Where Angels Tread

by stellamira1936

An erotic thriller that explores, from an original point of view, how incredibly complicated it is to be Mycroft Holmes, and how he could go from "Caring is not an advantage," to "Your loss would break my heart." Sexual situations (although that's not the main point), prostitution, light bondage. The timeline tucks into the six-month lacuna of "His Last Vow." Canon? What canon? ;)

29. Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Twenty-nine: "We are not deceived; we deceive ourselves." ~ Goethe

I look from the phone in McCutcheon's hand to the hard, cold eyes in his pallid face. He's finally dropped all pretence of trying to win me over; what's left is brute force, and the hatred that drives it. Well, if we're going to be dropping pretences, then let's do it!

"Fuck you!" I snarl, and I spit it out a few times more, because if I'm going to lose my cool, I'm going to let it go all the way. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! Why should I believe that you can frame me if I don't cooperate? How the hell are you going to convince Mycroft that I helped you? That's bollocks!"

McCutcheon shakes his head with smirk, infuriatingly amused by my outburst. "I'm not bluffing. I have a full set of your fingerprints mocked up, and a body-double with a fake ID card ready to use them, wearing clothes that you were too stupid to notice missing from your closet, and real strands of your hair to leave around for Mycroft to find. The face isn't an exact match, but we know where the security cameras are, and it's not too difficult to avoid a full face-shot. And, the double will be carrying your phone, so the tracker will record that you were there." McCutcheon smiles smugly. "It's airtight. You saw the video; no matter what, the blame for you will fall squarely on Mycroft's shoulders. The fact that terrorists are going to have control of the Torch materials will be one-hundred percent his fault, and everyone is going to know it."

"Then why not just dispose of me and use your double?"

"It's getting more and more tempting, believe me." McCutcheon's lip curls minutely. "But. The whole thing will be more foolproof if it actually IS you, right? No way he can weasel out of it then. So make no mistake, here. If you won't cooperate, I will just hold you here until the job is done, and then let you go for Mycroft to dispose of."

"I'll tell him the truth! He'll listen to me!" Even as I'm saying it, I'm feeling ridiculous.

McCutcheon laughs so hard his belly shakes. "Oh, bullshit. You know that's bullshit. You saw the recording, he's looking for an excuse to end you. You're too close, you know too much. You'll be just another tragic prostitute who got what she had coming to her. Happens all the time."

Screwing my eyes shut, I throw my head back against the soft leather sofa behind me. Son of a bitch. I don't know what to do. My brain is stuffed with cotton-wool, I can't think clearly at all, and I don't know what to do. I could refuse to cooperate, then afterward go to the police, to Lestrade...but he would probably turn me over to Mycroft, just like before...

McCutcheon shifts his bulk around on the sofa beside me, saying softly, "It's getting late. You need to decide, and right now. You can either cooperate or die, there's no other way."

There's always a way out. You just have to be smart enough to see it, and have the guts to try. I give McCutcheon a calculating look, but he seems to read my mind. "Think again, Angel. I may look like a complete wreck, but I have training you can't even begin to imagine. Do you think I'd have sent my bodyguard away if I were the least bit worried?"

I think about the open door, hardly two meters away. I could make a run for it, and he wouldn't be able to stop me, but this club is crawling with McCutcheon's security. I remember the huge security guards, faces like carved wood. I don't think I could make it past them.

The best thing I can do at the moment is maximise my options. I let my shoulders slump just a little, letting out a pitiful sigh. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" I turn toward him with what I hope is a resigned look. "I'm in. Please promise that you won't let him get me?"

"Don't worry, Angel, I'll take care of you." The sticky smile he gives me makes my skin crawl.

McCutcheon's staff must have been ready and waiting for his text, because things happen very, very fast after that. His driver arrives just minutes after he sends for her, entering the room with a sharp rap in the open door. She is a middle-aged, no-nonsense, compact Asian woman in a dark, fitted menswear suit, and from the way she looks me over, I can tell that she already knows who I am; it's that look that you have when finally putting a face to a name.

McCutcheon introduces us, then tells me, "Lena is going to take you to meet with Leo at one of Sacha's safe-houses. You will do what she tells you, understand? She's in charge of you. At the safe-house, Leo will give you your instructions, and you will follow them to the letter. What we need you to do is very simple, very easy, you'll be in and out of there in less than five minutes, and then Lena will take you back to the safe-house. Right?" I nod at him, not trusting my voice. "And you understand that if you try to double-cross me, I won't wait for Mycroft to get you, I will kill you myself in the slowest, most painful ways possible, right? I mean, you'll be begging to die by the time I'm through with you. Do you understand me, Angel?" He says all this in the calmest, most reasonable voice, which makes it all the more horrible. He seems to be waiting for a response, so I just look frightened and nod again. There's always a way out.

"Now, Angel, give me your phone." McCutcheon holds out his hand to me with an expectant look, and I stare at him in total shock. My phone? No bloody way! "Now, now," he says soothingly, patronisingly, like he's talking to a small child. "Now, now, you'll get it back soon, I promise. It just needs to be in a signal-damper case for a while, okay?" he coaxes.

Treacherous little turd. I sigh again, and reach down. Fishing my mobile out of the top of my low boot, I hand it to McCutcheon, who hands it to Lena, who wordlessly slips it into a thickly-padded black case and stows it away in her coat pocket.

"Good girl!" McCutcheon beams at me. "Now, go have a ride with Lena, and do what she and Leo tell you to, okay? I'll see you tomorrow morning, we'll go someplace really nice for a champagne breakfast with Sacha."

Like hell we will. I stand up, awkwardly tugging down my skirt, and not knowing what to say. See you later? It's been lovely being manipulated and coerced by you? I hope you die really, really soon, you ugly bastard? I don't trust myself to say anything without screaming obscenities, so I just wave vaguely at him, and he twiddles his fingers at me in a small child's bye-bye.

At McCutcheon's gesture, Lena turns on her heel and strides off. She still hasn't said a single word, and doesn't even bother to see if I am following her. I'm tagging along behind regardless, watching her grey-streaked jet ponytail swing hypnotically back-and-forth above her collar as we pass through the narrow halls of the old building, deeper and down, until we reach a back door that opens out into a tiny, private carpark.

Lena opens the rear door of a nondescript silver saloon for me, and as I climb in, I reflexively check in my boot for my phone; of course it's not there, and the pang of anxiety that shoots through me brings my stomach up to my throat. I swallow it down, and concentrate on my breathing. Goddamn it, Angelica, it's just a phone. I resist the urge to keep checking in my boot; the sober part of my brain identifies that as an anxiety displacement activity, and notes that repetition will just make it worse. I allow myself to check the other boot to make sure that my money clip with my ID and flat key is still there. It is, but no phone. Of course. Breathe.

Settling in and putting on her seat-belt, the older woman looks at me in the rearview mirror. "Strap in. We will have to start out fast," she tells me in English heavily seasoned with something like a Russian accent. She's probably Mongolian. "Your job is to hang on and keep quiet. No noise, or I'll pull over and beat the shit out of you. Got that?"

I nod, biting my lip. I guess she really doesn't like noise. I fasten myself in and settle back.

I'm braced and ready, but I still almost let out a shriek of surprise when we peel out with a squeal of tyres, the acceleration flattening me against the back of my seat. I've never gone that fast in the city, not ever, not even with my mad Canadian. There's no way to catch a glimpse of any cars following us, black or otherwise; all I can see is buildings and lights and streets flashing by in the dark as we weave through traffic.

Abruptly, Lena expertly skids the car into a dimly-lit side street, and I am hanging from my shoulder harness like a puppet from its strings. She brings it to a halt right at the kerb, kills the headlights, and waits. I groan out "Bloody hell!" shifting around to rub my bruised shoulder, and she whips around to face me, hand raised in warning. Her broad, angular face is expressionless, but the gesture is unmistakable as her hand clenches into a fist. I bite my lip, looking down meekly, and she returns to watching the traffic go by.

After a few minutes, she flicks the headlights back on, and we slowly roll back out onto the main thoroughfare, merging and blending in with the steady flow of nighttime traffic.

My wretched sense of direction had me lost within a few minutes of leaving Verge, so when we pull up at a dilapidated door in a run-down row, I honestly can't say for sure where we are. I unbuckle and try to open my door, but the masterlock has been engaged, and I have to sit and wait for Lena. She gives a stiff little side-to-side stretch as she emerges, then lets me out as well, gesturing at me to follow.

The dilapidated door opens into an equally dilapidated flat. Although the place isn't completely nasty, the wallpaper is peeling down in sorry strips, and the air smells musty and damp. A tall, thin man is sitting hunched over a laptop computer at the kitchen table when Lena brings me in, and he looks up as we enter, sharp brown eyes below bristling grey eyebrows, a scant grey goatee sketched across his pale cheeks and chin. The light from a bare light-bulb dangling overhead shines on his bald scalp as he looks me over carefully, then glances meaningfully at Lena.

"She's stoned. Make coffee," he tells her in Russian, then his deep voice shifts to cultured, posh English. "Won't you please sit down, Miss Talbot?"

By the time Lena has set a chipped mug of strong coffee at my elbow, Leo and I are on a first-name basis and we are sitting cozily in front of the laptop together, zooming around the floor-plans of the building they want me to enter.

The coffee helps to clear my head a little, and as I listen to Leo carefully explain step-by-step what they want me to do, I am feverishly trying to figure out how to get out of it. I don't want to do this! There's got to be a way out of this mess, I just have to find it.

Leo pauses to take a gulp of his coffee, and I realise that I've missed the past few moments of his lecture. "I'm sorry, Leo, I got distracted. Could you just repeat that, please?" I ask with a sweet but vacant smile. Best that he thinks I'm a complete airhead, it could be useful.

He sighs patiently, and takes up the mouse again to use its cursor as a pointer. "Right. When you reach the first sub-floor, designated LL1, you will exit the lift here..."

My stomach implodes around the hot coffee. "Lift? No. No lifts."

Leo raises his bushy eyebrows in surprise. "Why not? Just a short ride, in and out..."

I shake my head vigorously. "I'm sorry, I have...issues with lifts. No lifts. It's hard for me to even go near them, but I think I can manage that if I have to..." I think. Probably. "But riding in one? No way, absolutely not. I'll take the stairs, thank you."

Leo looks at Lena, who shrugs. He looks back at me, peering closely. "Is it really a problem? Like a phobia?" I nod my head emphatically. "Okay," Leo says, looking at the floor-plan again, "Okay, no lifts. You'll take this route here, instead, right? You'll have to go near the lifts here––" he circles the pointer, "––and here, but that's it. Can you do that?"

I look at the floor-plan again. "I think so. Yeah, I can manage that." I give him a tremulous I'm-trying-so-hard-to-be-brave smile.

"Good girl. Right, so the actual access panel that you need to get into is in this supply cupboard here..." the pointer circles again.

"Why is there a vulnerable access panel in a supply cupboard?" I wonder aloud, then realize that that doesn't sound very air-headed. "But, wow, good thing it's there, huh? Really handy," I add hastily, burying my face in my coffee mug.

Leo actually smiles indulgently; I think he's beginning to like me. "Extremely handy. This building is a retro-fit, Angelica; it's electrical system is far from state-of-the-art, and there have been many compromises made over the years. We are going to exploit one such compromise. That's all you need to know."

I give him my best wide-eyed innocent look, and deliberately engage all the subconscious flirtation signals I can muster without being too obvious. "Okay, Leo. So, what do I do after I exit the stairs there? I want to get this right!"

He painstakingly goes over the simple drill with me, showing me the floor plans on the computer screen, with the route he wants me to take thoughtfully marked in red; I'm to go past the security checkpoint into the building, down the stairs, go left, go right twice, then left again, enter unlocked cupboard, shift things out of the way if necessary to reach access panel, use nail-clippers to snip two smallish wires: red first, then red-and-white. If I do it right, nothing at all will happen, which is the entire point. Then back up, returning the way I came, out to the car where Lena will be waiting. She will give Leo the all-clear to move ahead, and she and I will return here to the safe-house.

I ask him to go over the plan a few extra times, so that I have a chance to covertly study his computer screen some more. There are other schematics on the screen that he hasn't shown me, ones that seem to have a route marked in blue. That route doesn't just go through corridors; although it enters the building from a rooftop escape, some of it looks like it goes through ventilation ducts and mechanical access pathways, and it ends in a pulsing dot in a smallish room on LL2. I make a point of memorising the blue route, just in case.

I'm yawning despite another two cups of strong coffee by the time Lena texts McCutcheon that we're ready; then there's nothing to do but wait for further instructions. Leo takes out a packet of cigarettes and offers one to Lena, and then to me as well. I let my fingertips gently graze his hand as I take it, and the corners of his mouth twitch up just a little.

I stand up to artfully stretch my back and shoulders, puffing on the cig and pacing around the tiny kitchen, stifling another yawn. "Aren't they going to wonder why I'm going in to work so damn late at night?"

Leo shakes his head and flicks his ash onto the floor. "No. That facility operates 24/7, and even though your clearance is the lowest level, it was issued by the highest; if anyone questions your activities, you may safely ignore them. So long as you remain only in Level One clearance areas, they have no authority over you."

Wow, I wish I'd known this weeks ago! I could have had just a little fun with it...but I guess that's why Mycroft didn't tell me to begin with. He probably thought I wouldn't be able to resist. He probably would have been right.

"How do I know where Level One areas are?"

"Clearances are marked by signs when you enter an area, and a narrow strip of colour along the walls. Red is Level One, and it follows rainbow order all the way up to Ultra-Violet, the highest. Just stay in areas where the colour stripe is red, and you'll be fine."

"How about you, Leo? Are you going to be okay?" I have a hunch that he will be the one going in to get the code book after I cut the alarms.

From his look, and the way he shifts his body toward me, I can tell that he's flattered by my concern. "I'm not likely to get hurt, if that's what you mean, but it would be very...inconvenient for me to be discovered inside the building. Especially as a retired employee, very inconvenient." He takes a deep drag on his cig with a solemn frown. "I'm depending on you, Angelica. We're all depending on you," he adds, remembering that Lena is in the room. She has been sitting silently, blowing smoke out through her nostrils.

"I'll do my best!" I assure him brightly. "This thing that you're supposed to get, whatever it is, you won't have trouble finding it, will you? You'll be able to get to it and get out fast?" Careful, don't lay on the concern too thick...

"The...item that I am retrieving is in a locked drawer in a locked office; but there are ways around locks." He's trying to sound cryptic, but I know exactly what he is referring to-air ducts and mechanical access walkways can go right around a locked door.

I toss my cigarette butt into the crusty sink and flop down again into one of the cheap vinyl chairs around the table, feeling it protest under my impact. I'm suddenly starving, painfully hungry. "Please, is there anything to eat around here? Anything at all?"

Smiling, Leo opens the valise at his feet and hands me a small, squashed packet of crisps. "Sorry, but this is the only food I have right now. Perhaps Lena will stop for you to get some takeaway after you've finished your mission."

Lena quirks her mouth a little, commenting quietly in Russian, "Sure, I've got nothing better to do than get takeaway for a stoner with the munchies." They murmur a little more back and forth in Russian about kids-these-days; I understand most of it, but I totally ignore them both and concentrate on ferreting out the last stale, greasy crumbles of salty crisps.

A teensy plan has emerged in my brain, and I decide to give it a try. I casually announce that I need to use the toilet and start to leave the kitchen, but Lena jumps up and insists on escorting me to the tiny, windowless loo just off the entry. She makes a show of opening the door for me and saying, with emphasis, "I'll be right out here if you should need anything."

Damn, there went that idea! I guess sneaking out the front door was a lame idea anyway. I'm sobering up, but not fast enough, and it's taking considerable effort just to keep from sinking down into comforting numbness. Standing in front of the splotched and chipped mirror, washing my hands in the dubious sink, I vow to never, ever again take anything that Evan McCutcheon offers me.

I take my time at the sink, tidying my hair a little and contemplating my reflection. Very little about the pretty blonde looking back at me seems familiar, and it's not just the opium haze; I hardly know myself these days, not really. It's not just suddenly having memories that I didn't have before, it's as if who and what I thought I was has been cracked wide open.

The only thing I've ever thought was special about me was how I looked; when you grow up hearing, "Aren't you the pretty one!" all the time, that's what you hang onto. Being "the pretty one" is such a huge asset...it seems unfair to think I might have other assets, too. I have this weird feeling that I'm not allowed. Sarah was "the smart one," I was "the pretty one," and that was that. But...that was a long time ago. And maybe it wasn't ever true to begin with. Maybe...

"Hurry up!" Lena hammers her fist against the door. "Mr. McCutcheon has texted me, it's time!"

Showtime, Angelica! I take one last look at the stranger in the mirror, straighten my skirt, and open the door to find Lena standing in the door-frame with her arms crossed. "Let's go," she says, and turns on her heel, walking off without looking back. I follow her outside into the warm summer night.

Leo is waiting for us by the car, looking both nervous and serious. "Here, put these in your pocket." He hands me the nail clippers that I'm to use to cut the wires, and I bend down and tuck them into my boot. "What?" His thin face is creased with puzzlement. "Why did you put it in your bloody boot?"

"No pockets," I shrug.

He shakes his head, looking grimly amused. "You are a piece of work, aren't you? Okay, run through your assignment one more time, please. Tell me step by step what you are going to do."

I recite the drill once more, and he all but pats me on the head after I'm done. "Yes, yes. Good. Now, stay calm, and do exactly that, and you will be in and out in no time. In no time at all we'll be done with this, it will be all over." I get the feeling that he's trying to reassure Lena and himself as much as me.

"Thanks. Good luck, Leo!" I flash him my best friendly smile. You never know when you might need an ally.

Maybe I laid it on too thick after all, because he just nods, a little embarrassed, and says, "Yes."

Lena opens the rear door for me and jerks her head to indicate I should get in; I meekly slide in and buckle up. She pulls open the driver's side door, but Leo stops her before she sits down, placing a hand on her shoulder and softly saying her name––then he quickly, urgently leans down to kiss her. It's unexpectedly sweet, and I find myself blushing as I turn my eyes away.

I hear her murmur something to him about safety, and Leo's deep voice answers quietly, also in Russian, "You be careful, too. And don't try to dispose of the body on your own, wait for Andres. Your back is still not so good, and she's not a small one."

Dispose of the body...she's not small. It's stupid, but I feel hurt. Not angry, not frightened, hurt. I feel like crying. Why is everyone so awful? And why am I so surprised by that? Do I somewhere deep down still believe that just because I try to be a nice person, everyone else will, too? That just because it wouldn't occur to me to murder someone in cold blood...

Fuck it. I feel a surge of cold, clean anger blow through me, and my brain-fog tears away a little more as Lena gets into the car and starts it up. Our departure and progress is much more sedate this time; she is obviously focused more now on avoiding attention than escaping any followers. I lean back and close my eyes, seeing my situation spread out in front of me like a big game of chess. That pawn there, that's me, being moved back and forth by anyone and everyone.

McCutcheon is not just after the money from the Torch; this is a payback for something. He seems determined to inflict as much damage as possible on Mycroft, and I'm certain that it's going to include framing him for my murder.

Mycroft, who obviously has been manipulating and using me ruthlessly... Mycroft, who let Steen die, and had the temerity to send his body off like he regretted it... Just a show, and for what? Does he just get off on messing around with people's minds? Is all of this just part of his control kink, or is he caught up in webs I don't even know about?

I rein my speculation in and focus on the problem at hand. I'm certain that Lena has been given orders to kill me as soon as I'm no longer useful. And I don't want to, I won't, go in there and cut those wires. I can't have it on my conscience what could happen if McCutcheon gets his hands on that code book and sells the information. I need to prevent this from happening tonight, and let someone who will take me seriously know what is going on.

And then I need to get the hell away from everybody, from McCutcheon, from his goons––and from Mycroft. Especially from Mycroft. I think I need to find a way to leave the country, honestly, but I have no clue where to go or how I would get there.

One thing at a time.

The car slows down, and with a sinking feeling I realise that we have arrived, and I still have no plan, no plan at all. Lena pulls into a carpark and glides the saloon into an occupied row, disappearing amongst the other nondescript cars. She opens the door for me again, and, as I get out, she pulls my mobile out of her pocket, slips it out of the black case, and pops the back open to remove the battery. She holds it out to me, although I take it reluctantly.

"They can track it without the power being on, and you won't be needing to make any calls in there," she states flatly. "You are clear about what you are to do?" I nod at her. "And you are clear about the consequences if you do not?" Again, I nod. "Good. Believe me, you do not want to get on Mr. McCutcheon's bad side. Or mine. So, be a good girl, yes?"

NO but I don't say it out loud. Lena points in the direction of the target building and crosses her arms with an expectant look. I gaze down at her for a moment in the harsh light of the carpark, wondering exactly how she is supposed to kill me when I come back. She could be wearing a handgun in a holster under that suit coat, or possibly a knife. Our eyes lock, and Lena answers my thought by pulling back the front flap of her coat, just enough so I can see a lightweight holster, and the outline of some kind of firearm in it.

She shrugs her suit back into place, carefully smoothing the fine fabric so nothing will show. Her face remains completely expressionless, but I get the feeling that she has zero qualms about shooting me. She nods slowly, deliberately in the direction I'm to go - and I can't think of anything better to do, so I turn and start walking. My legs mechanically carry me along the pavement, my shadow angling as it lengthens and shrinks under the bright street lights, until I am standing in front of the squat little edifice, looking at the door and wondering what on earth I am going to do.

It looks even more anonymous than the photo Leo showed me. Everything about the grey, faceless entry from the street says, This is not the building you are looking for. No ornament, no windows, no marquee. Not even a visible street number; I didn't know that was legal, to not have a number. For a place like this, though, maybe legal is beside the point. It's a blank wall, punctuated only by a single darkened glass door- oh, and festooned up at the top corners with clusters of CCTV cameras.

The door opens, and two men walk out, both in dark suits. They look me over curiously as they exit, continue to evaluate me as they pass by. I smile at them confidently, and step onward toward the door. If I break and run now, I don't reckon I'll get very far. Lena is watching me from the carpark, and the building is situated so that there is no cover at all around the front, no convenient alleys to dodge down.

Who knows, there might even be snipers on the rooftops or something-although this operation of McCutcheon's seems a little too minimalist for that. He's probably relying mostly on my fear of what he'll do if he catches up with me. Honestly, though, I'm past being afraid right now, although I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Things have just happened so fast... I pause with my fingers on the pull-handle of the dark glass door.

Happened so fast... McCutcheon hasn't given me time to think about anything; he's been trying very hard to keep me off-centre, every step of the way. Damn. Right from the start tonight, when he came right out and admitted that he was the one who had the flat under surveillance, he has been keeping me off-balance, pushing one way and then another. He doesn't want me to have time to think, only to react, and he's been calling the shots to get the reactions he wants. Well, this pawn is about to get very unpredictable herself.

Clearing security is a little hairy, but not for the reason I'd expect. The bored young soldier on the other side of the perspex cube glances at my ID and has me lay my hand flat on a small glass plate for a moment, practically yawning-then he stares at his computer screen in consternation.

"Um, you are on staff for a...Mr. Holmes?" he asks, and I nod brusquely. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

The bloke scratches his head, and says, "Well, no, not really. His clearance is Ultra! But I've never...I don't know who he is, and I thought I knew all of them, there's not many Ultras...it's just a bit odd, you know?" He shrugs, and gives me a red plastic tag to clip on the neckline of my dress. "Have a nice evening, Miss Talbot."

Before I'm allowed to leave the plastic box, a second bored bloke in uniform runs a metal-detector wand over me. He pauses briefly at my boot, but the clippers apparently aren't enough metal to even bother asking about, so he just carefully checks that area out, and moves on. Once he's done, off I go.

Or not. A few dozen steps out of the security cube, and I am frozen in place. This is where I have to get past the lifts to get to the stairs, and I can't do it. I simply can't. My feet won't move, I'm stuck to the floor as if glued, overcome with terror that one of the doors will go Ding! and open as I go past. I glance around, glad that at least there aren't many people around this time of night to see me acting so strange.

So, now what? Well, I didn't plan on cutting the damn wires anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter if I go down to the first sub-floor or not. But, I do need a place to stop and think for a few minutes, to make some kind of plan. I can't just stand here, I can feel the soldiers staring at me already.

A loo. I need a ladies' room. I don't know what it is with me and loos, but they're like a refuge, a sanctuary. I cast my eyes around the lobby, and spot the sign for the loos-on the other side of the lifts. Bloody hell.

I have to shut my eyes to do it, but I'm actually able to walk past the lifts without being triggered into a major panic. Breathe...relax...breathe...and then I'm past the lifts, and pushing open a solid wooden door.

It's small, as these things go, but there's the mirror, the sinks, the stalls, the tiled floor, the chemical sweetness of room freshener...safety. I have to wee again, from anxiety and all that coffee, and then I slowly wash up, still doing my breaths.

Right. Here we are. A plan. I need a plan. How am I going to stop McCutcheon from getting his paws on the code book and selling it? The more I think about it, the more terrified I am about the consequences for us all if that happens. If I duck out of here, assuming I CAN duck out of here, then there's nothing to stop him from using his double to have another go at it. I couldn't live with myself if that happened.

I could try to tell the guards out in the entry what's going to happen, but they would want to take me into custody for questioning...and Mycroft would certainly want to question me himself when he gets back...the thought makes me shudder. McCutcheon said that Mycroft would use any excuse at all to terminate me, and I can't say that I'm sure he wouldn't.

I could try to send out an anonymous warning, but would anyone take that seriously? I doubt it. Useless. What the hell am I going to do?

Sighing, I lean my forehead against the cool smoothness of the mirror, and stop trying so hard to think of what to do. Eyes closed, I lean, and breathe, and what floats into my mind's eye is Leo's computer screen. The two routes, the red and the blue. The red one, mine, going down to LL1, into that little broom cupboard... Leo's blue route going down, around...then down to LL2, and the locked office...and the locked desk drawer...

I pop my eyes open, staring at my reflection nose-to-nose. Suddenly, it's completely obvious what I have to do. I have to steal the code book before they do, and then run like hell.