The Reluctant Knight (10 page)

“Come now, do we
really have to do this the hard way?”

“I thought we were
doing this the hard way. The easy way would have been afternoon tea
in a café somewhere.”

He laughed and
called for his men to come back. Not long after, he moved the stool
closer to her. Again, she was helpless as they dragged her towards
the stool and stretched her torso face-up over it. One held her
arms down while another held her legs.

When they
stretched a thin white towel over her face, she knew what was going
to come next; she'd seen too many movies to not know water was
coming. The first few seconds were fine, until the liquid soaked
the fabric through and she was helpless to stop it dribbling into
her nose. She involuntarily snorted and coughed, her body then
tried to inhale, only making it worse.

It went on for
what felt like forever, until the cloth was pulled away and she
could cough and splutter everything back up. They did this three
times in a row before anyone even said anything to her. By then she
was drenched, her throat was in agony and her lungs felt like they
were on fire.

“Now, tell me what
you know of Mr Holmes.”

“I don't know
anything.” She closed her eyes, knowing what would follow and
wondering if it would be easier if she weren't lying. Although
she'd still not convinced herself of the truth of her discovery
about Myron really being someone called Mycroft.

Even if she did
tell them what she thought she might know, she knew there would be
no reprieve. They wouldn't believe her. And besides, she'd never
betray Myron like that. Even if she lived, she'd ruin everything
she'd spent the last five months building up. Her only way out of
this was to keep whatever she knew about Myron to herself and try
to escape.

As the day wore
on, Amelia knew that wasn't going to be easy.

Snow swirled in
the gusting wind as Mycroft sat inside the new car and waited.
Daniels was finding them some decent food, while Sherlock did one
of the few things he did best, disguise himself and sneak into the
required country.

As soon as they'd
decided to stay Mycroft had phoned around the few agents in the
area who might help despite the lack of approval from the top. One
had felt obligated to him enough to at least provide them with his
car and drive Mycroft's back towards the UK with a couple of
friends. Mycroft had promised to reimburse them for the effort.

Before his younger
brother had left, the pair of them had marked out on a map the few
places Amelia could be held, given how far into Russia they'd
travelled, the few pieces of information she fed them and what
Mycroft and Sherlock already knew about the area.

So far, Mycroft
had ruled out one possible location himself with a few questions
put to an old agent. Sherlock needed to narrow it down the rest of
the way.

Amelia had fallen
asleep again, something probably wise given everything that was
likely to happen over the next few days. Somehow, she would have to
endure at least one day of whatever the Russians had in store for
her, and he knew it wouldn't be much longer until the day arrived.
The horizon in the east was lightening, and there was work to be
done.

As the first few
sun rays came up across the sky, turning everything a gentle
orange, Daniels returned, a loaf of bread tucked under one arm and
a paper bag under the other. He wasn't wearing his usual suit but
had borrowed some of the scruffier clothes Mycroft sometimes used
as a disguise.

“There doesn't
seem to be much here,” Daniels said as he got back into the car.
“But I found a couple of barns we could hole up in until we get
Amelia back. And there's a good place to put the car behind one of
them as well.”

“Good, we'll go
there now. I'm sure my brother can find us when he returns.”
Mycroft didn't want to be out in the daylight any longer than
necessary. It was important that it looked like he was returning to
England.

It took them
almost no time at all to drive the car down the little country
lanes that led to the disused barn, but getting this new car hidden
behind it was another matter. Although it was as bullet proof as
his own, it was designed to look more like a sports car and appear
unobviously changed. As a result its suspension was far lower.

One side of the
stone barn's roof had crumbled slightly and it covered the ground
in half-concealed boulders. It took one of them driving and the
other pushing the car over particularly awkward patches, or moving
rocks out the way to get the car behind the barn.

With the snow
coming down, Mycroft quickly worked out that the easiest way to
hide the car from sight on the final side was simply to cover it in
a tarpaulin and let the snow blend it into the surroundings.
Thankfully, they had one in the boot. In his line of business you
never knew when you wanted to hide something.

It wasn't quite
large enough to stretch the full length of the car, but a bush grew
near the other end, and in a few hours that would all be part of
the snow, as well. Although it was cold, and would make it harder
to get Amelia out, the snow at least had one or two advantages.

With that job
done, Mycroft had a look inside the barn. Apart from the small
section of roof that had crumbled, the inside was still dry and
snow free.

For now they could
use it as a dwelling. He didn't plan to be there more than a day or
two at most, and neither he nor Sherlock could die of the cold. Of
that, they were both well aware.

Mycroft was just
thinking that his brother really ought to have been back, when
Sherlock sauntered around a hedge and came into the barn.

As soon as they
saw each other the corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched up in a
grin. He was wearing the uniform of a Ukrainian Air Force
officer.

“I have a feeling
we've got everything we need right at our fingertips.”

“Did you find
where they're holding her?” Daniels asked, but Mycroft knew the
answer from one glance at his younger brother.

Sherlock fidgeted
a little.

“I narrowed it
down to one of three places, and they're all near to each other. We
should be able to put together a plan and figure out which one
along the way if we need to. There's a chance we'll get the
information we need from Amelia anyway.”

Mycroft nodded.
Even if he wanted to be angry at Sherlock, there was nothing that
could be done now. They would have to work with what they had.

Before they could
start doing anything else, the sound of a metal door closing came
through the speaker on Mycroft's phone. He'd pulled up the feed
from Amelia's bug on his phone while the laptops were kept in the
car.

Not long
afterwards they were trying not to listen to the sounds of Amelia
being tortured, but one phrase was going to stick with Mycroft for
some time. The Russian was right. He should have taken better care
of her. They'd evidently been planning to take her for some time
and he'd not noticed.

“We'll have her
back in less than twenty-four hours,” Sherlock said. “And I can
listen to the feed if it bothers you.”

“Why would it
bother me?” Mycroft asked a little too hastily. As he said it he
unclenched his fists and relaxed his jaw. His younger brother gave
him a look to know he wasn't fooled but, thankfully, he didn't
pursue it any further.

Over the next
three hours, Sherlock told him everything he'd found, from the
Ukrainian base just this side of the border to all the places to
incarcerate Amelia he'd ruled out. It was a lot of information, but
it sounded like they had or could acquire most of what they
needed.

To see if he could
identify the person interrogating her, Mycroft sent a snippet of
the recording to his secretary and any of the agents he'd ever sent
on Russian missions. It was a small enough task that it was
unlikely to be prevented. One of them might recognise the voice or
be able to match the recording to an old one somewhere. Whoever he
was, neither Mycroft nor Sherlock had ever met him.

“I'm going to need
to come with you,” Mycroft said.

“I assumed you
planned to all along.”

“I was considering
it. But it's not ideal.”

“Take the
helicopter,” Sherlock said, pointing to where he'd found it, in the
Ukrainian base.

“I know how to fly
one,” Daniels said, piping up for the first time in several hours.
Immediately, Mycroft frowned; he had no intention of taking his
chauffeur into any more danger with him if he didn't need to.

“Brilliant.”
Sherlock slapped Daniels on the back, and Mycroft could tell from
the looks on both their faces that it was decided. There would be
no way to persuade Daniels to remain with the car. “It works better
with my plan anyway. You'll find Amelia faster and I'll have less
running around to do. It also gives you an excuse if the royal
family cause you trouble over it. You can insist you went into
Russia against your will.”

Mycroft rolled his
eyes. It was just like the younger Holmes to be so flippant about
the risk they were taking.

“Now, if that's
all settled, I want some sleep. I was up all night.”

Although it was
tempting, Mycroft didn't point out he hadn't slept either. It would
be yet another sign that he was emotionally invested in Amelia's
rescue. Instead, he encouraged Daniels to take the other spare
blanket and curl up to sleep as well. Someone had to listen in to
Amelia, just in case she gave them something useful.

As he sat there,
he looked over the details of everything Sherlock had mapped out
and informed him of. It didn't take him long to spot Sherlock's
obvious attempts to hide what he intended to do.

“Oh, Sherlock,
what were you thinking?” he muttered under his breath, knowing
Sherlock was doing the one thing he would do if it wouldn't start a
war. It was probably a good thing he was going to let Daniels fly
him into Russia in the helicopter. It would reduce the time it took
to find Amelia and get her out.

Mycroft was
looking over the three possible facilities to work out the best way
to search them when he got a message from one of his old
agents.

Recognised the
voice. Russian called Maksim Nesterov. Works in Western Russia
mostly. Ambitious but not as nasty as some.

Relief lifted the
weight in Mycroft's stomach a little. He could easily tell the
interrogation on Amelia had been tough, but there was hope she'd
pull through if her captor really was Maksim Nesterov. Over the
last few years, Mycroft had heard the man mentioned.

He was organised
and bright, with a lot of success at getting the information he
wanted, but he prided himself in doing it without resorting to
mutilating the victim. There was even a rumour or two that he broke
the few women he'd interrogated without resorting to the savagery
some other men did. He was nicknamed the civilised butcher.

It also meant they
could cross another one of the three locations Amelia might be in
off the list. It wasn't somewhere a man like Nesterov would be.

As Mycroft
listened to the feed and waited for nightfall, they abandoned the
idea of water torture and Nesterov spoke.

“Well, all I can
say is you can't be just some acquaintance. It usually requires
some kind of training to put up with that sort of punishment.
However, we're not done yet. We could be if you'd just talk.”

“I have nothing I
can tell you, but you're forgetting that I'm a writer. I know how
this ends,” Amelia replied, her voice sounding washed-out and
tired.

He laughed at her
comeback, a cold laugh that was meant to frighten her. Given
everything that was happening, she was coping well.

“Let us try
something different,” he said in English to her before barking out
for his minions to flip her over in Russian.

Not long after, he
heard her whimpering but had no idea what they were actually doing
to her. He assumed from the lack of beating that it was some kind
of pressure torture or they were hurting her in a way that wouldn't
mark her.

Mycroft could only
listen for so long before he had to ignore it and think over their
plan again. It had surprised him that they wanted her for
information about him. He'd assumed they actually wanted her for
her role in everything, but it did mean she would be much more
likely to be alive by that evening. You didn't kill your only
source.

As long as she
didn't say anything, she stood a good chance. Although he wouldn't
want her to tell them anything about him, he knew she would say
very little, but once they realised she knew next to nothing they
would kill her. They didn't go to this sort of effort and then just
let their victims go again.

Thankfully,
Nesterov decided she'd had enough after only an hour of punishing
her that way.

“Stop,” he said in
Russian; evidently he was not the one torturing her.

“I think that is
enough for now. It seems you're strong-willed. Maybe that's what he
likes about you. But I have plenty of time. We'll give you some
time to think about your predicament,” he told Amelia in
English.

“Good luck,” she
replied, sounding surprisingly perky given what was happening to
her. “You're going to need it if you go up against the Holmes
brothers.”

Nesterov didn't
respond to Amelia's taunt but barked another few orders at his own
men.

“Remove her
dress,” he then commanded his men. Mycroft held his breath
wondering where Nesterov was going to go next. When the agent had
said Nesterov was civilised, he'd assumed she would be untouched in
any manner that would be sexually humiliating.

“Perhaps you will
be more talkative when you are fed up of the cold. Russian winters
are harsh for you British people, no?”