Chapter Eight
Upsetting Men – Actions and Consequences – Surely Destiny? – What of the Future? – Let This Be Over – A Matter of Urgency – Collusion – The Informant – The Sacrifice.
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The liveried Doorman in his distinctive top hat, opened the cab door and, despite their less-than-sumptuous attire, welcomed Cate and Medina to The Dorchester with old-age courtesy. Heading directly towards the bank of lifts immediately to the left of the main desk, Medina hit the 'Up' button and waited. She was clearly nervous.
"He's not going to eat you alive," Cate smiled. "Is he?"
"No, I don't expect so," the girl made an anxious face. "I just don't like him being upset with me."
"Sometimes men need to be upset about things," Cate reflected. "Sometimes it's the only way they can see how their actions are affecting others."
"Do you upset your husband?"
Cate laughed aloud. "Oh, God, yes," she grinned. "Mycroft is often far too detached and controlled for his own good. I'm sure I drive him utterly mad with my unplanned decisions and illogical behaviour." Cate shook her head, still smiling. "I don't do it to upset him on purpose," she added. "But it's good for him to know that there are other ways, apart from his way, of doing things." The lift arrived.
"And does he upset you sometimes?" Medina asked, selecting the Penthouse Level.
Her smile fading slightly, Cate nodded. "Not terribly often, but yes, he does, sometimes," she said, quietly. "He can be so very intense about things … he doesn't realise that such focus can be … difficult to handle."
"But you love him?" Medina looked closely at the Professor. This was a side of her teacher she'd never seen before. That someone so educated and clever and worldly could also be normal and vulnerable.
Turning to smile at the younger woman, Cate paused. Trying to produce the right words, she found her smile turning into a sincere grin; an uncontainable grin. "More than I know how to describe," she said. "And for an English teacher," she laughed again, "that's quite something."
Nodding her understanding, the young woman took a deeper breath as the lift slowed at the highest point of its journey. They were here.
"Come on then," Cate grabbed her hand and stepped into the – frankly opulent – hallway. "Which way?"
"Down here," Medina took another deep breath and walked around a corner. There was a large, formidable wooden door. In front of the door stood a large, formidable guard. Cate realised immediately that he was a guard: she'd seen men with Mycroft who looked like this.
"Hello, Rashidi," Medina stopped in front of the man. "Is my father inside?"
Staring at Cate, the guard nodded slowly, opening the door for the two women, watching them as they walked through, following not-too-far behind.
Looking up from his laptop, Malik al Badour realised the object of his increasingly widening search had just walked in to see him … and brought a guest. Standing swiftly, he strode over to the younger woman and held her shoulders, looking down into her anxious eyes. His face showed more relief than upset.
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Rashidi and I have been all over this city looking for you. I even went to speak with the Vice-Chancellor of your university." He drew her into a close hug. "Are you alright? Is anything wrong with you? Are you well?"
Relaxing a little under the obvious warmth of his regard, Medina was able to smile, although she feared this calm might not last.
"Pappa, I am perfectly fine," she said, looking up into his dark eyes. "Professor Cate has been like a second mother to me," she added, turning. "Or perhaps an aunty."
Still with an arm around his daughter, al Badour also turned, fixing Cate with a thoughtful stare.
"You are the Professor who has been looking after my Medina since the university revoked her enrolment?"
Nodding, Cate looked carefully at the man her student had been so nervous at upsetting. Tall, dark, with an immaculate and closely trimmed beard along the line of his jaw, he dressed like a diplomat and stood like a soldier. Granted, he didn't look particularly overjoyed at the moment, but that was hardly surprising. He didn't seem all that alarming: she had seen Mycroft looking far stormier. She offered a polite smile.
Malik observed the woman assessing him, systematically, and without fear or embarrassment. Despite her mundane clothing, she seemed polished and attractive in the western style where the women were as independent as the men. Her face was open and her eyes clear of duplicity. That she might have risked her own career for the sake of his daughter suggested she also had a strong sense of morality and fairness. He nodded back.
"I am forgetting my manners," he said, indicating a chair for Cate. "Please sit and I will have some refreshments brought. What may I offer you?"
"Mint tea for me please Pappa," Medina threw herself into a plush-looking armchair.
"I'd appreciate a coffee," Cate smiled, taking the seat. "Thank you."
He nodded at the guard who immediately muttered on the phone.
"So," al Badour paused, sitting opposite Cate. "My name is Malik al Badour; Medina is my eldest child, who," he paused again, looking reprovingly at said eldest child, "despite her unusual behaviour, is the flower of my heart." Cate noticed that Malik linked his fingers in exactly the same way that Mycroft did. "Please tell me what you have been doing to help my daughter," he said, smiling cordially. "And then tell me why."
Despite the fact that the man's English was exquisite, Cate heard the melodic undertones of desert poetry. From her experience with both colleagues and students of the various Arab nations, she knew he would listen not only to the words that were spoken but also to the meanings beneath them. Very well then.
"I am Catherine Adin-Holmes, Mr al Badour, a Professor at the University College of London. Your daughter is one of my research students." Cate paused, gathering her thoughts.
"It seems I have managed to do very little for Medina so far, except to keep her from the police detention centre and away from MI5 who," Cate lifted her brows with an innocuous yet curious smile, "seem extraordinarily interested in a young master's candidate."
Assuming a candid expression, Cate smiled again as she accepted her coffee. Adding a single sugar to the aromatic blackness, she sighed in pleasure at the first sip. "And as to the why," Cate looked down at the delicate porcelain in her hand before lifting her eyes and meeting al Badour's dark gaze. "I am a great supporter of free will," she smiled. "Every action has a consequence," she added. "I believe it important for individuals to choose their own consequences."
Medina's father tasted his own coffee just as he tasted the Professor's words. He was intrigued at hearing the woman speak of actions and consequences; of the place of the individual. Clearly she was probing his own belief-system. He smiled.
"You should meet my wife," he said. "Escalla has very similar opinions about individualism and the right to choose one's destiny."
"Is destiny written for us or do we write our own as we live it?" Cate stirred her coffee.
"Allah kereem," Malik smiled again. "Who may say what each man's fate might be; it is not for us to decide."
"And yet we do decide for others, Mr al Badour," Cate met his eyes directly. "Our own actions affect the choices of others, either directing them, hindering them or helping them, wouldn't you agree?"
Sipping her tea, Medina heard everything her father and the Professor said to each other, yet she had a feeling that while she understood the words, she was missing something important. She looked from one face to the other. Both were calm and relaxed. Both were communicating on some unspoken level. Medina sighed inwardly; it must be an old-person thing.
Sitting forward, al Badour finally grasped what the Professor was saying. He was being told off. Lifting his eyebrows in amused surprise, he rested his chin against the fingers of his right hand.
"For a guest, you walk perilously close to discourtesy," he observed, still smiling.
Putting her cup down, Cate looked philosophical. "My husband would probably agree with you," she said, shrugging, a small grin crossing her face. "I am not noted for my diplomacy," she added. "Only my honesty."
"And you honestly believe that my actions have caused Medina this trouble?"
"As you said yourself, Mr al Badour," Cate was reason incarnate. "Your daughter is an innocent child, so it is unlikely to be something of her doing."
"Your husband is a very brave man, Professor," Malik sat back into his chair, once again resting his head on his fingers, his lips moving into a definite smile. "I would like to play chess with him and discuss the problem of women."
"You plan on staying in London that long?"
Malik laughed, genuinely amused. "What does he do, this man of yours? Adin-Holmes is not a name I know."
"My husband's name is Holmes, mine is Adin, I combined them when we …" Cate stopped at the strange expression on al Badour's face. He had frozen.
"What is your husband's first name?" he leaned forward and spoke softly.
Cate was momentarily adrift; the entire tone of the conversation had changed in a blink. As soon as she had mentioned the name Holmes … ah. Perhaps this was one of the things Mycroft wasn't willing to tell her. Caution was called for.
"My husband is Mycroft Holmes."
Settling back into his armchair, Malik al Badour frowned. "Medina," he said. "Please go into the other room. I will speak privately with your Professor."
Equally alarmed by the unexpected chilliness in her father's voice, Medina looked anxiously at Cate, who smiled and nodded. The young woman left looking backwards over her shoulder.
Linking his fingers, al Badour rested them against his chin. He smiled, but it was a dark, unhappy expression.
"So," he said. "After all these years, I have my old enemy's woman under my roof," he made a sound that might have been a laugh. "How the wheel turns."
"You realise, of course," Cate sat relaxed and apparently unconcerned by the unexpected alteration in their conversation. "That I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."
"Of course you don't," Malik's smile flattened. "It was years ago and a great distance from this place. So," he mused. "Mycroft Holmes wants me gone and is using my daughter as leverage? How like him. And how ironic."
"Would you rather discuss my husband," Cate asked, in all seriousness, "or your daughter? Really, we are not the important ones here," she paused. "Medina is." Lifting her cup. "Any chance of another coffee?"
"You are in a sound-proofed and remote hotel room with an acknowledged enemy of your husband, and you sit there, calmly asking for more coffee?" al Badour was bemused.
"What would you rather I do?" Cate lifted her eyebrows. "Scream? Demand to be allowed to leave?" she settled more comfortably in her chair. "That is so tediously predictable."
And now al Badour really did laugh; the look of entertainment on his face was quite genuine and without reservation.
"I almost pity the man," he said, his hand flat against his chest. "You must fight like cat and dog every night."
Now it was Cate's turn to be amused. "Not every night," she said quietly, her lips curling into an irrepressible private smile.
"You really should meet my wife," al Badour said, shaking his head, grinning. "The two of you would constitute a national hazard."
"Before we speak of your wife, we need to speak of your daughter," Cate resumed the previous conversation. "And I really would like some more coffee if possible."
Waving at his guard for the coffee, al Badour composed himself to listen.
"Very well, Professor," he said. "What should we do about my daughter's situation?"
"She is a very clever, decent young woman who should be given every opportunity to use the intelligence she inherited from her parents," she said. "Anything less would make mockery of claims to civilised behaviour by any of us."
"So what do we do?"
"There is another complication." Cate was hesitant about raising the issue … it really wasn't her place to tread in this area … but perhaps she could prepare the ground just a little …
"There is a young man."
Malik al Badour froze. His Medina and a man..?
"Your daughter is an innocent," Cate stated, quickly. "An innocent. You have my word on this."
Calming himself, al Badour took a breath. Despite all logic telling him not to listen to this woman, not to trust her, he did. Maybe it was the teacher in her. She oozed integrity.
"Tell me of this man," he demanded.
"I think you've already met him," Cate smiled. "His name is Erik."
Thinking back to a breakfast several mornings ago, al Badour nodded.
"Very young, tall, thin, blonde?"
"Erik Norling, son of a wealthy British businessman," Cate nodded. "He has risked his own security by insisting on protecting your daughter regardless of her situation," she added. "Whatever else you may think of him, you must be aware that he may already have sacrificed his academic future for her."
"And Medina?" he asked. "What does she want?"
Cate shook her head. This was not her call. "Everyone should choose their own consequences," she said softly. "You must ask your daughter this question." This was as far as Cate could go; she had opened the door. If Medina wanted to walk through it, she would have to say so in her own words.
Malik sat back, watching as Cate sipped her second coffee with every evidence of enjoyment. This had been a strange encounter. The wife of an old and terrible enemy; the Professor who protected her student at the risk of her own professional career; the woman who cared enough for a stranger's daughter to take her in and protect her? Malik was at a loss. He wished Escalla were here: she would know what to do. But wait … that name … Norling …
"What does the boy's father do?" he asked.
"No idea," Cate said. "I only know he's a very successful London businessman with a beautiful wife." I've only met him once."
"What does he look like?" al Badour was sure he knew the name.
"Slightly taller than usual, balding, blue eyes, London accent," that's about all I can remember, Cate racked her memory for more, but that was it.
The name and the face slotted together. Malik al Badour realised he already knew the boy's father; that the man was in the same business as he; that they had spoken only days before. This was beyond accident or coincidence. This was surely destiny.
There was the sound of a doorbell; the guard immediately went to look. There were two men; one older, dressed impeccably in an expensive business-suit, the other younger. Opening the door, Rashidi asked who they were.
"I'm James Norling and this is my son," he said. "We've come to speak with Malik al Badour on a matter of business."
Recognising the voice as well as the name, Cate shot a look at al Badour. "The young man, Erik," she said. "What a coincidence."
"I do not believe in coincidences," Malik stood, buttoning his jacket. "Ask them in."
As the two newcomers entered, Cate continued sipping her coffee. There wasn't much else she could do now except stay out of the way as the situation unfolded.
Norling and al Badour met each other's eyes; James offered his hand. "I did not expect us to meet again this soon," he said.
Shaking hands, Malik nodded, a half-smile on his face. "This is an afternoon for unexpected visitors."
"This is my son, Erik," Norling continued, "but I believe you may have already met?"
Shaking the boy's hand as well, al Badour appraised him less as a student this time, and more as a man. "Ah yes," Malik looked moderately critical. "The young Angel."
"Mr al Badour," Erik met the older man's steady gaze and nodded. He wondered if Medina's father could tell how incredibly nervous he was.
"And I think you both know the Professor here," Malik waved towards Cate.
"Professor," Erik saw her sitting, and he smiled, relieved at having a friend so close. "Is Medina here too?"
"Medina is in the other room," Cate said. "But I think you should sit down and be quiet for a while."
Looking at her face, Erik realised Cate was being perfectly serious. After the information his father had shared with him earlier, Erik thought perhaps she was right. He chose a chair to her left and folded his long length as he sat.
"You are the one responsible for my boy leaving the university and running off into hiding?' James Norling sounded more than a little antagonistic.
Cate smiled, putting her cup down. "I think you need to ask Erik that question," she said, calmly.
Turning to stare at his son, James Norling was clearly waiting for an answer. "Well?" he demanded.
"This had almost nothing to do with Professor Cate, Dad," Erik said, looking up at his father's angry face. "In fact, she was the one who tried to talk Medina and I out of this all the time; she kept saying that we could end it any time we wanted," he sighed. "The Professor was also the one who made us phone you that first day; neither of us wanted to: we were too nervous, but she insisted that we act like adults. So, no, Dad," Erik looked fatalistic. "The Professor is not in the least responsible for me chucking my studies. That was my decision and I will accept the consequences of it."
Suddenly busy with her coffee-cup, Cate felt a hot surge of pride: he actually had listened. He had become an adult right in front of her.
Erik turned to her suddenly. "What happened that day when those two men came to get us and you told us to run away?" he asked. "You never did say what happened. Who were they?"
Cate cleared her throat, slightly discomforted that the conversation had turned to her.
"They were MI5," she said. "Nothing much happened. They arrested me and took me for questioning, but as I am a simple teacher, they eventually let me go." Cate smiled and looked harmless.
"MI5 arrested you?" James Norling was shocked.
Cate smiled again. "I do seem to get into all sorts of trouble, don't I?" she said happily.
"So, and let me get this straight," Norling said. "While you were keeping your eye on my pain-in-the-arse son, MI5 nabbed you and had you for questioning? What does the University think of that?"
"I assume the University and I will part ways in the near-future," Cate looked a little sad. "But I understood the consequences of my actions when I took them, so I can do no less than your son, now can I?"
The tall Arab was also curious. "While you were caring for my Medina, you were in trouble with British security services? What did my old enemy have to say about that? It must have caused something of a problem for him? And for you, also?" Cate thought Medina's father looked censorious, almost as if he was sympathising with Mycroft. She just couldn't win.
"Gentlemen," Cate linked her fingers and relaxed into her chair. "That was in the past. The question now, is what of the future for your children?"
Returning to his previous seat, al Badour looked thoughtful. "We must discuss this," he said. "As men."
Giving a slight cough, Cate looked ingenuous. "Only as men?"
Malik had the grace to smile. "Your son protected my daughter," he spoke to the elder Norling while nodding towards Erik. "Thus, despite the fact I am not entirely happy at Medina's behaviour, I am content to acknowledge your son's involvement in her safety and wellbeing. I thank you for this," he said, speaking directly to the boy.
"You daughter has turned my son from a schoolboy into a young man," Norling senior also nodded. "I believe I owe her my gratitude for that. Is she here?"
"In the other room. Perhaps she should join us now," Malik nodded at his guard who tapped on the connecting door. Medina rushed back into the room, taking in everything at a glance. Her eyes lighted on Erik and she smiled. Then she saw a man who had to be Erik's father and she suddenly felt very shy.
"Miss al Badour," James Norling offered his hand, then hesitated, looking at her father with a raised eyebrow. Malik nodded briefly. "I am Erik's father and I'd like to express my appreciation for whatever it was you did to make him grow up." He shook the young woman's hand gently. "Thank you."
Erik covered his face in embarrassment.
Cate was privately delighted. This was going better than she'd dared to hope. Not only were Medina and Erik talking to their fathers, but they were all talking to each other, in the same room, in an atmosphere of, if not quite open harmony, then at least in an absence of acrimony. She realised she was almost holding her breath … if the next immediate steps could be resolved here and now, then the worst of it might be over and she could go home … her heart skipped faster at the idea.
Oh, please. Let this be over.
There was a knock at the door. "Room service."
Malik frowned slightly. Room service? Nothing more had been requested of them. Before he was able to voice his thought, Rashidi had opened the door only to have it suddenly thrust against him, pushing him awkwardly back into the main hallway of the suite where he found himself pressed quite firmly into the wall.
Both al Badour and James Norling rose, looks of uncertainty on their faces. Erik also stood, looking swiftly down at the still-seated Cate, who shrugged, as surprised as he. He beckoned Medina to come and stand beside him. She was confused. The strangers were the tall man who had helped them at the tube station by distracting the police and the blonde man with him fought with the police at the Asian man's training place. So what were they doing here and why did the atmosphere suddenly feel so scary?
"What is happening here?" al Badour demanded, a scowl growing on his face.
"Good afternoon, Mr al Badour," a confident baritone voice offered polite greetings. "My apologies for barging in so rudely, but I assure you, this is a matter of utmost urgency."
Cate closed her eyes. Of all the times for Sherlock to come charging in anywhere – it had to be here and now.
"Norling," Sherlock nodded, his hands deep in the pockets of his long coat, turning to his sister-in-law with a brief twitch of his lips, "Cate."
"Who are you and why have you broken into my home and assaulted my staff?"
"Hardly assaulted, Mr al Badour," Sherlock smiled briefly at John Watson who released Rashidi from an immobilising arm lock, brushing the guard's jacket down as if no harm was meant or had been done, and confirming the location of the man's pistol at the same time.
"What would you like me to do with them, sir?" the bodyguard clearly felt the need to reassert his menace in the room. His hand hovered over his lapel.
"Wait, Rashidi," Malik walked to face Sherlock.
"Who are you, and why are you here?" he said quietly. "Tell me very quickly or I shall have my man shoot you both and claim self-defence."
"In front of these witnesses?" Sherlock smiled broadly, shaking his head. "I doubt you'd do anything quite so foolish, Mr al Badour, especially when we've come here to save you the ignominy of a major, and very public, police inquiry."
Used to Sherlock's condescending bravado, John nevertheless decided to step fractionally closer to his friend in case things got a little hairy and he was needed to play the heavy. Well, medium-heavy.
"What police inquiry?" Malik was completely at a loss. What was this man talking about?
"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and my colleague and I are on the trail of a killer who murdered one of his employees in the British Museum almost two weeks ago." Sherlock's index finger was pointing towards James Norling.
"Yeah," John interrupted. "Where I discovered the victim," he jabbed at his own chest, "and nearly got the blame for the murder."
"You did say that Bow Bells Finance was one of yours, yes?" Sherlock turned sharply to Norling senior.
Clearing his throat, James Norling gathered his wits. "Yes," he muttered. "It was one of my employees, or at least, an employee of one of my subsidiary companies, who was killed at the museum."
"Interesting that you say 'killed' and not 'murdered'," Sherlock mused.
"Holmes?" Malik scowled even harder. "Another Holmes?" He stared at Cate, who sighed and nodded.
"Sherlock is Mycroft's brother and my brother-in-law," she said splaying her fingers in the air. "What can I say?"
"Did you know he would be doing this today?" al Badour growled, staring at her. "Is this why you came here with my daughter?"
"My sister-in-law knows nothing of our investigation, Mr al Badour," Sherlock stated calmly. "It is simple coincidence that we are both here."
"I do not believe in coincidence," the Arab sliced his hand through the air. "But tell me again exactly why you are here."
Sighing, Sherlock looked pained. "Do try and follow," he said. "My colleague and I have been tracking a brutal murderer who almost decapitated one of Norling's employees at the British Museum ten days ago," he paused, looking around the suite. "The man's throat was cut very efficiently. We tracked the murder's trail to this hotel and, we believe, to this very apartment, so I suggest, Mr al Badour," Sherlock spoke very slowly, almost insultingly. "That you save your anger for the serpent harboured in your bosom, rather than us."
"Then you are mistaken, Mr Holmes," Malik turned his back on the younger man. "There is nobody in this hotel suite except for me and Rashidi, and I can assure you that I was nowhere near the museum last week."
Sherlock looked thoughtful. "Rashidi is an Egyptian name, I believe," he nibbled his lower lip. "I see by your earring that you follow the ancient religion," he looked briefly at al Badour's guard. "And you are clearly a dangerous man, judging by your penchant for large pistols – that's a SIG 226 you're carrying, if I'm not mistaken, the steel one; you can tell the weight by the way it distorts the line of your very well-tailored jacket, that, and the fact you also carry a knife strapped around your left calf – something vicious and lethal, of course – a Fairbairn, perhaps?"
Sherlock continued. "The murderer was an Egyptian male, aged between thirty and forty, wearing an ankh earring and walking with a slight limp in the left leg," he said. "Further, the man was tracked by CCTV when he took a cab which deposited him at the doors of this very hotel," he turned towards al Badour. "Would you care to imagine the odds against there being two such individuals staying at this establishment at the same time? I have," Sherlock gave a jerky smile, "and trust me, you don't want to hear the math."
Rashidi stepped forward, a complacent smile on his face. He took a few more steps towards the centre of the room and stood, silent and relaxed, hands clasped in front of him.
"Limp," Sherlock muttered. John nodded. He'd seen it too.
Yet something was very odd here: al Badour's bodyguard had been all but openly accused of a brutal murder; everything pointed to Rashidi being the killer, yet neither he nor al Badour seemed remotely phased by it, in fact, as Sherlock observed their body-language, he realised not only was the accusation not shocking, it wasn't even a surprise. It hadn't surprised James Norling either, although the younger man standing next to Cate – clearly Norling's son – seemed horrified. Glancing across at Cate and the girl who was obviously al Badour's daughter, Sherlock could see they were shocked too. This suggested the three men knew all about this before the others had arrived: they had colluded in the murder at the museum … Ah.
"So your man Rashidi killed Norling's underling at your instruction?" Sherlock nodded at Malik as the data clicked into the correct sequence. "But why? If Norling wanted someone out of the way, why involve a foreigner? There are plenty of perfectly capable assassins in London without any need to offshore a contract, so why did your bodyguard kill Norling's employee?" Sherlock stared at al Badour.
"You are fantasising this entire scenario, Holmes," Malik did not particularly want to have this conversation in front of the women. "Take your unfounded accusations away from my family before I call the police."
"No need," John grinned. "The police should be here any minute."
Norling senior had a very strange expression on his face. "The police are coming here?" he asked, "for him?" he added, pointing towards the bodyguard.
"Indeed they are," Sherlock examined the Londoner's features. Something was very amiss in this conversation. There was something just on the edge of understanding…
"You want him taken by the police," the younger Holmes swivelled to face James Norling directly. "You want him out of this room, away from this place ... why?" Sherlock's eyes were narrowed and focused on some distant, unseeable point..
Malik al Badour also turned to the older man. "Is this true?" he asked. "Do you want the police to take Rashidi? This was not our arrangement."
"Our arrangement," Norling's lips compressed until his words were almost hissed. "Was that I would help you with your problem and you would assist me with mine."
Malik stood, dumfounded. "You?" he halted. "You are my informant? You have the name of the traitor in the Emir Talid's family?"
Nodding slowly, Norling turned to look at Rashidi. "It's him," he said.
"Rashidi ..?" al Badour's face was part disbelief, part horror. "You?" his voice trailing into silence, Malik stared into the eyes of his bodyguard.
"Malik Efendim," the Egyptian began. "What is this madness? You cannot possibly give credit to anything these British zebs tell you, you know they are only here to cause us all difficulties," he paused. "Let me deal with them and they will bother you no more."
But something in the man's voice told Malik his bodyguard was not speaking honestly.
"You have been with me all these years and yet you have been a traitor to me at the same time? You used the information you heard at my table and plotted against my Emir and his heir? Rashidi?"
As if a switch had been thrown, the Egyptian's face contorted into a feral snarl. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a large handgun which, despite its shiny good-looks was, as Sherlock had observed, a serious piece of weaponry.
"Yes, it is true," he spat, aiming the gun in turn at al Badour and James Norling. "And the assassination of Hassan bin Khalid will take place as planned because nobody can stop it now."
Sherlock stepped closer to Cate, blocking the trajectory between the Egyptian's gun and her chair. Realising what Sherlock was doing, Cate took advantage of his action and leaned over to grab Medina's hand. The girl stood, utterly stunned by the revelations of the last several minutes. That her beloved father could be involved in such things. Cate pulled her slowly closer. Just in case.
"Stand back, Erik," the elder Norling wanted his son well out of this.
"Rashidi," al Badour stepped forward, focusing the man's attention on him. He held out his hand. "Give me the gun and we can speak of this situation like rational men."
"That's not going to work," Sherlock muttered to John. "Got your Browning?"
"Didn't think I'd need it at the Dorchester," John whispered. "If that magazine is full, there's fifteen rounds up the spout. He could kill us all twice-over if he wants to."
"Don't think we're going to give him that chance," Sherlock whispered back. "Be ready when I distract him."
"Right," John took a breath and began edging towards the Egyptian's blind spot behind Norling.
But Sherlock's distraction was unnecessary; al Badour's next action rendering anything else superfluous.
"Rashidi," Medina's father had both his hands open and lifted towards the man who had been his guard, his protector, and, so Malik had thought, his friend for more years than he could remember. The traitor he had been sent to find and destroy; the worm in the apple. Malik al Badour was sad that he'd never get to see his children grow old with families of their own, but this man was his responsibility and … what was it the woman had said … everyone should choose their own consequences …
Malik al Badour chose.
With a sudden leap, he hurled himself upon his erstwhile bodyguard, aiming to bring the man down so that Norling and the others could incapacitate the Egyptian.
Stupefied that his old friend and leader was prepared to sacrifice his life, Rashidi hesitated for a split-second before firing his pistol. Point-black, the bullet took al Badour squarely in the chest. He went down with a cry of agony.
Standing, Rashidi knew there was nothing left for him to lose now. He would have to kill them all.
Taking aim, he shot Norling first.