Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL (6 page)

“The “internet”-what’s that?” Irene asked.

“It’s a form of wireless and interactive communication system-a bit like a two-way radio,” Dr. Nebo explained.

“I’ll show you when we get to my residence,” Mycroft added, moving through an intersection when the light turned green.

Irene had noticed that all the cars were observing these intersection lights and were moving in a very orderly manner through town. However, she decided not to ask further questions. The fact was that she had expected to witness and experience enormous changes between the time she left and the present day, but this was a bit much to take in all at once.

When Mycroft had first met Sherlock, the circumstances were far from pleasant. Somehow, his brother had been embroiled in a terrorist action that had seen him discussing the case with agents of the FBI and CIA. Mycroft had been called to address the matter in his capacity as Defense Minister with the British Government. Apparently, Sherlock had managed to discover an active terrorist cell operating from a house in a plush area of London and wanted the CIA to alert the British Government of his discovery. However, and according to the CIA’s sources in England, no such cell existed-at least not operating from the house in question.

“I am telling you that all facts indicate that some plot against the people of Britain has been concocted in that house,” Sherlock was insisting vehemently when Mycroft entered the conference room on that August day.

Everyone around the table rose from their chairs when the statesman came in.

“Ah, there you are!” Sherlock shouted the minute he set eyes on his brother. “Maybe you can tell them who I am, and what I am telling these nincompoops is correct!” He waited for Mycroft to give an answer.

None came.

Mycroft could not bring himself to believe that the man speaking to him was Sherlock Holmes. “Before we get into such details, perhaps you could introduce yourself,” he said, taking an empty seat opposite Sherlock. The latter was clad of an old suit,
probably the one he was wearing when he disappeared,
Mycroft thought, but quickly erased the painful vision from his mind.

“Who am I? You ask who I am? I am Sherlock Holmes,” the man said, visibly offended by his brother’s lackof recognition.

“Excuse me, sir,” Mycroft said quietly, but the famous Sherlock Holmes died some hundred years ago in suspicious circumstances, I might add, and I have no knowledge of my family ever naming another son with the name of Sherlock.” He paused to let the remark sink in. “Therefore, and again, I will ask you your name, sir.”

Sherlock looked around the table and soon realized that his brother was not about to divulge their relationship-a relationship that must have transcended time somehow. “Alright,” he relented, “I adopted the name some weeks ago when the passport I was given did not state my place of birth correctly.”

“And would that be a British Passport?” Mycroft asked.

“No. I was supposedly born in Wellington, New Zealand-and I must add that I have no recollection whatsoever of my growing up or ever visiting New Zealand.”

“Well then, Mr. Holmes, let’s move on from there, shall we?” Mycroft knew the CIA or FBI must have been behind these shenanigans in order to entice Sherlock to move out of the United States as soon as his visa expired. They probably thought he was a terrorist himself, Mycroft mused, and he had no intention to dwell on the subject any further in the presence of these agents.

Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft looked around the table and addressed the man at the head of it. “Agent Weisberg, would you be so kind to explain to me why and how you came to call on my office this urgently?”

“Let me first apologize for not introducing Mr. Holmes properly when you came in.”

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand in front of his face. “No need for apologies, Agent Weisberg, no need at all. Let’s get to the point, shall we?”

“Okay then,” Weisberg said, opening the folder in front of him, “Sherlock here has supposedly discovered a terrorist cell operating from a house in Chelsea, in London.”

“Let me stop you right there, Weisberg,” Mycroft uttered, “don’t tell me. The house belongs to a man by the name of David Penny, does it not?”

“Yes, that’s the name, yes. But may I ask how you knew of this?”

“Well, gentlemen”—Mycroft’s gaze traveled around the table—”our MI5 or MI6 departments may be a bit slow on the uptake, as you say in America, but we are well aware of Mr. Penny’s existence and of his covert operations in Britain.”

“And are you also aware of Sherlock’s assertions”—Weisberg locked eyes with Sherlock—”that this Mr. Penny is planning to plant a bomb in the London Tube only days from now?”

“No, Agent Weisberg, that’s news to me!”

“I’m telling you, Mycroft,” Sherlock burst out, “they’re going to blow up the Chelsea Station to smithereens..”

“And how would you know this?” Mycroft asked, in two minds as to whether Sherlock had some facts in hand to support his assertion or whether it was a way to get back to England.

“Here.,” Sherlock said, handing his brother a set of photographs, “take a good look at these photos. They’ll tell you that I’m right.” He got up from his seat and rounded the table to come to stand behind Mycroft’s shoulder. “See., right there..” He pointed to a young man carrying a package and entering the Tube station. “And there..” He flipped to another photo, over his brother’s shoulder. “There, he’s coming out of the Tube without the package-not only ten minutes later, according to the time stamp on the photo.”

Mycroft nodded while looking at the two photographs closely. “That’s all circumstantial, Sherlock. No one could ever arrest a man for carrying a package in the Tube station.” He turned to Weisberg. “Have you found this package and examined its content?”

“I’ll let Agent Zimmerman answer that.”

Zimmerman was sitting beside Sherlock-the latter had regained his seat by now-and opened a manila folder. “When we suspected the package may have contained a bomb, we went down the Tube station, found the package under a seat and some MI5 experts examined it.”

“And what did the package contain?” Mycroft asked.

“Nothing, sir, absolutely nothing.”

“That’s exactly what should have been in the package!”
Sherlock shouted. “Don’t you see-I thought it was clear as day-this David Penny planted a decoy and watched you from a distance to ensure that you were indeed following him and that you in fact found an empty box.”

“And why would he go through such an elaborate deception if he was only planning to blow up the underground line-the device could have exploded by the time he was out of reach or even out of sight.”

“He could, yes, but that’s not the ultimate goal,” Sherlock replied. “He’s planning something much bigger somewhere else-I am now certain of it.”

“And what would that be then?” Mycroft asked.

“I am sure you are aware of the 2005 bombing in London..” Mycroft nodded. “And that bomb killed several people, didn’t it?”

“Yes, of course it did, but what has that bombing to do with today’s problem?” Mycroft asked.

“Only two things. First, that bomb did not kill enough people, and second, the man assigned to develop a dirty bomb, presumably under orders from al Qaeda, is now ready to defuse his devastating evil upon the people of

England.”

“And what’s the name of that person,” Weisberg asked, somewhat curious now.

Sherlock turned to the agent. “You know him, Agent Weisberg, your FBI agents have been hunting him for some time now and yesterday you have ordered the hunt to start again. But this time, Adnan Al Shukrijumah has chosen to complete his task, not in the States, but in Britain.”

Mycroft stared at his brother. Once again, he could not come to grips with the fact that his brother was sitting across the table from him, for one thing, and that his mind was making deductions equal to those he had made when he had known him a hundred years ago, for another.

“DEBKA is well acquainted with Mr. Adnan, yes,” Weisberg agreed. “However, we have no confirmation that he has moved to England at this point.”

“But you do, Weisberg, you do-you just don’t want to admit it!”

“No, Sherlock, I have no such admission to make, because I have no facts to support it, no!”

“Alright, gentlemen,” Mycroft intervened, “no need to get into a debate at this point. Let’s just say that I will take the matter into serious consideration and alert MI5 and MI6 to increase their vigilance and surveillance on this man Adnan. Would that appease your fears?” He looked around the table. Most of the agents nodded while Sherlock shook his head. Mycroft knew his brother would not accept such a back-door exit on his part.

As soon as Mycroft exited the conference room, he observed his brother disappearing down the side stairs of the building. He wanted to rush after him but was stopped by Weisberg, who asked to have a word with him out of earshot from the other agents who had now filed out of the room.

“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Holmes, for having brought you all the way from England to listen to the ravings of a lunatic who pretends to be your brother.”

“I told you there’s no need for this sort of apologies, Weisberg. In fact, as you often say in America, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“But you can’t seriously think Sherlock’s assertions are anything else than pure imaginings on his part.”

Mycroft looked down at the floor beneath his feet and then raised his gaze to his interlocutor. “Tell me something, Weisberg; did you or did you not resume your surveillance of this Adnan fellow lately?”

“Well., that’s difficult to confirm.”

“Don’t start pussyfooting around with me-that was a simple question that only demanded a yes or no answer-so what will it be?”

“Hum, as I said DEBKA is in charge of the surveillance-if any-and their latest report is only stating that Adnan has probably been enrolled by al Qaeda during his stay in the States, and that he has been assigned to carry out a radiological bombing attack in America. Other than that, I have nothing.”

“Why then are you so afraid to believing Sherlock-he is very close to the truth-and you’ve chosen to ignore him? I find that preposterous, Weisberg,” Mycroft uttered, raising his voice a little.

“But, sir, you have to understand our position.”

“Oh, I understand it perfectly, Weisberg. I have no doubt you’ll be able to cover your tracks very well if or when a radiological bomb explodes in London’s underground in the next few days. I will be the one paying the price for your willful ignorance of Sherlock Holmes!” As Weisberg was about to respond, Mycroft said, “Good day to you, sir,” and marched away in the direction of the stairs.

It was too late however, to chase or attempt to find Sherlock now; Mycroft knew he would not be able to find him.

Following an afternoon of shopping in local department stores, and getting acquainted with the use of credit cards-to her continual astonishment-Irene was dressed and ready to accompany Mycroft to dinner that night. She would have preferred to be with Sherlock but knew instinctively perhaps, that it would not be long now until shemet him once again.

Sitting opposite Mycroft at the end of a delicious meal, Irene could not resist asking, “How is it possible that I have been so wrong about Sherlock’s landing date? I was right about everything else-except for the date. Tell me what are the possible answers for my mistake; missing the date by so many weeks?”

Mycroft crossed one leg over one knee, swirled the cognac in his snifter and looked at Irene for a long moment before he answered. “I have no answer on that point, my dear. Perhaps when you finally meet Sherlock, he will tell you.” He smiled.

“But what’s your contention, Mycroft?”

“It’s difficult to say, but let’s assume you were not wrong, that is to say Sherlock did land on November 29, such as you did this morning and saw the houses-because since I am now aware of the existence of a Baker Street in this city, I would not hesitate in postulating that Sherlock landed in the very same street-and let’s assume that the house on the corner had a “Sold” sign on it.” Irene looked at him fixedly; she had an inkling of what Mycroft was going to advance. “He may have decided to go back to a few months prior to the selling of this particular house, and try his luck then.”

“But he must have had no money to purchase such a place then-or even now-how did he survive?”

“Your protective anxiety of Sherlock is charming, my dear, and touching, but you need never to forget how resourceful my brother can be, yet I must admit, when I first met him, he looked as disheveled as I had ever seen him.”

“Oh? Was he living in the streets, do you think?”

“I don’t think so, and if he ever did, when I met him the second time, I had ensured that he was lodged in a small private hotel and had everything he needed to survive comfortably.”

“And how would he have obtained enough funds to purchase 3321 Baker Street then?”

“I don’t know, and I hope he has not accepted to borrow funds from unsavory parties,” Mycroft said pensively.

“But why didn’t you take him back?” Irene asked after a moment’s silence.

“I couldn’t do that, my dear. I would have killed him the minute I locked him to go back to a time his mind could no longer function and was starving for growth.”