Offerings To The Temple Of Mendacity
HowlynnChapter 14: Secret Agent Man
Summary: John learns of the first mission.
Beware of pretty faces that you find.
A pretty face can hide an evil mind.
Oh, be careful what you say,
Or you will give yourself away.
Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow.
Secret Agent Man
Secret Agent Man
They've given you a number and taken away your name.
Secret Agent Man - Johnny Rivers
The next morning was excruciating. They were painfully polite and formal and it felt exhausting. John was cross and Rat was aloof and distant when he wasn't being critical. They packed for what Ford called their first order of business and John refused to indulge in demanding to know any of the particulars.
They spent half a day on a train before they checked into a room in a run-down section of Lugano, Switzerland. They were lucky to have found anything because the Music Festival was taking place. A few hours later, Sherrinford had procured a violin and he ran up and down the major scales at a frantic pace for nearly three hours.
John riffled through brochures meant for tourists, feigning interest and ignoring the noise with a placid irritation. A knock sounded at the door and when John answered it, two garment bags were thrust into his hands. He held them up with a cock of his eyebrow as the only question.
"What? You don't think I can be on stage dressed like this, do you?"
"You're going on stage?" John said, making a face conveying that the information was news to him.
"Of course. Why else would we be at a Music festival?"
John shrugged and tossed the bags on one of the beds as he said, "No idea. Thought we were tracking killers now, not making musical debuts."
Sherrinford snorted, and unzipped one of the bags. "Hardly my debut, John." He picked up the unzipped bag, moving it to the other bed and pointed to the remaining one as he stated, "That one is for you."
"Oh. Good then. Should I be trying to find a clarinet? I doubt my playing will do more than turn a few snobs into killers…" He smiled waiting for Rat to tell him what was going on.
"God no. I have heard you play that squeak generator and have no wish to torture anyone this evening. You will be in the audience. Bring your gun. May as well stick to music you play well," Ford said without humor.
"Great. Ok then. Any idea who I should aim at? Or did you just want me to randomly pick off any musical competition?" John slowly unzips his own bag and chuckles at the obviously expensive suit.
A photograph flutters haphazardly toward the bed showing a man with a severe face and a snotty sneer gracing his face. His arms are crossed and he glares haughtily with a conductor's baton casually grasp in his fingers. "My job is to see that this person survives the evening. Your job will be to watch for Tiger, and anyone who may be in his company. When the man in this photo comes on stage, there will be an attempted assassination. Those who do not wish to kill him or help achieve it, will seek to kidnap him."
"Ok, so we could warn him, maybe?" John asks studying the photos.
"Wouldn't matter. He would go ahead and conduct anyway. Maestros tend to be egotistical bastards," Ford explained.
"And how does this fellow's survival link to us protecting Sherlock?"
"That's where it could get a little complicated. Sherlock is here to see that he dies and that his killer is caught along with several of his murderer's trusted companions. Her majesty has interest in these people and can't catch them at what they do best," Sherrinford hands John more photos.
"So, Sherlock is here? And he wants this man to die so that the people who kill him can be arrested." John takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "He's here, right now? He's actually still safe then?"
"As safe as my son can manage. He will be positioned in the most dangerous possible place and so safe is a relative word. We are here to insure that never takes place and to try to keep him alive as wel,l if possible. The featured cello player is one of ours as well. We are to protect the two operatives and stop the assassination. We are the swing vote, so to speak. This whole operation is an onion."
"So how many layers does this onion have? How do we know friend from foe?" John asks.
"I have no idea, but I have spotted three distinct interests since we got off the train. There were Russian's in the lobby, and despite the trinkets, they didn't look like tourists to me. I spied two Hollywoods texting at the café across the street, in their shark suits and sun glasses. Rumor has it there are others."
"But we don't know who our allies are?" John frowns.
"We don't have any allies, Rhino. Hell, this has Mycroft's fingers all over it and we are in direct conflict with their goals."
"So even our guys are not our guys?" John shakes his head and bites his lip.
"What it amounts to. Don't worry, that's basically the standard package in my business. All you need to know is, Maestro lives, Sherlock lives and Tiger or his people better hope they get arrested. As for the others, if they look like they are shooting at you, or considering it, call them fair game." Ford explains simply.
"What is it about? Who or what has all these people wanting a music conductor? Doesn't seem like a particularly dangerous occupation. Bit on the academic, dull side of life I would imagine." John is genuinely confused. "And why would Moriarty's bunch want him?"
"Actually, Tigers bunch are allies the first part of this round. Surprise. The men Tiger sends, are dangerous to Sherlock, yes, but they want the great conductor alive. They can be arrested, but they are not to be harmed for sport, unless they go after Sherlock. We hope to gain a few of his people for her majesty's pleasure too, if we can take them alive. Preferably without Sherlock or his compatriots getting themselves killed in the process." Sherrinford can see that John is further confused.
"Look, you know about the code. The one that could magically break in to any system."
"It doesn't exist." John stated quickly.
"No, not at present. But, if it ever does have a chance to exist, Mr. Conductor there will be driving the train."
"Is he some sort of secret hacker on the side? Music doesn't pay the bills?"
"He is nothing special when it comes to his skills navigating computers, but there is a mathematical connection to music, John. And he has made a discovery." Rat's eyes go distant and his face softens as he speaks of music, " There is a correlation to music and the binary code of computers. There are… how do I explain? There are songs that inspire people's hearts. Music is more than a list of notes and rhythm to be put in order. There are resonances so soothing, so mystical, like the well played sound waves of a violin, which to our human perception evokes something beyond conventional understanding. We feel more of everything. Our heart rates change; our minds expand. For a moment, we are connected to a greater world. Well, think of his discovery as a sort of music that only computers hear. He has demonstrated that he can write a song for a machine, and make it act unpredictably."
"Oh. Well that's nice, isn't it? Why would anyone want to sing to a computer?"
"You don't see at all, do you?"
"Nope. He could write all the silly songs he wants and I don't see why anyone would need to kill him. Over songs. Which we probably would not even be able to hear…"John reasons, confusion marked on the forehead and brows of the doctor's face. "I mean research does show that music can, in some cases, aid healing in trauma patients. Stimulate brain activity in those who have lapsed into coma. Is that what you mean?"
"Closer. Good John. Think. Moriarty feigned being able to break into any computer to get to all things computers controlled."
"I think I see… no, I don't."
"They were on the wrong path, John. They were trying to force their way in, because with a computer it is garbage in and garbage out. What if it were no longer a surety? What if you found a way to make the machine, like you. Love even."
"Science fiction? You mean like artificial intelligence?"
"Exactly. Imagine if you had a secret way to bring a about an uncomputerlike reaction by pulsing a sound wave nobody could hear and with this, you could make any computer wake up, relax it's programs and trust you. This is the first step toward that and everyone either wants it or wants to stop others from obtaining the possibilities. The maestro is on the verge of changing the world and he doesn't even quite know what he holds. There have been overtures, but he is a difficult man and yet the idea is already in the greedy hearts of the world. Moriarty couldn't deliver on his promise and his time for producing it was crushing him. He killed himself because he had no way out. He had promised something he could not deliver and he wanted out. The pressure of continued failure came to outweigh his egos ability to admit that his great maniacal vision might just be a pipe dream. Do you see what would have happened if he let that information be known?"
"He still had more money than he could ever hope to spend. Nothing he couldn't do or have. Not devastating enough to eat a bullet over, I would think, " John said.
"Ahh, but there you are wrong. He had promised this power, tread on its eventuality. Wanted his accolades marked in history with awe and doom. He wanted to be a Hannibal, an Akhenaten, or even a Napolean and not a Corrigan or a Blondlot."
"And he made Sherlock fake his death. Sherlock had the code. He had Moriarty's worthless code." John groaned and his hands rose to rub his temples.
"There was no code and he'd failed to get my son to help him. He didn't make Sherlock fake his death. He gave him the choice to die with him, which in his mind would be almost as chillingly evocative. He left behind a mystery. Why would a man like him end tragically on a roof in London? With his disgraced, once heroic, adversary? Was it a lovers spat? Who killed whom and why? What would become of his legacy? Was he Moriarty or Brook? Don't you see? All the attention you so bitterly hate, he craved. A hundred years from now they would still be dragging it threw the trenches of supposed new details and theories. My family name would again be forever tied to a mad genius and shamed before the crown. The Holmes family has survived such attention and sensational tragic rhetoric in the past."
"So if you can't gain fame through a great work, gain infamy and be remembered as something unsolved."
"Yes. But, the code didn't exist then. It doesn't exist now, in fact. But, if the two logics, the two concepts were to be combined, who wouldn't want it for themselves. Mycroft, wants it destroyed, he wants Tigers people hunted down and questioned. He wants the maestro murdered by others, because our people want to gather the two factions and push the technology. The other layers want some combined variation on that theme. But Maestro isn't a buffoon and nobody knows where he has these secrets or how they work. The Swiss are very protective of their native grown genius and this venue is one of the few vulnerabilities."
"So we have a spook convention disguised as a music festival?"
"Perfectly adequate assessment. I think perhaps your association with my son has greatly accelerated you leaps of logic." Rat pulled a dark formal tux with a morning coat and swallowtail cut free from the garment bag and examined it. It actually was not black, but the deepest hue of aubergine. It set off Fords grey salted waves and somehow made the wood on the violin look richer. He dug in a box, to try on the shoes and next to that was a box of other accessories.
John followed suit, digging through the various compartments and discovering silk socks, an alligator patterned belt and Italian wedge nose shoes that matched the belt. His own suit, was more classically cut and anonymous. It was elegant, but did not stand out with distinguishing cut or stitching. He liked it at once. It was a perfect mid-range between wealth and stretched means and would keep him perfectly well appointed without drawing attention to everyman-John, the king of overlooked and unnoticed. He smiled with approval.
"This should do quite nicely. Very good nick, by the way, but not flaming ostentatious tosser. After seeing your's, I feared I'd find apple green with frills in here," John said, taking a piss at Rat with good natured disapproval.
"I will be on camera, John. It is a persona that must bear a certain level of…"
"Gay?" John popped into his friends pause.
Rat rolled his eyes, "I was going to say, avant-gardism. "
John snickered, genuinely happy to feel that he was a few hours away from actually accomplishing something other than healing and hiding.
"He's here? Right now? Will I catch a glimpse of him, do you think?" John asked as casually as possible not looking up or wanting to give away the flutters his stomach felt at just the possibility of seeing Sherlock.
Rat's eyes narrowed, but he answered without sounding as annoyed as he had since the night before. "Yes. Probably warming up. He is to be a special guest of Herman Van Horn. His solo begins in four hours, if you would like to hurry, we can easily be in attendance. Our own small event won't be until later. I thought you might enjoy seeing us both play. You will, of course be the only member of the audience who will appreciate the significance of the dead father and his dead son, playing together for the first time in public. I wonder if he will recognize me?"
"Is there a chance he will? Isn't that a bit risky?" John asked as if confused.
Sherrinford winked, and replied, "There is always that risk, John. That's what makes it…fun."
"Fun?" John shook his head in disapproval and pursed his lips before rezipping the second garment bag and whistling and making gestures that they were both mad as a sack of ferrets. "Ok. Well, I will just go…" He didn't finish his sentence and turned toward the door to the lavatory.
Rat chuckled and again tucked his violin under his chin, playing a happy folk tune as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Possessed with a full confidence of the certain success which British valor must gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangerous rocks, only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach.
-James Wolfe
"Wrong Way" Corrigan (1938): On 17 July, pioneer aviator Douglas Corrigan takes off from an airfield in Brooklyn, New York, headed for California. He lands in Ireland.
The N-ray (1903): At a time of great upheaval in the physical sciences, French physicist Rene Prosper Blondlot announces the discovery of "N-rays," a form of radiation he calls even more important than X-rays, discovered just a few years earlier.
The announcement triggers a barrage of scientific research that very quickly convinces everyone - Monsieur Blondlot being the notable exception - that N-rays do not exist. To this day, Blondlot remains a poster boy for double-checking your work