The Ambitious Orphan

by Amelia Price

  For a few seconds, he considered telling Amelia that she should turn down the offer to become an agent, but the driver never gave them the privacy, and even if he had, Mycroft felt confident that she'd know it wasn't something he wanted.

  As soon as it was mentioned to her she should realise Mycroft had deliberately kept the offer from her. It wasn't something he approved of.

  “Where are we?” she asked as the car pulled up to the security hut at the barriers on and off the military site.

  “A small military facility west of London. You'll forget you were here,” Mycroft replied.

  “As you wish, but is this where you brought Nesterov after last night?”

  He nodded, ignoring the break in her voice as she said the Russian's name.

  “I never got a chance to thank the agents who provided their assistance last night. Could you thank them for me?” she said a few seconds later. As he glanced at her he saw the immense gratitude in her eyes. He nodded.

  Both the agents who'd arrived with Nesterov had been debriefed, so he was fully aware of what had happened the night before. The bravery she'd displayed and forethought to follow the men into the house in case other Russians lingered outside had pleased him.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, deciding to reward her act of courage by showing at least a small amount of concern.

  “Not really. Once Tom left, I tried, but I woke every hour or so.” As she said this Mycroft studied her face. In the low-light of the car interior the tell-tale signs of tiredness were mostly masked, but on close examination he could still see a little darkness under her eyes and a slowness to her movements. She was exhausted.

  “You don't have to stay there again if you don't wish. At least, not yet, but it wouldn't be wise to leave it too long before you try again.”

  “I know. I was planning on trying again in another week. Once some of the mess has been cleared up and some furniture has been replaced.”

  He nodded, pleased she'd thought over some kind of recovery plan. Fear was always worse the longer it was left, if it got the better of you once. You had to keep tackling it until it was gone or you were resilient enough to its effects that it didn't matter anymore.

  They slipped into a companionable silence for the rest of the hour and seventeen minutes that the driver took to get them to Buckingham Palace. As they got close, he stole another glance at Amelia. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was in danger of falling open as they pulled up in the courtyard.

  By the time they both stood outside she'd composed herself well enough that few people would notice her wonder at the surroundings. It was a good attitude to have. The palace was a dangerous place to show your true emotions.

  They were led inside and towards the sitting room Mycroft had occupied the last time he was there. To help avoid a social faux pas on Amelia's part, he waited for her to sit and then joined her on the sofa she chose. If she'd chosen a different one to him it would have left nowhere for the butler to sit and still follow the palace etiquette.

  Despite there being two of them waiting, the butler didn't appear swiftly. Fifteen minutes after they arrived, they were still sitting, far too close for Mycroft's usual comfort, although Amelia was sitting near one edge. Old sofas were never particularly wide.

  “Do they often keep you waiting?” Amelia whispered a minute later. He nodded. “That must infuriate you. Don't they realise they shouldn't keep you waiting?”

  A twinkle appeared in her eyes, and he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up. He gave her the smallest of response in kind, but only enough she'd notice. The last thing he wanted was for the butler to come in and see them sharing some kind of private joke. It would only fuel their ridiculous notion that the pair should marry.

  “Good morning, Myron. Ms Jones, welcome to the palace,” the butler said as he finally bustled in. Not far behind him was yet another woman with a tray of tea.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Amelia replied, not missing a beat and sounding like it was an honour. Whether she thought it truly was or not, Mycroft didn't intend to look her way and find out. He didn't want the butler to read too much into such a gesture.

  “Well, we've been hearing lots about you. It was about time we had a chat, I think.” The butler gave Mycroft a pointed look to let him know it was considered an avoidable chat.

  Mycroft fought back an annoyed sigh. They never summoned him to the palace for any other reason than to complain or try to make some kind of point. By now he'd have hoped they'd learnt that he never cared what they thought of him as long as he got the job done in a way he saw fit.

  Not having any idea of what they wanted to talk about, Amelia remained silent and merely expressed the usual politeness when she was given her tea. She drank first as she should have done when there were just the two men and her in the room. It was a common mistake for women to think they should wait for their host. He was glad Amelia didn't fall into that trap. It only applied if the actual royal family were present.

  “I understand you've been undergoing some training, courtesy of Myron here?”

  “Yes. It certainly helps when terrorists take an interest in you.” Amelia smiled, almost exactly mimicking the gesture he gave people.

  “I assume he extended our invitation to join the training system for some of our most highly prized agents?”

  “Of course,” she said, lying well enough the butler probably didn't pick up on it.

  “And?”

  “I'm sorry. I really don't think it's for me. While under Myron's tutelage, I've learnt a great deal. Given how well I've responded, I really can't consider being trained by anyone else right now.”

  Mycroft blinked lazily, aware she'd managed to work out exactly why he hadn't asked her in a very short time frame. On the inside only, he felt very smug.

  The butler frowned and put down his teacup. For a few seconds no one said anything.

  “It seems to me that we don't quite understand each other. It's very important to her majesty that you be brought in to be trained in some way.”

  “It's quite clear we don't understand each other. I assure you, if Myron, or I, wanted me to be part of your training program, I would be already.”

  “We don't like loose ends, Ms Jones.”

  “And Myron? Is he a loose end?” she asked, the fierceness in her beginning to add bite to her words. Mycroft waited, knowing where she was going, even if the butler didn't. It was very comforting to see her handle the conversation so well. Not even the royal family were going to make her do something she didn't want to.

  “I think we both know Myron is considered an integral part of our government. Neither of you would be here otherwise.”

  “Then I am not a loose end either. I do exactly as Myron instructs me, no more and no less.”

  “On paper it does not appear so.”

  “So make a piece of paper that says so. I will only be trained and commanded by Myron.”

  “All right. I'll add a division to our specialist agency group. I assume you have no objection, Myron?” the butler smiled and he returned the gesture, even if neither of them meant it. Of all the possible ways the conversation could end, it was the least offensive to him. The royal family had made it quite apparent they weren't going to allow Amelia to be forgotten. At least this way she still answered to him and only him.

  “As long as I only train people I've chosen, I see no reason to object.”

  “Then Ms Jones is officially yours to oversee. Any mistakes she makes will reflect upon you both.”

  “Understood. I'll ensure all relevant paperwork is filled out,” Mycroft said as he stood. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. A second later Amelia got to her feet as well, looking at him for the first time since the butler had arrived.

  The butler soon responded, showing them out as if he were done as well. Mycroft doubted he was, but what had happened could be spun positively enough when fed up to the top of the royal family. They would be allowed to
leave without a fuss.

  Chapter 8

  As Amelia walked behind Myron, she surreptitiously wiped her palms on her trousers. While sitting in the palace sweat had slicked both, and she didn't want anyone to notice the effect the meeting had taken on her body. On top of that, her heart had raced and she needed to pee.

  For several minutes, she'd felt like a mouse caught between two lions. On one side of her had sat her ever strict and difficult to please mentor, and opposite her the mouth of the royal family. It was a situation she hoped never to repeat, even if she appeared to have survived the conflict.

  It was evident that Myron was treading a very fine line with his work and wasn't entirely approved of. She also hoped she'd picked up correctly that he didn't want her training with another branch of the government. When it came down to it, he appeared to have leapt at the idea of her being trained by him, but given how little emotion he showed, she could easily be wrong.

  By the time she said goodbye to the butler her pulse had slowed to an almost normal pace and her hands were dry enough she didn't feel too conscious when she shook the man's hand. Less than a minute later she was back in the same car seat and being driven away from the palace.

  Myron didn't say a word, instead choosing to focus on the view from his window. After a few seconds she decided to do the same. The driver wasn't Daniels, and therefore Amelia didn't know what could and couldn't be said. She would save her many questions for later, when she knew it was safe to talk without incurring the Holmes wrath.

  It took even longer to get back to the military facility Myron had been picked up from than leaving it had. Now it was close to rush hour, the traffic in London was terrible. Amelia found herself feeling grateful that she didn't have to contend with it every day.

  “Come,” Myron said as he got out. After half a second to combat her shock, she followed him out of the car. “We'll be expected to file your paperwork immediately.”

  She nodded and stood beside him as the driver shut the door they'd emerged from.

  “I can't stay,” the man said. “I have orders to return.”

  “I'll see Ms Jones to her destination,” Myron replied, and Amelia had to fight off the grin she wanted to express. It meant more time with the Holmes brother. The driver moved around to the boot and fetched her suitcase. After he'd wheeled it over to her he got back in the car and departed.

  Myron raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the luggage.

  “I was coming back to London when the car picked me up,” she said before she realised he was likely to know that.

  “Of course you were.” He rolled his eyes. “Leave it with Daniels.”

  She did as she was bid, helping the chauffeur put it in his own boot, and then hurried to catch up with Myron as he strode into the nearest building. There were two soldiers on the other side of the door. Although neither of them moved their bodies, keeping their rigid at attention postures, both followed her with their eyes. It was obvious they were curious about her. In her civilian clothes she looked out of place, even with Myron beside her.

  “I need these printed,” Myron said as he walked into a small office and held out a USB stick to an older man behind a desk. Even he was wearing an army uniform.

  “Yes, sir. Shall I let your men know you'll relieve them soon, or let them continue looking after the package downstairs?”

  “I've got some work I have to see to for the moment. Have them carry on.”

  “Package?” Amelia asked as Myron then led her to another office. This one was empty and, given the furniture, evidently his. He sat down behind it, fetched a pen, and rummaged through his desk for a small camera, not answering her question.

  “Hold still,” he said. She tried to do as he bid and looked at the camera, but when the first photo printed out and came into view Myron shook his head.

  “Again. Do try not to look quite so intimidated,” he said and waited for her to pose again. As Amelia tried something more neutral, Myron clicked the shutter again and let this second photo print. While they were waiting for it to finish developing, the soldier he'd given the USB stick to knocked and entered, carrying the stick and a stack of paper so thick it made Amelia's eyes widen.

  “Good, let's get started.”

  Over the next three hours Myron filled in the entire stack of paperwork. Most of the answers he seemed to know himself but he had her clarify a few details. As more and more questions went past without him needing her to give the answers, she realised just how thorough a check he'd already done on her. He knew almost everything there was to know about her, from her family and friends to her education and financial state.

  While he wrote in the answers, she sat there, feeling more and more exposed and vulnerable. This man even knew the number of other people she'd slept with. It didn't help that every question that could be asked about her was on the form. They wanted to know every little thing that might be used to bribe her someday. It only made her feel a little better about having been well behaved most of her life.

  As the questions moved into the realms of her love life, some old photos came to mind, and she found herself feeling uncomfortable. She wasn't sure if it was something she should tell him about or not and, if she did, what it might do to change his opinion of her.

  While her discomfort grew she continued to read over what Myron was writing. When it got to a question about anything else that might be used to compromise her integrity Amelia opened her mouth to speak, but the confident Holmes was already writing the word nothing.

  “Actually...” she said as he paused to turn over the page, not sure how to begin saying what she needed to.

  “I took care of it,” he replied, carrying on with the form.

  “You know what it is?”

  “If it is of a photographic nature, then yes, I know what it is.”

  Amelia's mouth fell open at the uninterested tone Myron used. He'd just admitted he had removed some compromising photos of her from existence.

  “Thank you,” she said, having no idea what a person normally said in that situation.

  He ignored the gratitude and carried on writing for several minutes. Eventually, he reached the end and signed it. He then moved the stack of documents over to her.

  “Sign and date it,” he said.

  “And this officially makes me an agent of the British government?”

  He nodded.

  As she picked up the pen she let out a deep breath. Two seconds later the document was signed and she was officially working for Myron and being trained by him.

  When she'd asked him to teach her she hadn't expected to end up getting herself this sort of job, but she knew she was in too deep to turn around now. Not that she wanted to. Her life had come alive since she'd met Myron. The few fears she'd gained were nothing compared to the adventures she'd had.

  “Good, now wait here for your identification. I have something to deal with.” He stalked off, taking the document and photo with him.

  She sat back, wondering what he might need to do before she remembered that Nesterov was somewhere on the site. It was also likely to be what they were referring to when they had mentioned a package earlier. Myron hadn't answered, and she didn't need to be a genius to know it was likely to be because the man had tortured her.

  The last time she'd spoken to Myron he'd told her to face her fears, and she knew she wanted to do that here as well. Maybe she'd find it easier to sleep if she confronted the man who'd been responsible for abducting her.

  About half an hour after Myron left, the soldier from the other office appeared again and handed her an identification tag with her name and picture on.

  “Wear this when you're at military facilities and other government buildings. You've got security clearance level delta.”

  “Is that high?” she asked.

  “Higher than mine,” he replied, giving her a brief smile. “Welcome to the team.”

  She shook his hand and decided he might be a little more fo
rthcoming with information than Myron, given the level of clearance she'd just been given.

  “The package you mentioned earlier. It's Nesterov, isn't it?”

  He nodded and gave her a piercing look as if he was unsure why she'd been given access.

  “Good,” she continued, putting on an air of confidence as alike Myron's as she could manage. “Can you direct me to the room you have him in, or have someone escort me there?”

  “Has that been authorised, ma'am?”

  “Yes. Myron himself requested I do so. Something about facing my fears.” She smiled at the soldier.

  “I'll take you there myself,” he replied, relenting. It wasn't fully the truth, and she wondered quite how Myron would react, but it was true that he'd encouraged her to face her fears at all times. Nesterov was a fear, and she was going to confront it.

  She followed the rigid soldier as he walked back through most of the hallways that had led her there, and then took a new turn towards a lift. Once inside, he paused and motioned towards a slot to swipe cards.

  “It's usual for the person with the higher authority in an area to scan their cards, ma'am”

  “Ah, right,” she said and fed her card through the slot. A moment later a bunch of numbers lit up on the panel that had been dark. He pressed the bottommost number while she tried not to grin. Already she was superior to people who'd been training a long time. Being tied to Myron definitely carried weight.

  The lift moved steadily downwards for several minutes, ticking down numbers until they came to a halt on the bottom floor.

  “This way, ma'am,” the soldier said and moved past her out into the corridor. The air smelt damp and musty as she followed out, making her wrinkle her nose momentarily and think back to the Russian compound. This facility was nowhere near as bad, but having something so deep underground always led to a small amount of damp after enough years.

  It was easy to see why Nesterov was down on this level. Everything was enclosed in concrete, and the corridors as well the as the lift entrance were covered with bulk-head doors that would take a serious explosion or blow-torch to get through once they were closed.