Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of Kudos and BBC. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
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“Can't trust people.
Won't do any good.
They'll kill you every time.
They'll kill each other.
They'll kill every one.”
-Haruki Murakami
Long after the medical personnel wheeled Mikhael and Eddie into surgery, Harry only heard the same four words again and again. Even as Ros went through how she knew the woman was not a doctor by the shoes she had worn - black boots while everyone else on the floor seemed to wear identical nursing shoes - and about how Eddie saw the woman’s companion disappear into the power room, the gun with the silencer attached to its muzzle revealed as his white coat flapped as he walked by, Harry barely heard her.
And even after they’d arrived back at Thames House and were faced with the latest dilemma that awaited them, Harry only heard the same four words echoing inside his head.
Nathaniel George is alive.
But how could it be? He’d watched the man slowly die, his once healthy frame turning into skin and bones by the time the four months went by as cancer slowly claimed him. Harry still remembered how he had visited Nathaniel as much as he could, even staying with Alexa and Liam, then only a few months old whenever Nathaniel seemed too ill to be good company.
When Nathaniel passed away at his home, Harry had been in Cumbria with Alexa, who had wanted to see where her rescuer in Russia had grown up. She knew that Lucas was the man she’d met in Moscow, even though he’d called himself Dimitri then. And through her father, she had known that he’d grown up in Cumbria, and it would be there that Harry would end up taking her and Liam when Nathaniel asked his friend to take his daughter for a trip out in the country.
“She needs to get away from seeing me like this, Harry,” Harry remembered Nathaniel telling him. “It breaks my heart. She’s been through so much already, and with having to carry some bastard’s child - even though I love that baby very much - I’m sure I’ve become a burden to her.”
“Don’t say that, Nathaniel,” Harry said. “Alexa loves you dearly. She wants to help you, take care of you.”
“She has Liam to take care of now,” Nathaniel said. “Not some an old man like me, dying like this. I want her to remember me as I once was. Strong and smart, and healthy.”
Nathaniel, in the end, succeeded in convincing him. And on a Saturday morning, Harry packed up mother and child and drove them to Cumbria, fulfilling Alexa’s wish to see the place where her rescuer had grown up at, knowing that he was breaking MI5 rules. But then, was there a rule that said no one could visit Cumbria at all?
He received the call about Nathaniel’s death from Fred Mortensen, Nathaniel’s attorney and best friend the following day. But by the time Harry had managed to return to London, delayed when Liam had a very high fever that required a few hours at the local hospital for observation, Nathaniel’s body had been brought to the mortuary and cremated. The memorial was set the following week which had been well-attended, and Harry, Fred and even Jools were there to extend their condolences to Alexa, and to speak at the service.
Nathaniel George, by all accounts, had died. Each year, Harry, Alexa and Liam visited his grave on his death anniversary.
But as caught by cameras at Thames House that night, Nathaniel George was alive and well. He had also just kidnapped his grandson, Liam, brazenly signing the logbook with his real name even after he’d identified himself as Dr. Gordon Meeks, a doctor whose body had just been found two blocks away from the hospital where he worked, a bullet to the head.
Sandra Loan, the Children’s Services representative who had accompanied Nathaniel to Thames House, had just been picked up three blocks away. She claimed that men were holding her family hostage in her house and that unless she did as she was told, they would kill her husband, and her two children. Even her dog.
“Who are ‘they’?” Ros asked her as Sandra began to sob uncontrollably.
“Two Englishmen and two Russians,” she said. “The Russians are at the house, God help me. They’re going to kill my family.” Her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. “I had not choice. Please understand. I would never hurt anyone.”
“We understand,” Ros said, as she raised a finger to excuse herself as she answered a call. Minutes later, she returned to speak to the bereft woman.
“Miss Loan, we just heard word that your family is safe and that the men left as soon as you left Thames House. You and your family need to stay somewhere else for the night until we let you know that it’s safe. Do you understand?”
The woman nodded, getting up to her feet. Ros watched as one of the junior officers escorted her out of the interrogation room. As soon as the door shut behind them, she turned to look at Harry, angry that she had been left to do everything by herself while Harry barely noticed the exchange.
“Harry, what is going on?” Ros demanded. “What did Mikhael tell you? You haven’t been yourself since we got back from the hospital.”
“The interrogation room is the last place for us to talk of such things, Ros,” Harry said as he got up from his chair. “How is Jo?”
“Connie is with her. Other than a terrible headache, Connie says the doctor says she will be alright. I’m having her driven home as soon as she’s ready.”
Just then, his phone rang and Harry answered it on the second ring. It was Alexa.
Relief flooded Harry’s face. “Alexa, where are you? Is Lucas with you?” He asked as he and Ros stepped out of the interrogation room and began heading towards his office.
“Where’s Liam? Is he there with you? Can I talk to him?” Alexa asked, the barrage of questions barely spaced by a single pause. Her voice trembled. Something’s happened, Harry thought. In the background, he heard Lucas saying something, the sound of a blinker ticking, telling Harry that they were in a car.
“Let me speak to Lucas,” Harry said, ignoring Alexa’s question.
In the car, Lucas slipped the earpiece on as he took the phone from Alexa’s hand. “Harry,” he said, his voice clipped. Traffic had built up in front of him and he wondered if he should turn off the main street and make his way through the side streets instead.
“Where are you?” Harry asked.
“We’re about fifteen minutes away from you,” Lucas replied. “That is, if the traffic doesn’t get any worse.” A few blocks ahead of them, he could see flashing lights and Lucas slowed down. “Harry, there was a kill squad after us. Do you know anything about it?”
“If there is, Malcolm hasn’t caught it yet. Lucas, does Alexa have something for me?” Harry asked.
There was a pause. Then Lucas replied, “yes.”
As Harry stepped into the Grid, Malcolm, who had been sitting in front of his computer peering at something, suddenly got up from his chair, an alarmed look on his face. Malcolm held up a piece of paper in front of Harry, a finger to his lips.
Someone’s listening, his hastily scribbled note read.
“Lucas,” Harry said as he nodded towards Malcolm. “Go to the guesthouse. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
As Lucas hung up, Ros turned to look at Harry. “Guesthouse?”
“Lucas and I used to meet there a long time ago. It’s long been decommissioned and I doubt if anyone still remembers it now,” Harry replied.
“What about CO19? We can get them to meet you there.”
Harry shook his head.
Malcolm, who had been hovering the entire time, looked at Harry. “I’m going to need your authorization to change all the encryption codes, Harry,” he said. “Including your phone.”
“Do it,” Harry said. “But there’s no time for you to change any codes on my phone, Malcolm. I need to go.”
“Harry, they can trace you with your phone.” Malcolm said.
“Which means they’ve traced Lucas through his phone as well,” Ros interjected. “Who else knows about the guesthouse, Harry? Other than you and Lucas? They could be waiting for you there. We can get CO19 to meet you--”
Harry shook his head. “This was just between Lucas and I,” he said. Harry turned towards Malcolm. “Lucas said they sent a kill squad after them tonight. I want you to scour everywhere for anything that smells like an order to terminate Mikhael, Lucas and Alexa. And God forbid, Liam.”
Malcolm nodded and returned to his desk.
“Why a kill squad?” Ros asked.
“The only person who could find that out for us is Lucas, being the double agent he’s supposed to be,” Harry said wryly. “But it seems he’s in no position right now to find out why.”
As Harry walked towards the door, Ros took him aside. “Do you think it’s Arkady who gave the order? Maybe an insurance just in case anything happened to him? Or because of Lucas’ betrayal?”
Harry sighed. “It could be,” he replied. “We can’t afford to ignore any possibilities.”
“I’m coming with you, Harry,” Ros said. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
Just then, the doors slid open and Jools entered. Harry took a deep intake of breath, an expression of annoyance crossing his face. The head of MI6 still wore his Saville Row wool coat and impeccable suit, an umbrella in his hand. He was frowning.
“What can I do you for, Jools?” Harry asked. “I’m in a rush at the moment.”
“I was in the middle of Vissi D’arte when I received a call saying that my agent is dead, Harry.” Jools sighed. “I’m very disappointed, to say the least. Not only because my agent is dead, but because I had to miss such a fine performance.”
“It was a kill squad, Jools,” Harry said. “We did what we could.”
Jools turned to look at Ros, as if noticing her for the first time. “Ah, Miss Myers, I presume? Give those boys at Downing Street a taste of their own medicine for me, will you?”
“I’ll do my best,” Ros said stiffly. Ever since her promotion to chief of Section D, word had traveled fast and Ros knew that there were some unsettled voices among the throng of well wishes.
“Harry,” Jools said, his expression suddenly serious. “We need to talk. In private.”
>>><<<
Though Ros was not happy to be excluded from the conversation between Harry and Jools, there was nothing she could do about it. From her desk, she watched both men through the window. Though Ros had been working under Harry for about four years, she knew Jools by reputation - which was impeccable - and through Adam Carter, the former section chief of Section D.
Before Adam transferred to MI5 five years earlier on Harry’s request, he’d been working under Jools at MI6. Jools had held the same position of department chief for over fifteen years, maybe longer, and everyone at Thames House knew who he was.
A blue-blooded Englishman, Jools was unabashedly patrician in his beliefs and his condescension towards those of lower standing was something that was of no surprise to anyone on the Grid. That was simply Jools Siviter. One didn’t expect anything less than that.
As Ros watched both men through the window, she forced herself to look away. So many things had happened since Lucas’ return and she had barely had had enough time to mull things over.
Since Adam’s death, the Grid had been in overdrive, dealing with one crisis after another. Yet Ros couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, something was different.
It was as if something had been set in motion as soon as Lucas returned from Russia, and with his reconnection with Alexa soon after, Ros couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something much bigger than Harry was willing to admit to her or anyone on the Grid. Adam, Kachimov and Mikhael were just collateral damage.
And with Jools Siviter in the picture, Ros’ suspicions were finally confirmed.
Seeing Jools at the hospital had been a shock to Ros, who had only heard about Jools through the grapevine, their departments totally different from one another. Though their missions often overlapped, both departments rarely communicated with each other.
But this time, Ros thought, it was different. This was something bigger - something none of the men wanted her or anyone else on the Grid to know about.
>>><<<
“It has come to my knowledge that an old friend of ours is back in the country,” Jools began. “Something that does not bode well for you and me, Harry.”
Harry did not say anything. He sat down on his chair and watched as Jools began to pace in front of him. He hadn’t removed his coat. Harry glanced at his watch.
“Jools, is this important? I need to be somewhere in ten minutes.” He began to rise from his chair.
Jools stopped his pacing and turned to look at Harry. “Arkady Kachimov is dead, Harry,” he said and Harry frowned. “Did you know that?”
Harry shook his head. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ros return her attention to something on her computer screen.
“The reason I know is because our friend sent me a photograph of the poor man in his grave,” Jools said. “Now I don’t care how he got there, or how who shot him the heart, poor fellow. However, Kachimov’s death means that rules established in a past agreement no longer apply.”
Harry sat up. “What past agreement? Between whom?”
“An agreement Kachimov and MI6 made to ensure that a mother and child be spared in place for the life of someone else, shall we say, more valuable in the long term for the Kremlin,” Jools smiled wryly. “Ah, the things we men of power often have to do for love. Sometimes even when it goes against everything we believe in.”
Harry’s brow furrowed as he contemplated Jools’ words, scarcely believing his ears. “What are you saying, Jools?”
Jools pulled up a chair and finally sat down, crossing one leg over the other as he made himself comfortable. “Nine years ago, my asset returned from Moscow damaged and pregnant - the latter I attributed to an encounter with a protege of yours, I believe, and a condition I blamed her amnesic symptoms on. If only you’d let me continue her full debrief at that time -”
“You debriefed her for over three days, Jools!” Harry countered angrily. “You forbade her sleep and food, insisting that she knew something when she didn’t. It was torture and you know it. Nathaniel could have had the best attorneys at our throat, and if not, he would have exposed your methods sooner than we would have wanted.”
Harry still remembered how Jools had kept Alexa in the interrogation room at Thames House, not notifying Nathaniel that they’d already had Alexa in London for the past three days. Instead, the moment Harry had arrived in London, after a quick medical check-up he’d allowed Jools to take over, not knowing what the head of MI6 would end up doing.
Hours after Harry learned about it, he made sure that there would be no more such harassment of Alexa George from Jools Siviter or anyone from MI6. All it had taken was a simple phone call to Jools’ wife about the mistreatment of an English citizen, daughter of a colleague.
“Well, now that we both know that she did know something after all, Harry, don’t we wish we could return to that time nine years ago and do it all over again?” Jools said sarcastically. “Depending on the outcome, she could be charged for treason.”
Harry’s face turned grim. “Don’t you even dare, Jools,” he growled. “Don’t you even think about it.”
Jools brought his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh, I won’t, Harry. But I have to bring up the fact that had you allowed me to interrogate her till she gave me the information I needed, none of this would ever have happened.”
“Somehow I have a feeling that there’s more to this than you’re willing to say, Jools,” Harry began. “What exactly do you mean by ‘none of this would ever have happened’?”
“Why, the trade, of course!” Jools said, almost mockingly, it seemed.
“Trade? What trade?”
Jools sighed. “There was a young ambitious FSB operative named Arkady Kachimov - someone I know you know by now - and he had a grand plan. He proposed an exchange, a trade of sorts. Nathaniel George, at that time Governor of the Commission of Nuclear Energy and knowledgeable of the complexities involved in a country’s rise to nuclear dominance, in exchange for keeping his family alive. Namely Alexa and Liam.”
Harry stared at Jools incredulously. “You orchestrated the exchange? That’s preposterous.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper. “What about the cancer? His death? We were both at his memorial.”
“All well planned, I’m afraid,” Jools said. “I wasn’t involved in the details. They almost fooled me until the day of the memorial when I saw Nathaniel in a car just outside the cemetery. A guest at his own memorial. Quite poetic, if you ask me.”
“And you neglected to tell me this - why?” Harry asked.
Jools shrugged. “No one was supposed to know, Harry. Besides, I know how much Alexa means to you. It was for the best. Besides, everything seemed to have gone as planned. Nathaniel, now known as Sergei Fenix - a name that’s quite appropriate for him, don’t you think? - began his work as special adviser to the Russian politicians involved in advancing Russia’s nuclear dominance in the world stage.”
“You made him into a traitor.”
“Not quite,” Jools said. “Nathaniel’s gift was subtlety, tact, and the ability to make it look like he’s advancing something when he wasn’t. It was more like a game of checks and balances, if you ask me. Two steps forward, one step back.”
“Who else knew about this on our side of the pond?” Harry asked.
“While you have the Home Secretary to answer to, mine is the Foreign Secretary. We all have our masters, Harry.”
“So why is Nathaniel back? And why kidnap his grandson and kill innocent civilians in the process? That’s so unlike the Nathaniel you and I know.”
“That’s the reason why I’m here,” began Jools. “To ask you the same question, Harry. Because for some reason, other than intel Nathaniel may have received that Alexa is known to have the names of Sugar Horse and even the names that she received from Oskar - names that would put Russia’s plans back by decades once their moles in the UK are discovered - and believe me, I want those names, this smells a bit more, shall I say, more personal.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We have a mole in this building, Harry. Maybe one, maybe more. It could be you or anyone in this office, or even mine, God forbid,” Jools said as he got up from his chair and pulled something out of his coat. It was a file, or rather, a copy of a file. The folder was too new, Harry thought, the label on the front of it white as snow.
He handed it to Harry, who turned pale as he saw the label on the front of the folder cover.
Operation Imogen.
As Harry rested the file in front of him, he knew that he didn’t need to see the file’s contents. He’d written it himself eighteen years earlier.
The operation had been simple. Once it had been determined that one of his assets had turned her loyalties over to Russia, and was confirmed to have stolen valuable intel from a high-ranking MI5 official, Harry signed the order to have her collected before she made contact with her FSB handler and hand over the classified documents.
That she gave chase through the streets of London on that rainy night had been unexpected. Yet as Harry opened the file folder and looked at the pages in front of him, he knew that as thorough as he always was in documenting operations, there was one thing he had neglected to include.
The asset had called him in the middle of the chase.
“Tell them to back off, Harry,” she said. “I’ll give you what you want. Just tell them to back off. Please.”
“Why should I?” Harry asked. “I trusted you. Of all people, I trusted you.”
“They threatened me, Harry. I had no choice,” she said. Harry could hear the honking of cars in the background. “Tell them to back off right now. I can’t let your men get me like this.”
“And how would you like my men to catch you?” Harry asked. “When sunning yourself at some tropical island? Laughing at me for being taken as a fool?”
“I’ll walk into Thames House, Harry, I promise” she said, breathless now as more car horns blared in the background. “I need to drop her off first. She can’t know. She cannot know what I’ve done.”
Harry remembered then how he had sat up in his chair. He thought he heard someone crying in the background, in the midst of all the car horns. Mama, the voice said. Mama.
“Oh my God,” he breathed.
Before the woman could say anything else, the child screamed and Harry remembered how he had gripped the sides of his desk then, as he heard the squeal of the wheels against wet pavement, the sound of metal crashing and twisting violently, and in the midst of it all, the pained shrieks of a child.
Then there was silence. Harry remembered then how a part of him had died.
“That’s a copy, in case you haven’t noticed,” Jools was saying. “Someone walked into the archives two weeks ago and took the original file out. We have no record who did it, because it’s been erased from the computer logs, and there’s a gap in the surveillance cameras, which means whoever the mole is, they’re high up and they’re damn good.”
Jools sat back down on the chair, as he added, “what a coincidence then for the timing of the original file’s disappearance. And now Nathaniel is back.”
Harry turned the pages of the file till he reached the page containing the photographs of the operation. In black and white, they looked as crisp and clear as the day he’d first seen them, bringing him back to the night he stood before the twisted metal frame of the car, the remains of a body that had burned in the driver seat. He remembered seeing the doll on the street a few feet away, blood encrusted in its hair and its joints and how he had picked it up, knowing to whom it belonged.
Operation Imogen.
“It’s become personal, Harry,” Jools said quietly. “He knows what we’ve done.”
“Knowing you, Jools, I’m sure you took every precaution ahead of time,” Harry said bitterly. “Where are Hillary and the children?”
Hillary Watt, QC was Jools’ wife, a prominent barrister and was responsible for the litigation of one of Harry’s former operatives, Zoe Reynolds.
“They’ve been on vacation the past week,” Jools replied. “I’ve sent word for them to extend it till this is over. And you?”
Harry thought of Jane, his former wife and his two children, all grown up and living their own lives, people he’d barely spoken to in years. But he wasn’t worried about them. Harry knew they were going to be alright. They were never going to be the targets.
Harry looked at Lucas’ empty desk outside his office window. “It’s too late for me, Jools,” he replied. “It’s too late.”
>>> <<<
Alexa was nervous. There was something about sitting on the passenger seat of the car that unnerved her as she watched the glistening roads, wet with the night’s rain, whizz past. Lucas was focusing on the road in front of him, turning left, then right as he maneuvered his way through the side streets that would take them to the ‘guesthouse’ as fast as possible. There was a determination in his actions.
Lucas said that the ‘guesthouse’ was a code word only he and Harry only knew about, a store front that used to house surveillance equipment close to Vauxhall Cross. It was also a place that Jools Siviter used a few times.
At the mention of Jools’ name, Alexa stared at Lucas, frowning.
“You know Jools Siviter?”
Lucas shook his head. “Not personally, though everyone at Five knows who he is,” he said. “He is Mikhael’s boss, if what you say about him being MI6 is true.”
Alexa nodded. “He doesn’t know that I know what he is,” she said softly, folding her long legs in front of her and hugging her knees to her chest. “But I’ve been around them for so long that it’s second nature to spot them. Just like I spotted you the moment you walked into the club in Moscow.”
“There’s a way spooks carry themselves,” Alexa continued. “Always wary, never letting their guard down. The good ones, at least. And then there’s the eyes. Always watching for every detail, not wanting to miss a thing.”
“Is that an observation gleaned from Harry himself?” Lucas asked. He shifted gears, turning into a less busier street. It had been so long since he’d last driven that it took Lucas a while to get used to the clutch. But it felt good to be behind the wheel, he thought. It felt good to be back in control.
“From my mother,” Alexa replied.
Lucas looked at her quizzically. Her mother had been a housewife, he thought. “Your mother?”
“I was eight years old when I figured out what my mother did. I was ten by the time it was really clear.” As Alexa spoke, she had a faraway look in her eyes. “After she died, I found her diary inside my room. She’d hidden it inside my toy chest so my father wouldn’t find it. But she wasn’t a spook. She was an asset, just like I was, or am, to Six.”
Lucas did not say anything. His throat tightened at the idea of Mikhael having recruited her to work for him when he could have sent her back home through the British Embassy in Moscow.
“She translated foreign documents in Cologne when Harry first met her and recruited her to do simple things. Deliver documents, forge certain ones. Every single job he gave her was so exciting for her,” she said, smiling. “Then she met my dad, who was working there as some type of secretary, some starting position that gave him a foothold in the Foreign Service and make his skills known. Three weeks later, they were married.”
“They fell in love then,” Lucas smiled as he looked at her. “It happens.”
“You actually believe that?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she eyed Lucas suspiciously but smiled, teasing. “Why do I find that so hard to believe?”
Lucas reached for her hand, squeezing it before resting it on his lap. He shrugged, grateful for the light-hearted moment between them.
“It does happen, Alexa George,” he laughed, and for a brief second he wanted to add something else, but stopped himself before the words slipped from his lips.
“I’ll believe it when I see it, Lucas North,” she said as she turned to look outside the window again, closing her eyes as she sighed. “Till then, I think I’ll settle for the sex. Sometimes it’s less painful that way.”
“I hope you’re just saying that to shock me, Alex,” he said grimly. “This isn’t all about sex.”
Lucas released her hand to shift gears again, then touched her cheek, feeling her take a sharp intake of breath as the gesture took her by surprise and she stared at him, her eyes suddenly watering. How long had it been, she thought to herself, since someone had touched her in that way?
It does happen, Alexa, Lucas wanted to tell her. Falling in love.
Suddenly a white Range Rover appeared in the rearview mirror and before Lucas could step on the gas to speed up, it barreled into them, the sound of crunching metal filling the air. As Lucas fought hard to grip the wheel, struggling to control the car as the Range Rover slammed into them again, the Lexus spun wildly across the street.
Alexa froze, her eyes wide as she watched Lucas grip the steering wheel, the muscles of his forearms tensing from the effort of keeping the car under control. As she straightened her legs in front of her she turned to see the white Range Rover rushing towards her side of the car as if in slow motion.
It was like something from a dream, she thought, as she found herself focusing on the Range Rover's car plate closing in on them, the combination of numbers and letters bringing her back to one night a long time ago.
Fear gripped her heart as Alexa screamed, realizing that she had seen that car plate before.
She’d seen it the night her mother died.
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