Chapter Twenty Nine: Covering Fire
Sherlock was at the flat when his phone sighed, indicating an incoming text from Irene Adler. He was grateful for John's absence. He was out doing the errands that he had wanted to do yesterday, but not been able to because he was accompanying Sherlock to Milverton's mansion.
Sherlock had not answered John's question about who the 'mystery woman' was. In the taxi back from Bishops Avenue to Baker Street, he simply said, "John, there are times when it is prudent to protect a client's right of confidentiality, anonymity and privacy."
"Especially when they commit murder?" The incredulity in the doctor's voice was clear. "Need I remind you that NOT reporting the crime risks making us an accessory, or at least complicit in some way?"
Sherlock tore his gaze away from the scenery of Hampstead Heath and looked at him. "Hmm. Need I remind you of what you said about Jeff Hope? 'He wasn't a very nice man' could be applied with even greater accuracy to Sir Charles Milverton, whose blackmail has destroyed the lives of countless numbers of people. That one of them might take exception to him is…an occupational hazard."
He had pushed aside John's concerns about any repercussions. "We avoided the CCTV cameras; no one knows we were there. I cleaned away my fingerprints and yours. We just happened to be in the room at the wrong time. We've witnessed crimes before, John. So I suggest we leave it at that. I am not prepared to discuss this further- and certainly not when we get back to Baker Street where we can be overheard by both my brother and Moriarty."
Perhaps constrained by that fact, John had not said another word, but Sherlock knew he was annoyed. So he wasn't surprised when John called the clinic and said he would be coming in after all for the afternoon and evening shift. He didn't even say goodbye when he left. When the doctor returned, it was merely to change his clothes and announce that he was going out to do the chores that he had intended to do "before that little wild goose chase." That had been for the camera, not for Sherlock, who just returned to his experiment without replying.
He picked up his phone, which was on the table between the windows, and headed into his bedroom, where his laptop was. He passed John's lying open on the coffee table, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour. He already thinks the worst of her; why add fuel to that particular fire?
The text was only an mp3 file reference- with an embedded link. Curious, he clicked on the link, which opened a streaming service. He keyed play, and heard a voice that chilled him- Sebastian Moran.
"Ms Adler, glad you could make it so quickly."
Sherlock listened to the back and forth negotiation. "Holding a gun to a hostage's head does tend to have that effect on people, Mr Moran." She sounds so resolute, determined.
"You have something I want; I have someone you want. A fair trade, Ms Adler." Sherlock shook his head; he'd been right- Moran was operating on his own.
Irene's answer puzzled him: "I have the code. It's in an e mail sent to my client. I took a photo when he was …tied up. Literally; it was part of my insurance policy, but when I read the e mail, I realised its value to your boss and made the phone call." Sherlock frowned, stopped the playback and backed it up to repeat The Woman's statement again. What 'code'? Then the penny dropped- 'made the phone call'. OH-that call; the one that saved John and me from the snipers. He remembered Moriarty's threat to 'make her into shoes'. Yes, it's starting to fit together. THIS is probably what Mycroft and Moriarty have been shadow boxing over for the past two months. But, a 'code' for what?
Moran repeated his offer: "So, e mail the photo to me and we are done."
His respect for Irene's intelligence went up a notch when he heard her cool reply. "And, why would I do that? You would put a bullet in my head as soon as I hit the send key. And the hostage would be next. No, whatever plans you made for a 'shoot and scoot', that is not how this is going to work. There is something else you need to know. I am currently recording this conversation and the evidence is being sent to a witness. Our words are being streamed to the Cloud even as we speak. The recipient will take action against you should you fail to deliver your side of the bargain."
His eyebrows rose at this revelation. Assuming a lot from me, aren't you, Miss Alder? But he also realised that Moran would probably never guess that she was sending it to him. In one way, it didn't matter. The threat should be enough to deter him from attempting a shoot-out. He hoped that Irene knew what she was doing.
"Right, now that you've digested that little fact, I think you owe me some proof of life here, Mr Moran."
"Happy to oblige. Back up six paces and open the door to the master bedroom." There was the sound of footsteps, then a door opening. Muffled noises that he could not make sense of, then her cool tones again- but at some distance now; perhaps she had handed the phone to Kate? Then a metallic sound that he recognised as a gun's safety being clicked off.
"Stand-off- or mutually assured destruction? You pick, Mr Moran. Oh, I know it isn't big enough to impress you; men are always more impressed by phallic symbols. But, at this range, even a .22 will kill. Ask Sir Charles."
Then the recording stopped. He was left in the dark. He stared at the computer screen as if willing it to have another recording- one that would tell him the outcome of the hostage negotiation. He had no idea whether she and Kate managed to escape or not. As a result, he couldn't decide whether he should contact Lestrade to arrest Moran, or not. He considered her situation. In her place, he would have run like hell to put distance between them and Moran. Only when she and Kate were safe would she text about the outcome. So, he'd have to wait for a couple of hours before doing anything. And if I am wrong, then she and Kate are already dead and nothing I can do now will change that. He found the thought both annoying …and somewhat distressing. His brow furrowed as he tried to deduce why that was the case.
oOo
Irene sat in the window seat of the cottage, watching the waves crash on the cove's rocks beneath the house. Kate had gone for a walk, "to get some air and clear her head". They'd had another argument. The younger woman was trying to convince Irene that if they ran long enough and far enough, that safety would be possible. All it needed was for Irene to "give up the phone."
"If you give him what he wants, then he will leave us alone."
The dark haired woman smiled at the younger one's naiveté. "No, darling; it isn't that simple. When he has the phone, he will make sure that all the people whose photos are on it know that I am no longer in a position to enforce their silence. He won't need that sniper of his to come after me; there will be an army of former clients willing to do his dirty work for him."
Kate had begged, pleaded, argued for half the night, before Irene could calm her enough by wrapping her arms around the distraught young woman. This morning's breakfast had been a quiet affair. Like the storm out in the Atlantic that drove the waves onto the Cornish coast below the cottage, Kate's temper had finally blown itself out. Now she was waiting, a lull while Irene made up her mind how best to tackle Moriarty. She figured that by now, after a day and night of trying to make sense of the Professor's codes, he would know that she had traded their lives for a fake. The only satisfaction Irene could take was that he would be absolutely livid at Moran. Good; serves him right.
She'd texted Sherlock before midnight to let him know that she and Kate were OK.
11.46pm Safe for now; on the run. Watch your back + J's. Thanks
She'd dithered over that for a while- would it help her if Moran was arrested for a murder he didn't actually get to commit? But, in the end, decided that being straight with Holmes was more important than any temporary pleasure of disrupting Moran. Besides, she didn't need to incentivise the sniper to come after her with even more vengeance in his heart; once Moriarty was done with abusing him for his failure, she'd be on his number one hit list for sure. And, somehow, it didn't seem fair to keep Sherlock in the dark any longer than necessary.
She had to find a permanent way out- something that would take Moriarty and Moran off her case forever. And that meant she wouldn't be able to activate Plan A- get Sherlock to break the code and force Mycroft to protect her in order to save his own reputation and keep his little brother out of the public disgrace of a treason trial.
She could hear the screams of the gulls over the little cove; the storm had driven many of them inland, and they were quarrelling amongst themselves over what little food was available this close into the shore. It was a melancholy cry which matched her mood. In a way, she was deeply relieved that she did not have to trick Sherlock into breaking the code. Over the weeks, she had come to respect him more than she thought she would. That Moriarty underestimated him, she was sure. She sensed something of a kindred spirit in him. Someone as gifted as she was at seeing things without the usual mawkish layers of convention and normality. He was so extraordinary a creature. She'd never really known anyone in her adult life who did not judge her by her profession. It was odd to be in his company, because unlike every other man she'd known, he wasn't drawn into the sexual games of power, dominance and emotional manipulation that lay at the heart of her talents. A refreshing difference, to deal with matters of the mind.
Oddly, she never felt threatened by him; unlike with Moriarty, whose presence made her flesh crawl. Having witnessed the way he and Moran interacted, and contrasted that with the way Sherlock and John had been together- well, she knew which pair she found the more appealing.
Tactical need had led her to rely on Sherlock in ways that surprised her. He had drawn Milverton's fire when collecting the phone. He would have known that she was using him in some way, but even knowing that, he had accepted the task. It meant she was able to collect the phone from the man's house. She just hoped that he wasn't too bashed up by Milverton's thug. I'd hate to see that face damaged. She had a wry smile at her gibe at John Watson. Somebody loves you, even if he didn't acknowledge it.
The Nude Murders game had been fun; a bit of whimsy in which no one got hurt, but two people were amused by their mutual cleverness. It had made her realise that when she needed help, he would. He met her at the Gilbert Scott and came to Cork Street Mews, and kept it quiet. She respected that discretion, and acknowledged the mutual attraction. Brainy is the new sexy.
They shared another problem- both were targeted by Moriarty; both had reason to be annoyed by Mycroft Holmes. And both had people that could be used as hostages by their enemies. Not exactly friends- the two of them were like that; both kept people at a distance as a way to protect themselves. Yet, more than a convenience. There didn't seem to be a word for it.
She wondered if she could trust his discretion one last time- to keep the biggest secret of them all. She heard Kate come in the back door of the cottage, stamping her boots to get the mud and wet off. She would have to trust him with their very lives. As she turned to face Kate with a smile on her face, Irene somehow knew that her trust in Sherlock would be reciprocated.
