by Janina Woods
During my longer than usual absence, the amount of documents to absorb had grown considerably, and I had already set aside the hours of night to immerse myself in the task. But just as I settled into my armchair, papers on a side table for my perusal, a freshly brewed pot of tea next to them, there was a knock on the door. Just two times, very quickly, in the middle, where the wood was the thinnest. I already knew who it was. With a sigh, I pushed myself out of the comfortable cushion and went to open the door.
The woman on the other side just smiled at me and entered the room without an uttered greeting. She walked over to my desk and perched on the side as if she owned the place, pulled a cigarette from a small silver case and lit it.
The smoke curled around her sharp nose and rose past the narrow, amber-coloured eyes, towards the ceiling. Locks of dark brown hair spilled over her shoulders, seemingly playful, though carefully arranged. She was dressed in a simple, blue shirt and dark cloth trousers, with leather boots completing the outfit. Slouched like that, we were the same height, while she was about two inches taller than me when we were both standing eye to eye. It wasn’t by much, but it was noticeable, because I wasn’t a small man myself. I turned and closed the door, hesitated for just a second, but then locked it again. The fact that I could trust her didn’t mean I could trust anyone else.
“Hello Lou,” I said as I turned back to her, a collegial smile on my lips. “You’re working late.”
“Always.” She shrugged.
I took a few measured steps towards my armchair and indicated the teapot. Lou nodded and so I went to retrieve a cup, then planted my behind back into the soft cushion of the armchair. The agent extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray I usually used for my cigars and walked over to take a seat on the divan opposite to me. With an exaggerated gesture, she fell back, spread her arms on the backrest and crossed her legs. Then she smiled.
“Welcome back to London, Mycroft.”
“Why, thank you,” I answered. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I wanted to greet in person, that’s all. After your absence.”
Oh, she was here to rub my suspension in. That had to be expected of Lady Lucy Louisa Turner, the eternal number two. Even though she was older than me by three years and had been in the Service longer than I. But was that all? Or was she here to observe my reactions after I had received the message?
“I saw you in the corridor yesterday, but couldn’t catch you before you disappeared again,” she continued.
I blinked. If she saw me, that made her one of the suspects, but I didn’t entirely believe she was guilty of this crime. After all, Lou was one of the best we had. She was the wife of an influential count, married both out of affection and advantageous placement in high society. No one was better at infiltrating the noble circles than she, and as an inside woman, she carried out many missions vital to the political stability of our nation.
Of course she also took on work like mine - acting only from the shadows - but her best role was in the spotlight, and she excelled at it. It was only my versatility in the field and ability to travel alone as a man, without the scrutiny that a woman might attract, that made me stay ahead of her. Should she ever decide to encroach on my territory, I admit that I would have to fight to keep my spot. Luckily we complimented each other with our different areas of expertise, and the agency actually took care to see that our paths seldom crossed. Not because we couldn’t stand each other, but because our professional rivalry could get somewhat... intense.
I frowned. It was not like me to discard any option from the start, no matter how much my feelings wanted to steer me away from her. Suddenly, the air in the room grew just a bit colder. I just hoped Lou hadn’t realised it.
“Ah, yes, I just stopped by briefly to deliver the intelligence I collected in Germany, and then I went straight home,” I explained.
“I thought you were living in these very rooms.”
“Well, I do own a house,” I rebutted and patted the armrest of my chair affectionately. “But, yes, for all intents and purposes I live right here.”
“You’re a strange one.”
“Entirely aware.”
There was a beat of silence between us, then Lou broke out into laughter. I smirked conspiratorially and poured the tea. Yes, the joke about my actual residence was long standing within these walls. But in these few minutes with someone, who I could even consider a friend, I felt much more at home here than in the cold walls of the townhouse in Kensington. No, Lou wasn’t guilty, I decided. I couldn’t even doubt her for a minute. And if she were, I’d gladly vacate my spot for her.
“So, Germany, huh?” She asked, almost like it didn’t matter, while stirring a drop of milk into her tea, without the spoon touching the cup. “Thought your suspension was for a whole year.”
“It was supposed to be a year, but it turned out to be a short few months. Then they sent me for a spot of undercover reconnaissance. I was called back last week.”
Lou had the same status as myself, so there was nothing she wasn’t allowed to hear. I could still keep things from her, of course, but my policy with fellow agents had always been straightforward honesty - for better or worse. Maybe that was what had me in this current pinch, but if it was, at least I had a good conscience.
“Hmm... spying on the German military, I presume?” she raised the cup to her lips and took a sip of the dark Assam brew.
I confirmed her suspicions.
“Well, I didn’t wait the whole day for you just so we can catch up,” my colleague said then, impatient as ever, put the cup down and leaned forward. “I came to warn you. You’re in some serious trouble.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“That’s not a topic for jokes, Mycroft. No matter your successful mission to Germany, the fact is that you’ve been suspended for a long time for a heavy breach of protocol, took several agents down with you, and now that you’re back in London, you jeopardise the secret in Secret Service.”
“I wasn’t the one who wrote my name in dead bodies across the Thames!” I huffed, already on the defensive. “Is that what they’re implying?”
Lou shook her head. “Of course not. But the reality of it still stands. Your name will be over all the papers tomorrow, along with the full story - and all the explicit illustrations and accusations that go with it. You know how people just eat up these morbid incidents. They will want to know who this mysterious Mycroft is, and why someone would send him such a wonderful message. There’s really not many people with your name about.”
“I’ve already started my own investigations and even sent out my brother to sniff in the right circles.”
“You know this would go much smoother if you’d involve the agency instead of trying to solve all of this on your own.”
Her argument was sound, but I would’ve preferred it not being pointed out to me in such a direct fashion. So I didn’t grace her with an answer, but simply raised an eyebrow in a way that expressed my disdain.
“Well, those are my words, but they are echoed in higher circles,” she continued as I remained silent. “Challenger is rather cross with you. He isn’t here right now, but I would leave before he returns... From the way he sounded, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’ll suspend you indefinitely.”
I looked into Lou’s eyes and saw both loyalty and concern. She didn’t have to inform me of Challenger - could’ve just let me run into the extended knife - but here she was, waiting all day to warn me. Something in the back of my head whispered that all of this could just be a convenient cover, but I silenced the voice.
“Look, for all we know this is some madman bent on revenge against you. And that makes it partly your fault, whether you like it or not. Maybe you should just lie low until this blows over and let the rest of us figure this out.”
“Not likely.”
“Didn’t expect it to be.” She sighed. “Just don’t get yourself killed, alright? That’s not how I want to snatch the top spot from you.”
“I don’t think it’s quite that severe.”
“Mycroft, someone wrote you a love letter in decaying flesh.”
“If you put it like that...”
Just then, the door handle was turned and the wood rattled as someone, who wasn’t used to the entrance being locked, tried to open it. They tried again. Then there was a knock.
“Seems I’m quite popular tonight.”
“You have been away for a year.”
“I didn’t think anyone would mind...” I trailed off and put my cup down gently.
There was another knock on the door. Impatient.
“Yes, yes,” I said loudly and walked over.
What greeted me as I opened it was the face of my colleague Leonard Hawkins with his signature shock of red hair, full beard and small glasses on a large nose. He was panting as if he had been running through the corridors of the club and smiled broadly as our eyes met.
“Mycroft!” he exclaimed and reached for my right hand with both of his. “It’s so incredibly good to see you! I thought I’d sent you to your death a year ago. Can you imagine how many sleepless nights I had until we had a message from Rome that told us you were indeed still alive? I asked to be informed immediately upon your return!”
With a pat on the shoulder, I returned his greeting, though not quite as enthusiastic. Here was another agent who’d rather cut off his own leg than betray me. In fact I was more sure of Hawkins’ allegiance than I was of Lou’s.
“I received a telegram with a note of your imminent arrival two days ago. Unfortunately there was a situation in Dover I couldn’t leave alone, so I only made it to London half an hour ago.”
“And not a moment too soon,” Lou said from her seat behind me.
Only then did Hawkins enter the room and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw the female agent sitting on my divan. Then they narrowed. I almost laughed and turned to lock the door to hide my amused smirk. The man was actually jealous. I couldn’t believe it.
“Agent Turner,” he addressed her curtly, more an acknowledgement of her presence than an actual greeting.
She moved to make space on the seat next to her, but he grabbed a chair from my side desk and placed it between the armchair and Lou’s feet. Transparent behaviour. Just like Lou had spread out as soon as she had taken a seat. Had my colleagues always been so territorial or had I just forgotten about their mannerisms during my exile?
“Hawkins,” Lou returned the sentiment with barely a nod.
Lovely. Just the atmosphere I needed tonight. As if I hadn’t been tense enough already. Would anyone mind if I just returned to Milan?
Despite everything, I offered Hawkins a cup of tea, which he accepted gladly. His breathing had returned to normal and he attempted several times to bring some form of order to his hair, but he might as well have tried to tame a feral cat. Some things just aren’t supposed to work.
“While I’m happy that you’re both so concerned about me, I have actual work to do. In case you forgot, there’s been a happy message left for me, and I’d rather find out who did it sooner than later.”
“Ah, the Mycroft Incident.” Hawkins nodded.
“What?” I bristled. “That is... I never...”
“Well, what else should we call it? It was your name written on the-”
I instinctively silenced the man with a glare that he didn’t deserve and felt a tad remorseful not even half a second later.
“Sorry, Leonard. I know it’s not your fault. And I am grateful that you’d come all the way to welcome me.”
Hawkins’ smile told me that I had already been forgiven.
“Why wasn’t our reunion so sweet?” Lou smiled in her own way by pulling up one side of her mouth in a lopsided grin.
“Because you aren’t the one I pulled out of a cage in a dingy warehouse in Edinburgh before he could drown, and now follows me around like a dog whenever he gets the chance,” I said before I could stop myself.
It seemed like Hawkins didn’t even register my dog-comment as an insult, just preened under my defence of his behaviour. I should’ve expected as much of my number one admirer. Lou’s had clearly picked up on all inflections of my statement.
“Well, then I’ll have to be content the way it is, shall I? I tend to avoid drowning.” She smiled sweetly. “And I think this is my cue to leave. Thank you very much for the tea. And, Mycroft? Don’t forget what we talked about.”
“I won’t.”
She got up and I joined her at the door, but then Hawkins vacated his seat too. Had he really only sat down to make a point? Sometimes I couldn’t understand the man.
“I’m not only here to see you, but also to give you a message from Challenger,” he explained and I immediately exchanged a look with Lou. “He arrived at the club just when I did, and I ran across him downstairs. Of course he knew I’d go to see you immediately, so he told me to order you to his room. You better go right now. We can talk later.”
“Challenger is never here this late,” Lou said.
“Apparently I’m worth making an exception for. You better watch out before all this attention gets to my head.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Lou replied and exited the room with a wave. “Good luck!”
“Can I do anything?” Hawkins asked as soon as she was out of earshot.
“That’s kind of you to ask, but I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do to help me now. Challenger is a force of nature and I just have to weather the storm.”
Chapter Six
Most people probably don’t know Archibald Challenger, head of the Secret Service. But they have certainly heard of his uncle, the infamous George Edward Challenger, better known simply as the Professor. The hot-headed, often brutally direct man was both scourge and fresh wind for the scientific community. I had enjoyed many of his public appearances not only for the controversial speeches and ideas, but mostly for the mayhem that ensued.
Archibald, on the other hand, had all of his uncle’s temper, but none of his stature. It seemed that the angry blood ran deep in the family, but where the professor was big and intimidating, Archibald was rather tiny and slender. Not as small as Ignatius, mind you. Maybe that was a reason that added to his continued fuming. You couldn’t talk about him without mentioning the fact that he was the youngest man ever to be in charge of all operations of the Secret Service, and despite our animosity, I had to admit that he did a damn fine job.
Challenger’s office was situated on the top floor of the building, with a balcony, from which you could see over the treetops of St. James’ Park and even get a glimpse of Buckingham Palace. My own rooms were on the third floor. I had kept the same office since I had started in the Service, and even if anyone had offered me new rooms on a higher floor, I would’ve rejected them.
Not that anyone ever had.
The top floor was dark and quiet, only illuminated by a few gas lights at the end of the corridor, where my superior’s office lay. My footsteps sounded loudly on the polished marble floor and echoed in the empty hallway. Finally, I reached the unassuming door, with a simple number 1 made from silver stuck to it in the middle. I straightened my clothes, smoothed down what dark hair that had strayed from its form with a practiced motion, and knocked on the door.
“Enter!” I heard my superior shout in a booming voice, which betrayed his slim figure, and followed suit.
What Challenger called an office was really more of a library crossed with a record storage room. The large chamber was filled with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, all stuffed to the brim with books, ledgers and loose paper stacks on any and all topics and historic events
that he deemed worthy. Where the space on the shelf wasn’t enough, the records were stacked on the floor and any other available surface. Nothing was adequately labelled, and no one was allowed to touch anything. If there was method to this madness, only Challenger would know it. I had long thought of introducing the man to my brother, so they could compare newspaper collections.
I made my way on a narrow path between stacks of books, so high they almost reached the ceiling, and breathed in the smell of paper and dust. The only light in the room emanated from a lamp on Challenger’s desk, and shone like a lighthouse to guide me towards my... well, doom would hopefully be an exaggeration.
“Challenger,” I stated as I reached the desk. There was no free chair for me to sit on, so I remained standing. “You wanted to see me.”
The man looked up and fixed me with narrowed eyes, his forehead already wrinkled. He was wearing a tuxedo and had clearly just arrived from some sort of evening entertainment. Challenger had the tired eyes of a person with too little sleep, the slight tremor in his hands of one dying to light a pipe, and a stain on his right arm that was probably port or sherry.
“Holmes,” he greeted me equally coldly.
Much to my surprise he rose from his desk and waved for me to follow him. On his way to the balcony doors, he grabbed a heavy coat and a scarf, making me shiver already because I knew I had to join him outside. I thought he might try to make me feel uncomfortable by not letting me take a seat, or any other underhanded method, but I hadn’t expected that.
I took my place next to him at the railing, noting that the snow on the balcony must’ve been cleared recently, as it was only a few inches high. Challenger produced a pipe from his pocket and lit it after a few tries. The silence was heavy, but I waited for him to break it first.
