by Amelia Price
“Brilliant.” Sherlock slapped Daniels on the back, and Mycroft could tell from the looks on both their faces that it was decided. There would be no way to persuade Daniels to remain with the car. “It works better with my plan anyway. You'll find Amelia faster and I'll have less running around to do. It also gives you an excuse if the royal family cause you trouble over it. You can insist you went into Russia against your will.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes. It was just like the younger Holmes to be so flippant about the risk they were taking.
“Now, if that's all settled, I want some sleep. I was up all night.”
Although it was tempting, Mycroft didn't point out he hadn't slept either. It would be yet another sign that he was emotionally invested in Amelia's rescue. Instead, he encouraged Daniels to take the other spare blanket and curl up to sleep as well. Someone had to listen in to Amelia, just in case she gave them something useful.
As he sat there, he looked over the details of everything Sherlock had mapped out and informed him of. It didn't take him long to spot Sherlock's obvious attempts to hide what he intended to do.
“Oh, Sherlock, what were you thinking?” he muttered under his breath, knowing Sherlock was doing the one thing he would do if it wouldn't start a war. It was probably a good thing he was going to let Daniels fly him into Russia in the helicopter. It would reduce the time it took to find Amelia and get her out.
Mycroft was looking over the three possible facilities to work out the best way to search them when he got a message from one of his old agents.
Recognised the voice. Russian called Maksim Nesterov. Works in Western Russia mostly. Ambitious but not as nasty as some.
Relief lifted the weight in Mycroft's stomach a little. He could easily tell the interrogation on Amelia had been tough, but there was hope she'd pull through if her captor really was Maksim Nesterov. Over the last few years, Mycroft had heard the man mentioned.
He was organised and bright, with a lot of success at getting the information he wanted, but he prided himself in doing it without resorting to mutilating the victim. There was even a rumour or two that he broke the few women he'd interrogated without resorting to the savagery some other men did. He was nicknamed the civilised butcher.
It also meant they could cross another one of the three locations Amelia might be in off the list. It wasn't somewhere a man like Nesterov would be.
As Mycroft listened to the feed and waited for nightfall, they abandoned the idea of water torture and Nesterov spoke.
“Well, all I can say is you can't be just some acquaintance. It usually requires some kind of training to put up with that sort of punishment. However, we're not done yet. We could be if you'd just talk.”
“I have nothing I can tell you, but you're forgetting that I'm a writer. I know how this ends,” Amelia replied, her voice sounding washed-out and tired.
He laughed at her comeback, a cold laugh that was meant to frighten her. Given everything that was happening, she was coping well.
“Let us try something different,” he said in English to her before barking out for his minions to flip her over in Russian.
Not long after, he heard her whimpering but had no idea what they were actually doing to her. He assumed from the lack of beating that it was some kind of pressure torture or they were hurting her in a way that wouldn't mark her.
Mycroft could only listen for so long before he had to ignore it and think over their plan again. It had surprised him that they wanted her for information about him. He'd assumed they actually wanted her for her role in everything, but it did mean she would be much more likely to be alive by that evening. You didn't kill your only source.
As long as she didn't say anything, she stood a good chance. Although he wouldn't want her to tell them anything about him, he knew she would say very little, but once they realised she knew next to nothing they would kill her. They didn't go to this sort of effort and then just let their victims go again.
Thankfully, Nesterov decided she'd had enough after only an hour of punishing her that way.
“Stop,” he said in Russian; evidently he was not the one torturing her.
“I think that is enough for now. It seems you're strong-willed. Maybe that's what he likes about you. But I have plenty of time. We'll give you some time to think about your predicament,” he told Amelia in English.
“Good luck,” she replied, sounding surprisingly perky given what was happening to her. “You're going to need it if you go up against the Holmes brothers.”
Nesterov didn't respond to Amelia's taunt but barked another few orders at his own men.
“Remove her dress,” he then commanded his men. Mycroft held his breath wondering where Nesterov was going to go next. When the agent had said Nesterov was civilised, he'd assumed she would be untouched in any manner that would be sexually humiliating.
“Perhaps you will be more talkative when you are fed up of the cold. Russian winters are harsh for you British people, no?”
“The cold never bothered me anyway,” Amelia sang back. Mycroft raised his eyebrows at the strangeness of the response but it seemed to amuse Nesterov, because he laughed.
“Ah, maybe he likes your sense of humour.”
“No, I very much doubt that.”
“Well, we can have another little chat tomorrow.” Nesterov's voice grew louder while he spoke, making Mycroft frown as it became obvious the bug must be attached to her dress. If they found it now she wouldn't be given the reprieve of the night time.
“I don't think you understand what 'little chat' is in English,” she called out but Nesterov continued to walk away from her, her voice getting fainter and confirming Mycroft's suspicions.
“Two guards on the door at all times and wake her every half an hour,” Nesterov said in Russian to his guards, once he was outside the cell they were keeping her in.
It wasn't much information but it was useful. Wherever she was being held, he'd know when he got close to her.
Now that the bug was on the move, Mycroft hoped it would be left somewhere that might provide further information, but luck wasn't with them. Wherever the dress was put, only the sound of something shutting followed it.
With nothing else to do, Mycroft allowed himself to get a few hours' rest before dark. Thankfully, in winter the days were short, and in not very long he was up and waking Daniels, Sherlock opening his eyes as soon as Mycroft even came close.
“It's time,” he said and gave his younger brother a nod, knowing he would pick up on Mycroft's gratitude.
“I'll see you on the other side,” he replied, his eyes saying everything else the two of them needed to. This wasn't goodbye, but it was just as important.
Chapter 11
As Amelia tried to get comfortable, pain lanced across her body. She couldn't see what they'd done to her back, but she knew it hurt whenever anything came into contact with it. On top of that, where her bra straps and fastening hooks sat, they had dug in, and she thought they might have even cut her skin.
When they'd torn her dress from her Amelia had expected worse to follow, but it seemed they weren't going to touch her for now. However, she'd decided she wasn't going to wait to find out, if she could help it. Now that she didn't have the bug she was truly on her own, and that meant she needed to escape if she wanted to live. Facing your own death as an alternative was a powerful motivator.
Before they'd shut the door on her she'd seen the two guards take up position on either side. At every opportunity she'd got she'd studied everyone she'd come into contact with, trying to make use of any little details that told her something about the men. Some of it seemed like it might be useful.
While she was trying to think of a good way to put it to use, Amelia felt her mind drifting off. Before she could shake herself awake she heard the door open behind her. She opened her eyes, but she didn't move or let on that she was awake.
A few seconds later the door shut but footsteps shuffled closer. When they wer
e only a few feet from her, they stopped.
“Wake up,” an almost pleading voice said. Amelia rolled over, knowing which one of them had spoken, managing to hide the wince of pain while she gave him a good look at her scantily clad torso.
Feeling a little disgusted with herself for having to do this, Amelia moved into a kneeling position. All the while, his eyes never left her body. The slight look of hunger she'd noticed on his face when he'd been ordered to take her dress was not even slightly masked now.
“I wasn't asleep,” she said. “I've never been good at going to sleep alone.” As she said the last word she looked him up and down, pretending to be far more interested than she was.
He looked a little surprised, but didn't move, and unless he unchained her she couldn't get any closer.
“The truth is, I've never been that close to Myron Holmes. I'm a call girl. Pretty much a classy hooker. That's why you found me in his hotel room and saw me go to Scotland with him. I make long journeys and long nights more... interesting... but I don't know anything. And tomorrow, your boss... he'll probably kill me.”
“You should tell him this,” the young man said, trying to tear his eyes from her face. She immediately hung her head, doing her best to look like she was going to cry.
“And have him kill me sooner?” she replied, managing to get her voice to break in just the right place.
“I...”
“I'm really cold, and I bet you don't earn enough to pay for a posh hooker like me.” She looked down at her own body, inviting him to drink the sight of her bare skin in, but he still didn't move.
“Right now, just someone to warm me up a bit would be payment enough. I could work my magic and you could get something out of keeping guard all night.”
Finally, his resolve crumbled and he closed the gap between them. After watching him take a brief, nervous look at her she reached out her arms and pulled him closer, pretending to be as eager as he was.
As soon as he was close enough she brought her knee up into his groin as hard as she could. He collapsed to one side, a small whimper escaping his mouth while his hands clutched his balls.
Before he could recover, she'd grabbed the key from his belt and unlocked one hand. While she was reaching for the other, he shouted for help.
“Crap,” she said and lashed out at him with her foot, catching him in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him enough that she managed to get her other hand free.
Using a swift blow to the face that Tom had taught her, she then knocked him out and brought herself down into a crouching position. Fuelled entirely by adrenaline, she managed to get herself free from the restraints before the other guard came in to see what had happened.
Not giving him time to react, she ran at him and growled in the fiercest manner she could. Just as she'd hoped, instead of backing out and locking her in, he responded to her challenge and braced himself for her impact.
Before she reached him, she moved to one side and grabbed the discarded stool nearby. Letting her momentum propel her past him, she swung it backwards and down, catching him behind his legs and dropping him to his knees.
As he tried to turn and get back up again she ran back, jumped and used all her body weight to bring the stool down over his head.
The clang it caused echoed around the tiled room when he slumped to the floor, but she didn't wait to see if anyone noticed the noise. Within seconds she was out the door, running full out in the dim light of the badly lit basement area.
While she climbed the stairs and felt confident no one was coming she slowed herself so she wouldn't make a sound and crouched a little lower.
Just as she'd hoped, the door at the top was slightly ajar. It really didn't fit the warped door frame anymore. Once she reached it, she crouched fully behind it and used both hands to push it out a few inches. The corridor on the other side was better lit, but she didn't see anyone.
Knowing there were at least three more people on the base, Amelia opened the door just wide enough for her body to slip through, wincing as her back touched the door frame on the way. They'd really done a number on her.
She tiptoed down the hallway towards the exit, glancing behind her every few seconds. After slipping back into the abandoned cloak room, she paused. If she was going outside she'd need something on her feet, and probably a coat as well. It was cold enough in the building that her toes were numb and her fingers hurt. She could only imagine it was worse outside.
Just as she was rooting around for a pair of boots small enough they might fit, she heard a noise. She looked up and towards the open door into the room, but no one was there.
After listening for a couple of seconds, she went back to her search. She had just picked up the smallest boots she could find when the swish of fabric caught her ear.
Not hesitating, Amelia shifted her body sideways. A knife, followed by a hand, swung down where she'd stood only a second before, and she spun to see the most familiar of all the faces.
Despite having beaten this man before she'd had any training, the knife in his hand made her nervous. As he swung the blade at her again she barely ducked in time. The moves Tom had taught her took over, and she grabbed the hand, twisting the arm and spinning underneath it.
The Russian overbalanced into one of the coat racks, but she didn't let go of his hand. She yanked on his fingers, pulling them back until he snarled and struggled, entangling himself in the coats. When he dropped the knife, she caught it.
Without thinking, she stabbed into the pile of coats and person. There was a gurgled response and then silence as he bled out the gash in his throat, his hands hindered from stopping it by the fabric all over the place. Not that he could have stopped it; she'd caused far too much damage.
Feeling horrified at what she'd done, she dropped the weapon and backed away until she tripped herself into another coat. More burning pain rippled through her back and reminded her that she needed to cover up.
Within seconds, she'd pulled the boots on and laced them up. They were a couple of sizes too big for her dainty feet but far better than nothing. She then grabbed what looked like the most intact coat and shrugged it over her shoulders, hissing her breath out through her teeth as it moved over the skin on her back.
Once she had it wrapped around her and held in place, she rolled the sleeves up far enough she could still use her hands. She still had at least one more person to deal with, and already her limbs were feeling a little heavier. Adrenaline only helped for so long.
After taking a deep breath, Amelia crept to the next room, and almost sighed aloud with relief when she saw no one else. Hopefully the rest of her captors were sleeping somewhere and she could get out without waking them. However, the hardest part was still to come.
When she reached the door to the outside world she glanced behind her one last time to check she was alone. It wouldn't help to have guards in front of her and behind.
She took a couple of seconds to compose herself, knowing she had to move fast once she opened the door, and placed her hand on the rusty metal handle. If she was going to get out of this she had to take a risk.
Yanking the handle down, she threw her body weight into the door. It gave way under the force and she found herself spilling out into a foot of snow.
“Yob,” the guard said, dropping his lit cigarette. Amelia made use of his hesitation and righted herself, too close to him for him to easily shoot her. Thankfully, he seemed more surprised to see that she wasn't one of his comrades than that she was out there, and merely raised his eyebrows at her.
“Hi,” she said as she stepped closer. A second later she thumped him as hard as she could in the face. He brought his gun up but his nose gushed blood and his eyes watered, making him wobble his aim all over the place.
Trying not to react to the fear, Amelia stepped to one side and used another move Tom had taught her to sweep the guy off his feet. His finger depressed the trigger as he did, sending bullets in an arc up towards the sky.
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She hammered several more punches to his face while holding onto the edge of the gun so he couldn't point it towards her. Eventually he went limp, but not before she heard a commotion from inside the building.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Amelia slammed the door shut again and used the rifle to prop the handle up. She doubted it would slow the people inside by much, but it would give her a little time to get farther away.
After a brief glance at the sky to find the North Star, Amelia started running west. She didn't know how far into Russia she was, but she knew west would eventually lead her somewhere else. If she got lucky she would find somewhere to hide or get help on the way, but if not, another country would definitely provide her with safety.
It only took a few minutes for the sounds of pursuit to reach her ears, and Amelia put a final amount of effort into running, her feet numb from cold and her legs rapidly going the same way.
While she ran, she rolled her sleeves back down again to try and cover her hands and keep the heat in. Combined with the heat her body was producing, this kept her core warm enough to keep going, but her legs ached and felt heavy.
Tromping through the snow soon weighed her down even further, and only five minutes after leaving the safety of the building, Amelia had to slow and give her body some respite.
As far as she could tell she hadn't been spotted, but she knew she was leaving trail marks in the snow. They wouldn't need to see her, just follow where she led. Knowing this would just get her caught before she could get away, Amelia looked for firmer ground, but she was in the middle of several fields and needed to get to an edge before she stood a chance.
Risking going the wrong way, she steered more to the south and the nearest hedge. As soon as she reached it she noticed that, instead of the snow being more compacted or thinner, the wind had blown it towards this end and made large drifts that she sank into up to her knees.
