Chapter Four

Contingencies – Maintaining Standards – Direct Action – Only a Little Snap – Other Avenues – Jefe – A Faint Trace of Burning – An Offended Heart – Not Worth Dying For – Girl-Talk - Options.

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Alazne Bidarte was not the happiest of men. The plan had been so simple – it was not complicated enough for anything major to go wrong, and yet he now had a huge group of angry, unco-operative foreigners; a corpse and a woman who had managed to humiliate him in front of them all.

Nere Treto was the only one with a sensible idea. "Put the dead man in the freezer," she suggested. "Find the woman and lock her away somewhere she won't be any more trouble, and let the hostages go."

"What?!" Bidarte looked at her incredulously. "Are you mad? Keeping the hostages is the only thing between us and the Ertzaintza's Berettas."

"We need keep only a few," Nere was persuasive. "Why give yourself a headache? Keep the most senior people and let all the rest go," she said. "Reduces your problems and makes you look benevolent all at the same time."

Bidarte considered the idea. It really did make sense. "Very well," he nodded. "I agree. I'll make the announcement in the conference room."

Treto released her breath silently. Nobody had been supposed to die, not even accidently. While she supported Bidarte's goal with all her heart, there had been a serious deviation from plan and now someone had to make good. Releasing the majority of the hostages did indeed make sense, but the operation had lost its moral high ground, and nothing would get that back. She was prepared, however, for several contingencies, including, since the old man's death, a rather final one.

###

Cate slipped out through the door to her room.

Her conversation with Mycroft had swung from disbelief to understanding acceptance. No wonder he practically ran Britain. Cate still wondered, on occasion, why he'd fallen in love with her: there would have been any number of more appropriate companions he could have chosen. She was none of the things he could have had: she'd have to ask him one day.

First job: make it to the kitchen. Clutching a couple of pillows and the quilted bedspread from her room, she walked swiftly and silently along the hallway towards the rear stairs. When she left the conference room, almost everyone – certainly the terrorists – were either there or in the front of the building, watching the increasing gathering of news agencies and local politzia.

"Stop!" One of Bidarte's men saw her moving shadow.

Damn. Cate had hoped to reach her goal undetected.

"Where are you going, and what are you carrying?" the man had a hand to his pistol.

"Back to the conference room," Cate lied. "Taking these with me in case we are expected to sleep there again tonight." She hoped he'd buy it and not ask why she was walking in the wrong direction. Or check the contents of her pockets.

"Back that way," he indicated with his chin. "Get moving."

Annoyed that Plan A had hit a snag, Cate rapidly rethought it into a Plan B. She liked contingency plans, although she wasn't entirely sure how this one was going to work. Plan A had been safe: Plan B would be anything but.

###

Mycroft had changed. It was obvious to everyone who saw him. Sherlock handled the situation with his usual aplomb.

"Looks good on you, Mycroft," he nodded. "Although perhaps a shade too Alec Guinness?"

John's eyebrows headed skywards, but he manfully refrained from comment. Elly hadn't shifted her eyes from the screen, where she was now scanning line after line of swiftly-moving program code.

Dusting down the lapel of the bone colour, linen-blend suit, Mycroft had just completed the knotting of a whimsical Ben Silver tie to the collar of the palest of blue linen shirts.

"Thank you, Sherlock," the elder Holmes smiled, adding a blue silk paisley pocket square to complete the ensemble. "Personal standards are so important, don't you agree?" he asked with a perfectly straight face.

"Are we going to dazzle them into surrendering?" John found after all that he just couldn't resist.

Lifting a black case onto one of the cabin tables, Mycroft looked pacific. Flicking the case open, he offered the contents to the Doctor.

"Actually," he said, mildly." I rather thought we might use these." Arrayed snugly in their own recessed foam beds were four unpretentious Glock 19s.

"I'd have preferred Webleys," he said. "But our Austrian friends make such very good guns these days."

Lifting one of the black beauties from its nest, John checked the safety then unclipped the magazine, confirming it was fully loaded. Cocking and un-cocking the gun, he balanced the weight across his palm. "It's not my Browning," he said, assessingly. "But it'll do." Looking at the case. "Four?"

"Thought you might like a spare," Mycroft took a pistol for himself and turned the case towards his brother. "I know how you like new toys," he said.

Selecting one of the remaining weapons, Sherlock hefted it before tucking it neatly into the back of his waistband. "Additional rounds?"

Lifting the foam bedding of the case, Mycroft revealed a second layer containing serried boxes of nine millimetre ammunition. "I believe this should be adequate for our purposes," he looked confident.

There was a dark-grey, M-class Mercedes waiting for them with dark-tinted windows, plush interior and air-conditioning. The weather was much hotter than anyone expected, so the latter amenity was welcomed. Mycroft looked fractionally smug in his airy attire. Their driver was of the local Politzia, and suddenly, Elly's parochial knowledge started to demonstrate its value.

Within a surprisingly short space of time, they reached the back of a motley assortment of news-vans, ambulances, police cars and general hangers-on. Navigating a path through all these obstacles, their driver eventually drew up in the shade of a large acacia.

Stepping out into the full heat of a Spanish summer, Mycroft unearthed a pair of Gucci sunglasses and asked Elly to locate one Superintendentea Gutxi Zubiri.

"You have an Ertzaina waiting for you?" Elly's eyebrows lifted. "That's pretty amazing – they don't normally come out into the open in daylight hours." Impressed, she looked around before heading off in a likely direction.

"So," John scanned the area, taking in the Sondika's out-buildings and surrounds, the beach and the scrubby bush beyond. "Is there a plan?"

"Cate is in there with nearly two hundred other people," Mycroft stared hard at the hotel, as if he could remove the hostages by will alone. "I will ascertain the local plan and will consider its merits. If there are no a local ideas worthy of entertaining," he turned, "then we will formulate one that is."

Returning with a short, balding man, Ibarra announced Superintendent Zubiri. About to make the usual introductions, everything stopped when a shout echoed around the assembled cars and people. "They're coming out!"

His eyes fixed on the main entrance, Mycroft watched as a crowd of tired and dishevelled people staggered and half-ran from the building towards the awaiting emergency vehicles.

"Is everyone coming out?" he asked Ibarra.

"Can't say for sure, Sir," she answered. "About to find out."

Sherlock jumped onto the roof of the Mercedes. "Can't see her," he said, peering around.

Ibarra returned. "Bidarte has let everyone go except for the senior personnel who were here for an administrative council," she said. "Everyone still in there is either a Pro-VC, or a Dean or some university authority." Elly paused. "Your wife is one of them," she added, quietly.

Mycroft had long since reached the same conclusion. For a moment, he hoped the situation might have been resolving itself. It would seem not. The thought that Cate was now in a more serious danger was chilling. He realised his fist was clenched and forcibly relaxed it.

"Do your men intend entering the building?" He asked Zubiri with Elly as interpreter.

"Apparently they have not yet decided the most effective course of action, Sir." Ibarra said. "And from personal experience," she added, quietly, "I'll be surprised if they actually decide on anything." Elly looked at her boss. "They're terrified of sparking a massacre."

Mycroft had heard enough. "I'm unwilling to wait too much longer," he said. "I'll give Cate time to enact the agreed plan, but if nothing happens in the next fifteen minutes, I believe we need to take more direct action." He looked at his brother and at John. "Bidarte threatened to begin killing hostages after midnight," his expression became grave. "I cannot leave her in there."

Sherlock nodded. "So we're not intending to wait for the cavalry?"

John looked solemn. "We are the cavalry, Sherlock."

###

Cate was annoyed. The idea to stage a mock inferno in the kitchen had gone awry the minute she'd been spotted. Now she was stuck in a much smaller group, where any absence could not help but be noticed. At least the majority were safe. As Cate looked around at her fellow prisoners, she realised Bidarte was watching her.

"Where have you been?" he asked, walking over to stand beside her.

"I needed to get away from the reek of your cowardice," Cate snapped. "I still need to."

Bidarte was amazed. Not enough that this woman shame him in front of the others before, she was doing it again. He got very angry, very quickly. Seizing her cruelly around the throat, he pulled her face close to his.

"Be careful who you call a coward," he snarled close to her ear. "It is not wise to insult anyone who has your life quite literally in their hands."

Grabbing at his fingers and struggling ineffectively, Cate decided that if there were ever a time she wanted judo skills, it was now. Apart from the pain, it was getting hard to breathe properly.

Closing his hand around the foreign bitch's windpipe, Alazne Bidarte had the momentary urge to complete the job. It would only take a little snap. He felt a touch on his shoulder. Nere Treto shook her head at him.

"This is not worth the trouble it will cause," she said in Basque, her fingers around his wrist. "Let the woman go, Alazne."

The spontaneous desire to kill faded a little. Jerking his fingers away with a muted curse, Bidarte let the woman go. If he had to start on the hostages later, he promised himself that she would be the first.

Breathing heavily from the choking, Cate rubbed her neck carefully. There would undoubtedly be bruises later, but no doubt she could find some explanation for them. Thank God Mycroft would not get to hear about these little dramas she seemed to attract. She'd never hear the end of it. Besides, she now knew that not everyone in Bidarte's little group was as obsessed as he was.

###

Staring at Elly's laptop screen in the back of the Mercedes, Mycroft felt his blood-pressure rise yet again as he watched Cate in another confrontation with Bidarte. Really, she seemed to have some sort of death-wish. He promised himself that there would be a long and comprehensive conversation with his wife when this was all over.

Observing the woman who much have been one of Bidarte's accomplices, Mycroft frowned. There was something unexpected.

"Sherlock, did you see ..?" he asked.

Indeed," his brother replied, watching the date feed in the front-seat screen of the vehicle. "This opens another avenue entirely."

Not understanding any of this, John raised his eyebrows.

"Body-language, John," Sherlock remarked. "Micro-expressions."

"And?" John still wasn't sure he understood.

"Bidarte's associate was very keen for Cate not to be hurt."

Shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I still don't see."

Looking impatient, Sherlock turned to his friend. "That woman," he pointed to the screen, "whoever she is, is not Bidarte's friend."

"Ah," John saw a sparkle of light. "So the other avenue you mentioned …"

"Yes," Mycroft nodded. "Divide and conquer … if we have time."

"I have the floor plans to the Sondika," Elly said. "I'm putting them on-screen."

Looking at the ground-floor exits, they arrived quickly at consensus.

"So do we each take an exit or do we try and rope the locals in to help out?" John would actually prefer to do this without having to rely on anyone he didn't personally trust, but a few spare bodies never hurt.

Mycroft ended a call on his Blackberry. "We wait a moment," he said.

Less than two minutes later, Zubiri and a couple of underlings stomped over, clearly unhappy with current events. Elly rolled her eyes and interpreted.

"Apparently there has been word from on-high," she said, listening. "And the word is that they are to do whatever you ask regardless of how, er … extreme, the request might appear."

"Bet he didn't say 'extreme' just then, did he?" John grinned.

Elly chose the path of righteousness and said nothing.

Mycroft was less diplomatic. "Extreme, be damned," his words were blunt. "I want men outside every entrance of the hotel," he directed. "They are not to fire unless I give the word to do so," he added, turning to Ibarra. "Will they guarantee a non-firing stance?"

"I'll ensure that they do, Jefe," she nodded happily, launching into rapid and idiomatic Basque.

"I also want a loudhailer," Mycroft added, turning to his employee. "Jefe?"

Ibarra shrugged. "If the sombrero fits …"

Giving the young woman what Cate would call one of his 'looks', Mycroft sighed internally. Apparently his IS Officer was another woman who was clever all the time, not just in the office. His lips twitched with the merest shadow of a smile.

###

Daylight was vanishing as Cate walked over to the little pile of bedding she brought into the room with her. Sitting on the floor by the wall, she put her head in her hands. Hopefully, everyone would think she was upset and leave her alone. Peripherally watching for bad guys, Cate removed the bottle of nail-varnish remover from her pocket. Unscrewing the cap, she lay down on the soft pile as if trying for sleep, and, insinuating the open bottle into the heart of the fabric, allowed it to soak into the material, hoping that the pungent whiff of ketones didn't give the game away. In need of an accelerant, this was all she had. It would have been less dangerous to do this in the kitchen, where large sinks of stainless steel and tiles and non-flammable materials were in play. But needs must. And after all, she reasoned; she was only following her husband's suggestion.

The last of the daylight faded into orange-grey streaks of sunset. The Sondika's external lights flickered on automatically joining a barrage of emergency lights, police lights, camera- and TV-mounted lights, all of which made the evening sky glow like Las Vegas.

Bidarte had been walking around the darkened conference-room, peering out of blinded windows at an increasing rate for the last thirty minutes. He looked like a man with a deadline, and Cate realised this would be a very bad time to give him anything extra to worry about. Therefore she kept her face completely unsmiling when she dug in her other pocket and pulled out the small lighter she had snaffled from the kitchen. Time to cause some havoc.

Sliding her hand deep into the piled bedding, Cate flicked the lighter on and immediately withdrew as she sensed instant heat. Standing as quickly as she could without drawing attention, Cate stepped over to the nearest knot of people, and started talking. Almost immediately, she was able to detect a faint trace of burning in the air. Trying to distract everyone for as long as possible, Cate pointed towards one of the windows and gasped. "They're coming in!" stabbing at the air with her fingers, ensuring that everyone was looking away from the far wall.

There was a quiet whumph, as the bedding burst into flame and the orange glare of fire lit the shadowy room with a rosy glow. It was now so dark inside, that the small conflagration looked much worse than it actually was, although the flames were already running right up to the top of the wall and, Cate observed, looked like they were about to start crossing the ceiling. Fortunately, the floor was stone. Too late now to worry if she'd done the wrong thing, Cate yelled "Fire!", and waited to see what Bidarte and his goons might do about it.

Screams and shouting seemed to be the first things, although Cate realised they were all in a large room with several exits leading out to the beach-side of the property or the side exits leading through the bar and onto the beach that way. The last thing they were was trapped. She wondered how long it would take everyone to work that out.

Bidarte only had six men that she had counted plus the woman Treto. If that was his entire cohort, then surely it should be easy to evade them in a dark, smoke-filled room?

Walking carefully around the room away from the fire, which increasingly looked as if it were about to get really nasty, Cate found herself beside one of the large glass-door exits.

With everyone's attention on the fire, she slid behind the floor-length louvers and swiftly out through the door. She was out!

Running in the dark across the car-park, Cate collided with a solid body and came to a rapid halt. About to try and struggle away, she heard a familiar voice.

"Stop fighting and stay still," John's was speaking in English, although his tone was universal.

"John?" she gasped. "Thank God."

"Cate?" John pushed her away; turning her just enough to see her features in the glow of the lights.

Flinging her arms around her friend's neck, Cate hugged him tight. This meant Mycroft was close. "Where is he?" she demanded. "Is he here?"

"Over there," John smiled and shook his head, still finding it difficult to correlate the notion of the unapproachable magister who controlled Britain with the image of a loving husband. Taking Cate's hand, John pulled her deeper into shadow and away from possible discovery.

Mycroft was staring at the Sondika, suddenly aware of the faint aroma of smoke. Perhaps Cate had managed to fulfil her part of the plan after all. If she had been able to follow the plan exactly, then the kitchens would be on fire, or at least, be giving a very close approximation of being on fire. The sprinklers would be coming on soon.

Ibarra appeared with a loudhailer. "Finally found one that works," she said breathlessly.

"Perfect timing," Mycroft nodded briefly. "Now this is what I want you to do," he said, explaining in detail the effect he desired. Elly quickly got the idea.

"Someone to speak to you, Mycroft," John's voice came from behind him. Expecting Zubiri, Mycroft turned to see a distracted Cate staring at him. His reaction was instinctive and immediate.

Striding across to his wife, Mycroft's wrapped her in arms of steel; pulling her abruptly against his chest, he rested his face in her hair and held her motionless.

"You keep doing this to me," he muttered. "My heart cannot handle your penchant for dangerous living," he said, pressing her closer to the offended organ.

Darling," Cate's voice caught as emotion overwhelmed her. All she wanted to do was stay in his arms. Safe, and away from mad Spaniards. "I have to go back, Mycroft," she struggled with the words. "I can't be the only one to get out like this."

"No." The word would have drilled granite. "You are not returning to that murderer," he was adamant. "I won't have it."

Cate looked up at the man she loved beyond understanding. "I must, Mycroft," she whispered. "I really don't have a choice if I'm to make sense of all this later."

"Let's all go, shall we?" Sherlock held his Glock pointed downwards and slightly away from his body. John looked equally ready. "I haven't come all this way to be denied a little fun."

Realising he could not enforce the issue, Mycroft held Cate by her shoulders.

"Very well," he said, severely. "On the condition that you stay behind me at all times and that you do precisely and exactly what I tell you to do."

Cate nodded. "This way," she said, moving back the way she and John had just come.

Grabbing her arm, Mycroft jerked her to a standstill. "Behind me," he growled, "or you stay right here."

Giving him a moderate glare, Cate nodded, realising, for the first time, that her husband had a gun in his hand. She'd never seen him hold a gun before: was it terrifying or thrilling? She wasn't sure, but something hard lodged in her solar plexus and stayed there.

Nodding compliance, Cate took his free hand and followed meekly behind as they moved swiftly around the rear of the hotel. By now, there was a steady stream of smoke emerging from several windows, and an orange glare flickered and jumped inside the building.

"I thought the plan was to start the fire in the kitchen?" John wondered.

"Couldn't get to the kitchens, so I improvised," Cate muttered. "Didn't think it would make much of a fire, though."

Pointing out the door she had come though, Cate waited patiently as John and Sherlock tested it for access and proximity to bad people.

"Either they've all gone somewhere else," John half-whispered, "or they're all dead."

Giving him a cross look, Cate demurred. "They might have moved out of the room and into another part of the hotel," she said, "but there are only the main meeting rooms down her … and the kitchens."

Becoming bored with the discussion, Sherlock took it upon himself to initiate action. Slipping in through the door, his long frame vanished into the flickering darkness of the smoke-filled room. Entering directly behind him, John held a handkerchief over his face.

Mycroft waited. "Darling Cate," he said, "if I asked you to stay here, would you stay?"

Cate just looked at him.

"As I thought," he sighed. "Very well." Taking her hand, Mycroft opened the door and pulled his wife in behind him.

The room was not yet an inferno, but the heat and the smoke were certainly intense.

"Stay here, by the door," Mycroft instructed. "If it gets too hot or smoky, then get outside."

Nodding again, Cate stayed back against the wall as her husband followed Sherlock and John across the now-empty conference room and out into the passageway beyond.

Almost immediately, Cate heard the voice of the young woman outside on the megaphone. She advised everyone inside to make their way to the various exits as the hotel was about to be destroyed by fire. Interestingly, she was speaking in Basque, Cate realised, so the advice wasn't for the hostages.

Even though she could duck out the door any time she wanted, Cate stayed put. The heat wasn't too bad over here, and the smoke seemed to pool near the ceiling, not at floor-level. Or at least, not yet. Besides, she wasn't going anywhere until Mycroft came back.

Watching the roaring flames lick at the edges of the stone floor, Cate was momentarily distracted. A small breeze at the back of her neck was insufficient to alert her before a rough hand grabbed her hair and twisted her down to her knees. Cate gave a small shriek: not so much from the pain as from the unexpected fright.

"Got you now, academica bitch," Bidarte hissed as he forced Cate down by his feet. "Everything is wrecked, all my plans, because of the things you have done … all the things I was going to do … and now everything is wasted and someone is going to pay." Bidarte yelled. Holding Cate still, he brought his pistol around and rested it at her temple. "And it may as well be you," he laughed.

"Let her go, Bidarte," Mycroft was unemotional as he stepped back into the room. "Let her go and we can all leave this place with our lives."

His eyes crazed in the red firelight, Bidarte yanked Cate up against him, using her body as a shield. "Try anything and this perra dies," his laughter was a little wild.

"Let her go, Bidarte," Mycroft's words were low and persuasive as he stepped a little closer. "She's not worth dying for, surely?"

Jabbing Cate with the barrel of his pistol, the Basque terrorist forced her head up as the muzzle lodged beneath her jaw: one twitch of the trigger and Cate would be dead.

"Not nice to threaten a lady," Sherlock's deep voice came from behind Bidarte, but instead of letting Cate go, the Basque dragged her closer as he backed up towards the fire.

"Maybe I won't shoot her then," he smiled nastily, his pistol still jammed painfully against Cate's neck. "Maybe I'll just take her for a little walk into the fire and then we'll see what happens."

"No, I don't think so," John's voice added to Sherlock's as he stood at the ready to one side of Mycroft. "Drop the gun, Bidarte."

Yanking Cate even closer against him, Bidarte caught her around the waist and took another step towards the fire that was now billowing across the floor, searching for fuel.

"One more step from any of you and we shall both be beyond care," he smiled. In a corner of his mind, Mycroft realised the man was quite insane.

Lifting his gun, Sherlock made ready to shoot. John was already in position, as Mycroft aimed his own Glock at Bidarte's head.

The gunshot echoed loudly even against the background roar of the flames. Bidarte fell, dragging Cate down with him.

All eyes snapped across to the far door. Nere Treto stood, her own gun levelled at the fallen terrorist. The shot had taken Bidarte in the back of his shoulder: debilitating but not yet lethal.

"Let the woman go," Treto instructed. "Or you die."

"Nere?" Bidarte still held his gun. "You … a traitor?" his voice was strained with shock and fury.

"Put the gun down, Alazne," Treto indicated with her own Beretta. "Now."

"Traitor?" Bidarte's voice acquired a frenzied edge. The gun was still in his hand.

"The gun, Alazne." His hand began to rise. Began to aim.

The second gunshot was equally as shocking; the lethal round taking Bidarte through the throat. Stunned, the eyes of all turned to Mycroft who lowered his Glock only once he was sure the Basque could be no more trouble. Striding forward, he helped Cate from the floor. "Are you able to walk?" he asked urgently, as the fire billowed around them. Nodding, Cate coughed violently.

"Everyone out, now," Mycroft dragged Cate out as the sprinklers finally kicked in.

In the relative cool of the hotel courtyard, Sherlock observed the woman Treto. Ah.

"Politzia?" he asked, though it was more of a confirmation than a question.

Nodding, Nere Treto holstered her weapon. "I infiltrated Bidarte's little group seven months ago," she said. "But it was mostly rhetoric until this week." Smiling sadly, she raked her hair back from her face. "The crazy thing is I actually agreed with some of the politics he stood for, just not his methods."

Elly Ibarra joined them. "Superintentea Zubiri needs to talk to someone about this," she indicated towards the man who, even now, was stomping towards them.

Sherlock grabbed John's arm. "Not us," he said. "I doubt the Spanish authorities would be overly ecstatic about foreigners with unlicensed guns shooting Basque nationals in the middle of an international conference with the world watching," he noted. "See you back at the plane."

###

While Mycroft set about defusing the Spanish government's generalised ire, Cate sat in the Mercedes with Elly Ibarra, trying to get her much abused laptop to boot up.

"I have no idea why it won't work," Cate sounded annoyed. "It's only about five years old."

Elly sat back and stared at her boss's wife in amazement. "Only five years old?" she repeated, "Okay. But what have you been doing to it in those five years?"

Thinking about the times she had accidently knocked it off her desk; dropped it in-flight; spilled coffee on it … And now the fire and then the water. Cate made a face.

"I take your point," she agreed. "So it looks like I need a new computer." Turning to Ibarra. "What do you suggest?

Delighted to be able to discuss technology for a change, Elly started to list all the possibilities. She loved girl-talk.

###

The return flight to Farnsborough took off uneventfully. The Spanish government was appeased; the Basque police closed their case; the Sondika was pretty much salvageable; Treto would get a commendation; the hostages were being repatriated and Cate was safe and Bidarte would soon be forgotten. Yet Mycroft was not yet ready to relax. Sitting back in one of the luxurious leather chairs, he steepled his fingers and watched Cate as she and Elly Ibarra talked technology and education.

"And this is how we were able to piggyback on the Sondika's security cameras," Elly demonstrated. "Although we'll soon be out of range to do it clearly."

Staring at the big flat screen, Cate watched with ghastly fascination as Elly switched from one camera to another, the hotel system still mostly up and running despite the flames and water.

"So …" Cate was unsure how to phrase the question. "I expect you didn't manage to see all that much?"

"Oh no," Elly's voice was bright with success. "We got to see pretty well everything," she paused, remembering. "That poor old man with the heart-attack; the way you smacked the terrorist and then had the fight with him later, lighting the fire. Everything, really."

Oh hell. Her throat suddenly dry, Cate rubbed the bruises that were surely beginning to make themselves evident. "Visual only, yes?" she asked, hoping.

"Nope," the younger woman smiled happily. "Managed to find the audio boost, too, and the zoom," she said. "Clear as a bell, with the gain up."

Turning slowly to her husband, Cate gave a brief nod of comprehension. "You didn't tell me you had the entire place under surveillance," she said.

Looking at her over his fingertips, Mycroft was quiet. "I thought you realised the problems of making assumptions about things I know," he replied, casually.

"You saw everything?"

Mycroft looked around the cabin. Sherlock was dozing flat-out, on his new most favourite seating configuration; John was deep into a newspaper, and Elly was once again, engrossed in her computer.

"Everything."

"You should smile when you say that," Cate attempted one herself.

"I do not feel in the least like smiling," He was as good as his word.

"Then why are you looking like that?" resting her elbows on the table between them, Cate lowered her chin into her hands. As far as she could. Her neck was a little tender.

"I am considering my options," Mycroft looked at her assessingly.

"And they are?" Cate tilted her head, puzzled.

"I'm still considering," he said, closing his eyes and laying back against the chair. "We can discuss them at home. Privately."

Realising this was not the best place to start a disagreement, although Mycroft sounded as if he wanted one, Cate shrugged. Stepping over to an indecently comfortable sofa which pulled out into a large bed, she dropped inelegantly and was asleep within moments. Locating a warm cover, Mycroft draped it gently over her. His stomach churned at her bruises.

###

The Jaguar dropped them off at the townhouse just after midnight. Though she had slept a little on the plane home, Cate still felt terribly tired. Stepping inside her home, she turned, about to tell Mycroft that she was going to take a shower, when she found herself swept fiercely into his arms.

Holding the back of her head, Mycroft's kiss was unforgiving as he seized her with an angry passion. Instantly inflamed, Cate responded to the violence of the kiss with her own hunger, bruises and tiredness burned away in the heat of desire. Backed up against the stair balustrades, Cate moaned her need. Breathing heavily, Mycroft stopped, holding her away from him with difficulty.

"What ..?" she floundered, desperate for more contact.

"We have to talk," he said, taking her hand and pulling Cate towards the drawing room. Almost pushing her into one of the sofas, Mycroft stood and glowered.

"I have three thoughts about these recent events, and you need to know what they are," he declared, a quiet look of fury growing on his face.

Still dazed from the intensity of his kiss, Cate sat, wide-eyed, her pulse racing.

"The first of which is that I am outraged about the entirely cavalier way in which you dispose of your safety," he barked. "Did you even consider how I might feel, watching you throw away the one thing in this world I can never replace!?"

Cate's heart thumped. She had never seen him this angry before. Certainly not with her. "I'm sorry I worried you," she offered. "I didn't think you'd ever find out what happened."

"Well I did bloody well find out," he threw at her. "I was bloody well watching it on television in glorious technicolour!" shaking his head in mute fury. "Although I'm damn sure you wouldn't have said anything."

Bowing her head, Cate waited for him to get everything off his chest.

"It's not good enough, Cate," he stormed, "You risk what is not only yours to risk."

Striding over, Mycroft lifted her chin, visibly wincing himself as the bruising made her flinch. "And then I realised all I wanted to do was wrap you in my arms and never let you out of them again," he whispered, his actions following his words. Winding his arms around her, he held her tightly, stroking her back, murmuring against her skin.

"You are so brave and so stupidly reckless," he whispered. "I thought you were going to die in there."

Cate felt her own heart aching at his words. She had no wish to cause him pain. "I'm sorry, darling," she choked out, her throat reluctant to allow any words at all. "It simply happened, there was no premeditation."

"There was no thought at all, my love," Mycroft looked at her. Cate was shocked to see him almost in tears. The man who came to rescue her; the man who had killed Bidarte; the man who was professing his unconditional love with tears in his eyes. She wanted to howl.

Wrapping her arms around his head, Cate held him close as their breathing quieted.

"And the really maddening thing," Mycroft was philosophical, "is that you'd do exactly the same thing again tomorrow if the situation arose, wouldn't you?"

Lifting her head to look into his eyes, Cate tried a tiny smile. "I can't help who I am." She held his gaze. "Can you tell me you would do anything differently if it happened again?"

Lifting his eyebrows, he shook his head a little ruefully before returning to rest on her shoulder. "We both stink of smoke," he muttered eventually.

You said there were three things," Cate reminded him, preferring to have all the cards on the table. "What was the third thing?"

She felt him smile against her. "The third thing I wondered," he said, his mouth adopting an immoral curve as he stared into her eyes. "Was how many times it might be possible to make you scream my name before morning."

Her breath halting at his intent, Cate stood up. "Shower first," she said.

Taking her hand, Mycroft's expression was villainous. "As good a place as any."