Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL (5 page)

Clad in comfortable riding britches, white shirt and tight vest under a dark cape and cowl, Irene sat in the corner of the sofa. Not two minutes later, Wells appeared in the doorway. He stopped as soon as he saw Irene rise to her feet. The effect was exceptional.
The woman is incredibly beautiful,
he thought, but said, “Don’t bother getting up, Miss Adler., please.” He went to take a seat by the fireplace. “Have you come to any conclusion as to the date and place where Mr. Holmes has landed?” he asked without further preamble.

Irene took her riding gloves off and deposited them on her lap. “Yes, I believe so, Mr. Wells.”

“Oh good! Would you be able to tell me what you have concluded then?”

“Of course. First, I must tell you that Holmes has always been fascinated by the Americas. He talked often of a city, in his opinion that would one day rule the modern world-to quote him-a place born out of bitter wars between two nations, at the issue of the one nation declaring its independence and growing out of recent civil unrest. Could you guess which city I am describing, Mr. Wells?”

“If you are referring to North America, the one city that has been founded a hundred years’ ago-almost to the date-is Washington in the District of Columbia in what is now known as the United States.”

“Precisely, Mr. Wells. To Sherlock, Washington will be the seat of our future endeavors and more importantly, the seat of world power. He firmly believes that our future, even our destinies, will be forged within the walls of the forthcoming government houses of the United States.”

“For most of us, in Britain, this belief would be erroneous at best and extravagant at worst, wouldn’t you say?”

“Perhaps, Mr. Wells, but let’s not argue the point at this juncture-Sherlock would be the one to defend his position in this regard; not me.”

Wells nodded. “And the date? Have you come to any conclusion on that point?”

“There again, I had to recall our numerous conversations at the time we were embroiled in the affair that took place in Bohemia.” Irene paused, perhaps remembering some of the events of the time. “At one point, Sherlock mentioned that a hundred years from now, the world will have forgotten this episode in history and would have bridged the gap between our medieval traditions and the modern times that lay ahead of all of us.”

“Do you think he is gone to a date a hundred years from now?”

Irene held up a hand, indicating that she was not finished. “Patience, Mr. Wells., let me continue.”

Wells lowered his gaze.

“Let us take a hundred years as the basis for us arriving at a date when Sherlock could have landed, shall we?”

Wells didn’t raise his head when he nodded again.

“Very well. Then let’s assume that he wanted to land in 1990, but what could he possibly find during that year? Nothing extremely interesting, if you extrapolate the events that have possibly occurred in the previous hundred years. Trains are faster, man would have learned to fly, communications would have reached an interesting plateau, and perhaps all wars would have ceased for a time. Yet, there is one item that needs to grow still amid the thousands that are emerging-and that is oil production. We would have seen great advances in the discovery and the exploitation of oil pools, but the demand would have then reached a point where the producing countries need to bridle their reserves before our world runs dry.”

“Are you saying there will be such a great need for petrol across the world?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Wells, absolutely. I believe Sherlock was correct when he advanced that everyone will own and drive a motorcar by the end of the next century.”

“But if you are correct in this assumption, why would you hesitate in going to 1990?”

“I hesitate because, 1990, in my view, is only a turning point, and some twenty more years will be needed to sate the world of its hunger for oil and regulate its proper distribution.”

“Would that be your own opinion, or did you deduce this from your conversations with Mr. Holmes.”

“A little of both, Mr. Wells. Sherlock made mention on a couple of occasions that it takes an average of twenty years for any technological development to reach its peek. And I believe regulating oil distribution a hundred years from now would have become of prime importance. Therefore, if you put these two assumptions together, I would suggest that I should be able to find him in November 2010.”

“November.? Why November, may I ask?”

Irene tittered. “Do you recall Napoleon, Mr. Wells?”

Appearing baffled, Wells said, “Yes, of course, but what has the Little Emperor, has to do with the month of November and our problem?”

“Our British Government returned Napoleon’s remains to France and the vessel, the
Belle Poule,
arrived in Cherbourg on November 29.” Irene seemed satisfied with this stated explanation.

“I still don’t see.”

“Mr. Wells, please, open your mind. Sherlock is a master, an “Emperor” of his own trade, and what could be more fitting than he being “released” to his newly appointed and resting place than he doing so on the same date?”

An hour later, Irene was comfortably installed in the seat of the second time machine. She was still in awe at the shape of it-a huge glass ball, could best describe the vessel in which she was going to travel.

“Have you any other questions, Miss Adler, before you lower the lever that will seal the capsule?”

“Just one, Mr. Wells; do you know how long it will take me to reach my destination?”

“I could not be sure, but I calculated that it would only take you some minutes.”

“Indeed! Therefore I will not have to worry about being hungry or tired, would I?”

“Not at all, Miss Adler. Anything else?”

“No, my dear
Professor,
nothing else. I should be back shortly-I hope.”

Wells nodded and stepped back while Irene lowered the upper part of the globe, sealing itself promptly onto its lower counterpart. She waved at him and in a moment was gone to join Holmes in Washington on November 29, 2010.

“Ah, Henry, is it?” James, Moriarty’s footman, said to Irene’s houseman as the latter was depositing a large sea-trunk in the back of the carriage.

“That’d be my name, yes, and who might you be?” Henry asked, wiping his hands on a red handkerchief that he had pulled out of his pocket.

“I am James Gilbert, a friend of the family, you might say.”

“And what brought you to these parts or to Miss Adler’s house-she is not home, don’t you know?”

“Yes, yes, I am aware of her absence, and that’s the reason for my visit-truth be told.”

Henry looked at the fellow curiously-uncomprehending. “Did you say that you came calling
because
the mistress is away? Why would you do such a thing?”

“No-no, my dear fellow, I came calling as you say, expecting to find Miss Adler home, of course, but since I saw you putting a trunk in the back of her carriage, I readily assumed she was going somewhere . or maybe that she was gone already.”

Now thoroughly confused with this convoluted explanation, Henry shook his head. “I have not the faintest what you’re on about, sir, but all I can tell you is that Miss Adler is gone riding with friends of hers this morning, and then she’ll be leaving this afternoon for Dover.”

“For Dover?” James repeated, opening his eyes wide. “Is she then planning to board passage to somewhere?”

“Yeah, you got it. She’s told me to have this trunk there”—Henry pointed at the item—”sent for consignment in Dover, and waiting for her departure on board the Stephanos tonight-that’s what she said. And that’s where I’m going.” Henry climbed onto the seat in front of the carriage and grabbed the horses’ reins, looking down at Moriarty’s footman. “Anything else you’d like to know before I get on with it?”

“No-no, my dear man.,” and then as an afterthought, “Am I correct to assume that the Stephanos is sailing for Athens?”

“Could you think of another place where a sail would go with a name like “Stephanos”?” Henry chuckled, cracking the whip on the horses’ hinds and leaving James standing on the pavement agape.

As soon as James returned to the professor’s house, he went immediately to his master’s study to report the news of Irene’s intended departure that night.

“You say she’s going to Greece? But what on earth would she be wanting there?” Moriarty asked, taken aback.

James shook his head. “Well, sir, after their houseman departed, I made further inquiries with the parlor maid-a girl named Cynthia-and she told me that she has a brother who’s disappeared some months ago and that her mistress had decided to go to Athens to find out what had become of him.”

“Is that so?” Moriarty asked, visibly puzzled. “Why would she do that?”

“I haven’t the faintest, sir.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” the professor grumbled. “Do we know when the ship is due to set sail?”

“I will telephone the Dover office and find out if you wish.”

“Yes, you do that., by all means,” Moriarty said, getting up from his favorite chair. “And once you have obtained the information, we will prepare to go to Dover ourselves and apprehend Miss Adler before she has time to set foot on the gangway.” He began pacing the floor, and then turned abruptly to his footman-the latter about to leave the room. “I don’t want her to leave the British Isles,
do
you hear me
?”

At the booming sound of these words, James left the study, nodding.

Chapter Four
 

Mycroft
 

Mycroft meets Irene upon her landing in Washington. In the meantime, Mycroft finds his brother embroiled in US terrorism cases and in strife with the powers-that-be. The U.S. considers him a terrorist and he is not an official consultant to the FBI or CIA. He always uncovers plots and government secrets and he fights terrorism but the government remains blind and deaf to his repeated pleas, until it is too late, thereby eliminating the idea that he is the real Sherlock Holmes from anyone’s mind.

Dr. Nebogipfel was waiting for him. Mycroft had left his house in London in a hurry, the night before Irene’s departure. He had changed into garbs that would have been frowned upon, had he shown himself dressed in such attire at his office. Yet, apparently unconcerned about his looks or demeanor at the moment, he hastened to his garage and boarded his craft. Within moments, he was off-to land an hour and two minutes later in the good doctor’s large shed at the back of his home.

“What have you found out?” was the first words out of the lips of Dr. Nebogipfel when Mycroft opened the capsule.

“Ah, Dr. Nebo,” Mycroft exclaimed genially-calling the man by his alias-as he disembarked from the time machine. “Good of you to be waiting for my arrival.”

“Well, is he or isn’t he?” Dr. Nebo asked, visibly impatient.

“He is, Dr. Nebo, no doubt of it now.” Mycroft brushed his jacket and strode to the door of the shed, adding, “But we have more pressing problems now..” The doctor rushed after the voyager. “Miss Irene Adler is due to arrive in town tomorrow.”

Dr. Nebo stopped and grabbed Mycroft’s arm to turn him around. “What does that mean? How would a womantravel here.?” he asked in utter disbelief.

Unlatching his arm from the doctor’s grip, Mycroft replied, “In the same way my brother did, Doctor-she will be here in the morning tomorrow.”

“But, Mr. Holmes, how is that possible? You said that Mr. Wells must have constructed one other machine-not two!”

“My dear Doctor, if Wells could construct one machine, he could certainly replicate it, wouldn’t you say?”

Resuming his following Mycroft toward his house, Dr. Nebo said, “Yes, of course, but do you think he’s made any more than two others?”

Mycroft swiveled on his heels. “Doctor, I should think that you would be more interested in these new time machines and their functioning rather than their number in circulation,” he said, looking down at the diminutive inventor rather sternly. “Besides, I have no time for such debate; I need to find Miss Adler’s landing point before her presence in the capsule arouses the attention of the powers-that-be, if you understand my meaning.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes, I understand. Would you have any idea where she might land?”

“Just a thought-would you know if there is a Baker Street in the city?”

“Yes,” Dr. Nebo answered readily, opening the backdoor of his home. “Actually, I browsed the internet yesterday in search of the possible location of your brother’s residence..” He led Mycroft through the kitchen and into a large living room. “Come and have a look,” he said, pointing at the large computer screen sitting in the middle of his dining room table.

Mycroft didn’t wait to be asked; he sat at the table and maneuvered the mouse on the opened website.
3321 Baker Street NE, Washington, D.C.
had just been sold. The real estate agent had posted the sale only 24 hours ago. “That must be it,” Mycroft exclaimed. “That must be Sherlock’s new home.” He turned in the chair to look up at Dr. Nebo. “Although, I doubt very much that Miss Adler would be aware of the street number, she would choose 221 Baker Street as her point of landing-of that we can be fairly certain-and since the number 3321 is the only one in the street that responds approximately to the original request, perhaps she will actually land in front of that house.”

“Yes, that would be a fair assumption,” Dr. Nebo replied, trotting to a chair in the living room and plopping himself down. The little man, with a face that would scare the stauncher of kids, and a beard that revealed the entire neglect of the man himself, was not readily persuaded of anything advanced to him, just because it was posted on the internet. “But now that we know where your brother might be.”

“Not “might be”, Doctor-Sherlock has bought the house, I am sure of it. Although, he may not have been able to take possession of the property that quickly.”

“Okay, let’s assume you’re correct, but then how do you plan to divert the neighbors’ attention when this
other
time machine lands in the street?”

It promised to be a lovely winter morning when the sun rose and began illuminating Baker Street. The row of houses was a sight to behold, indeed. All built some seventy years ago, 3321 Baker Street stood proudly at the corner, looking out onto a small but well-manicured garden. Although looking poorly after the winter winds had blown all the leaves away and had left the grass of the front lawn somewhat dry and parched from the first frost, this little front yard was attractive to the visitors nonetheless.

Irene had no doubt the address that the control panel on board the time machine had provided was the location Sherlock would have chosen as a residence. She was due to land in a few minutes, after only an hour and two minutes’ flight through time. The hour had passed relatively quickly, given that she could observe her progress on the control panel and the direction in which the vessel headed. There was nothing to see outside the capsule, however. She had been traveling in the dark the whole time. But now, the capsule decreased its swirling speed and penetrated the atmosphere, through the clouds and above the city, and finally a few hundred meters above Baker Street. As she looked down, Irene was surprised to see a marquis-a large tent-installed in the middle of the street and in front of the house at the corner of an intersection. Irene imagined this marquis had probably been erected for some fete of sorts, but was leery to think that she would land in the middle of people setting up chairs or tables for the guests.

She didn’t have to wait long-within seconds, it all went black around her again, and her time machine penetrated the enclosed marquis unseen and away from the gaze of curious neighbors.

As she lifted the lever to open the upper part of the globe, Irene immediately noticed the presence of two people under the tented enclosure.
I should have believed him when he said he would be here to meet me-the fiend,
she thought.

That same night, a hundred and twenty years ago, in Dover, Moriarty and his footman were hurrying through the docks in quest of the embarkation area at port side of the Stephanos. When they finally reached the gangway and before they tried stepping on it, the purser stopped them.

“I am sorry, gentlemen, but unless you have proof of passage on this vessel, I would have to stop you.”

“Out of my way, man,” Moriarty hollered, pushing past the purser brutally with his cane. “I need to reach one of your passengers.. She cannot leave Britain,” he yelled.

“Sir, sir., please stop!” the purser shouted as James and his master started climbing the gangway. “What’s the passenger’s name.?” he said, chasing the two men. “Maybe the person is not on board yet.. “

Moriarty stopped and turned around, pushing his footman aside. “What are you saying?” he questioned.

“Well, sir,” the purser replied, “if you give me the name of the person you’re looking for, I could check the passengers’ list and even give you the cabin number.”

“The name is Irene Adler-she’s booked a passage on this ship yesterday,” Moriarty said more calmly now.

It didn’t take long for the purser to find out that Miss Adler had not boarded yet but that her sea-trunk was already on board and in Cabin 43-upper deck.

Moriarty descended the gangway without a word, visibly harassed though. He turned to James. “We shall wait here for her,” he said, striding decisively toward the port and passengers’ facility across the pier. James followed him quietly.

“You won’t have to wait long,” the purser added, shouting after the two men, “We’re pulling anchor in less than a half-an-hour now.”

Moriarty didn’t answer, but entered the waiting room and sat down. He riveted his eyes on the gangway through the windows for the whole half-an-hour before he saw the mariners hoist it to the side of the ship. He then got to his feet, strode out of the facility and, together with James, regained the waiting carriage at the front of the docks.

Once sitting inside the cab, he turned to James. “She is gone. And I should think that she has been abducted, if we are to believe David’s story. She must have intended to go to Greece-perhaps to rejoin Sherlock or some other person-but someone has taken her, James, and I will find out who has done such a thing, if it is the last thing I do.”

“Perhaps we should question Mr. David Penny further, sir,” James suggested, finally opening his mouth.

“No, we shouldn’t-this is far bigger than our little David could handle, I suspect.”

“Good morning, Miss Adler. Welcome to 2010,” My-croft said, extending a hand to help Irene out of the time machine. “How was your trip?”

“I didn’t believe you when you said you would be here to meet me-yet here you are!” Irene stepped out of the capsule and immediately directed her gaze to Dr. Nebo at Mycroft side. “And who might you be?” she asked, a derisive smile crossing her lips.

“This is Dr. Nebogipfel-Dr. Nebo for short,” Mycroft interjected, nodding to the little man beside him. “If you recall, Dr. Nebo was the original inventor of the time machine, which he used to disappear.”

“But that was only an article-a story written by Mr. Wells.,” Irene cut in, staring at the Doctor, who had remained silent until that moment.

“How do you do, Miss Adler,” he said now, extending a wiry hand to Irene, which she ignored. “And you are correct, Mr. Wells’s story was just a story, but the content of the article was hardly fictional, as you can appreciate.”

Irene shrugged slightly. “That’s all very well, Doctor”—she turned to Mycroft—”but how did you get involved with this?”

“All in due time, my dear.,” Mycroft replied, showing the way to exit the marquis, “We should give you all the explanation you may seek once we’re out of here and the time machine has been moved to some other place.”

“But, how do you intend to do that?” Irene asked, turning to look at the capsule before following Mycroft and Dr. Nebo out of the tent.

“Don’t you worry yourself about that, my dear, just follow me to my car,” Mycroft insisted, walking out and leading them to a silver Lincoln sedan parked at the curb nearby.

Irene couldn’t help looking around her at the houses lining the street, the front gardens and the motorcars parked alongside the curb of the cross-street.
Sherlock had been right,
she thought,
everyone drives a motorcar now.

“Where is your driver?” Irene asked as she climbed into the backseat and when she saw Mycroft open the door on the driver side and slip behind the wheel.

“No driver, my dear. I do the driving and only have a chauffeur when I am on official business.” He put the key in the ignition and started the motor. He then turned his body in the seat to look at Irene. “Look behind you,” he suggested, “and you’ll see that the tent in which you landed is already folded and a truck’s ramp has been lowered to take the capsule away.”

Irene was already looking out the rear window of the car; she saw a large lorry pull close to the capsule and a grappling hoist it onto a retractable ramp. “Extraordinary,” she said, turning once again to face the front of the car. “But what about the people in these houses, wouldn’t they have noticed anything?”

“In this street, perhaps someone would have been observing this whole show, but the houses on Baker Street are mostly empty for the time being.”

“And why would that be?”

It was Dr. Nebo’s turn to answer, while Mycroft pulled away from the curb. “Well, you see, Miss Adler, these houses have been constructed some seventy years ago and have been the subject of a real estate sale for the past few months. All of the new owners will need to comply with a World Heritage Order which stipulates that none of thesepremises should be defaced or transformed in any way.”

“You mean the new owners will have to preserve the facades as well as the insides of each of these houses in order to purchase any of them?”

“Yes, Miss Adler. Except that they will need to modernize the indoor electrical wiring and plumbing, to adhere to the new construction laws.”

“And where is Sherlock? Does he know they are for sale? Did you talk to him since he arrived?” Irene’s questions tumbled out of her mouth as if her frayed nerves were now unleashing the queries she had mulled over ever since she had learned of Sherlock’s trip in time.

Mycroft chuckled. “Yes, my dear, I’ve seen and talked to Sherlock on a couple of occasions since he landed a few months ago.”

“A few months ago?” Irene exclaimed, pulling her body to the edge of the backseat, her head now inches from My-croft’s ear. “But I thought he had chosen November 29 as his date of arrival?”

“I guess you were wrong on that point, because Sherlock arrived in August-for what reason, I don’t know.”

“But you’ve seen him, you said,” Irene pressed on.

“Yes, I did, but I could not believe-or bring myself to believe, I should say-that it was him. I had to confirm my suspicions and that’s when I came back.”

“What about the houses-do you know if he boughtone of them?”

“We’re pretty sure he did, Miss Adler-number 3321 was sold in the last 24 hours,” Dr. Nebo answered.

“And how did you find out? Did you talk to these sales agents perhaps?”

“No-no, we use the internet.”