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Chapter Eight: Back to Basics.
Ros stepped off the train and onto the deserted platform. Had she been living in the age of steam, she supposed, it would almost have been romantic. Dragging her suitcase behind her, she made her way across the lone platform and into the station itself. It was only seven in the morning, meaning she had avoided the rush hour by at least two hours. Or whatever it was that passed for a rush hour, this far from a major town or city. But she had no complaints about the lack of people, given what she knew she had to do next.
With the station being little more than a glorified hut, she found the gents near the exit and facing out over the street outside. After casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, making sure no one was around to see, she ducked inside the Gents' and locked herself in the end cubicle. 'The glamour of being a spy,' she thought as she became engulfed in the unique, sour urine smell that was universal to all men's toilets.
She proceeded to undress and change into a fresh set of clothes taken from inside her suitcase. Clean blue jeans and a cream coloured blouse that had become rumpled on its long journey from London to Cumbria. She swept her hair up into a neat bun, pinning it in place with bobby pins retrieved from her make up bag. She didn't even know why she was doing it. It wasn't as if any unsavoury characters had tailed her all the way from London to the frozen north. Even if they had, would a change of clothes really be enough to throw them off the scent? Either way, she couldn't break the habit of adhering to the spy's handbook, regardless of how false the sense of security.
Although reasonably presentable again, she still wasn't done with the Gents'. Pushing the suitcase out of the way, she then lifted the lid of the toilet cistern. Inside there was only water and the usual mechanism of a functioning loo. Having drawn that blank, she replaced the lid and searched elsewhere. Under the bowl, behind the U bend, and even probed the toilet roll holder with her fingers. There were only so many places to conceal anything in so small a space and turned up nothing. Becoming increasingly concerned, she found herself wondering what to do next. The prospect of searching every cubicle appealed as much as backstroking through acid. Exasperated, she lowered the lid on the toilet and sat down, thinking what to do next.
It was there that the graffiti caught her eye. Like all public conveniences, the back of the door and walls were a patchwork of faded slogans and doodles. Declarations of love mixed with insults and football club allegiances. Terry is a wanker and I love Lucy. The citizens of Pompeii had nothing on the good people of Cumbria. Some were scratched into the paintwork, others scrawled in stubby pencils. Most of it aging, fading to grey. But on the back of the door, fresher than all the rest, was one that caught her eye. To the casual observer it was just another coded missive. "Dragonfly loves Range Finder, 4x4".
Ros got back to her feet and traced her finger over the letters written in blue felt pen. Four by four. She thought of the numbers and turned to the tiles on the side wall, the one that faced out onto the street. The partition wall was not tiled at all. Fourth column, fourth row down. She selected the right one and dug her nails into the loose edge. Prising it from the wall nearly broke a nail, but it fell loose after a moment's working. On the back of the loose tile a small scrap of rice paper was taped. She smiled as she picked it off, careful not to tear the delicate material.
"2pm, War Memorial, West Link Cemetery garden of remembrance."
Time and place committed to memory, she took a lighter from the pocket of her jacket and set the rice paper alight. Then it was dropped into the bowl of the toilet and flushed away. She had seven hours to kill and started by getting herself out of the Gents' toilets. The next hour she would spend disinfecting herself after searching a public loo. After that, Cumbria was her oyster.
Although an eminently practical man, Harry had refused point blank to sleep in Connie's old bed. The thought alone filled him with an almost supernatural dread he didn't know he possessed. It was as though the act alone would resurrect all the dead traitor spooks who had masqueraded their way through the doors of Thames House. As such he and Ruth spent a largely sleepless night on the farmhouse's kitchen floor, warmed only by a threadbare blanket and an old stove. A door in the kitchen led out into the back yard and, more than once, Harry was awoken by the sound of someone shuffling around out there, whether trying to get in or not he couldn't tell. If he'd had his gun he would have fired off a few rounds through the door.
"You're imagining things," Ruth had said, when he woke her up. "You're too used to the city; go back to sleep."
"There was definitely something – or rather, someone – out there," he insisted, come the morning. "Given the circumstances, I don't think we can be too careful."
But he could see she thought he was merely imagining things. She busied herself with making tea with the new cups and kettle they had bought, then opened the back door while the water boiled. He watched her as she stepped outside, keeping her eyes to the ground.
"There's no tracks through the mud," she said, looking back over her shoulder. "You were probably just dreaming again."
Although still dissatisfied, he let the matter drop and helped fix breakfast. For her part, she seemed to sense the effect their largely sleepless night was having on him and refrained from going on about it. But when he discreetly glanced outside himself, he could see she was right. The door opened up onto a grim, wet morning full of grey skies and rusting machinery that had been used for precisely nothing. Hot tea and buttered toast revived them somewhat, bringing them to the point of easy conversation. Only to have that disrupted by the doorbell ringing, alarming them both.
Harry turned towards the door, where a nebulous fuzz of a man could be made out through the frosted glass of the porch. He frowned at the distortion, doubtful as to whether their only expected visitor would be as early as this.
"Harry, who on earth is that?" asked Ruth.
"I told you I wasn't imagining things," he retorted, almost gratified.
Ruth looked askance. "Yes, because burglars and government sneaks are well known for knocking. I thought you were a spy?"
He was already back on his feet, wiping his hands on a tea towel while the doorbell sounded again. Frowning, he set off down the narrow hallway and lamenting the lack of a spy hole in the door.
"Harry, it's only me!"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he opened the door, finding Malcolm on the doorstep. He stood aside, giving him access and resisted the inexplicable urge to hug the man. Instead, they met each other's gaze, a look of resigned exasperation on the other man's face. It was a look he had seen last in the face of his own mother, a long time ago.
"What have you gotten yourself into now?"
Harry was almost affronted. "Nothing. But tell me, you weren't here early this morning were you? About three in the morning early, I mean."
Malcolm shook his head. "I only just arrived. Took me an hour to remember where the place was, to be honest with you."
While Harry absorbed that, Ruth was clattering about the kitchen.
"Hi, Malcolm!" she called out. "Lovely to see you again, come on in."
He watched as Ruth greeted their old colleague with a kiss before returning to them. Outside, pallid rays of sunshine were being to break through the early winter gloom and it felt a shame to cast the sunshine aside now. But while they made fresh tea, Harry had little choice.
"Basically, the Home Secretary is about to grant an enormous contract worth millions to a businessman who is also using his company to supply ISIS with dirty bombs. When we furnished the Home Secretary with this gem of information, he decided instead to dismiss Section D, with Lucas' unfortunate past being used as the catalyst for shifting us all."
"Well, that's gratitude for you," Malcolm retorted.
Malcolm always did take these things to heart, but Harry refrained from repeating his old sentiments about loyalty and dogs. Because now, Harry was unable to deny that he was disappointed. He couldn't pretend he hadn't expected better of William Towers.
"We need your help with this lot," Ruth added, hoisting a rucksack onto the kitchen table.
Inside the rucksack were various flash drives and computer hard discs. Harry would have had a go at it himself, but he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that information wasn't physically "written" on the tendrils of a PC. It wasn't like a book he could crack open and read at will. Meanwhile, Malcolm was picking through the contents and holding them up to the light as though checking for authenticity.
"Will you be able to do it from here?" asked Harry. "There's all sorts of equipment downstairs in the bunker." Almost as an afterthought, he added: "And Tariq, of course. But he's our new techie, not strictly speaking a piece of equipment as such."
"They came from our asset inside ISIS," Ruth explained. "An asset murdered not long after speaking with his handler."
While Malcolm pieced together the backstory, Harry withdrew to the side lines. The way ahead remained fuzzy in his own mind. Deprived of the Grid and a visible enemy, they simply lacked the tools they not only needed, but relied upon. He looked across the table, to where Malcolm was sorting through the gathered storage devices and hard drives, remembering the conversation he had with Ruth about retirement. This was what retirement from MI5 really looks like, he thought to himself. There could be no escape.
"What we really need is a way to listen in at Securitech's head office," Malcolm said, replacing the devices in the bag.
"Yes, but off Grid how can we do that? We need to get the bugs inside, but they're back at Thames House. We could use some if we had a stash secreted away somewhere, but that would be highly illegal," Harry pointed out, fixing Malcolm with a knowing look. "Unless, of course, it was for a private collection…."
"It's funny you should say that, Harry, because I might have one or two tucked away somewhere."
Both Harry and Ruth were smiling broadly.
"And we have the necessary devices to listen in downstairs," said Ruth. "But, there's something else I need to do, and I badly need internet for it."
"Simple enough," Malcolm assured her. "Just get a mobile broadband plug in and I'll tinker with it to allow you unlimited access."
With that settled, Harry reached for his car keys. "I have to go back to the house," he explained. "There's something I need."
Ros found the cemetery easily. She remembered it vaguely from her last trip to Cumbria, but it all returned to her once she was back in locale. The old rectory, once home to Lucas and his family, was still there and still boarded up. Even the field with the lone pony in it was still the same. The animal looked healthier now, as it cropped at the grass still thick from the summer sun. But she decided against leaving her hire car outside, instead driving it all the way up to the nearby church that now lay derelict and abandoned. By the looks of things, John Bateman senior was the last Minister to take charge of this particular church and rising secularism had sounded its death knell.
The cemetery itself was broad and flat, sprawling away from the main road and out into the countryside. The horizon made jagged by the jutting monuments and tombs that lined up in formation in neat, long rows. She paused by the entrance gates to scan the horizon, making a note of the central war memorial. But the only other people she could see were elderly couples shuffling between stones and a lone dog walker.
The garden of remembrance was separated from the main body of the cemetery by a stone wall. An arched rose trellis formed a fragrant entrance, through which she stepped to find herself in a neat green lawn punctuated by identical white headstones. She followed the path to a set of steps, an incline in the ground marked by a manmade waterfall with a wooden bridge crossing it, leading to a veranda. The inside of the stone perimeter walls was studded with bronze plaques, the dead whose bodies were never located.
Lucas was waiting for her under the veranda's lattice roof. The flowers and honeysuckle that normally decorated it had withered and died with the season.
"You got my message then?" he asked, rising from a bench to greet her.
"Just about. How're you? We've been worried about," she said, then corrected herself. "I have been worried about you."
He looked so unkempt she almost failed to recognise him. Unshaven, wearing several layers of clothes and smelling like he hadn't had a bath in a week.
"Have you been hiding out with the homeless?"
"Not far from it," he replied, as they settled on the bench again. "I broke into my Dad's old church and have been sleeping in there. I've set up surveillance cameras outside the house and can keep an eye on things on a monitor set up in the church."
Ros frowned. "It has power?"
"It has a generator; I brought the monitor from home. The point is, I can watch from afar there. But, so far, nothing doing. No one's been there; no one's been parked outside. Not so much as a stray dog hanging around. Did you plant the paper trail before you left the Grid?"
"I did. Tariq even helped," she confirmed. "But it's only been a day. Give it more time; they'll be here eventually, they won't be able to resist the urge to come sniffing around. Meanwhile, Jo and Nathan are tailing John Carlton. I think they've found a way in with Securitech. But I wouldn't get your hopes up."
They fell silent for a moment, looking out over the squat white headstones. Their very identicalness played tricks with her vision, making her go cross-eyed. Sheltered behind the stone walls, only a small breeze troubled them where they were. But it was still bloody cold and both of them huddled into their coats and sat close together for shared body warmth. She turned to look up at Lucas, who kept his gaze trained on the lawn, his eyes narrowed on the far distance.
"With the Grid off-limits, where is Harry gathering everyone?" he asked. "How can he do anything?"
"You know how Connie was taking care of some bio-warfare bunker in Surrey?" she asked, rhetorically. "It was disguised as some farmhouse and only a few people know about it. Anyway, Harry's setting up there and Malcolm's been drafted back in to help with the Op. If things don't work out here, then I'm to take you back there."
Finally, his hunched shoulders dropped and he looked a little more relaxed. "Thank god for that. I thought I'd go spare being left up here on my own. Especially with the house being out of bounds."
He was supposed to have sold it, but never got around to arranging things. Inwardly, she wondered whether he really wanted to let go of the last trace of the person he once was. Now he was hanging on the shell of his own childhood, letting to run to ruin deep in the ignored countryside. Whatever Lucas' true feelings about the place were, Ros was going to let him have them. John Bateman hadn't been a bad person, just a lost one. One that had no place being used as a rod for his back now.
Ros drew a deep breath and stood up again. She turned to face Lucas, who was still sitting on the bench with his left leg crossed over his right knee and hands buried deep in his pockets.
"Come on," she said, extending her hand towards him. "Come and show me your new surveillance suit."
His gaze met hers and he raised the ghost of a smile. "Sounds like a plan."
Instead of taking her hand, he linked his arm through hers and, together, they set off down the path. As they strode purposefully along the path between the graves, Ros noted the same lone dag walker still skirting the perimeter of the cemetery. The elderly grave visitors were gone now, leaving the place almost devoid of the living.
"Was he here when you came?" she asked.
"That dog walker? I don't think so. It's probably nothing."
He was probably right; but she couldn't shake her feeling of ill-ease.
Nathan held his breath as the automatic doors slid open. Having been outside in the darkness, the neon lit reception of Securitech was almost blindingly bright. Before setting foot inside the place, however, he glanced left to where Jo Portman was making small talk with another cleaner. Their new "colleagues" were milling around in a tight huddle, waiting for the last of the office workers inside to vacate the premises. He still felt completely out of place, like everything had happened much too fast and sought solace in keeping strictly to himself.
It seemed shocking to him that Jo had simply walked up to the foreman of the cleaners and just come out and asked if they needed extra help. But he had never realised just how literal 'casual' labour could be. However, as a result of her brash front he himself walking freely into the offices and HQ of Securitech.
"Hey," she said, catching up with him in the reception area and taking him aside. "Remember, all we're doing tonight is getting a feel for the layout. We'll be back tomorrow night with the stuff we need to plant. Okay?"
He was still nervous, but managed a nod. "Sure. But if we see anything of interest, surely we can take a few snaps for evidence?"
Jo seemed to be thinking about it. But eventually she nodded. "Just be careful. Don't disturb anything, make a note of where everything is. Try and remember it."
"That's what I mean," he replied. "Why can't we just activate one of our discreet cameras and film as we move around the building? Then show the footage to Harry and we can discuss where best to place everything."
Normally they would have floor plans, more secure ways of getting in and possibly an observation van hidden outside. Under these circumstances they were on their own; no safety net and no back up.
"Good idea, actually," she said. "Just make sure it's well hidden and try to remember everything anyway."
Before long, they were forced to separate again. With no idea of where to go, Nathan simply followed the person in front. They collected cleaning materials from a storage cupboard on the ground floor, located behind reception. Under the reception desk was a monitor displaying CCTV images both from outside and the other floors of the building. For now, he was forced to pass it by without a second glance.
"Are you new?" the girl he was following asked.
Jolted out of his own thoughts, Nathan had to think before he answered. "Er, yes. Sorry, is it that obvious?"
The girl smiled, offering her hand to shake. "Partner with me then, I'll show you around."
Blessing his good fortune, he readily agreed with the suggestion.
"Do we have to clean all of the offices in here?" He made it sound as if he was merely complaining about the workload. But what he really wanted to know was whether they would have unfettered access to the entire building.
"I'm afraid so," she informed him. "The only one we sometimes leave is the Managing Director's office. He sometimes works late and doesn't like to be disturbed. I'll tell you I see him leave, then it'll be safe to go in there."
Nathan smiled. "That'd be a great help, thanks."
He let the girl's chatter wash over him as they methodically worked their way through the building. Only three floors, but the one he wanted was at the top. John Carlton's office was out of the way of the others and Nathan knew that what they wanted would be in there. By the time they reached it, the door was closed and the Venetian blinds drawn down on the window. No too dissimilar to Harry's office, it overlooked another office space in which open desks were lined up in a rough formation.
"I think he's still in there," said the girl. "Best just empty the bins and wipe the desks down for now. I'll go and get the vacuum."
Maintaining his cover, he got to work as best he could. He went from desk to desk, upending waste paper bins into a large black bin bag, while glancing at John Carlton's closed office door roughly every two seconds. He must have been halfway done by the time it opened and the man himself stepped out. Nathan carried on working, but switched from emptying the bins to wiping the desks so he could pause and watch his quarry. Carlton had a briefcase under his arm and was talking quietly into a mobile phone with his free hand. Ever so briefly, the Managing Director met Nathan's gaze, frowning just slightly before looking away again.
Unable to resist, Nathan closed in the office as soon as Carlton had passed out of sight. But before he could go in there, the girl he was working with appeared again trailing a vacuum cleaner by the nozzle. He had to stop, force a smile before going any further.
"I just saw him leave," he said, before quickly feigning ignorance. "That's the MD's, isn't it? I can go in now, if you like?"
"Let's finish this first and then we go in together once the office is done."
The next night, he knew it would have to be him and Jo up here alone. For now, he had no choice but to go along with his work mate's instructions. Frustration concealed behind a willingness to please, he returned to his wastepaper bins. All the while, acutely aware of the promised land that lay beyond John Carlton's office door.
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