Chapter 21: Manhunt

Monday 17th of October 1898

By late 1898, my friend Sherlock Holmes had surpassed the traditional definition of what the celebrity watchers of our modern age would call 'famous.' It's true that my ongoing publication of select cases, which were coveted and read by many across Europe and even around the world, helped increase Holmes' fame and reputation. However, I knew that the driving force behind Holmes' astonishing public reputation was largely due to his incredible success. The days when Holmes' name was buried by Scotland Yard were long gone. Thousands everywhere now knew of his talents and celebrated his successes as if they were their own. Holmes now took on cases not only for clients and police forces from the UK, but also for people and governments from across Europe, and even as far away as Chicago, San Francisco, Moscow, Budapest, and Kyoto. Not only had his fame grown but so had his financial stability. In the latter half of the 1890's, both Holmes and I had gradually become dare I say it? If not wealthy, at least very comfortably situated. I was now bringing in significant royalties, had several well-paying investments at last, and was making very good money indeed as a physician. Holmes had valuable investments of his own, plus extremely lucrative fees. He had finally accepted the simple truth that he may as well be paid what he is worth – especially when far too many of the rich and famous insisted on a piece of his valuable time. I was also making a significant amount of extra money whenever I assisted Holmes on a case. As Holmes put it, "Your time is as valuable as mine, Watson. If I am to be paid a King's ransom, you should at least be paid like a prince!" I couldn't help but agree, so I happily accepted the money.

The afternoon of the seventeenth of October was cool and blustery. It had rained earlier in the day, and while the rain had stopped, the temperature had dropped significantly. The skies over London had that all too familiar ominous look so common for October, where Mother Nature seemed to hold the doings of English men in scant regard, and any citizen out and about in her world deserved to be wet and cold in equal measure. Holmes and I were investigating a body found near the Royal Albert Dock. Inspectors Gregson and Thomas were working on a complicated series of cases involving arms smuggling, and believed the body found was that of a leader of the smuggling gang. Holmes had brought me in to do a medical analysis, not only of this body, but one which had been found the day before. We were both bending over the body, which had been hidden behind a large pile of packing crates and giving our findings to both inspectors and the little knot of constables who surrounded them. Our back-and-forth statements to our captive audience was interrupted by a carriage pulling up at speed, and a voice calling out, "Is Mr. Holmes or Doctor Watson there?" When a constable in our group confirmed our presence, the carriage came to a halt, and a none too happy Inspector Lestrade emerged.

"Found you both at last! I have been chasing your arses all over the city for the past two hours! I have far more important things to do than be your nursemaids or minders. There's an urgent message for you, Mr. Holmes, and you too, Doctor Watson, which came into the central desk at Scotland Yard. It came with a request, no, a demand, that no expense be spared in finding both of you immediately, even if it took half the dammed manpower of the Yard to do it. We have emptied the barracks, sending men out all over the city, including at Barts, Baker Street, and every place either of you could be likely found." He turned and barked at his two inspector colleagues. "If you two had only told the rest of us what you were doing with these two wanderers, you could have spared the lot of us, and a hatful of gold sovereigns in constable overtime!"

"Well how were we to know, Lestrade?" replied Gregson crossly.

"What and where is the fire?" asked Thomas.

"Good question," said Holmes. "What's the message?"

"The message is, and I quote: 'Highest Priority. Level D emergency at Whitehall. Come at once. No delay. If at Baker Street, come ready for three days outdoors at least. No excuses. Bring Watson. M.' Am I to assume that 'M' is Mycroft?"

Holmes scowled at me, and I just shrugged. "Damn!" said Holmes softly. "He's pulling the fire bell to be sure. Not like him to turn out half the city; that's throwing his rank around for real!" He turned to the inspectors and their gaggle of constables. "My apologies, inspectors, gentlemen. It appears Watson and I have been preempted by Higher Powers."

"Well, what about this chap?" said Gregson plaintively.

"Inspector Thomas is right. He was strangled by bailing wire, and has been here almost twelve hours," I said.

"And he was not killed here, but rather elsewhere," said Holmes.

"Horse barn?" said Thomas.

"Correct inspector, or at least in a yard where horses are kept. Hence the bailing wire. Think of hay," replied Holmes. "You also might want to focus some of your investigation around the construction near the Carrolwood Warehouses. The stains on his pants, his coat, and the mud on his shoes, match the soil around that site."

"Well, it's something to go on," grumbled Gregson. "Better than nothing."

"Please hurry back when you can. Good luck!" said Thomas rather cheerfully. Unlike the other two inspectors, he was famous for never losing his sunny disposition, or his gratitude for any time Holmes could give him.

"Take my carriage," said Lestrade. "You, Fenders, bring yourself and the carriage back here, when you have finished dropping these two off at wherever the hell they are going!"

Holmes and I climbed into the closed carriage, and as the constable whipped up the horse, Holmes called up the address of The Diogenes Club.

"It must be bad, Holmes," I said. "We're off to God-forsaken nowhere to be sure!"

"I don't like it, Watson!" Holmes said sullenly. "I expect it's bad, but I don't like being Mycroft's errand boy, or 'Chief Constable' at the drop of a hat."

"Still, Holmes, I only know of one other time Mycroft has done this, and yes, that situation warranted the level of urgency."

"There's been two other times," said Holmes, looking a bit sheepish at my look of surprise. "You were not around at the times when Mycroft pulled me in; you only knew of my sudden absence afterwards. Still, I must agree that all three times merited a certain level of immediate action."

"Well, we'll find out soon enough," I said. "I have a bag mostly packed all the time anyways. My medical bag is stocked too, and I can adjust it if I need to."

"You never stop being a soldier, do you, my friend!" Holmes and I got a chuckle out of the ride, but we both knew there would be no laughing once we got to The Diogenes Club.

At the Diogenes, we met Mycroft in the Stranger's Room, the one semi-public place at the club where talking was allowed. "It took you long enough!" Mycroft was less than pleased, which got the meeting off on a bad foot. He shifted his approach when he saw both of us bristle. "I'm sorry for being rude. Thank you for coming. The fact is, you are both needed, rather urgently too. Please, come with me to my private office. We can talk there." As we followed Mycroft deep into the building, he gave a quiet signal to a discreet aide, who went off to do whatever Mycroft had asked him to do. Mycroft's private office was large, well-appointed, with comfortable furnishings, and all the signs of being used almost daily. Clearly, this space was as important to Mycroft's government role as his more accessible office nearby in The Foreign Office. We no sooner arrived in the room, when a staff member wheeled in a small cart with tea service for four. "Are we expecting someone else?" Holmes asked his brother, after pouring all of us a cup of tea, and dropping down in a comfortable armchair. "Momentarily," was Mycroft's only reply.

Holmes satisfied himself with just the tea, obviously impatient to get to the point of the meeting. For once, I could tell that his impatience was shared by his older brother, and that waiting on the fourth person was not ideal. Something significant was definitely about to be discussed. Fortunately, we didn't have a long wait. A few minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door, which opened at Mycroft's invitation. I was surprised to see a familiar face walk into the room. It was Major Jonathan Hemmings, the very capable agent, who worked for Mycroft's team as an elite spy – and assassin.

"Come in, Colonel," said Mycroft. "Gentlemen, you both know Lieutenant Colonel Jonthan Hemmings, although he was a Major when last you met." The man was as fit as I remembered, with an alert piercing gaze, and the energy of a coiled spring. If anything, he was even more tanned than when we last saw him. This was clearly a man who spent much of his time out in the field, and not behind a desk. "Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson," he said simply, giving us both a handshake, and then standing at ease in front of Mycroft's desk. "Sit down, Colonel, and have yourself some tea and sandwiches. I expect you haven't eaten since breakfast. You too, Doctor, Sherlock. Eat up. You're not likely to be getting dinner, so you may as well."

We all took sandwiches, even Holmes, who bowed to the practicality of the opportunity to eat. "I will get right to it," began Mycroft. I am sure you both remember Colonel Sir Peter Avalon and his team of elite agents. One of Colonel Avalon's men has gone missing in the middle of a critical mission. He's one of our best, a young army captain, Sheldon Plummer. He was engaged in a secret mission in Germany, where to the best of our knowledge, he was successful in his assignment. His task was to find and retrieve an extremely valuable set of documents, with particular attention on one book. The contents of the entire suite of documentation are almost incalculable in its importance, the book most of all. He made it back to our shores and was on the way to a rendezvous with his local contact, when it appears he was most likely intercepted. He was either pursued by German agents who followed him back here, or he ran afoul of agents who were waiting upon his return. We have a desperate need to find Captain Plummer and retrieve the package he worked so hard to obtain. We believe both the captain and the prize he brought back are still within our borders."

"How many men do you have looking for Plummer right now?" asked Holmes.

"Every man we can spare, currently about thirty-six," said Hemmings. "In addition, we have tapped resources from the army, navy, coastal authorities, and Special Branch. In all, likely over one hundred-twenty. Possibly more."

"A good effort," Holmes mused. "When did the captain arrive, and when and where was the rendezvous point?"

"The captain arrived last night, through the Port of Leith. His ship, the Annabelle came in from Antwerp and docked on time; the passengers disembarked at around 8:35 PM. He was to meet his contact, Major Stephen Davids at the train terminal in Edinburgh. We know Captain Plummer got off the ship safely, but he never made it to the terminal."

"Where is the major now?" I asked.

"He's still in Edinburgh, searching for the captain, doctor," said Hemmings. "The captain is as resourceful a man as we have got, and one of the best men the military has when it comes to thinking fast on his feet, as well as evading capture. It's possible, more than possible, that the captain has taken flight, or has been forced to lie low to evade pursuit. Considering how very well trained he is, I expect he's burrowed in somewhere. If he's in trouble, or hiding, we need to find him before the people pursuing him do. We must retrieve him and his package. Apprehending, or at least stopping his pursuers, is a definite plus, if we can do it."

"With all the resources you have, Mycroft, what is it you want from me and Watson?" asked Holmes.

"I need you there to help look, Sherlock! You have skills like no other man I know when it comes to finding missing people, as well as locating those who are in hiding, or don't wish to be found. You can find trails that everyone else will miss. The doctor is your critical right-hand man, and best beside you in difficult and dangerous situations. Besides, as a doctor, his medical services may well be necessary. This is a big ask, I know, Sherlock, but time is of the essence, and the situation is most dire. You both might be the difference between success or failure here – and we cannot afford to fail!"

"How will we get to Edinburgh? Are we booked on an express?" I asked.

"No doctor. The colonel has a government special waiting on standby at Kings Cross Station. It leaves as soon as you both can grab your bags and get there," Mycroft replied. He looked at his brother intensely. "Can I count on you, Sherlock? Can I count on you both?"

Holmes glanced at me, and I nodded. "If you have your porter hail a cab, we'll leave as soon as possible for Baker Street, and then on to Kings Cross," said Holmes. "I have a fair number of other questions, including particulars about Captain Plummer and Major Davids, and more besides. Will you be able to answer everything, Colonel? If so, my questions can wait for the journey. I am assuming you can provide photographs, dossier materials, and such?"

Mycroft looked visibly relieved. "Thank you! I know your need for fine details and have already anticipated the questions you are likely to ask." He reached into a side drawer on his desk and pulled out a thick envelope. "I believe everything you need is here. Anything else, the Colonel or the Major can provide. Thank you both, yet again, or your timely, critical service to your country!"

"For Queen and Country, brother!" Holmes rose from his seat and shook his brother's hand. I followed suit, and Mycroft thanked me profusely. As we headed for the door, Mycroft said, "I don't think I need tell either of you to dress warmly, and to make sure you are well armed! That goes for you, Sherlock. I don't want Watson to be the only one carrying a revolver this time around!"

"I have a handsome forty-caliber, and I know how to use it, Mycroft," said Holmes. "We'll report back in whenever we can."

A private carriage with fresh horses was waiting for us outside, and the three of us raced to Baker Street. When we got there, Holmes told Hemmings to come on up, as he might be able to help, and get us out the door faster. The driver, a large, silent man with a brooding alert air about him was left behind, and we quickly made our way inside. Mrs. Hudson, roused by the undue commotion at the front door came out. Holmes Just said, "Lieutenant Colonel Hemmings, Mrs. Martha Hudson, landlady extraordinaire." He left Hemmings to tell her that not only would we not be him for dinner, we would be away for several days on "most urgent business."

"Pack extra ammunition, Holmes," I called down to him from my room. I gathered up necessary changes of clothing, swapped out some lighter garments for items more suitable for October in coastal Scotland, packed gloves, a compact army knife, my sturdiest walking stick, which I called my 'fighting stick' – and my Webley. I was ready to go in ten minutes. I headed downstairs, and tended to my medical bag, swapping out a few not necessaries for items far more suited for field emergencies. I knew full well what I might be called on to do. An emergency surgical kit was included.

Hemmings came upstairs and asked, "How can I help?" I put the fighting stick and my luggage in his arms, and said, "shift these down, please." He looked at the stick and smirked, "fine stick that. It's got a trick or two, I'll bet." I gave him a grin in return. "And I know how to use them all!" I replied.

Holmes emerged with his luggage, and a bag that I knew all too well. It was his "magic tricks" bag, a combination of select portable lab equipment, and a few elements that would allow both of us to significantly change our appearance. Holmes was clearly expecting trouble as much as I, and we had both prepared in our own way.

"I glanced at the bag and said, "the two old campaigners are off again!" He gave me a small smile of appreciation, and said, "I wouldn't have it any other way, Watson."

A quick goodbye to Mrs. Hudson found us racing to Kings Cross Station. Hemmings looked at us both with a gleam of approval in his eye. "I was warned about you both. You clearly know how to get out the door quickly, and with the right kit. Nothing extra, but just enough. You have obviously done this more than once or twice."

"We can do it much faster and lighter still if we didn't need to consider certain contingencies, such as medical supplies, a basic lab kit, or a disguise trick or two," I said.

Hemmings looked at Holmes. "Your brother told me that in just a few minutes, even less, you can change your appearance enough such that only he would know you, and even then, it would be difficult for him. We are trained to do some of that, but likely nowhere near your skillset. I wouldn't mind a lesson or two when we are done with this mission."

"It would be my pleasure," said Holmes. I see you are a minimalist yourself."

"Army and select field experience," replied Hemmings. If need be, I'll go days without provisions, although it's not ideal."

"We have been there," I said, "which is why our travel coats have extra pockets and other specialized elements. I'm sure you recognize some of the features."

"I do indeed. It's a pleasure to work with both of you. I should tell you that you're legends among most government agents. I would be tickled pink if it wasn't for the circumstances."

"Let's get to it. Tell us about Captain Sheldon Plummer," said Holmes.

"He's twenty-eight years old, Cambridge educated. Classics and Languages, with a focus on French and German. He can speak both like a native, and sound like one too. He's passably fluent in Italian and Russian. A wiry man, rather than a big one, but incredibly strong and quick for his size. Utterly vicious in a fight. An excellent marksman, and quite reasonable with a sword. Rather astonishing with throwing knives. Can climb anything, break in just about anywhere, and can track a man for miles without his target having a clue."

"Impressive," I said.

"He's hardy and resourceful as hell, which is why we're all damned concerned, but not panicked yet. He's truly one of our best and I ought to know, because I have been partnered with him often enough; in fact, I helped train him. I feel a certain… responsibility for him." He paused a moment, considering. "We call him 'Comanche,' as he's very knowledgeable about them as a people, because one of his uncles spent considerable time living with several Comanche tribes years ago. He even speaks a bit of their language."

"I take it his ability to break into places is what got him sent on this latest assignment?" asked Holmes.

"Indeed, sir. He was ideal for a deep cover assignment into Berlin."

"Did he go alone?" I asked, a question which got me a quick glance of approval from Holmes.

"No, he didn't, Doctor. He had a silent partner, who went along as support, Captain Paul Ericson. Good man. He's not quite as skilled as Plummer, but he's coming along well enough, better than well enough. He's already a most capable agent. His assignment ended when he saw Plummer on the ship. He had critical follow-up work to do in Antwerp. Now in hindsight, it might have been better if they completed the assignment together."

"What's done is done," said Holmes simply. "Second guessing costs time, energy, and focus better applied elsewhere."

"Agreed," said Hemmings. "We will have plenty of time for debriefings and analysis after we pull him in."

"It's time for the obvious questions, the ones that neither you nor my brother have mentioned. What did Captain Plummer steal and who did he steal it from? It's obvious as the day is long that whatever it is of the upmost importance, both as far as risk vs. reward is measured, and from the nature of the pursuers you believe are after him."

It was immediately apparent that the question struck a nerve. Hemmings was clearly prepared for the question but was reluctant to deal with it. Up to now, his answers had been direct and immediate. Now he paused, considering how best to respond.

"Come now, Colonel," said Holmes, a note of steel and irritation in his voices. "You can't expect us to be very effective, or to go chasing across the length and breadth of Edinburgh looking for a lost man, and his prize, without letting us know what we are after, and what the stakes in the game are. You must be straight with me, or my ability to do my best by your captain will be hampered."

Hemmings grimaced slightly and sighed. "Mycroft warned me about this. He said you would want every particular and would be satisfied with nothing less. It's why he didn't spend the time back at the club to tell you all the details. He left that… duty to me. I'll admit, I am torn sir, as the items in question are extraordinarily sensitive. It's strictly 'need to know,' and to be quite honest, it's not entirely certain that you need to know all the particulars. Sorry, sir."

Holmes scowled. "Let me guess, the secrecy is my brother's idea."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir."

"Enough with the 'sir' and the 'doctor,' Hemmings," I interjected, some irritation of my own coming forward. "It's just 'Holmes' and 'Watson.' As for telling Holmes everything, I'll admit, I am well used to operating in the dark, but I do it only with and for Holmes, and I sure as hell don't like it. But for Holmes, you should know full well that the man needs data, all the data! Everything! Things you might not think are even remotely important can be critical to the success or failure of an investigation. If it's even slightly relevant, or even if it isn't, you need to spill it! You may as well do it now as later!"

By now, we were close to Kings Cross Station. The lieutenant colonel glanced out the window at the approaching station, and said, "Let's talk on the train. We have got to move in a minute." He called out instructions to the driver, who took us to a side entrance blocked by a gate. A guard at the gate came forward, and talked to the driver, and then looked through the window at us. Hemmings flashed an identifying card, spoke quietly, and gave what appeared to be a password. The guard's response was to quickly move to the gate, open it, and usher us through with an air of urgency. A knock at a locked door brought another guard, and a man who apparently was expecting us.

"Your express is waiting and ready, sirs," he said. He took one of our larger bags, and my stick, and quickly led us down a long service corridor, and down several flights of stairs. Another short service corridor brought us out on a platform where several men and an engineer were waiting. Our transportation was small: a surprisingly large locomotive, an equally large coal and water tender, and two small cars. As everyone except the engineer was waiting at the entrance to the rear compartment, that's where we headed.

A middle-aged officious looking man in a railway uniform stepped forward. "Colonel Hemmings, Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson. Good evening. It's our pleasure to welcome you to our service to Edinburgh. You will be going the fastest and most direct route possible, with no stops or delays along the way, except for water and coal. Food and other service accommodations are already on board and waiting for you. If you will just step this way…"

It was a measure of the urgency of our situation that we didn't even stop to get the man's name, or the names of any of the other officials who were with him, before we were bustled aboard, and the train began to move. The only identifier we got was that the engineer was 'Mister Timmons,' before we were settling in, and on our way. A young, uniformed attendant came into our compartment from the front carriage and politely introduced himself as 'Mister Roads.' He explained that as lead service attendant, it was his pleasure to welcome us onto 'our custom Edinburgh Flyer.' Tea would be served immediately, followed later by a hearty dinner. Roads proudly announced, "This journey on a fast express, straight through, would normally take six hours and forty-three minutes, but we intend to get you there in under five and a half hours. We have been asked to set a record if possible, and we intend to give it a whopping good try!" He smiled with satisfaction, and he left to arrange for the tea.

The compartment was comfortable, even opulent, with oak furnishings, red leather, heavy rich curtains, and intricate floral carvings throughout, with fine paneling. This was pure luxury, with accommodation for travel in the highest comfort. It was obviously configured for business executives, and high government functionaries, as the layout included a cleverly configured conference table. It was here that we immediately gravitated to, as face-to-face discussion would be ongoing throughout our journey, and there were the documents and files for us to review which Mycroft had provided.

No sooner had we settled ourselves around the table, before a well-stocked tea trolly appeared with more food than any six men could reasonably eat, let alone three. We waited until Roads, and an unnamed attendant in a starched white uniform were done presenting the food before we resumed discussion.

Hemmings pulled out the envelope and extracted photographs of both Sheldon Plummer and Stephen Davids. Captain Plummer was a handsome, boyish looking man, with light, possibly red hair, and a broad smile. He still looked like a university scholar, rather than the elite agent he was. Major Davids was older, but still quite young, a few years younger than Hemmings, with dark hair, and a serious expression. Hemmings also put a photograph of the Annabelle on the table, along with a manifest of the ship's passengers. He handed the document to Holmes. "Are there any names you recognize on this list?" he asked.

Holmes glanced through the list quickly. "Nobody stands out, but in my work I tend to track only the spies who buy and sell information, not who actually track other agents." He looked at Hemmings. "You still owe us an explanation of what Captain Plummer took, stole, retrieved, or whatever he did. I need to know what he took, where he took it from, and why. Otherwise, my ability to react or deduce, even on any clues we might uncover in Edinburgh, will be severely compromised."

Hemmings winced and groaned softly, then ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I really wish your brother had not put me in this position. His words to me were, 'keep it secret. Tell them what you must, but no more. This entire mission still remains at the highest possible security level.' You see why I am reluctant, sir?"

"Enough with the 'sir,'" Holmes bristled. "My brother is a cad, and I will damned well be the first to tell him so to his face when we return. He should have said what needed to be said right then and there. It's a low, cowardly thing to do, to toss this over on you!"

"He knew you would ask endless questions, and we didn't have the time. We had to move, and quickly too."

"No," retorted Holmes. "He knew full well I would not have accepted this assignment, and neither would Watson here, if we had not been given appropriate, full particulars. He wants my cooperation, without trust, and without disclosure. He knows far better than you do that this is not the way I operate. Ironically, it's not the way he does either! Mycroft Shelby Holmes doesn't scratch his ear without full knowledge and cooperation, with the left hand knowing what the right is doing, and a backup plan in case it all fails. I am not interested in excuses. You can tell him I absolutely insisted and put the blame on me. I certainly intend to chastise him for this! It's an old argument that he should not have put you in the middle of. My, in fact both our security clearances are current and top tier. We know how to keep secrets and have done it far more times than most people would suspect."

He leaned forward and said slowly and sternly. "I. Need. The. Information."

Hemmings groaned again, threw up his hands and said, "Well Watson, you at least can bear witness that I tried my best."

"Yes, I can, and I will," I replied. "But to be clear, I am not sympathetic with your position. Holmes is right that he needs the information – and about his brother being an absolute ass. I fully understand why Mycroft would say 'fill them in on the trip,' but not his reluctance to disclose full particulars. Even the smallest detail matters, and Mycroft knows it all too well. He ensures you are all well informed before you go out in the field, correct?"

Hemmings looked chagrined. "As much as he feels he can, but not always. We are given what he feels is enough to complete a mission, but it's all purely need to know."

"Blast the man!" said Holmes. "That kind of idiocy leads to errors, miscues, and sometimes dead men! Who knows what was withheld from Captain Plummer before he went on his fool's errand."

"In fairness, I don't believe any information was held back. Colonel Avalon and Mister Holmes gave Comanche, Captain Plummer, every detail." Hemmings was trying to defend his bosses, and the integrity of the organization, but Holmes wasn't having it.

"I have known my brother longer than you and have worked with and for him longer than you. He would withhold information, and you would be the last to know it. It's just how he is. It makes him good at what he does, but it has its limits. Many do not know it, but Mycroft did a bit of field work back when he was younger, eager, and a damned sight more expendable. However, it's been a long time, and he has long since forgotten what it's like to approach a situation half blind."

Holmes paused, and a silence settled over the table. Hemmings eventually broke. "Very well. Here's what I believe I can tell you. It's not going to please you none too much, and I don't think it will help you locate Sheldon any faster, but…" He paused again and sighed. "Captain Plummer broke into a top-secret lab in Berlin and stole a copy, we do not know if it the latest copy, perhaps he doesn't even know that, of a code book. Perhaps it's more accurate to call it what the experts call it, a recipe book. The slang, informal term used is a 'cookbook.' We believe the book in question contains formulations for poisons and toxins very similar to those which you have already seen before, created by Jacob Dodd's colleagues at Paradise Pharmaceuticals."

Holmes flinched as if he had been struck. I reacted too, without even being aware of it. Holmes quickly turned to me with a look unlike any I had ever seen from him in all our long years together. It was disbelief, horror, loathing, rage, and what I could only describe as fear. It was the visceral reaction of a man suddenly confronted by a poisonous snake, and few ways to retreat.

I pride myself as a well-controlled, cultivated gentleman. I rarely if ever cursed or used profanity after my army days. The little bit I did use was further curtailed though the years I had spent married to Mary. Yet, at that moment, I said something that I had only said twice since the last time I was in the army. Holmes responded in kind, in a way that was unique to him. He too cultivated a well-honed control, which I rarely heard him lose. I only heard him curse three times: twice during desperate street fights, and once when I was patching up a significant stab wound, he had received. He did have one odd, and rather secret peculiarity, he would swear in foreign languages when the moment was dire, and the stress was particularly high. At the very worst of times, he cursed in Russian…

In that moment Holmes said a long stream in Russian, quickly, bitterly, and with feeling. We both looked at each other again, mutually aware of what the moment had wrung out of us both. This was one of those times when each of us knew what the other was thinking.

Hemmings smiled thinly. "I know enough Russian to get by," he said. "I can't say I blame either of you. You have spent time with Russian dock workers I see."

"Time enough. It's a long story," said Holmes. "Perhaps I will tell you the story someday." He looked over at me. I know he was concerned for me. If I looked the way he did at that moment, he would be concerned as my friend. "Watson?"

I sighed, pulling myself together as best I could. "Well, now I know why Mycroft didn't want to tell us at the Diogenes Club," I said at last.

"Indeed," replied Holmes, "We would still be there. I don't begrudge him leaving it to the train journey, but I certainly question the wisdom of withholding such vital information."

"Does it really matter that much?" asked Hemmings. The stare he got in response from Holmes was one only a Holmes brother could master. Hemmings looked away quickly. "Forget I asked."

"Well, it's more than critical. It leads to a whole new set of questions, but at least I now know the right questions," said Holmes sarcastically. "Let me lay them all out, and you can respond as succinctly as you can in whatever way you feel best answers the questions." He leaned forward, counting off the questions on his fingers, as he looked at the lieutenant colonel intently. "Who knew about the lab, both here and in Germany? Who owns the lab? How secret is it? How well funded? What criminal elements or organizations know of, or are interested in what the lab does? Does the lab have private security, or are they affiliated with those who might have security? How much does the German government know, and what are their current interests? I can probably ask you a hundred more questions, but this is a start."

Hemming cleared his throat and began. He adopted a simple, direct tone, looking directly at Holmes, completely ignoring me. I knew the look. This was a military officer reporting during a debriefing.

"The company, the lab, is privately held. It's in a quiet area, not far from a well-established middle-class neighborhood, in a small conclave of light manufacturing and some warehouses. A curious combination of discrete and anonymous. We believe it's currently only a research facility, although Plummer may now know otherwise. Part of his mission was to learn more about the lab itself, its organization and structure. It was an attempt to do full discovery, not just a document retrieval, although the document, or documents, if he was lucky to get more than the cookbook, was the primary objective. The lab is simply known as 'Delphi' or 'The Delphi.' It has no other names that we know of. We don't even know much about its incorporation, which leads us to believe it's a private holding, part of some other larger corporate concern. Germans are meticulous about business filings, and yet this place is essentially invisible, which raises all manner of concerns. The point is you wouldn't even know, unless you already knew to look for it. As for how well funded it is, all evidence we have indicates that the best answer is "well enough." We would know better if the information was publicly available, but it isn't. What we can tell from a distance is that the research and results – such as things can be tracked – are top notch. Security around the location itself is tighter than a drum. Locked gate access, with guards around the clock. All very effective, but discrete."

"It's amazing that Plummer breached the facility," I said.

"True. He really is that good," Hemming said. He paused at this point and took a sip of his tea. A subtle shift in his posture told even me that the next part was one of the details he was most reluctant to share. If I saw it, I knew that Holmes did too. "The entire situation, the neatness of it all, including the hidden elements, the discreteness, the tight but visually constrained security, all of it points to some protection, even sponsorship. Whether that is the local government, or from higher government protection granted at the national level, we just don't know. The implications of this are… well they go without saying. There are so many reasons to find Captain Plummer, not the least being that he's one of our own lads. He's now the most knowledgeable resource the British government has on Delphi. As for a criminal link, we know of none, which in and of itself doesn't mean much, or it might point to government sponsorship. At this point, your guess is as good as ours."

Holmes had said nothing throughout this recitation, although I saw an involuntary reaction, small, but noticeable to those who know him, when the possibility of government involvement was mentioned. I could not fault him, as I too felt a chill run through my veins that the very notion that research like this was known, protected, and perhaps even sponsored by the government. The implications were breathtaking. As I listened, with numerous scenarios running through my mind, the worse it seemed to me. There simply was no way to make this look anything but ghastly. I certainly couldn't fault Mycroft, or the men commanded by Colonel Avalon for wanting much more information and taking on such a high-risk mission.

Hemmings completed his report and sat waiting for more questions. "Has anyone done any external monitoring?" Holmes asked. "Do you have any names, or perhaps photographs of the people who regularly come and go at the lab?"

"We believe Captain Ericson captured a record of recent comings and goings. Photographs, times, dates, numbers of visitors, deliveries, and such. We have gathered up material from him, and that data should already be back in the country, and in the hands of analysts," Hemmings replied.

"Hmmm. It would have been better if we had some of those photographs as well," Holmes mused, a note of regret in his voice. "It can't be helped I suppose." He paused to consider further. "Thank you for your report, colonel. I need to consider what you have told me before I ask further questions. I will say that every instinct I have tells me that some element of official protection has been provided to this lab, which bodes ill for our cause. It means that the people waiting for Captain Plummer were likely trained agents, government sponsored, and perhaps not too dissimilar to you or our good captain…"

"There's more," said Hemmings. To Holmes raised eyebrow, he said, "There's more than one reason you got pulled into this. It's not just your skills as an agent, spy, or even as a consulting detective, top tier as we know those skills to be." He turned quickly to me. "No offense to either of you gentlemen. We know of your skills, and that the way you both work together is considerably more effective than the sum of the parts." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and passed it over to Holmes. "This is Plummer's 'letter book.'"

"Ah…" Holmes nodded, immediate understanding showing in his face. I too understood all too well. "Is this the original, or a copy?"

"It's a copy. One of three in the London area. We have another one with the team in Edinburgh" Hemmings looked at Holmes hopefully. "Can you commit it in the time we have before we get to Edinburgh? Your brother said your memory and code skills were equal to his own – and his are, well rather surreal."

Holmes took the book, looked at it carefully, and opened it to the front page, reading the facing page notes, and some of the cipher data it contained. He flipped through the pages, noting the handwriting, and especially any margin notes, or changes in the ink which indicated later additions. "Seems straight forward, considering." He glanced up at Hemmings, and asked, "What's his number?"

"Thirty-two," replied Hemmings. "Can you do it in the time available to you?"

Holmes leafed through the notebook again. "If needs must, Colonel. I believe I can."

A quick expression of relief crossed Hemmings face. "Thank you. It might well make all the difference, especially in the field."

"I need to be left uninterrupted," Holmes said. "No interruptions means none whatsoever. No exceptions. Watson knows this drill already." He gave me a quick, knowing look.

"Will you at least eat something when dinner arrives?" asked Hemmings. "I can't guarantee that there will be much time for eating once we get to Edinburgh."

"I will nibble as I go," said Holmes with a slight smile. "By now I know well enough to not aggravate my doctor too much. I will need coffee with dinner."

"Thank you, I think," I said.

Holmes got up and moved to the other side of the compartment, notebook in hand. He had a few stiff hours of work ahead of him, but I knew he was up to the task.

Hemmings gave me a hard look. "Can he do it in such a short time?"

I gave him a grin. "Yes, the Postmaster has arrived."

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