The Ambitious Orphan

by Amelia Price

  Sebastian looked at his watch.

  “Only ten. Still too early to go back to the hotel. I hate waiting.” He looked out at the passers-by as he spoke, evidently trying to keep his mind occupied by working out who they were from what they were wearing and doing. While considering doing the same, Amelia noticed the nearest shop was selling wetsuits.

  “The water is pretty cold at night, isn't it?”

  “Yes,” he replied, following her gaze. “Buy it with cash.”

  “I don't have any.”

  Sebastian pulled a wad out of his trouser pocket and took off a few notes of the island's main currency before handing it over.

  “Should be enough. Keep the change. I lifted the lot from our mutual friend.”

  Amelia raised her eyebrows and fought back the urge to laugh. Instead, she shook her head. Before she could take more than a step towards the shop, Sebastian spoke again.

  “See you back at the hotel. I'm going to find something to do.”

  “You don't want one as well?”

  “No, we won't need them, but you should definitely get one. Just stash it behind the bush below our balcony.”

  She nodded and walked up to the selection of wet suits. It didn't take her long to find one in her size, but it had pink arms so she continued browsing. Three shops later she found one in a very dark grey and, after taking a moment to think over Myron's reaction, she bought it.

  Realising she'd probably been away from the hotel for long enough, she carried her purchase back to the hotel gardens and waited for a good moment to stow it out of sight. Hoping no one would come around the corner, she shoved it down behind the bush and pulled the branches over to help cover it.

  With that done, she hurried back to her hotel room, making sure she was seen by some of the staff in the reception. When she walked into the suite she noticed Myron was still sitting at the table, typing.

  Taking out the change, she placed it on the surface near him. Only then did he look at her, the question on his face but unspoken.

  “I bought a wetsuit and stashed it in a bush. Here's your change. Your brother swiped some money. No idea what he'll do with the rest.” With a smile, she grabbed a bottle of water and headed to the bedroom. “I'm going to get some sleep if I can. I'll be awake before we need to leave.”

  Myron still didn't speak; instead, he went back to whatever he was doing on the laptop. After setting an alarm, Amelia sank into the covers on the bed and closed her eyes. She wasn't very sleepy given what they were going to attempt to do that night, but she knew some rest would help her concentrate later.

  Ironically, she found herself slipping into sleep easily. Ten minutes later she was oblivious.

  Chapter 13

  While Sherlock was gone and Amelia was fast asleep on the bed, Mycroft had opted to get some rest of his own. Shortly before nightfall, he made one final trip to pick up the last piece of equipment.

  With it safely nestled in his pocket he walked back into the hotel suite. Sherlock gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and Amelia smiled from her seat at the table. Both were ready and waiting.

  “We'll leave in half an hour,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, he hurried through to the bedroom, where he'd have some privacy, and fetched the waterproof bag he planned to take with him on the mission.

  He'd given Amelia and Sherlock a waterproof torch each, but that meant he had the only normal one. Thankfully, he also carried several bags that could be easily attached to a belt. He slipped the gun he'd just acquired inside, along with the torch already in there.

  Once he'd changed into more practical clothes for the mission, he attached the bag to his belt and went back to the table. Amelia didn't look like she'd moved, but Sherlock was pacing.

  “Do you know what you're doing?” he asked Amelia. She nodded, not doing a very good job of hiding the slight shiver that ran through her, but she set her jaw and he noticed the familiar steely look in her eyes.

  Given everything she'd already been through because of this Russian, he knew she'd be likely to survive the mission. It wasn't ideal, and if the royal family hadn't insisted she be officially trained he'd not have ever taken her on something like this, but the decision he'd made to teach her had led to this and he'd see it through to the end.

  As they had the night before, they slid down a rope tied to their balcony. The last thing they wanted was for the hotel staff to realise they weren't there. He sent Sherlock first, then Amelia, and by the time he followed she was already pulling her wetsuit on.

  He gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement on the choice. Considering she was the weaker swimmer and the one most likely to suffer from the cold water, it had been a good piece of planning on her part. Another sign she was as ready for something like this as she'd ever be.

  Once she'd pulled on the stretchy material and Sherlock had helped her zip up the back, Mycroft led them over to the beach, each of them running from the last available hiding place to the water alone.

  Mycroft watched Sherlock run across the gap first and lower himself soundlessly into the water. Before he could motion for Amelia to follow, she'd already checked the area and set off. She managed the distance a little faster than his brother did, but in her overeagerness she splashed the water. He could just imagine her wincing at her mistake and then pulling an apologetic look at Sherlock.

  After waiting a little longer to make sure no one had heard Amelia's entrance into the water and intended to see what might have caused it, Mycroft also hurried across the gap, sat down, swung his legs over the side of the pontoon and slid himself in.

  As planned, Sherlock and Amelia had already set off for the yacht, not waiting and wasting energy. It also meant they would arrive at different times, and if one of them was caught, decrease the chances of them all being spotted.

  With powerful stroke after powerful stroke, he moved through the water towards Krylov's yacht. The water was cold and the wind and incoming tide had made it a little choppy, but even he was in good enough shape that he could still make his way through it with ease.

  It didn't take him long to catch up with Amelia, however. Although she appeared to be swimming far better than the first time they'd been in the water together, her motions were still far less than efficient and she was tiring before she was even half way.

  For a few seconds he considered taking her arms and looping them over his head as he'd done before. While doing so, he matched her speed.

  “Keep going,” she whispered “I can make it without help. I'm warming up a bit now.”

  He didn't reply – there was no point – but he found himself feeling pleased with her once more. Even with her weaknesses, she was determined to get better. It was more than a lot of people did once they became adults.

  It didn't take him long to get past her, and he put her from his thoughts as he did. The mission needed to be his focus now.

  Sherlock was the first to reach the yacht, and he swam around it, checking for the guards they'd been forewarned of. He gave Mycroft a brief nod when they were both treading water just off one side.

  Not waiting for Amelia, Mycroft lifted one hand out of the water and pointed upwards. After watching his younger brother start the slow and quiet climb up the side of the yacht he made his way to a matching position on the other side and grabbed one of the boat's loose mooring ropes to get to the top.

  Knowing exactly how quickly his younger brother would get to the main deck, he made sure he hauled himself up fast enough that they matched their arrival time.

  As predicted, both men sat crouched on opposite sides of the yacht at exactly the same moment. It was also timed perfectly for them both to be behind the two guards patrolling the deck of the ship.

  Mirroring the younger Holmes' movements, Mycroft crept up behind the nearby guard and hit him over the back of the head with the torch. Almost missing, he caught the unconscious man and helped him slide down onto the deck instead of dropping with a thud.

  Without w
aiting to see if Sherlock had succeeded against his own guard, Mycroft ran towards the helm. He had less than four seconds to get to the final man on deck before he turned and noticed them.

  Just as the armed guard rotated, Mycroft brought the torch down on his head. He slumped over onto the massive wooden helm between them, the wheel catching his weight and holding it there.

  Not long after Mycroft had pulled the man down and hidden him inside a nearby lifeboat, he noticed Amelia had caught up to them and was crouched at the top of the ladder off the back. She was pulling out the torch from the pocket on her wetsuit and watching him.

  Sherlock soon dragged over the other two unconscious men, and they started the work of tying them up. Before they were done, Amelia joined them. With shaking hands, she helped gag each man.

  As soon as they were finished, Mycroft turned his attention to the next task. He ushered Amelia over to the main hatch so she could watch for anyone who might come up that way while both he and Sherlock headed to the crew hatch and the boat's array of controls.

  With three guards already incapacitated, it would leave another three guards, the captain and two less dangerous crew members on the boat somewhere. At this time of night Krylov should be in his bedroom sleeping and, given that his family was currently in Russia, he would be alone.

  Not waiting to be told what to do, Sherlock used his torch to look over the boat's main power system and stopped the generator. The younger Holmes pocketed the key that would get it going again. There was almost certainly going to be another, but it would buy them time if someone did get a chance to look at it.

  As the power fizzled out across the whole boat, they were plunged into darkness, and all three of them flicked on their torches. A few seconds later they heard the muffled shouts of men communicating down below. They yelled in Russian and it was evident that Krylov hadn't been asleep.

  “We'll have to hurry,” Sherlock said as he helped Mycroft haul the hatch up. A few seconds later they were heading down the steps into the crew area of the boat. They reached the bottom as a man wearing a crew uniform appeared in the small dining area. He had a cap on that identified him as the captain.

  “What's going on?” he said in Russian, covering his eyes as Mycroft and Sherlock used their torches to keep him from being able to see exactly who they were.

  “The generator is playing games. We'll see to it. Go back and rest,” Mycroft replied in his best imitation of a similar Russian accent.

  For a few seconds the captain hesitated, obviously trying to figure out who they were still but not particularly alarmed either. Mycroft didn't give him any more time to decide they were a threat. While Sherlock kept him blinded, he stepped forward and smacked the palm of his hand up against the man's nose, shattering the bone and sending a splinter into his brain. He was dead instantly.

  As he caught the body, Sherlock reached for the cap and then placed it on his own head.

  “I'll handle this and the rest of the crew. You get to Krylov before he has a chance to find Amelia.”

  Mycroft nodded, knowing it was the best option. While Sherlock grabbed the captain's jacket and shrugged himself into it, the elder Holmes made his way down the corridor, past the hatch to the crew's personal sleeping and relaxing area.

  At the next door, Mycroft paused, but the kitchen was devoid of Krylov or any staff. Taking a few seconds, he reached into the waterproof bag for his gun. As he was pulling it out a torch came around a doorway to the right and shone in his face.

  A second later a shot rang out and ripped his own torch from his hand, stinging his fingers. He dropped to the floor and rolled behind the kitchen counter, firing back once but knowing he'd miss. Another shot smacked into the wood not far from where he'd stood.

  Before any more bullets could be fired, Mycroft heard a grunt and the clatter of Krylov's weapon as it hit the floor and skittered away. A thud let him know it had come to rest against one of the kitchen cabinets.

  He groped for his torch, unable to see enough to make sure Amelia was safe. Eventually he grasped the small device and spun it around to where he heard scuffles.

  It lit up Amelia and Krylov as they struggled, her body latched onto his back. With a move only Tom could have taught her, Amelia jabbed her fingers into Krylov's neck. He twitched and almost collapsed, pitching them both backwards into the dining table.

  The air whooshed out of her lungs as she was crushed. Less than a second later Krylov spun himself around, pulling a knife from a sleeve.

  Yelling to try and put the Russian off, Mycroft rushed from the kitchen to Amelia's defence, shooting again as he did, but once more missing the moving target. Neither he nor Amelia moved quickly enough as Krylov stabbed downwards. The blade sliced her thigh as she rolled away.

  Mycroft shot again, this time hitting the Russian, only to see him stagger back a foot and then regain his balance. Krylov was wearing a bulletproof vest.

  As Mycroft closed the gap, trying to get a solid fix on his target's head in the shaky torchlight, Krylov swivelled his body around to defend himself. The gun and Krylov's torch connected, sending both flying. What little light there had been dimmed as the device smacked into another surface.

  It took a few seconds for Mycroft's eyes to adjust, but by then he had already thrown another punch, connecting with Krylov's arm instead of the jaw he'd aimed for. He ducked the returning blow.

  Before he could process another move, the Russian attacked again, smashing a fist into his face with a loud crunch. He reeled backwards, pain exploding outwards from his cheek. Something had broken.

  As he ducked again, Mycroft managed to push off the counter behind himself and catapulted into Krylov's stomach. Both he and the winded Russian ended up in a heap on the floor.

  While he thumped down at the prone body he poured out his frustration at having to fight hand to hand. He'd always preferred a gun to a fist fight, and he definitely wasn't as well trained as Krylov.

  Despite the blows Mycroft rained down on the delicate areas of the Russian's body, Krylov managed to pull himself out from underneath Mycroft.

  A second later, he narrowly avoided the Russian's left foot in his face. The right one slammed into his chest, sending him flying backwards and giving Krylov more momentum to slide across the floor away from him.

  Before Mycroft could get up and re-engage, a gleam of light on black metal showed near Krylov's fingers. He'd found his gun.

  A shot rang out and Mycroft waited for the following pain, but his eyes told him a story he hadn't expected. Krylov slumped back down, dropping his gun as a dark stain spread down his shirt from the neck.

  Looking behind him, Mycroft saw the dark shape of Amelia. In her hands she clutched the small pistol he'd acquired. It was still aimed at Krylov and, despite the way she shook, her eyes hadn't left the Russian. Amelia had saved his life.

  As Amelia's leg gave out Sherlock came flying into the room. Both of them reached her at the same time.

  “Ow,” she said and let go of the gun.

  “We've got to get off the boat. Those shots will have been heard.” Sherlock reached out to help Amelia up, but she was already hauling herself to her feet, using the cabinet handles to support her weight. Mycroft grabbed the gun and the nearby tea-towel.

  After wiping the weapon down he ran it over the few places Amelia had touched. Once he was done, he held out the gun and towel to his younger brother.

  “Wipe our prints and dispose of these. I'll get her back to shore.”

  Sherlock nodded and took the offered items. Without hesitating, Amelia moved closer to Mycroft and let him wrap an arm around her waist to support her.

  Blood oozed out of the wound on her leg as she tried to put her weight on it. He clutched her tighter and walked forward, hearing the breath hiss through her teeth as she had no choice but to try and copy his movements.

  Somehow they made it back the way he'd come and up to the base of the stairs up to the deck. Long before they reached the flight, My
croft knew Amelia wouldn't be able to walk up them, but he didn't stop moving. Instead, he grabbed her with both arms and half carried her up. She let out a slight whimper a couple of times but didn't protest or struggle.

  When they reached the deck Mycroft scanned the horizon. Already a boat was motoring towards them from shore, with a large light fixed on the middle of the yacht they were on. Both Amelia and he dropped into a crouch at the same time, hiding themselves behind the canopy over the helm.

  “Wait two seconds and follow me,” he whispered as soon as he had her near the railing facing out to sea. It was cutting it close for them both to get off the boat before they were spotted, but it was their only option. Hoping she had the strength to follow, he stepped through the railings on the side and then dived into the water.

  He surfaced in time to watch Amelia bend and try and do the same. She managed to get the injured leg through the gap but had to take her weight with her hands as she clutched the railings.

  It took her twice as long and positioned her backwards but she managed to get to the outside of the boat. Rather than diving neatly, she slipped and fell into the water. A loud splash followed but luck allowed the noise to coincide with the patrol boat hooking onto the yacht on the other side.

  She came up, coughing and spluttering a couple of feet away from him. Less than a second later he was by her side. This time she made no protest as he grabbed her hands and looped them around his neck.

  He swam towards the back of the boat, knowing it was nearer the pontoon and the array of other boats that would provide them with cover. As he reached the end he paused and listened. The men who'd come to investigate were talking nearby, but not loudly enough for Mycroft to hear them.

  The voices sounded like they were still too far away to be on the same yacht, but they grew closer as he listened. They didn't have time to wait. He pushed out from the yacht, swimming as swiftly as he could with Amelia attached to him.

  She did her best to kick with him but he could tell her injury hurt too much to allow her to be effective. If she hadn't saved his life he'd be cross with her for getting involved in a fight she evidently wasn't ready for. It had been foolish, but necessary.