by Amelia Price
This one was the most spacious yet, but it smelt of some kind of wet animal, probably dog. It was a smell she knew would get irritating quickly.
Within another few minutes she was once more shut up and out of sight, and the Russians were continuing to take her farther and farther from London and the safety of the Holmes brothers.
Although she'd not managed to get away, she'd gained several pieces of useful information with the latest stop, not to mention that she'd had some time out of the small space in the back of the cars, but despite all that she felt far worse than she had at any point during the whole fiasco so far.
She'd discovered one very important thing. This wasn't a test; she really had been abducted.
Chapter 5
A little after four in the afternoon Mycroft emerged onto French soil. Less than a second later, both he and Sherlock were back on their laptops looking for the few cars that had been here less than three hours before and had passed through one of two possible checkpoints into Belgium approximately an hour earlier.
While they'd been underground, Mycroft's secretary had continued listening to the bugged feed for him. She informed him that the message had been repeated twice more and then the sender had decided to try and take a small nap. It was a comfort to know that at least she would still be able to aid him, even if few of his agents were available and none of the UK resources.
He hadn't told his secretary who was on the other end of the messages and didn't intend to, but he asked her to continue listening and to try and keep track of the journey as well. She might not provide any extra info, but it freed him and Sherlock up for more complicated work.
Daniels had been briefed on the best direction to go in, given the limited information they already had earlier, allowing them to work in silence, scanning the details of car after car as they appeared on both screens. An hour later, they had identified over twenty that had gone through the set of points they needed at the right sort of times.
Right away, they could discount three for having kids evident in the cars, and another for having a dog. Four more were driven by women, and so far only men had been involved in the abduction. This left them with fifteen that could possibly be the car Amelia was in right now.
He sent the details for all of them to his secretary and then had them forwarded on to the French version of the police commissioner. The man wouldn't have to cooperate with Mycroft if he didn't want to, but they had little love for the Russians, and as the men were now off the French soil there was little they would need to do but provide information.
As an extra, he gave the same information to Belgium and Germany. It was possible the car they were using now had been stolen in either of those countries.
It was just past five in the evening when they pulled up to the Belgian border control. Thankfully, this was one of the few countries he could guarantee to be given easy access to. He'd helped them with some business recently enough that even if they worked out who he really was it would only help his cause.
Within fifteen minutes they were back on the road, the more stately car having given him a swift service. They'd only travelled a few more miles when the feed from Amelia came to life again. He heard the normal rustling sound as she moved against the receiver and readjusted her position.
Not long after he heard her grunt faintly, and then the unmistakable sound of sobs reached him. When he glanced at his brother he noticed they'd both raised their eyebrows.
“Did I miss something?” Sherlock asked, but they both knew the answer. For some reason, Amelia had started crying unprovoked. “How long has she been in there for?”
“A little over eight hours.”
“She was never trained for this.” Sherlock's tone said everything his words didn't. The emotion was something neither of them liked, but Mycroft had always shown more disdain towards a woman's tears. Sherlock was trying to tell him to give her some slack and not get annoyed that she was crying.
“This should never have happened,” he snapped, and then wished he hadn't. It had occurred in his hotel after he left her there alone. He was as much to blame for this as she was, and there was only one thing Mycroft hated more than other people making mistakes: making them himself.
“We'll get her back and I'm sure she will do what she can to help. She may be crying now, but it's her way. She's alone in that car boot and knows it's a good time to let her emotions out and clear her head. She'll think better after she's done,” Daniels said, breaking the silence he'd kept since they had arrived in France.
Mycroft blinked in shock at the statement. Never before had Daniels offered his opinion on anything he was talking about or anyone he met. It seemed both of the men with him believed she was stronger than she appeared. And a few seconds later he realised he wasn't as annoyed as he would usually be on having to hear such emotion. Of the few women to cry in front of him, it seemed Amelia had an approach that at least had some logic behind it, something that rarely went hand in hand.
As soon as the sobbing had begun, it stopped, and Amelia calmed herself back down. They heard her move again and try to get herself comfortable. Not long after, even the engine grew quiet.
Having little else to do, Mycroft listened and tried to picture what was going on where she was. She'd been in the small space for a long time. By now, if she did get a chance to escape her legs would struggle to hold her and her eyesight would take several minutes to fully adjust. Even if an opportunity did present itself, it would need to be a good one to do anything other than risk that they shot her or harmed her to stop her escaping. Unless something changed, he was her only hope.
All of a sudden, she grunted and yelled against the gag, and he knew she was trying to make as much noise as possible. She must have heard something the bug hadn't picked up and was trying to get the attention of some possible assistance.
“She might be near another border,” he said, drawing Sherlock's attention, although when he looked over at his brother's laptop screen he saw it was entirely wasted. It had been so long since he'd worked with his brother he wasn't used to someone keeping up with his thoughts.
The map lay open on one side of the screen, focused on the two possible roads they would use to go from Belgium to Germany. On the other side, Sherlock was hacking into the camera feed at the northern border control to look for one of the fifteen cars already on their watch list.
While keeping half his attention on the sounds, Mycroft pulled up the information for the southern one and also powered his way through their encryption. Not long after the pair had started watching for a car they recognised, Amelia tapped at the bug again.
She thought she had gone through another border control as well. This could only mean she was now in Germany. Given the way they were travelling, it would be some hours before they went through another checkpoint. If they could figure out what car the Russians were in, the German police might assist them in apprehending it before they reached the next border. If the German authorities didn't assist, Mycroft would need to catch up to them.
“Here's one of them,” Sherlock said, breaking the silence. He'd paused the screen on a red family car. They could see a man in the driver's seat while the security checked their passports, but the rest of the people were obscured.
Not long after, he saw another of the familiar cars on his own screen. Again, a male drove, and they couldn't see the rest of the passengers.
Although it had narrowed down the suspected cars, he knew it wasn't enough. The German police wouldn't stop a car on the whim of an unofficial manhunt just because there might be terrorists inside. He issued the report anyway and left Sherlock to check for any extra cars while he looked up the ones already spotted. In the end, there were three cars that made it along the path they thought possible.
The weight in his stomach reminded him that this wasn't good enough. Amelia needed them, and despite his best efforts he wasn't helping her fast enough. Somehow the Russians had blindsided him, and without the usua
l resources his government afforded him it left him with little manpower for a big job.
Deciding to take a risk, he sent an email to the agents he knew were in the area. Some of them owed him a favour and he knew they would be tempted to help, despite the unsanctioned nature of the task. If the British monarch didn't interfere, some of them might help him.
Once they'd passed through the border control between Belgium and Germany themselves, Mycroft had the satisfaction of noting they'd caught up by fourteen minutes. He was now a little over two hours behind, but he needed to decide where to go next. It was possible that the Russians would go straight across Germany into Poland or the Czech Republic, but he knew, if he were planning the journey, he'd travel into Austria, Hungary and then into Ukraine.
In less than half an hour, Mycroft would need to decide. If he went wrong it could put them even further behind. On top of that, his car searches had turned up the same thing. All three cars were registered in Britain. Something you'd expect from holidaymakers coming across the Channel, even at this time of year. None of them were owned by anyone who appeared fake, and none of them had been sold in the last week or two or reported stolen.
When they were about a mile away from the junction that required their decision, Mycroft had a report come through. As expected, the German police weren't willing to stop the cars he was interested in, but they were happy to inform him if they saw them. The red family car had just been spotted near Frankfurt.
After considering that this was the direction he'd have been most likely to take and these Russians were intelligent, he gave the instruction to Daniels to follow on that far. Until Amelia could get them more information, it was the best he could do.
At almost the same time he received a text from a familiar overbearing butler. None of the agents would be helping him. He let out a small growl but it went unnoticed. There were few times that he wished for a more overt grip on Britain but this was one of those occasions. It almost made him tempted to set up a dictator who knew he really had all the power, as his younger brother had suggested on several occasions over the last century.
Not long after, Daniels yawned and Mycroft remembered his driver had been behind the wheel for well over the usual number of hours. Unfortunately, he wasn't a Holmes brother, and that meant he'd need to rest even if they didn't.
“I'll drive,” Sherlock said, anticipating the next question. Mycroft nodded his appreciation of the offer. At the next services they had their first break since being on the Eurostar, used the facilities, and got back on the road with Sherlock behind the wheel and Daniels in the passenger seat.
For a few minutes the car smelt of fast food burgers as Daniels refuelled in more than one way. Other than drinking one of the fast food teas, neither he nor Sherlock had anything. Such offerings could hardly be called food. If he needed sustenance he had some biscuits and other assorted snacks in the car for such situations.
Hours ticked by with little progress. They reached Frankfurt, and again Mycroft was forced to make a decision with very little information. He trusted his instincts on the Russians themselves and found Sherlock of a similar mind. They were likely to pass through Hungary and get into Ukraine as soon as possible.
The farther they travelled into Ukraine the tougher it would be on Mycroft. He wasn't welcome there on a good day, and the Russians would find far more political allies than he would. He didn't need to say this to Sherlock. His younger brother was well aware and raised their average speed a few miles each hour to help ensure they caught up to Amelia long before she was in such hostile countries.
By midnight, Daniels was snoring softly beside Sherlock and even Amelia's repeated almost hourly updates were sounding sleepy and less rapid.
As far as he could tell, the Russians had only stopped once on the entire journey through Germany and must have only swapped driver around because Amelia stayed unmoved in the boot. He knew the man driving the motorbike was now with them. It had been found in a hedge less than a hundred metres from the car at Folkestone. All three of the Russians were now in one car together.
Shortly after one, Mycroft heard increased fidgeting noises and turned the volume up a notch. A little later, he heard what sounded like a muffled snort of laughter, but he couldn't be sure. Finally he heard the sound of the boot opening, and the rustle of Amelia's clothes as she was hauled out of the boot.
He sighed when it became apparent they were probably changing cars again, but the noises didn't match up as he heard the scuffle of her feet on some kind of gravel or rough concrete turn to the neat clack of heels on tiled flooring.
A few seconds later he realised they'd taken her to some kind of restroom. He politely turned the volume back down while she relieved herself and then used the flush as a cue to raise it again.
Once they'd allowed her to drink, she was bundled up again and shoved into a boot once more. However, as soon as the engine started up, he could tell it was different.
“They've switched cars again?” Daniels asked, woken by the noises. Mycroft nodded and sat back, closing his eyes for a few seconds. They'd narrowed it down to three cars and were now back to square one. Right now, he needed Amelia to have seen something useful.
He listened as she continued to fidget, expecting her to start tapping, but for the next fifteen minutes she continued to rustle and move.
“What's happening?” Daniels asked, his eyes wide.
“She's probably trying to untie herself,” Sherlock replied, evidently listening as well.
“It's possible they didn't restrain her as well after letting her get some air.” Mycroft found himself hoping this as he said it.
Several minutes later his hopes were confirmed.
“Myron, I really hope you're listening in to this by now,” Amelia's quiet whisper came out of his laptop speaker. He turned the volume up even further. “I was recently at Eholfing truck services in south Germany and I think we just crossed another border. I don't know what car I'm in but the boot space is bigger than the last one and smells of wet dog.”
There was nothing but the sound of Amelia's breathing for a few seconds.
“I recognised one of the Russians. It was the same one as on the boat back in October last year. They've not done me much harm yet, but I don't know what they plan.”
Before she had finished speaking Mycroft was searching for a photo of the Russian she'd mentioned. It would be better than nothing to get it out to the authorities in Austria.
“Please, Myron, I don't know what you can do to help, but at least be listening. If nothing else, please be listening,” Amelia whispered her voice cracking over the last part. Mycroft lowered the volume again as the unmistakable sounds of her weeping followed.
He swallowed and looked up in time to see Sherlock regularly glancing at him in the rear view mirror, gauging his reaction to her second bout of tears. As much as he wanted to react to her emotion, he knew he had to think. He zoned it out and processed the information she'd passed on. She'd done well so far even if she was struggling to keep all her fear at bay.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and phoned the police commissioner. It would drag the man out of bed, but this mattered too much to hold him back.
“Hello,” the surprisingly awake-sounding voice said.
“Commissioner, this is Myron Holmes. I need you to do two things for me.”
“Of course, Mr Holmes, anything I can do to assist you.”
“Firstly I am sending you the picture of a criminal wanted in respect to kidnapping a close friend of mine. Currently, he's believed to be in western Austria and driving through as we speak. In several hours, he's expected to pass through Hungary and Ukraine on his way to Russia.”
“I'll get that circulated right away,” the commissioner said and then fell silent again.
“Secondly, I have reason to suspect a car has just been abandoned in connection to the same kidnapping at Eholfing truck services in Germany. I want that car examined and cross-checked ag
ainst the forensics of a car abandoned less than twelve hours ago at Folkestone.”
“Understood. I have my team working on that particular car right now. You'll have all the details as soon as I have them.”
“Good. I will arrive in Eholfing shortly, but I want police there before me.” Mycroft hung up. At least the police couldn't be stopped from aiding him. After all, the country had to appear to care about Amelia.
As Mycroft refocused on Amelia's bug, he noticed her breathing had shallowed out and was now an even purr in the background. After the crazy day she'd had she'd managed to cry herself to sleep.
Chapter 6
Quiet fell in Mycroft's car while Daniels tried to sleep again and Sherlock drove them through the night. With Amelia asleep on her end of the communication, it meant only the Holmes brothers were awake, and they'd never been much for conversation.
The red car they'd tailed all the way from the Belgian border had contained Amelia the entire time. More of her hair and flecks of dried blood had been found in the boot. The police would tell him if it matched the blood in the UK's abandoned car, but he knew it would.
Earlier he'd tried to get the footage from the cameras at the service station, but they'd not been set to record. The man who'd been keeping an eye on them said only three other cars had gone in or out during the right sort of time. One advantage of it being a truck stop, but they only had a description to go on, not a car license plate.
At four that morning he'd heard the engine slow on the car Amelia was in and suspected, given the route they appeared to be on, that they were crossing out of Austria and into Hungary. Now that he had two rough points of time to pinpoint a car with, he was looking over more footage for the possible borders they passed through.
It was just beginning to get light when Mycroft reached the end of the final piece of footage. He quickly worked out that he'd only seen one car that had matched the descriptions from Eholfing that had also gone through the border from Germany to Austria and then Austria to Hungary at the right sort of time.