Chapter 3: The Twist
"Chto yebesh', Sergei!" Sherlock exclaimed angrily. "What is this?!"
"She is not who she says, William. Illya checked: there is no 'Alice White' working with Doctors Without Borders."
His eyes widened with shock and hurt, he wheeled toward her. "You lied to me?"
"No! William, no!"
"We take no chances," Sergei interrupted. "She comes with us now, or she comes dressed. I know which the others prefer."
Sherlock paled. "Not necessary, Sergei. I'll make sure she stays and dresses." He quickly shooed her back into the bedroom, watching as she gathered her discarded clothes and shed the robe. He quickly turned away when he realized how much she had discarded. "You should run, or try to escape," he whispered as loudly as he dared over his shoulder.
Fully dressed again, Parker circled around and narrowed her eyes at him. "No, not if it gets you in trouble," she said in a fierce whisper. "We're so close to getting you out in one piece. Nothing will happen to me."
"Can we take that chance?"
"We'll have to, or your friend out there won't." She gave him a well-practiced nervous smile. "Let's go."
Sherlock had missed something again. He would only realize this later.
-L-
Hand in hand, Parker and Sherlock were marched into a warehouse an hour's travel from the hotel, seemingly abandoned. Making sure to look nervous, Parker looked around to identify exit points and where everyone was located, enemy and possible ally. Sergei motioned for them to stay in the center of the cavernous space.
Sherlock lifted her hand to his lips, gently kissing her fingers. "You have the chance, run," he whispered, trying once more.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "We'll be okay."
"Depends on how you answer questions, 'Miss White'."
Sherlock froze, his eyes wide in fear. "Nicolai." He turned as Nicolai Kolenkov, the captain of the Bratva in Varna, strolled in, almost careless in his entrance. He was joined by several more of the gang, including Illya from earlier in the day.
Kolenkov looked at Sherlock with the smile of a benevolent uncle, and the eyes of a stone killer. "William, Sergei tells me your woman is lying suka. Did you know? Do I need to worry about your loyalty?"
"Nicolai, please, Sergei is revnivyy. Alice is with Medecins sans frontieres."
"Sir, it's true," Parker piped up, her voice cracking. "My documents and ID are right here." She patted the handbag hanging at her hip.
"CIA has some of best forgers," Sergei sneered.
"What?!" she squawked. "You think I'm a spy? I'm a PA. I'm a marine of medicine, for crying out loud!"
"You know we can't trust your word, little one," Kolenkov commented gently, "or even William's. He cares for you and will believe what you say. But Illya, he is strangely good with computers, and has his own…" he snapped his fingers, searching for the words in English.
"Facial recognition," Illya supplied with slow pronunciation.
"Spesibo, Illya," Kolenkov thanked him. "He ran your picture with contact we have in Doctors Without Borders, and they have no record of 'Alice White, Physician Assistant'. She is either spy or you are working together. Which is it, William?"
"She is good woman, not spy," Sherlock insisted. "And we are not working together." He maneuvered Parker behind him to protect her.
"Then you told something when thinking with wrong head," Sergei growled. "You let her into your head, maybe leak a few secrets."
"You understand, William," Kolenkov interjected, the benevolent-uncle smile in place, "there is only one way to be sure."
Her hand was suddenly snatched from his grasp. Sherlock twisted to see another thug lift her off the ground, stifling her indignant cries with one hand. "Nyet!" he screamed, trying to follow, to get her back.
But he had a fight on his hands. He stabbed the first thug that got in his way with a pen knife. The second got a head-butt to the nose for his interference. The next had a knife that he tried to use, if Sherlock hadn't put him in an arm-lock and twisted the blade away. Thug #4 in turn hit his wrist in just the right way for his fingers to open and drop the knife, but that didn't stop Sherlock from slamming his palm into his throat.
It was a pistol-whip to the back of his head that finally ended the fight.
-S-
The next hour was a study in pain management and mental acuity for Sherlock. Even as the thugs beat him bloody, he couldn't help but think his time in a Serbian prison during his first hiatus was the warm-up to this. The first time he blacked out, they'd dumped him on a stained mattress to recover his senses. They questioned him between beatings, asking who "Alice" worked for, what he told her, if he was a traitor. Despite this, he kept his identity and accent in place.
As had happened once before, the image of Molly Hooper helped him keep his mind as sharp as he could and to lessen the pain, even slightly. He'd even called up the sense-memory of Molly slapping him after she'd tested him for drug use, so long ago now. To know that he'd earned that pain helped him manage some of the pain inflicted on him now. Very slowly, cautiously, he regained consciousness after the latest round had knocked him out again. He tried to stay still, hoping to catch someone by surprise, but his body betrayed him, his muscles twitching and nerve endings on fire. He cursed the involuntary groan that escaped him.
An ugly laugh invaded his ear. Sergei. "Welcome back, sukinsyn." He and another man lifted him from the mattress, dragging him before Kolenkov. Sergei's compatriot pulled back while Sergei held Sherlock on his knees. His left eye was beginning to swell shut by now; blood from his mouth and both sides of his face had run down to soak through his undershirt.
Sherlock knew he was in trouble when his mind started to dull and gray around the edges. He couldn't even focus enough to identify vulnerable points of the men around him. He'd always known this was a suicide mission; he'd even been surprised he'd lasted this long. There was only one thing keeping him from surrendering entirely: the woman calling herself Alice White. He'd never wanted anyone to pay for his mistakes, let alone someone who was just trying to help him. No, he decided, he had to live long enough to get her free and clear of all this… especially if he didn't.
He blinked his eye clear as Kolenkov crouched in front of him, careful not to mess up his suit. "William, is this pride or love holding you back?" he asked on a sigh. "If pride, no one will blame you getting taken in by pretty face. If love… well, she lied to you and should be punished. I don't like this, but you know is only way."
Sherlock saw the opening and took it. "Please, Nicolai, let me see Alice. I need to see she's okay. I'll tell what I know if you let her go."
Kolenkov clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You know I can't let her go yet… but you sure you want her to see you like this? You'll scare her."
"Better scared and alive than dead."
The Bratva captain let out a short, sharp bark of laughter, and snapped out an order for Alice to be brought to them. "You know, is not like you to be so noble about woman, and woman you don't know at all."
"Think you'd be surprised at what I know, Nicolai." And I'll die knowing she's safe, and you're in jail or dead.
"William!" He saw blond hair fill his vision as Alice dropped to her knees before him. She drew him into a careful hug. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You'll be okay," he managed to reply softly.
"Enough!" Kolenkov grabbed Alice and pulled her to her feet, his fist twisted in the back of her torn shirt to hold her beside him. "Now, William says if I let you go, he tells what he knows."
Alice look at him with wide eyes for a split second, before twitching one in a half-wink. "Please don't bother. I'll tell you."
"Alice, nyet!" Sherlock cried, half-lunging for her. He was kept in place by Sergei's grip.
"William, da! It's the only way." She turned to the mob boss despite the grip he still had on her. "Okay, you know my name isn't Alice White, and I'm not with Doctors Without Borders, but I'm also not a spy. I'm something worse."
"Worse than spy?" Kolenkov drew her closer, looking intrigued. "What is worse than spy?"
Sherlock watched with envy and admiration as "Alice" dropped away to reveal the shrewd thief hiding in plain sight. "I'm a thief, with friends, and a taser." Quickly bringing up her hand, she zapped him with the small stun gun she'd concealed up her sleeve.
One of Kolenkov's men suddenly started punching his comrades, who were blindsided by the betrayal of one of their own. Sherlock quickly took advantage, breaking free and grabbing Sergei's gun, knee-capping him with it. The fight became pure instinct, a combination of gunplay and vicious hand-to-hand, and mostly a blur.
He really became aware later of bodies in varying conditions, ranging from injured or unconscious to dead or dying. Sherlock's mind was racing again, trying to make sense of the last few minutes, as he swept his field of vision with the stolen gun. The blonde calling herself "Alice White", collapsible baton in one hand and pocketing the taser with the other, slowly approached him. The "traitor" in Kolenkov's men, from his cautious walk to his wary blue eyes, reminded him of John Watson in "soldier" mode. He had to search back in his memory to realize this man had replaced one of the mob, had to be one of "Alice's" team. "Who are you?"
The man smiled. "Well, sir," he drawled, thickening his natural Midwest-American accent, "we'd be the cavalry."
-L-
Eliot entered the bar an hour before Parker, looking every inch the bad ass his reputation could hold. He zeroed in on Sherlock, dressed in black, as soon as he walked in. "Okay, Parker," he murmured into his comm, "he's here. Go to the bar by the door, he'll be at your four o'clock."
-L-
While in the bar, Parker made sure to be in range of several cell phones, to make sure that Hardison could clone them, getting into the software and using it as another microphone. He used a real-time translation program to keep tabs on the mob's conversations. "Eliot, they have tech of their own, took Parker's picture," he warned the hitter. "We may have to move up the timetable."
-L-
Once Hardison had extrapolated where Parker and Sherlock were being taken for interrogation, Eliot got there first. He knocked out and tied up a straggler, taking his victim's cap and overcoat and making sure no one got a clear look at his face.
-L-
"Parker, I'm right behind you," he sub-vocalized. "I'm going to grab you and put a hand over your mouth. Act like you're struggling, but don't hurt me, okay?"
Parker's head nodded, ever so slightly, as Sherlock maneuvered her behind him to protect her. Eliot did as he said, pulling her away from Sherlock, as she carefully kicked and screamed, her voice muffled by his hand.
-L-
"This isn't right," she said as they listened to Sherlock's interrogation—the beating he was taking. "He'll let them kill him to protect me."
"They won't kill him, as long as he holds out," he reassured her. "And he'll go the distance to protect someone."
"He doesn't even know me, Eliot! He'll protect family, but we're not even friends." She double-checked the taser and collapsible baton he'd given her. "How can he hold out for someone he doesn't know?"
"Because you're there to help him, Parker," Hardison interrupted over the earbuds. "We all are."
"Remember, this is the same guy who's killed to protect the people he cares about, who he values. He values you because you're willing to help him. We've got his back now. He will hold out."
Eliot's head jerked as Kolenkov called for "Alice". "I'll follow your lead, Parker. Just let me know when."
She smirked. "Oh, you'll know."
He took her arm as if to drag her out, and she adopted the persona of frightened hostage one last time.
Russian translations:
Chto yebesh': what the hell
Bratva: Brotherhood; the chosen name of the Russian mob
revnivyy: jealous
sukinsyn: son of a bitch
A/N: A virtual chocolate-chip cookie for anyone who recognizes where I stole the fight scenes from. Hint: You can find it on YouTube with Ben Cumberbatch and Colin Salmon.