“No, Sherlock,” she pointed out somberly. “My name is nowhere in there, and there’s only one e-ticket here. They desire to thank YOU for YOUR efforts.”
“But you were every whit as essential,” Holmes protested, displeased. He blinked, surprised and not a little indignant. “I could not operate the tesseract. That is your speciality.”
“Because of what I do and the position I hold on the project, it’s expected I would have acted to help. Not to mention, I think I’m still in the doghouse with the Pentagon. You, on the other hand, chose to help.” Skye shook her head.
Holmes’ eyes narrowed as he looked at her.
“Then I will simply contact them and say I will not—”
“Don’t do that, Sherlock. Please. Go. I’m not offended.”
“You should be.”
“No. That’s not the way it works.” Skye paused, her mind working furiously. She knew what this meant, and God help her, she knew what she had to do. “Sherlock…”
“Yes, Skye?”
“We never made our…situation…permanent.”
* * *
“No,” he said, glancing at her, wondering what brought that up. “I intended to look into that next. We have been too busy with the espionage ring for me to…”
“I know,” she said, meeting his eyes solemnly. “Sherlock, I’m releasing you.”
“What?” Holmes felt the blood drain from his face. “Skye, I…You no longer wish…?”
“I do wish,” she smiled sadly. “But this,” she tapped the letter in his fingers, “changes everything.”
“I…fail to comprehend how this summons affects us,” he noted stiffly, struggling to control himself, bitter pain rising up within. My anchour is cutting me adrift, he thought, despondent.
“I know. But I do. When you get to D.C., they’re going to give you some options, Sherlock. Some very…interesting…options. And you need to be free to take advantage of them.”
“I have no interest in taking advantage of them, or in being ‘free.’” Holmes was decided on the point.
“Oh, hush until you’ve seen what they are. Listen to me. I have to do this for you. There’s a saying—I think it comes from a gooshy movie—but it goes something like, ‘If you love it, let it go.’ That’s what I’m doing. I’m letting you go. You need the chance to see it all, see what they have in D.C., and make up your own mind, without worrying about how it’s going to affect me. Or if it even needs to.”
Holmes hesitated, seeing the firmness and determination on her face, knowing it was what she wanted him to see. But he also saw the sadness, regret, and anguished grief she was trying desperately to hide. Finally he nodded, agreeing to her proposal—to a point.
“I will come back, Skye. You have my wor—”
“No,” she put her fingers to his lips, interrupting before he could finish. “Don’t say that. Don’t make any promises. You’re free, to make whatever decisions are right for you. I owe you this.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “Now go get packed. Yell if you need something ironed. You’ll have to hurry; your flight’s first thing in the morning.”
“Surely there is time for a fond farewell?” Holmes smiled provocatively, reaching for her.
To his surprise, Skye stepped back, her eyes flooding with unshed tears.
“Lord help me. Don’t, Sherlock. Please. It’s taking everything I’ve got to do this. If you…if we…I won’t be able to let you go.”
“Then do not.”
“I have to!” she wailed. “I’ve already made you give up everything and start over. I’m not taking this away from you, too. Just go, and listen, and keep an open mind. You’ll know what to do.”
And then, to his astonishment, she turned and fled.
* * *
Skye avoided him the rest of the evening, although she did help him pack. They also shared the bed, though Skye only permitted Holmes to hold her. The next morning they rose early, and Skye drove Holmes to the airport in Colorado Springs, using her status as formal government liaison to see him through security. Then she headed to work.
There, her lousy day was made complete. Project: Tesseract was officially cancelled.
“It’s deemed too dangerous right now, Skye,” General Morris broke the news as gently as he could, as he and Caitlin Hughes sat in Skye’s office around her tiny conference table. “The ‘little attempt’ you and Holmes thwarted showed how vulnerable the project is. It has nothing to do with the technology. There’s no doubt it works, and works well. You done good, kid.” He grinned, trying to cheer her. “I’m sure I can find other places to use you, so don’t be worried for your job.”
“It’s the ethics and morals, Skye,” Caitlin continued sadly. “Like you said the day Holmes arrived—it’s a morass. Despite months of work since Holmes arrived, we haven’t figured out a way to put software or hardware failsafes in place for it. And our society isn’t sophisticated enough to handle it yet, otherwise.”
“I know,” Skye said in a low voice. “You don’t have to explain. You’re preaching to the choir.”
“I’m afraid I’ve got some more bad news,” Caitlin admitted.
“What?” Skye wondered, dreading the reply.
* * *
“Well, when the project got cancelled, I decided to take an offer I’d gotten while Nate and I were hidden. Colonel Jones sent us to Edwards Air Force Base in California for part of the time, and I did some classified work while I was there. We’re selling the ranch and moving, so I can head up a project at Edwards.”
“Oh,” Skye whispered, paling slightly. “Congratulations. When…do you leave?”
“As soon as we get this project shut down. Nate’s packing our things now, and the ranch is already listed with a realtor. The auction for the herd and the equipment is this Saturday.” Caitlin watched her friend anxiously.
“Oh. Okay.” Skye dropped her gaze into her lap.
“It’s all right, Skye,” Caitlin offered encouragingly. “I’ll have to come here for meetings. And we can still visit.”
“I know. It’s just…I mean, I’m only…it’s a bad day. A really…bad…day.” Skye put her head in her hands.
“Well, I know just who’ll cheer you up,” Caitlin smiled. “Where is Holmes, anyway?”
“On a plane to D.C.”
“What?!” Caitlin and Morris shot startled glances at each other. “When did that happen?” Morris pressed.
“Summons came yesterday afternoon.”
“On a Sunday?!” Morris exclaimed in disbelief.
“Hand-couriered.”
* * *
Hughes and Morris exchanged another telling glance. Skye saw it, and knew they understood what was happening.
“Skye, why didn’t you go, too?” Caitlin wondered.
“Of course,” Morris added. “We could have gotten someone to fill in for you while you were gone. We have a few days’ leeway on shutting down the project. I’ll call and get you on an afternoon flight,” he reached for the phone.
“No, guys, let it alone. I didn’t go because I wasn’t invited.”
“Not invited?!” Morris said, shocked. “After all you did? Sonuvabitch, the D.C. dunderheads strike again.”
“The ‘D.C. dunderheads’ saved our behinds, as I recall, General,” Skye pointed out in a firm, subdued tone. “They backed Sherlock up in everything he needed, and even brought in British counter-intelligence to ensure our investigation wasn’t compromised.”
“So you’ll be moving to Washington, huh?” Caitlin said quietly.
“No,” Skye said, even more quietly, then corrected herself. “Well, Sherlock will. I won’t.”
“Oh, shit,” Caitlin whispered, horrified. “You broke up?”
Skye merely nodded.
“Why?” Morris demanded. “You two have a fight?”
“No. You know what they’re going to offer him. He deserved the chance to consider it without having to worry about…encumbrances.” Skye shook her head wearily.
/>
* * *
“Aw, damn, Skye. I’m so sorry.” Caitlin leaned across the table to hug her friend.
“Thanks, Cait.” Skye pulled back, avoiding the embrace. “Now if you two don’t mind, I’ve got a lot to do. It’s going to take some effort to disassemble two decades’ worth of work.”
They both recognized a dismissal when they saw one. Morris and Hughes glanced at each other, worried, then stood and quietly left the office.
* * *
When they were gone, Skye picked up the phone and placed a secure call to Washington. Locating Holmes’ point of contact, she explained the latest piece of news, and asked him to notify Holmes of the project’s cancellation as soon as possible upon his arrival in D.C.
“He deserves to know,” she explained simply.
“Agreed,” came the crisp, if sympathetic, response. “It means his connection to his old continuum is permanently cut off.”
“Right,” Skye said in little more than a whisper, as her shoulders slumped and her entire body sagged in guilty despair. “Let him know I’ll be busy in the Chamber every day, probably until pretty late, but if he wants to call, I should be in my office from about seven to nine p.m. each evening. Bloody paperwork,” she grumbled.
“The bane of our existence,” the Washington liaison chuckled. “I’ll tell him, Dr. Chadwick. I’m sure he’ll want to call at some point and find out details.”
* * *
Holmes was met at the gate by the Washington liaison. The man led him down the concourse, through baggage claim, then placed him in a State Department limousine, climbing in beside the detective. The vehicle whisked off for Holmes’ hotel. His liaison turned to him.
“Mr. Holmes, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Dr. Chadwick called while you were in the air. It seems…the project that brought you here has been officially cancelled. Dr. Chadwick says she will be very busy in the facility all this week, arranging for the shutdown, but she will be in her office from seven to nine in the evening, Mountain Time, should you wish to call for more details.” He paused, and glanced sympathetically at the detective. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Holmes stared at the man for a moment, taking in the news. Then it is over, he realized pensively. I must truly become a man of this continuum now. I shall never see my dear Watson or brother Mycroft again, at least in this life. And Skye…my poor, bereft Skye…your entire life’s work is no more.
“I should like to call Dr. Chadwick tonight,” he decided.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible tonight.” The liaison shook his head. “You’re the guest of honor at a special little banquet tonight, and we likely won’t get you back to your hotel until fairly late. In fact, you’re booked for pretty much the entire week. An awful lot of high-ranking dignitaries want to meet you.”
“I see,” Holmes sighed.
* * *
It turned out to be far easier to shut down the project than it had been to construct it in the first place. The entire process took only five days. Skye threw herself into the task, getting up long before dawn each morning and doing chores before heading down the mountain, and arriving back well after dark for evening chores. In between, she ensured every tesseract component was sundered from every other, then properly crated; and all project documentation was pared down to two copies for classified archival purposes. All the rest was shredded and incinerated. Skye occasionally envisioned myriad crates of disassembled equipment and documents shipped to Washington and stored in some cavernous warehouse, right next to the Ark of the Covenant.
Each evening, at a few minutes before seven, she retired to her office, where she alternated between filling out paperwork and watching the phone. It never rang, however, and after the second evening, it dawned on her that the timeframe was squarely in the middle of D.C.’s evening dinners and festivities. There was no possible way for Holmes to call her; he was undoubtedly being monopolized by the Washington elite. So she stopped expecting a call.
* * *
Holmes found himself once more in an elegantly appointed banquet hall, again surrounded by men and women in formal eveningwear both military and civilian. He himself was similarly attired, his liaison having swiftly arranged for the acquisition of a designer tuxedo for the detective, complete with diamond-studded gold accessories.
Quite the royal treatment, as Skye put it, he thought, impressed despite himself. After several days of Washington meetings, fancy luncheons, and formal banquets, Colorado Springs already seemed nearly as remote as Victorian London to the detective.
He smiled genially at the man in front of him, who happened to be the House representative chairing the Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, as they shook hands.
“Congratulations, Mr. Holmes,” the congressman said with a broad smile. “That was some very fine work you did, protecting the program. We’re all very proud of you.” He sipped his cocktail casually.
“It was hardly done in a vacuum, my good man,” Holmes noted, ignoring the largely untouched old-fashioned glass in his left hand, waving a dismissive right hand. “I had the capable assistance of British counter-intelligence, the FBI, base security, and the project itself—not to mention the invaluable aid of my project liaison, Dr. Skye Chadwick. I really could not have done—”
“Well, of course, and that’s to be expected; but you were the brains of the whole counter-intelligence operation,” the congressman interrupted smoothly. “I mean, after all…” he leaned forward and murmured, in a tone plainly meant to invoke privileged secrecy, “I know who you really are, Mr. Holmes. You’re THAT Mr. Holmes.” The representative smirked and took another swallow from his glass.
“I am, indeed,” Holmes replied in blasé amusement. “At least I was, the last time I looked.”
“And that pretty much says it all, right there.” The congressman laughed. “I can’t think of anyone more appropriate to the offer we’re making you. They have talked to you about it already, haven’t they?”
“They have. It is quite the generous little post. I’ve not encountered such a…free-ranging…situation, prior to this.”
“Perfect,” the congressman said in intense satisfaction, before polishing off his drink. “Then we’ve got our dream agent. I look forward to being present at the signing of the agreement Friday morning, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes raised an eyebrow.
“Well, sir, if you would permit—”
“Do excuse me, Mr. Holmes. I seem to have run out of beverage. I’ll see you at dinner.” The committee chairman headed for the bar in the corner.
Holmes sighed noiselessly as another dignitary stepped in front of him.
* * *
By the end of the week, the last few documents were boxed. On Friday morning, all Project: Tesseract personnel were called into the Tesseract conference room for a security debriefing. When the meeting ended, Caitlin said her goodbyes, giving Skye an especially hard hug; then she was gone.
Everyone filed out silently, except for Skye. She continued to sit in her accustomed seat at the lenticular conference table, staring across the empty room at the large project logo on the wall—the logo that would be gone by tomorrow. Outside, she knew, General Morris awaited her to discuss her next assignment, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave yet.
Finally she knew she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. Skye rose and looked around the room one last time.
“That’s it,” she announced to the empty room. “It’s done.”
Then she turned and left the room.
She didn’t look back.
* * *
Skye came home from Schriever marginally earlier than usual that evening, managing to arrive when the sun was still in the sky. It was Friday, and the weekend lay ahead; but she didn’t relish the notion. In fact, she intensely loathed and dreaded it. It was the first time she would have to spend a weekend without Holmes since his arrival.
Everything’s gone now, she thought despondently, standing beside th
e truck and looking vacantly over the ranch. Friends, and family, and career, and love, and Sherlock. She shook herself out of her morose reverie and went inside.
The first thing she did was change into jeans and a chambray shirt and go outside to feed the horses waiting patiently in the barn. She rearranged some of the few remaining hay bales in the barn, noting it was time to consider stocking up on hay for the winter; afterward Skye returned to the house, where she made herself a solitary dinner and ate it with little appetite.
* * *
Then, as the sun had set while she was inside, Skye went back outside onto the porch deck and sat down at the north end, crossing her legs under her. She absently stared eastward, toward the dim pink ghost of Pikes Peak in the distance, silently absorbing the transition of light to dark at day’s end.
Anna curled around her legs, purring, and Skye picked up the affectionate little Siamese, cuddling her against the chill of the deepening twilight.
“Well, Anna, it looks like it’s just you and me again,” she informed the small animal, who trilled a response. “They called Sherlock off to D.C. almost a week ago now, with no word since, and I can see the handwriting on the wall. Been in the business too long not to. It’s going the way such things usually go: He’s being wined and dined and feted for all the good work he did on the case, preventing sabotage and breaking the espionage ring; and then they’re gonna invite him to go to work for them there. Given his background and our alliances, not to mention how closely we worked with their two units during the investigation, I wouldn’t be surprised if the British Secret Service isn’t involved in the deal, too. In fact, they pretty much have to be. And that’ll be good,” she told the cat. “It’ll give him a sense of allegiance, and more importantly, a sense of connection to his brother and his old life.” She paused, then added in a choked, fervent whisper, “I so hope he enjoys it.”
Skye sighed, a bittersweet sound, scratching Anna under the chin. The cat stretched its head out, and the purring grew louder.
“Meanwhile, though, yours truly is metaphorically lost in a box canyon. Since I didn’t get invited to go with Sherlock, it’s patently obvious the powers that be don’t view me as anything more than a hanger-on. And with Project: Tesseract officially gone bye-bye, I’m at loose ends for something to do. Oh, General Morris has offered some tidbits, but it’s all make-work. Dead-end stuff. So much for careers, huh?” she wondered, as the feline settled down in Skye’s lap to sleep.
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 74
