The first episode of series 7 of Spooks/MI:5 opens with a dramatic prisoner exchange (start at 9:35 in the linked video; the scene is a couple of minutes long). In this scene, we meet Lucas North, the MI:5 operative who has been stuck in a Russian prison for eight years. Harry Pearce, the head of the anti-terrorism unit in MI:5, has been forced to arrange the exchange by a crafty FSB officer, Arkady Katchemov; the scene is primarily told from Harry's point of view. The scene serves as an introduction to the character of Lucas, who will rejoin the unit at Thames House and take on an integral role with the show for the following 3 seasons.
The following is my take on the scene, but from inside Lucas' head. Some of the dialogue is paraphrased from later in the episode, but I thought it worked here:
The air in the trunk was stale and hot. The car bumped hard over a dip in the road and his head banged against something metal. He groaned a little and tried to shift his position but his arms were bound and he had no where to put them between his knees. He couldn't see much through the dark hood that covered his face--it was a thinly woven black material, rayon or linen perhaps, but there was almost no outside light in the trunk of the car.
The car stopped and he heard the engine idling. Car doors opened and closed with soft clicks--a clandestine meeting then. He wished the trunk was open so he could at least hear what was going on. He was to be exchanged; he knew that much. He wasn't sure if he would go back to his own people or someone else. After eight years of Siberian hell, he wasn't sure whether he cared.
He'd received a new prison tattoo a few days before the start of the journey and it itched infernally. It was on the back of his neck, so he tried rubbing it against the rough nub of the trunk's carpet.
He could hear the low murmur of voices and the sound of footsteps crunching gravel. The footsteps stopped in front of the trunk and he heard the jangle of keys and then the metallic thunk as the trunk was opened. Two pairs of arms grabbed him around the arms and legs, roughly removing his binding, and then hauling him out of the trunk. He landed on his feet and dug his toes hard into the loose gravel, ready for a fresh assault. He had lost nearly 40 pounds in prison, but he was still wiry and fast. The hands pushed him against a car door--to make it appear he had been riding in the back seat, he supposed. There was more crunching gravel and car doors opening and closing.
The hood was yanked off and he was momentarily disoriented after so many days of darkness. Thankfully it was nearly dark out, so at least he wasn't blind. Nonetheless, he blinked a few times and shook his head a little. It felt strange to move his arms freely--he hadn't been able to use the loo unassisted for the entirety of the journey, one last humiliation.
The back of his neck still throbbed so he rolled his shoulders a little, moving his head side to side. His vision had returned and he stumbled forward on stiff legs, passing another man he hardly saw.
"Hallo Harry." Harry Pearce was the same as ever, white dress shirt and tied, tailored dark suit, velvet-collared overcoat. His face was blank and Lucas knew he was masking something strong.
"Welcome home, Lucas. How are you feeling?"
Lucas' voice was rough with disuse and the English words felt thick on his tongue. "Fine. Good. Cold."
Harry was characteristically brief, holding open a car door and indicating that Lucas should get in. Lucas shuffled forward again, his stiff legs at first refusing to obey. He then planted his feet more firmly and strode toward the waiting door. He slid onto the cool leather seat and Harry shut the door and walked over to speak with Katchemov.
Inside the car, Lucas could smell himself and was embarrassed. He could see that the loose-fitting track suit he wore was stained and dirty and he could see his fingers and nails were grimy. His hair was lank and greasy, and his beard scruffy. He rubbed the back of his neck again, feeling the light scabbing. His fingers found the top cross of the large network of tattoos that webbed his back and he felt strangely reassured.
Harry slid in the other seat and clicked the seat belt. Lucas stared out the window at the London skyline, trying to sort out what to say, how much to say, what to feel, where to the put the feelings he didn't want to feel.
"How did they treat you?"
Lucas wondered how to answer that.
"Sometimes well, sometimes, not." He paused as Harry looked out the window, lips pursed. "They told me I could come home if I spied for them." He gave Harry a sardonic smile. Harry looked at him again.
"What did you say?"
"I said yes." That smile again. Harry smiled back, looking pleased. An old spy joke. Lucas looked out the window again. He felt so tired all of the sudden.
"I know what you must think--that we abandoned you to the Russians..."Harry trailed off, sounding uncertain for the first time. Lucas kept his eyes on the passing landscape.
"I knew the risks when I went in." He couldn't offer absolution--not now--although some small part of him wanted to.
"I just wanted to tell you that we didn't forget." Harry was gruff.
"I know." Lucas kept his face turned away. He knew he could mask his feelings well; it was part of the job after all, but he felt too raw, too exposed, after the journey and the final interrogation only days before. The electrical burns on his legs were only half-healed.
"You should go to the safe house, get cleaned up, get some rest." Harry's voice softened. "We can debrief you in a few days."
"I need to go back to work, Harry." Lucas looked at him then. "That's the best thing for me right now." He swallowed, and then looked out the window.
Harry gave him a brief vague smile. "Let's just get through the next 48 hours, and see where it takes us, hmm?"
"Could you hook us up with some fish and chips, then? I've got a craving."

