The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “No, well, maybe,” Skye remarked. “‘Mayday’ is an emergency distress call derived from the French, ‘Venez m’aider.’”

  “Ah. ‘Come help me.’ I see.”

  “Hm. What about ‘Wagner group now numbered at 12’?” Jones wondered.

  “I expect that is a reference to Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung, sometimes known as the Ring Cycle,” Holmes observed. “Hence a veiled reference to another type of ring—an espionage ring, whose members evidently numbered 12 at that time, and 10 now, with the expiration of our double agents. But I have no idea what this ‘Sauron’ or ‘Barad-dûr’ is.”

  “Now that, I know,” Skye grinned. “It’s a reference to J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterpiece literary work, The Lord of the Rings. Specifically, the Dark Lord Sauron was the Lord of the sorcerous One Ring to Rule Them All. Barad-dûr was his fortress, where he hid most of the time. The Nazgûl were the Ringwraiths, who reported directly to Sauron.”

  “Ah!” Holmes exclaimed. “If we make it another reference to espionage ring, then Sauron was their code word for the leader of that ring, and the two lieutenants hoped to be within the inner circle soon.”

  “Sounds like it to me,” Skye agreed.

  “Do you suppose Barad-dûr could be Cheyenne Mountain?” Jones wondered.

  “Makes about as much sense as anything, at this point.” Skye shrugged.

  “So we need to be on the lookout for a spy ring with at least ten members, with a secret leader who works inside the Mountain,” Jones decided. “We know the identities of two of the members—Thompson and Harris. Two down, eight to go.”

  “It would seem so,” Holmes murmured.

  “Oh, Colonel, I need to tell you something,” Skye remembered.

  “Shoot,” Jones said amiably.

  “My software people discovered the reason for the tesseract malfunction. A Trojan horse virus had been introduced to—”

  “What did you say?” Holmes barked.

  * * *

  “A Trojan horse virus,” Skye repeated, then paused, knowing what Holmes had picked up. “…was introduced into the tesseract software to hack a time bomb modification. Which caused a regular rodeo down in the Chamber…”

  “Which happened just before the first of May,” Holmes observed.

  “Shit,” Jones said, grimacing.

  * * *

  “…So the software team is searching for direct evidence of the Trojan,” Skye explained. “They have orders to report to Holmes or me, and tell no one. As soon as we hear something, we’ll let you know.”

  “Sounds good,” Jones agreed. “Or rather, it doesn’t, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Skye agreed morosely. “All too well.”

  The phone rang, and Holmes answered it. “Commander Holmes.” He listened, then said, “Yes, he is. One moment.” He offered the phone to Colonel Jones. “Your secretary. Agent Smith is looking for you.” Jones took the receiver.

  “Jones here. Oh, yes, Carolyn, put him through. Hi, Adrian. What’s up?” He listened, then answered, “Yes, as a matter of fact, we did get it all worked out, and I have news for you. No, not on the phone, this isn’t a secure line. Oh, you did? Excellent. I’ll tell you tomorrow when you come by with it. Good. See ya, pal.” He hung up.

  “What’s up?” Skye queried.

  “He’s almost got your ‘agent-ship’ through,” Jones grinned. “You should have it by tomorrow. Bring your Glock when you come down the mountain, but leave it in the car until I get the paperwork through for base security. I’ll tell Adrian tomorrow about everything we figured out. Meanwhile, I better get going.”

  “Okay, Colonel,” Skye nodded. “Take it easy.”

  “You too, both of you,” he said, and was gone.

  * * *

  The next day Skye brought her Glock and concealed carry holster down, leaving it secure in her vehicle as instructed. Shortly after she and Holmes had their first cup of coffee, Jones called, requesting Chadwick and Holmes in his office as soon as possible. They were there inside ten minutes.

  Agent Smith awaited them with an older agent, tall, elegantly attractive with sleek white hair. Smith’s deferential way indicated the unknown man was his superior, and upon being introduced they discovered he was indeed a very high-ranking FBI official.

  “Pleased to meet you both,” Agent Phelps smiled, “especially you, Mr. Holmes. Half the people in my department owe their first interest in investigation to your adventures. It’s good to know you’re a real person. I suppose,” he added humorously, “I should say you’re real people, plural, if Dr. Chadwick’s report is to be believed.”

  Skye eased back, allowing Holmes the spotlight; but the detective would none of it. A long, wiry arm snaked out, wrapped unassumingly around her shoulders, and unobtrusively pulled her forward until she stood beside Holmes once more.

  “I thank you, Mr. Phelps, but as I have told my colleague Dr. Chadwick here, it does not do to place me upon a pedestal. I find the high altitude prone to causing a headache.” He let his grey eyes sparkle impishly. “At any rate, it is Dr. Chadwick who is the object of your visit, not me.”

  “True,” Phelps agreed. “Dr. Chadwick, are you ready to be sworn in?”

  “Yes, sir,” Skye snapped to attention and saluted, as she had done when a police officer.

  * * *

  Holmes and Jones stood back and watched while Phelps and Smith administered the FBI oath to Skye. She stood tall, Holmes noted proudly, her tanned face grave and earnest. She does indeed take it very seriously. I wonder if they have any idea the nobility of heart in that comely breast.

  Soon enough the deed was done. Smith gave Skye her credentials, then escorted her to her vehicle to get her weapon. While they were gone, Jones released the classified orders he’d prepared for the use of his security staff, acknowledging Skye’s adjunct status on base with the corresponding right to bear arms. Phelps moved to Holmes.

  “I thought you’d want to know, we’re working with…appropriate authorities…inside Great Britain, to get you a similar appointment.”

  “I thank you, sir,” Holmes murmured.

  “It’s proving difficult, bureaucracy being what it is,” Phelps admitted. “Yours is a unique situation, and frankly, the first order of business each time we pass a hurdle is to convince the keeper of the next hurdle that this isn’t some great big practical joke.”

  “Yes, I have encountered that reaction myself. Well, well, it will all happen eventually, I suppose.” Holmes laughed silently.

  “It will,” Phelps agreed. “We’re pushing for it.”

  Skye came back in with Smith, and Holmes scanned her.

  “Excellent, my dear. If I did not already know where to look, I think I should not observe your weapon.”

  * * *

  “That’s the idea,” Skye grinned, pleased. “So if YOU have a hard time spotting it, I guess it’s a good concealed carry.”

  “I told you,” Smith told Skye with a chuckle. “Nothing would do her, though, but that HOLMES checked it out and told her it was okay,” he informed the room. Everyone laughed, Skye turned pink, and Holmes’ eyes sparkled.

  “Now at least we have one of you armed,” Jones observed with relief. “All things considered, I’ve been worried.”

  “Handcuffs?” Phelps snapped. “You’ve got arrest capability, you know.”

  “Two sets.” Skye pointed to each hipbone in turn.

  “Good,” the older agent said gruffly. “You know your stuff.”

  “I’m trying, sir,” Skye said deferentially.

  “Very well, Agent Chadwick,” Smith grinned. “Go out there and you and Mr. Holmes bring us some spies’ asses.”

  “We shall certainly do our best,” Holmes agreed, and he and Skye headed back to their office to see if the software gurus had turned up anything yet.

  * * *

  The rest of the week was comprised mostly of Holmes putting Skye through varied exercises to improve her observational a
nd deductive skills, while waiting for further matters to develop on their spy case. “For sometimes,” Holmes noted, “patience is the skill a detective most needs.”

  Holmes found any number of ways to train Skye while never leaving their office, teaching her the importance of trouser knees and sleeve cuffs and shoes, and of the detail of typeface and handwriting.

  “It is true the hand typewriter is an obsolete instrument now; nevertheless I have already found similar observations may be made of materials produced by a computer printer. And it is entirely possible to identify the product of a given machine by those idiosyncrasies, if one is patient and exacting enough.”

  * * *

  Over the weekend, they returned to several places, including the Florissant Fossil Beds on Saturday and Cripple Creek on Sunday, where Holmes assigned Skye some demanding observational tasks.

  At Florissant, she was required to stay inside the visitor’s center for a half-hour, then emerge, locate and identify Holmes’ tracks among all the visitors’, and follow them to his hiding place.

  In Cripple Creek, they sat at a window table in a café and watched passersby, while Holmes challenged Skye to glean as much information about them as she could.

  * * *

  The tracking exercise was very difficult, but Skye had considerable experience with animal tracking, and caught on quickly during Holmes’ training. So Holmes deliberately used most of the tricks in his arsenal, and once he managed to stymie her temporarily by dint of walking backward in his own footprints; but Skye still located him in the smokehouse of the Hornbek homestead. To her amusement, there were dark smudges on the detective’s face, and she recognized their source—he had used the cracks between the old boards of the walls to peep out and observe her progress, getting soot on his skin in the process.

  * * *

  The café assignment was more pleasurable; they could sit and sip coffee, and Holmes turned it into a game, taking turns with her in identifying details of passersby, the same game which he and Mycroft used to play. In the end, he declared she did well, which gave Skye tremendous satisfaction. She had no illusions she was anything special at it, but Holmes assured her she was already well advanced of most of the Scotland Yard inspectors of his day.

  “Patience, Skye. You are coming along well and quickly, as I knew you would.”

  * * *

  The following Monday, a package arrived at their office, addressed to Skye.

  “Ah,” she said, grinning hugely. “It got here. Wonderful.”

  “Hm,” Holmes murmured, curiosity piqued, studying the package.

  “Don’t ‘hm,’ and don’t study it, and don’t drop it. Just open it.” Skye handed it to him.

  Holmes sat the package on the desk, produced his jack-knife and slit the packing tape on the box. Inside was a mound of bubble wrap, and he carefully unwound it. Within that was an entire selection of magnifying glasses of various strengths and sizes.

  “Capital! We needed these! Colonel Jones’ gift has gotten much use, but it has been awkward for the two of us to share one lens.”

  “Well then, Merry Christmas, a few months late,” she said with a pleased smile. Holmes’ head shot up, and he gazed at her in mild dismay.

  “Skye? These…you paid for them personally?”

  “I knew you’d like ‘em. Not to mention needing ‘em.” Skye nodded, still grinning.

  “You could have purchased them with the consulting monies, my dear.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” Skye said, face falling. “There isn’t a business bank account, Holmes; there isn’t even a business, really. There’s just your personal account, and I don’t have access to that—which is as it should be. Besides, it’s…I wanted to get ‘em for you.” She averted her face. “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I do, my dear,” Holmes murmured. “I simply…your finances have been reduced, and…”

  “And you don’t like the idea of a woman getting you something,” Skye finished quietly. Holmes blinked; he had not expected that response.

  “No, that has nothing to do with it,” he informed her sincerely. “As familiar as you are with the tales of my exploits, you may recall at times Watson’s finances wanted looking after. And during those times, I provided some…assistance. I find it automatic to take a certain concern in the wellbeing of my closest comrades. That naturally extends to include their fiscal matters. I…worry about you, Skye,” he finally admitted. “These are a lavish gift.”

  “They’re nice lenses,” Skye agreed, seeming warmed by his concern. “I ordered ‘em from a scientific house, so they’re good quality. But it’s okay. They didn’t break the bank.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Anyway, Merry Christmas.”

  Holmes chuckled, understanding if he pushed any further, he would seem ungracious and hurt her, so he accepted the gift, suavely charming as he took her hand and bowed over it.

  “I thank you, my dear Skye. I could not want for a better or more thoughtful compatriot.”

  “There should be a storage container in the bottom of the box.” Skye dug around in the packaging. “Oh, here it is.” She fished out a small, elegant rosewood chest and opened it. It was velvet-lined, with recesses sized for each magnifying glass.

  “Perfect,” Holmes enthused. He set the various lenses in their proper places. “Shall we keep them here, or at home?”

  “Well, I got the case so we could take them with us. They can travel in the back seat or the trunk as necessary. I’ve asked Smith for a small forensics kit, too. I’m going to set up some sort of case or box or something we can grab at a moment’s notice and go, that’ll have these,” she pointed at the lens case, “and forceps and evidence bags and a fingerprint kit and a camera and stuff like that. Basic crime scene investigation stuff.”

  “Very good.” Holmes gazed at her, permitting a hint of pride in his eyes. “And now, let us get back to our exercises.” He went to the window and looked out. “Tell me what the woman on the sidewalk has been doing…”

  * * *

  Thursday, Brad in Software called, and they hurried over. “We got it,” he announced without preamble when they entered his cubicle. “We’ve gone round the clock and run all kinds of diagnostics. We still don’t have the source, in that we don’t know what device was used to introduce it, or where. But we found the actual Trojan code.” He handed Skye a CD. “That’s got the Trojan itself, the original segment of focusing code, and the modified segment, all here for comparison. The segments are big enough for analysis, but small enough to be unclassified. I’ve already cleared classification through Colonel Jones’ office.”

  “What is your assessment?” Holmes asked.

  “A real piece of work.” Brad sat back, thoughtful. “Whoever it was, he knew what he was doing. Looked like he’d had a good bit of experience. It also looked like he’d had access to the code he intended to modify. It’s too big a stretch of the imagination to think he was working in the blind. It’s too good.”

  “Which returns us to the idea of a mole,” Skye murmured.

  “Which returns us to the idea of a mole,” Holmes agreed.

  * * *

  “It’s gotta be Harris,” Skye said, back in their office.

  “Likely, unless there is more than one on your team.”

  “Oh, no. Do you have any evidence for that?”

  “No, but nor do we have evidence against it. It would be a grave error to eliminate such a possibility out of hand.”

  “Okay,” Skye sighed her acknowledgement. “We trust no one on the team.”

  “And few off it. We can, according to my investigations, trust General Morris, your friend Caitlin, and probably Dr. Wellingford. And even then, we should say little. Agent Smith and Colonel Jones go without saying.”

  Skye nodded, then reached for the phone and dialed a number. “Yes, this is Agent Skye Chadwick. I have a software CD requiring immediate analysis. Yes, I’ll be there in half an hour.” She hung up, grabbed the CD and stood. “Wan
na come along?”

  “To an FBI facility, obviously, but where?” Holmes queried, rising.

  “Local forensics lab. Software specialty. Other side of town. Smith gave me all the phone numbers and locations when he escorted me to get my gun after being sworn in. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  An hour later they were sitting in an office with an FBI software guru, Chaz Ramsey, while he reviewed the contents of the CD on his computer. He was a handsome man of around thirty, with chocolate skin and eyes and a gaze that was nearly as piercing as Holmes’ own.

  “Interesting,” he muttered to himself. “Very interesting.”

  “What is?” Skye wondered.

  “I’d hate to say yet, Agent Chadwick. I’m not even sure yet.” Ramsey glanced up, a perplexed look in his eyes.

  “I’ll take an educated…er, hunch.”

  “This looks…familiar. I’m not sure, but…Listen, would you mind if I kept this overnight and did a little analysis?”

  “That is why we brought it to you,” Holmes pointed out.

  “Good,” Ramsey said. “This has me intrigued. I’ll stay here tonight and take a nice long look. Come by around nine in the morning and I should have something for you.”

  “You got it,” Skye agreed.

  * * *

  The next morning saw Holmes and Skye in Ramsey’s office again. “Well, I was right,” Ramsey said. “I checked with one of my colleagues to make certain, but I was pretty sure I remembered it.”

  “Tell us,” Holmes murmured.

  “Yeah,” Skye agreed, suspecting what was coming.

  “Well, the style matches one we’ve seen before. Couple investigations we did on this one guy—the first time, he was a juvie, but the hack job wasn’t caught until he was of age. Still, they went with the juvenile charges because most of it was done while he was, oh, like 15 or something, and he looked to be finally getting his life on track. Joined the Air Force, it was. Then a couple years back, a question was raised regarding the contents of his work computer, and we assisted the Air Force in the investigation. He was cleared, but it was still suspicious. My supervisor, to this day, is convinced he was guilty and we just didn’t get our hands on everything.”