CHAPTER 58: HIGH TREASON
Flashback to the night Moriarty met Thomas Wellington
As soon as agent Wellington walked out of the glass doors of a modern building in Central London, Moriarty started tailing him. He took all the usual precautions and disguised himself so that not even the most trained eye could recognise the notorious criminal mastermind beneath all the professional makeup. However, Thomas Wellington wasn't paying the slightest attention to him. He was too distressed, utterly oblivious to the world around him.
It didn't take Jim long to notice that something was off with his target that night; he wasn't headed to his hotel. To be exact, he wasn't going anywhere. He was aimlessly wandering around, stumbling on his feet.
He wasn't drunk, though, Moriarty deduced. He was just in deep emotional peril.
Jim smirked in the shadows of an alley, keeping a safe distance from his prey as his mind methodically analysed the situation.
Observation n. 1: Agent Wellington didn't have any clear destination.
Inference n. 1: Nobody was waiting for him anywhere. He wasn't supposed to meet with any colleagues to exchange information.
Conclusion n. 1: That was Jim's best chance to approach him.
Observation n. 2: That poor devil looked very upset.
Inference n. 2: He was extremely vulnerable.
Conclusion n. 2: That was Jim's best chance to lure him in.
As straightforward and consequential as this reasoning process might look, it would take between 20 and 30 seconds for an average brain to go through all the logical steps until reaching those two conclusions. And yet, it barely took Jim Moriarty four seconds to decide to step out of the alley and join the solitary man on the riverbank. After all, he had no average brain.
Moriarty walked up to the railing where Thomas Wellington was leaning while gazing along the Thames. Jim stopped a few feet away from him and remained silent, listening to the other man's laboured breathing. Thomas didn't even acknowledge the presence of another soul; his hands spasmodically clutched the railings, and he screwed his eyes shut. Suddenly, his anguished howl filled the air, piercing the immobility of the night.
Jim arched a brow at that unexpected display of distress and cleared his throat, making him jump; Thomas hadn't realised that someone else was standing next to him.
Moriarty showed him a sympathetic smile. "It doesn't seem like you're in the best of moods."
Thomas stole a glance at that stranger and scoffed, "That's one hell of an understatement."
"Rough night?" Jim inquired, striving to sound more concerned than intrusive.
"Possibly the worst."
Moriarty half-turned towards him and eyed him from head to toe before affirming, "I doubt it."
Thomas furrowed a brow, squirming uncomfortably under his inquisitive gaze.
"You think I had it rougher?" He asked in a serious tone, laughing inside at the irony. He was originally the chief of security for British diplomats and later turned into the personal bodyguard of a woman who narrowly escaped from a targeted explosion. And now he was collaborating with the MI6. Not exactly the classical definition of a placid life.
Jim glanced eastwards along the river, hiding his malevolent grin under his turned-up coat collar.
"I simply think that the worst is yet to come."
Thomas glared for a second at that mysterious silhouette standing by his side, then averted his gaze, looking down at the dark water, and commented dispassionately, "Quite the pessimist you are."
Jim shrugged. "I prefer the term nihilistic; it's more sophisticated. But I'm not one of those people who think life is meaningless or without purpose."
Wellington stared off into space, murmuring grimly, "I think I'm about to become one." Then he turned slightly towards his intriguing interlocutor. "What is the meaning of life to you, then?"
"To have fun, of course." Moriarty beamed at him. He had devoted his entire existence to one goal: warding off the boredom and dullness that his superior intellect was doomed to find everywhere.
"Why do you call yourself a nihilist, then?" Thomas was no philosophy expert, but it made no sense to him.
Jim kept gazing upon vacancy and specified, "It's about moral nihilism. I believe nothing is morally right or wrong." And that was possibly the most honest he had ever been with another human being.
Wellington's eyes travelled all over the stranger, studying him. His muscles tensed imperceptibly as his situational awareness and instinct told him to be vigilant. That last statement signalled that he might be dealing with a disturbed or morally ambiguous personality, possibly a threat. He quickly reflected, To a person who doesn't see the point in distinguishing between right and wrong or good and evil, anything—even the most frowned-upon act, could be funny. That was creepy.
Yet that obscure figure had an aura of magnetic charm to him, like a siren call to the darkness.
Thomas rebutted sarcastically, "I'm starting to re-evaluate your previous definition of fun, then."
Jim smiled internally. That man had no idea.
He dropped the philosophical discussion and changed the subject. "So tell me: what's the name of the person who broke your heart?"
The agent opened his eyes wide, but his surprise only lasted a few seconds, then he went back to a blank stare.
"Is it so obvious?"
Moriarty put up the kindest smile he was capable of. Oddly enough, everyone always fell for his nice guy act. It must be something about my face, he thought.
"Only the objects of our love have the power to rip us apart like that." Jim nodded at Thomas's troubled state. "It's quite clear that you are having troubles with a special someone," he hinted allusively.
"I was," Thomas rapidly corrected him, falling into his trap. Then all the emotions of the last hours came flooding back into his cracked heart, and he began speaking off the cuff.
"Starting from tonight, I have nothing to do with her anymore. She rejected me. I opened my heart to her, and what did she say? That she loved our bond, but couldn't love me, not that way. Whatever the hell that means."
"It means she has a clear idea of the kind of man she desires and that's not you, my friend. Time to move on," Jim said, blunt and plain-spoken. He didn't care about being polite or delicate; he was just trying to rub salt in his emotional wounds to render him completely hopeless. He could only convince him to join sides when he was at his lowest, right at the bottom of the pit.
"You might be right," Thomas replied amicably, lowering his head in defeat. "But I'll probably indulge in some more self-loathing tonight," he whispered, glancing at the night sky.
"Is she smart?" Jim kept rubbing it in.
"Very," he laconically answered.
"I don't mean just book-smart. Is she clever?"
"Incredibly so."
Moriarty narrowed his eyes at him. A man of few words, apparently. Good, he would make for an interesting challenge.
"Charming yet simplistic attitude, I suppose," Jim ventured, recalling some stereotypes about women that heterosexual men are likely to appreciate and fall for.
"You are not mistaken, man," the other commented flatly.
"And last, is she beautiful?"
"Gorgeous," was his terse answer.
Jim had to turn his back to him for a moment to hide the theatrical roll of his eyes. Could that conversation get any cornier?
He strived to come up with an acceptable cliché answer. "Those women are hard to forget. It will take you more than a conversation with a stranger to get over her, I'm afraid. Do you have a picture of this angelic demon that devoured your heart?"
He had no interest whatsoever in staring at a random woman's picture while Thomas would probably babble about all her incomparable qualities. Yet he had to keep that farce going to find out all his weaknesses. Besides, he was somehow intrigued. He wondered how a well-trained agent could fall hopelessly in love with a common woman. Who could be so beguiling to steal his heart?
To his surprise, though, Wellington recoiled, shaking his head as he seemed to come back to his senses for the first time.
"I… I can't, I'm sorry."
Jim frowned at that unexpected reaction. Fascinating.
"What does it mean? You can't show it to me? Why so secretive?"
The agent cleared his throat and shrugged defensively. "I just can't."
Jim's mouth formed a perfect circle as he emphatically pronounced, "Oh. Is she a celebrity? Is that why you are so reserved? You don't have to worry; I wouldn't say it to any tabloid. Cross my heart." He mimicked the gesture while Wellington slowly shook his head.
"It's not that. Not a celeb, no."
Now Moriarty was sincerely confused—which was a rather rare event. What was he hiding? He was a heartbroken man talking with a stranger about the woman of his dreams. Who cared about her identity?
"Then what is the matter? If she is just an anonymous person, I would most likely not know her. Come on, you spilt the beans about your horrible rejection, and now you won't let me see who hurt you so badly? Where's your comradeship, mate?" He teased him with a mischievous look.
Thomas twitched his lips, torn in an internal battle, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. He couldn't show Giulia's picture to anyone; it was strictly forbidden. He knew the rules. She was officially dead, gone forever.
He sighed, the flame of rejection still burning in the middle of his chest and blinding him with rage and pain. Yes, she was dead—dead to him, too, after that night.
Thomas raised his eyes and met the stranger's cunning gaze. The siren call was stronger than ever.
End of the flashback
Inside 'torture chamber' number 4 - National Theatre
Moriarty interrupts his account and closes his eyes, smiling softly at those sweet memories. What a memorable night.
When he cracks them open again, he finds all the people in the room staring at him with bated breath. They are waiting to hear the end of that story. They need to hear about the bodyguard's betrayal; it is the appeal of drama. And Giulia deserves to know the final truth about her past and present.
Jim fixes his eyes on his prisoner, who stares back with a livid look. Thomas hates him for exposing him, but he can't deny anything. The Irish criminal finally reveals the ending of that meeting.
"He was furious and desperate. But most of all, he was vulnerable, which is why he eventually showed me your photo." He moves his gaze to Giulia's teary eyes. "Now, you can imagine my surprise when I found out that the woman who broke his heart that very night was someone I thought had died a long time before." He opens his eyes and mouth wide, overdoing a surprised expression.
"He compromised my safety," Giulia lets out in a whisper as all her certainties collapse. An ice curtain descends upon her shoulders, enwrapping her heart in an icy grip.
Jim observes her behaviour; she keeps her stiffened arms along her sides, fists clenched, her knuckles turning white from the intensity of the clutch. She keeps staring at her bodyguard and grinding her teeth in rage.
He smiles to himself. That's still not enough. He wants to push her over the edge. He is waiting for her meltdown.
"Not only that, darling. When I overcame my shock about your continued existence, I revealed my real identity to him and made him an 'offer he couldn't refuse'," he drawls in an American accent, imitating the voice of Marlon Brando's character in The Godfather's trilogy.
"Sorry for the pun, I thought it was in theme with the Mafia family. I promised to make him rich and powerful—my right arm, if only he told me everything about the development in the MI6 investigation about the Consulate's explosion and kept me updated on it. And he was so devastated that he just accepted. He cracked just like this." He snaps his fingers with a loud click. "He betrayed his country, all his principles. More importantly, he betrayed you."
Giulia turns sharply towards her former guardian angel and fulminates him.
"How could you do that to me?" She yells, the strain in her voice barely letting her struggle all the way to the end.
"It's very easy, my dear," Moriarty intervenes. "I exploited his weakness, the rift in his heart, his disillusion. Let me just say: the moment he broke down and betrayed you was my favourite part. I love it when people do that," he says with glimmering eyes. "Everyone is so loyal until they reach their breaking point. But after they get there, anything becomes possible, even the most despicable acts. Broken people just don't care about anything anymore."
He shakes his head with a smug smile. "He loved you, and yet he deliberately gave me, Jim Moriarty—the number one criminal on the MI6 watch list, all the information to get to you. Incredible how the tables turn, right? So ever since that moment, he became—"
"Your mole in the system," Sherlock realises, completing his sentence. In that second, all the memories from his first case with Giulia come back to the surface.
"Precisely. He started by reporting to me on the investigation of the attack at the Consulate, but it turned out that this boy had some talent, so I upgraded my game and asked him to provide me with all the juiciest information on the MI6 activities in London."
John follows Sherlock's reasoning and chimes in, "Such as the undercover infiltration of Cathy Baaral and her twin sister in the terror cell that almost blew up the Palestinian mission several months ago."
Jim smiles at them; they finally got that.
"That was such a blood-pumping adventure, wasn't it?" He mocks them. "After that, though, I asked him to be more discreet, giving the impression that the mole was among the tens of people who got fired from the force that day. The funniest thing is Mycroft Holmes still wonders who it was. The thought of the mole still tortures him." He licks his lips.
Sherlock's head jerks up at the mention of his brother. Only a criminal mastermind like Moriarty could outsmart his sibling.
Giulia strides ferociously towards the glass, shouting at Thomas, "How dare you do that to me? To my father? He had blind faith in you and entrusted you with me, his daughter, one of the people he cared about most in all the world. How dare you?"
A river of bitter tears clouds her sight, and she violently punches the reinforced glass.
John moves a step in her direction, but Sherlock is quicker and reaches Giulia, standing right behind her.
"That's enough; you're going to hurt yourself," he says and ties his arms around her torso, entrapping her flailing arms and dragging her away from the glass, for fear that her already reddening hands could start bleeding with all those blows.
Thomas throws a supplicant look at her. "Giulia, please."
"I don't want to hear anything from you," she cuts him short, squirming against Sherlock's chest, and he slowly releases his hold.
When she wiggles out of his grip, she turns her back to the bodyguard, repulsed. She walks away when Thomas' desperate words reach her ear.
"I love you."
Author's note: Dear readers, I would love to have your feedback on the flashback at the beginning. Did the scene work for you? It was just an experiment for me since I thought it would be more interesting to show you what had happened instead of having it all retold by Moriarty. And it also allowed me to explore Thomas's character a bit more.