Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL (8 page)

His “visitor” tag pinned on the lapel of his jacket; he marched in Weisberg’s office before the man could stand up and welcome him. “Alright, Agent Weisberg,” Sherlock began, “are you going to do something about this?” he asked, pointing at the article on the page of the folded Washington Post that he had slammed on the agent’s desk.

“What would you like me to do? You know I can’t intervene in the British Affairs.”

“And I know for a fact that you can, Agent Weisberg. And if you’re not capable of intervening in the British Affairs, as you claim, perhaps you could tell me if you found Mr. Adnan or if the man has also escaped your scrutiny.”

“You know I have no power to act inside the US borders,” Weisberg replied, swiveling his chair and getting up. “That’s the FBI’s territory-or better said, DEBKA is in charge of tailing Adnan, as I told you back in August.”

He went round his desk and was about to show Sherlock to the door, when the latter rounded him and went to the keyboard at the agent’s desk.

“You can’t touch that,” Weisberg yelled, trying to pull Sherlock out of his chair. “You can’t have access.”

“Oh yes I can, and I will,” Sherlock snickered. “If you want to save lives, you’ll let me get the information I need.”

“Okay, okay,” Weisberg relented, seeing that Sherlock was already inside the data files of the agency. “Tell me what you want to know.”

“Alright then,” Sherlock said, getting up from the seat, “just tell me if you have a record of this Adnan fellow leaving the States and when.”

Weisberg sat down in front of the screen. “But why do you want to know-that’s what I’d like you to tell me.”

“Because ever since you’ve been chasing these two rabbits, you’ve only ever seen one man in action. If I’m right, I would say Adnan and Penny are one and the same person.”

Weisberg stopped typing and looked up at his interlocutor. “What are you saying?” He returned his gaze to the screen. “Look, they’re two different people.” He looked up at Sherlock. He was staring at the file photos of the two men. David Penny was definitely a blond Caucasian man while Adnan could be described as middle-eastern.

Sherlock shook his head. “Just answer me this then: why have they never been seen together?”

“That’s exactly my point, Sherlock-because they don’t navigate in the same circles. You’re the one who led us to believe that David Penny was only the pawn acting under Adnan’s instructions, but we don’t have proof of it. On the contrary, everything points out in another direction.”

“Which is?” Sherlock asked.

“Which is my answer to your first question: While David Penny was in the London Stock Exchange sending everyone on the proverbial wild goose chase, our guy Adnan was seen in Broadway, attending a show.”

“Did you say he was on Broadway-as in New York Broadway?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said. Why?” Weisberg repeated goggled eyed.

“Thank you, Agent Weisberg, thank you.” Sherlock exclaimed, marching out of Weisberg’s office not even bothering to close the door behind him.

“Was that who I think it is,” Zimmerman asked, as he saw Sherlock run down the hallway towards the elevators.

“Yes, that’s our resident nut-head,” Weisberg replied, shutting his door and returning to his desk.

Irene, having grabbed her new fur and eiderdown coat out of the closet, headed down the elevator of her hotel and out the door. The traffic and the incessant noise surprised her once again. She wondered how people got used to this continuous hum of the city bustle. The doorman asked her where she wanted to go after hailing a cab for her.

“Here is the address,” she said, handing the man a piece of paper.

As the taxi pulled to the curb, the doorman told the cabby to take the lady to The Washington D.C. Inn on Columbia Road.

The white frontage house was an instant recall of the past for Irene-she thought she was back in her century somewhere in Chelsea.
You are an excellent man, Mycroft,
Irene thought, silently thanking him for the choice of residence for his brother. After she paid the cabby, she looked up at the mansion and made her way into the lobby. To her delight, the furniture and décor were equal to the past elegance of the edifice. Her eyes traveled around the room and came to rest on the portly lady sitting behind the reception desk-a large Colonial-style table with flat screen computer and keyboard.

“May I help you,” the woman asked politely, waiting for Irene to come nearer.

“Yes, by all means, I am quite sure you may be able to help,” Irene replied, taking a seat opposite the lady. “I am looking for a friend of mine. I am told he’s staying at your establishment and wondered if you could tell me if he is in his room.”

“And what is the gentleman’s name?”

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” Irene said, steadying her gaze on the woman’s finger tips-they were typing at lightning speed on the computer keyboard.
Amazing,
Irene thought.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes is in room 303. Would you like me to call to see if he’s in?”

“Yes please, Mrs..?”

“Oh, I’m sorry., I’m Mrs. Simone.”

“How do you do? I am Miss Adler,” Irene replied.

Mrs. Simone pressed a digit on the keyboard and spoke in the Bluetooth hooked around her ear. Irene stared. She had been expecting the woman to pick-up the phone on the desk..

“I’m sorry, Miss Adler, but Mr. Holmes is not answering his phone. Would you like me to leave a message or would you prefer to talk to him?”

“Would you mind if I waited for him?” Irene asked.

“No, no, Miss Adler, not at all.” Mrs. Simone got up and extended an arm toward an open door. “This is our library,” she said, preceding Irene and entering a studylike room, the walls of which were covered from floor to ceiling with book shelves and a sumptuous collection of old books. “Please make yourself comfortable, and if you wish to watch television, the remote is on the table,” sheadded, indicating a small table beside a high-back chair.

“That would be just fine,” Irene said, taking her coat off and draping it over the arm of the nearby sofa. As she did so, both women heard the front door open and close and someone striding hurriedly toward the staircase.

Mrs. Simone was already in the lobby calling after the man when Irene reached the doorway of the library.

“Mr. Holmes? I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, but there is a lady here to see you.”

Halfway up the stairs, Sherlock came to a dead stop, turned around and arrested his gaze on Irene. He froze.

“Would you like me to get you some tea or perhaps some lunch in the library.?” Mrs. Simone asked.

Sherlock could not utter a word. He slowly came down the stairs, one step at a time.

As she came to stand beside the woman, Irene said, “Just some sandwiches and tea would be perfect, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh not at all., I’ll just be a few minutes,” Mrs. Si-mone said, trotting toward her desk.

Stunned out of his mind, Sherlock reached the last step and took Irene’s extended hand. “How on earth could you be here, Miss Adler?” He brushed his lips against the top of Irene’s hand. “Or are you a figment of my imagination?”

“No, Holmes, I am not a figment of anyone’s imagination. I was just very anxious to renew our acquaintanceafter such a long absence.!”

Sherlock chortled while lacing Irene’s arm around his own and leading her to the library.

He sat on the high-back chair while Irene moved her coat aside and sat down on the sofa.

“Stop staring, Holmes-it’s quite uncomfortable,” Irene said, smiling.

“I am very sorry, but your presence here, in Washington, in this century, is all too amazing. Just tell me how you came over and please don’t leave any detail out of your account.”

A few minutes later, as Irene was about to conclude her story, Mrs. Simone came in with a huge tray which she deposited on the coffee table in front of Irene.

“If you need anything else,” she said, “Just dial nine on the telephone on the desk”—she nodded in that direction—”and I’ll sent Lydia to help you.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Simone,” Irene said to the lady’s back as she was leaving the room.

Pouring some tea in each of the cups, Irene went on with her tale, “You see, Holmes, when Mycroft abducted me out of the park-and I am glad he did-I was about to talk to this David Penny.”

“And was he in league with anyone.?”

Irene didn’t want to say who was actually at the head of the organization to which she belonged-she hesitated.

“That I don’t know, Holmes,” she lied. “He was a messenger that I used from time to time to get word out of the country rapidly-nothing more.” She handed Holmes his cup of tea and a small plate with a couple of sandwiches, both of which he deposited on the side table. “It just gave me a jolt when I saw his name in the paper this morning-he couldn’t be the same person, Holmes-I couldn’t believe it to be possible.”

“I’ve come to believe that most things are possible, Miss Adler, ever since I traveled through time.” Sherlock took the cup of tea, brought it to his lips and sipped gratefully on the hot brew. Replacing the cup in its saucer, he looked at Irene and asked, “But tell me, did you have a chance to mention David Penny’s name when you were with Mycroft?”

“No, but I assume he must have known the man since he must have ordered his clobbering before his men hauled me to his flat in London.”

“And Mycroft didn’t mention him when he was with you yesterday?” Sherlock asked.

“No, and he wouldn’t have any reason to do so-we just talked about your arrival and the fact that you had bought a house in Baker Street. Would it be possible for me to see the inside of it?” Irene was trying to change the subject.

“Yes, of course.., but tell me, did you ever suspect

David Penny to be anything else than a messenger?”

Obviously Holmes had remained on the same track.
Obstinate as ever,
Irene remarked silently. “What else could he be?”

“And what sort of message did you want him to pass on and to whom?” Sherlock asked.

“I wanted him to get a message out to Athens.” “Athens? What would you have done in Athens?” “Well, you see, I had to justify my sudden departure somehow, and I wanted him to get a message to my maid’s mother in Mikonos to say that I would be arriving in a fortnight to help her locate her son.”

“Are you telling me that your maid’s brother is missing how would you know about this? I mean, how can you be sure this was not a tale to lure you out of the country for a while or to have you locate someone who may never have existed?”

Irene was glad that Holmes had taken the bait and was now chasing another phantom. “To tell you the truth, Holmes, I have no idea whether Cynthia’s story is true or not I just needed a diversion. That’s all.”

“But your maid has told you about her brother’s disappearance long before you became involved with this time travel, did she?”

“Oh yes, ever since she came in my employ-two years ago now-I have heard this story.”

“Well then, perhaps we should obtain.” Sherlock stopped. Irene smiled. “I must apologize., Miss Adler, I am still thinking we are in 1890.”

Chapter Six
 

David Penny
 

Comfortably ensconced in a lounge chair of his den, David Penny was reading the article in the Washington Post when he exploded in loud laughter. “I’ve got you running in all directions, haven’t I, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” he said to himself. “I’ll show you and your brother who’s the smarter one now.”

David was a young man of incredible means, but with no visible or recorded employment anywhere. He had houses, villas and estates all over the globe. Where ever he wanted to live or stay for a while, David would buy a property. In his mid-thirties, he afforded the presence and allure of a young jet-setter who travelled extensively but remained in one spot only long enough for people to wonder where the man came from.

To anyone interested, he would say that he had inherited his wealth from his grand-father-apparently a Russian fellow who had wisely preserved his family’s fortune through the 1917 revolution-and had benefited from it ever since his grand-father had died before the Second World War.

Unbeknownst to anyone, David Penny was a man
of the ages.
He had stopped in 2010 when his sources had advised him that the famous Sherlock Holmes had come up from 1890. Adnan, his contact, had told him about the al Qaeda’s plans and his current involvement with a local terrorist cell-in Washington, D.C. And that’s when David had decided to play a game of cat and mouse with Mycroft Holmes especially. He still remembered the bump on his head and his insufferable subjection to Professor Moriarty-very much
a person of interest
and one he would have to meet in another century.

However, David had no intention to remain in England or Washington at this point. He knew that his little game had served its purpose-providing a diversion for Adnan before the latter actually made his threats a reality.

David had to leave.