A/N: This is the first chapter of a planned multi-chapter story, with a fresh plot, and very different then anything I've written before. Please let me know how you find it!
DI Gregory Lestrade straightened his rather rumpled clothing before he knocked on the door. He had been summoned to the inner sanctum of the Chief Superintendent, a place that was at once feared and reviled by the subordinates.
Greg felt only fear now, mostly because he had no clue what the summons portended. Had he inadvertently offended someone important with his blunt, sarcastic wit? Had he messed up a previous case badly, and it was only now discovered by the authorities that be? The Selwyn case, his most recent homicide investigation, had been successfully solved.
Perhaps he was called to recieve some well deserved praise, he thought sardonically. That was about as likely as being instantly promoted to the top position. The highest praise the Chief was capable of was the absence of criticism. He waited impatiently, running a hand nervously over his graying hair. When he heard his superior telling him to enter, he reluctantly opened the door.
There was a stranger sitting in the Chief Superintendent's chair. Sharp, beady eyes latched onto him, assessing him keenly. The man was obviously tall, had a sharp, long nose, and a perfectly pressed suit. He smiled suddenly, showing his teeth, and Greg knew that he was in the presence of a shark. Well, not all sharks attacked humans, did they? Unless they had a very good reason. Which this one probably had.
"Landers," the shark turned to the Chief, who was standing at the side of the desk, an intruder in his own territory. The Chief nodded, then quietly left the room, leaving Lestrade at the mercy of the predator.
"Gregory Robert Lestrade," the man said thoughtfully, not even bothering with pretend friendliness. "Married for fifteen years, one son, two daughters, promoted seven months ago to DI, frequents the Three Red Roses, drinks Guinness beer, but tolerates some Heineken at times, prefers fieldwork to desk work, has no ambition to climb to a higher rank, has been separated twice, and is a devoted West Ham fan. Have I gotten it right this far?"
Collecting his courage, the DI looked the man in the eye. "Yeah, and you don't need to go further. You made your point. Can I help you, or are you here just to show how much you know?"
The man smiled, not unpleasantly. "No beed for such bravado. I've been hearing things about you. You might yet be of use to us, if your need to bluster doesn't get in the way. Now, I'd like you to sit down, if you don't mind."
Greg complied, though not without leveling a belligerent look at the pompous man.
"In the course of your investigations, you have several times come across the name 'Barbarossa.' If I would ask you to summarize what you know about that name, how would you do it?"
The DI mulled over the name, and replied carefully. "One of our most confounding criminals. His name has come up in connection with fraud, money laundering, document forging, and some other mainly white-collar crimes. His identity is unknown at the moment, and attempts to gather more information have proven quite fruitless."
The shark studied him for several moments. "Why do you think that is?" he asked silkily.
Greg grew defensive. "I don't think it's fear to assume that it's for lack of trying on the part of NSY. I know I certainly did my share of trying to track him down. He's just too elusive, merely a shadow of a spectre at this point. We don't have much to go on," he glared at the man.
"Would you be prepared to continue trying, if you'd have something to go on?" the man asked, his expression suddenly losing its smugness and and turning somber.
"As long as it's fully approved," Greg said, a challenge in his voice. Something about this man was off, shady, even, and he wouldn't get caught so easily in his net. Then again, the Chief Superintendent did defer to him, which made the man all the more dangerous, in truth.
"Ah, yes, you won't be getting in trouble with the law. You might, however, be branching out to work for some other governmental agencies, too," the posh man said placatingly.
Greg felt a thrill running up his spine. He was being recruited! MI5? MI6? Interpol? All he know was that it was something larger, and darker, than the agency he presently worked for. A mixture of excitement and apprehension bubbled up inside him, even as he strained to keep his face blank.
"You have worked on some related cases, and you have done an...adequate job. You seem especially skilled at interviewing victims and other affected parties, drawing them out where others have failed. There's something about you that makes people-" the man paused, apparently searching for the right word- "trust."
Greg didn't reply. He was at a loss at what to say to that.
"I do think that you're trustworthy," the shadowy man continued. "Therefore, I am willing to entrust you with some sensitive information." He paused thoughtfully. "Naturally, that trust extends only until the time when you open your mouth at the wrong moment. Afterwards, there will not be any opportunity for repentance, if you get my drift."
The DI worked hard to suppress his shudder, but the blasted man in front of him only looked at him knowingly. "We know the identity of Barbarossa."
Greg waited.
"Barbarossa is a brilliant man, one of the very few capable of fooling even me. Nevertheless, I have come closest to understanding the way he operates, and predicting his next moves. Unfortunately, he understands me about as well as I understand him."
The man sighed, looking suddenly far too human and far too defeated. "I need to admit that the reason for that is mostly my fault, and a regrettable outcome of my greatest failure. I taught him many of the strategies he knows. You see, Lestrade, Barbarossa's true name is one I am very familiar with. He is none other than Sherlock Holmes, my little brother."