Chapter 10
The First Encounter with the British Government
Alice closed her eyes and tilted her head back as she waited for the call to connect. She was trying to reach Jim to tell him about the meeting with his favorite Holmes, but after a few rings Sebastian picked up instead.
"Jim's busy. Go home and get some sleep, you can deliver your report tomorrow. Good night, kid."
"Good night, Seb."Alice hung up and ran her fingers through her hair. If Jim was busy there wasn't much she could do. It was better to listen to Sebastian and get some sleep. She informed her driver of her new destination and laid down across the back seat for the rest of the ride. She closed her eyes again and curled into herself, trying to ignore the pains and aches that resurfaced now that she was finally letting the last few days catch up with her. She groaned at the sudden motion of the car passing over a speed bump and tried to muffle it with her arm. The jolt made her blooming migraine worse.
Alice opened her eyes for a moment to check her watch, but had to close them again during a new bout of motion sickness. She had about six hours to recover before she had to return to being the perfect little prodigy planner Jim expected.
After ten minutes, the car parked in front of a pure white three-story building. Moriarty chose this property for its elegant Palladian architecture with symmetrical arches and a view of Regent's Park. It was a twelve-million-pound-gift. Alice exited the car on autopilot, passed the iron fence and walked up to the door in the recessed portico as fast as her body let her. She wanted to crawl into bed right away but she knew that wasn't possible.
Her nightly routine was far too important to skip.
The First Step was a quick scan of the foyer. Then her eyes swept the living room, looking for the subtle indicators she left behind– the flowers in the vase were pointing in, exactly as she left them, the rug's upper left corner was still folded. Alice never closed any door in her house all the way– all were left open in different but specific angles. If she found a door more open or closed, it was the first indicator that someone had been in the room. After a quick check, she concluded all doors were as she left them.
She let out a tired sigh and removed her earpiece, placing it to charge by the bowl for her keys on a glass table. It took her a moment to get used to the silence after hours of the constant feed it provided.
The Second Step was dinner. The light of the chrome fridge illuminated her face as she reached for the only two items she ever needed. She placed a bag of sliced white bread and a package of sliced cheese on the granite countertop. After a moment of hesitation she grabbed a couple of ice chips as well to ease the nausea and placed them in her mouth before focusing on making the dinner she would have to force herself to eat.
She ate her sandwich off a paper napkin. No cutlery necessary and nothing to clean more than the crumbs on the counter. Her dinner was as fast and as easy as possible. It was more important she could eat and still have a free hand to continue her routine.
It was most efficient this way.
The Third Part was to check for spying devices with a frequency detector in one hand and her sandwich in the other, sweeping every room for cameras or microphones.
She found no spying devices that night.
The Fourth and final Part was to remove the makeup and the prosthetics she used to change her appearance. The healthy, rosy color was washed down the shower drain, and the baby blue contacts stared back at her from their case. It took almost an hour to make sure all the paint and glue came off her skin.
Alice brushed her teeth with one hand and wiped the fog off the mirror with the other to stare at her reflection. She wrinkled her nose at the dyed blond hair, the only trait she couldn't change for the night and the reminder she would have to wear the disguise again tomorrow and the days after, consuming her until the end of The Game with Sherlock.
Alice finally approached her bed in light blue cotton pyjamas, a gift from Irene. She locked her bedroom door, connected her phone to charge next to a bottle of water on her nightstand, and placed her Beretta under the pillow. Just before lying down, Alice took a pill out of her silver pill case and washed it down with water. She discovered the wonderful world of sleeping aids one night out of desperation and now relied on them to help her brain shut down for a few hours every night she didn't spend working on her plans.
Her brain had always been difficult to put to rest, always too active and running too fast. New plans, old and recent conversations merged in a whirlwind of activity that kept her mind buzzing nonstop. With the pills she didn't waste hours restlessly tossing and turning.
The only downside was the recurring nightmares.
/
Mycroft Holmes deleted the folder containing the Security Report on his little brother and his flat mate, usually the last thing he did before leaving his desk.
But tonight he would have to change that a bit.
He reached for his phone with a tired sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for his assistant to answer.
"Sir?" Anthea was always fast to pick up.
"Anthea, upgrade the status of Alice C. Doyle to a Threat Grade 4, and send me her reports every night along with Sherlock's."
"Yes, but Sir..." She sounded unusually hesitant. "... There are no fingerprints or DNA samples from Alice Doyle in our records. Would you like to dispatch a team to retrieve some?"
Mycroft tensed. "No," he barked, then disconnected the call. He took a deep breath and clicked on a photo taken less than two hours prior. Alice was exiting 221B Baker Street and heading towards the black car waiting for her. He noted her white gloves and remembered the last meeting with her. In the restaurant, she hadn't removed them in his presence and had left no trace of DNA behind as she took her glass to the kitchen.
In another photo, Alice was entering a posh office building, her white dress contrasting with the dark panels of glass. A man was holding the door open for her as James Moriarty guided her inside with a hand casually on her upper back, almost at the base of her neck. The picture had captured the exact moment her eyes left the screen of her phone to send a small smile in the porter's direction. That smile reminded Mycroft of the astute but timid girl he met over a year ago. She was so different before Moriarty molded her into a hardened criminal for his network.
/
London. 18 months ago
Mycroft scanned the well-lit ballroom. The orchestra and the sound of glasses raised in toast were the loudest. They masked the whispered gossip and the business deals being sealed with discreet handshakes.
How he hated these social events.
The glass of champagne in his hand was more decorative than useful in alleviating the boredom. He could spend more time watching the bubbles in the beverage than pretending to like these people.
They could dance, chat, and eat like they were civilized while being anything but. They acted concerned about the outside world, but here they were sharing bottles of wine with drug lords that called themselves businessmen, sharing tables with heads of organized crime–
A swirl of red down the dance floor caught his eye, The Woman dancing and flirting with the soon-to-be Minister of Commerce.
–and dancing with expensive sex workers.
Mycroft drank the last of his champagne with a sigh and headed towards the bar. He needed something stronger if he was going to survive the night. While he stood by an ice sculpture of a rearing winged horse waiting for his whisky, a voice behind him caught his attention.
"Excuse me, sir. Could you please pass me a napkin?" The voice was sweet and soft with a curious accent. Her eyes were downcast and she was fidgeting, her left hand moved nervously towards her right wrist looking to soothe a rising welt from a bracelet forcefully removed.
As he handed her a napkin he noted the empty glass in her slightly shaking hand and the stains down the front of her peach-colored dress. It looked like someone had bumped into her and spilled her drink. By the way she was petulantly trying to clean her dress in small, angry strokes, said person had not apologized for it.
"Let me get you another drink." He would admit he was being a bit patronizing, but the moment her intelligent blue eyes connected with his he knew she was not one for such. Her previously shy gaze morphed to a cunning one with practiced ease. Her posture became more relaxed and she revealed her real height. It was still far from graceful and it showed she was not entirely comfortable in her surroundings, but there was still a significant difference.
"Thank you, sir" She cleared her throat and the hesitant tone disappeared "I'd like a Gin Fizz, please."
Her answer caught him by surprise. A quick look told him she was not kidding or attempting to trick him into giving her alcohol. There was no trace of mischievous intent in her eyes, and the glass in her hand -although empty-smelled like gin.
With a nod, Mycroft turned to address the bartender. "Soda water with lemon, please."
When he turned again to hand her the drink he was met with a frown. She didn't look angry, just confused that he'd ordered something different after asking her what she wanted.
"I don't condone underage drinking." He smirked.
"You think we're stupid enough without the aid of alcohol." She took a small sip from the glass to hide her own smirk. "That's a big generalization."
"No, it's balance of probability."
She just nodded as if the explanation was satisfactory and took another sip before extending her hand. "Alice Doyle. Nice to meet you, sir."
"Mycroft Holmes." He found her handshake firm, but her eye contact was weak. Mycroft ran through his mental list of guests, there was no 'Doyle' in it.
Interesting.
Even more interesting was her reaction to his name. Her eyes widened and an exited smile appeared, revealing two lines of metal braces. "You're Mycroft Holmes! Finally, I have a face to associate with your name." She placed her unfinished glass on the nearest surface and turned to give him her undivided attention. "I need to know how you did it. That bill you wrote about the import tax on palm oil and derivative products was brilliant! You managed to hide the repercussions it would have on the Suez Canal so well that it passed unanimously in the House of–"
He was not used to being recognized like this and his job was far from something to act so excited about, especially by a pre-teen. He stared at her and clenched his fist at the uncomfortable sensation in his chest the absence of information brought. He knew nothing of this girl while she knew too much about him. How had she come across such highly classified information? And who failed to detect the leak? He set his glass next to hers with more force than necessary. His expression became thunderous.
"–I apologize if I was out of place, sir."
Mycroft walked briskly to a less populated corner, knowing she would follow. He was irritated, this situation was potentially embarrassing for the whole British Security Service
"How did you connect that bill to what happened in the Suez Canal?" he snapped.
She jumped. "Five big private companies changed CEOs a week after the bill was approved, but only one -state-owned- changed it before-" She stumbled a bit over the words in her haste to answer, her accent thicker than before.
"That was because international oil prices dropped!" He countered in an angry whisper. He needed to know how much she understood before he could decide how to act.
"No!" Alice matched his tone. "That would be mistaking cause for effect!"
"You have made a common mistake. You overlooked Ukraine." He finished laying his trap with a smug smirk.
Alice shook her head and back up a couple of steps to rest her weight on the wall behind her. She stood there eerily still, her gaze lost and her eyes moving quickly back and forth as if she was reading something only she could see. Suddenly, she closed her eyes and hunched over as her shoulders started shaking, but the sound caught him by surprise.
She was laughing. "You're bluffing!" She said. "He said you would be clever, but you exceeded my expectations, Mr. Mycroft."
Mycroft stood straighter and raised his chin. His lips formed a thin line in front of tightly clenched teeth. He disliked surprises, especially those regarding national security. He was about to ask who this 'he' was when a tall, athletic man in a dark suit interrupted his thoughts. By the lack of an earpiece and the expensive clothes, it was easy to tell he was not part of someone's personal security staff.
"Alice, Jim wants to talk to you." He barely spared a glance in Mycroft's direction.
As the man reached inside his jacket Mycroft saw movement from his own security detail. Their hands went discreetly to their holsters, awaiting his signal to intervene. Mycroft signaled them to stand down. He knew this man– Sebastian Moran was in his files as James Moriarty's personal sniper and right hand. He knew Moriarty was not the type to send his second-in-command to commit murder in public. A quick look at their shoes and hair showed that Alice and Moran had arrived together in the same car. The change in Alice's posture indicated she knew the sniper well.
Moran extracted a sleek phone from his breast pocket and handed it to Alice, who made a brief phone call. Mycroft couldn't get anything useful from her side of her conversation as she turned away from him to talk, and kept her answers monosyllabic aside from a couple heart-felt apologies.
Both men ignored the other's presence until Alice finished talking and returned the phone to Moran. "I apologize, Mr. Mycroft. I must leave you now. I enjoyed our conversation and," Alice and Sebastian exchanged a quick look. "In case we don't see each other again this evening, I hope you enjoy the rest of it." It was clear from the way she laid her hand on Moran's arm she was used to being 'fetched' by the sniper. She left quickly the same way he arrived. Moriarty must be expecting her by the gardens.
As soon as they were out of sight he took out his phone. He needed to know what she was doing with a man like James Moriarty and why he was unaware of her existence when she clearly handled sensitive information.
"Anthea, what do we have on a thirteen or fourteen-year-old girl with black hair and blue eyes, possibly of South American descent associated with James Moriarty?" He didn't have to wait long for his assistant to begin reading a file.
"A couple of months ago an unidentified young girl was seen accompanying Mr. Moriarty as part of his staff. She fits your description, sir."
He frowned at the vague answer. "'Accompanying' him where exactly?"
"Everywhere, sir. Wherever he goes, she goes, too." Anthea anticipated his next question and was quick to elaborate. "As his assistant, her surveillance status is Grade 2, but we didn't find enough evidence to include her in the Threat List. When there are children involved people are more lenient, they don't want to deal with the mess of extra paperwork."
Mycroft's frown deepened. "Send me her file." A commotion to his right stole his attention. "I will call you back." With a swift signal, Mycroft had his chief of security standing in front of him. "Rufus, what is that disturbance about?" He motioned with distaste to the group of loud guests and a couple of nosy waiters. He found the high pitched screams of a woman in a yellow dress particularly irritating.
"An ambulance was called to this address, sir. Apparently, a young man was found in a laundry closet."
"Dead?"
"No to my knowledge, sir. He was unconscious and bleeding when they found him."
"I'm guessing it wasn't a professional hit or you would be trying to manhandle me out of here." Mycroft took a glass of champagne from a passing tray while reading Alice's short file on his phone.
"No, sir. But I am going to ask you to step away from the multitude. If that was a form of distraction I don't want you in the center of it."
Mycroft pocketed his phone with a frown. They barely had any information on her. "No need. I'm leaving." The chance to further question Alice was gone now that she was back by Moriarty's side. He would have to wait for the next opportunity.
Mycroft twirled the handle of his umbrella as he waited for his car at the front door when the paramedics rushed by him. He spared an uninterested glance at the man on the stretcher, wrinkling his nose at the stench of alcohol. Mycroft recognized him despite the broken nose. Ernesto Castillo was the second son of Alejandro Castillo, the head of a Spanish criminal organization. Mr. Castillo the elder was standing by the door yelling at two of his men while trying to console his hysteric wife. Whoever did this to his son would pay in blood.
Mycroft was about to enter his car when something small and shiny rolled from the stretcher and stopped by his foot. It was a round painted golden bead from a child's bracelet. He quickly lost interest and was about to close the car door when he realized something.
Gin. The wounded Ernesto Castillo had reeked of gin.
"Rufus, I have decided to stay for a while longer. There has been a new development," Mycroft said as he made his way into the party again. He scanned the crowd for Alice or Moran. He saw a thin figure in a peach dress dart out of the gardens and run towards the restrooms.
He followed her retreating form. This was the opportunity to talk to Alice he was waiting for.
Thank you for your reviews, favs and follows!
Black Star 145885: Please tell me about your theories. You have a keen eye, maybe you do see where this is going. Now about the French police, the answer is not in this chapter nor the next, sorry :( It's natural to think he would call Lestrade but Alice is an international criminal and our dear Lestrade has no jurisdiction in France. Why France? Coming soon.
Ehwhatta: well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as chapter 9 hehe
joycelyn. :Thank you for your constant reviews! About Sherlock's deduction of Alice's death... yeah. Sorry(?) But he is Sherlock, he must have a plan, right?
Forbidden Moons: Thank you! Hope to hear from you again :)