For theatrical_muse #279 - Schadenfreude
As Lucas watched Ros and Harry leave, their heads bent close together, he gave a vicious looking smile, hidden from anyone's view.
Revenge really was a dish best served cold.
For his superior officers, it was a chance to take revenge on the one who'd orchestrated the death of one of their own. Friend. Lover. Son. Father figure.
For Lucas, it was a chance to play out his endgame. Kachimov had once described himself as a chess player in one of their interrogation sessions, and Lucas had known it over the years, given how he'd acted. Waiting three years before planting hints of turning him, using his relationship with Harry as a tool, patient, almost playful in his methods. More effective than the normal FSB 'interrogations'. But Lucas knew one thing about being a chess player. You wait, watch, exploit their moment of weakness. They never see it coming until you are so far committed that all you can do it watch it unfold.
Lucas' defensive opening gambit had paid off, and Kachimov hadn't realised he was in danger until he was surrounded - and he had no choice left but to surrender.
The solace he took from orchestrating the fall was far beyond anything he could explain.
Kachimov had given the playful gibe about his ex-wife, the subtle reminder of who was in charge between the two of them, but in the end, Lucas didn't expect the tables to turn so quickly and easily. He knew Kachimov was a realist, and immediately knew he was beaten when Lucas had presented him with the photo on the roof top. Two old spies, out for a stroll. At the time so innocuous, taken out of context, deadly.
Kachimov may have taught Lucas a lot, but there was one lesson he'd forgotten - never rub a spies face in what he's lost. His mistake was using Elizabeta to get to Lucas.
The others would never know, of course. They all thought it was part of a hair brained scheme dreamt up by Lucas to prove that he wasn't a double agent, that he was worthy of a place on the Grid. One he'd managed to pull off, with sheer luck.
But then, they'd never know the almost visceral pleasure he felt as he imagined Harry pulling that trigger.
Lucas North
Spooks
Word Count: 377
Revenge really was a dish best served cold.
For his superior officers, it was a chance to take revenge on the one who'd orchestrated the death of one of their own. Friend. Lover. Son. Father figure.
For Lucas, it was a chance to play out his endgame. Kachimov had once described himself as a chess player in one of their interrogation sessions, and Lucas had known it over the years, given how he'd acted. Waiting three years before planting hints of turning him, using his relationship with Harry as a tool, patient, almost playful in his methods. More effective than the normal FSB 'interrogations'. But Lucas knew one thing about being a chess player. You wait, watch, exploit their moment of weakness. They never see it coming until you are so far committed that all you can do it watch it unfold.
Lucas' defensive opening gambit had paid off, and Kachimov hadn't realised he was in danger until he was surrounded - and he had no choice left but to surrender.
The solace he took from orchestrating the fall was far beyond anything he could explain.
Kachimov had given the playful gibe about his ex-wife, the subtle reminder of who was in charge between the two of them, but in the end, Lucas didn't expect the tables to turn so quickly and easily. He knew Kachimov was a realist, and immediately knew he was beaten when Lucas had presented him with the photo on the roof top. Two old spies, out for a stroll. At the time so innocuous, taken out of context, deadly.
Kachimov may have taught Lucas a lot, but there was one lesson he'd forgotten - never rub a spies face in what he's lost. His mistake was using Elizabeta to get to Lucas.
The others would never know, of course. They all thought it was part of a hair brained scheme dreamt up by Lucas to prove that he wasn't a double agent, that he was worthy of a place on the Grid. One he'd managed to pull off, with sheer luck.
But then, they'd never know the almost visceral pleasure he felt as he imagined Harry pulling that trigger.
Lucas North
Spooks
Word Count: 377