Having long hoped that Ruth will make a return I thought I might give Kudos an idea to play with...enjoy.

Note: I've tried my best to correctly translate the French but apologies for any mistakes.

I don't own them, please don't sue.

A Rogue Renaissance

Chapter One

Thin cable ties dug deep into Harry's skin and the edges scored his wrists as he shifted his weight on the wooden chair which wobbled on the uneven floor boards. His muscles began to cramp as the restraints pulled his shoulders back, rigidly fixing his wrists to the chair.

The room was cold and damp, broken shafts of light filtered through small grubby windows. Dirtied white walls and wooden beams shaped the room. To his front was a heavy wooden door. An old soiled sofa was pushed hard up against one of the walls, the only piece to furnish the room.

It had been a day since his hurried abduction. His memory blurred from the various drugs pumping round his system, he had no recollection of how he'd come to arrive at his new home. Wherever he was he guessed it was remote.

The sound of voices drifted within the cottage. As he contemplated his predicament the large oak door opened. Two masked figures, each holding an air of confidence, entered in silence. The first was a thickset man dressed in a grey suit, black leather gloves dressed his hands and a baklava shielded all but his eyes and strip of flesh at his mouth. The other was a women dressed all in black. She wore boots, trousers and a high polo necked top. Just as her accomplice, her face and identity was hidden from view. The woman kept her distance, swiftly closing the door behind their entrance. The man walked directly towards Harry, squatting down to match Harry's eye level both men were drawn into a silent stare as each weighed up the other. Harry had little time for these mind games. "What is it you want?"

The recipient of his words had no problem in matching his frankness. He had a soft tone but creases round his eyes betrayed a bitterness. "I want the respect I and many others deserve."

Harry scoffed "Well if respect is what you want, this is the wrong way to go about it."

A sneer stretched under his baklava and his hot breath steamed on Harry's face as he leaned in. "Oh and you think you know what way I'm going?... You don't even know who I am."

"True, so enlighten me?" His tone was laced with sarcasm

The man rose to his feet and started to slowly pace round Harry and the distinct clunk of footwear on the wooden boards echoed softly round the room. Arriving to the rear he lent his heavy hands on Harry's shoulders and spoke softly to his ear. "Tell me Pearce, you've given your whole life to the service, to your country but of those who served alongside you, how many were cast off? How many has the service abandoned, denied existed, left to rot in squalor or have been thrown to the wolves?" He abruptly released Harry's shoulders and with a quickness to his step he continued to pace his circle.

As an unsettling notch tightened in his stomach, there was no contempt in Harry's words. "Who exactly are you?"

The question was greeted with a sneer, "Who. Am. I?… It's not who I am, but who I was. Andrew Cook..." Harry Frowned as although familiar he couldn't place the name. "... I am one of many who deserve to be redeemed, honoured and recognised by the joke that is the British intelligence services. I gave my life to the service only to be used and then thrown out as it suited those pencil pushing bureaucrats. I should be wearing a row of medals not living in exile! So it's my intension to make the service sit up, take notice and provide for those who've done so much for their country."

Harry mussed a moment as he saw the pain in Andrew's eyes. His thoughts briefly turned to his own officers lost to exile, Zoe and of course Ruth. He couldn't help but feel for the man before him but as much as he understood his anger he could not condone it. He spoke plainly but with heartfelt honesty.

"It's an honourable aim, and I for one will never forget the debt I owe to friends fallen in the course of duty*. Andrew, I don't pretend to know what happened to you but I do know there are times when officers unfairly shoulder blame; however those in the service are aware of the risks that come with the job. You aren't honoured, there is no recognition. Those after medals and glory join the damn army."

Harry had underestimated the volatile mix of resentment and hatred flowing through the man's veins. The last of his words were not taken to kindly. There was a loud solid thud as a four knuckle fist connected with his cheek bone.

Harry gasped as the pain throbbed through his jaw. Snapping his neck up he saw the woman accomplice had engaged Andrew, roughly shoving his shoulder. Her tongue was French and unfamiliar.

"Assez ! … et nos noms, nous avons convenu. Vous ne parlez pas?"

["Enough! … and our names, we agreed we would not say them. Remember?"]

Andrew lost his air of level-headedness and shoved her back in the direction she'd come and almost threw her off balance. "I didn't say yours did I!" His deathly stare subdued her any further protests.

Harry swallowed his throbbing pain and began to reason with Andrew. Now his words were directed at them both and hoped he might get through to this woman. "Taking me, how will that help? I can't re-write history for you, I can't change what's happened. ...I wish I could. I could look into your files and in time maybe I-"

Andrew cut him off. "No. We know there's no coming back, just moving on and that... that requires finance."

Harry had often seen the plight of a just cause turn rotten through greed and inwardly groaned as a sense of disappointment filled him. Any sense of common pity he'd held for them and their plight had rapidly dissipated. His exasperated words left his mouth as a disappointed sigh. "So it's money you're after?"

Harry's tone again sparked Andrew's short fuse and he spat his words. "No it's compensation! And perhaps the reassurance that The British government will in future think twice about how it treats us … But like you said it needs to be bigger than just snatching you and it is, much bigger. You'll be our messenger and deliver our message to the JIC and the government."

"And what message is that?"

Andrew adjusted the balaklava over his face and rediscovered the composure he'd entered the room with. He spoke with absolute conviction, "If they fail to pay up then... then they only have themselves to blame for the backlash they receive. In two days we will demonstrate how serious we are. We'll strike at the heart, choosing a handful of wide ranging targets, including members from Five and Six. They'll be held account for their wrong doings. Some of Britons finest snipers, explosive experts and tactical experts want their voices heard and you shouldn't for a minute under estimate our intention of following through with our threat."

Damp sweat had now formed on Harry's brow as he contemplated Andrew's threat and the sheer resolution in his eyes. Harry held no doubt of steadfast desire for blood to be shed and that Andrew was utterly serious in his plans

The pace of his words were quick, his teeth gritted in a mix of trepidation and anger. "This is blackmail. The government won't be held to ransom."

"Oh, come on Pearce. The IRA, Ministers, Hackers, even Islamic extremists, we both know our governments' paid off more people in the last decade than you've had hot dinners"

His voice softened and breaths deepened as he tried to talk sense to a crazed man. "Could you really kill, maim those you've worked with, friends who when you were part of the services worked tirelessly to save your life? Christ man! Look at your logic. You said you're trying to protect those in the service, how's that achieved by killing them? "

A smirk crossed his framed lips. "There are those in the service who don't deserve the lives they lead."

A sickness churned in Harry's stomach and with it any hope he held of 'getting through' all but vanished. Risking another beating, "what if you're not taken seriously? You talk the talk but for all I know you're two, maybe three burned out spooks that are living a fantasy...a dream."

His words seem to strike a cord and pacing in front of Harry he paused for a moment before replying, "Ok, so you go back, speak to the JIC, to government, and sure there is a risk we may not be taken seriously. The fact that we are, will of course be prove beyond doubt in good time, but till then I expect you'll no doubt try to concoct some elaborate plan. Dig up my past, use it against us. There's a risk me and the others may meet a sticky end or worse, behind bars." Harry didn't reply, that was exactly what he planned on doing. Standing still Andrew turned to face Harry, he thought for a moment before continuing. "We do have to be taken seriously and we will still return you to Themes House. You will deliver our message as before, but a sacrifice will have to be made...collateral damage if you like." Harry felt a second wave to the uncomfortable notch building in his stomach. Andrew stooped down to match Harry's eye level as he finished. "Sorry dear boy, but maybe your dead body will be enough of a wakeup call and an unpleasant glimpse of things to come to guarantee our sincerity."

Andrew removed the black pistol he had stashed in his belt. His leather gloves creaked as his grip tightened and Harry's heart pounded and eyes widened but before he'd an opportunity to object Andrew's minion had launched herself at his self-appointed executioner. Andrew was forced to step back and with her back to Harry, the woman placed herself between the two.

Her French was fast but delivered in a stern tone "Pour la saké de God! Ce n'est pas le plan, Pearce doit rester vivant.

[For God's sake! This is not the plan, Peace must remain alive.]

His tone was non-negotiable. "Well it's the plan now. Dead or alive he can deliver our message and I'd sleep better knowing it was the latter...".

His operational time in France had meant close connections to agents out French seemed native to a north-western accent but not recognising her voice he wondered if she might have been an agent Six had used. If she was having doubts then maybe he'd found a chink in their armour, perhaps he could divide the two? His mind drifted, if she understands English as she obviously does, why is she only speaking French? Harry didn't have time to deliberate further as the women was again pushed to one side.

"...Unless you wish to join him I suggest you shut up! If you don't want to be here then you can go tell the boys to load up the van, this won't take long."

The woman began to timidly retreat to the edge of the room. Her gaze focused on the floor, she obviously felt uncomfortable with the direction things were going.

Harry pleaded directly to her," vous êtes fidèle à un homme trompé"

["You are faithful to a mad man"] his desperate words and hope of appealing to her was met with another solid blow to his head. The metallic taste of blood now rinsed over his tongue.

"Common' now Harry I don't want you to be all battered up for when your family come to identify you."

"You're sick Andrew."

Over his years of services he'd brought the country to the brink of war, been shot and held captive more times than he could count but the this man stirred a fear darkest to Harry, betrayal. Betrayal of a man who once he'd, knowing or otherwise, trusted with his life. Andrew was now simply a mad man with a deadly concoction of bitterness and delusions of self-grandeur adding to the venom that flowed through his veins and it was this that drove a thirst for blood and retribution.

Stepping a pace back again Andrew tightened his grip and cocked back the hammer, pointing it at Harry's chest. Harry strained hard on the restraints wrapped round his wrists. The adrenaline numbed the pain as thick tacky blood aided the lubrication of his wrists. It was clear Harry's execution was becoming a reality and with this, the woman's anxieties grew.

"Andrew svp. Pas ceci. Svp."

["Andrew please. Not this. Please."]

Andrew ignored her; his eyes were locked with Harry's. Harry could detect her nerves and his heart thumped hard in his chest. If he had more time maybe he could turn her, he needed to stall things.

"Good-bye Pierce"

Time was running out. Harry was looking down the barrel of the gun, wrists bloodied, his restraints still too tight to break, his face stiffened with fear, he opened his mouth to plea with any remaining humanity left in Andrew, to the spook he used to be. His words would come too late and the deafening crack of the 9mm round detonating flashed its way round the room...

*Quote from Harry's Diary

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