Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL (7 page)

“So, you think he will never go back?”

“Unless something forces him to do so, I do believe Sherlock is here to remain.”

Chapter Five
 

A Conundrum
 

Mycroft finds his brother embroiled in US terrorism cases and in strife with the powers-that-be. The U.S. considers him a terrorist and he is not an official consultant to the FBI or CIA. He always uncovers plots and government secrets and he fights terrorism but the government remains blind and deaf to his repeated pleas, until it is too late, thereby eliminating the idea that he is the real Sherlock Holmes from anyone’s mind.

Since that August meeting, Sherlock had been perusing and even scrutinizing every US and British newspaper he could put his hands on and had scoured the internet on the laptop Mycroft had purchased for him. Every day, he became more disgruntled. Every day he read nothing that could have been remotely linked with the disappearance of the Adnan fellow or even that his envisaged explosion of a radiological bomb in the London Tube had been defused or worse, detonated. He was close to falling into depression when, on that November day, he went to Baker Street and observed the marquis tent being erected at sunrise. He stayed hidden and waited for an hour or so until, to his utmost amazement, he saw his brother and another scrawny fellow enter the tent. His wonder only increased when he saw a woman exit the tent accompanied of the two men. He was sure the figure was that of a woman, although her cloak and cowl hid her shape and face. Stunned, he only made a move when he saw Mycroft’s car leave the area along with the truck transporting another time machine, similar to the one he had used several weeks earlier.

Sherlock had come to Baker Street on that morning to visit the house-number 3321-which he had just purchased the previous month. If Mycroft had been worried about him borrowing from unsavory parties-there was no need. In fact, soon after his arrival in August, Sherlock bought several financial newspapers and noticed that if the housing market was depressed, the mining stock market was on the rise. He studied the financial pages every morning and wasted no time in investing in some stocks and shares that he was sure would return him a hefty sum in the short term. If Sherlock was considered somewhat impulsive by all that knew him a century ago, he was nonetheless very careful in his planning an escape or a trip of any sort. This careful preparation had been put into motion the night he departed 1890. He knew the British Pound of the time would not serve any purpose a hundred and twenty years later, so he took a few gold pieces he had in reserve in his lodgings and brought them with him to 2010. That year, gold value was at its highest and the sac of ‘antique coins’ he sold to a gold merchant brought him the thousands he invested in mining stocks. And voila! Sherlock had made a killing in the four months he had been in Washington, D.C.

He was still standing agape when the real estate agent appeared around the corner a few minutes after Mycroft had left the scene.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes,” the man exclaimed genially when he saw Sherlock on the front stoop of his house. “Are you ready to take another look inside.?”

“No, I am not, my good man,” Sherlock replied, waving an arm and pushing past the agent. “I will telephone you when it’s more convenient.”

“But., but, Mr. Holmes, I have your keys.,” the man said, hurrying after Sherlock.

The latter stopped and swung on his heels. “Well? Where are they?” he asked, extending a hand. “And have you completed every task and repairs required then?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Holmes, everything’s been done.” The agent extracted a set of keys out of his briefcase and deposited them in Sherlock still opened palm. “But., you’ll need to sign the possession papers.”

Holmes was already running down the steps and down the cross street before the agent could complete his sentence.

The man shrugged and returned to his car. He now knew where to find his eccentric client.

As soon as Sherlock reached a thoroughfare, he hailed a cab and gave the driver Mycroft’s hotel address. He crossed the lobby and without waiting his turn, pushing in front of a customer, he asked the front desk clerk if Mr. Mycroft Holmes was in his suite.

The patron who was about to pay his bill and check out of the hotel looked up at the intruding fellow, visibly annoyed. “Excuse me, but there’s a queue-or haven’t you noticed?”

Sherlock shrugged and rudely ignored the man.

The clerk shot a quick, rueful but unwavering smile at the client, “Excuse me, sir.,” and then to Sherlock. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

“Just give me an answer, NOW!” Sherlock insisted.

“I’ll have to ask you to wait, sir,” the attendant said, armed with the patience his position demanded too often.

“I have no time to wait; a yes or no answer will do,” Sherlock retorted hotly.

“May I suggest that you pick up the house phone”—the clerk pointed to a side desk—”and ring your party. I’m sure if the minister is in his suite, he will pick up.”

Sherlock turned around and strode decisively towards the bank of telephones lined up on the side table near the front desk. He picked up one of the receivers, waited for a second, talked to the operator and hung up. His brother was not in the hotel!

At a loss to know where Mycroft had gone, Sherlock walked the streets for several hours before returning to his room at the little B&B. He couldn’t come to terms with what he had witnessed in front of his house in Baker Street. Who was the woman? Was that a second time machine? And where was Mycroft?

That evening, the minister was on his way back to England. After leaving Irene Adler in a comfortable hotel in town, he had made his way to Dulles Airport and had boarded a flight back to London. Now that he knew where to find Sherlock and that Irene was safe to get acquainted with her new environment for the next few days, Mycroft wanted to concentrate once again on the David Penny problem. More than a problem, David Penny had proven to be a constant migraine for both MI5 and MI6. The man was navigating through time-Irene had intended to meet with him the night before her departure-and had been seen in both centuries, always mixed up with suspicious individuals. Although glad that Adnan Al Shukrijumah had not made good on Sherlock’s predicted bombing, Mycroft could not find a link between the two men-Penny and Adnan.
Sherlock has never been wrong,
he mumbled to himself as he was sipping on a midnight cap in the middle of the Atlantic.

After only a few hours’ sleep, Mycroft hurried into his office the next morning to find his assistant in a state of utter agitation.

“Oh, Mr. Minister,” the young man said, “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night, sir., I’m sorry., but there’s been some development.”

“What sort of development?” Mycroft asked, marching into his office-his assistant in tow. “Which case are you referring to?” He sat down.

“It’s the David Penny case, sir. The man’s been seen again-this time carrying a briefcase into the London

Stock Exchange building.”

“Say what?” Mycroft nearly shouted. “Did you ring Olsson at MI5 to get the details?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“And how were you advised of this?”

“I just got a message this morning through our sources.. I was waiting for your authorization to call Agent Olsson.”

Mycroft riveted his gaze on the young man standing before him across from his desk. “Listen to me, Yves. When it comes to David Penny,
don’t wait for me!
Have you got that?”

Yves nodded, spun on his heels and walked back to his desk after closing Mycroft’s office door behind him.

Mycroft reclined in his chair, pondered for a moment and than picked up the phone.

“Get me Agent Weisberg in D.C.,” he said to the office operator, and waited.

“Minister, good morning, sir. What can I do for you?”

“Simple, Weisberg, you can get off your duff and tell me where Adnan is-and I mean at this very minute!”

“You mean the al Qaeda bomber?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I have seen nothing from you since August and now our man David Penny is on the move again. I’m telling you, these two are continuing to give me a headache. So, where is Adnan?”

Silence.

“Well., are you still there or are you running for cover.?”

“I’m sorry, Minister, but this has become a matter of national security and I cannot divulge our latest findings in the case, I am sorry, sir.”

“Don’t give me that bull, Weisberg, just tell me if Adnan is still in the States-or I’ll call your Vice President or even the President himself, so you can get all the security clearance you want.”

“Just hold on, Minister,” Weisberg babbled, “I am not authorized.”

“Alright, alright., just be aware that if anyone dies because of your refusal to cooperate with our Majesty’s Government, I’ll see you rot in jail for this,” Mycroft declared vehemently, slamming the phone down.

He was about to pick up the receiver again when Yves came in after knocking lightly on the office door. “Sir, Agent Olsson at MI5 has just told me that their field agents followed David Penny out of the Stock Exchange building last night and lost him in the rush hour.”

“You mean these nincompoops have managed to lose his trail again
?” Mycroft shouted. Yves nodded. “What about the briefcase? Did they find it?”

“Yes, sir, and.”

“And what?”

“It was empty-same deal as the time in August, sir.”

Mycroft banged his fist on his desk.
“That does it
!” he yelled. “Get me the CIA director on the line,” he ordered to the dumfounded Yves, who looked terribly upset. Obviously the young man wasn’t used to seeing his boss so irate. He trotted out of Mycroft’s office head bent in dismay.

Following a restless night in strange yet comfortable surroundings, Irene Adler got out of bed and went on a tour of her hotel suite. The bathroom was perhaps the place that aroused most of her curiosity. The bathtub, fitted with what appeared to be a water-spray nozzle overhead, the faucets, the mirrors, and the absence of ewer or washbasin left her in awe. Hot and cold water flowing freely from every tap, tiny soap bars, perfumes and colognes, wash cloths and these immense towels folded at hand only serve to get her into a titter all the way back to her bedroom.

The day before, when she was at the store buying new clothes, she had only been amazed at the way women dressed-no more restraining corsets, no more long and cumbersome dresses, no more hats, no more high-laced shoes-all freely displaying their feminine features, all without shame only confidence. Their coats, boots and even slacks were warm and elegant. She opened the wardrobe closet, chose a two-piece suit and accessories, and spent the next two hours getting ready to make her way to the restaurant to have breakfast.

Irene had only one thing in mind that morning-find Sherlock. Mycroft had described him as disheveled or even gaunt during their conversation the night before. She was anxious as ever to set eyes on the man she had admired-not to say loved-since the affair in Bohemia. Mycroft had given her the address of the B&B and had told her that if he wasn’t in his room, Sherlock would probably be in his house in Baker Street. Somehow, Irene doubted she would find him at either place. She knew Sherlock for his obstinate trait and she also knew that if he were interested in any affairs, he would be somewhere roaming some houses or other, or even the streets, chasing a thief or someone of interest to the police. However, 2010 was the age of telecommunications and as Mycroft had shown her, the computers or cell phones were the instruments of the day. Far gone were the days of the magnifying glass or simple microscope.

On her way down the elevator, Irene was lost in thought. How would Sherlock have coped with all this? How could he have made such a leap in time all on his own? She shuddered at the thought of Sherlock resorting to heroin to assuage his troubled or incisive mind.

As she waited for her breakfast to be served, she browsed through the newspaper and saw a small articlethat caught her attention.

International News:
The British Defense Ministry has identified a suspected terrorist-a man by the name of David Penny-and the anti-terrorism task force is looking to arrest Mr. Penny in the next few days.

Irene had to read the couple of lines twice before she could convince herself that perhaps this man had nothing to do with the David Penny she knew in 1890.
It has to be a man of the same name but a different person,
Irene thought.
How could it be otherwise? Impossible-
she shook her head-
this is not the David I knew.

Nevertheless, there was an undeniable connection-Mycroft, as British Defense Minister, would know if this person was the same David who was to meet her in the park before he had her abducted. Besides, that night, My-croft had made it quite clear that she was not to talk to anyone before her departure. She had not been able to contact Moriarty before leaving; what’s more she had arranged that all traces of her would lead anyone to Greece.

Mycroft will know who David really is,
Irene concluded, eating the last of her toasts.
I’ll just have to wait until he gets back this weekend.
Yet, it bothered her no end-to
be unable to find an answer to this conundrum.

For his part, Sherlock, after reading the same newspaper, jumped out of his seat, grabbed his jacket and muffler and went out in a hurry. When he arrived in front of the CIA building in Virginia, he stopped and looked at the imposing edifice. “You’re still a bunch of idiots,” he mumbled before entering the lobby and striding to the bank of elevators.