by Amelia Price
Not even telling Sherlock the good news first, Mycroft pulled out his phone again. He had to refrain from swearing when he saw that he had no signal, but it only took him a few seconds to get it hooked up to the satellite system he had the laptops on instead.
“Police Commissioner,” he said as soon as someone picked up. “I've just sent you details of a car in Hungary that I need stopped. At least three dangerous Russian terrorists, one of which you already have the picture of, are in that car. They have a British woman in the boot, almost certainly tied, but likely blindfolded as well.”
“Understood, Mr Holmes. Do you know where in Hungary? It's not a small area.”
“Near the Ukrainian border. I do not want them to be allowed out of the country. Make sure every person manning any of the eastern borders know to stop them.” Mycroft knew he was emphasising something that probably didn't need it, but he wouldn't take any chances. For the first time in this chase, they knew the car while she was still in it.
“Of course, sir.”
Mycroft hung up and turned the volume up on Amelia's feed. He hoped her internal body clock was still working well enough to wake her, now it was morning.
By the time she was stirring Sherlock was yawning, but he stifled it when Amelia's whispering voice filled the car again.
“Myron...” she sighed. “Myron, I'm sorry, I fell asleep. I don't know how long for. It's still dark in here. Just in case you didn't hear it last time, the last I knew I was in Eholfing.”
Mycroft listened as she repeated all the information she'd given them once more. It wasn't useful a second time but given that she had no idea if anyone was listening to her, he knew she was being sensible in repeating it.
“I really hope you're listening to this, Myron. I... I don't know if I can get out of this alone. I'll do my best, but I've not had a good opportunity to do anything yet. Please, do what you can to get me safe. I promise once this is over I'll learn Morse code. I even think I'll learn Russian.”
Sherlock chuckled from the front seat, but went quiet as soon as she resumed speaking.
“Please, please help, Myron. I'm scared of small spaces. I don't know how much longer I can hold myself together.”
“Is there any way we can get a message back to her?” Daniels asked.
Mycroft shook his head. While everyone with him was aware they were doing everything they could to help her, she would only have hope to sustain her.
For a few minutes they listened to her breathing as she tried to stay calm. At first it sounded very much like she might cry again, but she managed to hold herself together and steady her breathing back down.
Mycroft was just about to pull his phone back out and demand the Commissioner tell him why it was taking so long to have the car stopped when Amelia piped up again.
“I think we're stopping somewhere again,” she whispered and then fell silent.
Mycroft clenched his fists together, powerless to do anything if they changed cars again. With nothing to do but listen, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, willing his face to remain impassive and his muscles to relax.
While he sat there he heard the click of the boot lid being pulled back. There was more swearing and then some yelling in Russian, followed by a thud and a grunt from Amelia.
“You want to make trouble, do you?” one of the men yelled.
“I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe,” Amelia replied in between whimpers of pain. “Please. I'm scared.”
“Shut up,” the same man said. Sounds of muffled squeals of pain and smacks followed right after and continued for several minutes until a loud thud and a boot lid slamming ended the commotion. During the rough treatment Mycroft had managed to make out some of the speech between the men. They'd tied her hands behind her back this time and she'd been gagged and black-bagged again.
A few seconds later Amelia grunted some more and tried to make as much noise as possible. The lid opened right back up again and the sound of several more loud smacks and thuds came through his speakers, each one punctuated by a muffled whimper.
“Shut up.”
When Amelia was enclosed for a second time everything went quiet. Mycroft glanced at the clock. It was almost ten in the morning on local time. For the next couple of minutes, all that could be heard in the car was Amelia's breathing as she tried to calm down.
It was now almost certain that Amelia was in a different car once again, but he didn't call off the hunt for the previous car. It would be vaguely useful, and there was always a small chance that the police in the area could trace one car to the other quicker than he could from his limited position.
While he thought this, Amelia started shuffling again. She grunted a couple of times, and just under five minutes later she was whispering again.
“I'm in a blue Ford Focus with a British plate. It begins AT57. We switched cars in the middle of some kind of manufacturing place. No one was around. There's four men with me now. I don't recognise any of the others.”
Before Amelia had finished telling him all she knew Mycroft was passing it on to the relevant people. She'd done well to get untied again so swiftly, and he wasn't going to waste her effort.
Five minutes later his phone rang. The number came up on the screen for the Commissioner's office.
“They've just found the previous car, Mr Holmes. Near a small town called Berugsarany.”
“At a factory there,” Mycroft said, finishing his sentence.
“Yes. I've got them looking for the next car as we speak. Several extra police cars have been dispatched to patrol the roads between there and the border.”
“Have the border guards been informed?”
“I have it under good authority that they're doing that now.”
Mycroft felt a rush of satisfaction. This time they should be stopped.
“We're slowing again,” Amelia whispered, cutting through Mycroft's conversation.
“They're at the border, Commissioner. I want them stopped,” Mycroft said, making sure his tone matched the sentiment.
“I understand, Mr Holmes. Just hold the line, sir, and I'll get right on sorting this out.”
“We're about half an hour away,” Sherlock said a few seconds later as Mycroft made it obvious he was waiting.
“Sounds like something is happening,” Amelia whispered a few seconds later. “We seem to have pulled off to one side and traffic is now moving past us.”
“Yes!” Daniels yelled, losing his usual composure. Normally, Mycroft would have given him a reprimanding look, but given the circumstances he allowed the man to express his pleasure unchecked. After hacking around for a few minutes, he managed to pull up a video of the border control Amelia was at. The blue Ford Focus was off to one side as Amelia had suggested it might be, and several men were standing outside with the one of the passengers.
“Hey, I'm in here!” Amelia yelled a few seconds later. “I'm in here!” She kicked and thumped with all her might but everyone in the video ignored her. Mycroft knew they should be able to hear her, but he could only watch as the Russian handed over an envelope and got back in the car again.
A few seconds later they drove off, and the engine roared to life through the bug on Amelia.
“No!” Amelia yelled and hammered her fists on the inside of the car.
“Shut up,” a Russian must have yelled back. It came out muffled, but Mycroft hoped Amelia had the sense to obey it. If she kicked up a fuss now it was only likely to earn her a beating. Thankfully, she had enough presence of mind to work through that logic herself and she quietened down.
“I have no idea what just happened,” she whispered. “But I don't think I'm going to have a chance to escape on my own until I get wherever they're taking me. Not that I even know if you're listening, Myron. For all I bloody well know I could be talking to myself.”
Mycroft blinked, swallowing the lump in his throat. When Daniels caught his eye, he knew he wasn't the only person wishing they could respond and r
eassure Amelia that she very much wasn't alone.
Ten minutes later, the Commissioner came back on the phone.
“I'm sorry, Mr Holmes.”
“I'm aware of what happened.”
“I've tried to get my Ukrainian counterpart to step in but he's assured me we must have made some mistake. Apparently the Russian you sent me a picture of has some kind of immunity in Ukraine. I'm blocked from doing anything further.”
“I'll do what I can at my end,” Mycroft said and hung up.
“We're on our own.” Sherlock said, in all likelihood to fill Daniels in on the situation. The chauffeur was still sitting in the passenger seat, his eyes wide and his hair stuck up at odd angles from the strange sleeping position.
“We'll have to catch them up,” Daniels said and firmed his mouth into a grim line. They may not have Amelia safe yet, but none of them would give up while she was still in a neutral country. “Would it help if we split up?”
“No. I have few allies out here and none could be roused in time,” Sherlock replied, again saving Mycroft the effort of explaining a thought process they'd gone through a long time ago.
Less than ten metres later, Sherlock was pulling up at the end of a queue to get into Ukraine.
“I'll speed this up,” Mycroft said and got out of the car. He pulled out his actual ID rather than the one for Mark Turner. This would require the full amount of his power to sort out. Before he could show it to anyone, several guns were pulled out and pointed at him.
Not knowing if he could survive a bullet to a vital organ, even with his extra powers, Mycroft paused and put his hands up. Fury rippled through him but he contained it and kept his face impassive.
“I'm a British diplomat,” Mycroft said in perfect Ukrainian. “I demand to be let through on European business.”
The men looked at each other but none of them lowered their weapons. He took a step towards the person who looked to be in charge.
“My country will consider this an unsanctioned act of aggression if you do not put down your weapons and allow me through.”
After staring at him a few seconds longer they dipped the noses of their AK47s, but footsteps behind him sounded and they raised them again.
“Sebastian?” Mycroft said, knowing it could only be his younger brother.
“We're just passing through,” the younger Holmes said, also in perfect Ukrainian. “We need to get to Russia to sort out a misunderstanding with them.”
This started the men off chattering.
“We don't believe you,” the nearest guard replied a few seconds later. Mycroft rolled his eyes. He never seemed to find anyone intelligent to negotiate with when he really needed to.
“I've got my ID in my hand,” Mycroft replied and waved it. He then took a slow deliberate step forward and then another until the nervous looks on everyone's faces made him pause. “Take a look at it.”
It took another minute for the guard in charge to edge forward and take the piece of laminated card. The whole while, every car in the area had to sit and wait. Given the number of guns in the air, they all appeared perfectly patient. It didn't matter that all of the weapons were aimed at Mycroft.
“I will need to speak to my boss,” the guard said and motioned for someone else to come take his place, standing not four feet from Mycroft with a gun pointed at his chest.
When the most senior of them took the ID and walked into the little hut to pick up the phone, Mycroft knew this wasn't going to be quick. As the guard moved, he tucked the envelope from earlier into his back pocket, out of sight. The Russians must have let them know he was somewhere behind. All this was a complete set up.
Chapter 7
Amelia didn't know whether to cry or scream. It had seemed like she'd come so close to being discovered, and then the car had just pulled off. Many hours later she was still shut up in the dark and still on her way to Russia. To add to the discomfort, she needed to pee again.
Like before, she'd tried to count out rough hours. She'd got to nine before she totally mucked up and lost track of where she was. After that she hadn't bothered. She'd pleaded one last time with whoever might be listening to send help and stopped communicating.
If Myron truly was listening she felt sure he'd have rescued her by now. She'd given him the make and model of the car as well as the first part of the registration. It wouldn't be much of a task to narrow down the rest. She doubted there were many blue Ford Focus cars on their way to Russia. It could only mean that she was on her own and needed to make her own way out of this mess.
At first, this thought had overwhelmed her, and for the third time that journey she'd found herself sobbing. When she'd asked Myron to teach her she hadn't expected his work to be so much more dangerous for her than Sebastian's had been. In pursuit of a man she would probably never attain she'd probably signed her own death certificate.
After an hour of wallowing in these sorts of thoughts Amelia pulled herself together. If she was truly alone then this was up to her. Somehow, she needed to use the mind she'd been given or die trying. Most importantly, she couldn't give up.
For most of the journey, she'd been splitting her thoughts between getting information to feed him and keeping herself going. Several times she'd made decisions that gained her information but had painful consequences. It was time to focus solely on getting herself out of here with minimal pain.
She felt tired, but she didn't want to sleep again. To keep awake and prepare her body for a possible chance at escape, Amelia kept fidgeting, trying to get circulation in her legs going again. This made her hot and sweaty, stuffed in such a small space, but it couldn't be helped. Given how cold the air had been the last two times she'd been out in it, she knew she'd be glad for the warmth later.
The one thing she couldn't prepare for when she next got a chance to see some fresh air was her eyesight. She didn't doubt that being in the dark for so long would make it difficult to see. Her only aid might be if it was dark, and given her estimate of time, she thought it would be if they let her out soon.
It felt like a little over a day since they'd last given her a break to pee. Her head hurt as if she were dehydrated. She didn't need to pee as much as she'd expected, but that could also easily be down to dehydration. They hadn't exactly done much to take care of her.
As she thought about all the meals she'd missed she realised some of the pain in her stomach must be due to hunger, not just the beating they'd dealt to her when they'd found her ungagged and able to see. She tried to push the thought of what they might do when they found her like that a second time out of her head. It was bad enough being shut up in a small space; she didn't need to dwell on anything else that scared her.
Whenever she felt her emotions overwhelming her she tried to think of what Myron, Sebastian, or even Tom might do if they were here. It mostly helped. When she remembered they were all strong men, and two of them might even be immortal, she laughed aloud again. The sound was strange to her ears, like she was laughing because she might cry at any moment. It only made her laugh all the more.
A thump on the car seat behind her quietened her down again, and she found herself mentally thanking whoever had done it. She couldn't go crazy. She was meant to be thinking of a way to escape. Not knowing where she was and how far away safety might be posed a problem, even if she could get away from her captors. But, she needed to try. It was down to her.
With this decision firmly held in her mind, Amelia waited for the car to stop again. Thankfully, she didn't seem to wait too long before the car slowed, turned a sharp corner and then ground to a halt.
She took several deep steady breaths as the doors opened and closed in the car. Still, she waited.
Seconds ticked by and she counted them off in her head, breathing in and out every eight. The tenth time she'd done this she heard the sound of boots on gravel nearby and then the lid opened. She caught a glimpse of the stars in the dark night sky and fought off the grin that it was dark enough her eye
s weren't blinded. The breeze blew, wafting cold air into the small space and flushing out the heat that had filled it, bringing a few flakes of snow with it. Snow wasn't a good sign.
As soon as they noticed she was untied again there was more angry yelling but she didn't move in the boot. Until she could see exactly where she was and what her options were she wasn't going to give them another reason to hurt her. They argued amongst themselves for a little while, and then she wiggled, bringing the attention back to herself.
After taking a look at her compliant behaviour, one of them grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into a sitting position. He then held a bottle of water out to her. Without uttering a word, she took it and drank it down.
Unlike before, this was warm water, but it refreshed her nonetheless. Water was water. By the time she'd finished it she had several flakes of snow sitting on her coat. Another landed on her face, forcing her to blink.
“I need the toilet,” she said.
“There's not one here,” the nearest Russian replied. He motioned with his arm and she found she was in the middle of a field. There wasn't even another car.
“A bush, then.” She looked pleadingly at him. “I'm desperate.”
It was a lie; she barely needed to go at all, but they didn't need to know that. Her words sparked another flurry of conversation between the men. None of them were looking at her, and it was all the opportunity she needed.
In the blink of an eye her feet were on the ground and propelling her away from the car. She almost tripped as her legs protested at the now strange motion, but even in her heels she managed to keep herself going.
The argument behind her turned to yells of surprise and she knew she had all the lead she was going to get. Up ahead she spotted the lane they must have driven in on, and she ran for it. If she could get back to a main road she stood a chance of flagging down someone who might help her.
When she reached the gap in the gloomy hedges either side of the lane, she pitched forward. The sound of something snapping let her know it was the heel on her shoe that was responsible for it. She slammed into the ground, finding it more solid than a field usually was and ice cold.
