Chapter Nine
The Assassin Strikes – To Paris – Just a London Cabbie – Doing You a Favour – The British Are Insane – The Meeting – Eurostar Offers Its Apologies – Mycroft – Sherlock.
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As Rashidi fired at James Norling, Medina screamed, covering her face with her fingers. Cate was too far from the assassin to be of any direct help in stopping him, so the next best thing would be to remove his targets. Vaulting over the back of her chair, she grabbed the girl and dragged her down to the floor, using the furniture as cover.
"Get DOWN, Erik," she shouted, reaching around the chair, groping for something to throw; her fingers found the hard shape of her coffee cup.
Norling senior had been hit, but it was impossible to see how badly. Erik crawled to his father's side.
At the moment that al Badour had leaped towards his bodyguard, John had also sprinted from Rashidi's right, while Sherlock, aware of Cate's actions, virtually flew towards the Egyptian's left.
With his immediate focus on the elder Norling, as well as perceiving rapid movement towards him from both sides, the killer's attention was split for a fraction of a second. In that moment, Cate threw the small porcelain cup as hard as she could at his head, missing its target, its passage nevertheless was enough to divert Rashidi's attention for another microsecond, enabling John to fulfil al Badour's objective as he crash-tackled the man to the ground. Sherlock was scarcely any slower, stamping down on the Egyptian's outflung wrist as Rashidi once again attempted to bring his weapon to bear.
Realising that his only chance for escape was to incapacitate these two men, Rashidi's desperation gave him an extra level of strength and determination, as he wrestled violently with the shorter blonde man, his large hands clawing at John's face and throat, he grunted with effort as he tried to pin the Briton down on the blood-soaked carpet next to the lifeless Malik.
Unable to get a clear strike or even a clear shot, Sherlock grabbed al Badour's laptop and, in one brief moment, as the Egyptian's head rose higher than John's, he brought the edge of the steel-framed device heavily into contact with the side of the man's skull. With a soft groan, Rashidi collapsed into unconsciousness next to the body of his erstwhile leader.
"Pappa," Medina screamed again, scrambling out of Cate's sheltering grasp and staggering across the sitting room to her father's side. Pulling him over, she saw his chest was covered in glistening blood; that it was all over his neck and arms.
"Help me with him," she begged everyone in the room. "Please help him."
Catching his breath, John pushed himself over to the fallen man, putting him onto his back and ripping open his blood-soaked jacket. Was there a pulse? Was there a heartbeat? His hands slippery with the warm blood, John nevertheless fancied there was something beneath his fingertips.
"He's still alive," he muttered, peeling the man's shirt away from his chest, exposing a ghastly hole in the upper right quadrant. "Took it through the lung, need to get him sitting up so he doesn't drown."
"Ambulances on their way," Cate announced, flinging her phone down and jumping across to Erik and his dad.
"He's breathing but there's blood all over him," Erik was kneeling beside his father, hopelessly opening the older man's coat.
It was immediately obvious the man had taken the bullet right through the shoulder. Cate felt behind Norling's coat and found the exit wound, not large, but large enough. Looking around, she spotted the linen napkins room service had delivered with the coffee. "I need those," she pointed.
Erik was back beside her with the handful of fine white cloths in a matter of seconds, and watched warily as Cate balled up one, wrapping it inside another and held it against the wound in his father's back. Turning Norling so his own weight lay on top of the padded material, Cate repeated the action with another two napkins, pressing the second pad to the entry wound at the front.
"Put your hands here," she showed the boy what she wanted him to do. "And press down hard," she said. "Don't worry about hurting him, we need to get the bleeding stopped and can worry about everything else later. The ambulance will be here very soon. Don't worry, Erik," Cate sounded positive. "He's going to be fine."
Looking around to make sure there were no other immediate causes for alarm, Sherlock exhaled. "That was fun," he smiled brightly, ignoring John's floor-level tutting.
Striding over to where Cate was getting to her feet, he assisted her upwards journey and looked into her face.
"I'd ask if you were well," he said, "but that would be redundant."
"I'm fine, Sherlock," Cate smiled up into the grey-blue eyes of her brother-in-law. "Thank you for being concerned."
"Am I concerned?" he looked curious.
"Yes, you are, and I like you very much for it," she smiled. "Have you spoken to Mycroft recently?"
"Just before coming here, in fact," he analysed her. "My brother is definitely concerned about your welfare and asked John and I to ensure your safety at this … meeting." Sherlock frowned. "Exactly what was this meeting of yours?"
"Incredibly tortuous story," Cate nodded at the two young people. "It's all about them. They're my students."
"And they are the reason you've been living rough for the last ten days?"
"Did Mycroft tell you that?"
"Your eyebrows tell me that," he smiled fleetingly. "Look," he said. "None of my business, but are you and my brother …?"
"Are we what, Sherlock?" Cate looked patient.
"Together."
Smiling, Cate squeezed Sherlock's long fingers. "Yes," she said. "We are, just in different places at the moment."
"Then everything is well with the world," he smiled brightly. "The ambulances should be here soon."
Turning to look back at where John was still ministering to the unconscious al Badour, an unexpected movement caught the corner of her eye. Focusing, Cate realised …
"John, look out …" she shouted, as the Egyptian suddenly threw himself upright, a wickedly sharp fighting knife in his right hand.
"Fairbairn," Sherlock muttered. "Knew it."
"Don't come any closer to me or I will kill you," Rashidi hissed.
With his hands full of unconscious Arab, John couldn't have moved swiftly even had he wanted to. Medina shrank back, terrified.
"Oh, dear God," Sherlock had his hands in his pockets and looked about as weary of the situation as he possibly could. "Still? You must have an incredibly dense skull," he said. "That knock should have kept you immobilised for at least another eleven minutes."
"Do not speak to me," the Egyptian brandished the blade. "I am leaving this room and no-one is to follow me, is this understood?"
Hands still in his pockets, Sherlock strolled a little closer. "Off you go, then," he suggested.
Backing away, his eyes darting between Sherlock and John and Erik, the ex-bodyguard made his way towards the main entrance to the suite, an expression of scorn and distaste on his face.
Flinging open the door in his haste to leave, Rashidi suddenly found himself staring into the business-end of a police-issue, short-barrelled L22 carbine. Despite his desire to leave, he knew when the only feasible action was retreat. Rashidi stepped back into the apartment, his hands in the air. Several additional authorised firearms officers entered the suite's plush hallway, each with a blunt, short weapon pointed half-way between the floor and the horizontal.
Greg Lestrade walked through the door following his officers, just as a team of Ambulance paramedics barrelled in behind him. Two collapsible stretchers soon had the wounded men heading towards the service lift.
"So which one's Malik al Badour?" the Inspector walked slowly down the lavishly carpeted steps into the main lounge area of the suite. "I'm here to arrest one of his people on the suspicion of murder."
Tweaking a brow, Sherlock watched the man the armed police had flattened against the wall. "You took your time getting here, Lestrade," he said. "Malik is on one of those stretchers," he nodded towards Rashidi. "That's your killer, Inspector," he said. "You're welcome to him after we all nearly died in an effort to keep him from shooting down half the Dorchester's guests."
Scanning the disordered sitting room, Lestrade nodded. "Looks like you've been having fun here," he said. "Bit of a party, was it?"
Listening to Sherlock explain the basics of the last ten-minutes, the Inspector felt reasonably up to speed when he saw the Professor.
"Hello Greg," Cate was still trying to clean up her hands. "You missed the show."
"Cate," the silver-haired Londoner gave her a genuine smile. "Mycroft said you might be here."
"You spoke with him recently?"
"Yeah, just before I left the office – he was particularly keen to know how long it'd take for me to get a team here – something about you meeting one of the most lethal men in London," Lestrade paused, looked around bleakly. "I see what he meant," he said. "Never known the man so jumpy."
"Apart from being jumpy, did he sound okay? Did he sound tired?" Cate wanted to hear that Mycroft was fine, that he was well, and that he was functioning normally. She realised she was quite anxious to hear these things, in fact.
Giving her an odd look, Lestrade stepped closer; his words were private. "Why don't you call him," he said. "If you two have had a row, you need to talk about it."
"He doesn't want to talk to me about it," Cate closed her eyes. "He doesn't want to listen to me."
"Then I'd say he's a bloody fool," Greg Lestrade frowned. "Except Mycroft isn't a fool, so perhaps you need to find a different way to make him hear you?"
Cate looked stumped. "In that case," she said, "I have to take Medina out of London. Out of the country would be better," sighing, she looked serious. "He'll only stop to listen when the problem is no longer in Britain."
"Sounds a little drastic," he said. "Is this the only alternative?"
"Mycroft wants the girl and her father out of the country – Medina's father is now his concern, but I'm damned if I'm going to keep having my student hounded like a criminal." Cate was fatalistic. "So I'll get her out myself."
"Where are you planning to go?" the Inspector knew he was asking Cate to trust him. Looking into his hazel eyes, she frowned.
"If I tell you and he asks," she said, "will you tell him?"
"Do you want me to tell him?"
"I think so," Cate nodded. "None of what I'm doing is a secret; I'm not hiding from him, only the police and MI5."
"So where are you planning on going?" Lestrade was rather curious now. Something major was afoot.
"Paris," Cate said. "I'm going to take Medina to Paris."
"Do you need help?"
"There may be a problem with the customs officers at St. Pancras," she rubbed her eyes. "I just need to get her past British security and then we should be fine."
"When will you go?" Lestrade looked at the two young people. "She probably won't want to leave if her father's in hospital."
"This has to be entirely her decision," she acknowledged. "If she agrees to come with me, will you allow Medina to go? I know there's an arrest warrant out for her."
"The order is to have her taken to the Home Office holding centre to await deportation," Greg Lestrade grinned. "So if you're planning on taking her to Paris, you're doing my job for me – why would I want to stop you from doing that?"
"You're a peach," Cate squeezed his arm. "I'll go and speak to her now. Give me five minutes."
Stepping over to where Erik was holding Medina's hand, comforting the young woman, Cate pulled their sleeves, drawing them into the other room. "We have to talk," she said.
"You're plotting something," Sherlock came up beside the policeman. "What is it?"
"Not plotting, Sherlock," Lestrade smiled. "Facilitating." He smiled some more. "And as to exactly what I am facilitating, it's none of your business."
"Oh, so it's something to do with Cate and the girl, then?" Sherlock nodded in satisfaction. "So what is it? The way Cate's been so protective suggests there's an obligation of some sort. It's not family-related, and the girl's her student. International student by the simple fact her father is a foreign national; thus Cate is championing the girl's cause … now what on earth could you be facilitating for her?" Sherlock paused, thinking. A smile dawned on his face.
"Oh … this is Mycroft's work," Sherlock looked superior. "Clearly the father is one of his pet projects and Cate, who coincidentally happens to be the girl's supervisor, has taken umbrage with my brother's handling of the situation." He nodded knowingly. "Typical Mycroft to put his clumsy great foot into things."
"And none of this has anything to do with you, so just drop it, Sherlock," the Inspector did not want to get into it right now. He was breaking enough rules as it was.
In the other room, Cate had laid out the alternatives to Erik and Medina.
"If you stay here, with your father," she said, "And I know how much you want to do that Medina, you will be arrested and taken to the deportation holding facility until the next available flight out to your country."
"But I want to see my father, to be with him," the girl was nearly in tears.
"I know you do, sweetheart," Cate was sympathetic. "And the police might actually allow you to see him once before you are shipped off home, but then you'd not be able to see him again until he is well enough to return home himself, assuming they let him go."
"So what exactly are you suggesting we do, Professor?" Despite the fact that his own father was also going to be in hospital, Erik sounded a little more grounded.
"Medina should come with me to Paris," Cate said. "I'm fairly sure the police will turn a blind eye to her as long as she's leaving the country in any case – they'll only arrest her if she decides she wants to stay."
"And if I go to Paris with you, will I be able to come back and see my father?" Medina sounded hopeful.
"With both you and your father either under twenty-four hour observation or out of Britain altogether, the urgency of the problem will have subsided," Cate was certain. "This will enable me to … tackle the issue of your reinstatement without other things getting in the way," she said. "Though I can't promise anything," she added. "There is an alternative."
"And what is that?" Medina wanted to know anything that she might be able to do.
"You go into the other room and ask Inspector Lestrade to take you to see your father. Once he has allowed you to do this, he will then have his police officers take you to the deportation holding centre until you can be flown home." Cate looked the young woman directly in the eyes. "This must be your choice now," she said. "I can't tell you what actions might be the best, because you are the one who will have to live with the results of them."
"But what if my father dies?"
Cate said nothing. This might indeed happen. Medina had to decide.
"Very well," the girl looked at Erik, then at Cate. "Paris."
"Then I'm coming too," Erik looked determined. Cate wasn't surprised at his choice; she had expected it.
"We need passports," Cate said. "Do you guys have yours handy?"
"I always carry mine with me," Medina said. "After living so long overseas, it becomes a habit."
"And I have mine too," Cate nodded. "Erik?"
"Mine's at my parent's house, but I can probably get it delivered here fairly quickly.
"Right, do that," Cate said. "I'm going to organise us all some clean clothes."
Looking down at themselves, Erik and Medina realised it might be a little difficult to walk unnoticed down the street, covered in blood.
"How are you going to manage that?" Erik was already on the phone to Redding.
"I know the Deputy Concierge here," she smiled knowingly at his raised eyebrow. "Used to be a student of mine."
###
Once she had advised Lestrade that all three of them would be heading to France that very afternoon, the tall Londoner nodded his understanding.
"Very well," he said. "In that case, I won't exercise the warrant for the girl at this time," he looked serious. "But she has to be out of Britain by the end of the day or we'll all be in hot water. Me especially."
Cate had promised faithfully that they'd be gone as soon as Erik had his passport and they all cleaned up a little.
Sherlock hadn't been quite so easy to disengage.
"You're leaving London?" he was mildly critical. "Running away?"
Ignoring the bait, Cate looked into his slightly narrowed eyes.
"If we stay, the girl is arrested and deported," she said. "I have little choice but to get her away from here."
Sherlock was momentarily silent. "Do you need help?"
Smiling her camaraderie, Cate wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him swiftly on the cheek. "No, I don't need your help," she said. "But I'm very happy that you offered."
Sitting on the arm of a chair, Sherlock had folded his arms and looked sceptical.
"Are you going to tell Mycroft or is that Lestrade's job too?" he asked.
Cate sighed. "All Mycroft wants is for the girl and her father to be gone from the country; Greg will call him when we're enroute."
"Terminal Three?"
Cate smiled again. Her brother-in-law was incurably curious. "Not Heathrow," she said. "St Pancras."
"Ah. Eurostar."
"Goodbye, Sherlock," she said. "See you when all this is over."
Giving her a peculiar little look, Sherlock stuck his hands into his pockets and swirled away in his long, dark coat.
###
Despite the anxiety of the situation, all three were showered and dressed in their new finery within an hour – the Concierge at the Dorchester dealt only with the finest of couturiers, naturally; even the jeans he acquired for them were designer – and ready to head towards the International offices of Eurostar. Cate thanked her foresight in getting such a large chunk of cash from her bank – the three, one-way train tickets had cost almost two thousand pounds; at such short notice, only First-class had been left. Never mind; it would be pleasant to rest in comfortable surroundings for a little while.
Before they left the hotel, Cate had taken advantage of the landline phone and had called a couple of people she knew in Paris. They may as well use the visit there to kill two birds with one stone. One of the friends Cate had called was the current Rector of L'Ecole d'économie at the Pantheon-Assas Université – part of the Sorbonne. She had a feeling a meeting with the man might be very useful.
Heading down in the lift, Medina caught her hand and squeezed.
"Brave, now," Cate whispered. "With luck, this will soon be all over."
Knowing the police wouldn't be watching any more, Cate kept her eyes skinned just in case she spotted anyone who was. With the Police off their backs, at least momentarily, the only ones they had to worry about now were MI5. They had been uncomfortably invisible which suggested not that they were still looking, but that they were really good at not being seen. If MI5 caught them before they boarded the train …
A taxi awaited outside the front entrance of the hotel, whisking them smoothly and swiftly into traffic. It wasn't until they were barrelling down Marylebone Road that Erik noticed the dark sedan behind them.
"I think we might have been spotted," he whispered.
"Damn." Cate knew immediately it had to be what she feared. Time to improvise. Tapping the driver's safety screen, Cate waved two fifty-pound notes and spoke quietly into his ear.
"My ex-husband has put private detectives onto me," she said, hopelessly. "They're in the sedan behind us, can you lose them do you think?"
"I can lose anyone, my dear," the driver said with a smile in his voice. Taking the bribe, he suggested they all tighten their seatbelts.
In the next moment, the black cab veered madly to the left, then the right, another left and went flat-out down a long straight. Cate wasn't sure where they were, but she thought she recognised parts of Regents Park flashing by. The driver continued jinking and swerving for a good few minutes before moving smoothly back on their original course.
The dark sedan was nowhere in sight.
"You're a genius," Cate breathed. "Thank you."
"Just a London Cabbie, Ma'm," he said. "Always wanted to do that, though," he grinned massively in the rear-view mirror.
###
"They're heading where?" Mycroft turned to stare at the silver-haired policeman standing just inside the door to his private office. Both his tone and his expression were icily critical.
"Mycroft, don't get narky with me," Lestrade looked patient. "I'm doing you a favour by telling you this early enough for you to do something about it," he sighed. "Dunno what's gotten into the pair of you," he muttered. "You're as jumpy as a cat in case she gets into trouble, and she's all over me to find out if you're sleeping properly, honestly," Lestrade paused, smiling at the elder Holmes. "Anyone would think you were worried about each other."
"Did Cate say what train she had tickets for?" Mycroft had already decided the two things he needed to do now.
"Only that she was going to take the girl to Paris by Eurostar from St Pancras Station," the Inspector said. "The boy will probably want to go along with his girlfriend," he grinned. "Now there's a young man who knows how to look after the woman in his life."
"Yes, thank you, Inspector," Mycroft managed to maintain a civil temper. "Don't let me detain you."
Walking out through Mycroft's office door, the grin on Greg Lestrade's face got even bigger.
###
With tickets and passports in hand, Cate cleared her throat and started to walk down the long carpeted corridor towards the customs desks. She could feel the nervousness radiating off Medina in solid waves. She had to do something.
"What's the definition of a good farmer?" Cate asked them, quite loudly.
"What?" Erik was feeling worried enough without having to answer some daft question.
"A man outstanding in his field," Cate smiled suddenly. "Where did George Washington keep his armies?" she linked her arm through Medina's. The girl looked at her as if she had gone mad. "Up his sleevies." Cate grinned. "What happened when the red ship and the blue ship collided?" she grinned harder. "Both crews were marooned …"
Erik closed his eyes and groaned. "That's awful," he said. "What do sharks say when something radical happens?" he asked, grinning at Medina.
Yes, the girl thought. The British are entirely insane.
"Jawsome," he smiled.
"What washes up on tiny beaches?" Cate asked, laughing now.
Erik leaned in "I know this one," he laughed too. "Microwaves."
"You are both completely mad," Medina couldn't help but grin with them.
They reached the checkpoint still grinning. Cate went in first, handing over her ticket and passport. In a second, she was through.
"How many doctoral candidates does it take to change a light bulb?" she challenged them from the other side of the counter.
Handing their tickets and passports over, Medina and Erik shrugged, smiling.
"One, but it takes him nine years," Cate started grinning again as the two young people giggled knowingly. They were both waved through without incident.
Heading onwards, Cate exhaled loudly. Thank God, that was over. Now all they had to do was find their seats.
###
The meeting, hurriedly convened though it was, took place in an atmosphere of calm and tranquillity. In a secure wing of a government building located near the centre of Whitehall, in a large, dim room, around a circular table, were three men. In a chair behind each man sat a Second. Anthea sat behind Mycroft, her Blackberry absent for once as she watched and listened, a small notebook in her hands.
On one side of her was Donald Parker, Director-General of MI5, backed up by his London Section Chief, Edward Cardin; while across the table sat the Emir Talid's heir-apparent, one Hassan bin Khalid. In the place that would normally have seen Malik al Badour, sat some unknown assistant, but no doubt a very clever and incredibly alert assistant.
"Is he alive?" Khalid was the first to speak, his words soft, but self-possessed.
Nodding, Mycroft met the man's eyes. "He is still in surgery, I believe," he said. "However the prognosis is favourable."
"And what of the man Rashidi?"
"Also alive," Mycroft nodded again. "The Egyptian is being held in secure custody in a safe place until a decision has been made as to his future."
"I want him," Hassan crossed his legs, his immaculate suit barely wrinkling. "I would have him returned to my country for official justice."
"We might also want him," Parker leaned slightly forward. "He is clearly no friend to the House Talid, and it would be myopic of us to permit such a valuable source of potential information to simply … leave."
"He is not yours to detain," bin Khalid frowned. "He is a citizen of my country now, and must be returned to our justice."
"A death-sentence?" Mycroft looked down at his fingers.
"Our laws are simple," the Arab leader nodded, sagely. "If Rashidi is found to be guilty of plotting death, then he will receive it."
"If he is returned to your country, bin Khalid." Parker sat back, complacent. "If."
"Our agreement has held for many years," Mycroft sounded reflective. "Each one of us being informed of changes in leadership and political influence," he paused. "It has been a productive arrangement."
"But if the leadership of my house is changed, I can no longer guarantee the arrangement will continue," bin Khalid was philosophical. "I need to demonstrate I will be a responsible and effective leader. I need Rashidi to face justice."
"Then we may need a new agreement," Mycroft looked up. "A different arrangement."
Both Parker and bin Khalid looked suspicious. It was not in either man's nature to be otherwise.
"I suggest we consider what it is we expect now from this cabal," Mycroft leaned forward onto the table, steepling his fingers.
That which may be thought.
"I require the ongoing support of the West in my dealings both internally with international organisations, and externally, with political reinforcement of our leadership," bin Khalid folded his arms.
"I want information of any major change; political, social, economic," Parker also leaned forward, resting his palms flat against the polished wood. "Ongoing, current, relevant."
"And I desire world peace," Mycroft shook his head, smiling. "Gentlemen, we must be realistic."
That which may be said.
"Support from the West for my leadership," bin Khalid nodded grudgingly.
"Information of major political change before it happens," Parker sat back, folding his arms.
That which may be done.
"We can support your leadership and your family as we have done these past years."
"I can ensure relevant information is made available to you to ensure continued collaboration."
"You can have Rashidi."
All else was detail.
"Is there anything else to be discussed?" Mycroft looked at the other participants in this meeting.
A Protocol.
"I will arrange for al Badour to come home as soon as your doctors deem him well enough to travel," bin Khalid said. "I do not know what the situation is with his daughter."
Mycroft opened his half-hunter, clicking the polished silver closed with another smile. "The girl has left British waters at this time," he said. "I believe this matter is now closed."
Of three parts. The Trivium.
Leaning back towards Anthea, Mycroft asked her to organise a formal draft of the new Heads of Agreement, with copies to all parties for discussion and preliminary approval.
He also asked her to have the Jaguar brought around to the front entrance immediately. He was a little pressed for time.
"To go where, Sir?" Anthea was already on her phone.
"St Pancras Station," Mycroft said. International departures."
###
They were seated in a grouping of four, with the odd seat empty. Cate was pleased by this since it meant they could talk without fear of being spied upon.
"I've never travelled under the Channel before," Erik sat, looking out of the bullet-train windows. "Is it exciting?"
The drone of the engine and the siren of departure sounded. They were finally on their way.
"Incredibly dull," Cate relaxed back into her very comfortable seat. "Everything goes dark for about twenty minutes or so, and when you see daylight again, it's the French variety."
"Oh," Medina was disappointed. "I thought we'd see fish through the windows."
Cate and Erik looked at each other and smiled.
"Sorry," Erik apologised at Medina's peeved expression. "But we're in a deep, deep tunnel under the sea."
"Oh well, never mind," the young woman also relaxed back into her seat. "I've always wanted to go to Paris."
"There is another reason I suggested Paris and not Rome or Berlin," Cate admitted. "And that's because I have contacts at the Sorbonne, and I'm trying to arrange for you to meet them."
"The Sorbonne?" Erik sounded impressed. "Isn't that where all the posh French people go?"
"You are sadly misinformed, young man," Medina laughed. "People from everywhere go there."
"It's got a great reputation for teaching economics," Cate observed Erik's face carefully. This was what he was supposed to attend Yale for in the New Year. "It's a very cool place to study."
Giving her a sharp look, Erik's face was a study in reflection. Not go to America? It was his father's wish … his father's wish …
"Paris would certainly be more convenient than Connecticut," he said. "I could bring my laundry home at the weekends."
"I always wanted to live in Paris," Medina was thoughtful.
"Avez-vous tous les deux parlent le français?" Cate asked slowly.
"Main oui!" Medina grinned happily.
Erik didn't look so comfortable. "If you just asked me if I could speak French, then the answer is kind of," he muttered.
"I could teach you," Medina grabbed his arm, smiling.
"Seriously, Erik," Cate looked teacherly. "Learning French is a basic requirement these days, and it's very easy."
"If you say so," he didn't sound convinced.
"Well, we're already at the Channel," Cate said looking out at the windows. It's all going to go dark now, so don't panic."
With a gentle, silent and barely perceptible decline, the entire train gradually entered a realm of complete blackness beyond the brightly lit interior. A steward came around with drinks and light edibles. Erik discovered that, despite the drama of the day and the worry about his father, he was starving.
"Dive in," Cate smiled. "Have whatever you want."
By her reckoning, the train was about half-way through the tunnel when the speed began to decrease quite noticeably. This was unusual. She looked around for a steward. Something was up. The train gradually roiled to a complete halt.
An announcement came through the train's speaker system.
"Ladies and Gentlemen. Eurostar offers its sincere apologies, but, due to a technical fault, we will be returning immediately to London. There is no reason for alarm, this is a minor issue, but we cannot cross into mainland France until it has been resolved. Once again, our most sincere apologies at the delay. Please speak with a steward if you wish anyone to be advised of your late arrival at the Gare du Nord."
The message was repeated in French, not that it made the situation any better. After all the trouble to leave the country, they were now returning to Britain!
"Not to worry," Cate tried to maintain an optimistic outlook. "We'll probably be stuck at Folkestone or Dover or somewhere while a toilet is fixed. It'll be fine."
But when the train arrived at the British coast, it showed no indication of slowing, in fact, the speed actually increased. They were heading back to London.
Less than thirty minutes later, the train decelerated as the silhouette of the St Pancras International terminal appeared. They were right back to where they had begun over an hour-and-a-half ago.
Cate began to suspect foul-play. She had never been on a London to Paris before which had been in any way delayed, let alone called home. Something was very definitely wrong here. Her antenna were twitching madly.
Another announcement asked that all passengers debark the train, taking their baggage with them, until a replacement train could be manoeuvred into the siding.
As they had no luggage, the three of them were able to step off without any fuss, looking around warily as they did.
There was something about this situation that Cate felt was deeply wrong. She began to sense a contrivance here; something done to cover a different action entirely.
"Cate."
Looking up the platform towards the sound of her name, she saw the Inspector. What on earth was Greg Lestrade doing here … had he changed his mind about allowing Medina to leave the country? How did he even know to be here?
The silver-haired policeman walked over to her, a smile on his face as he looked down into her worried eyes.
"Relax," he said. "The problem's over and you can all go home."
"What are you talking about?" Cate was confused. She shook her head trying to make sense of what she was hearing.
"I had a call from Mycroft," Lestrade said. "Apparently some deal has been done with the powers-that-be, and we've all been called off. The police, MI5, everyone. The girl can stay here if she wants to stay."
Her legs suddenly felt very heavy, Cate needed to sit down. Watching her face pale, Lestrade swiftly assisted her to a nearby bench seat where she rested, breathing deeply. Erik ran to a drinks dispenser for a bottle of cold water.
"Just like that?" she asked, incredulously, shaking her head. "After everything we've been through, he thinks he can snap his fingers and make it all better?"
"You can go home, Cate," the Inspector said. "It's all over."
"No, it's not over," Cate shook her head. "This is not finished yet."
###
Looking down at the concourse from his elevated location, Mycroft watched the entire play. He saw the three of them emerge from the train, saw Cate turn at what was obviously the sound of her name; saw her uncertain smile as Inspector Lestrade greeted her with the news that the problem was no more.
When he saw Cate stagger slightly, he all but rushed down to the platform, but forced himself to remain watching as Lestrade helped her to a seat, where she held her head in her hand. The news had been something of a shock, no doubt.
Mycroft hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath until it came out in a rush when he saw his wife shake her head. She did it twice. A chill tightness grew in his chest.
Cate didn't want to come home.
###
Looking down at the brightly-lit walkway above the platform, Sherlock watched the entire play from the windows of the main building. He saw Cate and the others greeted by Lestrade; he saw them talking and observed as she sank onto a nearby seat. Clearly, she was upset at Lestrade's news, whatever it was. He watched her shaking her head, and also watched as his brother's shoulders dropped. Mycroft had been behind the recall of the train; he hadn't wanted Cate to ever leave the country. But now it seemed his brother's actions might have come too late to resolve the problem between them.
Making a face, Sherlock decided this would not do. Mycroft needed help, and for once, he would not have to ask for it.