Blood, Sand and Tears Part VII

[Silktie]

To me an unnecessary action, or shot, or casualty, was not only waste but sin.
- T.E. Lawrence


Thursday 7 July, late afternoon
Tripoli

The blood was slowly soaking through his shirt at the back.
“Oh God, Harry, you’re bleeding!”
She tried to look at it but he grabbed her roughly. “I’m all right, Ruth. There’s no time. We need to get off the street.”
The colour was slowly draining from his face and he was breathing raggedly, and she knew it was much more serious than he was willing to admit. “Harry-“
“Give me the gun.” He cut short her protest and held out his hand for it. His expression brooked no opposition, and she delved into the bag and fished it out from under the camera. Harry shoved it in his waistband and dropped his shirt over it, then looked around.
“We need transport.”

Ruth’s eyes fell on a car parked about fifty metres in front of them. The window was open, and there was no-one inside. She pointed it out to Harry and they set off towards it. They passed it once and he glanced inside, but to his disappointment there were no keys in the ignition.
“I’ll have to hot-wire it,” he told Ruth, but she stopped him.
Remembering George’s habit to hide the keys in the visor, she reached inside and tipped it down. The keys fell into her hand. Harry managed a pained smile at her.
“You drive,” he half-ordered, half-requested before moving quickly around the car and getting into the passenger seat.
Ruth started the engine and drove off. She noticed Harry holding the gun in his lap. It seemed to be shaking slightly, and when she glanced at his face, it was pale and covered in sweat.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” she announced decisively.
“No!” He used all the authority he could muster. “Think it through, Ruth. A British man hurt in an anti-government rally – it’s a propaganda coup for Gaddafi.”
“Okay, I’ll take the fastest route out of the city-”
“No,” he said again. “There’ll be road blocks everywhere. Drive to the market, we’ll dump the car there,” he instructed.
Ruth wanted to argue, but she knew that he was right. Fear began to settle in her stomach as she realised the implications: he would not be able to receive treatment until they were extracted at midnight. And she suspected his wound was too serious for that. To quell her rising alarm, she concentrated on her driving and getting them to their destination in one piece.

The market was a good choice. It was situated on the edge of one of the lower-class neighbourhoods, which afforded the opportunity to lose themselves in the maze of narrow streets. She stopped the car, and Harry had to struggle to get out. The passenger seat sported a large blood stain, and Ruth’s fear increased ten-fold. Harry scanned their surroundings, aware that he would not be able to stay on his feet much longer. They needed a place to hide until it was time to move to the pick-up rendezvous. His vision was beginning to blur, but he spotted the outline of a burnt-out two-storey building one block over.
“There.” He pointed it out to Ruth and started to walk towards it as fast as he could manage.
They reached the building without incident, and Harry leant his weight against the boarded up door. It didn’t budge, and he was too weak to put in a greater effort.
“Let me,” Ruth said, fighting down the panic at the amount of blood on his shirt, and with a strength borne of desperation kicked open the door.

Their harsh breathing was loud in the emptiness of the building, and the air reeked of soot. The light was dim, and what little they could see had been blackened by the fire.
“Upstairs,” Harry gasped and moved in the direction of the stairs.
“The upper floors will be unsound,” Ruth objected. “It’s dangerous to go up there.”
Harry supported himself against a wall. “I know. It will stop others from looking there. Come on.”
He began moving up the steps slowly. He got about halfway before swaying ominously, and Ruth grabbed his arm and slung it round her shoulders. Harry stifled a moan and gritted his teeth against the pain. She got him up the rest of the stairs, and he nodded towards the wall opposite them. He knew instinctively that he would not be able to leave this place, and wanted to be in a position from which he could cover the stairs.

Ruth gingerly lowered him into a sitting position against the wall, and his eyes squeezed shut against the dizziness and agony.
“Let me have a look,” she said gently, fighting hard to keep the panic out of her voice.
He turned slightly and she peeled the shirt upwards slowly. The blood made it stick to his skin, and she was careful not to start the bleeding all over again by pulling it up too quickly. A neat, small hole was situated on the left of his back, just under his ribs. Ruth realised that it must have been a ricochet, as there was no exit wound, indicating that the bullet had lost some of its velocity by the time it hit him. All the same, there had to be internal damage, and the rapidity at which he had weakened was not a good sign. She manufactured a bandage and press from her headscarf and a wad of tissues, hoping to at least stop the external bleeding. When she was done, Harry leaned back against the wall, exhausted by the few movements. She helped him to drink some water, and he could see the fear in her eyes.
He fumbled for her hand. “It’s all right. I’m tougher than I look,” he tried to reassure her, and it earned him a wan smile.
“Now, let’s see what’s on this memory stick.”

Ruth inserted it into the small palm-reader they’d brought along and scanned through the information. She tensed, and looked at Harry worriedly. “The attacks are scheduled for tomorrow.”
He closed his eyes. “The targets? And the bombers?”
“It’s all here. Erin and Dimitri should be able to stop it with this information.”
Harry lifted his chin determinedly. “Then you must go. Make sure you reach that rendezvous and get the information out.”
She stared at him in horror. “No, Harry. You’re coming with me-“
“No.” He couldn’t muster more than a low rumble. “Please, Ruth. You know I can’t. We won’t make it if I come with you. You have to go by yourself.” He looked into her eyes imploringly. “I have every faith in you. You can do this.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. I can’t leave you here. You can’t ask me to do that!” In her desperation she let a note of anger slip into her voice.
Harry’s eyes stayed on her, and he didn’t say anything for a few seconds. His breathing had become shallow, she noticed with concern.
“Ruth,” he said finally, very gently. “Tomorrow five bombs will go off in Britain. Think of all the lives lost. Women, children. All innocent.”
“I don’t care!” she responded vehemently, “I’m not leaving you here to die. I’m not.”

Even as the words left her mouth, she recognised their hypocrisy. She thought back to George and Nico, and the events of Albany, and how much easier it was to do the right thing when it was your own life on the line rather than those of people you loved.
There was such empathy in Harry’s eyes as he gazed at her, that it brought tears to hers.
“I know that’s not true, Ruth. You do care. That’s the best part of you, and I won’t allow you to lose it to this. For me.”
Outside the sun was dipping towards the horizon, and there was renewed urgency in his voice. “You must go. Now.”
Ruth cradled his face in her hands, and kissed him softly, and he could taste her tears. When she pulled back to look at him, to study his features intently as she stroked his face, his hands came up and gripped her wrists.
“Ruth,” he said imploringly, “I-“
“Don’t!” she snapped sharply and pulled back. “Don’t you dare say it now. I’m coming back for you, so you fight to be here when I do. And then you can say it. Do you hear me, Harry? You be here!”
He smiled the faintest of smiles, and nodded weakly. “Go, Ruth. Be careful.”
She pressed the gun into his hands, made sure the water was within easy reach and stood, looking down at him one last time. Without another word, she turned and left.

Harry stared after her, his heart breaking. He was immensely proud of her, of the strength of character she had just shown. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to leave her behind, had their positions been reversed. And for a split-second he felt abandoned. It was irrational and grossly unfair, but he couldn’t help it. The part of him that had hoped for many years with Ruth at his side was angry at this incongruous end to it all. Because despite her assurances that she would come back for him, the chances of her being able to do so was small. She would need support to do it and he hoped that Robert would not give it to her. His moment of small-mindedness had passed in the blink of an eye, and now all he could think was: Don’t put yourself in danger for me. Don’t do it, Ruth.

He pulled the clip out of the gun and checked how many rounds he had. Twelve. As the pain intensified and the edges of his vision began to turn dark, he reflected on the best use of those twelve bullets. Could he allow Gaddafi’s forces to capture him? If they did, sooner or later they would find out who he really was, and it would cause untold damage to Britain. Perhaps one of those bullets was better kept for himself…

* * *

Ruth only became aware of her surroundings when a woman stopped her with a hand on her arm, and asked concernedly whether she was all right. It was almost fully dark, and she realised she must have walked through the streets for almost an hour by now. That Harry had been on his own for that long, and she wondered with a stab of fear whether he was still alive. When the woman handed her a tissue, she became aware that there were tears running down her cheeks. Wordlessly she accepted it and dabbed at her face, then looked at the other woman and her surroundings properly for the first time. She was deep into the warren of narrow, labyrinthine streets of the suburb, and had unconsciously been working her way towards the edge of the city. The woman before her had a kind face, and was about her age. Beyond her shoulder Ruth noticed a sign for a clinic.

Khadija Arhouma cast an expert eye over the woman in front of her. She noticed a couple of things: the woman was clearly in emotional distress, but appeared to be uninjured despite the blood on her hands. And she was a Westerner. That afternoon’s protest march had received broad coverage on local radio and TV, and Khadija recalled how Gaddafi was crowing about Western instigators and had paraded a terrified French couple in front of the cameras. She glanced around, but the street was quiet and she could not see anyone paying attention to them.
“Come,” she said, and putting an arm around the woman, led her away.
The action brought Ruth back to her senses, and she resisted. “Where are you taking me?”
Khadija looked at her, surprised by the faultless Arabic in which Ruth addressed her.
“To my house. The government is looking for Westerners involved in the protest march. They will take you and accuse you of plotting against them if they find you on the street like this.”
“Why are you helping me?” Ruth asked as she reluctantly began to walk again.
“Because you need help. And because I know that this protest march was a local initiative.”
She said no more, and left Ruth to ponder her words as she swiftly guided her along the street.

When they reached the house, Khadija led Ruth quietly around the back. “Wait here. I will let you in soon. I don’t want my husband and son to see you.”
She disappeared, and Ruth was left standing in the dark. Time was passing by, and she had a little over two hours to reach the rendezvous. Her thoughts kept going back to Harry, and her imagination, heightened by the peril they were in, conjured up all sorts of terrible scenarios. She felt panic rise anew, and determinedly forced herself to think about the situation calmly. Harry was no longer there to guide her; she would have to find a way out on her own. And the sooner she did so, the sooner she could come back for him. The thought sharpened her focus on the task at hand. By the time Khadija opened the door to let her into the kitchen, she had a plan. The Libyan woman had barely closed the door when Ruth started speaking in a low, urgent voice.
“My name is Ruth, and I work for the British government.”

She didn’t stop speaking for ten minutes, and by the time she finished, Khadija was staring at her, shocked into silence. The two women stood squared off as each contemplated the consequences if Khadija refused what Ruth had asked of her. And both came to the conclusion that those consequences were unacceptable. Khadija indicated the chair at the kitchen table. “Sit, Ruth,” she said. “I have to make some calls. Don’t worry, the men won’t come into the kitchen. You won’t be seen here.” With those words, she disappeared for the second time that night. Once she was alone, Ruth was about to let her head sink into her hands when she noticed Harry’s blood still on them. Bile rose in her throat and she got up quickly, only just reaching the basin before she retched. Afterwards, she opened the tap and let the water rinse out the basin, then mechanically washed her hands, watching, mesmerised, as Harry’s blood swirled down the drain. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. It had been a gamble to tell Khadija almost everything, and for all Ruth knew she was currently in the other room calling the authorities. But she could no longer summon the energy to care. Besides, there were simply no other alternatives left to her. It was her only option to get out with the information and ensure that everything was not in vain.

* * *

Thirty minutes later

Apart from Ruth, four other women had gathered in the kitchen. Khadija had introduced them all but Ruth did not have the mental strength left to remember their names. There was Khadija’s daughter, a beautiful young girl with dark liquid eyes and a sensual mouth, and two older women, one of whom was heavily pregnant. The other worked at the clinic with Khadija. A number of plans were discussed and discarded before a course of action was finally decided on. The pregnant woman shepherded Ruth out the back door and along a little alley at the back of the house to her own a few doors down. She left Ruth in the shadows, and disappeared inside to make a phone call.

The plan was relatively simple. Khadija was a qualified midwife, and would use the phone call from her pregnant friend to get out of the house and take the car without suspicion. She soon pulled to a stop in front of her friend’s house, and popped the boot before walking inside. Ruth, who had been crouching behind a low wall nearby, dashed to the car and clambered into the boot, closing it softly over her head. Meanwhile, Khadija had examined her friend and declared that they had to go to the clinic for a check-up. Ruth heard the car doors slam, and the car began to move off. She desperately hoped that the plan would work, as she had less than an hour to reach the rendezvous. Her fingers found the memory stick in her pocket, and she wondered at how so small a thing could cause such trouble. As she lay in the dark, she thought again about Harry, and her heart broke at the knowledge that he was similarly in darkness, suffering alone.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the car stopped, and she heard Khadija say, “Good evening, sir.” She tensed, knowing immediately that they had been stopped at a roadblock. Khadija was rapidly explaining that she was a midwife, and needed to get her patient to the clinic as soon as possible. The other woman added some convincing groans of pain. The soldier wavered, causing Khadija to say sharply, “Do you want to catch the baby here in the street?”
The young man blanched, and promptly signalled for the barrier to be lifted, allowing Khadija to drive through. When they were a safe distance away, Ruth heard the two women laugh wildly, and suddenly Harry’s voice filled her head. That’s adrenaline withdrawal. She smiled briefly, before she had to swallow hard against the tears that once again threatened to fall.

They were stopped three times before reaching the edge of the city. Mercifully the ‘pregnant woman in distress’ routine worked every time, and the car wasn’t searched. Once they reached a deserted stretch of road, Khadija stopped and let Ruth out of the boot. She used a small GPS device to guide them to the rendezvous, which was beyond a low ridge of hills a few kilometres into the desert. When they stopped and Khadija switched off the engine, they could hear the helicopter approaching. They were just in time. The three women watched wordlessly as it skimmed low across the terrain before landing close by. Ruth turned and hugged Khadija and her friend, unable to find the words to express her gratitude. She took off her ring and pressed it into Khadija’s hand.
“You won’t forget?” she asked anxiously.
Khadija’s fingers closed around the ring and she shook her head. “I won’t forget,” she promised.

Ruth crossed the few yards to the helicopter and was helped in by the co-pilot. It lifted into the air immediately, and she stared numbly out of the window as the dark countryside passed by below. Tripoli was a glow on the horizon as the pilot skirted it at a healthy distance. Her eyes never left it for as long as it was possible, her thoughts on the man she had left behind in that burnt-out building.

The man who was in all likelihood already dead. She buried her face in her hands and cried.

tbc

[Tea Lady]

Harry all alone...in the dark...hurt...thinking about

Noooooooooooo!!

Good on Ruth though. What strength. At times like that you have to take a risk. She couldn't have done any more.

[pookster]

Blimey ... poor Ruth having to leave Harry behind but I was so pleased that she did and she continued the mission with her usual skill. And Harry, be tough and don't use the 12th bullet. Brilliantly done and I'm looking forward to more.

[Sparky]

A heart-breaking chapter. Poor Harry being shot, and poor Ruth having to leave him! I'm hoping Ruth has some cunning plan up her sleeve and that Khadija and her friends are on their way to help him! He can't die all alone and please don't have him using the 12th bullet!

This story is getting better and better and I'm very much looking forward to the next part(s).

[Ceridwyn2]

Loving this. Poor Harry. Loving Ruth - born Spook indeed! Can't wait for next chapter after piling thru 7 in a row

[thegrandtour]

Just tell me you're posting the next chapter tomorrow??

I read the last chapter barely breathing, I don't think I breathed at all for this one! Tensed, angsty, heartbreaking, emotional chapter and incredibly good plot!

Ruth, you're so clever, you'll save Harry yes?

[nimax1]

Please update soon. Poor Harry. Poor Ruth. I hope the ring given by Ruth is a clue to finding him and him knowing it is from her. We cannot lose Harry. I devoured this chapter. More soon please of this amazing story.

[A Cousin]

Great stuff, again, Silktie! From Ruth's realization that the shoe is on the other foot to her heroic dependence on the kindness of strangers. And she didn't even need a tree branch to fight off the baddies!

I hope Khadija makes it to Harry in time. Don't lose hope Ruth!

Knowing you, there had to be some significance to the name Khadija so I looked it up. A midwife AND her four perfect friends. Clever you!

[loladom]

Sikltie, I don't normally 'do' fanfic but I find your stuff really convincing.

I am almost looking forward to the next chapter as much as the new series Edge of the eat stuff, you've managed to keep the tension throughout.

Pity Kudos didn't look your way before killing the show. I wonder if Libya or the Arab Spring will be a topic of any of the last series or will it all be Russian focussed?

Keeping the faith you're not going to really let Harry die alone in some deserted building in hostile territory.....