The Loneliness of the Once-Distant Agent
Part 7
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Lucas didn't even wait for Caballero to walk away before he tried to free himself, but the wire was too tight, and he only ended up scraping his face on the grille. He tested the handcuffs next, and found that Bernardo had not closed them quite as tightly as he had done back in the warehouse. There was a very slim chance he could slip out – if he could break or dislocate his thumb.
Taking his left thumb in his right hand, Lucas gritted his teeth, stared at the cannister of gas, and pulled. He'd managed to slip out of handcuffs once before, during an interrogation session in Russia, but that had been an involuntary reaction. But the pain was the same – or at least Lucas tried to convince himself that it wasn't worse than the previous time. Upon succeeding, he screeched long and loud, then howled anew as he moved his thumb around to the middle of his palm and wrestled his hand through the cuff. There! Reaching up with his good hand, he fumbled at the wire that held his neck, finding the end and picking at it with his fingernails. Thankfully, Caballero had been in a hurry and hadn't done more than twist the wire twice around itself.
The bomb was more securely attached, however, and the ends of the wires were more difficult to manoeuver. But despite impaling his finger twice, Lucas finally managed to untwist the first wire, and then, after what seemed like an eternity, the second one. The bomb fell free of the cannister and landed in the snow. Lucas flinched back, expecting it to go off near his knees, but it didn't. The timer kept counting down, too; there were less than twenty seconds now. Making a quick decision, Lucas picked up the entire device, then threw it as hard as he could into the snowy sky.
It exploded on its way up, and the debris rained down on the other side of the roof; Lucas heard them hit and tumble along, but it didn't sound like there was any serious damage. The main thing was the cannister, still wired to the grille, and still intact. He was just about to heave a great sigh of relief mixed with sudden exhaustion when a trap door in the roof opened and a man with a gun appeared in the opening. CO19 had finally arrived.
"Hands up!" the man called, stepping onto the roof. "Get down on your knees and put your hands on your head!"
"Don't shoot!" Lucas called back, kneeling down and lifting his hands in surrender. The movement made his left thumb throb sharply all the way down to his elbow. "I'm MI-5! Don't shoot!"
The first man made room for two more, and they clustered around Lucas, two of them pointing their guns at his head with the third one coming around behind.
"There's a truck-mounted crane parked around the corner in Troughton Lane, Caballero might still be close to it!" Lucas said quickly, and rattled off the license-plate numbers of both the truck and the Lexus that Caballero had been using.
"We'll check it out," the officer said. "But for now, there's been a report of an explosion up here, along with a level one threat of an attack on the ambassador, so if you really are MI-5, you won't mind coming along with us until we've verified your identity."
"There's a cannister of Fazackerley gas over there, attached to the ventilation system," Lucas said, indicating with one finger, and one of the men went over to investigate. Taking Lucas by the upper arm, the officer helped him up, then led him to the trap door. Looking in, Lucas understood why they hadn't cuffed his hands together; he had to go backwards down a short ladder to reach the attic floor. Once they were out of the snow, however, they ran a metal detector over his body and patted him down as well.
"Have you got any identification?" the officer asked, and Lucas made an instinctive grab for his back pocket, then froze. "Damn, Caballero took my wallet back at that warehouse."
"We'll have to take your fingerprints, then," the officer said, and they led him the stairs to a room on the ground floor. Here, another member of the team had set up a laptop and other equipment, and they scanned Lucas' fingertips. Once they'd verified that he really was Lucas North, the guns went down and the officer removed the handcuff that had been dangling from his right wrist the entire time.
"How'd you get out?" the man asked as he turned the key.
Holding up his left hand to show that his thumb was hanging at an unnatural angle, Lucas said, "I dislocated my own thumb."
Looking suitably impressed, the officer touched the radio in his ear and said, "Get me a medic."
Lucas just barely had time to pull off the white suit before the medic arrived to unwind the old bandage, probe his hand, and ask if he had any other injuries. When he shook his head, the medic gave his face a skeptical look, but didn't press the subject.
"Put him back together right, it's his birthday and who knows what kind of celebration he's got planned for later," the officer said suddenly, and the medic smiled. "Happy birthday, then," he said, and heaved Lucas' thumb back into its proper position.
After the medic had wound a new bandage around his hand, Lucas gave a first debriefing to CO19, which included a video link back to the Grid and an offer by Mercy to come and pick him up. Then a secretary showed up and escorted Lucas to another room where he was surprised to see the Cuitlatepanian ambassador and his wife.
"I understand we have you to thank for the fact that we're not all lying here dead," the ambassador said, gliding over to Lucas and shaking his hand. He sounded more honest than diplomatic.
"You're welcome, but really, I was just doing my job," Lucas said. Knowing when it was better to be more diplomatic than honest, he didn't mention that he'd also been saving his own life because he'd have been the first one to succumb to the gas.
"Thank you so much," the ambassador's wife added. Her English was good, but charmingly accented. "We have our children with us here to-night, and we all could have been killed. We owe you all our lives."
"You're welcome," Lucas replied again. What else could he say?
"I've also been told it's your birthday to-day," the ambassador announced. Biting down on the instinctive flicker of fear that the word evoked, Lucas forced a very diplomatic smile.
"You know, I was thinking of giving you a pair of cufflinks as a gift," the ambassador said. "As a very small token of our appreciation. But then I thought I might ask your boss to give you a day off to-morrow instead. How do you like that? Everybody needs a day off, especially when they've been working as hard as you, and on your birthday, too."
Lucas' heart sank at the thought. Even though he knew he had things to do in his flat, such as hoovering, laundry, and shopping, he didn't want to have to stay home alone and do them. For just a moment, he thought wistfully of the times when there'd been somebody there waiting for him, but now going home held no appeal. Especially after a day like to-day, he wanted to be in the presence of other people, not sent away to be on his own as though being sentenced to time in a solitary cell. Keeping the diplomatic smile plastered on his face, Lucas tried to keep his protest mild and humble-sounding. "You don't have to do that, Mr Ambassador."
"I've already spoken to Sir Harry, and no offense, but you look like you need it. So it's settled. You stay home to-morrow and take care of yourself. But for now, have a happy birthday, what's left of it. And thank you again for doing your job."
Watching them exit the room, Lucas fantasized briefly about hitting the next person who wished him a happy anything, then locked the wish away in the ever-growing repository of things he no longer allowed himself to feel.
Mercy arrived some time later, in the same car that Lucas had been driving earlier that day, and when Lucas got in, she said, "If I'd known the heater were broken, I would have brought a blanket or something."
"It's all right, I'll survive," Lucas said.
"I meant for me," she said, then laughed to show she'd been teasing.
"Is there any news of Caballero?" Lucas asked. "Have they caught him?"
"I haven't heard anything yet," Mercy replied. "But Harry's sent another team out to that warehouse you mentioned. So not only did he not succeed, but we've got the Fazackerley gas back, and he won't be making any more in his secret lab that's not so secret now."
Lucas nodded without speaking, and Mercy said, "The officer who recruited me said that, at the end of the day, you had to be grateful for what you'd achieved and not think about what you missed, otherwise you'd just go crazy."
"He was right," Lucas said, knowing from painful experience that there was nothing even remotely equal about the proportions.
"It was a she," Mercy told him with a smile. Lucas returned her smile automatically, and they both lapsed into a comfortable silence.
The ride home seemed to last forever, with the cold creeping up Lucas' legs and arms. He began to wish that he had someone to cuddle under the covers with, not just to help warm him up, but also to keep him company. Flexing his toes to keep his circulation going, he even let himself dream about asking someone to come in and stay the night – but who? He no longer had a wife, or a girlfriend, or even other friends of any gender. The only people left to him were his colleagues at work. He thought of Ros, because he had known her the longest, and wondered how he might phrase his request to her. "As a colleague, Ros, would you mind taking off all your clothes and getting into bed with me? But not for sex, just to provide some body heat, and so I don't have to fall asleep on my own."
It was a pretty pathetic plea and Lucas winced inwardly even as he thought it. Anyway, he and Ros had decided long ago that they were colleagues and nothing more. A request like that was above and beyond the call of duty, much more than just helping somebody out by loaning them a pen or providing cover fire during an op. She'd probably just give him an icy look and wouldn't even have to speak the word "No." And if she did say yes, which was improbable, Lucas knew she'd think he was weak, and would forever be observing him afterwards, looking for signs that he was not fit to do his job. No, he couldn't ask Ros for comfort, or even admit that he needed any.
Lucas had only worked with Mercy for about two months, but he could already tell that she would be full of emotions, and they'd be all the wrong ones. She'd see his tattoos and though she probably would not reject them outright like Lydia had done, she would certainly want to know all about them, whether she admitted it or not. She'd be both horrified and fascinated by the traces of what he'd gone through in prison, and he'd see it in her eyes, feel it through her skin, even if she managed not to ask. She'd positively leak pity all over him, and smother him afterwards with tender loving care.
So that was that. Unwilling to upset the balance he had with his colleagues, determined to keep them at the perfect point between mere acquaintances and almost friends, Lucas had just doomed himself to a cold, lonely night and another full day at home. Still, he told himself, it wasn't all that long. It wasn't even eight days, let alone eight years. He'd live. And he really did have to buy some more coffee and wash his shirts. And do some ironing. And the hoovering. Maybe if he kept busy, he wouldn't feel so isolated.
When they finally reached Lucas' block of flats, he turned to Mercy and gave her his best colleague smile. "Thanks for the ride home, Mercy."
"Hey, I couldn't leave a friend stranded in this weather with no money and no Oyster card," she replied, smiling warmly back.
Lucas waited for her to ask if she could come up quickly to use the toilet, but she didn't. With a strange sense of relief, he realized that her funky reaction must be dying down at long last. Keeping up her smile, she added, "If you need anything, Lucas, just call. I mean it, anything."
"I will," he lied.
There was a short silence, as though Mercy were expecting something more, but then she finally said, "Well, have a good evening, and I'll see you again soon."
"You have a good evening, too," Lucas said, and got out. When he closed the car door, however, the sound reminded him of a cell door slamming shut.
He went up the stairs. Now that he was home, far away from his job, Lucas could feel the adrenaline that had sustained him throughout the afternoon drain suddenly away. He dragged himself to his flat, freezing and exhausted, and wished for nothing more than a hot bath before going to bed. But this flat didn't have a bathtub, only a shower, and just then, Lucas didn't think he could endure having the water spray onto his face. He'd woken his memories of waterboarding earlier that day, and though he'd tried to lock them away again, he knew he was too drained at the moment to keep that lock shut.
His head was aching and his left hand throbbed halfway down to his elbow. Lucas opened some aspirin and swallowed the last three tablets, then added painkillers to his mental list of things to buy the next day. After brushing his teeth, he undressed and got into bed. The sheets were cold, and as he lay there shivering, waiting for them to warm up, the phone rang. Reluctantly, he reached out from under the covers and grabbed it for a look at the display. Harry. For a moment, Lucas wondered if he were calling to ask Lucas to stay home for two days, maybe even the whole weekend, and felt a wave of fear that almost caused him not to answer at all. But as though of his own accord, his thumb found the right button and pressed it.
"Harry," he said.
"Lucas, I'm sorry to disturb you." Harry sounded different somehow – his voice had an unusually weak and shaky quality to it. "I thought you'd want to know that we've picked up Caballero."
"That's good news, Harry," Lucas said, but he could tell that wasn't all that Harry had to say.
His boss went on. "Now I know that the Cuitlatepanian ambassador told you I'd be giving you the day off to-morrow …"
"But?" Lucas asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. It wouldn't do to appear pathetically eager, especially if Harry were ill.
"But we've just got some new intel on the Afghan terrorist threat and –" Harry swallowed suddenly, and when he spoke again, it was faster than Lucas had ever heard him say anything. "And I've just come down with what Tariq has, so please come in to-morrow?"
"Yes, all right," Lucas said, but Harry had already hung up. Lucas put the phone away and lay back, unable to stop a happy smile from spreading across his face.
He was feeling warmer already.
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The End
Written between January 2009 and March 2011
Lucas didn't even wait for Caballero to walk away before he tried to free himself, but the wire was too tight, and he only ended up scraping his face on the grille. He tested the handcuffs next, and found that Bernardo had not closed them quite as tightly as he had done back in the warehouse. There was a very slim chance he could slip out – if he could break or dislocate his thumb.
Taking his left thumb in his right hand, Lucas gritted his teeth, stared at the cannister of gas, and pulled. He'd managed to slip out of handcuffs once before, during an interrogation session in Russia, but that had been an involuntary reaction. But the pain was the same – or at least Lucas tried to convince himself that it wasn't worse than the previous time. Upon succeeding, he screeched long and loud, then howled anew as he moved his thumb around to the middle of his palm and wrestled his hand through the cuff. There! Reaching up with his good hand, he fumbled at the wire that held his neck, finding the end and picking at it with his fingernails. Thankfully, Caballero had been in a hurry and hadn't done more than twist the wire twice around itself.
The bomb was more securely attached, however, and the ends of the wires were more difficult to manoeuver. But despite impaling his finger twice, Lucas finally managed to untwist the first wire, and then, after what seemed like an eternity, the second one. The bomb fell free of the cannister and landed in the snow. Lucas flinched back, expecting it to go off near his knees, but it didn't. The timer kept counting down, too; there were less than twenty seconds now. Making a quick decision, Lucas picked up the entire device, then threw it as hard as he could into the snowy sky.
It exploded on its way up, and the debris rained down on the other side of the roof; Lucas heard them hit and tumble along, but it didn't sound like there was any serious damage. The main thing was the cannister, still wired to the grille, and still intact. He was just about to heave a great sigh of relief mixed with sudden exhaustion when a trap door in the roof opened and a man with a gun appeared in the opening. CO19 had finally arrived.
"Hands up!" the man called, stepping onto the roof. "Get down on your knees and put your hands on your head!"
"Don't shoot!" Lucas called back, kneeling down and lifting his hands in surrender. The movement made his left thumb throb sharply all the way down to his elbow. "I'm MI-5! Don't shoot!"
The first man made room for two more, and they clustered around Lucas, two of them pointing their guns at his head with the third one coming around behind.
"There's a truck-mounted crane parked around the corner in Troughton Lane, Caballero might still be close to it!" Lucas said quickly, and rattled off the license-plate numbers of both the truck and the Lexus that Caballero had been using.
"We'll check it out," the officer said. "But for now, there's been a report of an explosion up here, along with a level one threat of an attack on the ambassador, so if you really are MI-5, you won't mind coming along with us until we've verified your identity."
"There's a cannister of Fazackerley gas over there, attached to the ventilation system," Lucas said, indicating with one finger, and one of the men went over to investigate. Taking Lucas by the upper arm, the officer helped him up, then led him to the trap door. Looking in, Lucas understood why they hadn't cuffed his hands together; he had to go backwards down a short ladder to reach the attic floor. Once they were out of the snow, however, they ran a metal detector over his body and patted him down as well.
"Have you got any identification?" the officer asked, and Lucas made an instinctive grab for his back pocket, then froze. "Damn, Caballero took my wallet back at that warehouse."
"We'll have to take your fingerprints, then," the officer said, and they led him the stairs to a room on the ground floor. Here, another member of the team had set up a laptop and other equipment, and they scanned Lucas' fingertips. Once they'd verified that he really was Lucas North, the guns went down and the officer removed the handcuff that had been dangling from his right wrist the entire time.
"How'd you get out?" the man asked as he turned the key.
Holding up his left hand to show that his thumb was hanging at an unnatural angle, Lucas said, "I dislocated my own thumb."
Looking suitably impressed, the officer touched the radio in his ear and said, "Get me a medic."
Lucas just barely had time to pull off the white suit before the medic arrived to unwind the old bandage, probe his hand, and ask if he had any other injuries. When he shook his head, the medic gave his face a skeptical look, but didn't press the subject.
"Put him back together right, it's his birthday and who knows what kind of celebration he's got planned for later," the officer said suddenly, and the medic smiled. "Happy birthday, then," he said, and heaved Lucas' thumb back into its proper position.
After the medic had wound a new bandage around his hand, Lucas gave a first debriefing to CO19, which included a video link back to the Grid and an offer by Mercy to come and pick him up. Then a secretary showed up and escorted Lucas to another room where he was surprised to see the Cuitlatepanian ambassador and his wife.
"I understand we have you to thank for the fact that we're not all lying here dead," the ambassador said, gliding over to Lucas and shaking his hand. He sounded more honest than diplomatic.
"You're welcome, but really, I was just doing my job," Lucas said. Knowing when it was better to be more diplomatic than honest, he didn't mention that he'd also been saving his own life because he'd have been the first one to succumb to the gas.
"Thank you so much," the ambassador's wife added. Her English was good, but charmingly accented. "We have our children with us here to-night, and we all could have been killed. We owe you all our lives."
"You're welcome," Lucas replied again. What else could he say?
"I've also been told it's your birthday to-day," the ambassador announced. Biting down on the instinctive flicker of fear that the word evoked, Lucas forced a very diplomatic smile.
"You know, I was thinking of giving you a pair of cufflinks as a gift," the ambassador said. "As a very small token of our appreciation. But then I thought I might ask your boss to give you a day off to-morrow instead. How do you like that? Everybody needs a day off, especially when they've been working as hard as you, and on your birthday, too."
Lucas' heart sank at the thought. Even though he knew he had things to do in his flat, such as hoovering, laundry, and shopping, he didn't want to have to stay home alone and do them. For just a moment, he thought wistfully of the times when there'd been somebody there waiting for him, but now going home held no appeal. Especially after a day like to-day, he wanted to be in the presence of other people, not sent away to be on his own as though being sentenced to time in a solitary cell. Keeping the diplomatic smile plastered on his face, Lucas tried to keep his protest mild and humble-sounding. "You don't have to do that, Mr Ambassador."
"I've already spoken to Sir Harry, and no offense, but you look like you need it. So it's settled. You stay home to-morrow and take care of yourself. But for now, have a happy birthday, what's left of it. And thank you again for doing your job."
Watching them exit the room, Lucas fantasized briefly about hitting the next person who wished him a happy anything, then locked the wish away in the ever-growing repository of things he no longer allowed himself to feel.
Mercy arrived some time later, in the same car that Lucas had been driving earlier that day, and when Lucas got in, she said, "If I'd known the heater were broken, I would have brought a blanket or something."
"It's all right, I'll survive," Lucas said.
"I meant for me," she said, then laughed to show she'd been teasing.
"Is there any news of Caballero?" Lucas asked. "Have they caught him?"
"I haven't heard anything yet," Mercy replied. "But Harry's sent another team out to that warehouse you mentioned. So not only did he not succeed, but we've got the Fazackerley gas back, and he won't be making any more in his secret lab that's not so secret now."
Lucas nodded without speaking, and Mercy said, "The officer who recruited me said that, at the end of the day, you had to be grateful for what you'd achieved and not think about what you missed, otherwise you'd just go crazy."
"He was right," Lucas said, knowing from painful experience that there was nothing even remotely equal about the proportions.
"It was a she," Mercy told him with a smile. Lucas returned her smile automatically, and they both lapsed into a comfortable silence.
The ride home seemed to last forever, with the cold creeping up Lucas' legs and arms. He began to wish that he had someone to cuddle under the covers with, not just to help warm him up, but also to keep him company. Flexing his toes to keep his circulation going, he even let himself dream about asking someone to come in and stay the night – but who? He no longer had a wife, or a girlfriend, or even other friends of any gender. The only people left to him were his colleagues at work. He thought of Ros, because he had known her the longest, and wondered how he might phrase his request to her. "As a colleague, Ros, would you mind taking off all your clothes and getting into bed with me? But not for sex, just to provide some body heat, and so I don't have to fall asleep on my own."
It was a pretty pathetic plea and Lucas winced inwardly even as he thought it. Anyway, he and Ros had decided long ago that they were colleagues and nothing more. A request like that was above and beyond the call of duty, much more than just helping somebody out by loaning them a pen or providing cover fire during an op. She'd probably just give him an icy look and wouldn't even have to speak the word "No." And if she did say yes, which was improbable, Lucas knew she'd think he was weak, and would forever be observing him afterwards, looking for signs that he was not fit to do his job. No, he couldn't ask Ros for comfort, or even admit that he needed any.
Lucas had only worked with Mercy for about two months, but he could already tell that she would be full of emotions, and they'd be all the wrong ones. She'd see his tattoos and though she probably would not reject them outright like Lydia had done, she would certainly want to know all about them, whether she admitted it or not. She'd be both horrified and fascinated by the traces of what he'd gone through in prison, and he'd see it in her eyes, feel it through her skin, even if she managed not to ask. She'd positively leak pity all over him, and smother him afterwards with tender loving care.
So that was that. Unwilling to upset the balance he had with his colleagues, determined to keep them at the perfect point between mere acquaintances and almost friends, Lucas had just doomed himself to a cold, lonely night and another full day at home. Still, he told himself, it wasn't all that long. It wasn't even eight days, let alone eight years. He'd live. And he really did have to buy some more coffee and wash his shirts. And do some ironing. And the hoovering. Maybe if he kept busy, he wouldn't feel so isolated.
When they finally reached Lucas' block of flats, he turned to Mercy and gave her his best colleague smile. "Thanks for the ride home, Mercy."
"Hey, I couldn't leave a friend stranded in this weather with no money and no Oyster card," she replied, smiling warmly back.
Lucas waited for her to ask if she could come up quickly to use the toilet, but she didn't. With a strange sense of relief, he realized that her funky reaction must be dying down at long last. Keeping up her smile, she added, "If you need anything, Lucas, just call. I mean it, anything."
"I will," he lied.
There was a short silence, as though Mercy were expecting something more, but then she finally said, "Well, have a good evening, and I'll see you again soon."
"You have a good evening, too," Lucas said, and got out. When he closed the car door, however, the sound reminded him of a cell door slamming shut.
He went up the stairs. Now that he was home, far away from his job, Lucas could feel the adrenaline that had sustained him throughout the afternoon drain suddenly away. He dragged himself to his flat, freezing and exhausted, and wished for nothing more than a hot bath before going to bed. But this flat didn't have a bathtub, only a shower, and just then, Lucas didn't think he could endure having the water spray onto his face. He'd woken his memories of waterboarding earlier that day, and though he'd tried to lock them away again, he knew he was too drained at the moment to keep that lock shut.
His head was aching and his left hand throbbed halfway down to his elbow. Lucas opened some aspirin and swallowed the last three tablets, then added painkillers to his mental list of things to buy the next day. After brushing his teeth, he undressed and got into bed. The sheets were cold, and as he lay there shivering, waiting for them to warm up, the phone rang. Reluctantly, he reached out from under the covers and grabbed it for a look at the display. Harry. For a moment, Lucas wondered if he were calling to ask Lucas to stay home for two days, maybe even the whole weekend, and felt a wave of fear that almost caused him not to answer at all. But as though of his own accord, his thumb found the right button and pressed it.
"Harry," he said.
"Lucas, I'm sorry to disturb you." Harry sounded different somehow – his voice had an unusually weak and shaky quality to it. "I thought you'd want to know that we've picked up Caballero."
"That's good news, Harry," Lucas said, but he could tell that wasn't all that Harry had to say.
His boss went on. "Now I know that the Cuitlatepanian ambassador told you I'd be giving you the day off to-morrow …"
"But?" Lucas asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. It wouldn't do to appear pathetically eager, especially if Harry were ill.
"But we've just got some new intel on the Afghan terrorist threat and –" Harry swallowed suddenly, and when he spoke again, it was faster than Lucas had ever heard him say anything. "And I've just come down with what Tariq has, so please come in to-morrow?"
"Yes, all right," Lucas said, but Harry had already hung up. Lucas put the phone away and lay back, unable to stop a happy smile from spreading across his face.
He was feeling warmer already.
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The End
Written between January 2009 and March 2011