The Man On The Wall Part III

[Silktie]

PART III

Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
- Lord Alfred Tennyson, Ulysses

26 November
Home Secretary’s office

Ruth is quiet for a long time, before asking: “Does Harry know what you’re doing?”
“No. He’s too proud to ask for help.”
She looks pensive.
“Or maybe he doesn’t want to come back.”
Towers studies her, noting the conflicting emotions running across her face.
“Miss Evershed, I’m going to assume that he is not thinking very clearly at this particular time. Who can blame him with everything that’s happened? But I think he deserves to make that decision on his own terms without being forced into it. Don’t you?”

Ruth fiddles with the hem of her jacket restlessly whilst a maelstrom of thoughts runs through her mind. She thinks about her recent criticism of Harry’s decisions and actions, how they’ve struggled to work together after the rejected proposal, and that her work is really all that is giving her life some meaning at present. Can she risk all that to save Harry’s career when there is every chance that he no longer wants it? Can she reconcile her conscience with stealing classified information? On the other hand, can she reconcile her heart with not doing everything in her power to save the legacy of the man she increasingly realises she loves more than anything? Can she live with the knowledge that he will forever be remembered for this last desperate act rather than all the good he’s achieved? There is a note of anguish in her voice when she finally speaks.
“I need some time to think about it.”

* * *

29 November
Runswick Bay

Harry settles in the armchair in front of the fire, stretching his legs in front of him gratefully. His body aches, but it is a good ache; the sort that comes from an honest day of manual labour. He has been helping Matthew in the church for the last two days, and it has been a balm for his psyche. It has been some time since he has felt this relaxed. Almost content.
Almost, but not quite.

While he manages to empty his mind of all thought about the predicament he is in, and of her, whilst he is working with the wood, it all comes back when he relaxes in the evenings. Then his thoughts invariably go to the Grid, and he asks himself whether he really wants to submit himself to the rigours and pressures of that life again. Often he thinks not, but then the faces of all those who’ve sacrificed their lives rear up, and he feels ashamed. Will he be betraying them as well if he walks away? It’s a question he can’t yet answer.

The wind coming off the North Sea is bitterly cold, and it buffets the trees around the cottage in great gusts. Matthew informed him that this means they will soon have the first snow. He puts another log on the fire and picks up the book he is reading. For a moment, he doesn’t open it, merely rests his hand on the cover gently, remembering. He has given up trying to put Ruth out of his mind for good. After torturing himself with recrimination every time she occupied his thoughts for so long, he has made his peace with it. She will forever be a part of him, and he has decided, for his own sanity, not to fight it any more. So he allows himself a few moments each evening to think of her, to cherish his memories of her. To love her.

It is in that moment that his mind suddenly makes the connection. He knows who the man in the Rolls Royce is. He gets up to pace the living room, carefully dredging every detail he can remember from the recesses of his brain. The book lies temporarily forgotten on the armchair. He takes his time, turning all the snippets of information over in his mind, trying to fit them together like pieces of a puzzle. When it all suddenly clicks together, he stops. Turning towards the window, he stares out at the darkness. He doesn’t see the branches bending and whipping in the wind; instead he sees the sweep of coast lying beyond it in his mind’s eye, and the vast North Sea beyond that.

As he starts towards his mobile, he experiences a moment of indecision, of questioning his own judgement. Something that has been happening more often than he’d like to admit over the last few months. Is he another sad case of a former intelligence officer who can’t let the life go? Is he seeing conspiracies where there aren’t any? Or is the instinct that’s served him so well throughout his career still alive and well? He wavers for a second longer.
“Sod it,” he says to himself, then picks up his mobile. The other end is answered after just two rings.
“Malcolm? Do you fancy spending a few days in Yorkshire? And would you mind bringing a few toys along?”

* * *

30 November
Home Secretary’s house, late evening

William Towers is about to get into bed when his mobile rings. He doesn’t recognise the number.
“Hullo?”
A female voice speaks: “There is a memory stick in your safe. You’ll find everything you need on it.”
Towers is stunned. He did not come away from his meeting with Ruth with any confidence that she would help. And now this. How did she get into his house, and his safe? He recovers quickly.
“Thank you. May I ask why?”
There is a smile in her voice when she answers.
“…Let’s just say I found the alternative unacceptable.”
The line goes dead. Towers stares at the phone in his hand, before getting up to go to his safe.
“Bloody spooks,” he mutters, but he is smiling too.

* * *

01 December
Runswick Bay

Harry and Malcolm sit around the table with steaming mugs of tea in front of them. They have dispensed with the social niceties and are about to get down to business. Uncharacteristically, Harry hesitates, leading Malcolm to prod: “So, why am I here?”
Harry sighs. Now that he is about to spell out his suspicions to another person, they begin to seem slightly ridiculous.
“I’m going to lay out a theory for you, Malcolm, and if you find it inconceivable you are welcome to get right back into your car and go home.”
Malcolm nods, intrigued.

Harry explains his thinking, and as he does so, he can sense the other man’s interest sharpen and focus the longer he talks.
“I saw Charles Devon in the village a few days ago. Curiously, he was handing a fat envelope to one of the local yobs. That piqued my interest – what connection could a distinguished businessman have to a bunch of louts? A few days later I was walking with Scarlet on the beach, and I saw these same guys launching a rubber dinghy from the beach a few times. It was as if they were practising for something. It got me thinking. Remember that Devon’s name came up a few times in connection with providing financial and other support to Al Qaeda?”
Malcolm says, “Yes. I remember his only son was accidentally killed by a British bomb in Afghanistan whilst doing humanitarian work there. We thought that may have motivated the support to Al Qaeda.”
Harry gets up to refill their mugs.
“Exactly. Just before my suspension, we began to pick up hints that a senior Al Qaeda member will be coming to the UK. He is expected to coordinate a number of terror attacks on British soil.”
He looks at Malcolm.
“Rumour was that he would come in aboard an oil tanker. We automatically assumed it would be one of the oil tankers arriving from the Middle East, but…”
Harry paused, looking out the window in the direction of the ocean again.
“The oil tankers from Norway passes right by the coast here.”
The two men absorb the implications of the statement. Malcolm takes a breath.
“You think Devon is going to help this man get ashore here, and that he’s using those yobs to do it?”
Harry nods. “I do.”

They sit in silence for a while; Harry waits patiently while Malcolm thinks things through. Finally he looks up.
“Well, the evidence is a little tenuous… But your instincts are seldom wrong, Harry.”
He smiles at his former boss.
“Where do we start?”
Harry is greatly moved by the vote of confidence. He has to take a moment before speaking.
“The yobs are staying in the caravan park. We need to bug them and get more evidence, and hopefully a date for the arrival of the package. That shouldn’t be too hard, I should think.”
Malcolm lifts his eyebrows and looks Harry up and down.
“Except for the fact that neither of us remotely looks the type that would set foot in a caravan park,” he points out.
They look at each other.
“Bugger,” Harry says, with feeling, and they both start to laugh. Once they’ve calmed down, he smiles at Malcolm enigmatically.
“I know someone who does, though.”

* * *

Two hours later

“Will you help us?”
Matthew looks at the two men in front of him incredulously, trying to process everything he’s been told. Al Qaeda, terror attacks, British millionaires financing and helping them, and to top it all, the two men in front of him spooks from MI5. All happening in sleepy old Runswick Bay. It seems too farfetched to be true, and yet…
It is the quiet authority with which Harry informed him of these facts that gives him pause. This is a man used to wielding power, who expects to be obeyed when giving an order. It is also clear that the other man has great respect for Harry. He finds himself nodding in assent.
Harry says, “That’s good,” but Matthew has the feeling that he never doubted he would get the assistance he’s asked for.

“We’d also like to use the church spire as a base of operations – to pick up the signals from the bugs. It has a nice clear sightline to the caravan park, I’ve noticed. This does mean either Malcolm or myself will be up there at all times to monitor the equipment. You don’t have any objection, do you?”
Once again, Matthew has the distinct feeling that refusing Harry’s request is not an option. He sighs.
“Fine. But he,” he points at Malcolm, “better abide by my rule – I don’t want any mindless wittering on.”
“I beg your pardon?! I do not ‘witter on’!” Malcolm’s face is a picture of affrontation.
Matthew and Harry look at each other in amusement before Harry walks away, laughing.

* * *

04 December
Runswick Bay

Malcolm removes his headset when Harry enters the room and drops it on the table in disgust.
“Dear Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to a bunch of more uncouth people than this lot. Belching competitions? Whatever happened to reading a good book to pass the time?”
Harry suppresses a smile.
“Hmm. We’re not exactly dealing with the cream of society here. Anything yet?”
“No. Just some more information about their drug smuggling activities. They’ll be going down for a while once we give it to the Drug Squad,” he says with some satisfaction.
“All right. I’ll take the night shift. You get some rest.” Harry sets a book down on the table. He stands motionless for a moment, his fingers resting lightly on the cover.

Malcolm watches him silently. He recognises the book as one that he, Harry and Ruth once held an animated debate over. Clearing his throat, he interrupts Harry’s reverie in a quiet voice.
“I happen to know where her choir will be performing on the 12th.”
Harry doesn’t bother asking how Malcolm knew he was thinking about Ruth. Instead, he sighs sadly.
“I don’t think she’d want me there, Malcolm. But thank you for the thought.”
Malcolm gets up to leave. As he passes Harry, he presses a piece of paper into his hand.
“She doesn’t have to know you’re there, does she?” With that he leaves the other man to his thoughts and regrets.

* * *

10 December
Runswick Bay

“Harry!”
Malcolm comes clattering down the stairs of the spire and bursts into the church. Harry and Matthew look up from their various tasks expectantly.
“We’ve got it! We’ve got a date for the Al Qaeda man’s arrival.” He looks between his audience of two triumphantly.
“Next Thursday, the sixteenth. We also have the coordinates of the pick-up and the name of the oil tanker. And,” he pauses dramatically, “they mention Devon by name.”
Harry nods, smiles a little, but says nothing. Matthew looks at him with something like wonder.
“You were right about the whole thing… Bloody hell.”
Malcolm sobers.
“How are we going to persuade the powers that be, though? They might not believe a suspended officer, or a retired one for that matter.”
Harry looks at one of the restored frescoes pensively, thinking about healing beautiful, damaged things.
“They’ll believe a serving officer though. It seems I’ll be attending that choir performance after all.”

* * *

12 December
London, evening

Harry slips into the darkened hall after the performance has begun. He sits in the back, where Ruth will not be able to spot him in the deep gloom. When he locates her among the choristers, he is unprepared for the intensity of the emotions that wash over him at seeing her again. He inhales sharply, causing the woman next to him to glance at him curiously. Ignoring her, he keeps his gaze fixed on Ruth. God, how he’s missed her. For the hour and a half that the performance lasts, he immerses himself in the music, barely daring to blink. He doesn’t want to miss a second of this time he’s allowed to just observe her, to drink in every minute detail of her appearance. When the performance comes to an end and the choir leaves the stage, he feels bereft. He slips out the door. It is time to put his plan into action.

Ruth is one of the last people to exit the hall through the smaller side entrance. When she steps outside into the narrow lane, she notices that fog has settled over London. It makes the street lights glow with other-worldly halos. She has just reached her car when a young boy approaches her.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
She turns towards him. He thrusts three long-stemmed red roses, wrapped in paper, at her.
“These are for you.”
As soon as she takes them from his outstretched hand, he darts off.

“Wait!” She starts after him when she catches a glimpse of a very familiar silhouette under a streetlamp halfway down the block; an impression of a stocky figure in a long dark coat with an upturned collar. Her heart lurches. But when she turns to look at the spot, there is no-one there. Only the suggestion of misted breath still hanging in the air. Or perhaps it is just the fog. Ruth stands on the pavement for a moment, surprised at the depth of her disappointment. Then she gets into the car and carefully unwraps the roses. There is a memory stick taped to the stems, and she smiles. Maybe it wasn’t just her imagination conjuring up the one person she so desperately misses, after all. As she drives home she feels happier than she’s done in a long time.

* * *

13 December
JIC Offices

Towers bustles into the room with a heavy looking cardboard box in his hands. He looks up at the other five members of the panel, noting their expressions of annoyance and Dolby’s pointed look at his watch.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sounding out of breath.
He dumps the heavy box on the table and starts unloading thick folders from them, which he hands around.

The MI5 DG, Charles Buckhurst, frowns. “What’s this?”
“This,” Towers says, straightening his spine gratefully and beaming at them genially, “is Harry Pearce’s full file.”
They all stare at him in amazement. Dolby and Buckhurst share a quick glance.
Towers continues, “It seems, Judge Bishop, that the original file provided to us was missing some salient information.” He looks at Dolby and Buckhurst.
“Strangely enough, it is mostly things that would paint Harry in a good light that seems to be missing. Such as him volunteering to infiltrate the Iranian embassy during that siege in May 1980, and spending six days isolated inside, constantly under threat of discovery and death, so that he could feed back information to the outside? Or how he saved Prime Minister Thatcher’s life during the Chelsea vs Boca Juniors match in August 1983? Then there was the time he saved Prime Minister John Major’s life from a terrorist attack on 10 Downing Street. Not to mention that he had to do it on his own, because his superiors disregarded his warnings about the imminent attack. Luckily for our then PM, Harry is the type of man to disregard orders and follow his instincts on some occasions…”

Dolby is on his feet, his face a peculiar shade of red.
“This is outrageous! Where did you get this file?” He turns to the other panel members.
“It’s a fake. I’m guessing you got it from Ruth Evershed. Well, she’s obviously trying to save her lover’s career by faking this nonsense…”
Towers interrupts him.
“Come now, Richard. Let’s not be vulgar. Miss Evershed is not the only one who wishes to save Harry, and that’s all I’m going to say about my source. As to the authenticity of the information, don’t take my word for it.”
He turns to Judge Bishop.
“I have two witnesses who would like to speak on Sir Harry’s behalf.”
When the judge nods his assent, Towers goes to the door and calls them in.

As soon as they enter the room, all colour drains from Dolby and Buckhurst’s faces. Everyone in the room hurriedly get to their feet, and a deathly hush settles over the room. No-one dares to speak whilst the two people are being seated. Before the members of the panel can sit back down, one of the witnesses breaks the silence.
“You’re a bunch of idiots for wanting to get rid of Harry Pearce,” Baroness Thatcher states in that high, distinctive voice, staring them down.
Beside her, John Major nods his assent.

* * *

16 December
Runswick Bay, dawn

Harry and Malcolm watch from their concealed vantage point as the rubber dinghy beaches itself with a low rumble of the engine. They count four silhouettes in the boat. The men begin to unload three heavy-looking suitcases.
“The explosives,” Malcolm murmurs. Harry nods.
The next moment, Special Forces are swarming all over the beach, taking down the men and confiscating the suitcases. It all goes off without a hitch as they catch the men totally unawares. The two spooks retreat quietly to Harry’s cottage, where they celebrate with a hearty breakfast and freshly brewed coffee.

Harry is pleasantly surprised at how much satisfaction he derives from the successful outcome.

* * *

23 December
Runswick Bay, early morning

When Harry and Scarlet return from their habitual early morning walk she is waiting for them. Seated on a log next to the front door of the cottage, her red scarf is the only splash of colour against the snow covered surroundings. Harry freezes at the sight of her, but Scarlet bounds over and showers her with affection. She gathers the wriggling dog in her arms, then looks at him hesitantly.
“Hi.”
He finally finds his voice.
“Ruth. Hi. This is unexpected.”
She puts the dog down and faces him again.
“The Inquiry made their decision yesterday. I wanted to be the one to give you the news…”
Harry hasn’t moved since spotting her, and they look at each other across the expanse of snow between them. He is trying desperately not to get his hopes up.
“You could have just called,” he says rather cautiously.
She doesn’t take her eyes off him.
“I know.”

Something in her expression makes his heart beat a little faster. He takes a step closer.
“Let’s hear it, then.”
Her face breaks into a smile.
“You’ve been given a suspended sentence. Harry, you’re free to return to the Grid immediately.” She searches his face, but when his expression remains carefully neutral, some of her joy evaporates. All her fears that he has decided not to come back returns in force.
“The team really wants you back,” she says a little anxiously.
Harry looks off towards the trees.
“Graves not working out then?”
Ruth frowns a little at the turn in the conversation.
“Graves is fine: fair, conscientious, hardworking.”
“But?”
She takes a breath.
“But he’s not you.”

Harry takes a few steps closer, so that she now has to look up at him from her seated position.
“And you, Ruth? Would you be all right with my returning to the Grid? Given everything that’s happened?”
Her eyes slide away from his intense look. She takes so long to answer that he feels the little flicker of hope in his heart go out again. But then she sighs, and smiles just a little.
“…These last two months I’ve discovered that my fulfilment is as closely linked to the people that surround me at the office, as it is to the work itself. And to one colleague in particular; someone that I missed very much once he was no longer there… Someone that I adore. Despite everything that’s happened.”
She resolutely meets his eyes when she says the last bit.

Harry takes a deep breath, his legs suddenly weak. He sits down next to her, shoulders touching, and both stare in front of them a little nervously. They are acutely aware of the weight of the occasion, and both desperate to get it right for once. Finally, he turns to her.
“Would you like to drive back to London with Scarlet and me?”
Ruth closes her eyes in relief at the implications of that simple question.
“Yes, thank you.”
He nods, and fiddles with Scarlet’s ears anxiously as he dares to ask another one. As he dares to believe.
“And Ruth?”
“Yes Harry?”
“Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
She turns to look into his eyes, tilting her head a little and giving him a genuine, joyous smile. It is the smile of a woman who is ready to start living again.
“I’d love to.”

Fin

Note: The information about events in his early career comes from Harry's Diary.
I ignored the well documented health problems of Margaret Thatcher for the purposes of this story, because let's face it, John Major on his own just does not have the same intimidatory presence.

Thank you for reading, and for all the wonderful reviews.

[A Cousin]

What's not to love about this? A little Tennyson to start it off, Towers bringing on the big guns to save Harry, Ruth being bloody brilliant, Harry saves the country, Ruth and Harry finally accepting each other in a mature and oh so subtle way, a guy that looks like Adam, and, the cherry on the top - MALCOLM!

So, yeah, this is 10.1 to me!

Well done - again - Silktie!

[Byatil]

Brilliant; I laughed out loud at the introduction of Baroness Thatcher! Now that really would be an inquiry

An extremely well-written, gripping piece of writing. Thank-you for sharing it with us

[Tea Lady]

“Except for the fact that neither of us remotely looks the type that would set foot in a caravan park,” Hahaha, great writing Silktie.

Can't believe you got Maggie and Major in there as well.

I would give an arm and a leg (well maybe not, but you know what I mean) to have Scarlet and Malcolm in 10.1.

Well done.

[Fidget]

What a terrific story, I just love it, the only thing wrong would be not enough Ruth but then we can't have everything can we

[Obsession]

Wonderful!! My heart leapt when Thatcher and Major walked into the inquiry. Loved the Thatcher line

[Aria]

A very enjoyable story, Silktie. Hope 10.1 is something like this. Thanks for posting and looking forward to reading more stories from you in the future.

[lwhite53]

Wonderful last chap Silktie. Your writing is really stunning!

[HellsBells]

Such a brilliant story, I really hope this is 10.1. You have the characters' personalities just perfectly. Loved Malcolm turning up, and of course Thatcher and Major at the inquiry was a fantastic idea. Thanks for sharing this fic.

[LINDA]

I have just finished reading all three chapters .I find I am qiite shocked at how good they are.They have taken my breath away.The story is so good in the way it moves the action to a different location.The characters are so real.How much is Malcolm missed?Even Adam got a mention.I wish the writer`s on s9 could have understood Lucas North` character as well as you have done Harry`s and Ruth`s still reeling over series 9.Please send this to Kudos s10 without Harry is just to awlful to contemplate.