Chapter Six:
As the sunset and the windows behind him darkened, Mycroft did not notice. He was deep in his Mind Archive, trying to piece together some semblance of a plan. He had deduced fairly rapidly that Moriarty's "excuse" to call the flight off would be some piece of evidence, conclusive to be sure, that showed the terrorists knew the code had been broken, and that they were only waiting for the plane to explode before launching their PR attack on the conspiracy between the CIA and the UK's intelligence services. That would be the only way to get out of a cancellation at this late a stage without harming Mycroft. The evidence would also have to be buried somewhere in the CIA's sources, so it would be "their" fault that it had not been found. If Mycroft could be seen to be the one who saved the Americans from themselves, then his reputation would not be harmed, but rather helped. The cost of cancellation would be ruinously high, but it would be the Americans' fault, not his.
He had deduced this simply because this is what he would have done if he'd been in Moriarty's place. He will want to protect my reputation so I can be of more use to him as one of his fallen angels. He had always detested that phrase, even though he knew that there were plenty of otherwise good and decent people who had been "collected" by the Irishman over the years. Never had he dreamed that he might become one of them.
He also knew that Moriarty was right- a simple resignation would not be allowed. The consulting criminal would hold Sherlock's destruction over his head like a sword of Damocles. A retired Mycroft would be of no use to the man, so he would not be allowed to escape that way.
He'd loosened his tie and had spent the last hour trying to find a way to use the truth- could he concoct a way to make Moriarty the cause of the cancellation, and that Mycroft had found out and stopped the man's plan? That led him down permutations of plans, most involving him in arranging a meeting and then capturing the Irishman. But that idea died with the realisation that the man's contingency plans would then kick into effect- and the escalation of crimes resulting would inevitably lead to his release. Beside which, that idea would leave Sherlock fatally exposed. Moriarty would sing to any interrogator just who had compromised Bond Air. There was no hope of a full frontal attack, unless he wanted to ensure his brother's destruction, and then the demise of his own career. If he could have sacrificed his career in exchange for putting Moriarty out of business once and for all, Mycroft would have taken the deal. Unfortunately for him, his wasn't the only head on the chopping block.
He thought about the likely consequences for Sherlock, if he decided to resign, to take the personal consequences of disgrace, or worse. He would not be able to protect his brother. If Moriarty didn't release the truth, then the investigation would find it anyway. He tried to avoid imagining what Sherlock would do if he could never work again on cases. It wouldn't take long before that extraordinary mind just tore itself to pieces. He knew that he would do almost anything to avoid that happening. No matter how many times Mycroft tried to pretend he didn't care, he did. No matter how many times his brother tried to push him away, he knew he wouldn't, couldn't abandon him. Moriarty had found his weakness. Mycroft lowered his head into his hands in despair. He would also have to keep this fact from Sherlock. If his brother found out that he was being used this way, there'd be no accounting what he might do. His imagination ran from the vision of Sherlock collapsing back into drug abuse, all the way to the other extreme, of what would happen if Sherlock caved in and agreed to work with Moriarty. No, I have to find a way out of this mess.
There MUST be another way. But he knew that it would not be found quickly. The only thing he could do was the strategy he had decided in the very first moments after realising that Moriarty knew about Bond Air- stall. If he bought some time, he might find a way to turn the tables.
There was a knock on the door. He didn't answer but Mrs Walters came in anyway. When she saw him sitting in the darkened room, with the brandy in front of him, she stopped. "Sir, are you…alright?" He broke off his thinking for a moment. "Yes. But I need privacy."
Her face showed her concern, but she knew her place. "Then you'll not be needing supper?"
"No. Thank you. Just privacy."
The phone on the dining table rang almost as soon as she had closed the door.
"Hello." He tried to make the tone as neutral as possible, but he let a little defeat creep into it.
"Ah, now that's such a lovely sound- I can hear surrender in that greeting. So glad that you've had a chance to realise just how skewered you are. GOOD. That's just what I wanted to hear. So, I assume that you've reluctantly decided to play."
"Where is the CIA evidence that you are going to tell me about?"
There was a snigger. "Now that's just showing off. Seems like a family trait, doesn't it just? Kind of cute, you two. I know you've always thought yourself so superior to your brother, but if he'd only played with me all those months ago, you might have gotten off scot-free. Because as useful as it will be to have you in my pocket, it would have been more fun to play with him. Well, who knows, I may still get you both. Now that's what I call having the cake and eating it, too. Yum, yum." Jim smacked his lips.
The playful tone of voice was then replaced by a sterner one. "Listen carefully, because I won't repeat this. You can call your people now and tell them the bad news that flight double oh seven won't be taking to the air tomorrow. Oh- and better call the Langley Lads who are at the American Embassy, too. You can tell them that you've found evidence that the terrorists know- and that the evidence has been sitting in American hands for months, but they were too stupid to realise it. Oh, joy, you get to take the President's National Security Adviser with you to an emergency COBRA meeting, where you will show them the proof that I will send you tomorrow morning. "
"Send me the proof now. They will demand it from me, and not to have it will call everything into question." Mycroft's chances would improve the more he knew.
"Don't play dumb with me, Holmes. You know just the right thing to say- 'can't reveal anything now, it could allow the mole in the CIA to cover his tracks'. For God's sake, that's why no one apart from the CIA chief has known about the flight- too many moles about. All you have to say tonight is that protocol says this has to be handled' for your eyes only at COBRA, blah, blah.' I should tell you that I have eyes and ears in that meeting, so just watch what you say and how you say it, because Daddy will be listening."
The thought that Moriarty had infiltrated someone sitting at the COBRA table startled Mycroft for a second, before he rolled his eyes. There will be TWO such people tomorrow, and I will be one of them. "How will I recognise my fellow-traveller?"
That provoked a chuckle. "Oh, no; being on my side doesn't mean you get to know anything I don't want you to know. I want you to sweat a bit between now and then. There are still the terms of your surrender that I need to discuss. I will be sending someone to see you who is authorised to negotiate on my behalf. They will meet you at the airplane in two hours. If you're in West Sussex playing Lord of the Manor, you can make it to Heathrow in time. Text me the stand or hanger details, so I can send my emissary. Toodle-oo, cheery bye for now." And then the line went dead.
Mycroft turned the call recorder off. He had no idea whether that would ever prove a useful conversation to have recorded. But, he was still looking for a way out, and if it were to be successful, then he would need to have documented every step of the way. The only plausible story he'd been able to come up with so far was that he was allowing Moriarty to think that he'd won, in order to lure him out into the open where a mistake could provide Mycroft with the means to take him down for good. A tactical retreat to let the enemy lower his defences was acceptable. I've never surrendered in my life; I don't intend doing so now.
