Blood For Blood Part V

[Silktie]

WARNING: LANGUAGE

I totally made up all the technical stuff in this chapter, so please don't try any of it at home...

PART V

Saturday 20 November, Evening
Outskirts of Belfast

“Hello, Liam.” Harry is surprised at how steady his voice is.
“Well, well, well. I thought you’d be dead by now.” The lilting Irish accent does not fool Harry; he can see his former agent is still the same hard, dangerous and intelligent man that he recruited all those years ago.
Liam leads them along the corridor to a small sitting room in the back. As they pass a door, Harry glances in, and sees an old woman watching a muted TV. Liam notices him looking.
“Me Mam. Don’t bother greeting, she’s as deaf as a post.”

They settle on the sofa and two chairs. Ever since entering the house, Harry has felt all his senses sharpen, and the old, familiar, cold control and focus settle over him. It seems he’ll never lose the instincts that kept him alive during his years as a field agent. Liam splashes some Scotch into three glasses without asking, and hands them around. As he settles back on the sofa, he nods in Lucas’ direction.
“Who’s this then?”
Harry regards Steak Knife clinically, noting every shift in expression on the man’s face; trying to gauge whether he would still be willing to act as an agent, and picking up on an underlying belligerence in his posture which does not bode well. Lucas remains quiet, waiting to see how things play out between Harry and his former agent. Harry’s eyes, hard and dark, remain on Liam’s face as he answers on Lucas’ behalf.
“That’s John, a colleague of mine.”

Liam laughs mirthlessly. “’Course it is. That’s the trouble with you lot – no imagination when it comes to legends. You’re all fuckin’ called John.”
“Hmm. And the trouble with the Irish is that even when there are only five of you, you still manage to form three political parties and about seven splinter groups.” Harry takes a sip of his drink, before continuing casually.
“So what are you these days? I can’t see you as a Sinn Fein member, all committed to dialogue and a peaceful solution. No, I’m guessing you call one of the many Republican splinter groups home nowadays.”

Lucas can only marvel at how effortlessly Harry has steered the conversation to where he wants it to be. Liam smiles at Harry, but there is no warmth in it.
“I’ve retired.” There’s a defiant note in his voice, and Harry’s stare hardens even more.
“I thought revolutionaries only retire when they die.” There is an implied threat in the statement.
Liam gives a bark of laughter, and looks at Lucas. “He’s still the same hard bastard that he was thirty years ago. Let me tell you, never play poker with him. He stood by and watched the Nutting Squad shoot his agents in the back of the knees, and didn’t bat a fuckin’ eye.” He turns back to Harry.
“You lot let me go in ’98; now, at the first whiff of trouble, you’re back, begging bowl in hand. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Harry regards him coldly. For the first time, a dangerous note creeps into his voice.
“The kidnap, torture and murder of an MI5 officer bought you a lot of currency thirty years ago. No-one is going to question the loyalty of a man who did that, are they?” He sits forward, pinning Liam in his glare.
“We sacrificed our officer back then to protect you. You have a debt to us, and I’m collecting. Make no mistake; I will not hesitate to send your friends the details of your very large bank account in Gibraltar, and details of how you sold them out for twenty years.”
“You fuckin’ bastard!” Liam jumps to his feet, and Lucas moves swiftly to put himself between the Irishman and his boss.

“Easy there, Steak Knife. All we’re looking for here is a little information.” Lucas glances at Harry, who nods at him to continue.
“The next round of Northern Ireland talks starts here in Belfast the day after tomorrow. We know that Republican Sinn Fein, Continuity IRA and Real IRA are planning something big.” He doesn’t miss the spark of recognition in the man’s eyes, as Liam sinks down onto the sofa again.
“You know something, don’t you?”
The former agent casts a baleful look in Harry’s direction, whose expression leaves him in no doubt that Harry would love nothing more than to sell him out to the Republicans. The older MI5 man has him neatly backed into a corner, leaving him no option but to cooperate. He sighs, and nods.
“Aye. I’m in Real IRA. I know that Peter Miller’s been working on a huge fuckin’ bomb.”
Harry and Lucas glance at each other, before Harry takes over the questioning. “When is the attack going to happen?”
“I’m not supposed to know that. The execution is going to be done by Republican Sinn Fein – we’re just supposed to deliver the goods.” He smiles.
“But Pete is building a beauty, remote trigger and everything, and only he can install the thing safely in whatever vehicle they’re going to use.” He pauses. “They’ve asked him to be ready on Monday.” Liam looks between Harry and Lucas. “And that’s all I know.”

Lucas believes him. “That’s a good start. You find out anything else, you contact me.” He hands over a slip of paper with his mobile number before moving towards the door. As Harry follows him, Liam takes something out of his pocket and places it on the coffee table.
“I think we have another matter to discuss, Harry. Without your friend.”
Harry looks at the ring Liam has placed on the table, and goes very still. He is surprised to feel tears prick his eyes.
“Leave us, John.”
Lucas doesn’t like the hoarse note in Harry’s voice one bit, and glances between him and Liam.
“I don’t think that’s a good…”
Harry rounds on him. “Leave us!”
Lucas has never seen such fury in Harry’s expression before, so he backs off, hoping to God Harry isn’t about to kill their only source of information, with the guy’s mother sitting only metres away to boot. He holds Harry’s glare, and tries to break through the fog of anger that has descended on his boss.
“We need him, Harry… I’ll wait outside.”

As soon as they’re alone, Liam speaks. “You recognise it then?”
“It was Bill’s.” Harry’s voice is almost a whisper. He is breathing hard, trying to keep control of his emotions. After an eternity he tears his eyes from the ring, and glares at Liam.
“I want the men who tortured my friend.”
“I thought you might…” Liam takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think they’d kill him, but Patrick McCann just lost it. He was so pissed that you’d been able to infiltrate us like that, he couldn’t help himself. Kept saying it was a lesson to you, and that you’d be next.”

Harry has become pale with the effort of controlling himself, and not spring across the room and snap the man’s neck. He grinds out his words between clenched teeth.
“McCann is dead. He couldn’t have done that to Bill alone. I want the men who helped him.”
Liam regards him with a slight smirk. “You should have been Irish; you’re very good at holding grudges…”
He’d barely finished speaking when Harry is on him and slams him against the wall.
“I have waited thirty two fucking years to right this wrong, to get my hands on the men who killed my friend. His blood is all over your hands too, but I can’t touch you, I need you. But there were others, and I can touch them - now can you bloody deliver them or not?!”

The other man claws at his hands, and he realises belatedly that they are clamped around Liam’s neck, slowly squeezing the life out of him. Harry releases his grip, but keeps the other man pinned against the wall with his body, looking into his eyes, and noticing a spark of fear in them. Gasping for air, Liam nods.
“There were… two others. Paddy Williams and Chris Burton. I can set up a meet. Tomorrow night… the farm on the road to Armagh where we’d tortured your friend. You know it?”
Harry backs away slowly, nodding mutely, remembering again how he’d gotten there just after they’d left, how Bill’s blood was spattered over the floor, how the smell of seared flesh still lingered in the air.
“I’ll be there.” His voice sounds strangled. As he passes the coffee table, he picks up Bill’s ring and puts it in his pocket. He leaves without another word.

When he gets outside, he looks upwards, letting the rain fall on his face, and tries not to think about how close he came to killing Steak Knife with his bare hands. Lucas is leaning against the house beside the door, and pushes his lanky frame upright to join Harry.
“He still alive then?”
Harry nods curtly, and tosses him the car keys. “You drive.” He shoves his shaking hands into his pockets; his left hand curling around Bill’s ring.

* * *

Lucas glances across at Harry as they drive back to the hotel. The older man is leaning his head back against the head-rest, his eyes closed. Drops of rain still cling to his face. He looks exhausted, drained.
“Harry.” Lucas speaks softly, almost reverently. “I’m sorry that you can’t kill him.”
Harry turns his head, a surprised look on his face. Before he can say anything, Lucas continues.
“You think I don’t understand the need for revenge? After everything that I… You think I don’t lie awake each night, fantasising about killing every single one of the bastards that interrogated me?!”

Harry can hear the suppressed emotion, the anger, in Lucas’ voice, and his heart aches for what this man must have suffered. There is nothing he can say that will make it better; he knows all too well that only Lucas can exorcise his own demons. But he wants to give him something, to reach out in some way.
“Kachimov is dead.”
Neither he nor Ros ever told anyone about what had happened to Kachimov, and although his team may have suspected, no-one dared ask.
Lucas breathes deeply. “I suspected as much. Did you kill him?”
“Yes. I shot him through the heart. And as much as it was revenge for Adam’s death, it was also about you on some level. I can’t undo what you’ve endured, Lucas, but… it was something.”

Lucas is quiet for a long time, before he finally speaks softly, almost to himself.
“Yes. It’s something.”

* * *

Lucas drops Harry in front of the hotel and drives off to return the car. As soon as he’s out of sight, Harry walks back out into the rain. He takes a circuitous route, until he reaches the address where Malcolm has settled. Aware that he must look like a drenched rat by this time, he gratefully accepts Malcolm’s offer of tea and settles himself in the chair closest to the radiator. He waits until Malcolm has sat down across from him.
“Thanks for the surveillance information; you did a very thorough job in precious little time, as always.”
“Did it help you to find out more about the Republicans’ plans?”
“As a matter of fact, it did.”
Malcolm listens carefully as Harry explains what they’d learnt from Steak Knife.

“Okay. So it appears we’ll be dealing with a remote detonation scenario. There’s a number of ways that this can be done. Most often they use a mobile phone – you connect one to the bomb and when you call that number, it detonates after three rings, or whatever the case may be.”
Harry is tired, and wants to get to the nub of the problem as quickly as possible.
“So can you stop it?”
“Well, I’ve been working on a little gadget. There is a problem though.”
Harry rolls his eyes, gesturing at Malcolm to give him the worst.

“I’ve been looking through the Police reports linked to all the bombings Peter Miller is connected with…”
“Dear God,” Harry interjects, “between you and Ruth there is probably no information in the world that you couldn’t access. Thank God you’re on our side…”
“…And he seems to favour two remote detonation options for each bomb. Yes, he uses the mobile phone option, but he’s also used an infrared trigger as back-up on some of his bigger jobs.”
“Let me guess; that one is much harder to counter.”
“Yes. You see, the problem is that in the infrared range you have a much larger number of frequencies…”
“Malcolm.” Harry closes his eyes tiredly. “Spare me the techno babble. Just tell me whether there is any chance of blocking it.”
“Right.” Malcolm points to two little black boxes lying on the table behind Harry.

“The mobile phone trigger I can block from here. It’s a simple matter of scanning for any new active mobiles in the area that have never received a call…” Harry gives him a warning look.
“Sorry. For the infrared trigger’s blocking device to be effective, one needs to be within a radius of 300 metres. Miller will have to be close to the hotel somewhere in order for his trigger to work, so you’ll have to find him and have someone operating the blocking device near him to stop it.”
“Any thoughts on how we might find him?”
“He’ll have to send out a number of range-finding infrared pulses. If we can pick those up, we can use it to pinpoint his location.”
“Okay. Communicate with Ruth – get her the equipment she needs to pinpoint the pulses. If you both work on it, we have a better chance of getting someone close with the blocking gadget.”
Malcolm nods. Harry stands up, hesitates, then reaches into his coat pocket.
“I need you to do something else for me.”
He places Bill’s ring on the table between them.

* * *

Same Day, Late Night
Hotel Operations Centre

Harry has assembled them all, updating them on the latest information and explaining the plan for blocking the remote detonation devices. He makes no mention of the source of the information.
“Ruth, you’ll stay here in the Operations Centre, scanning for the pulses and pinpointing our bomber’s location. Lucas, I want you mobile – I think a motorbike would work best – with the infrared blocking device. You’ll have to circle the hotel and be prepared to move at speed to whatever location Ruth gives you.”
Beth speaks up. “If there are two of us out there we can divide the area and cut down on response time.”

Harry rubs a hand over his face. “That’s true, but I want you to stick close to the Sinn Fein delegation come hell or high water. Even if the whole bloody building falls down, you stay with them.”
Lucas frowns. “You think there’s something else going on?”
Harry purses his lips. “I can’t help thinking there’s got to be more to this. The splinter groups have to know that their chances of getting that bomb through all the security checks, and close enough to kill the participants at the talks, are extremely slim. It doesn’t make sense.”
“A bold statement of intent, perhaps? Even if the bomb doesn’t kill anyone, it’ll still get their message across,” Beth ventures.
Ruth looks at Harry. “A diversionary tactic.”
Lucas nods. “We’ll be focussed on sorting out the mess, thinking the danger has passed… It’ll leave us more vulnerable to a second attack.”
“Yes,” Harry sighs. “But we have no idea what.”

Silence descends as, for once, no-one has any suggestions. Ruth breaks it after a few seconds with a slight change in topic.
“I think we can narrow down the probable time of the bomb attack.”
Harry looks at her, his eyes soft. “Explain.”
“Well, if we’re right that it’s only a diversion, they’ll want to use it when it will cause the most confusion, yes? If the information that the attack’s going to be on Monday is right, then the opening ceremony is a good bet. It’ll be the first time that all the delegates will be present and in one place, and there’ll be a lot of press, which will greatly enhance their chances of causing chaos.”
Lucas smiles in admiration. “So, Monday between four and five o’clock is most likely to be our zero hour, then.”
Harry notices Beth stifle a yawn, and feels a pang of guilt over how hard he’s been driving them on this operation.
“Okay, that’s it for today. Get some sleep everyone… and good work.”

As Ruth makes a final tour of the Operations Centre, making sure all systems are running correctly, she notices Harry linger behind.
“Thanks for the flower.” She smiles at him. He returns it with a bashful smile of his own.
“I didn’t mean to belittle your value this morning, Ruth. I’ve never thought of you as my secretary. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you think that.”
Ruth waves a hand in the air. “I know. I’m just…” She moves closer to him. “I’m a little on edge about this operation.”
Harry gives in to temptation, and pulls her against him, rubbing her back. “I haven’t made things easy for you, have I?”
She holds him tightly. “It’s not that… I worry about you, about what this operation is doing to you.”
“I’m fine.”
Ruth closes her eyes in resignation. She can feel the tension running through his body as she holds him; she knows he is lying to her.
“Of course.” She pulls away. “I have to finish here.”
The desolate look on her face breaks his heart, but he doesn’t know how to make it better, so he turns around and leaves quietly.

* * *

Sunday 21 November, Afternoon
Hotel Operations Centre

There is a rare lull in a very busy day, and Ruth gratefully uses the time to sip a cup of tea. She wearily rubs her neck; after the unsatisfactory encounter with Harry last night she hadn’t slept well, more concerned than ever about the things he is clearly not telling her. It is obvious to her that his former agent, Steak Knife, is the source of the latest information about the attack, yet Harry has not breathed a single word to her about meeting one of the men responsible for his friend’s death. It’s not that she expects him to tell her everything; she is more concerned about the reason behind his silence than about the silence itself. And then, this morning, she had run into him at breakfast, but he’d been preoccupied and distant, and she couldn’t break through his walls.

For the rest of the day, he has driven them all mercilessly, double- and triple-checking every conceivable aspect of the operation. He has not been his normal self, and she could sense a nervous tension in him every time they were in the same room. Ruth has only been in Belfast for one day, and she’s only seen the airport and the hotel, but already she is sick of the place, and wants nothing more than for this operation to be over.

* * *

It is mid-afternoon when Harry finishes his preparations at the hotel, and finally feels satisfied that his team can continue with the operation without him if things should go wrong that evening. He dresses quickly, planning to slip out of the hotel quietly and be on his way without anyone knowing. However, when he checks his appearance one last time in the mirror, it is not his own face he sees, but Ruth’s concerned eyes. Harry knows he is risking his life in going to meet the two former PIRAs on his own, but this is his fight, and he doesn’t want to compromise anyone else by involving them. But now, as he stands on the cusp of closing this circle that has been open for thirty two years, it seems that he can’t bring himself to leave without seeing Ruth one last time. Annoyed at his weakness, he leaves his room, and turns towards the Operations Centre.

* * *

Harry stands in the open door, unobserved, and watches the woman he loves as she drinks her tea. He sees the little frown of concern between her eyes, and the preoccupied look on her face, and knows that he is responsible for it. It breaks his heart, and he wonders, once this is all over, and if he survives, whether she will forgive him, and knows that she will have every reason not to. He moves into the room.
“Hi.”
She looks up, surprised, and gives him a little smile. “Hi.”
But then she notices what he is wearing: dark trousers and polo neck sweater, boots, and weatherproof jacket, and her smile falters.

“Harry? What are you…” Fear grips her, cuts off the end of her sentence.
He tries to smile reassuringly, but knows that he is failing miserably.
“There’s something I have to take care of.”
She starts to shake her head, looking at him imploringly.
“No, Harry, please don’t d…”
He interrupts her roughly. “Don’t, Ruth. Don’t ask me to choose between you and what I have to do.” There is despair in his eyes, tempering his harsh words.
Ruth looks at him, and though there is still fear in her expression, he can also see anger burning brightly.
“You think this is about me?! It isn’t about me, or even about us. I’m asking you not to do it for yourself!” Her voice softens. “How many times can you do something like this, and still believe that you are the same good and moral man that you’ve always been?”

He looks away from her, and when he answers, his voice is soft and filled with regret.
“You have always believed me to be a better man than I truly am… I’m sorry. I can’t walk away from this.”
It’s true. This operation has opened a wound that has been festering for thirty two years, and he knows he will not be able to live with himself if he doesn’t go tonight. He seeks her eyes again, and it is one of the gentlest, most loving looks he has ever given her.
“Ruth Evershed, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Before she can respond, he has turned and disappeared through the door.

TBC

[Lukyan Lyubof]

Wow you write quickly, I'm really getting into the story and can see it playing it out in front of me

[Tea Lady]

OMG! And I thought I was stressed reading the last chapter! Oh, Harry. Why can you not let the past be the past? Poor Ruth, how does she put up with it all?

Got a lovely image of Harry in "ambush outfit" in my mind.

Great stuff again Silktie.

---

Oh, just noticed the new Harry Avatar as well. Terrific.

[lwhite53]

I don't have any more superlatives to use - this is just one damn good story! Love the Harry/Lucas scene in the car, Harry/Malcolm, and most definitely H/R. Wonderful stuff.

[A Cousin]

Two intensely insightful lines on so many levels to commend you for:

Harry is surprised at how steady his voice is so subtly conveys every emotion he has going on in that moment.

and

You have always believed me to be a better man than I truly am… says as much about Ruth's tendency to hero worship Harry as it does about Harry's view of himself.

This is how emotionally invested I am with this story now: if Harry dies I will cry. If he comes back to Ruth, I will cry. Doesn't matter.

'Nuff said.

[pook]

Love love love this!

Brilliantly written, very graphic but with a layer of subtlety, well done!

Can't wait for Lucas to get on his motorbike

[JHyde]

Ah Harry. You never learn, do you?

Really liked this, especially the line about the Irish and grudges.

[Silktie]

As he settles back on the sofa, he nods in Lucas’ direction.
“Who’s this then?”
Lucas remains quiet, waiting to see how things play out between Harry and his former agent. Harry’s eyes, hard and dark, remain on Liam’s face as he answers on Lucas’ behalf.
“That’s John, a colleague of mine.”

Bwah! I'm psychic.

[Tea Lady]

Very funny Silktie. Perhaps Kudos were reading it too. Wish they had paid attention to the H/R bits as well, if they were.