The Carillo mansion was a circular structure of white concrete and glass located on a peninsula jutting into the sea. It rose up majestic on a white rock far above the raging waves. The entrance was a very long boardwalk that began on a circular drive on a hill above a cliff. They stepped out of the taxi, Sherlock carrying their costume bag over his shoulder, and walked past two tall men with guns to meet another man in a white uniform who looked closely at their invitation before letting them pass.

Mycroft strode across the bridge, realizing how very defensible it made the place. Sherlock stared down at the rocks below as if he might one day want to jump. Currently they could see the foundations of the bridge on the ground beneath them, but in high tide, the land must disappear completely making the rock seem to be an island.

It took them an entire five minutes to walk the length of the bridge which ended on a broad concrete patio with a very tall doorway bordered by chandeliers and cut glass. The door opened as they approached, and a woman in a simple blue dress showed them to their room.

It was a small room On the side of the building with two beds and a bath. The bedspreads were a dark red satin, the furniture plain, but Mycroft was overjoyed to find that the glass door opened onto a balcony overlooking the sea.

The railing was made of black metal bent in fanciful designs. When he leaned against it, he could just see the edge of the bridge. Below them, and a bit toward the mainland, was a boat dock where a pair of yachts were already docked.

"That must be how they normally arrive." Mycroft said. "I can't believe that the Carillos walk that bridge every time they want to come or go. This room is excellent. I can see everyone who arrives from here."

Mycroft walked back inside then and began to unpack his things. "I'll shower first. You get some rest while we have a chance."

"But I thought that you said that we were staying the night?"

"You don't expect me to sleep while I am here, do you. I have twenty four hours to find out everything that I can about this country's political structure and intrigue. I'm not going to sleep."

"Then I won't either, Mycroft."

"Call me Mike!"

"But you hate being called Mike."

"I know, but I wanted to give us names that it would be easy for you to keep track of. We are Mike and Bill Jones."

"There is nothing wrong with my memory, Mike, or my ability to keep track of a story. I can help."

"The best thing that you can do to help is to stay out of trouble."

Sherlock sighed heavily and fell back onto the bed. "This is so boring!"

Mycroft picked up the toiletries case and rolled his eyes. "Only you could find a visit to a mansion in South America boring." Then he went into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

That evening, Mycroft watched from the room's balcony as the patrons arrived. Some came down the long gangway, but others came by yacht and parked at a dock below. Mycroft smoked a cigarette as he watched them.

Sherlock came over and leaned on the railing beside him. He looked down at a group of finely dressed visitors climbing off of their yacht. Then he held a hand out to his brother.

"Give me a cigarette."

"No."

"We'll look more authentic that way."

"NO!"

"Why do you insist on treating me like a child? I'm seventeen for God's sake."

"You've answered your own question," Mycroft said taking another puff.

Sherlock sighed heavily and stormed back into the room.

Mycroft held the cigarette between his lips as he peered around at the building to watch the next batch of guests wend their way across the long boardwalk bridge. A gust of wind blew the tip of the cigarette out, but Mycroft hardly noticed. He was filing away every face and every association into his mind palace. When the last of the guests had entered, there was a knock on the door. Sherlock rushed to open it. A servant dressed in blue told them that they would be expected to perform in an hour after cocktails.

Mycroft went into the bathroom then and ran a comb through his hair. The wind had upset it. He set his signature curl with a bit of gel and a puff of hairspray.

"You vain poof," Sherlock said. "Will an hour be enough, do you think?"

"Watch your language, Sherlock."

"Bill!" Sherlock said. "Will you be able to keep track of the names? Should I write them on your sleeve perhaps?"

"Ha, Ha, very funny. Now it's time for you."

"I can comb my own hair, Mike."

"That's debatable, but that isn't what needs doing. Come stand in the light." Mycroft pulled out a small black pencil.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked. "Is that make up?"

"It is an eyeliner pencil."

"I'm a boy! I don't need makeup."

"This is a tango. You should appear sultry. I'm just drawing attention to your eyes."

"I don't see you putting on any makeup."

"That's because I don't need to appear sultry."

"I won't..."

"Sherlock, we are not playing here. We are on an island in the sea hundreds of miles from home, and any minute the East wind can blow us away. You need to stay in character. Stay still and let me put this on."

Sherlock stilled at that, and Mycroft drew a black line under his eye and made dark smudges on the upper eyelid to make him appear more sultry. Then he put the eyeliner pencil in Sherlock's breast pocket. "Feel free to add more whenever you need it."

Sherlock stuck out his tongue, and Mycroft laughed. Then there was another knock on the door, and they left for the performance.

For the dance, Mycroft wore the same tailored suit that he had worn at the dance recital. This time, however, his tie was turquoise blue. At his side, he carried an umbrella, an idea that had come to him after their dance in the rain. He twirled it around, tapping the tip on the floor as the music began.

The lights dimmed except for the floor where he stood. He looked out into the dark room where men and women sat at tables. The lady's jewels shimmering around him as his eyes trailed over the assembled patrons as if looking for someone.

Sherlock entered behind him wearing white shoes white trousers with a navy blue blazer. His turquoise blue shirt buttoned low to show his neck. He looked like he had just stepped off of a yacht. Despite his grooming claims, his hair looked wind swept. It seemed appropriate. Mycroft turned toward him, and smiled.

Sherlock walked toward Mycroft and then right past him, as if he hadn't noticed him. Mycroft turned then, and hooked his wrist with the umbrella, pulling him over and grabbing his waist before tossing the umbrella behind him. He pulled Sherlock up against his side, and Sherlock kicked one leg high into the air. Then when he landed, he pulled him to his chest, and they lunged together side by side, then Sherlock made a quick turn and fell straight, like a board, Mycroft catching him with one hand on the back of his neck.

He lifted Sherlock to his feet then and held out a hand. Sherlock took it and they stood in position for three still heartbeats before striding together across the floor in perfect step.

The dance was sharp and sensual. They flowed across the floor like the waves across the surface of the Caribbean sea. They had practiced this dance so many times, Mycroft hardly had to spare a thought to perform it. He knew that Sherlock would do enough flares and flourishes to wow everyone in the audience, so he put the performance in the back of his mind as he watched the crowd around him.

Many of the faces he recognized, and those he didn't, he filed away for later. He watched the exits noticing the discreetly placed guards. Did they really believe that they would be attacked? Perhaps they did? He saw old money, the young and hungry, businessmen, and the hanger's on. His mind spun with calculations of commodities, and military connections, neurons flashing in his brain, even as his legs flew across the floor.

He whipped his foot out flinging through his brother's legs and over them before grabbing him up in a spin that started high and ended with him sliding to the ground in a split. The applause rose then, bringing him out of his meditative state. The dance had almost ended too soon, almost. As it was, he now had in his brain a map of the world where tiny industry symbols were connected by shining lines to the people in this very room.

He raised his hand and bowed planning to find his way back to his room to meditate further, but he was captured as he left the dance floor by Miss Carillo who grabbed his arm squeezing his triceps and smiling. Her dress was pale as champagne, and almost as low cut as Sherlock's rain costume had been. She batted her artificial lashes at him and led him out of the room, as the music started up and the crowd rose from their chairs to dance.

Mycroft was led through a gilded white door and down a hallway to an office lined with books. He looked around the room, images of the tango were painted on the walls. The door opened again, and Juan Carillo entered. He was a tall man with silver hair and a tanned face. He smiled at Mycroft and held out his hand. Mycroft shook it.

"Mycroft Holmes, I am so very pleased to meet you."

Mycroft tried, but could not completely hide his shock.

"Oh, do not think that it is anything that you have done that has 'blown your cover' as I think it is said. I understand that you must have been sent here to check up on things by your government. A very wise precaution."

"Then how?"

"You wonder how I was able to discover your name when your credentials were the very best, and you have not yet risen to a place in government where everyone knows your name? Yes? I think that your government underestimates how big of a tango fan I am. I knew who you were the moment you did the shoulder spin. I recognized it, and you. Who could forget the rising star of British ballroom, Mycroft Holmes. The very saint of the waltz."

"You go too far."

"No, you are too modest. You were not the only one affected when you left dance. So many had hopes to see you perform as an adult. To have you snatched away from us, your fans, for a career in government service. It was devastating. No, when I saw the recording, I knew why it was you who had been sent, and so I had to invite you here. To see you dance again. It is...chévere… how do you say it? It's just grand!"

"I never knew that I had such loyal fans."

"I don't suppose that this is something that you plan to continue?"

"No."

"That is a shame, because your partner, your brother is it? He is..." Sr. Carillo kissed the tips of his fingers and spread them in the air. "He is beautiful. A dancer of rare feeling and skill. You look well together. It shows, so well, your trust of each other. Your love."

"Love? He is my brother."

"Exactly! The tango, it is not a dance that anyone can do well. Even those with skill, without love, the tango has no beat, has no heart! But those who have love, it makes a woman become more of a woman. It makes a man want to be a man. You are very manly when you dance, Mr. Holmes. You show great love in your movements, even more than in competition. I have the tapes of all of the competitions, and you were very fine, but never have I seen love as you have shown me today. I feel honored."

"I see. Well then, Sr Carillo. Now that you know who I am, what do you plan to do?"

"I plan to help you, of course. Great Britain has many interests in this country. The new government has put these assets under threat. We have other assets as well, so we are not quite as impoverished as we could have been from the government seizure of the oil, but we have been affected by it.

"This idea of giving to the poor. It is misguided. The world is full of those who have and those who have not. That is how it will always be, there is no need to change it. The poor know nothing of investing. They will waste it all. Why take away from us the wealth that is our right? You understand. You have a queen. You know that some people are simply destined to rule."

"I see. So how exactly can you help me?"

"You are wondering about the government, whether it is stable. It is not. We have a plan. I will not give you details, it may take a month or even a year to implement, but we are gathering forces to reclaim our position in the government. When we do, then you can be sure that your continued support of our community will be rewarded."

"That seems good. I have enjoyed our chat, but I think that I must check on my brother."

"Ah, the chiquito. Of course, but please have a meal with me, tomorrow. We can talk more. And I would love to see you waltz with my daughter. She would look well in your arms, I think. Anyway, I am so pleased to have finally met you face to face. Have a good evening, Mr Holmes."

"Senior Carrillo." Mycroft said with a handshake before walking out through the door.

As soon as he was out of the hallway, Mycroft picked up his steps. The first thing to do when one's cover was blown was to retreat. He opened the door to their room, but Sherlock was not there. He stepped out on the balcony and even looked under the bed before going back out into the ballroom. He opened his ears, listening for any sign of him. It was then that he heard someone gossiping and his blood turned chill.

"You'd better keep an eye on that young man that you brought with you or El general will snatch him up as a plaything."

"Oh no need to worry. He must certainly be busy. I saw him going up to his room with a chiquito."

"He is too brazen. He should be stopped."

"I keep a close eye on my young men whenever he is around."

Mycroft grabbed the arm of a waiter who was carrying drinks on a tray. "Where is the general's room?" he asked, then he rushed out of the party and up the stairs.