I. 1 November 2013, evening.
No decent news sources in this place. Only news is that I have found Sherlock.
II. They had used infrared sensors when they had hunted him by helicopter, so simply leaving the grounds is not enough. We must appear to have a legitimate reason to leave, or we will never make it to Anthea's waiting car.
Luckily, the guards at the gate will be expecting to see me, since I have been leaving the base at this same time each day, arguably to buy special cigarettes from a woman who runs a store nearby. In truth, I have been teaching her French as she has a wish to visit Paris. Most of the guards, however, believe that I am secretly shagging her.
Anthea is seven miles away, parked in front of a night club. People will assume a similar story when they see a beautiful, rich, British woman welcome two strong Serbian soldiers into her car.
Once there, we should be safe, but we must get out of here before Sherlock's absence is discovered. The young guard with the earphones had believed me when I pointed to the stack of potatoes in the darkened cell and said that some time alone would loosen his tongue. But if anyone were to look at all closely, they would set off the alarm.
Stand up straight, Sherlock. Please don't stagger or fall down before we get to the truck. I'll smile and distract the man so that he won't see your wayward locks peeking out from under your hat. Get inside. The darkened cab should hide the hair on your face. Depending on circumstances, which at this moment are chaotic, we have from five to twenty five minutes before everything here goes to hell.
III. Chance of pursuit? Mansion in chaos. Attention divided. No pursuit from uphill. Prison Guard en route to home to confront wife. Will divert attention. Helicopter out of fuel. Fuel reserves low due to leak in tank. Sabotage. No pursuit. Tracker on truck disabled.
IV.
The guards waved them through the gate, and they drove away at an easy pace. But as soon as they had passed into the welcoming darkness of the forest, Sherlock slouched in his chair, his head falling to the side.
"Sherlock, are you alright?"
"Uhnnn, that hurt."
"You had escaped before. I saw you. Why did you come back?"
"The job wasn't finished yet."
"The Baron?"
"Dead."
"You killed him?"
"Not directly, but I did set it in motion. His lieutenant actually did the deed."
"But if it was going to happen anyway, why return?"
"I destroyed the source of his power, his formulas, his weapons. This organization won't stand without him. It's over," Sherlock said, then he slouched forward and passed out.
Mycroft put out a hand to stoke his head, "Always so reckless, little brother." he said before increasing the speed of the truck, and turning down a side road toward the night club and Anthea's waiting car.