The Invisible Amateur (7 page)

Sherlock and
Amelia were doing their best to find the information and who had
leaked it while he sat and listened. It would be a tough task to
ensure they found enough to let him know what he needed to acquire
back off the Russians but not enough that they worked out what the
exact nature of the secret was. It was unhelpful enough that his
younger brother had worked out it was the royal family, although
the leap wasn't a difficult jump for sound logic. They were the
only people he answered to in any shape or form.

Mycroft watched
Amelia type away on her small laptop at the desk. Given how
recently she'd discovered the intent of the Russians towards her,
she was coping well. He'd feared tears or an emotion even worse,
but she was using the threat as a channel to achieve, something not
many people found easy.

He hadn't
appreciated her outburst when he'd arrived, but he knew his own
prickle of jealousy had caused it. He took a certain satisfaction
in the statement she'd made a couple of months earlier, when
assuring him that she preferred him to his younger brother. If
nothing else, it showed she had taste enough to look past
appearances and even social awkwardness. His brother was the more
attractive of the two of them by normal standards. Although both
were tall and dark-haired, and he was always the more immaculately
attired of the two of them. Sherlock had the better face and the
better social skills.

Finding her
flirting with Sherlock and then having his younger brother delight
in the attention had tugged at a nerve. She'd come to him for
tuition and learning, and now Sherlock was the one she appeared to
favour. Just when he'd started to feel like training her might be a
task worthy of his time.

He also hadn't
missed the comment of his younger brother's about her pleasing him
with her progress. At some point, Sherlock had been told or worked
out he had agreed to teach her. That sentence made sense in no
other circumstance and he didn't think she would have missed that
little detail either. Even she wasn't that stupid. His younger
brother knew, and Amelia was aware of that, yet she hadn't told
him.

“I think I've
found something,” Amelia said, disturbing both Holmes brothers from
their thoughts. Sherlock beat Mycroft to her side, and she allowed
him to take the laptop from her with whatever she'd learned.

“That might be
it,” Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes from the screen.

“It's a forum I
sometimes go to when I want to check facts to do with the royal
family.”

“Let me see,”
Mycroft said and held out his hands. When Sherlock didn't respond,
Amelia got up from the desk, took the device from him and brought
it over to Mycroft. She perched on the arm of the chair and pointed
at the forum post she'd noticed.

The royal
family must have secrets, right? My sister worked for them a while
back and she said they are a close family but not perfect at all.
I'm sure some people would pay for the secrets they keep. There
would be such a scandal if some of them were exposed.

“It's in a thread
about the similarities between the royal family members, most of
which are suggesting some form of incest, but this guy posts this
one comment and that's it. No posts before or since.”

She then moved the
cursor and clicked on his username. A profile that had a cat as the
picture and only an email in the information came up. It wasn't a
perfect lead, but the post was suggestive and it was better than no
lead at all.

“I think it might
be worth emailing him and seeing what he knows, don't you?” She
gave him a smug grin as he nodded and passed the device back to
her. When she didn't move, he coughed. Sherlock glanced their way
and laughed.

“I don't think
brother of mine knows what to do when he's forced to share a
chair.”

Amelia let a wry
smile flicker across her face before she moved back to the desk.
While she responded to the message, her fingers flew over the
keyboard, typing almost as fast as his own assistant could.

“Done. I've told
him I'm very interested in what he might know and want to meet as
soon as possible to discuss it. I said I was doing some research
for a fiction novel but wanted it to be as realistic as possible.
Mostly true, but not quite.”

Mycroft nodded at
the information but inwardly he seethed. This wasn't how he'd
wanted the situation resolved. Amelia was far too involved, and now
she would have to be the one to meet this guy, assuming he agreed
to talk to her.

“Now what?” Amelia
said and turned to him.

“We wait.”
Sherlock came over from his case board and sat down again. “Are you
going to stay with us, Myron, or should we just report to you when
we've done the hard work for you?”

“I'll stay. The
sooner this is resolved the better.” Mycroft gave his brother a
fake smile, which Sherlock dutifully returned. Amelia's yawning
broke the awkward silence before it could get going.

“Well, if you two
are going to keep awake I might take a nap. There's no knowing when
we'll get a reply.”

“Really? You don't
want to finish up our little lesson?” Sherlock asked. “We can show
my brother what you've learnt.”

“I'm sure Myron
has no desire to see me try to pick your pocket or anything like
it, for that matter.”

“On the contrary.
If you're as gifted as my brother claims, Miss Jones, I'm very
curious.” Mycroft knew she'd felt awkward and wanted to see exactly
what she'd been doing with his brother. At the least, it made her
squirm, destroying the smug air she'd had for over an hour, and at
most, it might prove useful in his own training of her.

Sherlock put his
coat on and stood in the centre of the room with his eyes closed.
After composing herself, Amelia glided towards him and tried to
slip the familiar card into his pocket without him noticing. Just
as she was pulling away she made a noise with one foot on a creaky
floor-board. The sound gave her away, but the motion hadn't.
Despite that, Sherlock grabbed for her and had her wrist locked in
his grip less than a second later. She pouted in response.

“Close,” he said,
a sparkle in his eyes.

“If it wasn't for
the floor, I'd have managed that one.”

“Perhaps, but I'd
have noticed,” Mycroft said, interrupting their little moment. She
turned her pouting expression to him.

“Care to take a
wager on that?” Sherlock held out a stack of twenty pound notes.
Without even working out how many were there Mycroft nodded and
stood up. If Amelia objected to being put to the test, she didn't
protest. Instead, she stood off to the side as Sherlock instructed
him to stand in the same spot. After fixing his eyes on her for a
moment and seeing the look of doubt she couldn't hide, he closed
his eyes.

Instantly, his
other senses took over from his sight, and he became more aware of
every little breeze and scent playing across the room. Amelia's
sweet but gentle perfume lingered beside less pleasant smells, but
he focused on the nicest of the fragrances, knowing its strength
would signal her approach. He also concentrated on the feel of air
moving around him.

A few seconds
later, he reached out and felt his fingers close over Amelia's
wrist. He opened his eyes to see her looking up at him. The card
was in his pocket but he'd stopped her with her hand only inches
away.

“It seems you've
won, Myron,” she said and he caught a slight flicker of an emotion
he wasn't expecting in her eyes before she went back to her usual
self.

As Sherlock was
counting out the money into his hand, Amelia's laptop let out a
shrill sound. Instantly, her booted feet hurried across the carpet
towards the device.

“That was quick,”
she said after scanning a few lines. “He is willing to meet. He's
specified the location. At a fast food place not far from here, but
he's left the time up to me. Says it's open all the time.”

Sherlock hurried
over to read the message and handed her the jacket she'd placed
over the arm of the nearest chair.

“Tell him you'll
see him there in fifteen minutes and give him something to identify
you by. We'll go now.”

Less than a minute
later all three of them were going down the stairs, and Mycroft
found himself unhappy about the arrangement. It couldn't be helped
that Amelia was meeting the informant. Given the circumstances and
the little they knew, she was the best suited to the task, but it
annoyed him that his younger brother was joining them. He could
have instructed her to complete this part of the task for him.

“I'll get a taxi.
See you there,” Sherlock said as soon as they were in the cold
night air. Amelia looked to Mycroft and shrugged. When Daniels
opened the door to his car, he motioned for her to go first. At
least she was cooperating, and he knew she had a point. It was her
life being threatened, so while she was useful he might as well let
her help.

“I'll sit near you
when you meet this guy, but you can wear this,” he said, and handed
her a little microphone. She pinned it to the top of her corset
waistcoat, where only her eyes would be able to see it, as he
placed the counterpart technology in his ear.

“So you can hear
what I'm saying?” she asked. He nodded.

“Get him to say
what little he knows and if he's already passed the information on
to another, find out who, and if you can, with what device.”

“All right, I
think I can do that.” She exhaled and gave him a small smile.
Mycroft then told Daniels where to go.

They travelled in
silence, mostly because he had no interest in talking to her. Once
this part of the job was over, she would go back to the hotel,
where she would be safe until he'd completed his task.

She hurried out of
the car ahead of him, and he hung back as she walked the few
hundred metres to the corner and then around it, into the building.
She ordered a drink and some chips before heading to a seat in one
corner. Despite not being prepared as much as a trained agent,
Amelia had the sense to sit with her back to the wall, where she
could see the rest of the building. He saw her gaze flick to each
of the exits and trace her possible routes to all of them before
she settled back to focus on her food.

He took a seat
with Daniels on the other side of the area, also making sure he
could survey as much of the room as possible. When the informant
approached, Mycroft wanted to see where he came from. Sherlock was
nowhere to be seen, and Mycroft could only hope that it stayed that
way. The less his brother knew about the situation the better.

Daniels got them
food and drink to help make them blend in, and sat eating the junk
the establishment called food while Mycroft sipped tea from a
cardboard cup and tried not to grimace at the taste.

They had been
there less than five minutes when a young male who barely looked
old enough to shave, wearing a long wool coat and corduroy
trousers, walked in. He didn't appear to be struggling for money,
but that might not mean he wasn't. Often it was middle class and
upper class people who were riddled with debt and unable to stop
spending. Looking like a recently finished public school boy made
him a more likely candidate for the role.

His eyes roved
over the tables until he saw Amelia sitting alone. Immediately his
eyes lit up with recognition, and she gave him a quick nod.

“Amelia Jones?”
Mycroft heard him ask when he was closer to him. She nodded and he
sat down.

“So what's your
name?” she asked when neither spoke.

“I think it's best
if I keep that to myself. At least until I know where this
conversation is going.”

“You made me
curious, very curious. At the moment, where this conversation goes
is up to you, but I would like to know what you've found and I am
sure I can make it worth your time.”

Amelia's response
was a good one, but not perfect. She'd left the conversation open
for the kid to demand she show him money, or even hand it over
before he gave her any useful information. He hadn't given her
anything and had no intention of reimbursing her if she did have to
pay to get them a lead.

While they were
waiting for a response to this, Mycroft noticed the swish of a
familiar coat as it came rushing by. Before he could react,
Sherlock was right beside the kid and pushing him farther over in
the booth to sit down beside and trap the boy in place.

“Let's get right
to the information we need,” Sherlock said, followed by the rattle
of something metal dropping onto the table. The kid gasped. “You've
seen one of these before, haven't you?”

Mycroft gritted
his teeth, knowing Sherlock had just shown the kid the Russian
coin. The boy nodded.

“We're with a
particular branch of the government. I think it's really important
right now that you tell us what you know.”

Mycroft rolled his
eyes. One way his younger brother was always predictable. He loved
drama.

“You won't be in
any trouble if you tell us what you know,” Amelia said as she leant
forward and patted the boy's arm. “Where did you get the
information?”

“My sister,” he
gulped again. “Is she going to be in trouble?”

“Well, some people
might have to talk to her as well, but as long as she cooperates
with us, I'm sure the situation can be sorted out.” Amelia
smiled.

“Who else knows?”
Sherlock cut across the conversation, and Mycroft wished he'd shut
up. Amelia's tactic had appeared to be working, even if it wasn't
completely accurate.

“Your sister told
you, but that wouldn't have been enough to get paid, would it?
Where did you get the evidence to sell?”

“When Margaret
said about it I hacked into the database she said she'd seen it on.
Stuck it on a memory stick, and these two men came forward and told
me they'd pay well for it. Gave me a whole bunch of those
coins.”