The Unexpected Coincidence (6 page)

“You're brave for
walking in this cold. I took a taxi,” Shelly said as soon as she
was close enough to talk without yelling.

“Yeah, I think
I'll get a taxi back.” Amelia made no mention of the reason why. No
one needed to know how scared she'd been. It wasn't the brightest
idea she'd had, given the letters, but she'd made it safely.

Forgetting all her
worries for an evening, she followed Shelly into the building and
let her new friend introduce her to the rest of the writers there.
Some she'd met at other events, but most were new to her.

They spent the
entire meal talking about their careers, from contracts and
advances to deadlines and genre tropes. Only one of the men there
stood out to her as being particularly interesting. He wrote
science fiction and had a good understanding of society's flaws,
but she found herself less interested and more distant than she
used to be around such clever people. The time spent with Sebastian
and now Myron had spoilt her for intelligent conversation.

Despite that, she
couldn't say the evening wasn't a success. She laughed, drank wine
and ate plenty of good food. It was almost midnight by the time she
and Shelly put their jackets on and supported each other's
intoxicated bodies out to get into their taxi.

Shelly let go of
her arm to get into the waiting car first just as Amelia felt
someone approach her from behind.

“Amelia?” a
familiar voice said as she turned. Guy stood, looking a little
sheepish but with the same hero-worshipping light in his eyes. She
couldn't keep her body from shivering. “Oh, are you cold? Would you
like my coat?”

Without waiting
for her to respond, he tugged one sleeve off, and would have done
the other if she hadn't regained use of her voice in time to stop
him.

“No, that's fine.
I'm going back to my hotel now. Sorry, can't chat. Bye.”

Hoping it wasn't
too obvious that she wasn't sober and felt wobbly on her own legs,
she quickly turned and followed Shelly into the car, pulling the
door shut behind her. She heard a meek goodbye follow her and
winced, hoping he hadn't thought her rude.

“Are you all
right?” Shelly asked once the taxi had pulled off.

“Yeah, fine,” she
replied, checking out the window. Guy stood where she'd left him,
staring at the vehicle as it pulled away. As she swept past, she
also noticed the same black Audi was still sat where it had parked
and scared her earlier in the night.

“Was that the same
person from the signing?”

Amelia nodded, not
wanting to talk about it. Although Myron had assured her Guy wasn't
the stalker type, she wasn't convinced anymore. Not now that he'd
shown up outside the restaurant and she'd thought someone had
followed her from her hotel there. It could have been him, and he'd
just been good enough at hiding from her that she'd not noticed him
again. She knew she hadn't checked the road behind her as she
walked inside the restaurant.

As soon as the
taxi had pulled up outside her hotel, she handed her travelling
companion enough money to cover her share of the cost and hurried
into the building, not even hesitating in the reception area. She
wanted the safety of her own room.

Once the door was
shut and locked behind her, she relaxed. It finally registered with
her mind that her shoulders and neck ached from being tensed up.
She was scared.

The grandfather
clock in Mycroft's study let him know it was midnight. It had been
over twenty-four hours since he'd instructed his men to watch out
for foreign people arriving at the site they'd found, and since
then the only communication he'd received had been from Amelia.

He'd been trying
not to think about her. Doubts gnawed at the back of his mind. It
was more than possible she'd cause him trouble and he didn't know
if the diversion was worth the mess she could make. The stalker
business only made problems more likely. If anything happened to
her while under his tutelage, their secret was more likely to get
out, and it had been tiresome enough having to explain her
involvement when the last incident had occurred. A second would
create more questions about her than he wanted to answer.

Despite assuring
her that Mr Thomas was safe, Mycroft had looked into the man's
background. The man did spend his full time caring for his mother
and had told her the truth. If his half-brother, a soldier in the
British Marines, was the brother he'd referred to, he could well
have left his mother with him. Although he noticed their common
parent was their father, not the mother. Either way, it was still
highly unlikely the man wrote the threatening letters. He couldn't
have delivered them, with the type of care his mother needed, and
his brother was often busy with training and had only recently come
back from an overseas tour.

The final
conclusion was that someone else was following her, someone she'd
not spotted. He also knew he couldn't take the time to find them
for her, but it would be a good lesson for her to have to protect
herself and figure out who had sent the letters without his help.
While she was solving her own problem, he could keep an eye on her
and continue his own lessons. It was the simplest way to
proceed.

As the time
continued to trickle past, Mycroft considered getting some sleep,
but he expected something to happen soon. The cache of food at the
marshland had fruit, bread, and other perishable items that
wouldn't last much longer. Whoever had left it there wouldn't stay
away past the night.

Settling back in
his armchair, he picked up his book again, almost hoping he
wouldn't get to read many pages before someone contacted him.

When two more
gongs sounded from the clock, he considered going to bed, but a few
seconds later his phone let out a shrill noise from the small table
beside him. He picked it up and saw what he'd wanted. A man had
returned to the cache and looked like he would be there long enough
for Mycroft to arrive.

He buzzed for
Daniels to get the car ready and walked briskly upstairs to get
changed into more suitable attire for his task. It didn't take long
as he'd already had his housekeeper lay out the necessary garments
for him to don at need.

Daniels already
waited by the car, and the quiet noise of the running engine came
to his ears as Mycroft walked out of the front door.

“Get there as
quick as you can,” Mycroft said as he got himself into the back of
the car and pulled the door shut. Daniels was efficient enough to
be behind the wheel and ready to go as soon as he was. There had
been several chauffeurs in Mycroft's employment before he found
Daniels, but the search had been worth it. His household ran well
thanks to him and the housekeeper.

Mycroft looked
over the preliminary information as it was coming in from one of
the observing agents. Just before two in the morning they'd heard
the sound of something rustling the grasses and reeds on the
marshland. A few seconds later a tall man with a thin build had
appeared, striding over the land. He'd dressed in black but the
agents all had heat scanners and could see his outline as it made
its way to the food.

At the moment they
were watching him eat and rest, which helped Mycroft feel more
relaxed about his decision to wait at home. If the man, probably a
Russian, wasn't in a hurry, it would give Daniels time to get him
there. At least London this late at night was nowhere near as busy
as during the day.

He tried not to
get impatient as he sat and waited to arrive. The agents were
feeding him very little information. Hopefully, because the Russian
was still eating, or even better, trying to get some sleep.

When Daniels
finally pulled up in the right place, Mycroft sprang into action.
Not saying a word to his driver, he headed away from his car and
towards the marshlands. Daniels turned the car off and the
headlights went out. The darkness wrapped itself around Mycroft and
he had to wait several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the new
environment.

It didn't take him
long to spot the closest of his team of three agents. The light
pollution from the large city helped to prevent it being totally
dark, and his observant eyes did the rest of the work.

Being careful to
move as silently as he could and going more slowly, Mycroft wound
his way across the marshes to his agent. As he went, he kept a
close eye on the area around him. Many birds roosted here and he
didn't want to startle any and draw attention to his presence.

It took him
another fifteen minutes to get to the agent, making his total
arrival time from notification to the present just shy of
forty-five minutes. Not bad, considering everything he managed. For
someone well over a hundred years old, he was still in good
shape.

“What's the
latest?” Mycroft asked in the ear of agent Herbert.

“He stopped eating
but doesn't appear to be leaving any time soon. Might be reading;
hard to tell,” the agent whispered back.

Mycroft nodded and
took the spare heat-vision goggles, before finding a fourth spot of
his own to keep watch. Just like Herbert had said, the Russian was
sitting, and from the tilting back and forth of his head, appeared
to be reading something.

After ten minutes
the man stood up, fiddled with some items, moving them about within
some kind of container or bag. When he straightened again, he took
a look in several directions and then loped slowly towards the
waterfront.

For a few seconds
Mycroft only watched, giving him time to get far enough ahead
Mycroft wouldn't be heard following. It didn't take that long with
the long strides of the tall Russian, and then he was up on his
feet and hurrying after.

The Russian
continued a meandering pace, evidently confident he wouldn't be
seen and making it easy for Mycroft to keep up. With the goggles,
Mycroft could see the small animals hidden within the undergrowth,
but it made it harder to see the rushes and reeds that rustled when
he brushed past them.

The odd breeze or
two helped to hide his movements, so he made use of them when they
happened, moving faster when it blew and slowing when it didn't.
With this strange method, he managed to keep a reasonable distance
behind his quarry.

When the Russian
reached the edge of the marshland and the bank of the Thames, he
stopped. Coming down river was a boat-shaped patch of warmer
colour. It was smaller than the yacht that Mycroft had been taken
on only a few weeks earlier, but another person steered it towards
the bank and threw what was logically a rope over to the Russian,
who caught it easily.

Mycroft moved
closer and removed the goggles. It would give his eyes time to
adjust again before he made the last dash and got onto the boat as
well. The men took a few more minutes to bring the boat in close
enough that the Russian could step aboard, but as soon as his foot
touched the edge of the boat, Mycroft leapt up and hurried
after.

It was important
they didn't spot him so he kept low and didn't sprint, but he made
sure he was fast enough not to lose sight of the boat. While
jogging, off to one side, he spotted another of his agents, but she
sensibly remained crouched in the undergrowth. Their job was
done.

By the time he
reached the bank, the boat was several metres away but not
travelling fast. He couldn't make the jump, but the boat moved
slowly enough a quick swim would get him to the back. He put down
the goggles and yanked off his shoes. Hopefully, one of his agents
would have the sense to come fetch them when it wouldn't endanger
the operation to do so.

The water brought
goosebumps out on his skin as it seeped through his clothes. He
frowned despite knowing his car always had an entire spare set of
clothing. The current set would be ruined by the time his little
adventure was over.

Once in the water,
Mycroft could only see the back of the boat. The rungs of the
little ladder glinted in the low light and gave him something to
aim for. Stroke after powerful stroke, he closed the gap and
latched onto the bottom rung. Pausing, he took several deep breaths
to calm his heart rate. It was important to be slow and
careful.

Using the strength
in his arms, Mycroft lifted himself inch by inch out of the water.
If he did it any quicker, the water draining from his clothing
would make too much noise.

Minutes ticked by
as the boat took him farther away from London and left his agents
behind. His arms soon ached from the strain of holding his weight
and that of his water-logged clothes, reminding him why he liked to
leave this sort of thing to other people. Eventually, the majority
of his body was out of the water and it was time to lift his head
above the edge of the boat.

His eyes widened.
There was no one there. No longer trying to be quiet, he hauled
himself onto the deck and rushed towards the helm. A large piece of
wood held the steering wheel in place. He swore as he put the boat
in neutral. Somehow, both passengers had slipped past him while he
was tailing them. It could only mean one thing. They'd realised he
was following.

Hoping one of his
agents might have seen something, he turned the boat around and
brought it back to the marshland. By the time he got there, two of
the agents were standing waiting.

“Did you see where
they went?” he asked before anyone else could speak. They shook
their heads. Mycroft swore again. “Get me a torch and my dry
clothes. And tie this to something.”

Herbert caught the
end of the rope and looped it around a sturdy fence post a few
metres inland, while the woman ran off. He hoped she wouldn't take
too long to get back. While he waited, he kept to one section of
the boat. He didn't want the water dripping off him to obliterate
any of the evidence that might give him another lead.