CHAPTER 58: HIGH TREASON
Flashback to the night in which Moriarty met Thomas Wellington
As soon as Agent Wellington walked out of the glass doors of a modern building in Central London, Moriarty started tailing him. He took all the usual precautions and disguised himself so that not even the most trained eye could recognise the notorious criminal mastermind beneath all the makeup. However, the MI6 operative wasn't paying the slightest attention to him; he was too distressed, utterly oblivious to the world around him.
It didn't take Jim long to notice that something was off with his target that night; he wasn't headed to his hotel. To be exact, he wasn't headed anywhere; he was aimlessly wandering around, stumbling on his feet.
He wasn't drunk, though – Moriarty deduced, he was just in deep emotional peril.
Jim smirked in the shadows of an alley, keeping a safe distance from his prey as his mind methodically analysed the situation.
· Observation n. 1: the agent didn't have any clear destination.
Inference n. 1: he wasn't waited anywhere; he wasn't supposed to meet with any colleague or exchange information.
Conclusion n. 1: that was Jim's best chance to approach him.
· Observation n. 2: that poor devil looked very upset.
Inference n. 2: he was extremely vulnerable.
Conclusion n. 2: that was his best chance to lure him in.
As straightforward and consequential as this reasoning process might look, it would take between 30 and 40 seconds for an average brain to go through all the logical steps until reaching the two conclusions. However, it barely took Jim Moriarty five seconds to decide to step out of the alley and join the solitary man on the riverbank. Needless to say, he had no average brain.
The Irish criminal walked up to the railing against which Thomas Wellington was leaning as he gazed along the Thames. Jim stopped a few feet away from him and remained silent, listening to the other man's laboured breathing.
The agent didn't even acknowledge the presence of another soul; his hands spasmodically clutched the railings as he screwed his eyes shut. Suddenly, his anguished howl filled the air, piercing the immobility of the night.
Jim arched a brow at that unexpected display of distress and cleared his throat, making the agent jump; he hadn't realised that someone else was standing next to him.
"It doesn't seem like you're in the best of moods," Moriarty showed him a sympathetic smile.
Thomas stole a glance at that stranger and scoffed, "That's one hell of an understatement."
"Rough night?" Jim inquired, striving to sound more concerned than intrusive.
Thomas sighed heavily. "Possibly the worst."
Moriarty half-turned towards him and eyed him from head to toe before affirming, "I doubt it."
The agent frowned, squirming uncomfortably under his inquisitive gaze. "You think I had it rougher?" he asked in a serious tone, laughing inside at the irony: he was a former MI6 operative later turned into personal bodyguard of a girl who narrowly escaped from a targeted explosion, and now he was back in the Secret Service. Not exactly the classical definition of a placid life.
Jim glanced eastwards along the river, hiding his malevolent grin under his turned-up coat collar. "I simply think that the worst is yet to come."
Thomas glared for a second at that mysterious silhouette standing by his side, then averted his gaze, looking down at the dark water. He commented dispassionately, "Quite the pessimist you are."
Jim shrugged. "I prefer the term 'nihilistic'; it's more sophisticated," he winked at him. "But I'm not one of those people who think that life is meaningless or without purpose."
The agent stared off into space, murmuring grimly, "I think that I'm about to become one."
Then he turned slightly towards his intriguing interlocutor, "So, what is the meaning of life to you, then?"
Moriarty beamed at him, "To have fun, of course." He had devoted his whole existence to one goal: warding off the boredom and dullness that his superior intellect was doomed to find everywhere.
Thomas frowned at his reply. "Why do you call yourself a nihilist, then?" He was no philosophy expert, but it made no sense to him.
Jim kept gazing upon vacancy and specified, "It's about moral nihilism: I believe that nothing is morally right or wrong." And that was possibly the most honest he had ever been with another human being.
Wellington's eyes travelled all over the stranger, studying him. His muscles tensed imperceptibly as his situational awareness and instinct told him to be vigilant; that last statement signalled that he might be dealing with a disturbed or morally ambiguous personality, possibly a threat. He quickly reasoned: to a person who doesn't see the point in distinguishing between right and wrong or good and evil, anything – even the most frowned-upon act, could be funny. That was creepy.
Yet that obscure figure had an aura of magnetic charm to him, like a siren call to the darkness.
Thomas rebutted sarcastically, "I'm starting to re-evaluate your previous definition of fun, then."
Jim smiled internally. That man had no idea.
He dropped the philosophical discussion and changed the subject, "So tell me: what's the name of the person who broke your heart?"
The agent opened his eyes wide. His surprise only lasted a few seconds, then he went back to a blank stare. "Is it so obvious?"
Moriarty put up the kindest smile he was capable of; everyone always fell for his nice guy act.
It must be something about my face, he reflected before pointing out, "Only the objects of our love have the power to rip us apart like that," he nodded at his troubled state. "It's quite clear that you are having troubles with a special someone," he hinted allusively.
"I was," Thomas rapidly corrected him, falling into his trap. Then all the emotions of the last hours came flooding back into his heart and he began speaking off the cuff.
"Starting from tonight, I have nothing to do with her anymore. She rejected me. I opened my heart to her and what did she say? That she loved our bond, but couldn't love me, not that way. Whatever the hell that means," he groaned.
"It means that she has a clear idea of the kind of man she desires and that's not you, my friend. Time to move on," Jim retorted, blunt and plain-spoken. He didn't care about being polite or delicate; he was just trying to rub salt in his emotional wounds to render him completely hopeless. He could only convince the agent to join sides when he was at his lowest, right at the bottom of the pit.
"You might be right, mate," Thomas replied amicably, lowering his head in defeat. "But I'll probably indulge in some more self-loathing tonight," he whispered, glancing at the night sky.
"Is she smart?" Jim kept rubbing it in.
"Very," he laconically answered.
"I don't mean just book-smart," the stranger specified. "Is she clever?"
The agent sighed. "Incredibly so."
Moriarty narrowed his eyes at him; a man of few words, apparently. Good, he'll make for an interesting challenge.
"Charming yet simplistic attitude, I suppose," Jim ventured, recalling some stereotypes about women that heterosexual men are likely to appreciate and fall for.
"You are not mistaken, pal," the other commented flatly.
"And lastly, is she beautiful?" he insisted again.
"Gorgeous," was his terse answer.
Jim had to turn his back to him for a moment to hide the theatrical roll of his eyes. Could that conversation get any cornier?
He strived to come up with an acceptable cliché answer, "Those women are difficult to forget. It will take you more than a random conversation with a stranger to get over her, I'm afraid. Do you have a picture of this angelic demon that devoured your heart?" he smirked.
He had no interest whatsoever in staring at a woman's picture, while the other man would probably babble about all her incomparable qualities. Yet he had to keep that farce going to find out all his weaknesses. Besides, he was somehow intrigued; he wondered how a well-trained MI6 agent could fall hopelessly in love with a common woman. Who could be so beguiling to steal his heart?
To his surprise, though, the agent recoiled, shaking his head as he seemed to come back to his senses for the first time. "I… I can't, I'm sorry."
Jim frowned at that unexpected reaction. Fascinating.
"What does it mean? You can't show it to me? Why so secretive?" he inquired.
The agent cleared his throat and shrugged defensively, "I just can't."
Jim's mouth formed a perfect circle as he emphatically pronounced, "Oh… is she a celebrity? Is that why you are so reserved? You don't have to worry: I wouldn't say it to any tabloid. Cross my heart," he mimicked the gesture while Wellington slowly shook his head.
"It's not that. Not a celeb, no."
Now Moriarty was sincerely confused – which was a rather rare event. What was he hiding? He was a heartbroken man talking with a stranger about the reason for his sorrow. Who cared about the girl's identity?
"Then what is the matter? If she is just an anonymous girl, I would most likely not know her. Come on, you spilt the beans about your horrible rejection, and now you won't let me see who hurt you so badly? Where's your comradeship, mate?" he teased him with a mischievous look.
Thomas twitched his lips, torn in an internal battle, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground. He couldn't show Giulia's picture to anyone; it was strictly forbidden. He knew the rules: she was officially dead, gone forever.
He sighed; the flame of rejection still burning in the middle of his chest and blinding him with rage and pain. Yes, she was dead – dead to him, too, after that night.
Thomas raised his eyes and met the stranger's cunning gaze – the siren call was stronger than ever.
End of the flashback
Inside 'torture chamber' number 4 – National Theatre
Moriarty interrupts his account and closes his eyes, smiling softly at those sweet memories: what a memorable night.
When he cracks them open again, he finds all the three people in the room staring at him with bated breath. They are waiting to hear the end of that story; they need to hear about the bodyguard's betrayal: it is the appeal of drama. And Giulia deserves to know the final truth about her past and present.
Jim fixes his eyes on his prisoner, who stares back, a livid look in his eyes. Thomas hates him for exposing him, but he can't deny anything.
The Irish criminal finally reveals the ending of that meeting, "He was furious, desperate. But most of all, he was vulnerable, which is why he eventually showed me your photo," he moves his gaze to Giulia's teary eyes.
"Now, you can imagine my surprise when I found out that the girl who broke his heart that night was a woman that I thought had died a long time before," he opens his eyes and mouth wide, overdoing a surprised expression.
"He compromised my safety," Giulia lets out in a whisper as all her certainties collapse. An ice curtain descends upon her shoulders and she feels a heavy burden on her heart.
Jim observes her behaviour; she keeps her stiffened arms along her sides, fists clenched, her knuckles turning white from the intensity of the grip. She keeps staring at her bodyguard and grinding her teeth in rage.
He smiles to himself. That's still not enough. He wants to push her over the edge; he is waiting for her meltdown.
"Not only that, darling. When I overcame my shock about your continued existence, I revealed my real identity to him and made him an 'offer he couldn't refuse'," he drawls in an American accent, imitating the voice of Marlon Brando's character in The Godfather's trilogy.
He chuckles, "Sorry for the pun; I thought it was in theme with the mafia family. I promised to make him rich and powerful – my right arm, if only he told me everything about the development in the MI6 investigation about the explosion and kept me updated on it."
Then he adds, "And he was so devastated that he just accepted. He cracked just like this," he snaps his fingers with a loud click. "He betrayed his country, all his principles. More importantly, he betrayed you."
Giulia turns sharply towards her former guardian angel and fulminates him.
"How could you do that to me?" she yells, the strain in her voice barely letting her struggle all the way to the end.
"It's very easy, my dear," Moriarty intervenes to reply for him. "I exploited his weakness, the crack in his heart, his disillusion. Let me just say that the instant when he broke down and betrayed you was my favourite moment. I love it when people do that," he pronounces with glimmering eyes.
"Everyone is so loyal until they reach their breaking point. But after they get there, anything becomes possible, even the most despicable acts. Broken people just don't care anymore about anything," he shakes his head with a smug smile. "He loved you and yet he deliberately gave me, Jim Moriarty – the number one criminal on the MI6 watch list, all the information to get to you. Incredible how the tables turn, right? So ever since that moment, he became..."
"Your mole in the system," Sherlock realises, anticipating Moriarty and completing his sentence.
In that second, all the memories from his first case with Giulia come back to the surface.
The criminal nods, "Precisely. He started by reporting to me on the investigation on the attack at the Consulate, but it turned out that this boy had some talent, so I upgraded my game and asked him to provide me with all the juiciest information on the MI6 activities in London."
"Such as the undercover infiltration of Cathy Baaral and her twin sister in the terror cell that almost blew up the Palestinian mission, several months ago," John follows Sherlock's reasoning.
Jim keeps smiling at them; they are finally understanding.
"That was such a blood-pumping adventure, wasn't it?" he mocks them. "After that, though, I asked him to be more discreet, giving the impression that the mole was among the tens of people that got fired from the force, that day. The funniest thing is Mycroft Holmes still wonders who it was; the thought of the mole still tortures him," he licks his lips.
Sherlock's head jerks up at the mention of his brother's name. Only a criminal mastermind like Moriarty could outsmart his sibling.
Giulia strides ferociously towards the glass, shouting, "How dare you do that to me? To my father? He had blind faith in you and entrusted you with his daughter, one of the people he cared about most in all the world. How dare you?"
A river of bitter tears clouds her sight, and she violently punches the reinforced glass.
John moves a step in her direction, but the detective prevents him with a gesture of his hand and reaches Giulia, standing right behind her.
"That's enough; you're going to hurt yourself," he mumbles and ties his arms around her torso, entrapping her flailing arms and dragging her away from the glass, for fear that her already reddening hands could start bleeding with all those blows.
Thomas throws a supplicant look at her, "Giulia, please."
"I don't want to hear anything coming from you," she cuts him short, squirming against Sherlock's chest; he releases his hold slowly.
When she wiggles out of his grip, she turns her back to the bodyguard's room, repulsed.
She starts walking away when Thomas's desperate words reach her ear, "I love you."
Author's note: Dear readers, I would love to have your feedback on the flashback at the beginning. Did the scene work for you? It was just an experiment for me since I thought it would be more interesting to show you what had happened instead of having it all retold by Moriarty. And it also lets me explore Thomas's character a bit more.