Apologies for the delay with this chapter. Please enjoy...
Letting his mind drift as he sat in the rush hour traffic, Banks smiled to himself as he replayed in his mind the way it felt to line up the shot that triggered the explosion, to experience the flash and roar as the blast blew out the windows and flames licked up the curtains.
He had left the area quickly, using quiet back streets to avoid the rush of emergency service vehicles, but now his mind was on ditching this car and getting another. The man he'd stolen this from wouldn't be back in the country for a while, and would be looking for it in the Luton Airport car park – sufficient confusion to keep the Holmes brothers off his scent.
And he was sure it would be both Holmes brothers, because unless he had been very unlucky, Mycroft Holmes should have been well past the room where the bomb had been placed. It hadn't been intended to kill him, just to let him know that he could be taken out at any time Banks chose to do it. Like a cat playing with a mouse.
At last, as the traffic moved slowly on, he turned left into a shady mews, and parked up in a corner, being careful not to obstruct any garages or properties. The longer it takes to find the car, the colder his trail. Pulling on his baseball cap and grabbing the sports bag from the passenger seat, he made his way onto the street, walking unhurriedly away.
O*O*O
In her flat in Stratford, Julia Steers had just woken from a pain-relief induced sleep. Shuffling tiredly from her bedroom, she headed for the kitchen and filled a large glass with water, taking it with her through to the sitting room where she settled down in an overstuffed armchair and switched on the television.
Flicking through the channels she suddenly stilled, and horror curdled in her belly like poison. The news cameras were showing the front of a house in Knightsbridge, and as the reporter gave the name of the street she began to feel sick – she knew that address, not personally, but she had seen it only this morning. This was the address she had given Marc Banks – this was where Mycroft Holmes lived, and possibly died.
O*O*O
Ellen Baker leaned against the desk, making eye contact with each of the team members in their ops centre.
"If we have to, we'll hunt him down ourselves, for John if for no-one else."
"How long before you decide we can make a move?" Georgie sounded belligerent, and it transmitted through the tension in his body as he stood like an enraged bull.
"Stand down, soldier." The slight woman snapped. "We've all been in tight spots before – since when do we go rushing blindly in?"
"Since when do we just stand around and fucking wait?" The stocky soldier shouted back, moving forward and leaning into her personal space until he was almost nose to nose with her.
She stood her ground, arms folded, just looking at him until he backed away, a flush of embarrassment tinging his cheeks.
Into the tense silence, the chirping of a text alert made them all jump, and Ellen dug into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. Her relief lit up her face as she read the message aloud.
'All safe. Stand down for tonight, lets reconvene at 08.00 – JW'
She grinned as a collective sigh of relief rippled round the room.
"That Captain Watson's gotta have balls of steel!" Jamie chuckled appreciatively.
"He needs 'em – he lives in a flat with body parts in the fridge!" Ellen smiled as she sent a return text.
'I'll sort it, see you at home – EB'
'Be there soon- JW'
"What now then?"
"Now H, we get some rest. You guys," Ellen looked at the two covert ops specialists and the computer specialist. "Get yourselves home, get some food in you and try to get some sleep. Keep your phones handy, I don't know yet what John plans."
"I'll stay here." Jamie demurred, indicating the comfortable chairs "Unlike grandpops here I won't get a numb arse sleeping in a chair, and I'll be on hand if we get any intel from that Sherlock character." He ducked a playful swat from the older man, looking across at Ellen with a slightly confused expression on his face. "Does he really keep body parts in the fridge?"
"John? No, but 'that Sherlock character' does."
"You want pizza then, lad?" H asked as he pulled a sleeping bag out from under his desk. "We might as well eat if we're going to be here all night."
Ellen nodded and left them arranging food, and a watch rota.
"You two make sure you get back here at oh eight hundred sharp. I've a feeling we're going to be busy tomorrow."
With a nod the two covert ops specialists turned to leave, but Georgie paused in the doorway and looked back.
"Sorry El, I didn't mean to…"
"Nah, you're good, Georgie." She shrugged. "I've had worse threats than you mate, forget it." And with a grin she shoved him out of the door.
Reaching down for the backpack Pat had brought for her, Ellen swung it up on her shoulder and turned to leave.
"Text me if you need me, ring if it's urgent, but be careful what you say – I don't know how sensitive the surveillance devices in John's flat are."
"You'll stay there?" Jamie asked.
Ellen nodded. "We need to try to make this look as normal as possible. As far as Banks is concerned I'm John's girlfriend – it'll look odd if we pussyfoot around and never spend time together."
"Right, we'll see you tomorrow then."
Slipping out of the door, Ellen walked back down Valence Road and along to Whitechapel Station to board a train to Baker Street.
O*O*O
Waiting was never Sherlock's strongpoint, but John's contact at the other end of the e-mails had warned that John had been reconnoitring the house in Knightsbridge, and could be put at risk if he tried to make contact. The waiting ate away at his mind – he wanted to know that his friend was safe.
Every couple of minutes he picked up his phone to see if he's missed a text, snarling in frustration at the blank screen. He was aware that Mrs Hudson was hovering in the background, every now and then wandering into his 'office', looking hopefully at him, and then walking away shaking her head. Sherlock wanted to snarl at her too, but he could almost hear John's voice in his head telling him it would be a 'bit not good' to take it out on the poor woman.
Linking into the CCTV, he scanned street outside his brother's house, his eyes taking in the non-descript cars that were parked, hoping to pick up a clue either to the perpetrator, or to where John and Mycroft had disappeared to.
He was watching the window blow out of the house for the fourth time, when the grating alert tone sounded and he snatched up his phone.
'All safe and unhurt. Will contact you tomorrow – eat something and get some sleep – JW'
"Bless him, he almost gets blown up and still he's thinking about you!" Mrs Hudson had been reading over his shoulder.
"So it would seem. Well if he thinks I'm going to bed at six o'clock in the evening he can think again." Sherlock covered his relief with his customary snarkiness, but Mrs Hudson wasn't fooled for a moment.
"Well of course he didn't expect you to go straight to bed – he wants you to eat first." She chuckled, patting his shoulder. "I'll go and make you some dinner."
Only half listening, Sherlock was frowning at the screen in front of him, thinking. Two hours later he was still sitting staring at the computer.
O*O*O
Lestrade could feel Sally's gaze following him as he steered the car away from the site of the bombing. As soon as he was out of sight he pulled over and re-read the text.
'Greg, I know you're at the Knightsbridge bomb. Need your help. Come alone. Under the trees to the right through Albert Gate – JW'.
Taking a deep breath, he slipped the car in gear again and rolled towards Hyde Park.
Not wishing to draw attention to himself, Lestrade parked unobtrusively opposite the entrance to the park, and walked through the Albert Gate, his eyes scanning the area under the trees, the evening light casting long shadows as he walked across the grass.
"Greg."
The soft voice came from behind him, and he spun quickly, peering into the trees. It took a while, but he finally spotted John leaning against the trunk of a horse chestnut tree, a crooked smile on his face.
"John, what the bloody hell happened?"
The blond doctor just turned and led the way further under the canopy of leaves. Greg's eyes widened as he saw Mycroft sitting on the grass between two other men.
"Good evening Inspector," Mycroft rose to his feet in an elegant scramble, oblivious to – or maybe just ignoring – the smirks of the men still seated under the trees.
One of them was holding a bloody handkerchief to his face; the other was scanning the area a little too casually.
"Well? Is someone going to explain what happened?" Greg looked at John "I suppose this is something to do with that shooter?"
"Talking of shooters," the voice sounded muffled by the handkerchief. "Did the bomb specialists find a timer in the rubble?"
"Greg, meet Pat and Danny, friends of mine. Pat, what's on your mind?"
Pat stood up, dabbing gingerly at his nose. The bleeding had stopped, but now his face was looking swollen and bruised. He glanced around at his companions.
"The bomb. It wasn't triggered as target one entered through the front door, nor as John walked past the doorway of the room it was planted in – now I didn't see it, but I'd lay odds that it was within sight and range for someone with a high-power rifle to trigger it. Add to that, I thought I heard glass breaking just before the bang…"
"And then you fell flat on your face!" Danny laughed.
"Yeah well, I was trying to make sure we all got out safe and tripped over your big feet!"
"My feet ain't big" Danny swung a mock karate kick at his friend, who bounced about as if planning a counter-strike.
"Enough guys! Save it for when this is over eh?" John shook his head and added apologetically, "Sorry about that - they never outgrow the high you get when you survive an encounter with the enemy."
"That blood on the kitchen floor then – that's yours I take it." It was a statement, not a question.
"I thought I'd broken my nose, but the doc here says not."
"And unless you have access to army records you won't find his DNA profile to get a match. Mycroft, can your guys make sure there are no repercussions from this?"
Mycroft nodded.
"Right Greg, I need you to get Mycroft and my friends here to a place of safety. Not one of Mycroft's safe houses though, that might not be such a good idea given this guy's background."
Greg opened his mouth to ask just what that background was, then catching the look in John's eye closed it again and said nothing.
"Smallish hotel would be best." Danny piped up "We'll take turns keeping watch."
"Right. You two need to be at Ops HQ by oh eight hundred – get a cab, get a receipt, Mycroft will sort your expenses. Greg, you'll need to pick Mycroft up at oh seven thirty latest – he's not to be left at the hotel alone." John looked at Mycroft assessingly.
"Come on, out with it John." Mycroft gave him the kind of look usually reserved for Sherlock at his most irritating.
"I want Greg to take you back to your office in the morning – I assume you keep a change of clothes there," he waited for the nod of agreement before continuing. "And I know your guys are good, but mine are better – I'll be sending a couple of guys over to your office to act as bodyguards – I don't care how many of your guys you have with you, you make sure one of my guys is always there."
With a frown Mycroft glanced at the battered face of the man next to him.
"No, it won't be these two, it will be Jim and Georgie – specialists at covert ops. They'll be looking over your staff too, and I would advise you to take their advice seriously – if they have doubts about your people there will be good reason for it."
"What will you do?" Greg asked
"I'm grabbing a cab home, getting showered and changed, and taking my girlfriend out to dinner." With a grin and a wink he turned on his heel and walked away.
Four sets of eyes followed him, two slightly awed, the other two alight with admiration.
O*O*O
Wearing a neat, dark suit, blending in with the local populace, Marc Banks tailgated his way into the warehouse conversion, his eyes on the smartphone in his hands, offering a polite thank you to the young secretary that held the door for him. Declining to take the lift with her ("damned phone always cuts out in there!") he took the stairs up to the penthouse flat.
With a quick glance around the hallway, Banks approached the door, and after a lightning fast examination of the lock withdrew from his pocket a set of skeleton keys. In seconds he had the door open.
In near silence he moved towards the sitting room, drawn by the sound of the television, and stood in the doorway staring at the back of Julia Steers' head, watching her as she watched the news channel, studying the aftermath of the bombing.
"Hello Julia." He spoke softly, yet his voice sounded like a thunderclap in the spacious room.
Julia jumped up, whirling round to stare open mouthed at the intruder, the glass falling from her nerveless hands, water spilling on the thick pile carpet.
"How did…"
"Oh please, any question but that." He sneered "You're not the heroine in a melodrama – you're the lady that sold out her boss to save her little brother. He walked forward, his eyes, cold and hard, holding hers as he closed the gap.
"And now, my sweet Julia, we are going to discuss what you will do next."
O*O*O
John yawned as he and Ellen walked in through the unlocked door of Nightwatching Electronic Security Specialists.
"Rough night?" Jamie asked with a laugh, wheeling across to switch the kettle on.
"He snores!" Ellen complained, smothering her own yawn.
"And you fidget." John countered as he stopped to look at the white board. "I see Sherlock's been in touch – did he say why he needed me to ring?"
"No," Jamie pulled out his mobile and began to open a text. "H's gone for bacon sarnies – do either of you want one?"
John shook his head, but Ellen nodded enthusiastically, and Jamie sent the text. In the meantime John dialled Sherlock's number, sitting at an angle on the edge of the desk.
"John," Sherlock burst into speech as soon as the connection was made. "I hacked into Mycroft's system this morning."
"Good morning to you too. I suppose you had good reason to do that?"
"Well of course I did, John. Banks would not have been privy to Mycroft's address – my brother never mixes business with his home life…"
"Except where you're concerned" John interrupted
"…and so Banks would have had to get his information from someone." Sherlock continued without pause. "Mycroft's personnel file was accessed by a senior member of Human Resources early yesterday morning. There was no need for her to do so that I can see, and she never looked further than his basic information, just as far as his address."
"Have you advised your brother?" John looked up as he spoke, nodding a greeting to the other members of his little team.
"Yes, he's just arrived at his office." Sherlock paused, and then added "I have the address of the lady, would one of your friends be able to take a look? Strikes me as he may be holed up with her – Mycroft said they have history."
John pulled his notebook from his pocket and scribbled down the address.
"I'll get onto it. How's your chest?"
"Healed." Sherlock answered much too quickly.
"Yeah, don't make me ask Mrs Hudson. What does the nurse say?"
"She said it's looking good, healing well, and now the drain is out it shouldn't be long before I can return home."
"Let me be the judge of that – from the viewpoint that it's far from safe to be at home…"
"But you're there!"
"Stop sulking Sherlock," out of the corner of his eye he caught the grins of the assembled team. "I spend hardly any time there, and check it thoroughly when I return."
"So would I." Sherlock huffed.
"No, you wouldn't, you'd just look most put out as the flat exploded around you. Stay put and be patient, keep checking the CCTV. I'll get someone round to reccy Miss Speers' address."
"What about Mycroft?"
"He carries on as normal. We can't hope to believe that Banks can be fooled into thinking he targeted the wrong house – he had the run of the house."
There was a tense silence at the other end of the phone, which John correctly interpreted.
"I don't think the Carslakes would have suffered too much, Sherlock. It looked swift and clean."
"I'll keep looking. Keep me informed." With that Sherlock cut the call. John stared at the phone in his hand for a few minutes more, then shoved it into his jeans pocket and loudly cleared his throat.
Instantly, all the background laughing and joking at Pat's expense quietened down and everyone settled down for the briefing.
John outlined what had happened at Mycroft's house, and updated them with the information he had received from Sherlock.
"So Jim, Georgie, do you have access to business wear? Plain black suits etc?"
Jim nodded, but Georgie grimaced uncomfortably.
"Not that fits me."
"Get one – as soon as please Georgie. Bring yours with you, Jim? No? Buy new then – full kit both of you, get receipts, you'll be reimbursed." He nodded towards the door. "Go now, be as quick as you can, and head straight over to Whitehall once you're done. I'll get Jamie here to send your details to Mycroft. On your way lads."
Not even waiting until the two men had left the building he turned his attention to Jamie.
"Sherlock gave you access to CCTV links, did you manage to get live feed from Knightsbridge?"
"No, but overnight he forwarded the recordings," he beckoned the remaining team members to his desk and opened up a new screen. "This was shortly before it happened – see there's Dan, taking a call."
"That would have been your incursion warning." Danny said.
Pat nodded, and Jamie continued.
"I spent my watch time last night going over these images, and here – look at this."
As the recording showed Mycroft's driver pulling away having dropped him off, he slowed the frame speed down so that, as they looked carefully they could see the end of a rifle protruding from a car window, there was the ghost of a ripple effect across the screen, and then the front of the house blasted out.
"That car…"
"Sorry Ellen, there's no clear view of the number plate, and if you keep watching, as the smoke billows out he pulls out, and is away down the road while the cameras are still obscured, he's just a vague shape."
"But you're sure it's him."
"No one else would have moved like that, John. Joe Average would have been shocked into immobility, a rabbit in the headlights, but him," he stopped the recording and pointed to the car-like shape, "he was expecting it, he was calm and unsurprised."
Picking up his empty mug Jamie wheeled himself around the people gathered at his desk and crossed to make himself another coffee.
"I've sent this info to your flatmate, he's copied over the recording from the surrounding streets, between us we should pick him up and track down where he went."
"Okay," John turned to Pat and Danny. "I want you two to run obs on an address in Stratford, that member of staff Sherlock told us about" Scribbling down the address, he handed the scrap of paper to Pat. "Use your discretion, keep your phones on vibrate – if I hear any more I'll advise you by text."
The two men nodded, grabbed their jackets and left.
"John, you and I will be taking a stroll," Ellen waggled her mobile at him and grinned "Malc has some information for us."