by Amelia Price
She smiled. It was just like him to be brusque with her now that her latest lesson was over.
“Until next time, Mr Holmes.” She gave him a slight curtsey and noticed it brought a slight twinkle to his eyes to see it. Not wanting to spoil the last moment, she hastily left the café and went back out into the rain. Immediately Daniels was there with an umbrella.
“He's told me to go the train station,” she explained, but it seemed Daniels already knew. He nodded, escorted her to the back of the car, keeping her dry every step of the way, and got in himself. She marvelled at how efficient Myron's chauffeur was before letting herself become lost in her thoughts.
Dumfries was the nearest train station, and the car only pulled up outside with just enough time for Amelia to dash inside. She glanced back to see if Daniels was still there, but he'd already got into the car and was pulling away. A taxi had come up behind, and a tall man wearing a dark fur hat got out. Their eyes met for just a moment and then he was focusing on his own direction.
As Amelia went through the ticket barriers she wondered if Myron had encouraged someone to follow her, but then pushed it from her mind. If he had, she would see the man again.
The train arrived at the platform just as she did, and she wondered if Myron had timed her leaving so she would get there just as the train arrived. Sebastian had a similar ability of knowing exactly when the trains would be where they were meant to be, and it would probably run in the family. She made a mental note to ask one of them how they did it at some point.
It wouldn't be long until Myron had his meeting with the reporter, if they weren't already talking, so she knew better than to ask right away. He wouldn't want the interruption and had already stated that her lessons were over for the day.
She also made a mental note to thank Sebastian for his interference. Most women wouldn't find getting up before dawn to spend almost six hours travelling for less than three hours with the person they liked a good Valentine's Day, but she'd enjoyed every minute with Myron and couldn't think of a better way to have spent the time. She had even realised the rose must actually be from him.
Four times since she'd woken up the number seventeen had crept up where it shouldn't, and one of those was the man giving her the rose. He'd said he had seventeen of them going unwanted. It was typical to give twelve roses, not seventeen. It could only mean that it was part of her current lesson and related to the clue she'd found in the geocache the day before.
The other three had all been unexpected accounts of the number, the first at the train station. One sign had shown the departure time of her train wrong. Then Daniels had said something about seventeen when he wouldn't normally have been so specific and Myron wouldn't have asked for the information, and finally the receipt at the café. Although she had no idea how he'd managed two of those, she was convinced it was a message from him. At the very least, she was sure it was meant for her to notice.
Once she was settled in her seat, she reached into her handbag and pulled out the little notebook she'd been using to write down his lessons. It contained all the translations of the coded messages he'd given her, as well as her thoughts after any conversations they'd had. As she opened it up to the first empty page, a small letter with the usual red seal fell out. She stifled a small laugh as she realised Myron had slipped another message into it at some point during the day.
A grin flashed across her face as she opened up the small envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside.
C: 111=>13 159=>105 132=>26 341=>18 872=>37 117=>?
Amelia exhaled at the numbers before her. No immediate pattern jumped out at her and she instinctively knew this wasn't going to be a quick puzzle to solve.
The most important thing she noticed right away was the first letter. The clue she'd received the day before began with A and this began with C. That meant there was a B missing, and she suspected it was seventeen. She'd seen that number or heard it in between the two letters so it would make at least some sense.
She added all this information to her notebook, and then sat back to try and work out what this clue might mean, but no matter how she looked at it, she couldn't see the pattern.
After several minutes of staring blankly at the numbers she decided to take a break. She wasn't far from Carlisle and would need to change trains there, and again at Birmingham, before she arrived back in Bath late that evening.
While she let her subconscious mull over the numbers, she decided to let Myron know she had worked out the rose was from him. She pulled out her phone and took her time composing a message.
Thank you for the rose. It took me a while to realise it was from you, but now I know B is 17; it's obvious. Your comment when you first saw it was a good diversion. Looking forward to what's next.
Amelia sighed and pressed the send button. It was never quite the same writing something instead of saying it, and she knew she'd like to imply more, but Myron was always brief with her in text format. She could only hope she saw him again soon.
As she was standing on the platform at Carlisle, she received a reply.
Good.
She chuckled as she got on the new train. Myron was very brief.
Wanting a table seat to be able to attempt to crack the latest code from Myron, Amelia moved through the first carriage, past the already occupied seats. When she reached the door at the end, she caught a glimpse of the people behind her and noticed the same dark fur hat poking above one of the seats. Myron evidently still had more in store for her if this man was following her.
Chapter 7
Mycroft sipped at his third cup of tea and waited at the café. The reporter still hadn't responded, and he was already growing angry. If they only knew how much power he wielded they would have replied instantly. He could have mentioned it, but he knew people rarely believed the depths of a threat. Human nature seemed to see a threat as a challenge, and Mycroft had soon learnt that there were better ways to get someone to understand they had no choice but to cooperate. It didn't help that with this task he couldn't allow the reporter to test him. The information needed to be stopped or the Scottish Referendum would swing the wrong way.
While he waited, he responded to the many emails and messages his secretary had forwarded on to him. He gave his input and opinion on every area of UK government, from the appointment of staff to new laws and even things like road closures in London. Sometimes he wasn't listened to, but he couldn't make every imbecile with some power see sense. He didn't have the time or the inclination. As long as the usual area of London was kept sane and safe, and the country continued in roughly the right direction, he didn't interfere too much.
He also sent messages to all the people who'd been involved in part B of Amelia's latest task. She'd thanked him for the rose, and as far as he was aware he hadn't sent her one, and would never have chosen to do so had he been in control of every little detail, but he'd trusted the task to others, as well. It was possible it had indirectly come from him.
A little before three, a middle-aged man wearing a wrinkled shirt with an off-centre tie hurried into the café, folding down his sodden umbrella as he did so. Immediately Mycroft gave him a nod to let the unkempt man know where to go. He sat down in the seat Amelia had vacated and ran his hand through his already ruffled dark brown hair.
“Right, I want to keep this simple,” Kendel said before Mycroft could speak. “I'm not interested in keeping this out of the paper. I've got a deadline to meet and this is by far the best piece. I don't care who you are or where exactly you're from. Suzy said you showed her some MI5 thing, and I know for a fact they don't identify themselves that way, so don't think for a second that I believe you're that powerful. Now, if you'll excuse me. I've got to get back to writing a report on misappropriation of funds by one of Scotland's MPs.”
As soon as he'd finished speaking, Kendel got up and went to walk off. Mycroft reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding it firmly but not so he'd hurt the deluded reporter.
“Sit back down, Mr Kendel. We're not done here.” Mycroft kept any hint of threat out of his voice, but it didn't appear to be enough.
“Are you trying to intimidate me?”
“No.” Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh. “Just making sure you don't do anything stupid. Sit down, Mr Kendel.”
After hesitating for a moment, he sat back down on the chair and put his hands out on the table. His fingers were adorned only by his wedding ring.
“Do you have a good reason why I shouldn't publish an article about this?” he asked.
“Of course. I don't make a habit of leaving London, but if you expect me to tell you, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.”
“Then I can see no reason not to publish.”
“I don't think you understand, Mr Kendel. You may have financial trouble and have not slept very well last night.” Kendel raised his eyebrows but didn't interrupt. “But you have no excuse to be stupid. There's a very good reason to not publish that article. It's not as it seems. I cannot explain further.” Mycroft continued to sit back in his chair and sound as relaxed as possible. It was always best to appear to be calm and in control in these sorts of negotiations. Making people feel like you had the upper hand would often give you the upper hand.
“So I'm just meant to take your word for it?”
“People usually do,” Mycroft replied and gave him a brief smile.
Kendel shook his head and gritted his teeth together. Mycroft knew what he was going to say next before he even said it.
“I don't know who you think you are, but I'm writing an article on this. I won't let you try and bully me into hiding it.”
Mycroft watched as he walked out and then sighed. Some people just didn't have enough sense to know when to back down. He'd hoped the meeting would be enough, but he would make sure the next time they met that Mycroft got what he wanted. Kendel didn't realise it, but he'd already given him at least three useful avenues of information to pursue.
After ordering yet another pot of tea, Mycroft pulled out his work phone and sent his secretary an email asking her to find Kendel's financial records. The man had come into a café and not even hinted at buying anything while there. He'd also walked, in the rain, to get there, when anyone without financial difficulties would have driven or taken a taxi. The reporter was struggling.
This could be the cause of the lack of sleep so evident on the man's face, but Mycroft suspected something more was at play, and needed something to persuade the married man that he meant business. He sent his younger brother a message concerning that. Sherlock might not come through if he was busy with one of his own cases so Mycroft would also handle that aspect, doubling the chance of success.
Finally, he pulled out his secondary phone and asked Amelia for some help. If she could write as well as her books appeared, she could do something practical to help him.
I need an alternative news article for Mr Kendel to submit. He doesn't have time to write it.
Mycroft deliberately left the brief vague. It would be a good lesson in quick thinking if Amelia could figure out what he needed without much help. While he drank his final cup of tea, he thought over what he needed to do next. He planned to use all three elements to form a basis to negotiate with. Before the day was over, Kendel would understand why no one defied Mycroft Holmes.
After paying the final bill, Mycroft strode out to his car. Daniels was back and waiting for him, shielding him from the rain. As he seated himself comfortably in the back, he felt one of the phones buzz with a message. He rooted around in his pocket for the right one.
On it. I'll use his previous article for length and voice. Do you have a subject you want me to write about? I assume it's meant to be some hot news.
Mycroft thought for a moment before forwarding an innocuous report on a British company with its headquarters in Scotland. It would look like a pro-Scottish-independence piece but be easily refuted later. Before he could reply to let her know to check her email, the phone buzzed again.
Thank you. That's perfect. I'll start work on it right away.
“I take it we're not heading back to London yet, sir?” Daniels asked. He'd been waiting for Mycroft to instruct him for several minutes.
“Not yet. Take us for a drive, Daniels. I need to think.”
Daniels nodded and pulled off. In seconds, Mycroft was back in his own mind, and thinking over the best way to get what he wanted.
A few minutes later he fetched his laptop, switched on the satellite internet and pulled up all the data he already had on Kendel. He would find something the man was ashamed of before they next met.
It was two hours later when the sound of an email arriving disturbed Mycroft from looking over Kendel's academic history. He'd found no flaws there.
It was an email from his secretary with information on Kendel's finances. She'd found a second credit card registered under his deceased father's name. He forwarded the information on to Sherlock, hoping his younger brother could help provide some further information.
He was one step closer to stopping this article.
***
Amelia's hands shivered as she attached the finished article to her email. She hovered over the send button for several seconds before sucking in a deep breath and pressing down. A few seconds later, her phone let her know it was gone and on its way to Myron. There was nothing left she could do but hope it was good enough for his liking.
She'd spent the entire middle leg of her journey writing and polishing the article based on other pieces written by Kendel, and it had taken all her concentration to get it done before needing to get off the train. The larger break at Birmingham would have made it hard to finish writing and send the article if she hadn't done so already. Thankfully, she could spend the time finding something to eat and pondering over part C of whatever task Myron was building up to.
After grabbing a burger from one of the fast food stands, Amelia found a seat near the platform she'd need next and fetched her notebook back out. While eating, she looked over the strings of numbers again, trying to work out what she might do to the first of each pair to turn them into the second of each pair.
As she swallowed the last mouthful and screwed up the wrapper, she realised that the sum of the starting number's digits matched the last digit of the resulting number for the first pair, third pair and fourth pair.
She rewrote out all the numbers, for now assuming that the second, fifth and sixth numbers all had the same pattern, to see if any other patterns could jump out at her with what she had left.
111=>13 because 1+1+1=3 leaving 10 to work out.
159=>105 because 1+5+9=15 (or 5) leaving 90 (or 100) to work out.
132=>26 because 1+3+2=6 leaving 20 to work out.
341=>18 because 3+4+1=8 leaving 10 to work out.
872=>37 because 8+7+2=17 (or 7) leaving 20 (or 30) to work out.
117=>? 1+1+7=9 so number probably ends in 9
It didn't take her long to spot that the remainder of the resulting numbers was ten multiplied by the last digit of the starting numbers. She fist pumped the air and wrote in the final number.
117=>79 because (10*7)+1+1+7=79
That gave her two out of the three numbers in her little challenge, and she had three possibilities for the first one. Whatever they related to, she felt confident she'd be able to narrow it down when the time came. Making sure she hadn't lost any of the messages tucked into the notebook, or left any possible evidence behind, Amelia put everything away and went to catch her final train for the day.
As she stood on the platform, she couldn't help but feel pleased with herself and knew from the looks some of the other passengers gave her that she must have a slightly dorky grin plastered across her face. It only made her smile even more. Completing Myron's challenges always gave her a sense of satisfaction she'd not found anywhere else.
Not long after Amelia was sat on the final train, Myron sent her a message.
Article received.
&
nbsp; She rolled her eyes at the brevity once again and tapped out a reply.
Thanks for letting me know. I've also been working on that little maths problem you gave me. The answer is 79. That's two down and one almost complete. Very curious about what they're for. How's everything going with your ink slinger? Has he bent to your will yet?
Once the message was sent, Amelia tucked the phone away and sat back. It would be a surprise for Myron to reply right away unless he had already solved the problem, so she had time to do something she wanted as long as she kept her eye out for whatever number might be coming her way next.
A dull headache put Amelia off the idea of reading or writing for the last few hours of the journey, and her phone was so low on battery after all the research she'd used it for that she didn't dare listen to music. This gave her little else to do but watch the scenery go by.
By the time she reached Bath she was bored and had dozed off several times in the two hours between the first stop and her last. She eagerly got into the first cab she saw outside the station and asked to be taken home. It may have been a good day, but she was exhausted. As the driver pulled off, she glanced backwards and saw the now familiar furry hat on the same stern face. Three times in one day she'd seen the same man. It could only be one of Myron's people, and she found herself hoping she hadn't missed anything in the last few hours.
Over fourteen hours after she left the house, she walked back through the front door. Dropping her handbag on the coffee table, she went straight to her kitchen to fix herself a drink and a piece of toast before she went to bed. She wouldn't normally eat when she planned to go to sleep right after, but today could be an exception to her rule.
