Chapter 16
Sherlock fumed as he paced in his small hotel room. Mycroft's team had left over two hours ago to begin the raid on Moriarty's compound. They were under strict orders not to allow Sherlock to accompany them. Sherlock had helped organize the strike and even, to some extent, helped plan for any possible outcomes. The intel provided by Trevor held up, and satellite photos confirmed most of what he'd said. The area seemed innocuous enough that even the locals did not suspect what lurked beneath the surface. Most of the compound loomed several stories underground with only a few lopsided outbuildings to mark entrances.
A river ran nearby large and swift enough to carry watercraft. Satellite photos showed no boats perched on the waterway and so Sherlock had ruled that option out as a possible escape route. Stupid, he thought now. Preliminary reports had come back to him that the raid had surprised those inside the compound. A small army of men had come streaming out to engage with Mycroft's team only to succumb immediately to the superior firepower. One of the pitifully armed men surrendered a key card pass that allowed the team to sweep inside and finish subduing the remainder of the guards inside.
The only real surprise came while Sherlock waited impatiently to hear the results of the raid. Anthea had called him on his phone to ask about a safe word John might recognize. She'd filled him in on the attack, and he seethed at the thought of hulking Moran trying to put his hands on John. He'd relaxed a bit when Anthea let him know John had taken care of the man who'd come to abduct him and John's mother from her home and he'd actually reached out to ask about a safe house. But, he couldn't worry about John right now, not when they were on the verge of finally capturing Moriarty for good.
They'd left Sherlock with the base radio so he could monitor communications from his room. He'd sat like a gargoyle, hunched over the radio listening intently to every command. One of the sergeants, O'Brian he remembered, had been assigned to relay info back to him about the operation. He'd dutifully done his job, and Sherlock knew the moment they'd arrived and begun their attack. O'Brian, in a lilting Irish accent, described the brief skirmish, the quick surrender and the ultimate invasion of the underground facility. "Too easy," murmured Sherlock. "The whole thing had been too easy." James had let them take the place. While the team had focused on taking down Moriarty's forces, the evil genius had made his escape. He must pay his men extraordinarily well to instill such devotion. The men sacrificed themselves so their master could escape.
Sherlock knew he had no time to waste in cursing the ineptitude of Mycroft's team. They had done their job admirably, in fact. No secret lair could be complete without an ingenious, escape plan. While there had been no visible boat moored along the banks of the river, it didn't mean James didn't have an alternate plan for using the nearby river. There had been a lightweight boat deftly hidden in a cliff cave that ran near the river. Mycroft's men had found an escape tunnel, crude but effective, that lead right to the shores of the river. A boat had been pushed out of the cave to drop into the water below. Clever, as usual. Of course, the spider would have a way to evade capture. It was what he did, wasn't it?
Think, he told himself. Where will he go? The logical course would be upriver to Sydney. It made sense. The men had heard a high-powered speedboat take off. They'd tried shooting at it to no avail. Moriarty had slipped their grip, again. Of course they'd radioed ahead and set up a net to catch the man upriver, the last reports he'd received was a standoff with who they suspected was Moriarty and one of his loyal supporters who held them at bay with high powered rifles. But, Sherlock knew they wouldn't find his old enemy inside the speedboat when they finally subdued the sniper and his captain. Moriarty had used the speedboat as a diversion and had slipped into a small, wooden canoe and paddled off downriver from his compound without even raising an alarm.
Sherlock knew the river eventually ended up at the sea in a small, well-maintained, private marina. He traced the river's course on a map of the area the group had been using a red pen. He circled the marina and mumbled, "Got you!" to the empty hotel room.
Sherlock was sure Moriarty kept a private yacht there. Mycroft's team was looking in the wrong direction while the man they'd been trying to catch for years once again slipped their net. Ingenious really, Sherlock thought. But, not clever enough.