Chapter Eleven:


As the door shut behind Sherlock, Irene turned to Mycroft. She didn't bother to hide the tears that were now making their way down her face. She'd been beaten, and she knew it. Oh, Kate, I am so sorry.

The man stood looking at her phone, scanning through something on it. Rather distracted, he said calmly, "Sit down." He gestured to the leather chair, without looking up from the screen. Irene sat and realised the chair was still warm from where Sherlock had been sitting in it only moments before. She looked at the fire and tried to compose herself, but the tears kept coming. Sentiment, indeed.

A moment later, a hand came over her shoulder with a crisply ironed and folded red handkerchief with white dots, which she took. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, knowing that the action would destroy her make-up. Who cares? Then Mycroft Holmes went to the sideboard and poured two brandies. He handed one to her before taking his seat in the matching leather armchair. He looked at her, impassively.

"I recognise the last number you called; it's one I have been using this evening, as well."

She knew he meant Moriarty. She had no illusions about her role in "delivering terms"- the Irishman would be extracting his own concessions, too. She took a generous sip of the brandy and calmly returned Mycroft's gaze. She waited for him to tell her what fate he had in mind for her.

"I could just put you into custody, while my people digest what is on this phone."

He wants something from me. She could hardly believe it, but the thought restored her composure almost as much as the brandy did. With some courage, she decided to fight her corner. "If you arrest me, then you will have to charge me. Courtrooms are…so public. So many things would have to be said in my defence. Could be embarrassing to a great many people." She knew he wouldn't dare risk it.

That comment made him raise an eyebrow. "I wasn't thinking of that sort of confinement- more a matter of protective custody. Letting you loose now would be an interesting way of attracting Moriarty- but then he's the sort that doesn't like to get his hands dirty, so he'd just send some underling to kill you. While that would be…convenient for me, I think you might be a bit more cooperative if I can offer a bit of security."

What does he want? She knew a negotiation when she heard it. "How can I help you, Mister Holmes? It seems you think I can be useful you in some way, but it would be nice to know how."

"What was the agreed next step? Once you 'won' your concessions from me, how were you going to tell Moriarty?"

"Why does that matter? It's rather academic, isn't it?"

"Say that it would suit me to keep him misinformed at this stage. Just for a while. Perhaps only until tomorrow morning. Would that suit your timetable? I assume that having some extra time would be helpful to you as well as to me."

She thought it through. Her fingers of her left hand rubbed the edge of the fine silk handkerchief in her lap. He didn't know about Kate, nor about the fact that Irene would give anything to make sure that her lover escaped Moriarty's clutches. She could almost accept her own fate, if she knew Kate was free. But, it wouldn't do to be too eager. "What's in it for me?"

That produced a condescending look. "I don't think you're in the position to bargain much, are you?" He took a sip of his brandy and looked into the fire. A silence fell. So, it's take it or leave it.

He must have taken her silence for acquiescence and reached into his jacket pocket- the left hand inside pocket of his immaculate pinstriped suit. He pulled out his mobile. "I want you to call him on my phone. Tell him you took it as…a trophy."

"I'd rather make it on my own. He'll be expecting that."

"I'm not stupid, Miss Adler. You will never touch your phone again, lest you find a way to delete what's on here. Knowing you, a single keystroke would be enough. No, you will use my phone. Tell him what he is expecting to hear from you. I need him to believe that he owns me. Just until tomorrow morning, when he will discover the truth. I am assuming that you have no personal loyalty to the man. It seems difficult to believe that he is capable of engendering that kind of commitment from anyone. Oddly enough, my brother seems to have done so with you. That's…remarkable."

She didn't hesitate. "He's remarkable. And smarter than Moriarty, if a little more naïve. You made a big mistake in not trusting him with more information. If he'd known what you were doing, he would never have solved the puzzle for me. It's not fair of you to blame him."

"Life's not fair, Miss Adler. I think you know that by now. Just make the call. And, remember, I'm listening. In fact, make a point of it. I'm putting it on speaker phone."

She took the man's phone. She closed her eyes, and let her mind drift back to where it had been less than a quarter of an hour before. Before Sherlock ripped the victory out of her hands, when she had believed she had found a way out of the nightmare. By acting as if she had won, she just might be able to convince the Irishman to deliver Kate. Even if Irene ended up languishing in some prison cell somewhere, at least Kate would be free. She took a deep breath and hit last call made.

There were two rings, then a bored Irish, "hullo."

"Mister Moriarty, I have good news for you." She was crisp, business-like professionalism personified.

"Oh, Irenee; how sweet, you're calling on the Ice Man's phone. So, everything went to plan then?"

"Of course, did you doubt me? He's sitting across from me now. Would you like a word? You're on speaker phone." She placed the phone on the arm of the chair nearest to Mycroft.

There was a half stifled giggle. "Hmmm, hi there, Frosty. I hope you don't mind me calling you by such a casual sort of name, but I feel like we're…well, better acquainted now. Do you like my messenger? She's really rather handy with the riding crop. I gather she put a few lashes into the brother of yours." Then his voice steadied. "You're calling from outside London- oh, what a posh boy, you took her home to the country. How very polite of you. I wondered if she might end up in a cell in the basement of Vauxhall Cross. But, there you go. We Irish always think the worst of the British Government."

She decided to interrupt. "Mister Moriarty. You have all the time in the world to gloat- later, on your own time. I'm on my way, once you provide the evidence required. Send it now please."

"Pooh- you're such a spoilsport. Oh, all right. I'll hang up now and get her to call you."

The line went dead. She locked eyes with Mycroft. "My phone is going to ring and I need to be able to answer it or they will suspect something."

Mycroft stood up as the Vertu rang. He walked over to her. "Keep your hands in your lap, Miss Adler." He opened the line, and held it to her ear. She could hear a soft breathing on the end. "Kate, talk to me."

"Turquoise." It was Kate's favourite colour.

Irene shut her eyes in silent relief. The code word they'd set up years before. She was safe. "Are you far enough away that no one can change that?"

"Yes."

"Then it's plan paradise. Goodbye, Kate."

He pulled the phone away from her ear, and ended the call. "I presume that she is nothing to do with Moriarty?"

She glared at him. "No, it's personal. And he's been holding her hostage until I delivered the Code and your brother. I had no idea about the plane, you know that. And even when Sherlock told me-neither he nor I knew what it meant. That's your fault."

Mycroft sat back in his chair and sipped at the brandy. His eyes did not leave her face. "Did Sherlock do…what he did… to help you free her? Or was there another motive?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I intend to."

Irene sipped her own brandy. "Moriarty thinks it was because I seduced Sherlock."

Mycroft sat back down in his chair. "But we both know that isn't true. Whatever your feelings are about my brother, that little episode showed me they aren't shared, at least not in the same way. So, now that your hostage is free, what happens next?"

"You were supposed to provide me with the means to disappear, and the cover story to live a different life. You still can."

He looked askance. "Well, I am sure I can arrange the disappearance, but it won't be the sort you were thinking of. What is 'Plan Paradise'? Will your friend's actions betray anything significant to Moriarty if he is watching?"

"No, I am not stupid either, Mister Holmes. She will head for an agreed place and wait for me. She knows it may take some time. You are going to have to let me go at some point. The only question is whether it is in a way that turns me straight over to Moriarty or one that gives me a fighting chance. You have what you wanted- the phone."

He looked down at the Vertu in his hand. "Yes, I do. Some people, no doubt, will be relieved that I have recovered it. Others I am sure will not be, including the people who have been targeted by you at Moriarty's behest, 'dark angels', as he likes to call them. That will be useful."

She smirked. "More than useful; there is material on it which will help you on both sides of the Atlantic. I am sure your American colleagues will find the data very valuable. It took me quite a while to accumulate that on my last trip when I was playing dead- but when I chose to work with Moriarty, I didn't realise until too late how dangerous it would be, so I tried to build some protection. It's all on the phone. "

Mycroft Holmes's eyes were nothing like his brother's. Blue, yes, but a dark colour, more in common with gunmetal than sea waves. Right now they were drilling a hole in her. "I hope so for your sake, Miss Adler. But I have paid a very expensive price for it if I cannot manage to rescue the situation from Moriarty. Now you will be quiet and not interfere with the next conversation."

She leaned back in her chair and raised her hands in mock surrender.

He took his phone and hit last number dialled. She couldn't hear what was said to him-but Mycroft made a face. "Very well, I will put it on speaker phone." He put the phone on the arm of the chair nearest to her. Then a confident, "Oh, here we are again, Frosty. How's things?" The Irishman's tone was jovial.

"I have agreed terms with Miss Adler, and am making arrangements for her transport out of the country. Is there anything you require from me before the morning? I expect the conversations will need to start very early. You can imagine the…reaction to the flight cancellation has been rather ferocious."

There was a snigger at the other end. "Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'air rage', doesn't it?" When Mycroft didn't reply, Moriarty continued, "Rest assured, I won't leave you high and dry. While that might be fun, I have invested rather a lot into this little recruitment exercise. So, you'll get the information you need. Be ready at 7am. When's the meeting?"

"Unconfirmed, as yet. The Prime Minister's diary was a tad awkward. Before eleven certainly. Our American friend will want to be briefed well before that. So, don't be late." Mycroft ended the call, and pocketed the phone.

Irene was smirking. "That will have annoyed Moriarty. He always likes the last word." Even though he was supposed to be beaten, Mycroft was not willing to roll over and play dead. She couldn't resist- "His name for you is well-deserved. You've figured a way to turn this to your advantage."

He stood up and went over to the fireplace, put another log on the fire and pushed the bell for a servant. "Yes, of course."

She saw the confidence restored to what it must always have been. My God, Sherlock. What it must have been like growing up with all that smug certainty? Has he never been dominated?

A few moments later, the Housekeeper arrived. "Mrs Walters, our guest here will be spending the night; could you make up the Blue Room for her? And I need to speak to Carlton." She nodded, gave a cool look at Irene and left.

Almost as soon as she was out of the door, a man entered. Suited, but with all the hallmarks of one of Mycroft's people. He watched her like she was a threat. She could see, from long experience, that the jacket was hiding a shoulder holster. Of course, Mycroft Holmes would have armed protection. She watched his boss walk to the dining room table and upend her handbag, spilling its contents across the table. He poked through them, looking for anything suspicious. "No, I don't think I trust you enough to give any of this back to you." Clever man. She had a half dozen hidden tools amongst the paraphernalia of a woman's handbag. She even had a lock pick in the lining of her under-wired bra. Be prepared was her motto when it came to misbehaving.

"Carlton, this is Miss Adler. You are to ensure that she remains in custody tonight. I'm putting her in the Blue Room. She is dangerous, and not to be trusted under any circumstances. You are to watch her strip off and then remove all of her clothing and shoes from the room. Lock her in, and if you have the slightest belief that she is attempted to escape, then you have my permission to put a bullet in her." This was as calmly said as if Mycroft was reading aloud a weather report. "Tomorrow morning, you will ensure she is transferred to secure custody- the Pine Woods facility."

He then looked at her again. "I should be free by the late afternoon or early evening to resume our conversation, Miss Adler. Until then, good evening."

As she was escorted from the room, she realised that for Mycroft Holmes, it probably felt like a good evening, or, at least, very much better than it had been an afternoon.