The Reluctant Knight (5 page)

Trying to play her
situation out with grace, she glanced at the sinks, hoping they'd
let her wash her hands. They ignored her gesture.

Instead of bagging
her again, as she expected, the nearest guy reached up and pulled
the gag out of her mouth. He then pulled a bottle of water from the
large pockets on his coat and took its top off.

“Drink,” he
commanded unnecessarily as he put the bottle up to her mouth. When
it spilled over her chin and down her dress, she lifted her own
hands to help steady it and gulp down the liquid.

At first, it hurt
as the almost frozen liquid rushed over all the dry, stiff parts of
her mouth and hit the raw throat behind, but it soon numbed
everything and merely refreshed her after what must have been over
twelve hours since her last drink.

Knowing it might
be a long time until she could drink again, and safe in the
knowledge she'd be allowed to have a toilet break at least
semi-regularly, she gulped down as much as she could.

While she drank,
she flicked her eyes around the room. It was a combined toilet and
shower block, evidently meant for men and not women, from the array
of urinals along the wall. She'd been shoved in the only cubicle.
On a wall she noticed a map of where they were. It was too far
away, but she could read the sign at the top clearly. Once more,
she was grateful she had taken German in school. She was at
Eholfing truck services.

The Russian pulled
the bottle away from her when it was only half gone, splashing more
down her front and bringing her back to her predicament.

Before she could
decide what to do next, the wad of cloth was shoved back into her
open mouth and then they pulled a fresh bag over her head. When
they were done, they'd fastened it less tightly around her neck
than the previous time, but the effect was the same. She was blind
once more.

Her route out of
the toilets was similar to her route in, undignified and punctuated
with stumbles across the rippled ground. As she was guided, she
thought she might be going in a different direction than on the way
in, and this was confirmed when she was lifted and bundled into a
different-smelling boot.

This one was the
most spacious yet, but it smelt of some kind of wet animal,
probably dog. It was a smell she knew would get irritating
quickly.

Within another few
minutes she was once more shut up and out of sight, and the
Russians were continuing to take her farther and farther from
London and the safety of the Holmes brothers.

Although she'd not
managed to get away, she'd gained several pieces of useful
information with the latest stop, not to mention that she'd had
some time out of the small space in the back of the cars, but
despite all that she felt far worse than she had at any point
during the whole fiasco so far.

She'd discovered
one very important thing. This wasn't a test; she really had been
abducted.

A little after
four in the afternoon Mycroft emerged onto French soil. Less than a
second later, both he and Sherlock were back on their laptops
looking for the few cars that had been here less than three hours
before and had passed through one of two possible checkpoints into
Belgium approximately an hour earlier.

While they'd been
underground, Mycroft's secretary had continued listening to the
bugged feed for him. She informed him that the message had been
repeated twice more and then the sender had decided to try and take
a small nap. It was a comfort to know that at least she would still
be able to aid him, even if few of his agents were available and
none of the UK resources.

He hadn't told his
secretary who was on the other end of the messages and didn't
intend to, but he asked her to continue listening and to try and
keep track of the journey as well. She might not provide any extra
info, but it freed him and Sherlock up for more complicated
work.

Daniels had been
briefed on the best direction to go in, given the limited
information they already had earlier, allowing them to work in
silence, scanning the details of car after car as they appeared on
both screens. An hour later, they had identified over twenty that
had gone through the set of points they needed at the right sort of
times.

Right away, they
could discount three for having kids evident in the cars, and
another for having a dog. Four more were driven by women, and so
far only men had been involved in the abduction. This left them
with fifteen that could possibly be the car Amelia was in right
now.

He sent the
details for all of them to his secretary and then had them
forwarded on to the French version of the police commissioner. The
man wouldn't have to cooperate with Mycroft if he didn't want to,
but they had little love for the Russians, and as the men were now
off the French soil there was little they would need to do but
provide information.

As an extra, he
gave the same information to Belgium and Germany. It was possible
the car they were using now had been stolen in either of those
countries.

It was just past
five in the evening when they pulled up to the Belgian border
control. Thankfully, this was one of the few countries he could
guarantee to be given easy access to. He'd helped them with some
business recently enough that even if they worked out who he really
was it would only help his cause.

Within fifteen
minutes they were back on the road, the more stately car having
given him a swift service. They'd only travelled a few more miles
when the feed from Amelia came to life again. He heard the normal
rustling sound as she moved against the receiver and readjusted her
position.

Not long after he
heard her grunt faintly, and then the unmistakable sound of sobs
reached him. When he glanced at his brother he noticed they'd both
raised their eyebrows.

“Did I miss
something?” Sherlock asked, but they both knew the answer. For some
reason, Amelia had started crying unprovoked. “How long has she
been in there for?”

“A little over
eight hours.”

“She was never
trained for this.” Sherlock's tone said everything his words
didn't. The emotion was something neither of them liked, but
Mycroft had always shown more disdain towards a woman's tears.
Sherlock was trying to tell him to give her some slack and not get
annoyed that she was crying.

“This should never
have happened,” he snapped, and then wished he hadn't. It had
occurred in his hotel after he left her there alone. He was as much
to blame for this as she was, and there was only one thing Mycroft
hated more than other people making mistakes: making them
himself.

“We'll get her
back and I'm sure she will do what she can to help. She may be
crying now, but it's her way. She's alone in that car boot and
knows it's a good time to let her emotions out and clear her head.
She'll think better after she's done,” Daniels said, breaking the
silence he'd kept since they had arrived in France.

Mycroft blinked in
shock at the statement. Never before had Daniels offered his
opinion on anything he was talking about or anyone he met. It
seemed both of the men with him believed she was stronger than she
appeared. And a few seconds later he realised he wasn't as annoyed
as he would usually be on having to hear such emotion. Of the few
women to cry in front of him, it seemed Amelia had an approach that
at least had some logic behind it, something that rarely went hand
in hand.

As soon as the
sobbing had begun, it stopped, and Amelia calmed herself back down.
They heard her move again and try to get herself comfortable. Not
long after, even the engine grew quiet.

Having little else
to do, Mycroft listened and tried to picture what was going on
where she was. She'd been in the small space for a long time. By
now, if she did get a chance to escape her legs would struggle to
hold her and her eyesight would take several minutes to fully
adjust. Even if an opportunity did present itself, it would need to
be a good one to do anything other than risk that they shot her or
harmed her to stop her escaping. Unless something changed, he was
her only hope.

All of a sudden,
she grunted and yelled against the gag, and he knew she was trying
to make as much noise as possible. She must have heard something
the bug hadn't picked up and was trying to get the attention of
some possible assistance.

“She might be near
another border,” he said, drawing Sherlock's attention, although
when he looked over at his brother's laptop screen he saw it was
entirely wasted. It had been so long since he'd worked with his
brother he wasn't used to someone keeping up with his thoughts.

The map lay open
on one side of the screen, focused on the two possible roads they
would use to go from Belgium to Germany. On the other side,
Sherlock was hacking into the camera feed at the northern border
control to look for one of the fifteen cars already on their watch
list.

While keeping half
his attention on the sounds, Mycroft pulled up the information for
the southern one and also powered his way through their encryption.
Not long after the pair had started watching for a car they
recognised, Amelia tapped at the bug again.

She thought she
had gone through another border control as well. This could only
mean she was now in Germany. Given the way they were travelling, it
would be some hours before they went through another checkpoint. If
they could figure out what car the Russians were in, the German
police might assist them in apprehending it before they reached the
next border. If the German authorities didn't assist, Mycroft would
need to catch up to them.

“Here's one of
them,” Sherlock said, breaking the silence. He'd paused the screen
on a red family car. They could see a man in the driver's seat
while the security checked their passports, but the rest of the
people were obscured.

Not long after, he
saw another of the familiar cars on his own screen. Again, a male
drove, and they couldn't see the rest of the passengers.

Although it had
narrowed down the suspected cars, he knew it wasn't enough. The
German police wouldn't stop a car on the whim of an unofficial
manhunt just because there might be terrorists inside. He issued
the report anyway and left Sherlock to check for any extra cars
while he looked up the ones already spotted. In the end, there were
three cars that made it along the path they thought possible.

The weight in his
stomach reminded him that this wasn't good enough. Amelia needed
them, and despite his best efforts he wasn't helping her fast
enough. Somehow the Russians had blindsided him, and without the
usual resources his government afforded him it left him with little
manpower for a big job.

Deciding to take a
risk, he sent an email to the agents he knew were in the area. Some
of them owed him a favour and he knew they would be tempted to
help, despite the unsanctioned nature of the task. If the British
monarch didn't interfere, some of them might help him.

Once they'd passed
through the border control between Belgium and Germany themselves,
Mycroft had the satisfaction of noting they'd caught up by fourteen
minutes. He was now a little over two hours behind, but he needed
to decide where to go next. It was possible that the Russians would
go straight across Germany into Poland or the Czech Republic, but
he knew, if he were planning the journey, he'd travel into Austria,
Hungary and then into Ukraine.

In less than half
an hour, Mycroft would need to decide. If he went wrong it could
put them even further behind. On top of that, his car searches had
turned up the same thing. All three cars were registered in
Britain. Something you'd expect from holidaymakers coming across
the Channel, even at this time of year. None of them were owned by
anyone who appeared fake, and none of them had been sold in the
last week or two or reported stolen.

When they were
about a mile away from the junction that required their decision,
Mycroft had a report come through. As expected, the German police
weren't willing to stop the cars he was interested in, but they
were happy to inform him if they saw them. The red family car had
just been spotted near Frankfurt.

After considering
that this was the direction he'd have been most likely to take and
these Russians were intelligent, he gave the instruction to Daniels
to follow on that far. Until Amelia could get them more
information, it was the best he could do.

At almost the same
time he received a text from a familiar overbearing butler. None of
the agents would be helping him. He let out a small growl but it
went unnoticed. There were few times that he wished for a more
overt grip on Britain but this was one of those occasions. It
almost made him tempted to set up a dictator who knew he really had
all the power, as his younger brother had suggested on several
occasions over the last century.

Not long after,
Daniels yawned and Mycroft remembered his driver had been behind
the wheel for well over the usual number of hours. Unfortunately,
he wasn't a Holmes brother, and that meant he'd need to rest even
if they didn't.

“I'll drive,”
Sherlock said, anticipating the next question. Mycroft nodded his
appreciation of the offer. At the next services they had their
first break since being on the Eurostar, used the facilities, and
got back on the road with Sherlock behind the wheel and Daniels in
the passenger seat.

For a few minutes
the car smelt of fast food burgers as Daniels refuelled in more
than one way. Other than drinking one of the fast food teas,
neither he nor Sherlock had anything. Such offerings could hardly
be called food. If he needed sustenance he had some biscuits and
other assorted snacks in the car for such situations.