Chapter 1

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Sheets of freezing rain pelted down onto the street, coating the pavement with a deceptive sheen. Ruth bent her head against the onslaught, squinting as icy pellets stung her cheeks. She tugged at her scarf and pulled it over her face, the action momentarily shifting her focus from her footing. Her boot found a patch of ice and her arms flailed wildly about as she fought to steady herself. A curse fell from her lips as she looked around to gauge if anyone had witnessed her appalling lack of grace. It was of little consolation to see that her fellow pedestrians were all experiencing the same predicament. Winter, unwilling to leave without a fight, had muscled out spring and was taking no prisoners.

At the intersection, a stubborn red light delayed her walk across the street and into the warmth of Thames House. As she waited, her eye was caught by a poster in a shop window; a travel agency promoting the splendours of Mexico. If only. How much would she have to save to vacation in Mexico? She could always go somewhere closer. Greece was apparently nice. She was hard-pressed to remember the last time she had been on holiday, though given the current state of her personal life it might be a wise idea to schedule a bit of time off. Over the past few weeks, a cloud of tension had hung over the Grid; a condition not entirely due to the current threat level, but rather a product of her decisions.

A truck rumbled past, racing against an amber light countdown. Giant wheels found the epicentre of a bottomless puddle, sending forth a tsunami of slush, covering those unlucky enough to be standing in its wake. Ruth gasped in surprise, all thoughts of warmer climes instantly washed away. Sending daggers in the direction of the departing truck, she glanced down at her coat. Brown spots spattered across the cream coloured fabric effectively turning her into a Dalmatian. Well, that was that. Any money she could have put towards a holiday would now have to be spent on dry cleaning. The light changed and she hurried across the street, her phone insistently vibrating in her pocket. She was late. The universe and the weather had conspired against her that morning. Surely, her day could only get better.

With a sigh of relief, Ruth entered Thames House and deposited her bag on the tray as she walked through the security barrier.

"Good morning, Charlie."

"Morning, Miss Evershed," the man greeted her. "Terrible day out."

"Certainly is." She gave him a warm smile. Befriend the gatekeepers for they are the ones who hold the keys. "I'm thinking of going to Mexico."

"That sounds alright." Charlie gave her bag a cursory glance and then handed it back to her. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course." She accepted her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "If you get the tickets."

A chuckle followed Ruth as she trotted toward the lift, managing to slip inside just as the doors were closing. The silence of the car offered her a brief sanctuary, and she tried to alleviate the damage the elements had wrought to her appearance. The metal walls of the lift distorted her reflection, the head of Medusa staring back at her. She should go to the ladies and sort herself. No, she would have a cup of warm tea first. In the end, it only took one step through the pod doors for both of those options to be nixed. Activity on the Grid was in full swing, apparently chugging on quite nicely without her. How late was she? With at fortifying breath, she set a course for her desk, navigating her way through waves of scurrying personnel. She was instantly run aground by the solid form of Malcolm.

"Ruth, just the person I was looking for." With a quick smile, he held up a large pile of folders. "Here are the transcripts you asked for. Ordered by date as you requested."

Without waiting for her response, he quickly transferred the files into Ruth's surprised arms.

"Thanks," she called to Malcolm's retreating back, the folders slipping in her arms, their contents heavier than she had anticipated. Adjusting the folders and the strap of her purse, she set off once again for her desk.

"Ruth," Adam hailed her as he walked into her path. "Did you get anything from the surveillance we put on the Georgians?"

"Yes, I have it here." She held up the folders in her arms.

"I need it as quick as you can."

"I just have to go through ..." Her voice trailed off as she spoke to air, Adam having already moved on.

She turned around and ran into Jo.

"I'm so glad you're here." Jo flashed a smile of greeting. "I've run into a block on these bank accounts, the trail runs cold. Can you give me a hand?"

"Yeah, sure," Ruth agreed, she found it hard to refuse the young officer anything. "I just need a few minutes to sort through this."

"Great." Jo stepped back and ran a critical eye over Ruth." Looks like you got a bit of something on your coat."

"Just a little dirt," Ruth replied with a tight smile, noting enviously how lovely Jo looked even with her cropped hair.

One last push and Rut finally reached her workstation. She plopped the armload of folders down with a thankful sigh, only to do a hasty dance in order to catch them before they teetered off the edge of her desk. Easing into her chair, she sat for a minute, inhaling a deep breath as she collected herself. The weight of her coat had become unbearable, and she tackled the buttons, loathing winter and all its attendant layers. She tried to unwind her scarf but it had somehow become attached to her back. She twisted her head around in an effort to puzzle out the snag.

"Do you need help with that?"

With the stealth befitting a spook, Zaf had rolled his chair up to her workstation.

"No," Ruth responded, unable to hide her irritation.

He leaned on her desk and gave her a disarming smile.

"I was wondering about those shipping manifests I asked for yesterday..."

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry. I just have to..." She pointed at her monitor, her jaw tightening with annoyance. "Turn on my computer."

"Yes, of course." Zaf slowly rolled away only to stop and roll back. "You're sitting on it."

"Sitting on what?"

"Your scarf." Shoving off with his foot, he smoothly glided away. It was as if he had never even made an appearance.

With one last tug, Ruth pulled her scarf free. The wool slipped through her fingers and landed on the floor. Exasperated, she bent over to retrieve it, her eyes landing on a pair of stylish boots. Polished to a shine, not a speck of dirt. Was she the only one who had wrestled with nature that morning? She looked up and into the patrician gaze of Ros.

"Harry's been asking for you."

"Has he?" Ruth replied with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

"Just thought I should pass it along." Ros turned to her desk and slid into her chair, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Ruth took a deep breath, refusing to be needled by the other woman's insinuating words. Ros had only been with the team for a few months, she had no idea what was going on between her and Harry - which in fact, was absolutely nothing. As if refuting Ruth's claim, the red light on her desk phone blinked at her with a mocking insistence. Ruth ignored it and studied the pile of folders on her desk. There was nothing between her and Harry, because if there was anything she would have jumped up from her chair the moment she had heard he was looking for her. She would have welcomed the opportunity to walk into his office and spend a few quiet moments with him. But that was not the case. As annoying as it was to be late, a small part of her was secretly glad that the bus had been delayed. Over the past few days, she had been arriving at work significantly later than usual, a bid to avoid being alone in Harry's company. A pang of nostalgia bloomed in her chest, a longing for an earlier time when their mutual attraction lay sleeping beneath the surface of their days, quietly living on dreams and anticipation. It had been foolish to wake it, expose it to the glare of reality. Office romances always died under fluorescent lights, she knew that from firsthand experience. Her temperament was not suited to sly looks and innuendo. She had thought that by refusing a second date she could silence wagging tongues and maintain Harry's authority on the Grid. It had been the right decision, the only responsible thing to do. Admittedly, there were moments when she doubted her decision, brief imaginings of other scenarios, thoughts which she quickly brushed away. But in the darker corners of the night, temptation whispered, laying before her a fantasy where a brief meeting in a hotel corridor ended far differently than a hurried goodnight and a closed door. Alone in her bed, lying beneath cold sheets, warm thoughts crept in, the memory of their dinner date, an illicit kiss, soft lips, heavy breaths and roaming hands...

As if summoned, a hand appeared on top of her folders. Ruth jumped in her seat. The crisp white cuff of a shirt peeked out beneath a dark jacket sleeve and she followed the arm up to the face of her Section Head. Harry cocked his head in the direction of his office; no word of greeting, no inquiry into her health, the usual warmth he reserved for her missing from his eyes. He turned on his heels and walked away, giving her no chance to respond. She frowned, unsettled by his silent summons. Her hand shook as she opened her desk drawer and extracted a little mirror along with a tube of lipstick. She didn't need to turn around to know that Ros was smiling. Taming her hand, she coloured her lips, taking her time; she was not a puppy to be brought to heel by a look. Unsure of the reason for her summons, she grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from her desk and made her way to Harry's office.

The frame of the door offered a modicum of protection and she waited in its shelter, hoping that their business would be concluded quickly; that he merely wanted to share a piece of Intel or an update. Harry made no move to acknowledge her presence but continued to read the papers on his desk.

"You wanted to see me?" she prompted.

"Come in. Shut the door."

The gruffness of his voice caught her off guard, though she should be used to it by now. She stepped in and closed the door, aware that his tone signalled something either very confidential or very bad.

"Have a seat."

Taking her place in the chair across from him, Ruth's mind raced with the reason for the meeting. Was she to be reprimanded for her tardiness? Was she being dismissed? Or more worryingly, was this going to be a discussion of a personal nature? From the set of his shoulders and the efficient manner in which he was moving papers on his desk, she concluded that that was not personal. He did not look up at her when he spoke.

"Have you heard of Operation Bedouin?"

"No," she replied.

"I thought with your contacts something might have reached your ears."

"What is it?"

"I need you to find out what you can on this man." He handed her a piece of paper with a grainy photo.

"Nizaar Hassan," she read aloud.

"See what you can get; I'm calling the team together in an hour."

"Sure," she nodded. "Do you want me to look into this Operation Bedouin?"

His hands stilled and his brow furrowed. "Without alerting anyone."

"Of course." She waited for a moment wondering if she was dismissed. "Anything else?"

For the first time since she had entered his office, he looked directly at her. She quelled her instinct to look away, forcing herself to calmly return his gaze. The corner of his eyes softened, his lips parting slightly. In treasonous response, her stomach gave an involuntary flip and her lips parted, mirroring his. Perhaps a personal discussion wouldn't be such a bad idea, clear the air, find a middle ground. Somewhere off the Grid, a coffee, lunch. It would give her a chance to articulate her misgivings, they could re-establish their rapport, find a way back. Words formed on her tongue, but as she took a breath to speak his face hardened, and he returned to reading the file in front of him.

"That's all for now."

She sat for a moment in stunned silence, stung by his less than gracious dismissal. It was to be expected, really. She had refused a second date and bolted from him at Havensworth. The man had his pride; he was only reasserting their professional boundaries. Perhaps he had called her in merely to illustrate the new status quo between them. A signal that he would make no other overtures towards her; business as usual. It was a deflating conclusion. She rose from her chair and moved toward the door.

"Ruth."

"Yes?" She turned back to him unable to temper the tiny flicker of expectation in her voice.

"Close the door behind you."

The smile fell from her face, and she resolutely turned away. It was what she wanted, it was better to draw a line around their relationship instead of inhabiting a hazy grey area. Crossing the threshold, she pulled the door shut behind her, the panel hitting the frame with a definitive thud. That was it. The door between them was closed.

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Low-level chatter buzzed around the briefing room, the conversations swarming about Ruth as she concentrated on the papers in front of her. She ordered her thoughts searching for what she would say when the inevitable question came her way - what had she found on Nizaar Hassan. Harry entered and closed the door, shutting out the white noise of the Grid. He took his seat at the head of the table, adjusting his cuffs as he waited for the team to settle in. He turned to Adam.

"Where are we on the weapons smuggling?"

"We've traced the trail back to Georgia," said Adam.

"It's um... Azkabazi," Ruth corrected, apologetically. "It's a breakaway state." Details were important, after all.

"There's word a shipment is coming next week," Adam continued. "We need to pin down the location and date."

"We've uncovered an account," said Jo. "Usually there is a money transfer a few days out."

"Good." Harry turned back to Adam. "Would you say that you have a handle on this?"

"Yes. Once we have the date we can go in a sweep up all the players on this end."

"Ruth," Harry gestured at the analyst but did not look in her direction. "Did you come up with anything on Hassan?"

"Nizaar Hassan." She shuffled the papers and cleared her throat. "He's an Iraqi born physicist."

Harry frowned at her. "And…?"

Ruth shifted in her seat and swallowed. "That's all I have."

"What do you mean?" Harry looked at her as if she had been replaced by an alien being.

"That's all I could find. He was born and lives in Baghdad. Unmarried. That's it."

"What's this all about, Harry?" asked Adam.

"The current thought is that he's here, in London, and we have been asked to find him. Apparently, he has information on weapons."

"In Asbakazi?" asked Zaf.

"No," Harry corrected. "In Iraq."

"But it's been years," Ros pointed out. "Nothing has ever been found."

"As you may recall our government made the decision to invade based on uncorroborated information from Six."

"And we said as much." Ros raised her hands in denial. "We backed away from it."

"Yes, well the Americans say Hassan is a source so we need to track him down. Public support for the war is in decline, and needless to say, the government is looking to change that."

"We're not a propaganda arm of the government," Zaf interjected.

Ignoring him, Harry continued. "Jo, see what you can find on Hassan."

"If Ruth can't find anything, what makes you think I can?"

"She's not always infallible, is she?" Harry responded tersely.

Silence fell on the room like a guillotine. Somewhere a pin dropped and everyone at the table heard it. Ruth stared at the papers in front of her, the core of her being quaking from the perceived insult. That was the problem, she was unerringly dependable in her information gathering, the definition of her very being depended on it, and on this occasion, she had been found woefully lacking. No one pointed out Harry's transgression, and he gave no indication that he was aware of the temperature of the room, and even if he was, it was not in his nature to backtrack. He carried on as if nothing had happened.

"As you know, there has been no love lost between us and Six as of late. So the JIC has asked us to go to Baghdad with them and hash things out."

"When are we leaving?" Adam sat forward, excited at the prospect of field work.

"I'm taking Ruth with me."

Ruth's head shot up. "Me?"

"Ruth?" Adam's asked with equal surprise.

The eyes of the team turned to Ruth, and a ball of heat instantly flamed within her chest, rapidly travelling to her cheeks. Her first instinct was to laugh and ask Harry if he was joking, but the expression on his face told her that he was being deadly serious.

"I can't…" Words failed, and her brain derailed, unable to make sense of the situation. "I can't go to Baghdad…."

Harry ignored her protest and stood up from the table signalling that the briefing had concluded. "Continue with the smuggling operation. I'll be gone for three days at the most."

Ruth remained in her seat, grappling with the new information, sifting through arguments as to why she could not go to Baghdad. The rest of the team collected their documents and filed out of the room, Jo catching Ruth's eye as she walked out. Adam did not immediately leave but caught Harry by the arm

"Harry is this wise?" Adam spoke in a low voice, his words still audible to Ruth as she sat at the table. "Both Ros and I have experience in the Middle East."

"Ros showed her loyalty by defending Six, and I need you here to oversee the weapons smuggling."

"Ruth has no experience in the field."

Ruth bristled at Adam's argument, laid out as if she wasn't within earshot.

"It's high-level intelligence sharing," Harry explained. "I need an analyst. A field officer would be wasted."

Ruth sat back in her chair. Well, then, that was different. Why waste the talents of an officer when a lowly analyst was available.

Adam was not convinced. "It's a dangerous place-"

Harry held up his hand silencing his Section Chief. "It will only be for a few days. Get Jo to track down Hassan."

Adam gave Harry one last look but realised the argument had been decided. He shook his head and left the briefing room. Harry ran his hand over his face. The tip of Ruth's pen tapped against her papers, the slow tick of a bomb.

"Is that what you were going to tell me in your officer earlier?"

Harry's head jerked around, eyes opening slightly at the realisation that she was still in the room.

Ruth shook her head, her pen spinning angrily between her fingers. Bastard. He had made the announcement in front of everyone to thwart her protest. He should have told her in private, warned her, given her time to digest things.

"Harry, I can't go to Baghdad…"

She gave him a level look, the end of her sentence remaining suspended in the air between them. She couldn't go to Baghdad - with him.

"It's not a request."

"I'm nowhere near finished with the transcripts-"

Harry thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, his chest moving with a controlled intake of breath. "Is your passport in order?"

"I think so… I mean…"

"Good. We leave tomorrow at seven."

"Tomorrow? That's hardly any time-"

"We've got a flight out of Brize Norton."

Her mind raced with the volume of tasks she would have to accomplish in that time.

"Harry?" Her voice stopped him at the door. "What is this really about?"

He turned and looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"I need someone I can trust."

Harry opened the door and walked out leaving Ruth with only the tap of his heels as he proceeded down the corridor. Head heavy with the weight of what had just transpired, she rested her forehead in her hands. Baghdad. She couldn't go to Baghdad. Adam was right; she had no experience abroad, her excursions into the field inevitably ended in disaster. She was a desk spook. And that wasn't the most glaring concern. She couldn't go to Baghdad with Harry, not with the way things were between them, awash in unresolved tension. But he had given her no choice; it had been an order. She sighed. At least it would be warm there. The noise from the Grid filtered into the room, reminding her of the myriad of tasks that called her. Her head cocked as she looked at the door. Harry had not shut the panel behind him when he had left. The door was open.