Broken | Lucas North - Spooks/MI5 Story [Featured]

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of Kudos and BBC. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

>>> <<<

 The Grid never seemed to sleep.  Throughout the day and night, there were always people sitting in front of computer screens, transcribing conversations, or reviewing surveillance videos and files.  As the hours ticked by, with the nights fading into day, the Grid would wake up, running on its a circadian rhythm that never stopped for anyone.

Jo Portman sat in front of her computer screen, her eyes bleary from too little sleep and too many tears.  A junior case officer, she had recently returned to the Grid after taking six months off to recuperate from a hostage situation that had gone awfully wrong.

It was difficult to sleep, her mind constantly seeing one man’s face slipping in and out of her consciousness.  What he had done to her was imprinted deep under her skin and though she’d tried everything she could think of to shake him off, his face, his words, and his touch still lingered in her thoughts each and every day.  He seemed to be her only companion, whether she wished it or not.

But today, as she sat at her desk in the Grid, coffee was her only companion.  That, and the file of Arkardy Kachimov, the man responsible for Adam Carter’s death.  She’d been staring at his three-inch file for the past three hours now, hoping she could easily wish death on the man from where she sat.

Adam’s death loomed over Section D, not only because he had barely been dead less than thirty-six hours, but because he had been the section’s pulse.  His presence inspired people, motivated them into doing what needed to be done, even to the point of pushing them beyond what they normally would never have thought they’d been able to do.  That was the power Adam held over his people.

They trusted him.

But now he was dead.

And the man responsible for his death was somewhere in London, alive.  Arkady Kachimov, FSB resident in London, was now the property of MI5, primarily because he was a huge catch for them, a well of information just waiting to be uncovered.

Jo clenched her fists, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down her face again.  She closed her eyes and began to take deep breaths, fighting to take a hold of herself.  Adam would not have wanted to see her this way, she thought.  If she couldn’t do this job, then Adam would have died in vain.

She turned her attention to a group of photographs that she had recently printed out from a group of recent surveillance photographs.  Kachimov walking alongside a burly man with long blonde hair that was secured in a ponytail, their hands in their pockets.  Another photograph of Kachimov again, this time taken on a different day, speaking to the same man, and as she stared at Kachimov’s companion, Jo suppressed a shiver.

He looked absolutely scary.  His face was scarred, its features almost grotesque.  She had scoured the database for matches that would lead her to his identity but had come up empty.  But now, she also had something of interest in her hands.  She’d come across a phone call Arkady had made just last night, at a time she thought Arkady would have been under escort by Harry and Ros.

Around Jo, people began filtering into the Grid, settling themselves in front of previously empty desks, sipping coffee or tea from ubiquitous coffee cups that seemed to populate the office every hour of the day and night.

Harry walked in, and with a brief nod towards Jo, slipped quietly into his office.  He looked preoccupied, dark circles under his eyes.  Jo wondered if he, too, thought it a huge mistake to keep Arkady alive.