The Female Charm (5 page)

On the way up from
London, he'd already ran through the likely ripple effects of the
information being printed. Almost all of them would result in the
MP losing his position; if not right away, then at the next
election. The effects on the upcoming referendum would be even
worse. It had to be stopped.

They sat in
silence together for the better part of an hour while Mycroft
thought over other pressing concerns the government wanted him to
deal with. Twice he answered messages his secretary sent to his
phone, but neither were particularly difficult.

When they were
close to the Scottish border, Amelia stopped what she was doing and
sighed.

“Struggling?” he
asked, expecting her to say yes.

“My phone's almost
out of battery,” she replied. “But I think it's Stephen Kendel. He
often writes about political issues, and he was charged with some
kind of infraction to do with obtaining source information a couple
of years ago. He's also very much for Scottish independence.

“Good.” It was the
same person Mycroft expected.

“You knew?”

“Of course.”

“Then why... Wait,
don't answer that question. You want me to learn, so you let me
try.”

He nodded.

“How long did it
take you to work out who it was?” She tucked her phone into her
pocket and sat back.

“Less than a
minute. I already knew of him. He was the only logical option.”

For the next few
minutes, Amelia elaborated on how she'd discovered it. Given that
she'd not had the information he had already known to give her
guidance, she'd done a good job of reading relevant articles in the
online archives and searching for further information on the
writers.

He pointed out
where she might have been quicker and which thoughts were
redundant, and by the time he was done with that they were in
Scotland and on their way to Lockerbie.

“So, who are we
visiting first? The source or the reporter?”

“Who do you
recommend?” he asked, wanting her to think through the logical
course of action for herself.

“The reporter...
No. The source. He's a father, right?” Mycroft gave an affirming
gesture. “If we see the father first, we can get him to confirm
which reporter and also make sure he doesn't tell anyone else. Then
we can go see the reporter.”

Mycroft nodded. If
it had been a bigger newspaper with more tight schedules, he'd have
suggested the opposite, but the news was unlikely to be splashed
anywhere until the following day, giving them time to stop it
before it did.

Half an hour later
they were in Lockerbie and pulling up outside Mr McGregory's house
on Kintail Park. The father didn't have a job to be at, as he'd
been made redundant a couple of months earlier, so Mycroft had
little doubt he would be inside.

When Daniels let
them out of the car, Amelia lingered on the pavement, waiting for
Mycroft to take the lead. Both of them took a moment to look over
the house they were going to. It was one of several houses in a
recently constructed terrace, and reasonably neat and tidy on the
outside. As were most of the houses. Insurance had paid for most of
them to be rebuilt after the plane crash had killed so many people
there in the late twentieth century.

“After you,”
Amelia said a few seconds later and motioned for him to go through
the low garden gate first. He obliged, feeling the gravel crunch
underneath his thinly soled shoes as he made his way to the
door.

He knocked twice
in a firm manner and waited for an answer. When no one opened the
door after a minute, he knocked again. A few seconds later, Amelia
crossed her arms and tucked her hands out of the way. It was a cold
day to be standing outside for long, but he fought back any of the
signs his own body might give off to indicate his own coldness.

After what felt
like another minute of waiting, but was in reality less than half
that time, the door opened. Mr McGregory stood in his dressing
gown, just the other side. His hair was unkempt and he had the
stubble of a several-day-old beard on his chin. Mycroft hid his
reaction to the sight.

“What do you
want?” he asked in a Scottish accent.

“I believe you
have some information regarding your MP that I have a great
interest in,” Mycroft replied, and before the man could respond or
otherwise cause a fuss, he pushed through the doorway into the
house, using his much larger frame and weight to enforce the
gesture.

Amelia followed
while the guy stood by the door with his mouth still open. For
several seconds, all three stood in the hallway staring at each
other.

“Would you like us
to wait in the living room for a few minutes while you get
dressed?” Amelia asked, rescuing the shocked man. Mycroft had
planned to wait until he did something, but her method was probably
swifter to get the required result.

He nodded and
hurried up the stairs behind him, leaving them both standing in the
hallway. Amelia shrugged and peered through the nearest open
door.

“Must be that
way,” she said. “This is the kitchen.”

When he walked
into the living room, Mycroft had to fight back a groan of disgust.
The sofa had once been a soft green fabric, but years of young
children spilling drinks and crumbs on it had significantly changed
the colour. Even Amelia hesitated before she perched on the edge.
He decided to walk over to the back door and pretend to be admiring
the garden while they waited, but he listened instead.

The sounds from
upstairs allowed him to estimate the return of their host, and
Mycroft noted with some satisfaction that the first creak of
footfalls on the stairs was only a few seconds later than he'd
predicted they would be.

“If you're looking
to buy it, I've already sold it on to a reporter, but I won't say
who,” the man said as he walked into the living room, tucking his
shirt into his trousers. Mycroft turned from the door, pulled out
his small notebook and acted like he was reading some details from
it.

“That won't be
necessary, Mr McGregory. We're already well aware Stephen Kendel
bought the information you acquired. I'm here to ensure it goes no
further.” He gave a quick smile to add a friendly touch to the
implied threat and noticed the quick gulp and way the man's eyes
darted between him and Amelia sitting all prim on his dirty sofa.
She added a smile of her own, looking as equally friendly yet
unfriendly. She'd picked up on that much, at least. So far so
good.

“Who are you?” he
asked when he had recovered.

“Let's just say
we're here to help, shall we? You're struggling financially and we
want to ensure the general public doesn't get the wrong idea about
something that's perfectly innocent.”

“It doesn't look
innocent to me.” The man puffed out his chest and tried to look
intimidating. It didn't work. Mycroft had to glance at the floor to
keep from laughing outwardly.

“That's precisely
the problem, Mr McGregory. You think that government funds have
been misspent. I can assure you that they haven't, but if the
document you acquired is published by the press, the public will
also think it has.”

“So what have they
been spent on?”

“I'm afraid that's
classified.” Mycroft gave the man a brief smile again. Before
either of them could speak, Amelia sat forward.

“I know this is
difficult for you, Mr McGregory. You've seen something that looks
like an injustice, and you want to do something about it. That's
the mark of a good man, and for that, you have my utmost
respect.”

She paused, her
eyes scanning over his face. When he frowned, opened his mouth and
then closed it again, she continued.

“We'd tell you
what happened to that money if we could, but for reasons we can't
go into, we really need to make sure this doesn't go out into the
press. Just like you, we're trying to make sure something good
happens. You'd be doing your country a service by cooperating with
us.”

As Amelia spoke,
Mycroft found himself raising an eyebrow. The Scotsman sank down
into the sofa in front of him. She'd taken the fight right out of
him with her almost pleading request.

“I believe you've
already been offered an amount of money by someone to say no more?”
Mycroft asked. The man nodded, but didn't look up. “If you'll sign
this, we'll make sure you're compensated.

Mycroft pulled the
piece of paper mentioning the official secrets act and the amount
out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it. McGregory took it where
he sat, as well as the pen Amelia was already holding out, and
after glancing at the four-figure sum, hastily signed his name.

“Thank you, Mr
McGregory. There's just one last matter of importance. Have you
sold the document or a copy of it to anyone else?”

He shook his head
and Mycroft nodded with satisfaction. He was telling the truth.

“Well, then. We'll
leave you to your afternoon now,” Amelia said as she tucked her pen
back in her handbag and got up from her perch. McGregory didn't
notice her deftly wipe the back of her dress where it had come in
contact with his sofa but Mycroft did and had to stifle his
reaction. She shouldn't have sat down if she didn't want to get
dirty.

Before much
longer, the pair of them were walking out of the house, half their
goal achieved, but Mycroft suspected the next part would be
significantly harder. The reporter wasn't going to buy any story
about his secrecy being for the greater good. They would have to
try a different tactic, and until Mycroft met the man, he wasn't
sure of the best approach.

“Where are we
going now?” Amelia asked as soon as they were outside.

Mycroft didn't
answer but walked down the short path back to the waiting car.
Daniels stood outside with a phone in his hands and a frown on his
face.

“I couldn't get a
meeting before three this afternoon,” Daniels said as soon as they
were close enough.

“Then we'll go to
his office.”

“They've said he
won't be there.”

Mycroft nodded,
expecting no less, but it was exactly the sort of thing people
said. Most of the time it wasn't true.

“Take us there
anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”
Daniels hastily tucked the phone away and opened the door for
Mycroft and Amelia. She got in first and shifted across the back
seat of the car to make room for him. As he followed her, Mycroft
caught a hint of the perfume she wore. The first time he'd smelt it
he found it a little too cloying but this time he found it didn't
bother him, especially when it mingled with the smell of rose
coming from the single flower sitting where she'd left it in the
car. It was more gentle and natural than the air fresheners Daniels
used.

“I can't imagine
the reporter will be as cooperative,” Amelia said once the car was
underway, echoing his earlier thoughts.

“No, he won't be.
And it might be wise if I handled this second meeting alone,” he
replied. She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to question
his decision before thinking better of it. “I wouldn't want any
harm to come to your reputation as a writer.”

“Oh.”

“While I have full
confidence that he will be persuaded to cooperate, I can't stop him
from forming some kind of vendetta against you in the future. It's
best he doesn't ever connect you to me.”

She nodded, and he
found himself yet again surprised by how much information he was
volunteering to Amelia. It wasn't like him to explain himself, at
least not since Sherlock had been a young boy. He didn't need to
anymore. But how else was she to learn?

The biggest
difference between Amelia and Sherlock was how completely obedient
and loyal Amelia was. His brother would often deliberately
antagonise him and sometimes flat out refused to help, yet Amelia
relished the chance to provide assistance.

A few times she'd
angered him because she'd acted in a manner he wouldn't have
recommended but every time it had actually been her best option. It
reminded him that he had underestimated her at least twice. He just
wasn't used to anyone coming close to the Holmes brothers in terms
of intelligence. Not since Moriarty had anyone been better than he
expected. Usually, he found people were the opposite.

Amelia seemed to
understand that he wanted to think for the remainder of their
journey and stayed quiet in her seat. Normally, long silences in
situations such as this quickly felt awkward, leading him to
regularly refuse to have company on a car journey, but her company
was never a problem. She lost herself in thought as deeply as he
did, and if it weren't for the slight noise of outside traffic, he
might think himself in his own study or in his private room at the
Diogenes Club.

“One way or
another, this won't take long,” Mycroft said to Amelia as Daniels
stopped the car outside the newspaper's main office. He stepped
outside just as the first few spots of rain fell from the sky,
forcing him to take the short journey over to the building a little
quicker than he'd have liked.

A woman in her
fifties sat at the wooden reception desk, tapping away at the
computer in front of her. She didn't look up until Mycroft was
right beside her. Neither of them smiled or said anything for
several seconds, giving him time to take in the grey roots that
showed she dyed her hair the chestnut brown and the moth-eaten
holes in the left sleeve of her red jumper that gave away the
slightly tight finances she was facing.

“What are you here
for?” she asked when Mycroft allowed the silence to grow
awkward.

“I need to see Mr
Kendel. It's urgent.”

“It always is,
sweetheart, but he's not here at the moment.”

“I don't think you
quite understand.” Mycroft pulled a small photo ID from his inside
jacket pocket. It wasn't something he carried often, but he had
been aware he might need it to get the newspaper to cooperate. The
receptionist read the information stating that he worked for MI5
and immediately grew flustered, dropping her pen. It bounced off
the edge of the desk and tumbled to the floor.