A chip wrapper, spotted with grease, swirling in its own little tempest, floated across the street and landed on her shoe. Ruth looked down at it with annoyance and shook it off. She had no idea why she expected the neighbourhood to change overnight if anything it had become more derelict than when she had left it the day before. Perhaps it was because so much had happened to her in the intervening hours. Her fingers tapped impatiently on her phone, her mind calculating the time they had remaining. As she waited outside of Malcolm's lair, she turned to study the man standing beside her. Callum looked remarkably unperturbed by his surroundings, but then, it was that unflappable quality that made her conscript him.

"Have they brought on another Technical Officer?" she asked.

"That would be me," Callum responded.

"Analyst?"

"Me."

"Section Head?"

"I let Erin have that one. Didn't want to be greedy."

Ruth's lips curled in a slight smile. It had been such a long time since anyone on the Grid had displayed a sense of humour. Such a bright young man, he could go far if he learned to curb his sardonic streak. The Section was down three key members, plenty of opportunity for Mace to exploit its weakness.

The door opened and Malcolm peered through the crack, giving Callum a suspicious look.

"It's alright. He's here to help," Ruth assured him.

Malcolm opened the door wider and invited them in.

"Callum, this is Malcolm Wynne-Jones."

"The Malcolm Wynne-Jones?" Callum asked.

"I told you they still say your name with reverence," Ruth tossed over her shoulder as she walked to the back of the building leaving the men to trail behind her. She heard Callum wax poetical over a spider program Malcolm had developed and she crossed her fingers, hoping that the two minds would get along.

As Ruth entered the back room, she spotted Tom and immediately felt a sense of relief. The solidness of his presence assured her this entire endeavour was not a figment of her imagination. He was leaning against a table, his arms crossed, talking to a dark haired woman. Zoe. Ruth stopped, struck by the change in the other woman's appearance. Sitting on the edge of a table, her legs swinging, arms bracing the edge, Zoe leaned forward. She looked up and a smile broke over her face.

"Ruth," Zoe said warmly, as she propelled herself off the table, striding across the floor. She collected Ruth in a giant hug.

Ruth blinked, entirely overwhelmed. She had anticipated Zoe's presence but found she was completely unprepared for the whirl of emotions the reunion stirred inside her. She raised her arms and hugged the other woman, unable to stop a tiny sob from escaping. She was hugging her past, the life she had given up for the Service, everyone she had lost. They remained, holding each other, reliving a moment in time when they had been two completely different women.

Gently releasing her from the hug, Zoe took a step back, still holding onto Ruth's hands. She looked down, smiling, understanding as if she too were feeling the same emotions. "It's so good to see you," she said softly, filling the emotional silence.

Ruth could only nod. She inhaled a breath and on its release, gave a huge grin. It felt wonderful; she could not remember when she had last smiled so wide.

Sensing that Ruth had collected herself, Zoe turned to Callum. "Hi, I'm Zoe."

Callum shook the young woman's obviously intrigued by her. "Callum Reid."

Tom came over to Ruth and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "It's all done. Not a hitch."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." She could not help but expel a huge sigh of relief. There had been no contact since Christine's call from the car. Everything was right with the world for this one moment. "Where's Christine?"

"You mean your new cleaning lady? At yours, packing up."

Ruth nodded and turned to Zoe. "Did you meet with Tessa?"

"Yeah. It was like a bad dream where you finally turn around to face a monster and then realise it was all your own imagination."

Ruth did not have the complete story of what had transpired between Zoe and Tessa, only snippets; ghost assets, bribery, betrayal, but she could sympathise with the whole idea of encountering a person from the past who left one feeling more dirty than clean.

"Can she help us?" asked Ruth.

Zoe smiled. "Tessa always did enjoy a challenge. And she believes I hate Harry. My enemy's enemy is my friend."

Ruth's brow furrowed in thought. Was Tessa's animosity towards Harry purely professional or had there been something deeper between them. Harry had, after all, kept a running tab on the woman. She rubbed her forehead, dismissing that idea. Her life was complicated enough as it was.

With his usual directness, Tom shifted the conversation."Why did you ask us here?"

Ruth's high spirits dipped, agitation setting back in. "It's Oliver Mace. He's back."

"I didn't know he'd left," Zoe commented.

"Wasn't he the head of the JIC years back?" Callum piped up.

"He tried to take over the Section when Tom shot Harry," Zoe informed Callum.

Callum gave Tom a look. "Wow. Shooting the boss. Every employee's dream."

"It looks as though this time Mace has succeeded." Ruth elaborated.

Malcolm looked at Ruth, the only member of the group to understand the personal cost of Mace's actions and the profound implications of his return. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly. "Do you think he's back for revenge?"

Tom stirred from his spot. "Why would he want revenge?"

Heartbreak and revenge, Ruth thought, remembering Elena's words. She swallowed and continued. "I uncovered a plot where prisoners that were presumed dead were actually being extradited for torture. Mace was part of it." She stopped there, not wanting to elaborate on how her life had completely unravelled after that point. "I think we all know what kind of man Mace is," she continued. "Whatever happens, Harry cannot find out that he is back."

"He would have a fit if he knew Mace was taking over," said Malcolm.

"Don't worry, Dimitri's babysitting him," Tom offered up.

"It's all connected, Harry's departure, Mace, the Russians, but I can't figure out how," Ruth continued. "That's where you come in."

"What do you want us to do?" asked Callum.

"Clear Harry, expose the Russians, stop Mace, and save the Service," Ruth stated.

Zoe laughed. "That's insane."

Callum chuckled along. "Why not throw in steal the Crown Jewels while we're at it?"

Tom shifted, standing to his full height, the pose of authority silencing the laughter of Zoe and Callum. He levelled his look at Ruth. "What you're suggesting is a parallel op."

Ruth swallowed and straightened her posture to match Tom's, tilting her head defiantly. "Yes."

Tom nodded and looked away. "I don't owe the Service anything."

Zoe shrugged her shoulders. "I could say the same."

"But you owe Harry." Ruth searched for words of persuasion. "Tom, I know it was hard at the time, but he gave you back your life." Ruth turned to Zoe, beseeching. "At your trial they said it would only be a slap on the wrist; he had no idea of the final verdict, he arranged the whole sentence exchange for you."

"And we just freed him from the Americans. I'd call that even," Zoe countered.

Tom crossed his arms, giving Ruth a curious look. "And who would lead this op?"

"I would," Ruth said without hesitation. "With you." She looked about the group. "All of you."

Callum raised his hand. "Um, I already have a job and a boss and are we going to tell her about this?"

Before Ruth could answer, Malcolm spoke, his voice calm and steady. "I'm with you, Ruth."

Ruth looked over at him, marvelling at the loyalty of this wonderful man, a smile of gratitude warming her face. "Thank you, Malcolm." She looked around the group. As her eyes moved about, she could sense a shift in the dynamic. If two of the most stolid former spooks were willing to risk themselves on a questionable op, perhaps it had some merit.

"Do you have a plan?" Zoe hedged, signalling her thawing to the whole endeavour.

Ruth looked over at Tom to see if he was softening. He returned her look, eyes steely and unflinching.

"If I help, it's not for Harry or the Service. It's for you, Ruth."

"Good. Right. Thank you." She smiled at Tom. She turned to Callum, eyes large and expectant.

Callum sighed. "Why should I stop now?" he asked, signifying his capitulation.

"Quiet right." Ruth smiled at him. "Did you bring the passport?"

"Yes." Callum fished inside his coat and pulled out the document he had taken from Harry's safe.

"I'll fix this up right away," said Malcolm, taking the passport.

Ruth turned her attention to Malcolm. "Were you able to track Mace's whereabouts?"

"Yes, it seems our friend has been working with OSCE-"

"The what?" asked Zoe.

"Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe," clarified Callum.

From what I can parse together, he was stationed in Moldova but I'm still trying to figure out what he was doing there."

"Inescu!" Callum exclaimed, all heads turning toward him, while he looked at Ruth. "The file I sent you. One time member of Gavrik's private security, the leader of the gang who kidnapped Coaver, planted the bomb in the van. And a former member of the Moldavian Army."

"Yes," said Ruth. "That's why I sent Zoe to Tessa. Moldova has been distinctly pro-west, so why would a former soldier in its army work for and ex-KGB officer?"

Tom spoke. "Is that the connection then? Mace, Moldova, Inescu, Gavrik."

"But how," said Ruth.

"What if it's something bigger than Harry or the Service? Something we're not seeing." Tom asked.

"If it's bigger what is it?" Zoe asked.

"The partnership agreement has been signed; tonight is the last event with the Gavriks and now Mace is overseeing the security. I think something will happen this evening. That's why I need Tom and Zoe at the theatre.

"There's been chatter about a protest," said Callum.

"Keep your eye on that," Ruth instructed. "And we're going to need an obo van."

"We have to tell Erin what we're doing."

"We will, we will, I promise. We just need some concrete info." Ruth rubbed her hand over her eyes. "You can run your team, the Service team, and Malcolm will run our team. I won't be able to come back here. The Americans are following me.

"Well Tom, it looks like you and I are going to have to clean ourselves up for this evening."

Tom took out his mobile and started to dial. "I'll get Christine to bring the clothes. Something for you too, Ruth."

"Don't worry, I have a dress."

"This one is special. Based on one of your designs, Malcolm."

At that moment, the last thing on Ruth's mind was her wardrobe. "Fine. I'm going to need a clutch then."

Tom looked at Ruth, bewildered.

"A purse, Tom," Zoe clarified, steering Tom out of the room.

Seeing that was Callum was preoccupied, with a gadget he had found on one of the shelves, Ruth crossed to the desk where Malcolm sat. She picked up a ballpoint pen that lay by his computer; black, sleek, the perfect weight for writing. She rolled it back and forth between her fingers.

"I'm going to need a pen."

Malcolm looked at her and their eyes met in the wordless symbiotic communication of people who had known each other for years and worked in the same business. She tightened her grip on the pen.

"Mace is a bishop," she observed. "He came out of nowhere, straight across the board."

"Bishops are good in the endgame."

"But it's not the endgame." She handed the pen over to Malcolm. "We have all our pieces back."

...

The car crawled along through the traffic, the tedium punctuated by the tapping of Dimitri's fingers on the steering wheel, a singular tune known only to him. To Harry, it was a form of torture. He sat drumming his own fingers on his thigh, contemplating possible scenarios, trying to grasp a situation over which he had no control. He felt as trapped as he had in the boot of the Americans' car. This plan was going forward without his knowledge and had no idea where it was leading, although at this point he had figured out their immediate destination. He looked over at the young man in the driver's seat.

"They'll be watching the airport."

Dmitri continued to tap his fingers. "How do you know we're going to the airport?"

"We're heading west and we're stuck in traffic."

Dimitri halted his fingers and looked sideways at Harry.

Harry shifted in his seat. He was tired of sitting. "I don't know what Ruth's plan is, but going to the airport is a sure-fire way to get caught."

Before Dmitri could reply, his mobile sounded from its position on the dashboard. He looked down at the display and then back up to Harry. Touching his finger to his lips, he signalled for Harry to stay quiet and calmly pushed the button on the phone.

"Erin, what can I do for you?"

"D, I need you back here as soon as possible."

A bemused expression crossed Harry's face. Shortening the name, always a sign of attachment. Why not, he thought, they were young and attractive, more deserving of love than he.

Erin's voice continued through the speaker. "Harry's gone missing."

Dmitri smiled and quickly covered it, lest it come through in his voice. "What?"

"We're getting a lot of pressure from above. They're sending someone to oversee the department."

Harry silently signalled to Dimitri. "Who?" he mouthed.

"Who are they sending?" Dmitri asked.

"Oliver Mace."

Harry sat motionless, every thought swept from his mind. How? How? His ears filled with a roaring wave of rage and his breath became laboured. The man had been exiled to a dead end diplomatic post. How had he made his way back to London? He reached over to grab the phone, but Dimitri's hand shot up to stop him.

"Listen, I'm stuck in traffic. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Callum's doing a walkthrough with Ruth for the gala tonight. Swing by the theatre if you can."

Harry started at the mention of Ruth's name. She would be alone with Mace.

"Right then. Talk soon." Dimitri ended the conversation as quickly as he could, realising that Harry was having a hard time containing his temper.

"We cannot let that man anywhere near the Section," Harry said through gritted teeth.

Dimitri had seen Harry angry in the past, but this controlled seething was even more unnerving. "Harry, you're on the run. The plan is to get you out of the country."

"He will destroy the integrity of the Service. His policy is information by any means necessary. His aim has always been to make it a propaganda arm of the government. There needs to be a wall. We must have our own mandate. And God knows what he'll do to Ruth."

"Ruth?" the young man asked, confused. "Why would he do anything to Ruth?"

"Years ago he tried to use Ruth as leverage so I would come around to his way of thinking. She exposed a cover up he was involved in but the price was she had to fake her death and flee the country."

"Leverage," Dimitri pondered. "Like Lucas?"

Like Mani, Harry thought.

"I sent her to the Home Office to protect her from the Russians. I never thought Mace would turn up." Harry looked around at the traffic, assessing the best way out. "Take me to the Grid."

"You're a wanted man. They'll have you in cuffs as soon as you walk on the floor."

"Then stop the car and let me out."

"Harry listen, you can't go back, you've got to stay underground. If you're not around, they can't use Ruth against you. That is if you love her, which I think you do. But what goes on between you two is none of my business."

"You're right. It is none of your business," Harry retorted. He closed his eyes. It pained him to concede that Dimitri was right. The best way to protect Ruth would be to stay away from her.

"If Mace is a threat, let us take care of him."

Harry regarded Dimitri; the young man's argument was so similar to Tom's logic. If only there was more time, he thought, I'd mould him into a crack agent. But for now, he would have to learn things the hard way.

"Dimitri, you're a good officer and I'm going to give you three pieces of advice. Never drink scotch that is less than ten years old and sock away enough money to retire someplace warm." Harry paused, his eyes wandering to Dimitri's mobile, the young agent following his gaze.

"What's the third thing," asked Dimitri.

"Always, always, lock your doors."

With an agility that surprised the younger man, Harry opened up the car door and jumped out.

Refusing to believe Harry had been so quick, Dimitri sat in stunned silence. Gathering his wits, he called after Harry. The older man wove through the traffic, crossing to the other side of the road and headed in the opposite direction. Dimitri slammed his fist on the steering wheel. Amidst the honking of fellow motorists, he manoeuvred the car to the side of the road, parking in a haphazard diagonal and jumped out after Harry. He ran to the sidewalk and looked left and right. How fast could the old man go? Through the crowd, he saw a dark coat and a slightly balding head. He ran towards the figure with great leaping strides. Coming beside the man, he reached for his shoulder only to see as the figure turned around that it wasn't Harry. The stranger gave him a dirty look and continued.

"Shit," Dimitri muttered to himself. He stood still, a rock among a streaming throng of people. He walked back to his car and with an air of resignation, took his place behind the driver's seat. He unhooked his phone from the dash and keyed in a number.

"Ruth, I've lost him."

...

Zoe leaned on the balustrade, looking out over the water. It was where they had met all those many years ago. Tessa must have a nostalgic streak, she mused. It was ten minutes past the agreed time but she was determined not to let her exasperation show. She knew it was Tessa's gambit for control, keeping the contact waiting, a game of one-upmanship. Frankly, she didn't care about Tessa's little schemes; she was more worried about detection. Waiting always drew suspicion. She maintained an aura of nonchalance by pretending to text on her mobile. She would not let Tessa see that the delay had unnerved her.

Zoe turned around, peered through her sunglasses, and saw Tessa walking toward her. The older woman casually handed her an envelope, looking across the river as she spoke.

"Information on your merry little band of men. Quite a history of arms dealing."

"Thank you, Tessa, you're a treasure."

"You're too kind." Tessa discreetly held out her other hand and Zoe slipped a small envelope into it.

Tessa moved closer to Zoe, her breast brushing against the young woman's shoulder, her voice cloying close. "I've decided to throw in a little extra, just for you Zoe."

Zoe eyed up Tessa, keeping her face as neutral as possible while her insides screamed with distaste, remembering how Tess always used the invasion of personal space as a weapon. "Oh, and what would that be?"

"Beware of the Agency."

The Agency, what's that?"

"You're a big girl now, you can figure it out." Tessa moved away, smiling slyly. She turned and took two steps away, stopping to look back at Zoe. "Don't you need to have the last word?"

Zoe smiled back at her. "I'd rather have the last move." Before the other woman could move, she turned walking briskly away, smiling at the thought that she had left Tessa staring at her retreating back.

...

Ruth stood punching the button on the wall. Did all theatre lifts move so slowly, she wondered.

"It doesn't come any faster if you keep pushing the button," Callum pointed out.

"The signal has already been sent to the controller," Malcolm chimed in, heightening Ruth's irritation.

They waited, surrounded by the cool tiles of the theatre's basement level. Ruth checked the time on her phone, noticing that the hour was passing at an alarming rate. Finally, the lift door opened and they entered, turning to stand side by side, facing the door.

"Do you think there's a camera in here?" Ruth asked.

"I don't know. Their in-house security is pretty sketchy," Callum answered.

"That's probably why this venue was chosen," Malcolm commented dryly.

Ruth cleared her throat.

"Harry's in the wind."

The elevator dinged and the door slid open, allowing Ruth to walk blithely into the lobby, leaving Callum and Malcolm to stand in stunned silence. As the door started to close, they roused themselves, and hurried through the opening, trotting after Ruth.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm hissed as he caught up to Ruth.

"He's gone. And if he shows up here, we're cooked," Ruth predicted, her agitation manifesting in the speed of her stride, her footsteps muffled in the deep red carpet of the foyer. She turned into an anteroom that was designated for the reception.

The sun poured through an enormous window, its rays reflecting off a giant glass chandelier, casting dazzling prisms of light over the red and gold interior. It would have been a beautiful sight if not for the presence of two FSB officers at the end of the room. Sasha turned towards them, his face registering recognition.

"Oh look it's Vlad," Callum said under his breath.

Ruth put her hand out by her side, signalling for the two men to remain in their place. Mustering an air of bravado, she walked toward Sasha.

"Miss Evershed," he coldly greeted her.

"We're here to go over security for tonight."

"As are we."

Such good spies weren't they, she thought, neither of them giving any indication that he had held a gun to her head a few days earlier. She moved closer and he gravitated towards her, distancing himself from his fellow officer. She spoke to him in a low whisper.

"What was on the laptop?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing about Harry? I find that hard to believe."

The young man looked at her, a pained expression fleeting across his eyes. He knew that Harry was his father. Ruth examined him, his eyes were blue, nothing like Harry's, but in the roll of the genetic dice, all combinations were possible. Standing so close to him, she realised how young he was, a boy like Tariq, caught up in the fallout of a Cold War game. Did he have any control over his own destiny or was he being played like the rest of them?

"The Americans know you have the laptop," she warned. "I can help you. Give it to me and I can dispose of it."

He brought his face in close to hers. "You don't want to help me," he hissed at her. "You only care about information."

Ruth pulled back, his words stinging harder than she thought possible.

"And it would be better if you stopped asking so many questions." He stepped back and spoke in a louder voice, a bid to hide the nature of their conversation. "Yes, please let us know what security measures you are taking."

He motioned to his fellow officer and the two men left the room.

She watched him leave, feeling unsettled by the discussion. She turned to see Callum and Malcolm regarding her they walked over.

"What was that about," asked Callum.

"The laptop. I think it's only a matter of time before the Americans connect me to it."

Malcolm moved the subject back to their original concern. "What do you propose we do about Harry?"

Ruth looked at him, wishing she had another arm to juggle all the balls that were now in the air.

Another figure slipped into the room. They turned to see Zoe, her presences causing a collective sigh of relief. She walked toward the group a bag in one hand, a manila envelope in the other. Dispensing with pleasantries, she handed the envelope to Ruth, and the men drew in close, listening to her news.

"Inescu," whispered Zoe intensely, "Contracted to this man, Vadim Lacusta. Holdings in Transnistria. Linked to illegal arms deals."

"Transnistria, it's a breakaway state, technically part of Moldova, they're not recognised by the international community," Ruth explained, falling back into her role as an analyst. "There are a number of former Soviet weapon cache's left in the country, all with enough material to construct dirty bombs."

"You think that's what's happening tonight? A bomb?" Callum asked.

"I don't know" Ruth continued. "Transnistria is very cozy with Russia. So any intelligence sharing might include information they have on illegal weapons smuggling."

"And I'm sure there are a few people who have stakes in that," said Callum.

"Tessa also warned us to be careful of the Agency," Zoe interjected.

"Does she mean the CIA?" asked Malcolm,

"Why wouldn't she say the Company or the Cousins?" Callum pointed out.

"No," Ruth said, "She means trolls. It's an organisation that posts pro-Russian comments on the web.

"Dezinformatsiya," said Malcolm "Usually it's propaganda but it can also denote misinformation."

"The protest tonight. Why all of a sudden was there all this chatter on the web about it?"

"When you get back, check into the posters; see if they are shadow accounts."

Zoe produced a pair of earrings for Ruth. "These are the ear pieces and the Coms device is embedded in this." She pulled out part of a black dress, a subtle geometric pattern embossed on the sleeve.

Malcolm reached over and touched the material, a look of elation crossing his face as if he had just opened a present. "Graphene?" His smile widening when Zoe nodded. "Thin, strong, and highly conductive. Brilliant!"

Callum pressed in. "Let's have a look at that."

Ruth took the dress from Zoe looking apologetically at Malcolm and Callum. "Perhaps another day. Right now the clock's ticking."

...

The carriage was crowded and airless. Harry clutched at the metal bar though there was no need, as he was crushed in the crowd. This is what his life had come to, sandwiched between a student with an alarmingly large rucksack, and a businessman with what felt like a weaponised briefcase. Rush hour amongst the great unwashed. He had become soft sitting behind a desk, chauffeured around in a comfortable car. He examined his reflection in the darkness of the train window, he hardly recognised himself out of a suit. He quickly lowered his head though the chances of anyone trawling the underground cameras for his appearance were slim. The authorities would be keeping their eyes on routes out of the country or at least out of the city. The car swayed and he let it move him, listening to the clack of the carriage. Get out, get out, get out it chanted. Get out of what, he wondered. The train, the Service, the country?

The train stopped and Harry exited, keeping himself immersed in the crowd. He had stayed away from Waterloo, a station nigh impossible to monitor but he suspected there might be boots on the ground as it was a possible egress from the city. He opted instead for the teeming humanity Oxford Circus. Swept along by a sea of people he found himself deposited at the top of the station stairs. At the heart, under their noses, in plain sight. He felt a rush of the adrenaline; he was once again an agent in the field, left to his own devices. He mentally ticked off what he would need, burner phone, cigarettes, a plan. After walking a few blocks, the temptation of renting a car grew in his mind. He slipped into the crack between two buildings, certain that he was out of CCTV range, and rifled through the wallet so kindly provided for him. The documentation had all the hallmarks of Malcolm's work, driver's license, credit card, golf club membership. Cheeky sod. He had even included the pocket litter of Geoffrey Inness' life, a dry cleaning ticket, a receipt for a takeaway and the stub from an old show at Covent Garden. He took out the ticket stub and rubbed it between his fingers. He smiled slowly, silently thanking Malcolm. Of course, Ruth would be at the theatre. Everyone would be there. Including Mace.