The Female Charm (7 page)

A little before
three, a middle-aged man wearing a wrinkled shirt with an
off-centre tie hurried into the café, folding down his sodden
umbrella as he did so. Immediately Mycroft gave him a nod to let
the unkempt man know where to go. He sat down in the seat Amelia
had vacated and ran his hand through his already ruffled dark brown
hair.

“Right, I want to
keep this simple,” Kendel said before Mycroft could speak. “I'm not
interested in keeping this out of the paper. I've got a deadline to
meet and this is by far the best piece. I don't care who you are or
where exactly you're from. Suzy said you showed her some MI5 thing,
and I know for a fact they don't identify themselves that way, so
don't think for a second that I believe you're that powerful. Now,
if you'll excuse me. I've got to get back to writing a report on
misappropriation of funds by one of Scotland's MPs.”

As soon as he'd
finished speaking, Kendel got up and went to walk off. Mycroft
reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding it firmly but not so
he'd hurt the deluded reporter.

“Sit back down, Mr
Kendel. We're not done here.” Mycroft kept any hint of threat out
of his voice, but it didn't appear to be enough.

“Are you trying to
intimidate me?”

“No.” Mycroft let
out an exasperated sigh. “Just making sure you don't do anything
stupid. Sit down, Mr Kendel.”

After hesitating
for a moment, he sat back down on the chair and put his hands out
on the table. His fingers were adorned only by his wedding
ring.

“Do you have a
good reason why I shouldn't publish an article about this?” he
asked.

“Of course. I
don't make a habit of leaving London, but if you expect me to tell
you, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.”

“Then I can see no
reason not to publish.”

“I don't think you
understand, Mr Kendel. You may have financial trouble and have not
slept very well last night.” Kendel raised his eyebrows but didn't
interrupt. “But you have no excuse to be stupid. There's a very
good reason to not publish that article. It's not as it seems. I
cannot explain further.” Mycroft continued to sit back in his chair
and sound as relaxed as possible. It was always best to appear to
be calm and in control in these sorts of negotiations. Making
people feel like you had the upper hand would often give you the
upper hand.

“So I'm just meant
to take your word for it?”

“People usually
do,” Mycroft replied and gave him a brief smile.

Kendel shook his
head and gritted his teeth together. Mycroft knew what he was going
to say next before he even said it.

“I don't know who
you think you are, but I'm writing an article on this. I won't let
you try and bully me into hiding it.”

Mycroft watched as
he walked out and then sighed. Some people just didn't have enough
sense to know when to back down. He'd hoped the meeting would be
enough, but he would make sure the next time they met that Mycroft
got what he wanted. Kendel didn't realise it, but he'd already
given him at least three useful avenues of information to
pursue.

After ordering yet
another pot of tea, Mycroft pulled out his work phone and sent his
secretary an email asking her to find Kendel's financial records.
The man had come into a café and not even hinted at buying anything
while there. He'd also walked, in the rain, to get there, when
anyone without financial difficulties would have driven or taken a
taxi. The reporter was struggling.

This could be the
cause of the lack of sleep so evident on the man's face, but
Mycroft suspected something more was at play, and needed something
to persuade the married man that he meant business. He sent his
younger brother a message concerning that. Sherlock might not come
through if he was busy with one of his own cases so Mycroft would
also handle that aspect, doubling the chance of success.

Finally, he pulled
out his secondary phone and asked Amelia for some help. If she
could write as well as her books appeared, she could do something
practical to help him.

I need an
alternative news article for Mr Kendel to submit. He doesn't have
time to write it.

Mycroft
deliberately left the brief vague. It would be a good lesson in
quick thinking if Amelia could figure out what he needed without
much help. While he drank his final cup of tea, he thought over
what he needed to do next. He planned to use all three elements to
form a basis to negotiate with. Before the day was over, Kendel
would understand why no one defied Mycroft Holmes.

After paying the
final bill, Mycroft strode out to his car. Daniels was back and
waiting for him, shielding him from the rain. As he seated himself
comfortably in the back, he felt one of the phones buzz with a
message. He rooted around in his pocket for the right one.

On it. I'll use
his previous article for length and voice. Do you have a subject
you want me to write about? I assume it's meant to be some hot
news.

Mycroft thought
for a moment before forwarding an innocuous report on a British
company with its headquarters in Scotland. It would look like a
pro-Scottish-independence piece but be easily refuted later. Before
he could reply to let her know to check her email, the phone buzzed
again.

Thank you.
That's perfect. I'll start work on it right away.

“I take it we're
not heading back to London yet, sir?” Daniels asked. He'd been
waiting for Mycroft to instruct him for several minutes.

“Not yet. Take us
for a drive, Daniels. I need to think.”

Daniels nodded and
pulled off. In seconds, Mycroft was back in his own mind, and
thinking over the best way to get what he wanted.

A few minutes
later he fetched his laptop, switched on the satellite internet and
pulled up all the data he already had on Kendel. He would find
something the man was ashamed of before they next met.

It was two hours
later when the sound of an email arriving disturbed Mycroft from
looking over Kendel's academic history. He'd found no flaws
there.

It was an email
from his secretary with information on Kendel's finances. She'd
found a second credit card registered under his deceased father's
name. He forwarded the information on to Sherlock, hoping his
younger brother could help provide some further information.

He was one step
closer to stopping this article.

***

Amelia's hands
shivered as she attached the finished article to her email. She
hovered over the send button for several seconds before sucking in
a deep breath and pressing down. A few seconds later, her phone let
her know it was gone and on its way to Myron. There was nothing
left she could do but hope it was good enough for his liking.

She'd spent the
entire middle leg of her journey writing and polishing the article
based on other pieces written by Kendel, and it had taken all her
concentration to get it done before needing to get off the train.
The larger break at Birmingham would have made it hard to finish
writing and send the article if she hadn't done so already.
Thankfully, she could spend the time finding something to eat and
pondering over part C of whatever task Myron was building up
to.

After grabbing a
burger from one of the fast food stands, Amelia found a seat near
the platform she'd need next and fetched her notebook back out.
While eating, she looked over the strings of numbers again, trying
to work out what she might do to the first of each pair to turn
them into the second of each pair.

As she swallowed
the last mouthful and screwed up the wrapper, she realised that the
sum of the starting number's digits matched the last digit of the
resulting number for the first pair, third pair and fourth
pair.

She rewrote out
all the numbers, for now assuming that the second, fifth and sixth
numbers all had the same pattern, to see if any other patterns
could jump out at her with what she had left.

111=>13
because 1+1+1=3 leaving 10 to work out.

159=>105
because 1+5+9=15 (or 5) leaving 90 (or 100) to work out.

132=>26
because 1+3+2=6 leaving 20 to work out.

341=>18
because 3+4+1=8 leaving 10 to work out.

872=>37
because 8+7+2=17 (or 7) leaving 20 (or 30) to work out.

117=>?
1+1+7=9 so number probably ends in 9

It didn't take her
long to spot that the remainder of the resulting numbers was ten
multiplied by the last digit of the starting numbers. She fist
pumped the air and wrote in the final number.

117=>79
because (10*7)+1+1+7=79

That gave her two
out of the three numbers in her little challenge, and she had three
possibilities for the first one. Whatever they related to, she felt
confident she'd be able to narrow it down when the time came.
Making sure she hadn't lost any of the messages tucked into the
notebook, or left any possible evidence behind, Amelia put
everything away and went to catch her final train for the day.

As she stood on
the platform, she couldn't help but feel pleased with herself and
knew from the looks some of the other passengers gave her that she
must have a slightly dorky grin plastered across her face. It only
made her smile even more. Completing Myron's challenges always gave
her a sense of satisfaction she'd not found anywhere else.

Not long after
Amelia was sat on the final train, Myron sent her a message.

Article
received.

She rolled her
eyes at the brevity once again and tapped out a reply.

Thanks for
letting me know. I've also been working on that little maths
problem you gave me. The answer is 79. That's two down and one
almost complete. Very curious about what they're for. How's
everything going with your ink slinger? Has he bent to your will
yet?

Once the message
was sent, Amelia tucked the phone away and sat back. It would be a
surprise for Myron to reply right away unless he had already solved
the problem, so she had time to do something she wanted as long as
she kept her eye out for whatever number might be coming her way
next.

A dull headache
put Amelia off the idea of reading or writing for the last few
hours of the journey, and her phone was so low on battery after all
the research she'd used it for that she didn't dare listen to
music. This gave her little else to do but watch the scenery go
by.

By the time she
reached Bath she was bored and had dozed off several times in the
two hours between the first stop and her last. She eagerly got into
the first cab she saw outside the station and asked to be taken
home. It may have been a good day, but she was exhausted. As the
driver pulled off, she glanced backwards and saw the now familiar
furry hat on the same stern face. Three times in one day she'd seen
the same man. It could only be one of Myron's people, and she found
herself hoping she hadn't missed anything in the last few
hours.

Over fourteen
hours after she left the house, she walked back through the front
door. Dropping her handbag on the coffee table, she went straight
to her kitchen to fix herself a drink and a piece of toast before
she went to bed. She wouldn't normally eat when she planned to go
to sleep right after, but today could be an exception to her
rule.

While she was
waiting for the toast to pop, she fetched a small vase, filled it
with water and placed her solitary rose inside. It looked a little
wilted around the edges, but considering how well travelled it was
she knew it was doing well. Even if it didn't recover, it brought a
smile to her face to know it was from Myron after all.

A little after
ten, Amelia was removing her corset and easing the aches out of her
legs. By half past, she was curled up under her thick duvet in her
comfiest big t-shirt. Ignoring the book on the night stand, she
flicked the reading lamp out and plunged herself into darkness.

Immediately, her
mind woke up, and she realised Myron hadn't replied to let her know
what had happened with the reporter. For the next few seconds she
deliberated over getting up to fetch the phone, but she realised it
was still in her handbag on the coffee table. As her body warmed up
the bed, she grew less and less inclined to get out, and her mind
finally gave in to the tiredness she felt.

Just as her mind
was wandering into dreams of Mycroft, the immortal Holmes brother,
interrogating her over knowing his secret, the sound of a door
clacking shut wrenched her back into an awake state. Her heart
began to pound as her eyes flew open.

She saw the clock
first, reading 23:03 in its crisp red lines. For a few seconds, she
listened for any more sounds, not completely sure if she'd heard
her own door shutting or just imagined it to wake herself up from
the nightmare threatening to happen.

When she realised
she was wide awake, Amelia chucked back the covers and got up. On
the way to her bedroom door, she pulled out one of the two knives
Myron had sent her from its holster clipped to the corset she'd
been wearing that day.

Feeling a little
safer with a weapon she'd been trained to use nestled in her hand,
she opened the bedroom door and padded silently through to the
living room. Her handbag still sat on the coffee table, exactly
where she'd left it, but her back door stood slightly ajar, blowing
back and forth in a slight breeze. Someone had been in her
house.

For several
minutes, Amelia stood where she was, listening for any sign that
whoever had come in might still be there, but the only sound was
the pounding of her own blood as her heart raced in her chest. By
the time she had summoned up the courage to move, she was shivering
in the cold night air that had been let into the room.