Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING
Page 13
Sherlock smiled and turned his face to Mohammad. “As I told you, Doctor, my wife’s often equal my powers of deduction.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Holmes.”
“And when is Daddy coming back, Mr. Mohammad?” Sarah piped up suddenly. She had asked the same question ever since Watson had left for Washington not only to assist Mohammad’s experts in re-capturing the time-machine but to give his lecture at the CIA.
“He should be back by the end of the week,” Mycroft offered, walking in on the little gathering. He plopped down in a seat across from Sherlock and added, “So, any news?”
“They’ve got the time-machine back, Mr. Mycroft, and Mrs. Holmes got me a new pair of shoes,” Sarah burst out, extracting the shoes out of the bag once again.
“Thank goodness for that,” Mycroft answered, looking at the shoes. “Those are very nice, Sarah… , and do you have the dress to go with such elegant footwear?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Mycroft, Mrs. Holmes has done all the shopping – we went to Harrods, you know. And we went to try on all these beautiful dresses, but there were only two that I liked, and Mrs. Holmes bought them for me.”
“I see,” Mycroft replied, smiling down gently at the little jewel of a girl. Then turning his gaze to Mohammad, he asked, “How was the capsule recovered then?”
“As you know, Mr. Minister, we were able to network the system of the two machines and while doing so, we managed to take over the guiding system of the lost machine and guide it back to Dr. Nebo’s premises as soon as it landed in New York.”
Same as Irene, Mycroft was surprised to hear of the landing site. “What would the blighter be doing in New York?”
“If you’re talking about David Penny, the answer is nothing,” Sherlock put in. “He’s not in New York – of that I’m sure.”
Taken aback, Mycroft’s eyes travelled from one to the other. “Who then?”
“Moriarty,” Irene answered.
“Good God! Do you mean the devil is back – back in this century?”
“Now, now, don’t get your knickers in a knot,” Sherlock interposed, chuckling. “We are not sure of the date at which he landed…”
“And why would you not know that?”
“It’s complicated, Mr. Minister, but the dating recorder was missing from the machine we recovered, so we have no idea as to when the capsule landed.”
“Now I need a drink!” Mycroft exclaimed, visibly irritated to say the least.
“Could I have an orange juice, please,” Sarah asked Irene with a broad smile on her lips.
“Of course, you may, but let the grown-ups order their refreshments first, alright?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Holmes,” Sarah replied, shrinking to the back in her seat.
Later that evening, in Washington, Watson was sitting across Agent Weisberg at the issue of his first day of lectures.
“Okay, Dr. Watson, I heard everything you told me about Sherlock Holmes and his latest adventure through time using the time-machine. And if I am to believe an ounce of this story, you’re telling me that we could foil terrorists’ games just by listening to his rambling deductions?”
“Not his rambling deductions, Agent Weisberg, but the deductions of a whole team of experts. Dr. Bahareth is the one you should talk to, if you want today’s answers to issues that have plagued your agencies here and abroad since nine-eleven or ever since Desert Storm.”
“But then how does Sherlock Holmes come into all this?”
“He is the brain, Agent Weisberg. The brain that will guide the arms and legs of what ever operation you would wish to conduct with his assistance.”
“I see. You mean we should employ him as a consultant?”
“Yes, same as you do me and Dr. Bahareth.”
“But you do realize, of course, that fighting terrorism here and abroad is a matter of national security, and I don’t think the NSA will be too thrilled with the idea of employing Sherlock Holmes’s ghost to solve our problems.”
“I’m sorry, Agent Weisberg, but why should you call him a ghost? You have already identified him as a New Zealander, and a descendant of the Holmes family. There is no need to justify the identity that you have created for him, I should think.”
“That’s just it, Doctor Watson – we have created his identity and the NSA would soon discover the fact. And then what do you propose we do when they find out?”
“My suggestion is that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes return to Wellington as soon as practicable and that you (or the NSA) follow Dr. Bahareth’s plans when ever required.”
“You mean we keep Mr. Holmes under wraps and address only Dr. Bahareth with ours or the NSA’s requests?”
Watson nodded emphatically. “If it’s a ghost that you chose to employ, let Mr. Holmes be that person. The one no one knows.”
“Have you talked to the minister about this?”
“Not yet, no. But if we are in agreement and the NSA is ready to unveil some of their problems to Dr. Bahareth by the time I leave Washington, I’m sure the minister will only be too pleased to follow suit.”
With these conclusive words, Agent Weisberg got to his feet. “I better get home,” he said, “before my wife sends an APB to find me.” He chuckled.
“I’ll keep you informed, Agent Weisberg,” Watson said, rising from his chair and walking out of the hotel lounge with his guest.
“And I’ll do the same,” Weisberg concluded, striding in the direction of the front door.
Professor Moriarty’s first night in New York was not the most pleasant. He had sold two of his coins for a mere $500 and was now stretching on the bed of a cheap hotel. He had canvassed the more expensive places around Manhattan earlier that day, but soon realized that his $500 wouldn’t see him through the week. In any event, he had found a decent suit and coat in one of the department stores, and had dined in some restaurant near his hotel and was then wondering how he was going to survive when his coins would run out.
He was about to fall asleep when he heard a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” he grumbled, dragging himself out of bed.
“Chamber maid,” the female voice answered from the other side of the door.
“At this hour?” he queried, looking through the peephole. “I don’t want to be disturbed. Go away!” he yelled.
“But, sir… .”
“Nothing doing, miss,” he said loudly, “I don’t require your services until morning, do you hear me?”
When the knocking became louder and more insistent, Moriarty grabbed his sack of gold, quickly shoved it between the mattress and the box-spring of the bed, lay down and called out, “Okay, okay, come in then, if you insist.”
His knowledge of the criminal mind had helped him in many circumstances before tonight, and he knew the person behind the door was up to no good.
The door burst open; two masked men came in, one of them brandishing a small gun, and demanded that he gave them his wallet. Seemingly scared out of his mind, and hiding under the comforter, Moriarty pointed to the nearby desk. The wallet was there along with his old watch.
The man with the gun grabbed the billfold, opened it and said, “Is that it? No credit cards? Come on, man, where’s the rest?” pointing the gun at Moriarty’s head.
Barely understanding what the man was asking, Moriarty replied, “I only use cash – safer that way… .”
“Let’s go, Jimmy,” the other man said, “what ever is in that wallet will get us a fix… , let’s go!” he shouted, pulling his partner by the sleeve.
“Okay, okay. Let go, will you,” the gunman said, extracting the money from the wallet and throwing it at Moriarty’s face. “We’ll be back!” he then declared, rushing out of the room with his companion.
As soon as the door closed on them, Moriarty literally jumped out of the bed and went to lock the door. He then went to the bathroom to splash water over his face. This little incident left him to ponder whether New York was as nice a city as everyone had told
him it was, back in 1891.
Table of Contents
SHERLOCK HOLMES
Copyright
Contents
Acknowledgements
Author’s Comments
PART II
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight