Williams fixed his querying gaze on Skye, studiously avoiding looking at Holmes. So he saw when Skye’s brow furrowed in anxiety and her blue eyes widened, dilating in shocked realization as she paled.
“Oh, no. Yes, Mr. Williams, that’s right, it does. Damn it, did I do ANYthing right on this blasted project?!”
“Calm yourself, Skye,” Holmes put a light hand on her arm. “Williams does not appear to be finished with his news.”
“No, I’m not.” Williams nodded, his trust in the scientist fully restored. “It took a bit of doing, I understand, but your software people traced the time of injection of the virus to sometime during the afternoon or evening of the twenty-first of March. Colonel Jones was able to access the security records for that date, and ascertained neither of the two project directors were even in the Chamber during that timeframe, but Robert Harris worked overtime on that date.” This time, he did glance at Holmes as a way to subtly acknowledge appreciation of the suggestion. “And General Morris has no record of overtime submitted by Harris for that date.”
“So now we know who, when, and where.” Holmes pressed his lips together, nodding.
“It looks like it,” Skye agreed, subdued and upset.
“I really have to apol—” Williams began, but Holmes interrupted.
* * *
“My dear Skye,” the detective said, talking right over Williams, “you simply must stop feeling so very guilty over your program. I know you have developed severe doubts regarding the ethics of the project, especially since my unanticipated arrival, but you must cease this constant second-guessing of every decision you have ever made. It is not healthy, and if you allow it to continue, it will surely end by paralysing you. You will be unable to make any decisions whatsoever.”
He shot a surreptitious warning look at Williams, whose eyes had widened in understanding.
* * *
Williams hastily gathered his wits and joined his voice to the detective’s.
“He’s right, Dr. Chadwick. A design like that is excellent for safety reasons, especially in a complicated system like yours. I understand from Colonel Jones that it was properly passworded, and every precaution was taken.”
“As best we could,” Skye sighed, dejected. “I know y’all are both right. It just really, really…bothers me.” Her entire frame slumped in despair.
* * *
“I know, my dear Skye,” Holmes murmured, edging close as he caught her eye. Aha. So that was the right intonation. Her eyes just dilated, and her muscle tone slackened. Holmes smiled inwardly, knowing he’d managed to divert Skye’s thoughts from her guilt, at least temporarily.
Skye was no fool; she knew exactly what Holmes had done, and why. And she loved him for it, and it was obvious in her face.
* * *
Williams watched the subtle interplay, finally fully grasping the bond existing between the two. In this universe, she’s everything he has—his Watson, his Mrs. Hudson, his brother Mycroft, all rolled into one. And maybe some reflection of himself, too. And she—she really would die for him, if she had to. He thought about the dossier Colonel Jones had provided on the two. They’re everything to each other. All they have.
“All will be well, my dear,” Holmes said then with quiet confidence, drawing Williams’ attention. “We shall let no harm come to the apparatus, the continua—or you.”
Either of you, Williams thought, coming to a private decision.
* * *
The next morning, over breakfast, Skye surprised both Holmes and Williams by requesting to stay in the saferoom.
“I’ve been thinking. I wanna get my hands on the video from the Chamber and the security airlocks, for the timeframe when Harris infected the computers. I’m sorry, Sherlock, I know this throws a monkey wrench—erhm, a spanner—into your plans, but I have to do this. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but my gut says I need to see it.”
“As I once told Colonel Jones, when an experienced investigator’s ‘gut’ is involved, it is generally indicative that the mind, not the belly, has subconsciously deduced conclusions not immediately apparent,” Holmes observed, nodding concurrence, and Skye flushed with pleasure at the implied compliment. “By all means, my dear, do what you feel you must. I have no doubt I can manage the appropriate surveillance with Williams’ help.”
“On it,” Williams noted, headed for the suite phone. “Do you want me to have Colonel Jones or Agent Smith put a tail on anyone?”
“According to the files you provided yesterday, our two remaining suspects are governmental contractors, not unlike our Skye. One is on Peterson, the other at Schriever. If they could have them observed, it would greatly benefit our case. Truthfully, this solves a grave concern I’d had. If this Jenkins is indeed our ringleader, Skye does not need to be placed in a position of danger by being within his grasp. However, it occurs to me that as a fellow contractor, she might possibly be recognised by the other two.”
“This will work,” Williams agreed, dialing a secure number. “Nose, this is Footman. Yes, two. Bobcat requests copies of the video you analysed yesterday for review. Toby would like for the two remaining marks to be examined. Yes, that’s correct. Yes, he will be stalking deer in Bobcat’s range today. The usual courier is acceptable. Thank you.” Williams hung up and turned to the couple. “Consider it done, Mr. Holmes. The courier will be here within the hour, Dr. Chadwick. I’ll get you a special DVD player. Mr. Holmes will need the laptop, and we’d rather not have you…”
“Play classified DVDs in the regular movie player,” Skye finished for him, jerking a thumb at the entertainment system. “Bring it on.”
“Good. I’ll be back soon.” Williams departed to obtain the player.
* * *
Holmes and Skye finished their breakfasts, then the detective rose, heading for the bathroom and the makeup kit.
“What’s it going to be today, Sherlock?” Skye queried, tagging along.
“Mm, perhaps a red Indian. Er, American Indian?” He glanced at her to see if he’d updated his terminology correctly, and she nodded. “Or perhaps a simple businessman. What do you think, my dear?”
“I’d say shoot for regular businessman today. If you go Native American at the Baked Bean, it might make somebody think of me, and that might not be so good.”
“True. Businessman it is, then.” Enjoying the opportunity to hear her train of thought about his disguises, he continued the pattern. “Would you care to select my complexion?”
“What, you mean coloring and stuff?”
“Yes. I should like to see what you devise.”
“Oh. I can’t do all the fancy shading and stuff you do…”
“No, no. I shall apply it. I merely thought you might enjoy the opportunity to ‘choose my look,’ as it were.”
“Oh,” Skye said again, but animatedly this time. “Okay. That sounds like fun. Lemme see…”
* * *
Five minutes later, the grey-eyed, black-haired Holmes was transforming into a portly, hazel-eyed, brown-haired businessman, while Skye picked out clothing from the wardrobe Williams had provided the day before. An hour later, a stout businessman in tan chinos, white shirt, red tie, and navy sport jacket was ready. Gazing into the mirror, Holmes chuckled.
“What?”
“Were it not for the hazel eyes, I should look like my brother Mycroft,” Holmes asserted. “Have you selected a dialect for me?”
“Just go with your Southern accent. You do that really well from being around me so much. You can be a salesman or something. Oh! I know. You can be a food service supplier for the bases, traveled in from your home office in Atlanta, if anybody asks.”
“Excellent. I spent one or two lone evenings in the Officers’ Club at Schriever, talking to the manager. I suspect I can handle any necessary conversations with reasonable aplomb.”
“Cool,” Skye grinned, handing him the laptop case. “Everybody is interesting to you, aren’t they?”
“In my l
ine of work, everyone is a little puzzle of some sort, so I suppose the answer is yes.” Holmes grinned back.
And he was off.
* * *
Williams came by an hour later with a portable DVD player and a sealed package. The DVDs Skye had requested were inside the package. While she opened them and sorted through them, Williams set up the player and plugged in the power.
“There you are, Doctor. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Nope, don’t think so. Maybe some snackies, but otherwise I’m just gonna sit here and study these.”
“Okay. What would you like for snacks? Chips, soda, the usual?”
“Yeah. And maybe some ranch dip?”
“Sure thing. Be right back.”
* * *
Williams returned by the time Skye had the first disk in and cued.
“Here you go,” he sat the tray on the end table. It was loaded with potato chips, tortilla chips, a large bowl of fresh-made ranch dip, and an ice bucket full of bottled sodas. “This ought to keep you going for awhile.” He grinned broadly. “With this as a starting theme…want pepperoni pizza for lunch?”
“Ooo, yeah,” Skye agreed, grinning back at him. “Perfect. Sounds good.”
“Call if you need anything,” Williams offered, and departed.
Skye settled down to spend the day watching DVDs.
* * *
Holmes spent the bulk of his day at the Baked Bean. He settled in mid-morning, booting the laptop and installing the recording device. Skye had already set it up for wi-fi the previous day, so he had little to do except launch the web browser. He ordered a cup of hot tea with cream, and settled in to people-watch while websurfing and waiting for Jenkins.
Jenkins arrived around eleven, coming in and ordering a ham and Swiss and a Corona. Half an hour later, Holmes ordered a club sandwich on rye and a Guinness, continuing the façade of searching the web while he watched the retired military officer.
But to Holmes’ disappointment, no one arrived to meet Jenkins, and his target said little save to the waitress.
Jenkins took his time with his meal, and ordered a slice of cheesecake for dessert, along with a cup of coffee. Nearly an hour and a half after he arrived, he called for his check and paid, then departed.
Holmes debated following, but decided it was more important to see what he could find out from the café’s denizens. Holmes had spotted the tail Williams put on him as soon as he left the hotel that morning, so he knew he was not alone in his surveillance of Jenkins. Though the matter annoyed him, he knew per Skye’s report of the previous day, a handover would be occurring at that moment outside the café, and decided to make use of the fact; he trusted Jenkins was being followed to ensure he indeed headed home. So he turned his attention to the waitress, who came by to see if he needed anything.
“Ah think maybe Ah’ll switch over t’ iced tea, if yew don’t mind,” Holmes murmured in a thick Southern dialect, an exaggerated version of Skye’s own, and one in which she had coached him. “Sweet, please. An’ if it wouldn’ seem too nosy, Ah was wonderin’ about the older gennelman that was sittin’ over there.” He gestured to the table Jenkins had vacated, a wistful smile on his face. “Not meanin’ t’ pry or nothin’. He jus’ kinda reminded me of mah Dad, God rest ‘im.”
“Oh, you mean Colonel Jenkins?” the waitress wondered. “I’m not surprised. He makes everyone think of either their dad or granddad. He’s a teddy bear.”
“Izzat so? He sure seemed like it. Good ta know there’s really people like that still in th’ world.”
“Yeah,” the waitress smiled. “He’s one of our regulars. Knows half the people in town, and can call most of ‘em by name. And if you need help, all you have to do is call ol’ Colonel Pete, and he’ll be right there for ya. Real good guy. Hang on a sec, let me get your iced tea, and I’ll be right back.”
The waitress scurried to the drink station, returning with a tall glass of iced tea. Holmes took it gratefully—all the padding and latex of his disguise was very hot—and took a sip. It wasn’t as good as Skye’s, he decided, but it was still acceptable, and he nodded his thanks.
“So yew were sayin’ the Colonel is one ‘a th’ good guys?”
“One of the best. See that guy over there in the blue plaid shirt? That’s Bill. His house got burgled last year. What wasn’t stole, they busted up. Cleaned him out, and Colonel Pete jumped right in, helped him get new stuff and all.”
“But what ‘bout insurance? Wouldn’ insurance have covered stuff?”
“It did. Problem was, it took, like, months for ‘em to cut the check. So Colonel Pete loaned Bill the money to get his life back in order, an’ then Bill repaid him when the insurance finally coughed up the cash. Several thousand dollars, it was.”
“Wow. No int’rest, nothin’?” Holmes’ eyebrows rose.
“Nope, not the way I heard it. Hey, Bill, did ol’ Colonel Pete charge you any interest on that loan last year? You know, after your house got busted into?”
“Aw, maybe like two or three percent,” Bill allowed. “The private loan was so big, he’d’ve got into trouble if he didn’t, way I understood it. I sure appreciated it, though. Damn insurance was takin’ forever, and I didn’t have the cash handy to fork out to buy all new stuff. Sleepin’ on the floor gets old pretty quick, lemme tell ya.”
“See? That’s how he is,” the waitress praised the old officer. “Real nice guy. It’s so sad, too. His wife died about a year and a half ago, and his kids live in New York state, and if they come to visit once a year at Christmas, that’s about all they do. So he’s all alone.”
“Aw.”
“Listen, I can tell you’re not from around here, by the sound of ya, but if you’re gonna be around a couple days, come on by at lunch sometime and I’ll introduce ya. He loves to meet people, and he’s here every day, because he hates to cook.”
“Ah might jus’ do that, ‘f I c’n shake loose,” Holmes agreed with a smile. “Dunno if Ah c’n do it tomorrah or not, but Ah’m gonna be here a few days. Workin’ on a new food service contract with Peterson, ya know.”
“Cool,” the waitress grinned. “My name’s Patty. Next time you’re in, ask for me if I don’t spot you first, and I’ll introduce you to our Colonel Pete.”
“Ah’ll do that,” Holmes grinned, finishing his tea. He glanced at his wristwatch, a device Skye had gotten him several weeks before, expressly for his undercover work. He fancied his pocketwatch more, but the wristwatch was less conspicuous. “Woops! I gotta go. Got a meeting comin’ up with Major Somebody-or-other.”
“Okay, I’ll get your check. Be right back.”
Five minutes later, Holmes was exiting the Baked Bean, headed down the street toward his rental car. Across the street, a trim woman with short brown hair, wearing blue jeans and t-shirt, rose from a bench and sauntered down the sidewalk, getting into a battered old pickup truck and pulling out a minute or two after Holmes did. The detective grimaced.
I should much prefer my independence, but either Skye convinced him to do it, or Williams decided to ensure I was as safe as I wished her to be, for her sake. I suppose I shall simply have to deal with it, for now.
But he still shook the tail before he aimed the vehicle at the Cimarron Springs Hotel.
* * *
Skye spent the morning slouched in the armchair with the DVD player in front of her on the coffeetable, reviewing the security videos at normal speed while munching snacks. Once she’d finished the videos, she worked her way through the DVDs frame by frame. It was a tedious process.
She paused around eleven to eat the pizza Williams brought her, answering his query about her progress with a discouraged shrug. He gave her a sympathetic half-frown, and returned to his hotel duties. Two more hours passed, and Skye was getting bleary-eyed.
The problem was, everything looked normal. There was no sign of Harris doing anything untoward; he sat at his console working the whole time.
But it
has to be here, Skye thought, frustration increasing. Either he did the job himself—which is likely, all things considered—or he let Thompson in to do it. And either way, it HAS to BE here!
Skye flipped from frame to frame using the remote control; she hit the button several times in succession out of sheer annoyance, then stopped, puzzled. That looked funny. She studied the image. Something changed. What was it…?
She reversed the frame step, backing up several frames, trying to locate what was catching her eye. Suddenly she realized the time-tag in the corner of the screen had incremented wrong—it jumped backward by almost a full minute. She scowled, and wondered anxiously if there was an error in the system. Watching the time-tag, she resumed forward motion, flipping through the frames faster. No, now it’s incrementing correctly again, only with the new time. What the hell…?
Five minutes later, the time-tag jumped again, this time leaping over a minute into the future, before resuming proper incrementing.
“Oh, now that’s plain ridiculous,” Skye grumbled, using the remote to back up to the beginning of the glitch. “What the hell is going on?”
“I am afraid I have no idea, my dear Skye,” Holmes’ amused voice said behind her, and she jumped. Skye turned; the detective had just entered the saferoom and stood behind her, divesting himself of his disguise. “Tell me what is ridiculous and perhaps I can tell you what is going on.”
“C’mere and take a look at this,” Skye said, waving him over.
Holmes perched on the arm of the chair, wrapping an arm across its back—not coincidentally wrapping an arm around Skye in the process—and deposited a kiss of greeting on top of the blonde head.
“What, specifically, should I look for?”
“Watch the time-tag. I’m gonna flip through frame-by-frame. I just now found this, and haven’t figured out what’s going on yet.”
“Very well,” Holmes agreed, watching the indicated portion of the image as Skye moved from one frame to the next. As the time changed incorrectly, his eyebrows rose.
“See there?” Skye pointed out. “Now wait a couple minutes…”
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 57
