Thanks once again to those who read and also those who reviewed.
Thames House 10.00am approx.
The faceoff with Harry concluded as Lanyon was unceremoniously escorted from the Interview Room to sample the joys of what Harry had once described as 'the minimal charms of our basement holding cells'. A venue in which Lanyon could contemplate his many and manifold sins; the greatest of which was undoubtedly to have incurred the wrath of Harry Pearce. Harry himself wasn't afforded much opportunity to brood upon the recent revelations. Any intention he'd had of doing so being immediately thwarted by the appearance of one of the security guards.
Not sure how to approach an obviously preoccupied Sir Harry, even the most humble of employees were aware that something big was going off in Section D, the words were hesitant. "Excuse me Sir, but you have a visitor in Reception."
The laser glare from Harry was sufficient to make the guard answer the next question before it was posed. "He said he's got a package that he'll only hand over to you, Sir."
"Surely you can deal with pushy salesmen without involving me."
Quailing at this evident exasperation an apology followed. "Sorry Sir, but he was most voluble. He said to tell you it was in response to last night's phonecall. That you'd know what he meant."
Insistent, mouthy and spoken to yesterday evening. It could only be one person. As Harry headed towards the stairs preparing to savour the unaccustomed delights of family life he found no consolation whatsoever in the knowledge that this time he literally had asked for it. Dimitri, who'd overheard the message but was ignorant of the subtext, voiced his alarm at the idea of Harry meeting an unknown stranger in the foyer.
"Hang on Harry, someone should be with you, just in case it's a trick."
Harry, although grateful for the concern, felt an unusual degree of embarrassment in admitting, "I don't think so. I contacted Graham last night. It would seem that he's delivered some promised information in person."
Dimitri wasn't about to be deterred considering that the recent meeting in which Harry and Graham had indulged in familial fisticuffs. "Maybe but we can't be sure. If it is Graham you may need me to fetch Jane."
Having some small notion as to the nature of the material Graham was planning to present him with, Harry's preference was to sideline Jane for as long as possible. Her presence would inevitably lead to awkward questions. Harry wasn't overly concerned about her viewing the content, she'd already watched Robin starring in home filmed soft porn, but he was desperate to conceal the means by which Graham had obtained the evidence of Robin's earlier adultery. He could hear the unflattering comparison now - 'Like father like son' -even worse she might begin, once again, to regard himself and Robin as peas in the martial pod.
"Very well, although I don't think Jane will be needed."
Accompanied by Dimitri, Batman having been delegated to liaise with Malcolm prior to his foray into the Land of Plod, Harry headed to the sunlight uplands of the grandiose marble floored foyer. A spacious area, high ceilinged, light and airy, infused with a sense of slightly intimidating grandeur, despite the overall effect being somewhat marred by the necessary security impedimenta surrounding the double doored entrance. Emerging into the cool daylight via an unobtrusive side door Harry briefly savoured the pleasant tang of fresh air, so mercifully free of the stuffy fetid atmosphere that prevailed in the subterranean cells. While his nasal senses were being refreshed his ears were detecting a note of discord. Judging by the echoing sounds reverberating across the hallway he hadn't arrived a moment too soon.
"Listen mate, a uniform doesn't make you important even if you do work for a set of jumped up Hitlers. I need to see Harry Pearce now. Unlike you I have a life so get him before I punch your lights out."
For years Graham had accused Harry of disowning him, for about thirty seconds Harry seriously debated the notion of allowing that to become a self fulfilling prophecy. Jane had once condemned Harry as a nightmare. Which terms, Harry wondered, she would employ to describe their son. In comparison with Graham Harry presented as Mr Sweetness and Light. Listening to the fruit of his loins in full flow, grateful that at least Graham had drawn the line at employing his habitually foul language, Harry was forcibly reminded of the woman charm forgot, more usually referred to as his sister in law, the unlovely Rebecca. Reluctantly Harry decided that putting the Security staff in the position of laying hands on the progeny of a senior officer wasn't cricket,...or rugby ...or even tennis. Striding quickly across the polished floor he uttered one sharp word.
"Graham."
It had the effect of attracting the attention of his unwillingly owned offspring. Before Graham could respond Harry, in a display of courtesy intended as an oblique rebuke to his son, addressed the guards,
"Sorry for the delay gentleman. I'll take this from here." In a contrasting clipped tone that only just concealed his fury he turned to face Graham. Manners were not the only dissimilarity between father and son. In feature no one could possibly have mistaken Graham's paternity, but whereas Harry's somewhat portly figure was clothed in his usual expensively tailored suit and silk tie, Graham's thin body was clad in black mud splattered biker leathers that made him resemble a stick of liquorice, his hands fully occupied in balancing a motor cycle helmet and small package. Moving towards the entrance Harry beckoned Graham to meet him halfway, symbolically into middle of the star shaped pattern inlaid into the central floor, "This way Graham. Now." The latter word uttered as Graham's face implied objection to his father's peremptory tone.
As Graham approached him Harry commented in an undertone that could not be heard by anyone, including Dimitri who'd positioned himself near the stairs.
"Really Graham, I thought you had more intelligence than to run the risk of seeing Dr Reynolds twice in forty eight hours. The security staff are all ex military and don't react well to threats."
"I can handle myself, I've been in plenty of rough dives."
"After the other day I'm dubious. How is the bruising?"
Graham scowled as he snarled, "Makes sitting on the motor bike bloody uncomfortable if you must know."
Harry wasn't going to apologise, not when Graham had initiated the aggression. Determind to distract Graham from yet another tedious airing of his grievances, Harry turned to the more immediate subject, "And your insistence on seeing me personally when you've avoided me for years."
"The photos of Robin and his PA, so called. I'm here to help Mum, not you. Now she's decided to believe me. Although as none of you trust me I don't know why I bother. What did I do to get lumbered with a family like mine?"
Harry was sorely tempted to tell him. Jane at least had nothing to deserve the level of vituperation Graham had thrown at her, but since he was keen to bridge the family rifts, he opted to pretend that the question was rhetorical and confide in Graham to a limited extent.
"I think it had less to do with her disbelieving you and rather more with your aunt being ill around the same time. Your mother felt she couldn't cope with everything at once."
Graham, slightly taken aback by this piece of news, wordlessly handed his father the package he was carrying. Picking up on this slight nuance of uncertainty Harry recalled Jane's words of the previous evening. Personally he found it difficult to believe that Graham actually wanted praise from himself...but on the off chance that she was correct, "Thanks Graham, this will help I'm sure."
If Graham was delighted he concealed it well behind a bristling hostility, "Just get Mum her divorce, Robin's an even bigger hypocrite than you are. At least you never pretended to care."
How often, Harry debated, did someone make a statement that was both one hundred percent correct and one hundred percent wrong at one and the same time. It was true; he'd never pretended to care, precisely because he did care so very much. Before he could venture on the impossible task of convincing the intransigent individual before him of this fact Graham asked with a degree of anxiety,
"Have you found Catherine yet?"
Normally Harry would have been pleased with any indication that Graham was concerned with something or someone beyond the circumscribed vicinity of his own immediate body cells, but he hated having to admit to failure. Graham needed no encouragement to castigate Harry and all his works.
"No, but we are getting nearer. You'll be one of the first to know when we find her."
Graham was polishing up his tongue for a further verbal assault on his father until he glimpsed the expression on Harry's face as he uttered those words. What he saw flicking across his father's normally impenetrable features made him rein back his planned condemnation as a small trickle of doubt began to assail him. Why, when his father appeared to be so blasé about his family, was he, in that rare unguarded moment, suddenly looking so old and so stricken? The recognition that Catherine was Harry's favourite was, for Graham an envious given, but he could find no satisfactory explanation as to why his father was busying himself in the matter of Jane's divorce. Not after all those years of estrangement, silence and bitter rows. Confused and not willing to admit that he could be wrong, because he knew his father didn't care, right, of course right...but...he finally announced with a would be casual shrug,
"Well when you do find the bastards that took her give them a punch for me. That's if you've left anything of them to punch."
He had won one of his father's rare smiles, "I'll be sure to do so. Why a motorbike Graham?"
"Cheaper to run than a car and easier in traffic. Now get Bill and Ben at the door to let me out, I'm going to be late for work if I don't set off shortly."
Harry was tempted to inquire what Graham was doing to earn his living but thought he'd be pushing it to ask. Graham, interpreting Harry's failure to act on this crumb of deliberately dropped information as a further indication of parental indifference, flounced out without further conversation leaving Harry to return to the Grid, toxic packet in hand.
Crossing the Grid Harry noticed with relief that Jane was preoccupied with one of herself imposed tasks. Good, he wanted to see what Graham had sent before he let her view the evidence. Escaping into the minimal privacy allowed by his the glass panelled office, he sat down at his desk, taking care to adopt a posture that implied he was absorbed with routine paperwork. Examining the wrapping on the package Graham had handed to him Harry's lips quirked with amusement at the words 'EYES ONLY' written across the sealed flap. Tipping the contents across his desk his immediate thought on scanning the photographs contained therein was that men in late middle groping young girls in public was a distinctly unaesthetic sight. His second, that judging by the position of Robin's hands, the term Personal Assistant had just acquired a whole new meaning. The final document he unfolded proved to be a letter in handwriting he didn't recognise, accompanied by a terse note from Graham.
As Robin might deny that the signature in the hotel register was his I've put a copy of a letter he sent me in the pack for comparison. Mum only found about this when I argued with her over Robin and the tart.
Reading that explanation, in conjunction with the other material, it struck Harry that Graham seemed to have cultivated an unexpected aptitude for covert action. Was that a natural legacy, the result of the misspent years of concealing a drug habit, or was it, perish the thought, genetic. Curiously he began to read the communication sent to Graham by his esteemed stepfather, noting automatically that it was dated from around the time Harry had managed to deal with the possession charge.
Graham. After your latest criminal activity I am writing to inform you that neither I, nor your mother, wish to have any further contact with you. You are a total disgrace. I have done my best to correct the spoiling you have received from your mother and the appalling role model set by your father. Like him you have destroyed the lives of all you come into contact with and I refuse to allow myself or your mother to be tainted by either of you any longer.' Robin Tindall.
Even before he'd finished reading Harry found himself consumed by an incandescent rage of a force he could never before recall experiencing. Had Robin been standing in front of him Harry would have had no hesitation in instantly ripping him limb from limb, stamping on the whimpering remnants, and be damned to the consequences. With a crystalline clarity that now displaced the muddied emotional maelstrom of the past two decades Harry began to appreciate exactly why Graham was seemingly locked into a perpetual aggressive defensive posturing. Feeling the acute loss of a permanently absent father, who he believed had deserted him, Graham had chosen to adopt and espouse Robin's attitudes in an attempt to win approval, only to discover that once Robin was a permanent fixture in his life the plaudits had been withdrawn, forcing Graham into ever more frantic attempts to gain attention, a situation that had culminated in his drug habit. Jane's refusal to act when Graham had confronted her with Robin's infidelity had been the coping stone, confirming in his mind that none of the adults allegedly responsible for nurturing him gave a toss about anything he said or did.
And what of Jane's role in all this? Harry didn't for a single moment doubt the veracity of Graham's note. If there was one thing Jane would never, ever do, it was give up on either of her children, Ultimately although she'd also become a victim of Robin's perfidy she was the one who'd walked, with blinkers, into the marriage of her own accord, inflicting Robin's poisonous presence upon two vulnerable teenagers. She'd even abetted Robin in the endless insinuations designed to drive a wedge between Harry and his children, something that he was still struggling to forgive. Thankfully the scales had now finally dropped from her bedazzled eyes, but much, much too late to avoid damaging Graham, who, while undoubtedly an acute pain in any bodily orifice you cared to mention, had been left feeling isolated and unloved. Now as he sought to conceal his hurt behind a protective shield of attitude and indifference he'd created a vicious circle, in which the more obnoxious he rendered himself as a defensive mechanism the more remote and unlovable he became in fact. And who better to understand that than Harry: the heartless bastard who kept his soft centre securely buried beneath a firm cast iron facade.
Any lingering thoughts Harry had may have retained about allowing Robin to walk away with his reputation intact as a plea bargain for a quick and easy divorce had melted in the flames of Harry's fury. Harry was quite willing to concede his own dismal record as husband and father, but that did not imply an accompanying willingness to consider his own inadequacies as grounds of absolution for Robin's behaviour. He supposed he should feel vindicated by the belated discovery that everything he'd ever suspected of Robin had proved to be more accurate than even he, with his permanently suspicious mind, could have guessed. But when Harry considered the nuclear nature of the ensuing emotional fallout, even more devastating for Graham than it had been for Jane, gloating was the last thought on his mind. His immediate desire was to seek out his son, hug him, reassure him that he was every bit as important to Harry as was his sister, but he knew all he'd receive would be a rebuff. He'd have to find some other approach, but what?
Sickened by Robin's antics, both written, and captured for posterity on film, Harry decided to settle his stomach with an inadvisably early glass of whisky. He had just indulged himself with a single sip when Malcolm entered.
"Ah Harry, I've done some digging in the hard drive information from Robin Tindall's computer. I take it that you didn't know he's attending a conference in London, in about ten days. I've noted the dates here and the conference information. I've précised the material from several videos on his hard drive and taken some stills to illustrate. I'd suggest you don't let Jane see them."
Harry recognised the expressionless tone in the voice, it was the one Malcolm unconsciously adopted when trying to avoid sounding judgemental. Harry's initial thought was that Malcolm's Methodist background had resurfaced at the sight of Harry's early morning tipple. A glance at the printouts suggested another reason entirely. Harry was thankful that it was some time since he'd eaten; the sight of Robin and companion letting it all hang out wasn't conducive to digestion, while the alternative view of a leering Robin, rampant in a leather posing pouch, was enough to make Harry want to scrub out his skull with carbolic soap. From the somewhat peculiar angles of the woman, in which her face was about the only part of her anatomy that was obscured, Harry couldn't ascertain whether or not she was the same girl pictured by Graham.
"Thanks Malcolm. I don't know how you found the time but..."
"I had a few odd minutes Harry. If you need any more help just ask. I know Jane is virtually a stranger to me but the thought of her returning to that appalling man is horrific."
Almost embarrassed by this rare outburst of emotion Malcolm was gone, leaving Harry to contemplate the advantageous effects that a mutual love of literature could bring about. To distract himself from the vomit inducing images, sufficient to make him regurgitate his whisky, he read through the conference details and noticed something Malcolm had omitted to mention. Robin was booked to give the key note address. The title drew forth a grim smile. Harry had just discerned the first glimmerings of an idea for revenge, not just for himself, or even for Jane, but now chiefly on Graham's behalf. If he managed to wangle Jane's divorce while publicly humiliating Robin in the process his son might just decide that Harry's protestations of affection for his family were sincere. First though he would require some extra up to the minute data. As he'd once told Tom Quinn, knowledge was power. He wasn't allowed time to ponder this highly unoriginal philosophy at length, his thoughts being disturbed by his mobile ringing. A glance at the caller display making him wonder if telepathy was a fact rather than a theory.
"Hello Tom. Yes I have a job, well actually if you can do it a couple of related tasks as well. This is private not MI5 related. No not strictly legal but when did that ever stop you?" Encouraged by the chuckle at the other end of the line Harry expounded, "First of all I need you to...
It was perhaps as well that Harry couldn't see the astonishment on Tom's face or the lips pursed in a soundless whistle when the call was finally concluded. The tasks Harry had charged him with didn't amaze him, the person on whose behalf Harry was acting did. As a player in the hostile fallout between Harry and Jane before, during, and after the international events which had seen Tom rescuing Catherine from the consequences of her own folly, Tom found these developments to be nothing short of miraculous. 'Not strictly legal' Harry had stated, spy jargon for law breaking on a scale that Bonnie and Clyde would have envied, although this time, thank God, falling short of murder. But work was work and Tom knew he owed Harry big time. When Tom had first set up his security company he had been aware that it was a longshot in the face of tough competition. Despite this within a matter of months he'd been entrusted with several highly confidential commissions which had, when successfully concluded, become the foundation of his reputation for efficiency. Eventually a chance remark from one client had alerted Tom to the fact that an under the radar Harry had angled those of lucrative contracts in Tom's direction. When Tom had finally broken protocol and made a tentative contact to express his thanks Harry had brushed this aside with, "There are some jobs HM Government can't be seen to be involved in but an ex agent is the preferred contractor. As 'Tessa should be serving time Phillips' has fled that left you." A disclaimer that was absolutely typical of the man he'd known; a hard headed enigma, dedicated to the job, with an oft denied paternalistic care for his officers. Tom didn't consider that his action in avenging Ruth made him quits with Harry. If he'd still been on the Grid he'd have been the first to volunteer for the task, Ruth had been his friend and MI5 looked after their own. Revenge might have been taken but at his meeting with Harry to discuss the details, Tom had been thoroughly shocked by his former boss's wretched,careworn appearance. It was with some relief that he realised from their current discussion that Harry's instinct for devilment in pursuit of a good cause had just about survived the heart wrenching recent events. If Robin Tindall had acquired any inkling that Harry was now actively out for his blood someone should advise him to pack a bag and head for whichever part of the globe that was not infested by the Pearce web of contacts, assuming such a place existed. Tom, for his part, was wondering if he could wangle a ticket for the kill, a revitalised Harry on the rampage would be a cheering sight. More immediately he had to decide whether he should mention this turn of events to Christine, probably not. She'd never really forgiven Harry for trying to break up their relationship, and would sweetly inquire, in her firm decisive voice, what had been the use of them leaving the CIA and MI5 if they kept becoming embroiled in their overlong tentacles. "Honey Harry made his own mess so let him clear it up without involving you."
About an hour after Harry had terminated his highly satisfactory discussion with Tom Quinn the entire team had returned to the Grid. With a certain inevitability they all gravitated towards the Meeting Room all too aware that what they had discovered was insubstantial, save that a few loose ends were confirmed. Erin, as befitted her Senior post opened the briefing.
"Ben positively identified Lanyon as one of the men who approached him, so that does confirm his story. Nothing from any of the local assets, one or two say that they've seen a little more activity around the Embassy but no whisper as to why. Negative but it does suggest that the operation was either black or very covert. We've agents trailing anything that looks usual and they've been given a description of Brad and told to follow him in particular.
Calum picked up from Erin with, "I've been trawling CCTV again. I found a few happy snaps of Lanyon and his mate, who I assume was the bloke called Brad. Again nothing. Batman reports that the gang members have all said they've had contact with various Americans over the past year, confirming our opinion that they've been used for some time. We might manage to get a few clues to other ongoing ops as a result but apart from identifying Lanyon nothing fresh."
Malcolm sighed, the forlorn hope normally fronted a risky attack; he was bringing up the rear with precious little new, "I've managed to match the CCTV of Lanyon's friend with a CIA operative. Brad, full name Bradley Fethering is another new operative. As he was at college with Christopher Coaver Lanyon's information seems to check out. No real information on Christopher, his grandmother is on a touring holiday with no known itnerary."
Harry was restraining himself from either putting his head in his hands or pulling out his remaining hair. He was saved from making any futile gestures by the arrival of Batman carrying a paddy bag.
"Harry this was left at Reception for you, the man threw it in and then ran. Usual biker gear of leathers and helmet. It was so quick they couldn't catch him. They've checked this for bombs and devices, it seems clean."
Calum and Malcolm both shot out of their chairs, and bolted through the door. A few seconds later Malcolm returned, "It doesn't need two of us to trawl the CCTV." He didn't think it advisable to add Calum's words, "Malcolm you're a friend of Harry's and we might need you in there to keep him calm." The sort of comment that reminded Malcolm of the younger man's well hidden astuteness.
In their absence Harry had checked the package. Simply marked it bore the words, "FAO HARRY PEARCE". The contents a plain unembellished silver disc, which Harry handed over to Malcolm. The latter hesitated, "Harry don't you want to view this yourself before we all see it?"
Harry shook his head, "Time is running on, just play it Malcolm."
Thus abjured Malcolm inserted the disc into his laptop. For a moment the screen flickered, as the camera panned around to display a basic room, probably square shaped, featuring a glass paned sash window with daylight seeping through part opened and undusted venetian blinds. Sparse and cheap was the overall impression, the one substantial item a very solid looking door with two locks. The floor however looked clean, as did the collapsible formica table and two chairs beside it. Then gradually the camera swivelled towards a wall, at the base of which lay something bulky. The lense zoomed in until the figure of a woman could be discerned, blonde and lying ominously still on a makeshift bed of cushions. From the thin strips of material on the floor it would seem that at some stage she'd been tied up, although the body on show wasn't revealing any obvious signs of physical abuse.
Catherine: still wearing the clothes she'd been last seen in.
The team watched in silence, apart than Jane who emitted a frightened gasp and then suddenly found her hand clutched by Harry, "It's alright Jane, look she's breathing, she's asleep that's all." A further inspection of the film showed that Catherine's chest was indeed moving slightly. Privately Harry suspected drugs but didn't want to share that thought until he had to. The respite was short, after allowing about a minute during which they absorbed the details on show, a hand appeared, placing a newspaper over Catherine's body followed by the camera zeroing in on the date, that of today. After allowing a few seconds for this to be read, the paper was removed. As the camera continued to film the unconscious Catherine an American accent cut into the silence providing what had hitherto been missing, a soundtrack. Its inflection, one of mockery.
"Good morning Sir Harry. By now I'm sure you've worked out who I am. You killed my father and then ran. In return I've kidnapped your daughter. As you can see she is still alive. As you've probably guessed she's also drugged, injected barbiturates to be precise. She's been under for most of the last two days, other than when she's awoken slightly and I've given her water. My father did mention that family and colleagues were your weak spot. I don't want to kill her which is fortunate as I'm betting that you don't want her to die, not your little Daddy's Girl, so here is what will happen. You will ring me on the number I hold up at the end of this film. Ring at midday, to do so before then would be impolite and you Brits are famous for your courtesy. I will give you this location. When you come you will be completely alone. No wires, no backup of any description, remember I know what to look for. If you chose to ignore this advice and arrive mob handed I will kill Catherine before you can get to us. Assuming that you are not completely stupid and follow orders, sorry my requests, by the time you arrive she should be stirring. I will have adequate time to deal with you before she awakes properly. If you decide not to come to me, to call my bluff, the next injection will be fatal for her, and it won't be a pleasant death. In case you are as stupid as you were when you killed my father I repeat. Arrive with backup of any description whatsoever and I'll kill you both with this."
The final frames featured a gun waved in front of the camera and then a telephone number, which Malcolm scribbled down, being the only member of the team not be transfixed and numbed by the implications of what they'd just heard. The statement the more frightening because of the seeming normality with which it was delivered. The subject matter, death and violence; the tone one in which today's shopping list might have been discussed.
As the screen went blank Jane continued to stare at it as if willing her daughter to materialise in front of them. Her face was ashen, terrified, grey eyes large with swimming tears as she grasped Harry's hand so firmly he silently wondered if his fingers would ever rediscover feeling. Why she did this Jane knew not, but she was drawing a modicum of comfort from his presence. Three days ago she'd have taken his impassivity for indifference, but now that she had his measure more accurately she knew that he would be affected as she was, it was simply that after a lifetime of spying he just hid it better. Turning to him she calmed her ragged breathing sufficiently to ask in something akin to a supressed hysteria,
"Oh God, Harry what do we do now?"
Harry met her eyes with astonishment as he replied firmly, "Exactly what he asks of course."
I trust no one minded the diversion towards Tom Quinn. I did feel his reappearance in 10.6 needed some explanation.
As I'll be away for a few days the gap between this and the next chapter may be longer than usual.
If you have a moment please review