Chapter 6

February 2, 2012

Amsterdam

Sherlock had fallen into another one of his trances where he didn't speak at all or give any sign that he was cognizant of what was happening in the outside world. They'd been in the museum for a good hour or so, walking past the Vermeers and the other utterly banal paintings that exemplified the Baroque period. Irene could sense that his mind was working a thousand miles a minute and she tried her best not to interrupt him. But after standing in front of Jan Asselijn's painting of a threatened swan for a good twenty minutes or so, she was starting to get restless.

"It's a swan" she said, trying to rouse him from his reverie.

Sherlock finally turned to look at her.

"Yes." was all he said.

After a few more minutes, she said. "It's a very big swan. But I'm not sure why we it deserves so much attention."

"This particular painting was meant to symbolize Dutch nationalism and some say –"

"—that the swan is mean to be Johan de Witt defending Holland against the enemy of the state which is the dog, yes. I know all of that but why have we been standing here for so long?"

"Sorry." Taking the hint, Sherlock disengaged himself from the painting and they resumed strolling through the museum at a leisurely pace. "I noticed that you haven't asked me what we are doing here." he said.

"Obviously, we're here because you want to examine the other Vermeers on display for any anomalies. They already attempted to forge one last year and you were hoping to see if any of the other paintings in the collection were fakes." This was textbook stuff, really, and she felt insulted that he believed she couldn't figure out something so basic. "I think if we're going to stand here looking at paintings we're just going to be wasting our time. Forgers are skilled enough to elude even x-ray detection."

Sherlock smiled. "But we aren't here to look at the paintings." He nodded in the direction of a young curator being interviewed by a journalist with a camera crew and suddenly things clicked into place. Sherlock hadn't been observing the art, he'd been tracking the progress of the film crew. "How's your Dutch?" he asked. "Better than yours" she replied as she pulled his arm to move them within earshot of the interview.

From what she could hear, the young male curator was complaining about the bureaucracy of the museum and the inefficiency of its decade-long renovation project. Without being too specific, she knew that he was alluding to its contractors who had overcharged the Dutch government, leaving them very little money to expand their collection for new acquisitions. His speech grew especially impassioned when describing an incident where he had to prop up some priceless pieces to protect it them from leaks and Irene started to laugh until Sherlock pulled her away to lead her to the exit.

Once they were safely outside, Sherlock led them to a café across the street and didn't speak again once they sat down and placed their orders. "So, what were you able to deduce?"

Irene was slightly uncomfortable with his piercing stare so she occupied herself with the task of folding her napkin into an origami swan. "The Rijksmuseum is full of desperately unhappy specialists who are fighting with government bureaucrats who won't give them funding. It wouldn't be very difficult to find someone here who would help forge a Vermeer." She was operating on the basic principle that any intelligence agent knew: the best way to penetrate the system was to find the disaffected and the marginalized to convert them to a new cause.

"Right." he replied. He typed a few search terms on his iPhone and he showed her the screen. "There has been abnormally high employee turnover in the curating staff of the museum, but absolutely none in the 17th century paintings collection." Going over the search results, Irene noted the abundance of advertisements for curating positions in each collection and the dismally low pay. "So, given a dysfunctional environment, a leaky building and a botched renovation—"

" – why would anyone stay unless they were able to supplement their income some other way." Irene finished for him.

"Exactly." Sherlock seemed pleased that she was able to follow his train of thought without the need for lengthy explanations.

"So did you look into the curator already?" In response, he handed her his iPhone where he'd pulled up the biographical information of the three key people who maintained the 17th century collection. Irene was a little impressed. "Wow. Oud Zuid on 70,000 euro a year? Someone is definitely living above their means." She was referring to the assistant head of the department and his decidedly ritzy address. She returned his phone when their coffees arrived. "Are we paying him a visit?" she asked. "Later, when it's darker." he replied.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Sherlock addressed her again. "So you speak Dutch." It wasn't really a question.

Irene nodded. "French." She nodded again. "German." Again, another nod.

"But you don't speak Urdu and your Arabic is poor."

"God giveth and god taketh away" she said noncommittally. "Here, a present." she handed him the swan she'd made out of the cloth napkin.

"Don't try to change the subject. What were you doing in Pakistan?" She moved to leave but Sherlock had reached across the table to take her hand in a firm grip, effectively preventing her from doing so.

"How did you find me?" she said, trying to redirect the line of questioning. She wasn't going to give anything away but she had a feeling he knew why she was there in the first place.

"I was able to install a cloning app on Neilson's phone, the day he broke into my apartment I monitored his incoming calls, his texts and his emails. There was no mention of you at all, until he sent out a message that said one of his HUMINT assets had been abducted in Mogadishu a few weeks ago by an irate arms dealer who was connected to Al-Shabaab. The hostage's description fitted yours. The messages indicated that your captors had taken you to Pakistan because they wanted to use you to identify Blackwater operatives in the area. I waited for them to give an extraction order but none ever came. When the State Department told Nielson to deny the second set of demands, I was already in Karachi." He paused to take a sip of his coffee and waited for his words to take effect.

Irene already knew this – she knew the protocol for compromised agents in deep cover and how they were utterly and completely alone once they'd been identified. Still, she couldn't help but feel touched that he had gone out of his way to save her, even after all that had happened between them.

"I'm sorry." she said, hoping to convey her regret. "I was just following orders." Sherlock squeezed her hand in understanding.

"I know."

"You shouldn't tell Mycroft." she said, hoping to avoid any conflict between the two brothers over what had happened. "Irrespective of what you think, he was just trying to do what was right." At that, Sherlock withdrew his hand.

"What my brother fails to understand in his insufferable arrogance is that there is a significant difference between what is right and what he thinks is right." he reached for his wallet and drew out some euro notes to pay for the bill. He stood up, indicating that she should follow him. "Come along now woman. If you're going to be breaking and entering, you won't be doing it in those shoes." Irene rolled her eyes but she followed him anyway.