Extraordinary Rendition Part III

[Silktie]

Monday 6 June 2011, early morning hours
London, the Grid

“What?” Harry blurted inelegantly. It was not the most eloquent of responses, but in his defence it was three in the morning and the Americans weren’t even on his list of suspects.
Ruth ran a hand through her hair as she explained, “They requested permission to base a Special Forces unit here four days ago, which they claimed would be used to grab an Al Qaeda member they had located in Spain.”
Her eyes met his. “I checked, and they’re still here. They are staying at the embassy. And CCTV shows a black van leaving the premises some time before midnight, and returning just after. Harry, I think Malcolm is being held in the embassy.”

He stood up abruptly. “Come,” he commanded and stalked out.
“Meeting room!” he called and they all followed him.
He nodded at Ruth and she briefed them on what she’d found. They shared puzzled looks, all of them at a loss as to why the Americans would snatch a former member of their section.
Calum spoke up. “This changes things, Harry. We can’t go blundering into the middle of their operation. They would not have grabbed him without good reason.”
Erin nodded, and Harry’s temper flared. “Yes, because they have never made a mistake in the past,” he retorted scathingly. He glared at Calum, who wisely kept his mouth shut.
Harry continued, “I know Malcolm. He is the best of men, and I will not allow anyone to ride roughshod over his rights, no matter who they are. If you are not comfortable being a part of this, you know where the door is.”
His eyes held a challenge as they moved between Erin and Calum. Part of him almost wished that they would leave, but both remained in their seats and averted their eyes.
“Good then. See if you can find out why they took him, and whether there are any plans to move him soon.”
He stood up determinedly.
Dimitri frowned. “Where are you going?”
“To have a friendly chat with Mr Beecher.”
It was clear from his demeanour that the chat with the local CIA representative would be anything but friendly. As he strode out, his eye caught Ruth’s, and the approval on her face stayed with him long after he’d left.

* * *

Same day
London, US Embassy

Harry went by his house first to shower, shave and put on a suit before confronting Beecher. By the time he arrived at Grosvenor Square there was no sign that he had been up all night. Beecher was surprised by the sudden appearance of the senior MI5 officer; usually they preferred to meet in more informal circumstances. But he could tell from Harry Pearce’s demeanour that whatever had brought him there was a serious matter, and that he was not in the mood for games. In fact, Harry did not even waste time with the social niceties and came straight to the point.
“You have one of my people, most likely in a secret dungeon somewhere in this building. I’d like him back.”
Beecher was caught unawares, and even though he hid it well, Harry still picked up on the slight widening of the eyes. He couldn’t tell, however, whether it was attributable to surprise that MI5 knew that the Americans had taken Malcolm, or whether it was because Beecher had not been aware that the man they’d snatched had once been one of Harry’s officers.

The CIA man thought for a bit as he studied his visitor. “I’m not aware of any MI5 people being held by us. Are you sure you have the right information?” His voice was smooth, almost teasing, and it angered Harry.
“At around midnight a professional snatch team grabbed Malcolm Wynn-Jones and bundled him into a black van. We traced that van to this embassy. So do not feign innocence; you know everything that happens in this place.”
Beecher refused to budge. “This Wynn-Jones is one of yours?”
“Yes, and I am personally vouching for him. Whatever you lot think is going on, you’re wrong. Why don’t you spare your Agency’s blushes by handing him over to me right now, before the extent of your error becomes known and you end up looking like mugs?”

The American smiled thinly. “Heart-warming though your concern for our reputation is, I can’t help you. We don’t have your man.”
Harry was working hard to hold his temper in check. “For God’s sake. I know he’s here.”
The two men stared at each other, neither willing to give an inch. Harry tried a different tack.
“Can you at least tell me why? What is your interest in him?”
But Beecher’s composure did not slip. “I can’t tell you that, because we don’t have him.”
This was the final straw and Harry’s patience snapped. He stood up, planted his hands on the table and leant towards the other man menacingly.
“Know this: I consider this man a friend. If you harm him - mentally, physically, or in any other conceivable way, you will rue the day you crossed paths with me.”
There was no doubt about the sincerity of Harry’s threat, and it gave Beecher pause. He had a great deal of respect for the MI5 man, and if he was willing to go to such lengths to protect his former officer, that was something to take into consideration.

Harry was in the process of making a dramatic exit when Beecher spoke again. “Sir Harry.”
His expression dark, Harry turned around and glared at him.
“Even though I maintain that we don’t have your man, you should know that all current actions of the Agency are based on the information captured in Bin Laden’s hideout.”
Harry stared at him in incomprehension. “Are you saying that you think Malcolm is an accomplice of Osama bin Laden?”
Beecher didn’t respond, but his silence was an answer in itself.
Rather undiplomatically, Harry began to laugh. “That’s absurd. You lot are much more incompetent than I gave you credit for if you believe that.”
The American bristled at the mocking in Harry’s voice. “I assure you we don’t act unless we have solid evidence, and I don’t appreciate your tone, Sir Harry. Besides, people in glass houses and all that.”
His clipped words left no doubt as to the level of his annoyance, and Harry sobered.
“Beecher. Malcolm is the last man who would have anything to do with Al Qaeda. I will stake my reputation on that. So stop this travesty of justice now, I beg you.”
But Beecher was no longer in the mood to indulge Harry. “We think we have strong evidence. You prove to me otherwise in the next few days, and I will consider it. Don’t, however, come here again without such evidence and insult me with your smug and superior attitude.”
The American stood, indicating in no uncertain terms that the meeting was over, and Harry followed him out wordlessly. He was acutely aware that he had mishandled it badly, and his anger turned inwards. What if he had just cost Malcolm his only chance of getting out of this unharmed? The only positive he could take from the meeting was Beecher’s statement that he should come back with evidence. He fervently hoped that it meant that Beecher would give them a few days to do so before taking further action with Malcolm.

* * *

It was difficult to breathe. The hood was not particularly taut but, combined with the asthmatic tightness in his chest, it was suffocating. Malcolm was afraid. No, that was an understatement; he was terrified. He had no idea where he was or who had taken him, and it was the uncertainty that was getting to him more than anything else. What did they want with him? He’d been out of the game for almost two years, surely he didn’t have any information worth doing this for? Deep down, he knew that this was not true, and yet he clung to that belief with all his willpower. If he believed it, it became true, and he could tell them that with a clear conscience. The thing he feared more than any other was that he would break – everyone breaks, there is no shame in it, Harry had told him once, but Malcolm had never quite believed him – and would betray people he cared very much about. People who were still fighting, keeping the rest of them safe. Like Harry, and Ruth. Oh please no, not that, he thought hopelessly. Don’t let me do that.

They had dragged him out of the van and deposited him here, on a hard chair, and left him alone for what felt like many hours. Malcolm had no real concept of time, sitting there in the dark, and he wondered whether it had been longer than a day. He badly needed to go to the loo, but no-one had come into the room to check on him since his arrival. He was tempted to get up and try to explore his surroundings, and had even tried to do it at some point, but found that they had shackled his ankles to the floor and he couldn’t walk around. When had they done that, he wondered? He hadn’t even noticed.

His anxiety increased exponentially as his need to relieve himself grew more urgent. He couldn’t hold it for much longer, and in the end he called out; his aversion to wetting his pants overcoming his overwhelming need not to focus attention on him.
“Hello? I need to use the toilet.” His voice sounded weak and muffled to his own ears, and he hated it. He should sound more assertive; let them know that he was not intimidated by being left alone, in darkness, like this. However, the problem was that he was intimidated. Very much so. The door opened and his heart rate increased tenfold, but he forced himself to repeat, “I need to use the toilet.” His voice sounded slightly stronger that time, and he was inordinately proud of that fact. The hood was yanked from his head and he blinked furiously in the sudden light, unable to focus on the features of the man in front of him. The man spoke, and Malcolm did not recognise the voice, but the accent was unmistakably American.
“Hello, Mr. Wynn-Jones. My colleague will take you to the toilet. And then you will be transferred to more comfortable accommodation. Don’t be afraid, you won’t be harmed.”
Malcolm was only allowed a few seconds of relief before the man spoke again, and this time there was a threatening edge to his words.
“Not yet, at least. Your people are adamant that this is all a mistake. For your sake, I hope they’re right.”
So Harry knew what had happened and was fighting for him. Malcolm had never been so grateful to another human being in his life. He was so focussed on his gratitude towards his former boss that he almost missed the American’s next words.
“If they can prove that this is the case in the next few days, we will forget the whole thing. But if they can’t convince us that you had not provided logistical and IT support to Al Qaeda, life will get very unpleasant for you. I guarantee you that.”
Malcolm was too astonished to respond. Everything felt surreal, and he wondered for a moment whether he was having a bad dream. But then his eyes finally came into focus, and he looked into the face of a tall, shaven-headed black man with a fierce expression on his face, and knew that it was all very real.

tbc

[pookster]

Terrific chapter - the tension rising. Of course, I liked the H/R moment and disliked the new people. At least Harry tried to get the Septics to see reason. And Malcolm reactions to is predicament were spot on too. More soon please.

[Tea Lady]

Come on Harry, get your black zip up action jacket on and Ruth, arm yourself with an iron and bottle of bleach, and get in there and get Malcolm out! He's desperate for the loo!!

Good chapter Silktie. Who's behind framing Malcolm then??

[Sparky]

Another corking chapter - poor Malcolm, I wonder who's set him up? At least I hope it's a set-up, I can't see him as a mole for Al Qaeda!

Liked the little HR moment as well and hoping there's more in the coming chapters!

[A Cousin]

Poor Malcolm. A situation like that would scare the piss out of me too! At least he is safe for now. I do hope the more comfortable accommodations includes a nice cuppa?

Really liked the "pissing" match between Harry and Beecher. Interesting how you wrote it so Harry doesn't come out completely on top of the situation? Beecher is really giving him a chance to prove their mistake. If not, lets hope that the "solid evidence" is not of the we-found-weapons-of-mass-destruction-in-Iraq-so-lets-start-a-war variety of "solid" evidence!

[DogSoSmall]

This is my favourite kind of Harry - defending his chicks. Ruth seems to like it too.