastern European-assembled models IKEA could offer so as to dissuade some of his less desirable visitors from outstaying their welcome. Lucas managed to squirm into a position that would minimise the risk of both lumbago and sore buttocks, and hoped he wouldn't have to stay in it for long.
"Ros at the medical service?" the older man demanded.
"Yeah." Ros, deprived of her early-morning coffee by the need to give a blood sample, had been tetchy, partly from the lack of it and partly, Lucas knew, to cover her nervousness at having to submit to the jab of a needle. "She'll be about half an hour."
"That's enough." All the same, Harry glanced out into the Grid as if to check that Ros hadn't somehow managed to speed through her medical checks at Warp Factor Five, and only then asked: "How do you think she's coping?"
Lucas shrugged. "Better than she was; her stamina's improved, she uses the inhaler a lot less. She can still get a bit jumpy sometimes with loud bangs -"
Harry's glare suggested he'd been taking lessons from his deputy. "Thank you, Doctor. You know what I mean."
Lucas knew exactly what he meant. He had known the instant he had realised that Harry had carefully engineered this opportunity to speak to him in Ros's absence, and resented it because of the implication that Harry – even Harry - had been infected by the bug of mistrust towards Ros that seemed to be spreading through his officers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ruth Evershed covertly peeping in at them, and wondered, with a bitterness that surprised him, whether Harry had caught it from her in the marital bed.
"As well as anyone," he said, then added defiantly: "And better than most." Harry's only response was a thoughtful rubbing of his chin as he paced around the office. "Harry, you know the security sweep cleared us both. Ros is loyal. So what are you saying – they're wrong, and she's a bloody double agent for Crisis Crusade?"
At that, Harry's eyes fastened on him with a probing intensity. "You're projecting, Lucas. I said no such thing."
His expression was hideously reminiscent of Lucas's chief interrogator in Russia, and Lucas knew only one way of combatting the chill which that type of penetrating gaze had triggered in him ever since.
"I don't need it in capital letters," he shot back. He was aware of his hands clenching, and forced himself to relax before Harry spotted them too. " Harry, Ros was the one who flagged Crisis Crusade as a threat in the first place. Remember - when most of us had them written off as a harmless coalition of ageing hippies, armchair anti-capitalists and Mumsnet? Hell, she's pushed harder than anyone to get the top brass to take them seriously. Almost anyone in this section has more sympathy for this shower than Ros does." Including your wife. Since being given the green light for an attempt to infiltrate Crisis Crusade, the entire Section had been working overtime, gathering information on the two priests, creating two watertight legends and setting up a secure, safe communications system. Ruth had made no secret of her sympathy with the group's aims, if not its methods, fretting out loud about the questionable morality of trying to subvert them. Eventually, Ros had snapped, dumped a small wooden crate that someone had used to bring in wine bottles for the long-past Christmas party on her desk, and given her directions to Hyde Park.
Harry perched on the edge of his desk. "You're making assumptions."
"You spoke to Myers, not me." Harry pursed his lips. "All right, Zagadka. Sorry. You said you were sure he was lying about 'one of us' meaning someone in the Service. So how can you suspect Ros -"
Harry held up a hand. "I'm as sure as I can be with a man who's spent most of his life dedicating his not inconsiderable intellect to the promotion of self and the deception of others. Lucas, get off your high horse and listen to me. I don't need Internal Security – or anyone else - to tell me that Ros Myers is one of the most fiercely loyal officers on my staff, but loyalty comes in many guises. Ros doesn't bind to organisations or systems. Never mind all the tripe about the Misanthrope of Milbank. Ros's loyalty is to people, and just sometimes, that's what leads her astray. With Yalta … and with her father's coup." Lucas shifted uneasily, more at the truth behind the words than at the discomfort of his seat. "I briefed her after I'd spoken to him," Harry continued.
I know. Much to the annoyance of Ruth, who had clearly wanted to accompany him, Harry had gone to the safe-house alone, and had summoned Ros to his club later that evening. For several days afterwards, she had come to work wrapped in a shroud of cold, taciturn anger concealing turmoil that Lucas knew she would never explain. She exchanged the bare minimum of words that operational necessity dictated with other members of the team, and avoided all social contact, brusquely declining to go to Lucas's flat or have him stay at hers. Lucas was left to assume the meeting hadn't been a happy one, but he hadn't dared to ask why.
"Whoever Kallima may be, he has access to a source of information that is high up in the Establishment somewhere. We need to find that source, we need to find him, and we need to do it quickly." The older man's face tightened. "Ros still believes her father's telling the truth. This is going to be taxing for her, emotionally as well as for all the obvious operational reasons. It won't be easy for her to avoid her judgement being swayed by the pull of loyalties, and we both know she's determined to prove herself to the doubters, whatever it takes."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Lucas countered defensively.
"No," Harry agreed, "until and unless her determination to vindicate herself, and him, perhaps, overrides professionalism - or common sense." As Lucas bristled, he said firmly: "Your job, Lucas, is to make sure it doesn't. You keep an eye on her and if you think there's anything to be concerned about, you will immediately report back to - "
Lucas felt the blood rush into his face. "Furiously, he got to his feet. "No. No, I won't play stukach on Ros. My job's to spy on the other side, not on our own! Harry, you can't ask me to do that!"
"I'm not asking you, Lucas, I'm ordering you. And your job is to do what you're told. Exactly what you're told."
Lucas burned to tell him exactly what he could do with his bloody operation. The words were already dancing on his tongue. The only thing that kept his teeth tightly gritted on the rebellious muscle was the knowledge that if he did, Harry would pull him from it, leaving Ros to go in alone or paired with someone who already half-suspected her of being a mole for the opposition.
"Is there something you don't understand?" Harry enquired with the lethal politeness that Lucas had always thought must be characteristic of a samurai about to separate his victim's head from the rest of his body.
"No." He wondered whether Harry had considered the possibility of his own judgement being as skewed by his long-standing mistrust of Jocelyn Myers as Ros's might be by her equally long-standing love of the wretched man.
Has Internal Security cleared him? The question erupted into Lucas's mind with a suddenness that shocked him. For a panic-stricken second he thought Harry must have read his expression, but to his relief he realised that the other man was looking out into the Grid where Ros had just come through the pods.
"Go now," Harry said abruptly. "I want you both as scheduled in fifteen minutes. And this conversation never happened."
"Sir." Thankful to escape with nothing more than the verbal equivalent of a few minor scratches, Lucas left with alacrity and strolled over to Ros. She looked pale, had rolled up the sleeve on her left arm and was holding it out to Khalida.
"What's up?" Lucas asked nonchalantly. "Vampires particularly hungry?"
Ros glared at him. Khalida looked up.
"It seems their fangs need a jolly good sharpening." She lifted an already bloodstained piece of cotton wool and shook her head. "And I have seen doctors in the camps using old bed sheets who could knock this truly appalling dressing into a top hat."
The grin that the slip was about to bring to Lucas's face died as he caught sight of the still bleeding wound in Ros's elbow and the extensive bruising around it. Ros hurriedly averted her eyes, and Khalida muttered something under her breath in Urdu.
"Ros, please, if you come I can do a much better job. Isn't it?"
"Lead on," Ros grunted. "Harry ready?" to Lucas.
"Yeah, but take your time." Lucas smiled. "He won't want O Rhesus positive all over his best sofa."
"Can only improve it," Ros said sourly. "And it's B-negative." Holding her arm in an inverted Hitler salute, she followed Khalida to the kitchen. Lucas returned to his desk and flicked through a small pile of letters. No-one knew how long the operation would last, and Harry had instructed both him and Ros to clear their P.O. boxes and especially to make sure all outstanding bills were paid before Lucas North and Rosalind Myers disappeared off the radar for an indefinite period. Lucas grimaced at the number in his pile, and then noticed a letter with his father's unmistakable handwriting on it. He'd have to scribble an answer tonight – by hand. Joshua North ranked e-mail, Facebook and text messages only slightly lower on the scale of 'thou shalt nots' than adultery and taking the Lord's name in vain.
"Ready to go, James?" It was Chen, with his usual beaming smile, and Lucas nodded. Chen had worked with Callum and Ruth to create the legends under which Lucas and Ros would be operating, and had suggested 'James' as the name of his favourite fictional spy. Ros had rejected the cover-name 'Anna' – Lucas's favourite Russian heroine - out of hand, with a vehemence nobody else quite understood – save Harry, who had swiftly proposed 'Penelope' instead. Since then, as per chapter six of the inductees' handbook (Undercover Operations – Essential Protocol) Chen had conscientiously refused to address Lucas as anything other than James. He was fascinated by the idea of going undercover, which he had described excitedly as 'real, hands-on spying'. Lucas had smilingly agreed and refrained from disillusioning him by telling him of the enormous strain of acting a part round the clock, even before you added the danger lurking menacingly around every corner if your performance wasn't absolutely convincing. Ruth had already taken him and Ros through the details of their legends over and over again until both were word perfect, subjecting them to the kind of grilling that brought back memories Lucas would much rather have forgotten. The addition to James and Penelope's lives of two children had required the study of additional matters like the school system, children's TV, computer games and the social media to which most children appeared to be addicted. Ignorance, Ruth said firmly when Ros scowled, could reduce their cover to the intelligence equivalent of a ripe Swiss cheese – crumbling and full of holes.
"Callum and I are just getting everything together." Chen scuttled off as Ros re-appeared. Her arm now bore a neat, dry dressing, and she carried a mug of coffee in her other hand.
"God, this is vile. Three sugars." She rolled her eyes. "Khalida insisted. Regular little Florence Nightingale."
Lucas smiled. Ros would never have favourites, but she did cut the young Pakistani more slack than almost anyone else on the Grid.
"Feeling better now?" he asked.
"Don't you start." Ros took another mouthful and shuddered. "I'm fine."
She didn't look it, Lucas thought, although part of that was the result of their preparations. He still wasn't accustomed to her inexpertly shorn hair. On learning the details of their legends, she had also deliberately deprived herself of two hours sleep each night for the last week and had dark circles under her eyes. On instructions, Lucas himself had grown a beard, lengthened his hair and managed, with an effort, something that hadn't been necessary for Ros – to lose several pounds in weight on a crash starvation diet. He couldn't help thinking that he had done the same a lot more quickly a decade ago with the helpful 'mentoring' of the FSB. "Better get moving, then."
Harry, who had been waving to them with an impatience that made him look like a wind turbine in a stiff sea breeze, didn't even give them time to sit before he said briskly: "Right, I've got the results of your exams – both of you ruled fit and able." Ros muttered something about garlic cloves and crucifixes that fortunately only Lucas heard. He bit his lip – hard. Harry, oblivious, continued: "As planned, you'll go to safe house Beta Three tonight. Have both of you left a convincing cover story with neighbours and family?"
"For the neighbours, I'm off to the fleshpots of Bangkok. I'll write to Dad tonight." Lucas's father had had to be apprised of his son's career choice when the FSB captured him. After the initial shock receded, it hadn't been difficult for a man whose own work revolved around the secret of the confessional to accept the strictures it involved.
"Business trip to Canada," Ros said shortly. "And no need for my family to be informed."
Remembering the rooftop phone call, Lucas glanced at Harry, but he merely nodded. "Right. And you've left the appropriate mobile numbers with your neighbours? Wills updated and filed?" Both nodded. "All right." Harry checked his watch. "Any questions?"
Lucas cleared his throat. "Who's taking over liaison with Transatlantic Security's team?" He knew Ros wouldn't ask the question for fear of it being misinterpreted as excessive concern for her father; he also knew she'd want to know the answer.
"Ruth. She worked under Tom when he was Section Chief. They trust each other, and each is used to the other's methods."
Lucas risked a sideways glance at Ros. There wasn't a flicker of emotion on her face, but he could imagine what was simmering beneath the surface. When Harry had originally mooted the idea of mounting a penetration op against Crisis Crusade, almost everyone had wrongly assumed that he was proposing himself and Ruth to carry it out. Only later had it dawned on Lucas that he had misled them deliberately to provoke a response from the one person whose reaction interested him most. Then, as now, the bait had not been taken. He saw a glint of what might have been approval in Harry's eye.
"OK? Right. Then let's do the final briefing, get you kitted out and get this op on the road. We don't have time to waste."
oOoOoOo
The understatement of the year. They had no sooner reached the conference room than Lizzie Sandell erupted into it with a flustered-looking Ruth in her wake.
"Harry! There's another one." Before Harry could even ask, she said breathlessly: "Bristol, this time."
"Same pattern?" Harry demanded.
"Yes, Harry." It was Ruth who answered. "I'll phone the Home Office - "
"No. He'll find out. We have an operation to get under way." Lucas saw Ruth blink in surprise at a tone he almost never used to her.
"But Harry, he said we were to keep him - "
"And I said no. Sit down, please." Harry himself did so. Lucas exchanged a glance with Ros, who gave an imperceptible shrug. While Crisis Crusade's victory over Harvey's had created a triumph for them, a humiliation for the bank and a breathing space for the Government, it hadn't pleased everyone. Some of the anti-bank demonstrators clearly didn't appreciated the Crusade's leitmotif of 'peaceful protest by legal means' and ever since, there had been a steady sprinkling of incidents in which some of their activities - including preventing evictions in Newcastle, an anti-cuts 'Blow-In' by an amateur brass brand outside City Hall in London during a budget debate and the distribution of second-hand clothes to needy families - had been disrupted and hijacked by people whose attitude was much more aggressive. On several occasions, food banks in suburban areas had been violently looted by gangs who clearly came from far more deprived inner city districts. Clashes had erupted, police intervention had been required, and Lucas had been chillingly reminded of Ros's comments to William Towers about 'undermining the bedrock of social and political stability'. Either Crisis Crusade was losing control of some of its members, or the protest agenda was being wrested from it by a third party. Whichever it was, its activities were causing the fault lines in an already divided society to split open, and something needed to be done about the deteriorating situation – fast.
"OK, settle down. Legends first." As chairs scraped and squeaked, Chen Liu and Lizzie explained and distributed the back-up documentation that would flesh out the personae of James and Penny Anderson – well-used passports with carefully-selected photographs and visa stamps, credit cards (maxed-out, Lizzie explained), bank cards, driving licence and all the rest of the paper and plastic paraphernalia that defined today's Mr Average UK citizen. Chen gave 'Penny' a worn purse and 'James' a wallet, both stuffed with 'litter'. Then Callum took over and explained that he had created online identities for both of them on Facebook, for Penny on Mumsnet, which produced a grimace of distaste from Ros, and for James on Linkedin. The Anderson family's financial affairs (now in deepest red) were being handled by a small bank that had been recently taken over – by Harvey's – and Callum had hacked into it, creating a set of records that eloquently proclaimed their heavily-indebted status.
"What about the kids?" Lucas enquired.
Chen pushed several dog-eared photographs of two beaming, gap-toothed children over to them. "They'll be older now, of course, but your most recent photos are all digital. There are a couple of framed prints in your stuff at Beta Three."
"Names?" Ros demanded.
"Yours to choose," Callum said with a grin. "We thought Harry and Ruth might be suitable. Make comms simpler."
"No." Harry snapped. "This isn't a game. No connections back to this office, not even the most tenuous. No personal connections. We may believe that Zagadka is lying, but if he isn't, that could scupper the op before it gets started."
There was an awkward silence, then Khalida ventured: "What of 'Abby' and 'Tim', Harry?"
Harry looked at Ros, who shrugged indifferently. Lucas smiled at Khalida. "Nice. Thanks, Khalida."
"Right, move on," Harry said testily. "Callum, what's the rest of our tech set-up?"
"Well, since this lot's knowledge of modern technology doesn't seem to extend even to going online other than to hang out the washing, I've come up with a couple of little tricks." Callum handed Ros a small plastic envelope containing what looked to Lucas like very delicate hatpins. "You can plant these little beauties anywhere they can't easily be seen. Cost a fortune, but they'll hear a sniff on the Whispering Gallery of St Paul's down in the crypt. All you need is the receiving unit set to the same frequency. Life span's about - "
"I've used them before." Lucas gave a puzzled frown; Ros had flushed slightly, and there was a distinct tremor in her fingers as she put the devices on the table. His puzzlement deepened at what looked like an expression of sympathy on Harry's face.
Callum looked equally puzzled. "Don't see how, Boss; they've been available a while, but we only got them this year, after the budget was increased." When Ros stared him down, clearly with no intention of explaining herself further, he coughed and went on.
"James and Penny can't afford any of your iPhones or BlackBerrys, so you'll make do with this." He offered Lucas what appeared to be an old-fashioned pay-as-you-go mobile, and grinned. "Not quite as prehistoric as it looks, this. There's a micro-camera inside. Silent, undetectable." Lucas examined it carefully; to him it looked like an ordinary, elderly mobile phone. "Menu button operates the camera," Callum said, helpfully.
"OK." Lucas hesitated. "Just one thing. Crisis Crusade may be low-tech, but that doesn't necessarily mean they don't 'do' technology." Ros grunted agreement. "The very fact they're avoiding it suggests that our friend Kallima knows exactly how easily it can be hacked and tracked. So how safe is it to use this lot?"
"We decided use should be at your discretion," Ruth intervened. Ros's head snapped up at the word 'we', and her cold eyes impaled the analyst. Ruth returned the look with a new confidence that Lucas was almost certain she had gained along with her marital status. "You'll be best placed to judge." Lucas thought only he had caught Ros's sarcastically muttered 'thank you' until Ruth added sweetly: "And as Ros says, she has ample experience of using bugs and working undercover."
Ros didn't respond, but Lucas could feel the tension radiating off her. Harry cleared his throat, and Ros turned away from Ruth and addressed him directly.
"What about comms?"
"Two innocuous channels," Chen piped up. "One, there's a Job Centre in Walton. James will be visiting it regularly. Fatima Ismail - " he nodded towards Khalida - "will be on duty every Tuesday and Thursday morning. Two, you'll need to communicate with your kids at Penny's parents' in Matlock. There's an internet café just off the High Street." He passed a note to Ros. "Use this address; we'll have a permanent alert on it."
"What about if you need to contact us?" Lucas asked.
"If we do," Harry said wryly, "it'll be in an emergency, and the idea is not to have one. Callum?"
The technical specialist pointed at the mobile phone. "Tim and Abby are allowed to call if they really miss Mummy and Daddy. 'Tim' will mean 'contact the Grid urgently'. 'Abby' means get out. Immediately."
"Which means immediately. Without argument," Harry added. His gaze lingered thoughtfully on Ros Myers. "Understood?" Both nodded. "Any more questions?"
"Who knows about the op?" Lucas enquired.
"No-one outside this room except Towers," Harry answered.
Lizzie gave a snort. "Oh well then, that just means him, his wife, the Cabinet, and half the Sir Humphreys in Whitehall." She pulled a face at Ruth's furious expression. "Oh come on Ruth, wise up; you know they make a sieve look waterproof!"
"That's enough!" Harry snapped, as Ros's eyes flashed fire too. "The parameters of this operation have been agreed between myself and the Home Secretary. Your job is to obey the orders you've been given and carry it out. Any penetration operation is risky, and the risk here is increased by the possibility – and it is still a possibility - of a leak within Thames House. From the moment Ros and Lucas leave this building tonight, they will be in considerable danger, and every one of you is responsible for playing your part in keeping them safe." He glared at Lizzie. "Anyone who has objections to any aspect of this operation may consider themselves off the team – now."
There was a quivering silence around the table as his eyes scanned each face in turn. Harry let it continue for sixty long seconds until he nodded. "Very well." He stood up, and hurriedly everyone else did the same. "Dismissed."
To his annoyance, Lucas was detained by Ruth, who wanted to run yet again over the details of their move to the safe house. He had memorised them on the first read-through, but he swallowed his exasperation at her punctiliousness and patiently repeated them. He could see Ros at her work-station, divesting herself of the little personal jewellery she wore and placing it, together with her personal documents, mobile phone, wallet and anything else that might possibly identify her as Rosalind Myers, into a box that Khalida was waiting to seal. He was impatient to join her. Harry was already in his office on the telephone, but he glanced up as Lucas passed and gave a reassuring nod.
"James?" Khalida handed him a second box. "All of Lucas in here, please."
With a smile, Lucas complied. Ros raised her eyebrows when he unclasped his watch too.
"Twenty-first birthday. Dad had it engraved." As Khalida sealed both boxes and bore them away, Lucas blew out a deep breath. "Never really enjoy this bit – always reminds me of being turned into prisoner 56711."
He saw a flicker of what might have been understanding in her eyes, but Ros merely said: "Who, James?"
He accepted the rebuke. Ros was already in character. Sloughing off her own personality never seemed to be a problem for her since she kept it under such tight wraps anyway. It made him wonder, with a pang of untimely unease, how much of it any of her colleagues – including himself - really knew.
He shrugged as casually as he could. "No-one. Come on, Penny. Let's go home."
Operation Saladdin was underway.
oOoOoOo
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