All the usual disclaimers apply here. Spoilers ahoy!

If you take issue with fiction that includes religious terrorism, description of rape, humour so black you may not spot it at all, professional Ruth and, of course, a bit of sex... well then hit the back button. Now.

Apologies for the triple attempt at uploading. I noticed a couple of absolute clangers and edited accordingly.

Not Close Enough

They woke up with the alarm at full beep, swore simultaneously, laughed unwillingly and got up. Harry took advantage of the shirt in his wardrobe so that he had time to shave and give Ruth a mobile phone and a charger.

'Paid for with cash, false name given, don't take it to Thames House. And don't let Beth see it either.'

'Okay.'

'I've memorised the number. When I get to Belfast I'll buy a clean phone and call you on it. It won't be until after ten tonight, though.'

'Okay.'

'I'm meeting Dimitri at the Grid and picking up some kit. Mike's driving us to the plane and then he'll be at your disposal until I get back. He's taken such a shine to you it'll break his heart if you don't use him.'

Ruth wrinkled her nose. 'Okay.'

'Please?'

'I said okay.'

'You can trust him with your life. In fact, don't trust anyone apart from him.'

'Jesus, Harry! You're such a delight in the mornings.'

'Ruth?'

'Okay.'

'I love you.'

She smiled. 'Okay.'

'I'm going to miss you.'

She sashayed into the kitchen, blue dressing-gown swishing. 'Okay.'

'Are you going to miss me?' he found himself asking, straight tie be damned.

She gave him a disapproving look. 'I'm not entirely sure I'll have time.'

'Find it,' he growled, backing her into the corner near the microwave and extracting a more than half-decent snog out of her.

The A40 on the way to RAF Northolt was relatively clear. Mike had wangled a Range Rover Sport for the morning and spent the trip discussing its merits with Dimitri, who was perkiness personified until they'd passed through the red-and-white barrier onto the airfield and started to see actual aeroplanes.

'Everything all right?' Harry enquired, leaning into the gap between the two front seats so he could examine Dimitri's profile.

'I like boats, not planes,' said Dimitri.

'I know,' Harry's reply was gentle. 'But you should see the little beauty we've got today.'

They pulled up near a small'ish twin-prop plane, into which two men in army uniform were depositing a number of aluminium cases. The pilot was performing pre-flight checks and laughing at something he'd heard through his headphones. Mike opened the rear door of the car, standing to attention as Harry got out and walked across the tarmac towards the soldiers. They both saluted Harry before shaking hands.

'Sergeant Philips! Good to see you.'

'Sir. Likewise. This is Lance-Corporal Evans. I should warn you, he's a bloody chatterbox.'

Evans had blue eyes and an absolutely beautiful smile. 'Sir Harry! The sun is shining and the winds are fair. You picked a good day for flying with us.'

'So it seems. You'll have to convince Dimitri, though. He's Navy. Bit of an aversion to flight.'

'Poor thing,' Evans responded with at least a semblance of genuine sympathy. He watched as Dimitri opened the boot of the Range Rover and then marched over to offer his assistance.

They were in the air within minutes, climbing slowly and continuing west. The silver thread of the River Thames curved below them as they flew over Slough before banking north and setting a steady course across country. 'We'll fly south of Birmingham, skirt Snowdonia and follow the Irish coast around from just north of Dublin,' Philips explained via their headset communications link.

'We seem to be a bit low,' Dimitri commented.

Evans laughed at his rigid expression. 'Cabin's not pressurised, sailor.'

'What model is the plane?'

'A Britten-Norman Defender. Regular workhorses from Manchester to the Congo these are. This one has Forward Looking Infrared and high-definition cameras under the nose. From the details you sent through yesterday, the coastguard thinks the trawler you're interested in is anchored just off the coast near Cushendall. We'll be flying over and taking a look with the infrared camera. It'll tell you how many men you have to deal with onboard.'

'That's great!'

'Take some nice photos of the Giant's Causeway too, if you like.'

'Calm down, Evans,' Sergeant Philips admonished. 'Get the monitors up and running. We can give Dimitri and Sir Harry the tour once that's done.'

'We aren't expected at the barracks?' Harry asked Philips. 'I'll be impressed if you've managed to fly under the gossip radar.'

'Officially, this trip is to update joint forces coastline data. Unofficially, the Department of Agriculture and Rural Development, plus three competing companies, will be buying images and film off us to help with offshore wind-farm development. Either way, as far as everyone else is concerned, we're simply stopping to refuel before heading home.'

'Excellent. I've arranged for an old friend to meet us at Aldergrove.'

'Good. Otherwise you'd have to get a taxi. But I don't suppose for one minute Ruth Evershed would let that happen.'

Dimitri laughed. 'Evershed? Do you know her?'

'Only to talk to on the phone, sadly. When Ruth says, "jump," we say, "yes ma'am," and try not to squirm too much with enjoyment. Is she as forceful face-to-face as she is on the blower?'

Dimitri blinked at Philips. 'Forceful?'

'Oh, yeah. But sort of lovely with it.'

'Well you know how it is,' Harry cut in smoothly. 'She gets the job done.'

The time crossing the mainland passed quickly as they unpacked three separate laptop computers and connected up live links to the plane's surveillance equipment. Evans demonstrated the usefulness of the infra-red camera equipment by teaching Dimitri to spot deer under the tree canopy while they flew over Welsh woodland.

Just as they had left the coast behind, Beth called through on the satellite phone. Harry pulled off his headset and plugged himself into the phone's rather sleeker version.

'We've found the leak at the Boarder Agency,' she explained. 'Twenty years of service, a wife, two children and he's discovered a completely mental version of Christianity. How the fuck do we miss these people, Harry?'

'We don't miss many,' he responded automatically.

'Oh, come off it, this guy is law enforcement.'

'I'm sorry, Beth. There is no perfect system.'

'Well, he's very proud of the fact that he's a follower of something called Christian Identity. Have you ever heard of it?'

'It sounds American.'

'It's actually based on a thing called British Israelism. Some Victorian bank clerk propounded a theory that white Europeans are the true descendents of the ten lost tribes of Israel, and therefore white Christians are God's chosen people.'

'Victorian? Heaven help us.'

'Exactly. He sailed off to America and kept promoting his theories. Eventually, they were picked up by a chap called Adam Swift, who added a crucial bit about modern Jews being the descendents of Cain, who was naturally the offspring of Eve and the Garden of Eden's resident snake.'

'All Jews are literally the spawn of the devil?'

'Apparently so. Told you it was mental.'

'So were they going to target a Synagogue? An individual? As far as I know there are no VIP guests from Israel scheduled for a couple of weeks. What's on the boat?'

'The customs officer, Gordon Hatter, he doesn't know much. But I told him I'd got a couple of mates in Mossad who would be happy to talk to him and he gave me the name of his contact. Robert Dormer seems to be a full time preacher, or an unemployed leech, depending on your point of view. He has to have a sponsor.'

'Take Lucas, tell him to be scary, find out what he was planning. I'm tired of asking the same questions!'

'It's funny, though. I got the impression that the original target wouldn't be Jewish.'

'Just call me when you know. We should be landing in an hour or so.'

'Will do.'

'Oh, and Beth?'

'Yes?'

'Have you got a couple of mates in Mossad?'

'Ask me no thumping great questions on monitored satphone calls, Harry.'

He smiled. 'Glad to hear your training is going well.'

The plane swept on. Evans and Philips sat immersed in their work, occasionally asking the pilot for instruments-based confirmation of altitude and position. Harry took the opportunity to shout an update into Dimitri's ear. Once they'd flown over Belfast Loch he began to scan the water below.

'Not much inshore traffic,' he said.

'A few commercial boats trawl the mussel beds but that's about it,' Dimitri explained. 'There's a regular ferry to Stranraer as well.'

'Coastguard have confirmed the GPS coordinates of your trawler,' the pilot broke in efficiently. 'Coming up on your left in approximately three minutes. Maintaining altitude at 4,000 feet for the first pass, we'll swing around and come back once at 2,000 feet. Any more and we risk raising suspicion.'

'Thank you,' Harry replied, eyes flicking between the sun-kissed sea below and the dull darkness of the infrared display as they flew over empty water. He shaded his eyes and squinted, a speck below rapidly forming into the toy-sized shape of a boat with a cheery red hull.

'Got it!' Evans exclaimed smugly. 'The view is good, maintain course.'

'Only three men,' Dimitri counted the glowing white shapes of men's bodies. 'Can we go in tonight?'

'They look like a bunch of amateurs. GPS blaring away, nobody on watch, no apparent defence. Bloody sitting ducks,' Harry groused. 'But we need to catch both Daniel Dodds and Thomas Hart firmly in the act. We can't move until Dodds does.'

'I thought he was planning to take Hart hostage. Which would mean the crew as well, unless he kills them. Sounds messy to me.'

'What would you rather do?'

'Go in quietly. Offer Hart a deal. Get a look at what we're dealing with and make me an honorary crew member. I'll signal when Dodds arrives and you can nab him as soon as he gets back to shore.'

'It doesn't prevent a hostage situation.'

'No, but I can keep things calm. Stop anyone from getting shot.'

'We'll see what they say at Holywell.'

The plane banked sharply as it began to turn around for a second pass. Dimitri closed his eyes and clutched the arms of his seat.

Beth tapped on the sliding door and opened it halfway. Ruth was deep in conversation on the phone.

'I can understand the need to safeguard sources in Tangier. We have no intention of carrying out an operation on your soil.'

A pause for a reply.

'Yes, I'll guarantee it.'

More from Morocco. From Ruth's expression, it wasn't helpful.

'Don't be ridiculous!' She sat back in her chair, gazed at the ceiling and obviously came to some sort of decision. She switched to Arabic and spoke rapidly for half a minute. The response she got made her smile. 'Thank you. That's all I needed to know. Say hello to your boss for me, won't you? I was at Cambridge with Karim.'

'Well?' said Beth.

'They know absolutely nothing. Surprise surprise, someone is smuggling arms through North Africa undetected.'

'Bugger.'

'I'm sure we'll find out. I've just spoken to Harry and they've got the boat locked up tight. We'll have a briefing at two and decide when to move.'

'Okay. I need to question Robert Dormer. Harry said to take Lucas but I can't find him and he's not answering his mobile.'

Ruth sighed. 'Again? All right, let's put the frighteners on Dormer together. Get CO19 to pick him up and take him to Kennington Police Station. We'll go and see him there rather than have him here. Make it all seem as normal as possible.'

'What about Lucas?'

'I'll deal with him later. Come on, we've got the car while Harry's away.'

'Oh, cool!'

Mike looked so pleased to see Ruth that she almost gave him a hug. 'This is my housemate, Beth,' she told him. 'Be aware that we will be completely misusing you while we've got you. A trip to Waitrose to stock up the freezer, Majestic for a couple of cases of wine...'

'Can we get some stuff for the flat?' Beth asked excitedly.

'Yep. There's a transit van in the car pool, isn't there, Mike? If we wanted to go furniture shopping on Saturday, for example.'

Mike's smile didn't falter. 'There is one. I'll book it if you like. As long as I can use it to go to the tip after I've dropped you two off. My wife has been nagging me for ages.'

'It's a deal. Apologies to the tax-payer and all that, but I lost all my bookshelves a few years ago and I'm in dire need of replacements.'

Robert Dormer was a bit of a surprise. Middle-aged, tidily dressed, thoughtful-looking.

'I asked the officers who brought me here why they thought it necessary,' he said calmly. 'But they wouldn't say anything at all.'

Ruth's apologetic earnestness made him visibly relax. Until she said, 'Prevention of terrorism. We don't actually have to tell you anything for twenty-eight days if we don't want to.'

'Terrorism?'

'Conspiring to smuggle illegal weapons into the UK whilst promoting extreme and racist religious beliefs isn't the most popular behaviour, nowadays.'

Dormer folded his arms. 'You'd persecute a Christian man? That doesn't usually turn out so well, you know.'

'I wouldn't dream of persecuting you,' Ruth said, as if the very idea astonished her. 'What I can't vouch for is whoever you have to share a cell with while we continue our investigations. Prison overcrowding is such a problem these days.'

'Whatever do you mean?'

She rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand thoughtfully. 'Twenty-seven nights with an energetic sodomite. Would God be disappointed with you if you were unable to resist? From what I've read about your little prayer group, you believe that a woman who is the victim of rape is somehow to blame for it. A wife is an adulterer. A daughter is a whore. What does that make a man?'

Dormer's face was a picture of horror and disgust. 'You wouldn't dare! I have rights!'

'It's not me, Robert. It's just the reality of custody. Extremely serious accusations have been made against you and we simply have to investigate them.'

'What do you want to know?'

Beth was leaning against the wall behind Dormer. Her voice contrasted sharply with Ruth's gentle delivery. 'You were due to take delivery of a shipment five days ago. What was being delivered?'

Dormer twisted in his chair, trying to see Beth properly. She walked forwards and stood over him. 'What were you expecting to get, Robert?'

'I don't know what you're talking about!' he retorted.

'Oh, we all know that's not true,' said Ruth with a sigh. She stood up and joined Beth. The pair of them frowned down at Robert Dormer as if he was a stubborn toddler taking issue with dinnertime broccoli. Ruth reached inside her jacket and withdrew a gun from a shoulder holster. Dormer's eyes widened in shock.

'Be a good boy and open your mouth for me,' she said quietly. 'It's really easy to chip a tooth on one of these things.'

'No!'

She pressed the end of the barrel against his lips with gentle insistence. 'Come on, Robert, open wide.'

Dormer opened his mouth. A dribble of saliva slid down to his chin as Ruth pushed the barrel of the gun a few centimetres between his teeth.

'I'd like you to close your eyes and remember what you smell like when you haven't had a shower for a couple of days,' she murmured. 'A bit musky around the balls. Your little chap needs a good wash. You know exactly what I mean. Now imagine it's another man's muskiness. Similar to you, but not quite right. It's all you can smell. It's overpowering. And your mouth is full. Your jaw aches with it. You have to breathe through your nose. You're sucking in that smelly-bollocks air as if you can't get enough of it.'

Dormer gagged and whimpered. Ruth met his newly bloodshot gaze with a blank, grey stare. She pushed the gun a fraction further into his mouth. 'My colleague is going to ask you some questions. You're going to answer fully, and truthfully. None of us wants anything nasty to happen to you.'

In London and Belfast two small teams of people were sat at two large tables, each staring at a flat screen with a view of the other room.

'Tariq has sent through the footage of Richard Dormer,' Ruth began. 'He's being cooperative.'

In place of the webcam-eye-views, footage of a tearful man clutching a tissue and talking to Beth began to run.

'A year ago I was invited to spend some time with a church in Oklahoma. The pastor there taught me that Christianity existed in Britain before Roman interference. The Celts were the true Christians, and their tribes were directly linked to the House of Israel!'

'So?'

'We don't believe in any of that Second Coming rubbish. In Armageddon. It is our duty to build the Kingdom of God here and now.'

'What do you plan to do?'

'We are going to send a message. To unite true men of Adam's stock under one banner. Here. In the United States. Europe, South Africa, Australia...'

'What message, Robert?'

'Westminster Cathedral.'

'It's a Catholic church!'

'And what good has that done in the last two thousand years?'

'How?'

Robert Dormer smiled. 'Hellfire,' he said. 'It seemed appropriate.'

'Details,' Beth snapped impatiently. 'Unless you fancy learning more about prison-time.'

'One of the church members has only recently retired from the American military. He sourced some Russian grenades before he left. They can be launched from an RPG-7 but they're thermobaric.'

'How many?'

'Six. You can't stop us, you know. Our race is invincible.'

Silence fell. Harry's demanding tones rang through both meeting rooms. 'Where the hell are the other targets?'

On screen, someone else entered the interview room, their back initially towards the camera. Dormer's expression slipped from confident to terrified as Ruth bent over him.

'Where are the other grenades, Robert?'

'I don't know!'

'Yes, you do.'

'Six grenades, six Catholic churches. It's all I know! I swear! In God's name!'

She considered him for a moment and glanced at Beth for confirmation. 'Thank you. I hope your time in Belmarsh is bearable. I'll strongly recommend solitary confinement.'

Dormer's whole body sagged with relief. 'Oh, God! Thank you so much!'

The screens flickered straight back to the webcams as the video ended.

'Jesus, Evershed, what did you do to him?' Dimitri exclaimed.

'Prison Conditions Scenario 1C,' Beth told him admiringly. 'I'd only read a training summary before today but Ruth was ace!'

'I think it might work best when there are two women interviewing,' Ruth added. 'More contrast.'

Harry felt a little burst of pride. 'You've let the relevant people know?' he asked.

'We've notified the Vatican, CIA and the FBI directly,' said Tariq. 'The church in Oklahoma was already under surveillance, but obviously not closely enough. And an alert has gone out covering all major Catholic churches in the places Dormer specified. It's a nightmare, though. The range of these things is a kilometre.'

'It's not our job to worry about the other five. But I don't think we can risk Daniel Dodds getting his hands on a genuine RPO-Z,' said Harry.

'I've been watching videos of them on youtube,' Tariq said. 'The grenades generate a fire that's a thousand degrees Centigrade for ten seconds. Everything burns.'

'Then we'll go in as soon as night falls, replace the genuine RPO with a decommissioned grenade and the two crew members with field officers. We wire the boat for sound and pictures and call in the cavalry as soon as we've got enough. Agreed?'

Everybody nodded. The man next to Harry sat back in his chair. 'Decommissioned weapons? We'll have to have a look in the basement for those.'

Harry grinned at him. 'I'm sorry, I should have introduced you to Beth and Tariq. This is Stuart Flintoff. We worked together years ago. Stuart heads up the Northern Ireland office in this new era of devolution.'

'I actually wish we didn't have to be here,' Stuart explained. 'I prefer hot, dry countries and the comforting snobbery of MI6. But while there are people like Dodds around we'll be staying. And while I work here, I'll just have to tolerate surprise visits from the boss.'

'You're pleased to see him really,' Ruth retorted. 'You've both got half a bottle of Jameson's and reminiscing about the old days written all over your faces.'

'It would be more fun if you were here as well. I could brush up my Mandarin on you.'

She pursed her lips against a grin, eyes downcast. 'Dream on, Stuart.'

He phoned her at eleven. She was lying in bed with a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera, wishing she was enjoying it more.

'Hi,' he said.

'Hello.'

'I'm a little bit tipsy.'

'You astound me.'

'Not nearly as much as I would be if I hadn't had a call to make. Everything okay?'

'I think so.'

'Not too nervous about tomorrow?'

'The one rule of the phone call is that we don't mention the JIC. Are we clear?'

'Yes! Sorry.'

'Dimitri okay?'

'Yes, he's fine. Happy as Larry now he's bobbing around in a boat. He makes me feel so sodding old. Did I ever tell you I'm afraid of flying?'

Ruth snorted. 'No. But then the list of things I don't know about you is pretty lengthy.'

'For example?'

'How am I supposed to know what I don't know?'

'That's not the sort of question to ask a man who's been drinking Irish Whisky.'

Ruth giggled and rolled onto her side. 'Tell me anything, then.'

'I gave my children your cats.'

'Really? I thought they must have died and it was too depressing to ask. You're speaking to Graham?'

'Not as such. But he was visiting Catherine when I took Fidget round and stayed long enough to demand Misfit. He said it wasn't fair if I gave one of them a pet but not the other.'

'Was he serious?'

'Of course not. It was the first time we'd smiled at each other for about twenty years.'

'But you gave him Misfit anyway.'

'Via Catherine. Misfit got himself a gmail account soon after and sends me an update every couple of months. Graham's girlfriend is called Isobel. She's expecting a baby.'

'Oh, Harry.'

'According to Misfit, I won't be absolutely unwelcome if I visit my grandchild.'

There was a long pause.

'I owe you an awful lot, Ruth.'

'Don't get maudlin over me, Harry. I mentally raped a man with the aid of a revolver today.'

His voice brightened. 'That's true. And I was as pleased as punch when Beth got all gushy about it.'

'We're so fucked up.'

'Perhaps we're just a good match. All things considered.'

'Perhaps.'

'I've never been very good on the phone, and here we are, gossiping away like we've been doing this for years.'

'Grandchildren, cats and borderline torture.'

'Sweetheart, it sounds like I'm going to have to distract you. I'm missing you.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. I'm sitting on an army barracks bed, in Northern bloody Ireland, and it feels like I'm revisiting my ancient history. I hadn't realised how far I've moved on. I want to be lying down in London with an armful of you. I want the taste of you on my tongue, not Stuart's whisky. In fact, when I get home, I'm going to replace my dream cunnilingus with the real thing as fast as humanly possible.'

'We've spent the last two nights together and I'm still blushing.'

Harry laughed. 'I should have done it before I left. It was careless of me. Are you in bed?'

'Yes.'

'Are you in some sort of fluffy pyjama set?'

'Marks and Sparks' best,'

'Do you fancy taking them off?'

Ruth sat up in bed and began to unbutton her top. 'Shall I leave my socks on?'

'God, yes. Hang on. I'm just plugging in the hands-free.'

'That's cheating! I'm going to have to put my phone down while I get my trousers off.' There was a muffled materially sound and then Ruth piped up again, slightly breathlessly. 'Okay. I'm nude.'

'Would you like to rephrase that? Embellish things a touch?'

'Not really. I think you should do the talking. Especially as you don't have to hold a phone.'

'Spoilsport.'

'Harry, I'm lying in the dark, wearing nothing but a pair of old hockey socks. I have goosebumps.'

'That's a start.'

'What about you?'

'Still in my trousers. Well, in isn't really the right word.'

She could picture it in her mind's eye. It was very rude.

'Where are your hands?' he said quietly.

'One of them is holding the phone.'

'Ruth Evershed, don't be coy.'

'I'm touching myself. My clitoris.'

'How?'

'Middle finger.'

'I'm with you. Oh, blimey, I'm turned on.'

'What are you doing?'

'I'm touching my cock.'

'How?'

'I've never really thought about it. Er, first two fingers and a thumb, mainly. It's a very familiar rhythm.'

'When you get back, I want you to show me. I want you to wank yourself off while you lick me.'

'Fuck!'

'I can't believe I just said that out loud.'

'I'm going to. I'm going to finger you, and lick you, and then we'll watch each other. And when it gets unbearable not to be touching each other we're going to fuck.'

'Oh... I need two hands for this. Phone's by my ear.'

Harry began to form words again soon after he'd finished. 'Oh dear,' he said slightly dolefully.

Ruth lazily scrabbled for the phone. 'What's wrong?'

'I came all over my shirt. And it's laundry day tomorrow.'

'So rinse it out.'

'It's an army barracks. They'll bloody know!'

'Can't you hang it on a radiator? Or, I don't know, take your dirty washing home with you for a change?'

'I suppose I could. But what if they search my luggage?'

'Make sure the nosy little gits get their hands dirty.'

'Oh, Ruth, that's nasty.'

'So is searching the boss' room.'

'Have I told you today that I really, really love you?'

She smiled and rolled back over onto her side, hugging a pillow. Desperately missing his presence despite her sleepiness. She'd heard that crack cocaine could hook you from the very first inhalation and Harry seemed to have a similar effect.

'Go to sleep, my lover. When you get back, I'm going to teach you how to bask in the aftermath for longer than thirty seconds.'