Chapter Seven

When Anthea stepped back into Mycroft's office, one glance at her expression told him everything he needed to know. He was on his feet, with his umbrella clasped firmly in his hand, and out of the office door, immediately. On the way down in the antique lift, Anthea filled him in on the details. No signal from Arthur's tracker was the most damning evidence that something was amiss.

Since William and Molly's abduction, four years previously, the devices used to tag Persons of Importance had been refined and miniaturised, employing nanotechnology. They were now no bigger than the chips used on family pets – but far more sophisticated. They could be fitted into any item of clothing and would transmit the location of the garment and – by default – the wearer.

They were inertia sensitive but even micro-movements, such as a pulse or heartbeat, were sufficient to maintain transmission. They were activated when the wearer put the item of clothing on and deactivated by the absence of such movements, thirty minutes after the garment was removed. This ensured that the system was not overloaded by a wardrobe full of tagged clothing. However, the devices could be remotely reactivated, to locate them, in the absence of a pulse or heartbeat.

So, if no signal was being received, it meant that either Arthur was no longer wearing his clothing or he no longer had a pulse. Neither of these options was very attractive to Mycroft but, of the two, he would obviously prefer the former.

Arthur had agreed to have devices fitted into his jackets, jeans and shoes, more to placate Mycroft than because he had any concern for his own safety, though he had drawn the line at shirts, socks and underwear. He acknowledged that his relationship with the Government official made him a possible target for terror organisations or any other groups or individuals who wished to exploit that connection but he didn't want that to rule his life. However, he was careful and never took unnecessary risks, relying on his military training to alert him to environmental dangers.

Mycroft kept reminding himself of this fact, as he exited the lift and the building and stepped into his car, with Anthea at his side, tapping away on her Blackberry, receiving Intel and relaying details of the current operation to Mycroft and his instructions back to the team members, the first one being to reactivate the tracker devices and locate Arthur's clothes and trainers.

When the two men in black suits and dark glasses entered the Reception Area of the Regents campus of the University of Westminster, the young man behind the desk, wearing a name badge which read 'Paul', looked up with a helpful smile.

'We are looking for one of your Summer School students,' said the Lead Agent, showing his id badge, before the receptionist could utter a sound.

The young man peered at the badge then looked back up at the agent, visibly blanching.

'Who are you looking for?' he asked, in a weak voice, visions of jihadists dancing in his head.

'Mr Arthur Brocklehurst,' replied Agent Delaney.

That name rather clashed with Paul's expectations, so he did not react, immediately.

'We need to find him, rather urgently,' prompted the agent. 'Can you tell us which classroom he is in, at the moment?

'Oh, sorry!' the young man exclaimed and quickly typed Arthur's name into his desk top PC. There was a short pause, while the system did its thing, then the receptionist frowned and said,

'Oh.'

'Oh?' enquired Agent Delaney.

'Well, sir, he's not here or, at least if he is, he's not in class.'

Paul turned the monitor screen so that the agents could read it. It showed Arthur's attendance marks, for that day, on the electronic registration system. It showed green 'Present' entries for all the morning classes but, after lunch, all the entries were red 'Absent'.

'If he'ss not in class, where else might he be?' the agent asked.

'Well, he might be in the Refectory, or the Coffee Shop or the Library…' Paul counted off on his fingers all the places where the students tended to hang out.

'Do you have a public address system, here?' the Lead Agent asked.

'Not exactly,' Paul replied. 'We have IT monitors in all areas. We can post messages and announcements on those, for people to read.'

'That may be sufficient,' said Delaney, taking out a notebook and scribbling a message, which he handed to the receptionist, saying, 'Please post this on your system. Big, bold font, please.'

Paul read the note and frowned but typed it into the message board, anyway. The screen behind the desk displayed it, immediately.

'Ice pop for Albie, ready to collect.'

In the meantime, the second agent had been transmitting to Anthea the information that Paul had provided and she had passed it on to Mycroft, as his car sped towards the university campus.

'No, he would not miss classes from choice,' he declared. 'He's completely invested in this course. We need to find out where he went at lunch time. Interview all his classmates. What format is their CCTV?'

Anthea relayed the instruction and question and the second agent showed the text to Delaney

'We will need to interview all his classmates,' Delaney said, nodding at the other agent, who checked the PC monitor for the room number of the class Arthur should have been attending, and then strode away in the direction of the lifts. Two more, similarly dressed individuals, who had been loitering by the main door, joined him in the lift as the sliding doors closed.

'What format is your CCTV?' Delaney added.

'It's a digital system, sir. The images are stored on the network but only security and the senior staff can access them,' Paul explained.

'We need to speak with your Head of Security,' Agent Delaney replied.

While the receptionist was summoning that person, the main door opened and Mycroft strode in, with Anthea close behind. As he entered the Reception Area, he spotted the message board and the phrase flashing across the screen.

Mycroft had established this coded message with Arthur when they first became intimate. The seemingly innocuous phrase told Arthur that there was an imminent threat. The circumstances at the time when he received the message would predetermine how he should respond, but this must always be immediately.

Mycroft had hoped this code would never need to be used, and now that time had come, it seemed likely that the horse had already bolted. There was only a very outside chance that Arthur's disappearance off the radar had an innocent cause. Seeing those words written large on the wide screen almost made him stumble but, by the power of will alone, he kept his stride even and approached the desk.

Paul looked at the new arrival and quailed again. Whatever was going on, here – and he had no idea what that was – this scary man was clearly at the heart of it.

'Can the CCTV images be accessed from this PC?' Mycroft asked, without any preamble.

The receptionist blinked rapidly, his mind a complete blank, shocked into inertia by the utterly bizarre nature of this situation. Mycroft staring at him, his lips compressed, was not helping at all. Anthea stepped forward and gave the young man a winning smile.

'Can we view the CCTV footage from your PC, Paul?' she asked, encouragingly.

'No, you can't and why would you want to?' came an authoritative voice from the right of the reception desk. Everyone looked in that direction as a tall man with a military bearing strode up to the desk and glared at Mycroft, Anthea and Agent Delaney.

'Sir, the building is secure,' Anthea informed Mycroft, referring to a new notification on her Blackberry.

Excellent,' Mycroft replied then, turning to the Head of Security - for that was in deed the identity of the new-comer – he said,

'We require you to evacuate the building, immediately.'

'On whose authority?' snorted the Security man.

'On my authority,' Mycroft replied, as Anthea opened her shoulder bag and removed a folded sheet of paper, which she handed to the ex-Redcap, who unfolded it, looked at the crest at the head of the paper, and gasped, audibly.

'Please set off the fire alarm, Mr…'

'Cox, sir' the man barked, practically jumping to attention and then striding to the nearest fire alarm point, and whacking the glass with the side of his fist. The fire alarm rang out instantly and very loudly.

The Receptionist gaped at the four other people in turn and then asked no one in particular,

'Should we all evacuate?'

'You should leave the building, Paul,' Anthea replied, kindly, and chivvied the young man toward the nearest exit.

'Now, Mr Cox, we need access to your CCTV records,' Mycroft reminded him. The Head of Security began to tap at the keyboard on the front desk.

ooOoo

As the building slowly emptied, every person leaving from every exit was photographed, automatically, by the cap-mounted cameras carried by the SO15 personnel supervising the evacuation. Soon the building was entirely empty, except for the members of the course that Arthur was attending and the staff who had taught the classes that day. They had all been detained by the Special Forces agents and were now in the process of being interviewed, individually, about Arthur's activities that day.

Simultaneously, the Tech guys had arrived and were scanning the college CCTV footage for any sightings of Arthur since Mycroft had dropped him off, that morning, using the FaxRex software to identify him, even from a partial image. Another team were implementing the same protocol with the street CCTV.

At the same time, the tracker devices in Arthur's clothes and trainers had been reactivated and were now being sought using remote scanners, in ever widening circles out from Ground Zero, which was the university campus. Similarly, the scanner implanted in Arthur's mobile phone had also been activated and was being sought by the same means.

The Terror Alert had been raised to 'Critical' and the relevant bodies were currently trawling through recent mobile phone and Internet metadata, scanning for communication patterns, key words or phrases, any clues as to who might have perpetrated the kidnap of a Person of Importance to a high ranking official. Diplomatic and Westminster Protection had been increased for all potential targets and, most specifically, Mycroft's nearest and dearest.

Anthea had called Sherlock, herself, explained what had occurred and advised him that he, Molly and the children would be collected and taken to Colbert House, where their safety could be better assured.

'I agree. Molly and the children should go, at once, but not me. I'm staying.'

'He said you'd say that, Sherlock, but he says everything possible is being done. Every resource available to Her Majesty's Government has been mobilised. Your services really are not needed,' Anthea related, as Mycroft had instructed.

'Tell him 'good try', Anthea, but I'm not fooled for a moment. I know he just wants to keep me safe. Tell him to send another car for me. I'm coming to help.'

Mycroft and Anthea returned to the staff car rather than standing about in the college reception. The operation could be co-ordinated just as well from there, away from prying eyes. Mycroft was more grateful than ever for the heavily tinted windows of the limousine. The strain was beginning to show around the eyes of the Iceman.

No one but Anthea was allowed to see him look like this, and even she had only witnessed it on the rarest of occasions. But Arthur had not been seen, now, for more than four hours. And so far, there was not a single clue as to what had happened to him.

Another car drew up alongside 'Mission Control', having been allowed through the cordon that had been placed around this part of the University campus. Sherlock stepped out of that car and Mycroft's driver opened the rear door of Mycroft's vehicle to admit the younger Holmes, then closed it behind him.

Sherlock dropped into the jump seat, opposite his brother and fixed him with a critical eye. What he saw prompted him to lean across the intervening gap and gather up the other man in a wordless embrace. Mycroft pressed his brow into Sherlock's collar and held his breath, fearful that any exhalation would become a sob. Anthea stared intently at her Blackberry, scrolling through the steady stream of feedback pouring in from all the groups and individuals involved in the operation.

As Sherlock sat back in his seat, a new message came in.

'Sir, his clothes have been located,' Anthea stated.

'Just the clothes?' Mycroft asked, closing his eyes and leaning back against the head rest.

'Yes, sir.'

'Where are they?' Sherlock enquired.

'A clothing bank, in a car park, just off the North Circular at Brent Cross. The local police are collecting them.'

'Tell them not to contaminate them. We need trace!' Sherlock snapped. 'And to send them straight to Bart's…'

'No, Sherlock!' Mycroft cut in, back in the zone. 'Send them to Westminster. They are the centre of excellence for this sort of thing. Leave it to them. I need you for the work others can't do.'

Sherlock was about to protest but shut his mouth, abruptly. His need to be active, to be involved, was clouding his judgement. Mycroft was right. He had skills that others did not.

Sir, Arthur's phone had been located, too. It's at Waterloo Station.'

'In a bin?'

'No, sir, in a pocket – of a homeless person.'

Sherlock's ears pricked and he looked at his brother, eagerly.

'Yes, you deal with that,' Mycroft agreed. 'But take Protection!' he called after the consulting detective, as he jumped from the one car and leaped into the other.

'No, I'll call John Watson. He's all the protection I need,' Sherlock yelled back, then slammed the car door, as the vehicle pulled away.

ooOoo