No triggers.
Chapter Thirty
Just after Moran left the Groom Hole, Sherlock heard the side door open and the sound of Arthur and Josie being manhandled out of the horsebox. He got up from his chair to walk over to the side window, putting his hands in his trouser pockets and moving with something of a swagger.
The moment he stood up, his guard growled, 'Sit down!' and shouldered his weapon, pointing it at the detective's chest.
Strolling, defiantly, across the room, he addressed the glowering foot soldier, in a disparaging tone.
'Oh, for God's sake, Hawkins,' Sherlock drawled. 'Didn't you just hear me make a deal with your boss? Do really think he would want you to shoot me before I can fulfil my side of the bargain? If, by any chance, you should have more than one brain cell inside that head of yours, perhaps you try rubbing them together, to see if you can make a spark.'
Hawkins gritted his teeth but continued to point the gun at the hostage, despite the fact that the man was clearly unimpressed by the gesture.
Sherlock stood by the window, observing the scene taking place on the side of the road, and switched on the phone in his trouser pocket. He had assumed, quite correctly, that the terror cell had a scanner so he knew he had only one opportunity to use his mobile before it was discovered, so he thumbed in a brief but carefully worded text and sent it to his brother's phone.
Deal done. A & J freed. Come get. SH
Even as he pressed 'SEND', the 'shotgun' emerged from the driver's cab, through the adjoining door, and said to Hawkins,
'He has a cell phone.'
The guard took a step towards Sherlock and snarled,
'Hands in the air!'
The detective took his hands out of his pockets and raised them to head height, his mobile clearly visible in his right hand. The driver's mate held out his hand and snapped his fingers.
'Give!' he snapped.
Sherlock looked at Hawkins and quirked an eyebrow.
'Give him the phone,' Hawkins grunted.
The hostage extended his arm and dropped the mobile into the waiting palm, then returned his hand to the side of his head, just as the Groom's Door opened and Moran came back in.
'What's going on?' he asked.
Shotgun showed him the mobile.
'Mr Holmes, you haven't been entirely honest with me, have you?' he chided.
'Not at all, Colonel. You never asked me if I had a phone and no one thought to search me, so I saw no reason to disclose that information. I assumed you didn't care.'
'But you've used your phone to communicate with someone,' Moran went on.
'Quite correct. I've texted my brother. You can read it, if you like.'
As Moran opened the Message app and read the last item, he called to the driver,
'Let's go,' and the horsebox began to move again.
'You should thank me, actually,' Sherlock huffed. 'I mean to say, you've just abandoned those two people in the middle of nowhere. It may well be July but this is the UK, not the Cote d'Azure, and neither of them is exactly equipped for a night on Bald Mountain. Arthur is in scrubs and bare feet and Josie is dressed for the office. Remember, I did say 'returned, safe and sound, to their family'. Dying of exposure is not my idea of 'returned safe and sound.''
He stared, insolently, at the colonel, who stared back then nodded and handed the phone back to the shotgun rider.
'Deal with that, will you?'
The man took the phone back into the cab with him and closed the adjoining door, leaving Sherlock wondering, idly, what 'deal with' might entail.
'Do sit down again, Mr Holmes,' Moran insisted, as he resumed his own seat. 'We have about a two hour journey so you might as well make yourself comfortable and finish your drink.'
Sherlock did as he was bid and returned to his seat.
'I would be considerably more comfortable if you could dismiss the goon. He seems to have a rather itchy trigger finger,' he grunted.
Moran laughed then gestured to Hawkins to leave them. He departed, through the Groom's Door and Moran smiled at his new partner in crime.
'I can see you are dying to know how I did it,' he smirked.
'Did what?' Sherlock enquired.
'You know 'what',' Moran sneered. 'However, if you're not interested, I won't bore you with the details.'
'Oh, go on, then,' Sherlock condescended, 'if you insist.'
Moran settled into his seat and began to explain how he survived the explosion in the restaurant in Pecs.
ooOoo
As the red tail lights of the horsebox faded from view, Arthur sank down to sit in the road.
'No, no, Arthur, luv, y' can't just sit there,' Josie insisted, pulling at her brother's arm. 'It's too cold, y'll catch y' death.'
'No, Josie, leave me alone,' he groaned, I can't... Just leave me.'
'I can't leave y', y' daft pillock,' she retorted but she let go of his arm and stood up straight, to look around.
By the light of the almost full moon she could see that they were at a high point on the moor, with the land dropping away in all directions but one. The road snaked away to the east and west, undulating with the contours of the land. There were no trees or large bushes, just scrub land and a network of dry stone walls. She could not see a single light, in the whole panorama, to indicate a farm house or a cottage.
The wind was sharp from the north-west and Josie shivered in her light suit jacket. She looked down at her brother once again and saw that he was shaking violently, in his thin hospital scrubs and lack of foot wear. She had to weigh their options. If they stayed on the road, they might be lucky and catch a passing stray car but they would be exposed to the wind. If they sheltered behind one of the dry stone walls, they could huddle together for warmth but they would be hidden from the road.
She took hold of Arthur's arm again.
'Come on, luvie, we have to get behind that wall,' she urged her brother, taking the second option.
ooOoo
In the airborne helicopter, wearing a headset for communication and noise defence, Mycroft looked out of the side window at the ribbons of street lighting and clusters of habitation, as the chopper skimmed over the landscape.
Anthea touched his arm to get his attention and handed him her phone, to read the text from Delaney, which included the message received from Sherlock's phone.
Deal done. A & J freed. Come get. SH
Have identified location from which text sent. Police and paramedics dispatched. Will advise.
Mycroft stared at the message from his brother and felt his stomach lurch as rival emotions competed for dominance. How very typical of Sherlock, to sacrifice his own safety for that of others. How noble and how infuriating! The Iceman's relief and gratitude at Arthur's release was almost cancelled out by his concern for his siblings own well-being. But he reminded himself that Sherlock was a resourceful field operative who had survived three years' Deep Cover. If only one person were to come out of this alive, the likelihood was that it would be him.
He passed the phone back to his PA and asked the pilot, via the microphone attached to his headset, what their ETA might be.
'Approximately 55 minutes,' came the reply.
They had been flying for thirty minutes already. Mycroft looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. This had been a very long day and it was nowhere near being over.
ooOoo
Sitting on the damp grass, Josie hunkered down behind the old stone wall, with Arthur's head and shoulders in her lap. She pressed her body against his back and wrapped her arms around him, to try and cover as much of him as possible and transfer her body heat to him. He had stopped shivering but, somehow, she knew that was not a good thing. His hands and feet felt very cold to the touch.
She rubbed his extremities vigorously, to keep the circulation going, and talked to him, continuously, about every subject under the sun, to try and hold his attention, as she felt him slipping into unconsciousness.
Then, she heard the impossible, a car engine approaching.
'Arthur! Arthur! Wake up!' she urged, pushing at his shoulders, in an effort to rouse him. She was pinned down by his weight and unless she could get him to sit up, she would not be able to wriggle out from underneath him to run to the road, to flag down the vehicle that was getting closer by the second.
'Arthur, you have to MOVE!' she screeched, as the headlights of their best chance of rescue lit up the surrounding area but did not shine on her or her brother, blocked from view by the foot-thick wall.
She was frantic, now, almost in tears, as she struggled in vain to push her brother off her legs but then she heard the sound of the vehicle's engine change and she realised it was slowing down. The car stopped, up on the road, just a few metres away and she heard a door open and a voice – loud in the cold night air – saying,
'I can't see anyone. Are you sure we've got the right location?'
'Here! Here!' Josie shouted. 'We're over here! Help us, please!'
With a superhuman effort, she managed to push Arthur to one side and scrambled to her feet, to look over the wall at a police car, painted in luminescent paint that glowed in the moonlight, and a police constable staring straight at her, looking extremely surprised. Then, Josie heard the sound of another vehicle approaching and, as she looked back along the road towards home, she saw an ambulance with blue lights flashing, racing towards them.
ooOoo
John Watson stood outside the cottage that had been used as a base by Moran's men and watched the helicopter bearing Mycroft Holmes turn into the wind and come in to land on the road, fifty yards away. The rotors slowed and the engine whined down in pitch as the side door opened and the man himself stepped down onto the tarmac and turned to offer a hand to his PA, Anthea Smith.
The ex-Army doctor strode purposefully towards his friend's brother, anticipating a scathing verbal dressing down for allowing Sherlock to attempt the botched rescue that had resulted in both him and Josie being taken hostage, as well as Arthur. He was prepared to take it on the chin. He knew he deserved it.
'John, is there any news?' Mycroft asked, flummoxing the doctor, completely.
'Not that I know of, Mycroft,' John replied, 'but I'm not really in the intel loop. The local agents are in the main building, over-seeing the crime scene investigation, and the police won't tell me anything. The Special Ops guys have gone, taking the suspects with them. I've just been twiddling my thumbs for God knows how long.'
He suddenly realised that he sounded like a fractious, complaining child, so he shut up. Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile.
'Anthea will bring you up to speed, so far as she can,' he assured the other man then strode off, down the path, toward the front entrance to the main hospital building.
John looked at Anthea then gestured toward the cottage.
'Cup of tea?' he asked to which she nodded, smiled and walked inside. She sat at the table and John shrugged out of his jacket and lit the camping stove then filled the kettle. She had just begun to explain about the text from Sherlock, when her mobile message alert pinged. Taking out her phone, she read the text and exclaimed,
'Hold the tea, we're leaving. Arthur and his sister have been found and are being taken to Tameside Hospital. We need to go there.'
As she was speaking, she dialled Mycroft's number and passed on the same message to him, as John switched off the camping stove and pulled his jacket back on.
ooOoo