Blood, Sand and Tears Part IV

[Silktie]

Power lay in his calm assumption that he would receive as perfect obedience as he gave trust.
- T.E. Lawrence


Monday 4 July, late evening
HMS Liverpool, the Mediterranean

The Commander’s glass froze half-way to his lips. Carefully, without taking his eyes off Harry, he placed it back on the table.
“Christ, Harry. What is it with you and disobeying orders?” He turned to Ruth. “He was the same in the Army. Questioning orders, following his own path.”
Harry didn’t lift his gaze from the table. “We have a duty not to follow orders like sheep. Especially when they will only lead to ruin.”
He paused. “’There are roads which must not be followed, armies which must not be attacked, towns which must not be besieged, positions which must not be contested, commands of the Sovereign which must not be obeyed.’” His voice was soft, his attention turned inward, focussed on some part of himself that they were not privy to.
“From The Art of War. Sun Tzu,” Ruth said with half a smile. “He posited that it is the duty of the military leader on the ground to judge whether the orders from the political leaders are feasible or not, since he is the one with all the facts in hand.”
Robert looked between the two of them and shook his head. “I see you’ve found a kindred spirit, Harry. He used to drive us mad back at Sandhurst, quoting all kinds of obscure texts to motivate going off-piste from direct orders.”

Harry lifted his gaze from the table. “I was right more often than I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
The two men stared at each other, something unspoken passing between them.
“Yes,” Robert said in the end, “you were almost always right.”
“So will you help us?” Harry pressed.
Robert pursed his lips and studied the man across the table, weighing everything he knew about him. And made up his mind.
“If I can, and if I believe what you’re asking of me is justified,” he stated uncompromisingly, and Harry smiled.
“I expect nothing less,” he replied. “Thank you, Robert.”
“Mmm. What sort of help might you be looking for?” the Commander asked with some trepidation.
“We may need to go into Tripoli to retrieve a package,” Harry responded, and Ruth looked at him sharply. This was the first time he’d mentioned such a possibility.
“Can you think of any way to get us in and out without anyone noticing?”

Two matching expressions of incredulity regarded him.
“Are you kidding me?” Robert blurted. “Tripoli is crawling with Gaddafi loyalists. And even if that weren’t the case, we are here strictly to patrol the shipping traffic – make sure no weapons are brought in that can strengthen the government’s position. We are under express orders not to come within spitting distance of land.”
Harry got up impatiently and started pacing. “I know that. But I also know you have a contingent of SAS on board in case things get hairy and direct action is necessary. They must have a plan to make landfall unobserved.”
Robert glared at him with disbelief and some anger. “How could you possibly know that?”
Harry straightened his shoulders imperceptibly, and Ruth recognised the mannerism; it signalled that he was about to do something he did not like, but deemed necessary for the success of the operation.
“I’ve seen your Orders,” he admitted quietly.
It was Robert’s turn to get up and turn his back on them. “Dear God,” they heard him mumble before he swung back round. “Those Orders are Top Secret! How could you possibly have…”
He came back to the table and sank into his chair. “You spy on the Admiralty too? Jesus, Harry! I thought you were supposed to spy on our enemies, not your own side.”

Harry’s eyes flicked briefly to Ruth, and there was a glimmer of self-disgust in them. He was putting a good friend in an untenable position, and even though he knew it was necessary for the operation, he hated doing it. He sat down opposite Robert.
“I had to know whether the means to achieve my objectives were present, Robert. It wouldn’t do much good to come here if there were no chance of retrieving the information we need. I’m sorry.”
Once again the two men regarded each other in silence, and Ruth felt the weight of the history between them. She had seen it before with men who had seen joint combat; there was something about the shared knowledge that they had killed people together that bound them to each other in inexpressible ways. It made her wonder what they had experienced during their tour in Northern Ireland.
Taking a deep breath, Robert sat back. “All right. What do you plan to do?”
When Harry hesitated, he added, “Come on. You owe me that much.”
The spook wavered a moment longer, then nodded. “Yes. I do.”

He proceeded to explain his plan in broad strokes. “The problem is, if Yushua is coming here without the blessing of Gaddafi, the chances that he will be able to come back a second time are remote. If he doesn’t have the information in his head, he’ll have to go back and find it. Our best option then will be to have him leave it for us in a pre-arranged dead drop location.”
The Commander thought about it. “That sounds logical. But I just don’t see how you’ll be able to move around Tripoli, even if I could get you to land unnoticed. You don’t exactly look like an Arab, Harry.”
“I know. But there are some Westerners left in Tripoli, aren’t there? People working for the oil companies, for instance.”
Ruth’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward. “I have an idea.”
Harry lifted an enquiring eyebrow.
“There is a famous mosque in the Old City, and it continues to draw tourists. The Gurgi Mosque. Do you have a map of Tripoli?”
Robert fetched one from a rack against the wall and spread it open on the table. Ruth pointed out the location to them. It was near the harbour.
Harry smiled at her approvingly, and studied the map. “The Marriott Hotel is on the beach not too far from there, so if you can put us to shore near it, we can blend into one of the tourist groups that are bound to depart from the hotel to visit this mosque.”
It was obvious that Harry’s mind was made up, and Robert knew him well enough not to argue further.
“I’ll have a quiet word with the SAS Commanding Officer,” he promised.

* * *

They stood in front of their doors, inexplicably uncomfortable. Ruth rather ridiculously felt as though she was back in her mother’s house, trying to sneak her boyfriend into her room. She wanted to ask Harry in, but when she looked at his face it was closed off, almost remote. Something was obviously wrong. He fished for his key and inserted it into the lock.
“Goodnight, Ruth. Sleep well.” He didn’t meet her eye.
She was about to let him go when all the other times in their complicated relationship either of them had chosen the cowardly way out came to her, and she reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Harry,” she implored, and his expression softened immediately. “Will you talk to me?”
He grimaced and looked away. “I’m not sure I know how…”
But after a few seconds he opened the door and stood aside to let her in. She counted that as a small victory. He let her have the chair, and poured them each a glass of water before sitting down on the bed.

When he said nothing for the longest time, she hazarded a guess. “Is this about having to use your friend?”
His head lifted and he stared at her, before a smile borne out of relief formed around his mouth. “It is rather frightening how well you know me.”
She didn’t quite know what to say to that.
“And strangely comforting, too,” he admitted after a moment.
Then he sighed, and tried to voice his thoughts. “It’s not just that. But I feel like I’m always using everyone I know for one purpose or another.”
She frowned, and he hurried on. “Even you, Ruth.”
Her eyes were focussed unwaveringly on him now, with a hint of fear in them. It was disconcerting.
“I…” He faltered, and tried again. “I wonder sometimes whether I hung onto the dream of being with you out of selfishness. Whether you offer redemption for my many sins.”

Now she understood. She moved to sit next to him, and leaned against his shoulder. “All love is in some sense selfish, Harry. The very notion that one is more special than anyone else to another person has a seed of selfishness in it, don’t you think?”
She lifted her hand and stroked his forearm. “But you know what? When you make love to me so devotedly, I see none of that in your eyes. You make me happy, so how can it be selfish on your part?”
Then she leaned forward and kissed him, searing her words onto his lips, his tongue. When she broke off he protested and tried to pull her back to him.
“No,” she said and gently pushed him away. “I’m going to have a shower, and fetch my pyjamas. Then I’m coming back here.”
As she stood Harry eyed the narrow bed dubiously. “I’d love that, Ruth, but this bed is awfully small.”
“Then we’ll have to spoon extra snugly,” she said over her shoulder before turning back to look at him.
“I’m not leaving you on your own to fret about this all night,” she said in a voice that brooked no opposition, and he nodded without hesitation, loving her fiercely in that moment.

* * *

Tuesday 5 July
HMS Liverpool

Harry and Ruth were huddled around the laptop, watching the feed from the bugs they had planted in the meeting room. The Foreign Secretary was there, demurely dressed and with a shawl covering her hair, flanked by Mark Appletree and the translator. On the other side of the table there was an array of representatives from the Libyan rebel movement. True to her word, Helen Carlisle stayed silent and allowed Appletree to do all the talking. She limited herself to passing him the occasional note, but things were not going well. The rebel delegates clearly did not have a united vision of the future, apart from removing Muammar Gaddafi from power. It was obvious that they had given little thought as to what would follow, and was unable to agree on the role each individual group would play. After an hour of listening to the haggling and Appletree’s futile attempts to steer the deliberations in a specific direction, Harry yanked the earphones from his head and tossed them on the table in disgust.
“This is hopeless.”
Ruth removed hers as well. “It seems unlikely that any worthwhile progress will be made,” she agreed, disheartened by what she’d heard.
“Even if Yushua could persuade Gaddafi to agree to negotiations, it would be pointless unless the rebels can get their house in order,” Harry stated decisively. Any lingering doubts he might have had about countermanding the orders of the Foreign Secretary had been dispelled, and Ruth saw the renewed determination on his face.
“So we are going ahead?” she asked, excitement and apprehension tingling in her veins.
“Yes,” Harry confirmed, “we are going ahead.”

* * *

The rebel delegation had departed, and Harry had held a brief meeting with Carlisle. She was subdued; her disillusionment with the problems in the Rebel Alliance poorly disguised. He actually felt some sympathy for the dilemma she found herself in, but it didn’t weaken his resolve to implement his own plans. He stood on the bridge, and watched the small boat approach through a pair of binoculars. Yushua. He flicked open his mobile and called Ruth.
“He’s on his way. Better get ready.”
“Copy that,” she responded, and he resumed his observation. As the boat got closer, he could make out the lone man standing erect at the helm. He would only have a few hours to break his agent and manipulate him to his will. To do so, he needed Carlisle and Appletree to stick to their promise not to disclose that they knew of Yushua’s involvement in the Lockerbie incident. Harry needed to have him severely off balance, and the only way to achieve that would be through the element of surprise. He had no doubt whatsoever that Ruth would play her role to perfection. She would wear a burqa, partially to prevent Yushua from being distracted by the presence of a Western woman, but mostly to hide her identity. Harry was determined to protect her as much as possible and did not want Yushua to be able to recognise her afterwards. For the same reason he fervently hoped that it would not be necessary to go into Tripoli. If it were, he could not go alone - a couple would attract much less attention than a lone man.

The small boat came alongside the Liverpool, and Harry watched his agent clamber up the ladder to the main deck. Yushua looked around him cautiously, but didn’t seem particularly nervous. That was good. He disappeared from view, and Harry made his way down to the meeting room after a few minutes.

The murmur of voices was audible through the closed door as he passed by, heading for the smaller room where he planned to have his meeting with Yushua. When he entered, Ruth was already there, in the process of moving a chair into the corner of the room. She turned around and he stared at her; the sight of her in full burqa unsettling him momentarily. It was strange to see the woman whose soft body had been pressed so comfortingly against his all night so garbed.
“All right?” he finally asked.
“Yes. It’s hot in here, though,” she said as she handed him an earpiece.
The small room was airless, and Harry knew the atmosphere would become stifling once there were three of them in here, in a high state of tension. He needed it that way. They lapsed into silence, listening to the attempts of the Foreign Secretary to persuade Yushua to become their spokesman.

It soon became apparent that the whole thing was a waste of time. Yushua showed no inclination to become the mouthpiece of the West, and after forty-five minutes the talks began to wind down to a desultory end.
Harry got up. “Our turn,” he stated as he walked to the door.
He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to her, his face lined with apprehension. “Ruth... What I’m about to do...”
When he faltered, she spoke up. “Sometimes we have to do what’s necessary. I do understand that, Harry.”
Appeased, he nodded and walked out to wait in the corridor outside the larger meeting room.

Seconds later the door opened and his agent walked out, flushed with his success of withstanding the pressure from the British Foreign Secretary. He found his way blocked by another man, and Harry saw his expression change from one of contentment to utter shock as he recognised the man who had broken him all those years ago.
“Hello, Yushua,” Harry said meaningfully, and watched as the agent’s world began to crumble around him.

tbc

[A Cousin]

I don't know what else to say other than to keep giving you words of encouragement - this is fantastic!

And Ciaran Hinds as the Commander. Just because it makes me happy.

(*tosses The Art of War on the pile...*)

[Sparky]

Yet another fantastic chapter! I'm amazed at the detail and the twists, you missed your calling, you should be writing for Spooks!

Looking forward very much to the next part!

[pookster]

Wonderful and intriguing chapter. All the detail - geopolitical and its all so recent is amazingly done. But the little personal touches as well are great - with Ruth telling Harry about using people and their love and Harry wanting to protect her. Well done and looking forward to more

[Tea Lady]

This is building up nicely Silktie. Nice visuals in my head as well.

A Cousin, your pile is getting very large

[thegrandtour]

Another great chapter. That's amazing how I'm not reading but "watching/seeing" your stories. What can I say more than what has already been said? Nothing I guess, I love the plot, the details, the writing, the characters, the rightness of Harry and Ruth's relationship, the descriptions and every single line!

I really enjoy to have Harry and Ruth together and how they deal being on an op together, GREAT job!
Thank you Silktie :-D

Btw Euterpe, Ciaran Hinds as the Commander is an excellent idea!