Three long sorrowful notes hung in the air, while Giselle, driven mad by betrayal, lay dead in her Mother's arms. In the space of a heartbeat, the audience erupted in a wave of applause. A chorus of bravos and whistles filled the theatre as the red curtain descended on the first act. Ruth's gaze remained focused on the stage as she clapped along, suppressing the urge to jump out of the confines of her seat and rush into the lobby. It was a great performance and ordinarily she loved the ballet, but her mind was spinning with thoughts of Harry; he was in the theatre, lurking somewhere in the darkness. She dared not look about for she could feel Mace's gaze burning into her. He had watched her during the performance and she had schooled herself not to shrink away from his presence, his elbow on the armrest, his legs crossed so that his foot brushed her calf. She had done her best to look engaged, even shedding a tear at Giselle's death; although a voice in the back of her mind had asked how many times, a woman must die because of a man. The applause dwindled and the patrons rose to their feet, stretching their legs, voices murmuring about the performance. Ruth joined the slow exodus to the lobby, Mace walking uncomfortably close behind. Her only comfort was the voice of Malcolm in her ear.
"Decima, do you copy?"
Ruth coughed twice into her sleeve, indicating that she was not free to talk.
"Echos One and Two are in place," Malcolm continued. "We can activate the nanoparticles from your ring with a microwave burst if you need to track Sasha. Still no sign of the package."
The coms went silent as Malcolm gathered more information. She knew that by "package" that he meant Harry and she kept her head down to stop herself from frantically looking about the lobby. The coms crackled to life again.
"No definitive trace on the bomb threat. We have an IP address linked to a server in Philippines."
She envisaged Callum spouting sarcastic comments as he tried to pin down the address. Even though the culprit was server jumping, they all suspected it would lead to a trail of information placed by the Russian Agency.
Emerging into the expanse of the lobby, she casually walked toward the reception area, placing everyone as she moved. Towers, Gavrik, Sasha. Mace remained irritatingly close, waiting for her to make a move. She spotted Elena through the crowd and their eyes met. Across the lobby, the junior minister who had monopolised her conversation before the show gave her a friendly wave. She gave him a wan smile and trailed her fingers along her collarbone, speaking into her sleeve as she did so. "I need you to distract Mace." The junior minister took a step towards her and she made a feint in his direction. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mace pulling out his mobile and then turn to look toward the front entrance. Taking advantage of his distraction, Ruth changed her course and quickly moved to Elena. She took the woman's elbow, giving every impression that they were on a friendly tour of the theatre and crossed to the backstage stairs. As expected, Elena's bodyguard trotted along after them. Sasha, on the other hand, did not follow, choosing to stay behind. Curious, that he would let his mother out of his sight. Following her instinct, she murmured for Malcolm to track the young man's movements.
When they reached the stairs, Ruth apprised the security guard of their permission to meet with the soloist. He gave them clearance and they descended into the labyrinth corridors that lead to the dressing rooms. The click of their heels echoed on the tiled floor, as they navigated their way past dancers and stagehands. Stopping in front of a door, Ruth informed Elena's bodyguard that he could go no further. Elena nodded her assent. Opening the door, she ushered Elena into the dressing room. As she closed the door behind them, she could hear the soft thump of the bodyguard hitting the floor and her eyes flickered to Elena, wondering if she had heard it too. The woman gave no indication she had.
Round candescent bulbs framed the mirrors, giving the room a soft glow. Ruth could feel the heat radiating from lights, or perhaps it was the wine. She inhaled the combined scent of makeup and sweat that permeated the air.
Elena looked curiously around the room, her eyes widening as they fell upon Zoe. "Who are you?"
"I'm the soloist," Zoe responded.
"Where's Harry?" Elena asked, looking pointedly at Ruth.
"I think he's more of an opera man these days," she answered.
"I thought I was to meet him. Why am I here?"
Ruth pulled up a chair for herself and motioned for Elena to sit in the one by the dressing table. "I was hoping you could help us."
Elena hesitated and Ruth met her gaze openly, as if she had nothing to conceal, giving a tiny nod of encouragement. They assessed each other, hawk and dove. The Russian relented to the request and sat down beside the mirror. Zoe took the seat beside Ruth and handed her a small purse. In her peripheral vision, Ruth could see Zoe discreetly adjusting her arm, touching her sleeve so that Malcolm could listen on their conversation.
The lights from the mirror cast a copper hue on Elena's hair, the strands arranged in an elaborate sculpture, the weight of her head precariously balanced on her slender neck. She wore a jewel green dress, the alabaster of her arms and neck showing in stark contrast to the shimmering fabric. Ruth could see her own image in the mirror, small and dark, everything completely covered. She wondered which one of them had more to hide.
"You want me to help you," Elena prompted, bringing Ruth's thoughts back.
Ruth nodded. "Yes. You see, even after all this time, we still don't know who has been running you."
"What does it matter? The agreement is signed."
"Yes, but I'm an analyst, I ask questions, pull threads out and tie them together in ways others might not see. I find it very annoying when threads are left dangling." Ruth unhooked the clasp on the small handbag and pulled out a pen. "I like pens, they help me think. Bit of a nervous habit really." She twirled the pen around between her fingers. "I find there are two types of people in this world; those who carry pens and those who ask for them."
Elena's glanced down at the pen then quickly back up to Ruth. "I am not your enemy. Like you, I only want what is best for my country."
Oh, she is good, thought Ruth, not even a hint of fear.
"I couldn't help but recall what you had said earlier; that we must live with our broken hearts and unlike those betrayed in Giselle, we do not get to come back in the second act and seek revenge."
Ruth waited. Still nothing, not even a blink.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Elena said flatly.
"We're coming up to the second act now, aren't we? We've all been assigned our parts but I think you are the only one who knows the story." Ruth tapped the pen on her fingers and looked straight at Elena. "We've had word of a bomb threat." She watched as Elena sat motionlessly. "You don't seem particularly worried."
"Should I be?"
"No, because it not real is it? It's misdirection. Everything about your visit has been misdirection."
"Has Harry sent you on another one of his errands?"
Ruth had expected that card but not so soon. She steeled herself. "Why would you think that?"
"You think you know Harry, but you don't," Elena countered.
"I suppose you do?" Ruth delivered her words carefully, sensing dangerous ground.
"Harry. Ilya. James Coaver. They are all the same." Elena's voice hit the names of the men as if she were hammering nails. "Can you truthfully tell me that you have never felt used by Harry?"
Ruth stared unflinchingly at the woman. Mind games. Get into her head and question her assumptions. She could do this, she was strong enough. He had asked her to marry him, given up a state secret, he loved her.
"You were his emissary at the embassy reception to arrange our first meeting," Elena continued. "You came to the gallery instead of him to collect our communiqués." She had dropped another seed and waited for it to take root.
Don't listen, Ruth told herself, you know what she's doing. She heard Harry's voice at his tribunal, describing her as one of the nation's intelligence assets. Is that all she was? He could ask anything of her and she would comply, she knew her place, dependable Ruth. She had devised the plan to expose Coaver. She had explained the sordid mess to the team. Harry had sent her off to the Home Office without hesitation, only to pull her back in when he needed her to steal Coaver's laptop. Afterwards, when she had phoned him, shaken and overcome with guilt, wanting to know if she was just an asset, he had fobbed her off with a comment about timing. Now, here she was alone, left to deal with the fallout from the laptop. She looked up and saw Elena watching her, a slight smile tipping the corner of the woman's mouth, her eyes holding the same glint she had seen in Mace's. Between a cat's paw.
"He took me to his safe house and held me in his arms," Elena goaded. "Would a man who loves you do that?"
Ruth blinked, the breath knocked out of her, like a blow to the stomach. She remembered the sight of Elena in Harry's arms at the park after the attempt on her life, the slash of pain it had caused. Her mind filled with images of Harry and Elena together, lips and limbs entangled. She kept her breath steady forcing it down into the pit of her stomach but instead of dissipating her anger, the pressure caused it to churn, stoking itself, becoming white hot. All the anger she had felt over the past weeks towards Harry, towards this woman, the Service, rising back up into her chest. She dared not breathe for fear of fanning the flames.
Sensing Ruth's tension, Zoe nervously shifted in her seat. "Ruth," she cautioned in a low voice.
"Did you ask him to go away with you?" Elena continued, knowing the knife had hit the mark, twisting it deeper. "You wonder how I know? Because I asked the same. And he left me. Like he left you. Why? Because of country. They will always choose country over us. And now they taste what it is like to be betrayed."
Ruth's mind split in two, the rational part falling away, rage breaking through the cracks, overflowing, washing away sensible thought. She grabbed Elena's arm, the skin wonderfully pale and exposed, and circle her fingers around it like a vice. With all the force of her anger, she propelled the pen down, piercing the soft flesh.
Shocked, Elena looked down at her arm and then back up at Ruth. "What have you done?"
Ruth sat back, her chest heaving as she attempted to control her breath. She would never again judge Harry for losing his temper, now that she had experienced the glorious power of harnessing her rage and directing it at one single person. Having finally emptied the boiling pot of her emotions, her mind became clear. "I don't care what happened between you and Harry in the past. I want to know what's happening now."
"What? What is this?" Elena rubbed her arm as if it would remove the injection, a realisation dawning on her and she gave out a tiny huff. "Is it truth serum?" she asked incredulously. "You must be joking!"
"Sodium pentothal? How very cold war. A bit before my time." She looked at Elena coolly. "It's Vipera ammodytes. Otherwise known as snake venom."
A look of disbelief and then utter horror crossed Elena's face. "You wouldn't dare!"
"I know, not very elegant but there wasn't a lot of time."
"I am wife of Russian Minister. There will be consequences."
"I'm sure there will be," Ruth ruefully agreed.
Zoe leaned over and placed a warning hand on her arm. "Ruth, what are you doing?"
"There is an antivenin but I'm not sure if I have that pen on me." Ruth pretended to search through her clutch.
Elena stood and Zoe released Ruth's arm, rising quickly to block the exit.
"Pieter," Elena called to her bodyguard.
"He's not there," said Zoe. "Our associate took care of him."
Elena sat down, her breathing becoming harsh. "I don't believe you. You are bluffing."
"Do you want to take that chance?" Ruth asked. "Perhaps you're a bit thirsty? A little dizzy? Muscles feeling weak?"
Elena licked her lips and swallowed. "What do you want from me?"
"Is the bomb threat real?" asked Ruth.
Rubbing her hand over the injection site, Elena rocked in her seat and looked at the ground. "No. It is a diversion. As is the protest. To cast suspicion on elements from Moldova.
"For what?" Ruth prodded.
"Moldova will commit an act of aggression against Russia, and we will take Transnistria back."
"But if the bomb threat is misdirection, how will you do it?"
"Show me the cure and I will tell you."
Ruth pulled out another pen from her purse.
"When you evacuate the building, in the confusion, Ilya will be killed."
"A Moldovan will be blamed?" asked Ruth. Elena nodded. "You would let you own husband die?"
Elena leaned forward in her chair, speaking in a confidential tone as if Ruth would understand. "He will always be KGB. He only knows how to use people. He thinks because he loves me it is not manipulation. But that is the most insidious kind of love."
Ruth flinched at the words. Love. Manipulation. She had underestimated her armor, she had thought it was stronger, but it was full of dents and punctures, pieces falling away. Elena, Mace, even Harry, they had played this game far longer, how naive to think she could match them and come away unscathed. She rolled the other pen in her hand, wanting to leave, but she could not walk away, she needed information.
"How?"
Elena looked away. "Maybe I choose to die for my country."
Ruth leaned over and grabbed Elena's arm, forcing the other woman to look at her. "How?" There was no reply. Up close, she could see the fine lines around Elena's eyes, the creases at the corner of her mouth, smell the aroma of her heavy perfume, feeling the softness of her arm. At one time, this woman had been young and beautiful and Harry had loved her. It had all fallen apart and this is what she had become. Ruth saw her own years unfolding before her, marked by loss and unhappiness. Old, bitter and motivated by betrayal. Elena looked up; her eyes boring into Ruth, hard, dark and distinctly brown. The question Ruth had asked herself when she had looked into Sasha's tortured blue eyes resurfaced.
"Is Harry Sasha's father?" she whispered.
"Harry believes it, that's all that matters. It worked when KGB wanted me to go with Harry. Once they have you, they never let you go."
Ruth sat back in her chair, digesting the information. It was true, hadn't she thought she was free only to be reeled back in.
"I could have raised Sasha in the west, he could have been a different man, not full of lies and secrets like us." Elena continued, her confession pouring out. "Sasha thinks Harry is his father. Now, he sees Ilya as he truly is, the man who ruined his life and betrayed Russia's secrets."
"So this was all a grand design to punish Harry and Ilya and Coaver."
"No, it is all to make Russia great again. The rest was coincidence. It is not very often one's desires align with the needs of the country."
Ruth nodded. "And Mace? What is his role in this?
"You need to ask Sahsa." Elena closed her eyes and sank back into her chair. "I don't feel so well. Please, give me the antidote."
Ruth rose. "I can't. I don't have it." She walked to the dressing room door.
"No, no! Where are you going?" Elena yelled after her. "I told you everything I know!"
Ruth motioned for Zoe to follow her, Elena's voice calling after them.
"What are you doing? You can't leave me!"
Stepping outside, Ruth closed the dressing room door, holding her hand out to Zoe for the key.
"You're not really going to leave her, are you?" Zoe asked, handing the key over, a hint of reluctance in her voice.
"There was a Section Chief, Ros Myers, who had this piece of advice; don't make a decision you can't live with." Ruth locked the door with a quick turn of the key and stepped back. She leaned against the opposite wall, her heart still pounding from the encounter. "It was a muscle relaxant. At the worse, she'll wake up with a headache." She closed her eyes, her own head throbbing, the taste of bile rising in her back of her throat at the thought of what she had done. She massaged her forehead, wondering what had become of the unconscious bodyguard.
Zoe leaned beside Ruth and let out a sigh of relief. "That's something Harry would do."
"I am not Harry," Ruth stated emphatically.
Zoe turned, resting her shoulder against the wall as she regarded Ruth. "So ... you and Harry?"
"Yes. No. I don't know." Ruth pushed herself away from the wall and started down the hall. "It's complicated."
"Quantum physics is complicated. Love doesn't have to be," said Zoe, falling into step alongside her.
"Spy love is." Ruth gave Zoe a knowing look. "Check and see if Malcolm copied everything."
Pressing her fingers to her forearm, Zoe spoke to Malcolm, confirming that he had received all the information. She nodded to Ruth.
"It was obtained under duress so I don't know if it will carry any weight," Ruth acknowledged.
Zoe moved her head, listening to Malcolm. "It's too late. They're already evacuating. Towers is asking for you."
"Let's go then." Ruth picked up her pace and Zoe followed her down the backstage corridor, towards the stairs.
They entered the lobby to find a sea of people moving towards the exits, most in vary states of agitation while others grumbled at the loss of a good ballet and wondered if they would receive a refund.
Ruth spoke into her coms device "Do you have eyes on Gavrik?" The reply was negative from Malcolm.
Zoe looked at her watch. "We have to go. Let the Service look after the rest."
They joined the crowd as it funnelled its way towards the door, bodies wedging between them, pushing the two women apart. Ruth stopped and looked around for Zoe, silently cursing her lack of height. There was a break in the crowd and she looked up, her eyes wide, her heart caught in her throat, frozen.
Harry.
He stood across the lobby, looking straight at her. She wanted to run to him and warn him away, but her feet were lead, her legs too weak. She could only watch as he deftly shouldered his way through the crowd, never once taking his eyes off her. Slowly, in and out, with each inhalation, she drew him closer. Patrons bumped into her but she remained rooted to the spot, afraid that they might lose sight of each other. Without breaking his stride, he grabbed her upper arm and swiftly pulled her upstream through the throng of people. He came across a small alcove, no bigger than a wardrobe and drew her inside with him.
It was a dimly lit a sanctuary away from the chaos of the lobby, the space so narrow their bellies touching when they breathed. She remembered the night in the alley when she had delivered the drop to him. Trying to keep her head clear, she pulled back her torso, her spine flush against the wall. Disconcerted by his appearance, unaccustomed to seeing him in anything other than a suit, she felt completely overwhelmed by his proximity. It took a moment to adjust to this other Harry, clad in an Anorak and jeans, his dark shirt exposed throat. She could feel his eyes roaming over her, taking in her changed appearance, the upswept hair, the cut of the dress clinging to her figure. The air was close; her head dizzy from the wine and her encounter with Elena. She swayed, wanting to place her hands on his hips for support, to know that he was real. He gave a furtive glance over his shoulder and moved them further into the alcove, pressing his body into her, acting as a shield from the eyes of the crowd. There was no air, she could only breathe him.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
She nodded, using the wall for support instead of him, knowing that if they were any other couple they would be kissing instead of discussing national security. "You not supposed to be here," she chastised in a panicked whisper.
"What's happening?" Harry asked urgently.
She silently moved her mouth, searching for words as she blinked in an effort to focus on the immediate crisis. "The bomb threat is a diversion."
"How do you know?" asked Harry.
"Elena. We had a conversation. She's unconscious in a dressing room." She saw his eyebrows rise and what looked like a glint of pride. "It's a distraction for another assassination attempt on Gavrik. It's all somehow supposed to bring Transnistria back to Russia."
"The assassination, how is it happening?"
Ruth shook her head. "I couldn't get it from Elena." She raised her arm to speak into her sleeve and it brushed against Harry's chest. Their eyes locked as she held her arm suspended between them, one side touching her breast, the other pressing against him. She could hear her heart beating as their breaths fell into sync. Their eyes remained hooked on each other as she spoke to Malcolm. "Do you have a trace on Sasha?" She paused to listen and then repeated what she had heard. "He's in the rehearsal hall."
Sasha. The latest wedge in a list of many. She would kick it away. "He's not your son." Harry looked at her, incredulity written on his face. "It was a ploy so that you would take her out of Russian. The information must have been on Coaver's laptop because now Sasha believes that you're his father."
Harry's mouth closed in a grim line. "Is he involved?" he calmly asked, any emotion from the revelation neatly sliced away.
"I think so. She told me to ask him about Mace."
"What's Mace's role in all this?"
"I don't know. He was stationed in Moldova. There are so many indications that he is working with the Russians but nothing solid. He knows I stole the laptop. He's going to hand me over to the Americans."
The crackle of Zoe's voice came through the earpiece. "Ruth, we have to go."
"Harry," she spoke with as much command as she could muster. "Callum knows everything; we can leave this to the Service."
"Mace wriggled out once before, he'll do it again."
Ruth clutched his arm, her fingers worrying the fabric of his sleeve, the feel of the coat so different from his usual suit jacket. "I have an exit plan."
"You of all people know what Mace is capable of. I can't leave; he'll destroy everything we've built."
'You can't fight it alone."
"I can't turn my back on the Service."
"They turned their back on you. They were willing to let you be extradited."
Zoe's insistent voice echoed in her ear. "Ruth!"
There was never enough time. "Please, Harry," she entreated, "don't let him tear us apart again."
"Is there an 'us', Ruth? Because there have been times when it has all felt terribly one-sided."
"No, no," she countered, her voice throaty and raw, "that's not true."
She looked at him, her eyes pleading. Please, please don't let Elena be right, she prayed. Words screamed in her head that she dared not say aloud. Choose me. Choose us. He tore his eyes from hers, the same look passing over his face that he had worn that day on the park bench when she had said she would stay if he asked. He didn't need to tell her, she knew what he would say. No, she silently cried. She inhaled deeply, swallowing the tears, and squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry. She opened her eyes and saw him anew, looking younger than had ever seen him, a spring wound tight, ready for action. Was this what he had been like in the field? She had cursed him that day, back on the shoal, for giving up, for not fighting. Now, here he stood reinvigorated, back in the game, ready to take on the world. She could not fault him for being the man she had wanted him to be. He could leave the Service but the Service would always be in him.
Ruth's earpiece rang with the urgency of Zoe's voice. "Ruth! We've got to go!"
She turned her head, scanning the crowd, and saw Zoe waiting for her. Tom stood a few paces behind. The two former spooks creating a tableau, beckoning her to another life. Harry followed her gaze and she could hear the sharp intake of his breath as he recognised Zoe. She could sense the tension in his body, the familiar tightness of his muscles as anger emanated from him. She had seen this internal war before; it was how he hardened himself to an unpalatable decision. His hands grasped her arms, his thumbs digging into her biceps causing her shoulders to rise. She felt pulled in and pushed away at the same time, her head wobbling from the force of his grip. He face came in close, his voice raspy, convincing her with the intensity of his words.
"You'll be safer without me. All the pain in your life has been because of me."
The words were not meant to be hurtful but she had no armour left and they cut deep. Her heart pounded in her chest. If she didn't look at him, it wouldn't be real. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry.
"We've both lost so many people," he reminded her. "The only reason Tom and Zoe are alive is because they left the Service. I'd rather give you up this way than lose you as I lost all the others."
Don't cry. Don't cry.
"Ruth." He moved his head, finding her eyes, forcing her to look at him. "You need to know that I do, I always have, always will-"
"No," she cut him off harshly, her voice wavering. "You do not get to say those words and then tell me to leave."
She saw a flicker of pain in his eyes and for one ungenerous moment, she was glad that she had hurt him. Stupid man. Why did he have to be so bloody noble? She hung her head under the weight of her ungracious thought and instantly regretted her harsh tone. She raised her eyes to him with a look of contrition. She knew him so well and yet they would never be in the same place. How many times had she acquiesced to this man when she had not agreed to his decision? This would be the last time. Her jaw clenched, her throat muscles tight and she nodded. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp on her purse and she took out the pen. He looked down at her with confusion on his face as she placed it in his coat pocket.
"It's to write your own ending," she quietly explained.
His eyes, dark in the half-light, searched her face, looking for absolution, permission to carry on. What would she accomplish if she withheld it? She raised her hand to his face, her fingers cupping the side of his jaw and she drew his check down alongside hers. She closed her eyes and blocked out the cacophony of sounds around them. If they stood completely still, time would stop. It didn't. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with one final breath of him. Moving her lips to his ear she murmured, "It was a lovely night out." She turned his face towards hers and their lips met in a soft, brief kiss. At that moment, she understood why his kiss that day on the shoal had been so fleeting. If the kiss was too long and too deep, it was too hard to say goodbye. That was one art they had mastered. The fabric of their relationship was woven together with goodbyes
She pulled away, twisting out of the confines of the alcove, knowing by the tingling sensation on the back of her neck that his eyes were following her. She walked towards Zoe, grasping the woman's outstretched hand as if it were a lifeline. Overcome by the noise of the evacuation, unable to think, she let herself be pulled along, guided through the sea of people. The last chords of the ballet played in her head and Elena's words filled her ears. Unlike Giselle, she would not die of her broken heart; she would have to live.