Chapter 11: Bugs

2000

Mark stood outside the house, trying to work up the courage to knock. Finally, Sarah had persuaded him to go talk to his mum. It was something she brought up on holidays and birthdays, something that she would bring up every time her mum came to stay.

And then, last night, he had had a dream. Sarah's mum had been staying for the past week and when they went to bed, they had talked about going to see his mum again. He had vehemently refused, stating their irreconcilable differences. Sarah still didn't know what his mother had done, still believed it to be a tiff about work.

He had let her believe it, because how could he tell her the truth? How could he tell her that his mother helped to murder his father? They had been approaching the topic, and he had cut her off, turning his back to her, feeling her anger at him, but not caring. When he finally fell asleep, it had been a fitful doze, until the dream came.

He was walking on gleaming mahogany floors, looking at artwork that hung on the bluish grey walls. The smell of salt was in the air, and he could hear the sea in the distance. The desk was unmanned, but as he walked past it, a black shadow passed in front of him and sat down.

"Iggy," he said, smiling.

The dog barked, wagging his tail, allowing Mark to pet his head before walking away.

"Iggy, where are you going?" he called, but the dog continued to trot away, to the very back of the place, where two walls were set in glass and a man sat in a chair.

He turned when Mark entered.

"Dad," Mark said in disbelief.

"Mark," he said, smiling only slightly. "Good job on the not getting hit by cars."

Mark smiled. "Thanks. I worked really hard on it."

"That's the only thing, since we last met," his dad said sternly. "I told you to go see your mum."

Mark closed his eyes and sighed. "I will Dad. I just...I'm working up to it."

"Mark, you don't have much time left."

"You mean Mum's going to join you?"

Stephen Evans didn't ever, merely looking at him. "Go see your mother, son. As soon as you wake up tomorrow, go see her." He turned and sat back down in the chair, and a bark from behind him told him that Iggy was there.

Mark turned, following Iggy back to the front of the building.

He had woken with a start, covered in sweat, disturbing Sarah.

"You okay?" she had murmured sleepily.

"Yeah," he had replied. "I'm going to go make a cup of tea." She had murmured something and fallen back asleep. Mark had stayed up the rest of the night, mulling over the dream, and after their run in the morning, had decided to go straight to his Mum's. So now he was there, debating about knocking or walking off. He looked around the street. There was an electrician's van parked at the house next to his mum's, and cars lined the street.

Taking a deep breath, his arm finally reached out and he knocked on the door. His heart beat faster as he heard her call out that she was coming and as her footsteps approached the door.

As the door opened, his first thought was of how she had hardly changed. Twenty years had passed since the last day he saw her, and she still stood tall and proud, her face slightly more lined, and her hair white. But the lines and the white hair were the only change. She looked as fierce as ever, her eyes piercing and her face sharp. However, all of this fell away as she looked at Mark.

"It's...it's not possible..." she murmured, her jaw dropping and her hand covering her mouth. "Sixteen years..."

"Twenty since we last saw each other," he replied quietly.

"But..."

"I know."

"Tea?" she finally mumbled.

Mark nodded stiffly. She led him back to the kitchen, which was exactly the same as he had always remembered it. "You sit down," he said. "I'll make the tea."

"You know where everything is?"

"Well, everything looks the same." He immediately went to one of the cupboards and opened it, revealing mugs for tea. "See?"

Minutes of silence passed as he started to make the tea. Finally, he was getting ready to stir in the sugar, getting the canister out of the cupboard. "Two?" he asked, and she nodded.

Mark stirred in the sugar and started to put the sugar back when something caught his eye. There was a small black disc on the back of the cupboard, about the size of the iris of an eye. It didn't look like it belonged in his mother's dated kitchen. It looked too high tech. Suddenly the answer came to him.

"Mum...you've been bugged," he said, before crushing the disc underneath his foot.

She looked terrified before the fierceness returned to her face. "Get out. Now."

However, before he could even move, people were invading the house. A man with short brunette hair and blue eyes walked in first, followed by a woman with very short blonde hair and a dark skinned man with his head shaved.

As they arrested him to take him to headquarters, the only thing he could think of was that he was going straight to a place where the older population would think he was dead. What was he going to do then?

The journey was short and he was led through a maze of corridors before the dark skinned man led him into an interview room. The other two had taken his mother somewhere else. Mark noted that the young man was sweating, but not from heat. Mark could clearly see the nerves in the set of his face. It would have been unnoticeable to people who had not once been an MI-5 officer, but he had kept his skills honed through the years and he was easily able to distinguish this feature.

"First serious job?" he asked socially as he was handcuffed to the table. The man said nothing, walking out of the room, leaving him alone to his thoughts.

He wondered what his mother was involved in. Whatever it was, it was really serious, and he was frustrated with her. Would she ever learn her lesson? She caused her husband's murder, and now, she was suspected of terrorism. He sighed, as the door opened and the three agents walked in, sitting across from him.

He could tell that the brunette man was the most seasoned of all of them. His face was blank and his eyes were cold. The woman was not an old hand, but she wasn't new either. Her face was blank but her emotions still showed through her hazel eyes. It stunned him how much she looked like Alex had all those years ago. The young man was clearly brand new, his forehead still sweating.

"Do you need a handkerchief for your forehead?" Mark asked him. Even though he was a suspect in some anti-terror investigation, he felt overwhelming sympathy for the man. "You're sweating rather a lot. I know it's scary, being your first interview and all."

The three ignored him, but he could see surprise in both the woman's and the young man's eyes that he knew it was the man's first interview.

"My name is Matthew," the oldest man said. "This is Sophie and Jamie is on the end. We want to know how you are involved with Charlotte Evans.

"What is she doing? Why has she merited the interest of MI-5?"

"How do you know Charlotte Evans?" Matthew asked again, and Mark knew that he wasn't going to break any of them, especially with Matthew in the room. He half wanted to play with them, to test the ability of their skills, but he knew nothing would scare any of them more than the reveal of who he really was.

He turned to the woman Matthew called Sophie. "Sophie," he said. She looked at him directly. Delayed reaction, he noticed. Definitely not the woman's real name. Mark smiled. "You look like this woman I knew back in the day."

"How do you know Charlotte Evans?" she asked.

"Christ, you even sound like her. You're even somewhat in the same line of work. I mean, she was a copper, you're a bit more 'refined,'" he said, making air quotes with his handcuffed hands.

"Mr. Newton," Matthew said sternly. Mark turned to him, wearing a small smile on his face.

"Yes?"

"How do you know Charlotte Evans?"

"Christ. Not to be distracted, you lot. Still I understand. They beat that into your head quite hard." He sighed, looking at the three who were staring at him. He really didn't want to tell them how he knew his mother. But he also knew that if he didn't tell them, he'd more than likely be spending the night in a cell, with Sarah worried about where he was. He wished he could ring her.

"Mr. Newton?" Sophie asked again.

"You won't believe me," he said. "But what the hell? Charlotte Evans...she's my mother."

Matthew frowned and Jamie handed him folder. "Her son died in 1984. They were estranged for years before."

Mark smiled, deciding to refer to his past self in third person. "I remember that well. Mark found this folder... all the details of Stephen Evans' death. It broke his heart when he found out that his mother was responsible for his father's death. Of course, she didn't know what she was doing when she got involved with those men, but he still held her responsible. And then...his death. Poor bastard screwed up a case. Can you believe it?" he said, looking directly at Sophie. "He fell in love with the woman he was supposed to save. Course, that didn't settle well with the Head of Section D. Back in those days, the man's name was Danny." Mark saw the man on the end jump just a fraction of an inch and immediately knew his name, but continued. "Danny warned him that he was going to end up dead, and what do you know? Rescuing the woman he thought he was in love with, found out that his junior officer was corrupt, and then the junior officer shot him in the chest. He haemorrhaged later in the night, after surgery. So Danny came back to headquarters, and told young Harry Pearce that his senior officer had died. Apparently poor Harry took it hard."

Mark could tell that he had deeply disturbed these three officers, but Matthew continued.

"Arthur, I can call you that? How is it that a man who owns a paint shop, who lived in Bath at the time of Mark Evans' death knows what happened to him?"

"I know all of the facts about Mark Evans. I know his childhood. I know how he got recruited into MI-5. I know his cases. I know his death. The only thing I don't know is if Harry still works here. Being absent for sixteen years gets you out of the loop, you see. Now, why don't you let Danny go fetch your section head, because I have a feeling that that is what you are currently thinking about doing."

Danny jumped at the mention of his name.

"Why do you think his name is Danny?" Matthew asked.

Mark smiled. "Well, the jump when I said to get your section head was obvious enough, but when I was telling Mark's story, and mentioned his section head, Danny, your mate over there jumped just a tiny bit. Just like I know her name isn't Sophie," he said, inclining his head toward the woman. I addressed her by name, but her eyes focused on me just a fraction of a second too late. She's used to the name, but not as much as her real one. You'd get the same thing from me if you called me Mark, even though that's my real name." Mark winked.

"Jamie," Matthew said. "Go get the head."

'Jamie' nodded and walked out of the room. The two remaining officers stared at him, and he could feel them trying to dissect him.

"Should I prove some more to you? Neither of you are married, that's clear by the lack of rings or shadows of rings on your fingers. You, Matthew, are obviously just getting off an undercover role and took charge of this either yesterday or today. Other than that it was Sophie's case. You can tell that you were undercover by the slight shadows under your eyes. Either that or you've met someone new and are having really great sex that keeps you up most of the night," he finished as the door opened.

Matthew opened his mouth to speak but looked at the man entering the room and silenced. Mark looked at the door, staring at the balding man.

"Jesus Christ you've gotten old," he said. "How've you been, Harry? Can you tell them who I am and let me go? See, I've got my wife who is expecting me home soon."

Three heads swivelled toward Harry, who stood there with his mouth hanging open in shock.

"You're...dead. Sixteen years!"

Mark smiled softly. "I am not. Mark Evans is. Arthur Newton," he said, winking.

"But Danny..."

"I told him to. I screwed up, Harry. Badly."

Harry seemed to become aware that the other three were in the room. "You two," he said, gesturing towards the younger officers. "Out."

The officers walked out and Harry sat down across from Mark, Matthew watching them warily. He passed Harry a folder, and Harry looked at it.

"Arthur Newton. Born in 1946, London. Moved to Bath for University. No record. Had a government position within Bath until February, 1984, when you left. Since then, you've been receiving a pension and any jobs have been under the radar, until 1992, when you opened up a shop in London."

Mark winked. "Hole in one."

"You bastard. You died. I nearly killed George for killing you! I lost both of my best friends that day. And now you pop up, sixteen years on!"

"Harry, I'm sorry," Mark interrupted. "Yes, I lied to you. Danny lied to you. But the fact of the matter is, that case screwed up my entire career. I might have been decommissioned anyway!"

"All because of that stupid woman," Harry spat. "That damn Alex Drake."

Mark nodded solemnly. "But you know what? If it hadn't have been for her, I would have never found my Sarah. I died, and then I started to live."

Harry shook his head. "Jesus Christ Mark."

"Arthur. No one's called me Mark in years."

"Arthur," Harry said emphatically. "You disappear for sixteen years, and you show up on our radar as a possible connection to a terrorist group."

"What's my Mum caught up in, Harry?"

"I can't tell you. But I'll let you go say goodbye to her. She's going to be going to prison for a long time, Mark...Arthur."

"Harry," Matthew said. "We still haven't figured out whether he's involved or not."

Harry stared at Mark, who shook his head just slightly.

"I trust this man. We'll keep him under some surveillance for a few months if it's so desirable to you, and then we take him off."

Matthew nodded finally.

"Good," Harry said. "Now, come with me."