Summary:
Joanne Hartwell is sent to London by Julian Holmes, elder cousin to Sherlock and Mycroft, to whom she must hand off a top secret letter. Someone has infiltrated the top ranks of the British Intelligence Services, and as a result are always one step ahead of them.
All known codes and ciphers are compromised. Joanne's Synesthesia 'Syncode' is used for communication between the Holmes men as they hunt for the person or group responsible. Time is running out, as each day another field agent disappears, and the enemy continues to gain knowledge of valuable secrets that could end with a war between the world's most powerful nations.
CH 1 Arrivals and Flights
The Jaguar sped along the A40 towards the heart of London, where Joanne Hartwell was to meet Mycroft Holmes, head of all the British Security Services. At the request of his elder cousin Julian Holmes, she was to hand off the top secret letter to him later that evening at the luxurious five star Lanesborough Hotel. Within the last six months and possibly even earlier, foreign agents had infiltrated the ranks of the GCHQ. It began with seemingly insignificant events: routine messages to and from Headquarters involving various field agents took a longer time than usual to arrive, sometimes resulting in a total breakdown in communications altogether. This could be common in far flung areas of the globe where satellite uplinks were spotty at best. Over time it began happening more often, and in larger cities around the world. It didn't take long for the Holmes men to suspect something was going on. It was too early to tell if the leak was at the very top, or from the lower rank and file personnel.
Things began to escalate as people within the Intel community began to disappear. MI6 agents sent to other countries stopped reporting in. With Mycroft working behind the scenes in London, and Julian doing the same from Australia, the pieces slowly came together as to where the potential problem lay. All signs pointed toward the GCHQ building in Cheltenham, also known as 'The Doughnut'. It was here that the Signals intelligence intercepted communications directly between people, or indirectly, using electronic intelligence. Cryptanalysis was used to decipher the messages, as well as traffic analysis (who was signaling whom and in what quantity). Given the nature of the leaks and resulting outcomes, there was no other place within the British Security forces that it could be coming from.
Julian had turned to his friend Joanne for help: With a history of Synesthesia, her mind had assigned individual colors to every letter in the alphabet, as well as to numbers. Everything was color coded with its own abbreviation, something she had created as a child. Using this color coded cipher, Julian was sending her to London with a message to his cousin Mycroft, written in Joanne's 'Syncode'. He had also provided a handpicked security agent to accompany her on the flight from her home in Washington to the hotel in London. Threading his way through the densely packed freeway and weaving between the slow moving cars, the man had impatiently tore the blond wig off from atop his head, finally glad to be rid of it. The 'security agent' was none other than Mycroft's younger brother, Sherlock Holmes. Joanne was floored. As he spoke, she quickly noticed the Australian drawl immediately disappear and was replaced with his native British accent. She recognized the unruly dark curls of the small boy she had seen in Julian's photo albums of their childhood together. The abrupt rude manner was also a match, something Sherlock had acquired from his teenage years and onwards.
"Sherlock?! " she exclaimed in shock.
"The one and only," was the terse reply as he stared straight ahead into the traffic.
"Why the need for the disguise?" she asked. There had only been three flight personnel aboard Julian's Gulfstream on the way over: The pilot, co pilot and flight attendant. Julian had more than likely checked their credentials - why the need to hide his identity from them?
"I'm not sure you understand the seriousness of the situation, Miss Hartwell," he replied. "Besides myself, my brother Mycroft, our cousin Julian, and possibly you, no one, absolutely no one, can be trusted. Yes, it is more than likely that that insipid flight attendant and her spineless co pilot are also trustworthy, as well as the captain. My cousin would have provided nothing less. I simply did not want to be recognized." "You've met them before?"
"No, but they would know me. Their continued slavish adoration during the flight would have been intolerable." Sherlock didn't elaborate. Intrigued, Joanne pressed for answers.
"Why would they adore you? Are you well known in Australia, then?"
Twisting around in his seat, he gave her an exasperated, though quizzical look. "You have never heard of me? I find that impossible. Everyone has heard of me," he stated, turning his attention back to the road.
"I haven't, except what Julian's told me of you and Mycroft." She was careful not to mention his sister Eurus or that of their childhood. Joanne had given Julian her solemn promise that she would never reveal the truth to either Sherlock or his parents, should she ever meet them. He had told her everything, beginning with Eurus's psychosis, the murder of Sherlock's best friend Victor Trevor, and the fire at Musgrave Hall. With Mycroft's help, Sherlock had rewritten his memories of that time. His best friend was remembered not as a boy, but as a dog named Red beard.
"You have not seen my blog, then," he correctly surmised.
"No. What's it about?"
"My cases, mostly. Did my cousin tell you nothing about me?" he asked incredulously.
"Only that you are a detective-"
"Consulting detective," he interrupted.
"Right. The only one in the world, I think he said."
"Correct. I invented the job."
"What is the difference between what you do and a Private Investigator?"
"Private Investigators are amateurs."
"What?! Not all of them, surely!"
"Compared to me, yes, they are. I advise you to read the blog sometime, you might learn something."
"Thanks, I think. Yeah, I'll take a look at it."
Sherlock grunted an acknowledgement. She wondered if his brother was also as arrogant.
They continued on, entering the city proper of London. Cars clogged the streets as commuters made their way to work. Julian's Gulfstream had dropped them off at an unnamed airfield in the early hours of the morning as the sun was coming over the horizon. He had had to stay behind in Australia to deal with the security breach, which affected not only Britain, but the entire Commonwealth.
It was five thirty. Yawning, Joanne closed her eyes. She intended to have a long nap once they arrived at the hotel, after which she would sign the Official Secrets Act Statement that Julian had sent with her on he plane. Because of the nature of the mission, as well as what little she already knew, it was a more or less a formality.
They arrived at the Lanesborough Hotel. Sherlock dropped her off at the entrance, giving her his phone number should she need to contact him.
"What about your brother's number? He's supposed to meet me here tonight, should I have his as well?" Considering the possible danger Julian had said she was in, Joanne thought it would be a good idea.
"Nobody has my brother's number," Sherlock said. "If he wanted you to have it, he would have instructed our cousin to give it to you. As I am sure he told you, the hotel is being watched by Mycroft's men. No doubt you are in the safest place in London at the moment."
Shrugging, Joanne got out of the car. Sherlock gestured to one of the doormen. "I will pick you up at this spot the same time tomorrow morning. You have my number. Do not use it unless it is an absolute emergency," he added brusquely, not bothering to get out.
The minute her duffel was out of the trunk and hit the ground, Sherlock was off with a screech of tires. She wondered where he was going in such a hurry. Shaking her head, Joanne followed the doorman inside as he radioed for the private butler to escort her up to the Royal Suite.
The Royal Suite. For the second time that morning, Joanne was stunned. She'd researched on her phone the hotel she was to stay at, but had no idea he had reserved the best suites it had to offer. Ha! Should have known, she thought. Julian Holmes did nothing by half measures and expected only the very best in everything. Once inside, it was a whole other world. The place itself was something out of a Regency novel, the décor very accurately recreated from that time. The Lanesborough was for the ultra wealthy; never could she afford such a place. For the first time in her life, medical assistant Joanne 'Average Jo' Hartwell felt like a princess. Even though it would only be one night, she was determined to live it up during her stay here. This was a once in lifetime event, she was sure. The jaunts on Julian's yacht had been fabulous, as was the large home he kept on his private island at Patos in the San Juan Islands not far from her home in Edmonds. The Gulfstream was exquisite as well, but this..
The suite was palatial and indeed fit for a king, with not only the bedroom but two living rooms, (why would anyone need two living rooms?) a dining room complete with its own kitchenette as well as an assigned personal butler. Each room exuded exquisite taste and craftsmanship, with exacting attention to period detail. Even the bathroom was a wonder in black and white marble, the ensuite lined in gilded gold. All Jo needed was a Regency outfit and she could be the heroine in the period romance novels she had read as a teenager. From what she could glean from the internet, the suite of rooms were priced at $26,000 per night.
Per night.
Royal Suite indeed!
Looking out one of the tall heavily brocaded windows, she could see the Wellington Arch, and beyond that, Buckingham Palace and the park surrounding it. She still couldn't believe she was here. Only the day before, Joanne had been sitting at the local park enjoying the company of the geese, as was her custom when not at work. Julian had called to ask her to deliver the letter to his cousin in London on an overnight visit, and that was that. It was as though she had fallen through reality and into a living dream, but one that was going to end by this time tomorrow. Princess be damned - it was more like Cinderella, and there were the OSAS papers yet to sign. Just thinking about it made her tired again. A quick nap was in order, then she would sign them while having a bite to eat. Later, Joanne planned on exploring the rest of the hotel, especially the spa.
She would never get the chance.
Joanne was dosing fitfully when her phone buzzed. Fuzzy headed from the remnants of sleep, she reached over to answer it. Starting violently she sat bolt upright, afraid she'd overslept and missed Mycroft. Luckily only an hour or so had gone by. She was surprised however, at the caller. It was Julian.
"Julian! Is everything ok?" she asked, remembering his earlier admonition that due to the danger, there could be no calls between them for the duration of her stay in London.
He sounded tired. "Everything's fine, Koritsi Mou," he began. "I couldn't help it - I missed you, and needed to know you are alright."
Sighing, she held the phone closer, wishing it was Julian. "I'm fine, Julian. No need to worry about me. Hey, I'm loving this Royal Suite! I can't believe it; I really do feel like a royal in the middle of a period drama here. I can't thank you enough. Also, the ring and Trinity jewelry were lovely, as is the evening dress. It fits perfectly!"
"Glad you are ok, Joanne, and you are very welcome, for everything. You deserve nothing less." He paused. "I would ask you to be extra careful, however. Our sources tell us there may be a move against the Prime Minister. Whether the informant we are trying to find is involved is still unknown-"
There was a barely audible click over the line, so faint that Joanne thought she must have imagined it. "Did you hear that?" she asked.
"Hear what?" Julian answered.
"Probably nothing," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, jetlag's catching up to me, I think."
"I'm sure it is. Be careful, Agape Mou; I cannot rest until you are safely back home." From the exhaustion in his voice, she believed it. She felt horrible to be the cause of it, though.
"Sherlock said the hotel is being watched by Mycroft's men. Yes, he finally revealed his ID once we were out of the plane and into the car on the way here. Said he didn't want to be recognized from his blog and that the crew were probably fans of his."
Julian laughed knowingly. "As I told you, I sent with you only the best for your protection. I take it he left soon after dropping you off?"
"Yeah, it was weird, like he had somewhere to go in a hurry. As soon as the bag was taken out of the trunk, he was gone!"
"Considering everything that is going on Joanne, it was probably somewhere on his brother's orders; or more than likely, he wanted to be alone and went straight home. I am sorry for his rude nature; unfortunately, my cousin is like that most of the time. I hope he was not too unbearable during the flight over?"
"Nah, we didn't talk much, though apparently he knows a lot about plants." She didn't elaborate. After breathing in the scent of the orchids that were sat upon the dining table in the jet, Sherlock had remarked briefly that he had knowledge of botany. It was the most they had conversed during the entire trip, and even that had been short.
"Are you wearing the Cockatoo?" Julian asked. One of the pieces of jewelry he had left on the plane for her included a protection ring in the shape of a Cockatoo bird's head containing rounded sapphire beads: twelve were full of a deadly neurotoxin, the other twelve contained the antidote.
"Yep, got that on," she said. "It's lovely, Julian. All of them are - I can never repay you for them, or anything. I found out how much it costs for just one night here. As grateful as I am, I can't help thinking-"
Julian cut her off. "Now, none of that, Koritsi Mou. I did so because I wanted to, and I won't hear another word about it. My only concern is that you keep that little bird on you at all times, do you understand?" Here his voice hardened, becoming the usual stern, authoritarian Julian Holmes that she'd gotten to know.
"I do, and you have my word," she assured him.
They talked for another five minutes before hanging up. Wide awake now, Joanne ordered up some lunch, which came in the form of an elegant looking afternoon tea set brought up by her personal butler.
No one does Afternoon Tea like the British, she thought as she tucked into the delicious looking food. At the bottom of a three tiered tray were the sandwiches, followed by fruit on a cake and various pastries and scones on the top two. As requested, there was a steaming pot of coffee in a silver serving set. Joanne could imagine the kitchen staff shaking their heads at the American Yank who ordered coffee instead of the standard tea, but it was a taste she could never get used to. Halfway through the sandwiches Joanne remembered the Official Secrets Act paperwork that needed signing.
Pulling out the manila envelope, she spread them out on the table, reading each in turn. No way was she going to sign anything without reading it. Most of it was benign and standard. Anyone with knowledge of sensitive information such as she had were bound by it whether or not they actually signed it, though was indeed law. Breaking up the monotony of the paperwork, Joanne sat on the bed and turned on the TV, switching channels until she finally came to an interesting nature show.
She was halfway through the OSAS when her phone buzzed again. Smiling, Joanne thought to herself what a worrywart Julian was as she went to reach for it. Her expression froze as she noted the sender:
Sherlock.
Knowing he wouldn't call her unless it was serious, a cold dread washed over her. She quickly hit the answer button. He was talking before she could utter a word."You need to get out of there. Now. Do not ask questions and do not grab your things except for the thing that is my brothers. Just go, and do not leave in the manner by which you came in!" he added emphatically.
"Wait! Sher-"
"Out! Now! Repeat, do not leave in the manner by which you came in!" The line went dead.
Oh shit. What was he supposed to mean by those last words? The thing for his brother.
The letter. Of course. But the last two repeated lines.. What was that about? Was she supposed to go out the back way? No, Joanne didn't think so. The manner by which you came in. It was a coded message that was totally lost on her.
Grabbing the letter for Mycroft and stuffing it down her bra, Joanne was glad at least that she had put on the Cockatoo ring and Trinity Necklace before exiting plane. She ran to the nearest exit, almost colliding with the room service attendant who was also exiting a nearby room. An idea occurred to her.
"Hey, you don't have another one of those uniforms, do you?" she asked. The attendant looked at her strangely.
"I'm sorry? Why do you want-" Joanne cut her off, quickly explaining.
"I'm working with MI5," she began as the woman stared at her, disbelieving.
"I'm serious! My cover is blown and I need to get out of here, but I can't go like this. Can you help me or not?!" The panic in Joanne's face must have communicated itself to the woman as she finally nodded, indicating the room she had just left.
"Wait in there, I'll see what I can do. Hide in this wardrobe here," the attendant said, ushering her inside. The door closed with a click. Full blown terror set in as Joanne flung the doors back open, afraid the maid had locked her in. Opening readily, she took a deep breath, closing them once more. Could she trust this person? What if this wasn't a member of the staff at all, but someone working with those that were after her? Nothing could be done now and anyway, there had been ample time enough for her to strike, if that was true.
It seemed like hours as she waited inside the stuffy dark confines of the closet before she heard footsteps. There was a soft knock on the door before it opened; the woman had come back not only the uniform, but a cap, shoes and stockings to complete the outfit.
"You really are in trouble, aren't you?" she asked. "My name is Natalia. I hope these will fit," she said, handing the pile of clothes to Joanne.
"Thank you so much, Natalia. Yeah, it's true. There really are bad guys after me, and my contact told me I need to get out ASAP," Joanne said as she quickly discarded her clothes and put on the Room Attendant uniform. "I don't even know what he meant really; he said not to leave in the same manner that I came in. I thought he meant through the front door but he seemed to mean something else. By manner I can only surmise that he meant for me to leave as a staff member, and not a guest," she went on breathlessly. "I don't suppose the hotel has a staff exit? No wait, he told me to stay among the crowd..Crap, where do I go? Sorry, I'm just.." she trailed, running a hand over her forehead in frustration.
Dressed the part and checking herself in the mirror, she prayed the people after her wouldn't take notice of a hotel worker and look at her face. "Follow me," Natalia said, leading her out into the hall. "Don't worry about your things, I will put your clothes together with your other belongings," she whispered as they reached the elevator. Joanne grabbed a pile of blankets off a nearby cart. "To keep up the ruse," she said, smiling tightly.
Just then the door opened, and a suspicious looking man stepped out. Joanne was pretty sure he wasn't Hotel Security or with British Intelligence, unless he was undercover. The man looked like an old fashioned assassin with a menacing air about him, his eyes like those of a shark - cold and deadly. Bald headed with a light mustache curving down to a five o'clock shadow on his face, he sported street clothes, the button up shirt beneath a light overcoat untucked and hanging out over a faded pair of blue jeans.
Keeping her head down, they entered the elevator as they brushed past him. Her heart was immediately in her mouth when he turned back, placing a hand on the door to prevent it closing. Natalia stiffened in fear beside her, saying nothing. Looking hard at them both, he asked if they had seen anyone go in or out of the rooms, gesturing behind him towards the Royal Suite. "No sir, I believe the occupant is asleep, though," Joanne lied. "We were given orders not to disturb them before dinner," she added, hoping to throw him off. It seemed to work, though his eyes continued their basilisk like gaze, shifting between Joanne and Natalia. She hoped the woman's fear wouldn't give them away. He studied them a moment longer. "Thanks," he said, slowly nodding. This was a man used to intimidation tactics, and if Natalia looked scared, he was doing his job well. With that, the man turned and continued on down the hall. Apparently he was going to patrol until the 'occupant' came out, Joanne thought. The door shut as Natalia heaved a terrified sigh of relief, repeating a prayer of thanks in her native language. To Joanne's ear, it sounded either Russian or Ukrainian.
"At first I didn't believe you. Some of my co workers like to play pranks on me, and I thought you were in on it. But you seemed so sincere and scared, what could I do?" Natalia said as the elevator continued on to the main floor.
"It's fine, really. It's ok now. You saved my life, literally. I may not be out of the woods just yet though; there may be more downstairs." Natalia didn't look happy about that. Joanne continued, not wanting the girl mixed up in this any more than she already was, especially since the guy had gotten a good look at her.
"Tell you what," Joanne said. "It's probably safer for you if I go on alone from here. Just point me in the direction of the dining room, or wherever the largest crowd of people are." Glancing at her watch, it was well after lunch time. She had no idea where to go.
Natalia considered this. "The club! There are always people there. I'll take you." Joanne was about to argue but the attendant wouldn't be dissuaded. It was bad enough her own life was in danger; Joanne didn't want innocent blood on her hands. Only now was she realizing why Julian had been so worried, and that she should have taken matters more seriously from the beginning. The elevator door opened and they slowly walked out. Joanne was on high alert, studying the faces of each person milling about. None raised any red flags. Yet. Walking between the guests and staff, they made their way to the Lanesborough Club and Spa. Normally she would have gawped in awe of the grandeur of the place, but at the moment, her only concern was the safety of both herself and Natalia.
They slowly wandered over to the bar as Natalia greeted the bartender as he waited on the customers. He glanced from Natalia to Joanne. "Are you new here?" he asked. "Upstairs attendants aren't allowed in the guest area," he said imperiously. "Not at this hour anyway. You should know that, Natalia," he smirked. Joanne wanted to punch the man in the face at her crestfallen look, and was about to give him a piece of her mind when suddenly the mirror behind him shattered. Bottles and glasses toppled off their shelves, breaking into a million pieces as he ducked behind the bar. Simultaneously, something hot whizzed by Joanne's ear, grazing the side of her head; she could feel blood begin to trickle down her neck. By the time the first shot registered, another one rang out, then another. No time to think, instinct and military training from over twenty years ago came into play as she threw Natalia to the floor, placing herself directly on top of her. Joanne prayed no one else had gotten hurt, even the jerk of a bartender.
"Joanne!"
It was Sherlock with a handful of Mycroft's security men. Thank God! Rushing towards her as the others took down the shooter, he grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet. "Are you ok?" he asked.
"Yeah, yeah; fine," she answered, still in shock. Looking around and quickly assessing the scene, she as well as Sherlock concluded that no one else had gotten hurt. Natalia picked herself up, sobbing. Joanne wanted to comfort her in some way, but her Synesthesia and mild Autistic tendencies prevented her from doing so, at least physically. "It's ok, Natalia. It's all over. Thanks again for being brave for me," she told the shaking woman.
Joanne missed her reply as Sherlock was already leading her across the room and out to the foyer. At some point he'd handed her his handkerchief, telling her she needed to get her wound looked at. The bleeding looked worse than it was; Joanne knew that scalp tissue was quite vascular, and even a minor tear could result in heavy bleeding. Still, with pressure the material helped to staunch the flow. Looking back over her shoulder as the security team wrestled the assassin to the ground, she saw it was none other than the man they had met outside of her rooms. He had figured it out. Joanne wondered what had taken him so long.
"It was your quick thinking regarding the staff uniform," Sherlock answered. "It did indeed throw him off just long enough for Mycroft's men and myself to arrive; otherwise, you would probably be dead right now." Although there was no sympathy in his voice, Joanne thought she could detect a trace of grudging respect. She couldn't take all the credit, though.
"I had help from Natalia, the room attendant. She's the one that fetched it for me," Joanne said. She suddenly wished that they'd at least exchanged numbers with her to thank her properly later; that and she had no idea how she was to retrieve her things that were still sitting upstairs in the Suite.
"Don't worry about that, Mycroft will take care of it," Sherlock answered. They were sitting together in the back of the black Jaguar, with an assigned driver at the front.
"Where are we going, then?" she asked.
"First, to Casualty to have you looked at," he said, glancing at the bloody kerchief she held to her head. "Afterwards, we are to meet my brother Mycroft at Vauxhall Cross ."
Joanne smiled sadly. "Ahh. This wasn't the way I was planning on meeting him," she lamented, indicating her outfit.
"As much as I detest my brother sometimes, it's a much better option to present you alive in the uniform of a hotel attendant, and not dead on a slab at the local morgue." He had a point.
The wound was slightly more than superficial, and required at least five stitches. After almost two hours in the emergency room, she was patched up and ready to go. Although she wanted very much to go back and change now that the killer was in custody, she climbed into the car with Sherlock as the driver closed the doors behind them. Joanne's stomach knotted, her nerves already frayed. For some reason, the earlier events paled in comparison to meeting Sherlock's brother. She'd only heard about him from Julian as they had poured over his childhood photo albums. Images of the chubby freckled, red haired fourteen year old appeared in her mind's eye to ease the anxiety; it wasn't working. Unfortunately Joanne also remembered Julian's other descriptions of his cousin..
Guiding the sleek car out of the hospital lot and onto the busy road, they headed for Vauxhall Cross. The drive went by swiftly and they were soon approaching the SIS building. It looked to be influenced by 1930s industrial modernist architecture, reminding her of a giant white stone ziggurat. Imposing walls loomed up before her, their blue green windows glinting in the sunlight. The place was heavily armed and looked as intimidating as the man she was about to meet. Joanne was dreading it as the Jaguar slowed, and turned down a side entrance to the building. Sherlock and the driver presented ID's to multiple security guards along the way. The large iron gate slid shut behind them with a heavy clang as they proceeded into an underground parking lot. Joanne gulped, feeling more trapped than she had in the wardrobe.
Upon entering, Sherlock turned to her with a wry smile. "Welcome to our world, Miss Hartwell," he said.
