Escape

It was far too late for Harry Pearce to be awake that night, but he was feeling restless. And rather than wake Ruth, sleeping peacefully in the bed they'd shared for the last three years, he stayed downstairs of their house and wandered around in his bare feet with his shirttails untucked and three buttons undone. He'd had it in his mind to pour himself another scotch, but that would probably be unwise.

He didn't want to put on a record or the television in fear of disturbing Ruth, so instead he went into the eerily still kitchen, poured himself a plain glass of cold water, and sat down at the table. The newspaper from that morning had been left out—he usually read it with his breakfast and brought it with him in the car on the way to Thames House—thanks to his oppressively early meeting with the Home Secretary that prevented his preferred morning routine. He spread it in front of him now and turned each page, letting the black-printed pages wash over him without much thought.

Without even knowing why, he'd ended up on the page of personal ads. Some were less poetic than others. But then one caught his eye.

If you end the day with a glass of Ardbeg and are equally happy with Mahler and Led Zeppelin, use your militant sense of organization to find me so I can see all your Scarlet scars, inside and out, and then together we can escape.

It was initially the reference to Ardbeg, Harry's favorite scotch, that stood out to him. But reading that one cryptic sentence, he knew that ad was directed at him. Who else could it be? His favorite band and favorite composer, his history in the military, his battle scars. And having Scarlet capitalized like that, surely it was a reference to his dearly departed dog. It had to be an asset or a former officer or someone trying to contact him. Someone who would know Harry got the Times every morning. Someone who needed his help to escape.

Without a second thought, Harry immediately got a sheet of paper and wrote an ad of his own to place in the newspaper. It was quite an old-fashioned thing to do, but it was a tried and true spook technique. Though it had been so long, he wasn't quite sure the cost. He put a few extra pounds in the envelope. He'd have his driver stop off at the newspaper office in the morning and he'd drop it off himself.

Despite this strange development making him quite intrigued, Harry suddenly started to feel sleepy. Perhaps having something to focus on had solved his restlessness. He put the paper away and took his personal ad into his study to slip into his briefcase for the following morning. After that, he went upstairs to get ready for bed.

By the time he crawled under the covers with Ruth, he was positively knackered. She stayed asleep when he kissed her softly but hummed a happy little sound. He smiled as she shifted and turned toward him. Harry wrapped her in his arms and fell asleep quite happily.

The following morning, everything went as usual. Ruth had a rather harried time getting ready for the day, as always, running and knocking things over and losing her shoes and hitting her elbow in the shower and swearing up a storm and making toast with wet hair and going to dry it while shoveling the toast into her mouth. It had been years of this, and Harry still did not know how she managed to be so clumsy and disorganized at home when she was the absolute picture of organization and efficiency at work. He sat at had his own breakfast with the paper as her cacophony of chaos sounded upstairs. He just sipped his coffee and reminded himself that he loved her, even if she was a mess.

"Right, I'm off," she announced, rushing into the kitchen. Her hair was brushed and dried and shiny and soft, her makeup was elegant, and her clothes were a bit drab but all in perfect order. Harry looked up from his paper as she hurried over to kiss him swiftly before leaving. "I'll see you later. Love you!" she called as she ran out the door.

Harry just smiled. "Love you, too," he replied softly. She was already gone, but he liked to say it anyway.

Not being in a rush, Harry was able to take his time finishing his paper—checking to see if the personal ad directed at him was still there and noting that it was and wondering how long it had been there for—and drinking his coffee. He then went upstairs to choose a tie and put on his suit jacket. Lastly, he collected his briefcase and called his driver to say he was ready.

"We're going to the Times office first," Harry instructed as he got into the back of his car.

"Yes, sir."

This new driver had only been on the job about a month and Harry already liked him better than the last lad. He appreciated having one place where his instructions weren't questioned. On the Grid and at home, he had Ruth pushing back on his decisions. But he wouldn't have it any other way. He needed her perspective and her outspoken opinions to help guide him. Not that he needed to check with her before he did things, but it was now very much a part of their process for them to discuss it all.

The day went on just like any other. Not that any day on the Grid was really too routine, but there weren't active field operations in progress at the moment, so things were relatively calm. They were all busy putting together the surveillance and negotiations strategy for the upcoming visit from Bahrain. The oil crisis was only increasing and the PM was very much looking forward to the opportunity, but of course both the Home Secretary and Foreign Secretary had been ringing Harry nonstop to ensure the whole thing went off without a hitch. They were still over a week away, and so far things were coming along nicely.

And wouldn't you know, there was the Home Secretary calling him yet again. Harry could practically feel his ears bleeding from the number of times he'd heard himself say that Section D had everything in hand.

At about four in the afternoon, Ruth came into his office to see him. She never knocked and he never expected her to.

"Harry, I've got some authorizations for you to sign," she said without any introduction.

He nodded. "I'll look them over, thank you." He took the file folder from her and gave a soft smile. "How's your day going?" he asked.

She smiled back. "Alright. The hotel is being a bit uncooperative, but I'm making contingencies."

"I'm sure you'll work it out."

"Yes, I will," she assured him. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight? Anything special?"

Strange that she should ask him if he wanted anything special. It was a Tuesday, nothing special about that. "I think we'll be home in time if we want to cook," he replied. "We've got a few things in, don't we?"

Ruth nodded. "We've got some veg that we need to eat before it goes bad. And I think maybe some chicken? I could do a stir fry, maybe?"

"That's fine."

"Right. I'll let you get back to work, then."

There was something in her tone that he did not like. "If you wait a moment, I'll sign these for you. And in the meantime, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she answered quickly.

"Ruth…" he said warningly. They'd had this problem early on in their relationship. She'd get in some sort of mood and not tell him what was bothering her and he'd get frustrated and she'd get bitter and they'd have a spectacular row about it. Ruth always wanted him to pay more attention and understand her more. Harry wanted to quit playing foolish games like this. Over the years they'd learned to be a bit better about it, him being more patient and her being more open. He wasn't keen to return to their former habits.

"Nothing is wrong," Ruth repeated. "Unless there's something bothering you?"

"Why would anything be bothering me?" he asked. His memory flashed on that ad in the Times. He hadn't told her about it. Nor would he, not until he learned more information. Actually, he probably should have asked Malcolm to look into it for him. Perhaps after his own ad ran. He'd see if there was any response.

Ruth looked at him with an unreadable expression. That was unusual. Ruth was blessed and cursed with an extremely expressive face, and usually Harry could figure out what she was feeling. But not so this time. She sighed and just said, "I don't know, Harry, you've been staying up late and just…never mind. Please just sign the forms."

He skimmed reading each of the authorizations that Ruth had prepared for him and signed each one for her. She muttered her thanks and took the file back. Harry watched her through the window in his office until the phone rang again and distracted him.

They went home together at the end of the day, both of them a bit quiet and careful with the other but things were otherwise fine. Ruth cooked dinner for them, Harry put the bins out for collection the next morning, and they had a quiet evening together. They both read in bed for a while and shared a soft kiss and went to sleep. Nothing out of the ordinary about any of it.

The next morning, however, Harry was anxious to see his ad printed in the newspaper. Ruth was busy with her usual frantic showering and getting ready. He turned to the personal section and was pleased to see it reprinted perfectly.

I like nothing more than a glass of Ardbeg while listening to Black Dog or Symphony No.2, and I look forward to showing you my scars when we escape.

Now there was nothing left to do but wait. He tried to think about who it could be, what asset from his past might be looking for him now. Ruth came to kiss him on her way out, as usual, and reminded Harry that he was due to meet with the Cabinet at eight. With that, he too got ready to leave and followed her out the door. She took the bus, which she insisted she still enjoyed, and he got in the back of his car for the driver to chauffeur him to Number Ten.

For the next two days, Section D did their best to oversee the Bahrain preparations with Ruth taking the laboring oar and Harry providing updates and reassurances to the various members of Government. But Harry remained distracted. He really should have asked Malcolm to do some digging into the source of that ad. He did not know what was stopping him. For some reason, Harry wanted to keep this strange little bit of excitement to himself.

Then, on the third day after Harry's ad first ran, a response was printed.

I will have a bottle of your favorite at the Griffin on Tuesday the ninth at seven sharp so we can escape.

Tuesday was tomorrow. Good timing, that. He briefly wondered if he was being surveilled somehow, if the writer of this ad was watching him. Well, if he was, the ad was a bit of an elaborate ruse. It also did not escape him that this meeting at the pub, a pub he'd used more than once in the past for various meets with assets, could very well be a trap. He'd go armed. Just in case.

"Ruth, I won't be home for dinner tomorrow," he told her when she came into his office to go over some of the plans for the Bahrain visit. "I've got to meet with an old asset."

"What asset?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

"It's just routine. Got into contact after a long time. I don't imagine anything will come of it, but I said I'd meet him," he lied. He still did not know for sure it was an asset, though who else could it be? He also did not know if that asset was a man or not. And now, after all this time, he couldn't very well tell Ruth of all people that he'd been exchanging notes with someone from the personals column.

"Well, be careful," she told him. "And it's just as well, I won't be home for dinner tomorrow either."

"You won't?"

"No, I've got my dentist appointment, remember? It's after work and the latest appointment I could get in the day before the operation gets serious enough for me to not be able to leave the Grid," she told him.

Harry did vaguely recall that Ruth had told him she had a dentist appointment. "Very well. We can do leftovers tonight and then whichever of us gets home first tomorrow can order a curry for the other."

She nodded. "That works."

When the time came for him to meet the mysterious asset, Harry took no chances. He had the driver take him home, where he took one of his guns from its locked storage and loaded it. He drove his own car and parked two streets away from the Griffin and walked the rest of the way.

He liked walking the streets of London after dark. This was his city, his home. Even being a man of his age in an expensive suit in a somewhat dodgy part of town, Harry felt good. The adrenaline of his old life in the field was pumping through his veins. The weight of the gun was a comfort. He had no idea what was going to happen, and he found that he liked it.

The Griffin wasn't too busy at seven on a Tuesday. He scanned the room as he entered, looking for a bottle of Ardbeg scotch. There were a few blokes playing darts in the back, and one moved aside to reveal the end of the bar. And there was the bottle. And a very familiar face.

"It's you!" he exclaimed in surprise. Of all the people he'd imagined the mysterious ad-writer to be, the person waiting at the bar had not even made the list.

"Yes," she answered, pouring scotch for each of them and passing the glass to him as he took the stool beside her.

"I had no idea." Harry was well and truly flabbergasted. And now felt somewhat foolish for having a gun.

"Cheers," she said, picking up her glass. They clinked them together and each took a sip.

The scotch's familiar burn helped calm him down from the surprise. "Ruth, what's the meaning of all this?"

She smiled softly. "I just wanted to see what would happen. I can't tell you how glad I was when you responded to my ad. I ran it for a week before I saw yours."

"I thought it was an asset."

"Yes, I know. Though I'm glad you didn't think it was a woman you could respond to for an affair. Since that's what most people are in the personals for."

He was taken aback again at that. "Of course not! Ruth, how could you ever think I'd do a thing like that?!"

"You do have a track record," she pointed out. He opened his mouth to respond but she put her hand up to stop him and continued, "And before you tell me that things are different with us, I already know that. But I just…" She sighed and took another sip of scotch.

Harry watched her drink his favorite drink and thought about how she used to choke whenever she would try a bit from his glass. She'd come a long way. They both had. "You just what, Ruth?"

"I thought you might be getting bored with me."

"Bored!?" he exclaimed incredulously. "How could I get bored with you?"

"We've been together for a long time, Harry. And we've got a routine. I just didn't want routine to turn into a rut. So I thought I'd…well, actually I don't know what the point of any of this was. Just something out of the ordinary, I suppose. An escape," she said sadly, looking down into her almost-empty glass.

Harry took her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. "Ruth, for such an intelligent woman, you can be very stupid sometimes."

"Thank you, that's terribly romantic," she replied sarcastically.

"I like our routine," he told her. "I don't think it's a rut, I think it's comforting and familiar, and it's certainly not something I'm looking to escape. I have had more than enough excitement in my life, and I wasn't looking for some torrid affair when I met you. And we've not exactly had the easiest time getting to this point, have we?"

"No," she agreed.

"So please believe me when I say that I love you more than anything in this world and I will never have an affair with any other woman and I will not get bored of you."

Ruth searched his face. "You'll tell me if you are getting bored?"

"I'll take out an ad about it."

She chuckled at that. "Alright, you do that."

Harry grinned and stroked her cheek gently, just because he wanted to and just because he could. "I do love you, Ruth."

"I love you, too, Harry," she replied. She took his hand from her face and kissed his fingers.

"What do you say we take this bottle and find a table and we can order some food here?"

"Yes, I think that's a good idea."

"Go find us a shadowy corner where I can kiss you and let my hands wander without too many people seeing," he instructed.

Ruth laughed and swatted his arm as they stood up. Harry let her take the bottle and her glass. He had a free hand so he used it to goose her bum. Her shriek and following laughter delighted him to no end.

As they cuddled up in their shadowy corner table, Harry was quite pleased that they'd found a nice escape from an ordinary Tuesday night.