The Hundred Year Wait (10 page)

A minute later the
boat started to move and he and his charge found themselves heading
down river to the English Channel. Even though Sherlock and Daniels
had known where he was they wouldn't much longer and the boat was
unremarkable. It would blend in amongst the other vessels on the
water and soon be just another in the mass.

Time went past and
all Mycroft could do was wait and plan. A few times he tried to
engage the Russian in conversation and establish where they were
and what the men wanted, but he was glared at or threatened until
he became silent.

Through the small
window he kept an eye on the horizon and how much of the river
passed them, but hours ticked by and he could do little to help
rescue them. While they were kept there and simply stared at, there
was little he could do.

Several hours into
their journey, as it was getting dark, they were brought water. He
took the offered cup to drink, while Amelia fumbled over it,
spilling a lot over herself. The Russian growled his annoyance and
held the cup up so she could drink.

Before Mycroft
could blink she'd lifted the palms of her hands, the ropes falling
off them and shoved them up into the Russian's face. It looked like
a half hearted attempt to break the man's nose but it sent him
flying backwards. Instead of continuing her assault, she rushed to
Mycroft, grabbed his bonds and pried one of the knots apart with
already bloodied fingernails. At the same time he noticed the
painful mess around her wrists. She'd hurt herself to get her bonds
undone and managed to do so without letting the Russian realise.
Both he and their guard had been watching each other so much
neither of them had noticed her.

The Russian
recovered before she could fully undo the rope binding his hands.
She let out a cut-off grunt as he grabbed her around the stomach
and lifted her entire body to one side. As soon as her feet were on
the ground again she spun herself and brought her knee up into his
family jewels. He hunched over as she brought her knee up again
into his face. She then drove her elbow into the side of his back,
near his neck.

While this was
happening, Mycroft worked the remaining knots free with his teeth.
Instead of finishing the Russian off at this point Amelia backed
off, uncertainty playing over her features. She'd known some basic
self defence but had evidently hoped Mycroft would have done the
rest, and now the Russian got to his feet in between them.

Mycroft worked as
speedily as he could as he noticed the Russian reach for a weapon
concealed amongst his clothing somewhere. Although guns had been
pointed at them earlier, the Russian appeared to be retrieving a
bladed weapon of some sort. Amelia looked around frantically, and
Mycroft realised she thought the terrorist had a gun.

Just as the
Russian raised a knife, Mycroft freed his hands and leapt up.
Amelia ducked as he grabbed the weapon, and the pair grappled back
and forth, obviously expecting a gunshot to ring out.

The knife sliced
into his side, making Mycroft flinch, but he rallied himself
against the pain and grabbed the hilt to shove it back at the
Russian. The burly man grunted as it cut his arm open from shoulder
to elbow, spurting blood out on both of them.

A second later a
plumbing pipe came out of nowhere and knocked the terrorist out. As
he slid to the floor Amelia came into view. The other end of the
metal object responsible for relieving him was clutched in both her
hands. A determined, wide-eyed look remained on her face, but she
shook with the adrenaline.

Mycroft took the
makeshift weapon from her hands before she dropped it and then got
to work tying the unconscious man with the rope that had bound
them. He then gagged him and hauled him into the corner. It
wouldn't buy them much time but it would be better than nothing.
The whole time Amelia just watched. When she recovered a little,
she pointed at his side, her eyes fixed on all the blood. Already
he could feel his skin healing and sealing the cut shut but he
couldn't show her that.

“It's not my
blood,” he said in a low voice to try and explain. With that he
grabbed her arm and unlocked the door with the key he'd lifted
seconds earlier. He worried she'd inquire further but she followed
behind without making any fuss.

“Stay quiet and
close to me,” he said and led her along the corridor to the back of
the boat. All the lights outside were dowsed and he could just see
a pair of legs further up the deck. He leant out a little more and
realised the two remaining kidnappers were drinking beer and
chatting while the vessel was held on course.

He turned to
Amelia and grabbed hold of her hand before leading them both to the
stern of the boat and helping her down the short ladder to the
small platform used for diving. He joined her only seconds later
and scanned their surroundings. Given how long they were on the
boat he knew they were no longer in the Thames river but were at
sea. Thankfully his watchfulness of the horizon let him know the
English shore was off to their right and the boat had been hugging
the coast. It wasn't a small distance to swim but he knew he could
manage it, especially as the tide was coming in and would help
sweep them closer to their destination.

He unlaced his
shoes, disgruntled to need to leave them behind and motioned for
her to do the same. She reluctantly copied his actions until they'd
both removed everything they didn't need to be decent. He crouched
with only his trousers and socks left on and she kneeled in only
her petticoat, corset and tights. As soon as they were done he put
all their discarded items into the water and let them sink. It
would help hide their tracks, but it also reduced the chances of
Amelia noticing the slit in his shirt and the injury he'd
sustained. It wasn't fully healed yet but it would be by the time
they reached solid ground and he couldn't risk her realising he
could heal much faster than the average human. His brother and him
hadn't guarded the secret for over a hundred years for it to come
out now.

“Follow me,” he
whispered and slipped his body into the water so it wouldn't
splash. The salt water stung his side but he ignored it. The pain
would pass soon enough. Amelia's reaction to the pain and the
coldness of the water as she joined him concerned him far more.
Only then did he see her face in enough light to make out the fear.
Instantly, he knew she didn't think she could manage the swim.

He motioned to her
for her to follow anyway, already realising he would need to leave
her if she didn't get in the water soon. Going for help would have
to be weighed up against taking her with him.

After looking back
up to the deck and then at the water again, he knew she was
thinking similar thoughts. A second later she took a deep breath,
fixed her eyes on him and slid into the water, even more gracefully
than he had.

His hand
immediately rose to stifle her gasp at the cold and pain, and then
he put it to his lips again before motioning for her to follow. She
trod water well, which comforted him but, when he went to take the
first stroke towards shore and away from the boat, she didn't copy
his front crawl motion. Instead she did a sort of awkward
combination of a doggy paddle and breast stroke. Swimming really
wasn't her strong point.

Without thinking,
he put her hands together and then slid them over his head so she
was behind him.

“Hang on to me and
kick your legs with mine,” he whispered near her ear. She nodded,
her eyes full of gratitude. A large part of him wanted to leave her
and get himself to shore, knowing helping her would drain him more
than was wise, but she'd got them out of the locked room and he
found he couldn't abandon her now.

After swimming for
several minutes Mycroft stopped and trod water to give his tired
arms a rest. If the tide hadn't been coming in he'd not have
bothered but he knew this way he would find it easier to get them
to shore. Amelia instantly let go and copied his motions beside
him. Relief flooded through him that she had enough sense and focus
to help him where she could.

While he was able
to turn around he scanned the waters for the boat, but it was gone
from view, lost in the darkness of the night. A second later he
focused back on Amelia's face. The wideness had gone from her eyes
but her teeth chattered as she bobbed with the waves.

“We're almost
there,” he said. She nodded and waited for him to encourage her to
continue. When he reached for her hands again she shook her
head.

“I can swim for a
bit. You're tired.”

He took her hands
anyway and put them back around his neck.

“You'll need your
strength for after.” Mycroft readied himself and carried on through
the water. She didn't object any further but allowed him to keep
her going.

After stopping
once more to rest, he managed to get them both to shore. The tide
had almost fully come in so there was little mud to wade through
and a pond the other side allowed both him and Amelia to wash off
what little clung to their feet.

He panted for
breath and she fared little better, but he didn't allow them to
rest more than a few minutes. Already her whole body shook and
shivered in the wind. Stripped of so many layers and sodden from
head to toe, he knew she would risk hypothermia. While he could
withstand the cold and already knew he was safe, she was in as much
danger as ever.

“We need to get
away from here. Come,” he said and took her arm to pull her to her
feet again. She didn't complain but allowed him to lead her to the
edge of a field and then right through it. She stumbled a few
times, getting her skirts and feet caught up in the long stalks
around her, but she kept walking and he kept up the pace. It was
cruel to keep her moving so fast but he knew it would help keep her
warm.

In the far corner
of the field Mycroft spotted a farm track and knew it was Amelia's
best chance of survival.

“Hurry,” he called
back to her and sped up yet again. He expected her to finally
complain but she didn't. Instead, the sound of her stumbling
footfalls and chattering teeth followed in his wake. He didn't turn
around and knew he'd appear uncaring towards her, but he had to do
it.

Along the dirt
track was the occasional unavoidable embedded stone and he winced
every now and then as one jabbed into the soles of his feet, but
none were sharp enough to penetrate the socks.

The minutes
dragged by but the wind didn't let up over the flat fields and even
he found his body shaking from the cold. Just as he considered
stopping and giving Amelia a break he saw the lights of a house up
ahead. He didn't say anything but kept going at the same pace. They
would be warm and safe soon enough.

By the time
Mycroft had banged on the farmhouse door enough to be heard, Amelia
had caught up with him. Her shaking had only got worse but he had
nothing to offer her to take the chill off.

He stopped
slamming his fists into the front door as a light flicked on in the
hallway.

“What time do you
call this?” a man yelled as he wrenched the door open. Seeing the
two bedraggled figures stopped him in his tracks.

“I need to use
your phone.” Mycroft put his hand out to push the door further open
but it didn't move, held shut by the house occupant. Amelia stepped
up beside him, doing nothing to hide her shivering.

“We were kidnapped
and we had to swim to escape. Please, we need to call the police,”
she looked at the man with big hope filled eyes. Within seconds the
door was pulled open revealing a middle-aged man in a dressing
gown. Both he and Mycroft motioned for her to enter first. She just
switched her gaze to Mycroft, her chin quivering.

“I can't. My
feet...”

He looked down and
saw the bloody footprints leading up the pathway to where she stood
now. As pity washed over him he reached out for her. She swayed
towards him and before she could fall he swept her up into his
arms. The coldness of her skin against his almost made him
gasp.

The guy led the
way to his kitchen and pulled out a dining chair. Mycroft placed
her down in it as gently as he could and before he'd got up the
owner had a cordless home phone outstretched towards him.

“She needs a
blanket or a towel,” he said as he took the offered device and
entered the number of the Commissioner. He answered after the
second ring.

“This is Myron
Holmes...” Before he could continue the man in charge of the
nation's police force interrupted him.

“Good God, we've
been looking all over for you.”

“We were taken
from the Thames Barrier.” He nodded his gratitude as their host
returned to the kitchen with two extra large bath towels. He helped
Amelia wrap herself in one before holding the other out to him. Not
wanting to appear rude he took it and nodded his thanks.

“We?” the
Commissioner asked.

“Yes, I've got an
Amelia Jones with me. We're...” Mycroft put his hand over the mouth
piece of the phone and looked at the owner. “Where are we?”

“E End Road. CM0
7PN,” The guy said. Mycroft repeated the address. “Send your
nearest officers, a doctor, and...

“Are you
hurt?”

“I'm fine, but
Miss Jones isn't. Also have my chauffeur bring my car up here as
well as my emergency kit. He'll know what that means.” Mycroft
tried not to get angry at the constant interruptions. The
commissioner had never been a particularly patient man.

“Yes, sir.”

“Finally, get
someone out looking for an unlit yacht off the coast north of here.
I'd assume with their speed and direction of travel that they are
heading to Harwich, but they may stop and try to find us. Also
there's some North Koreans in London somewhere. I recognised them
from the suspected terrorists list. I'll have my brother look for
them.”