by Amelia Price
A second later one of the men dived on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs and leaving her gasping. So much for that idea.
Still struggling to breathe, she was hauled to her feet. With her arms pinned behind her back she was at their complete mercy, and they sought to let her know it. The nearest one backhanded her as soon as he was close enough. Her head whipped around, almost smacking into the guy behind her. If he hadn't held her upright, she'd have gone down again.
As she brought her head back around, she tasted blood. Thankfully, it seemed to be coming from her tongue where she'd bitten it and not from her nose. Her cheek throbbed a painful message in time with the headache she had.
“Not much longer, now. We'll show you our famous Russian hospitality.”
They dragged her back to the car. She struggled a little against the man holding her but stopped when it earnt her a second slap.
When they bound her up this time they looped the rope around her neck, feet and hands. She didn't need them to explain that any attempt to get out of these bonds or too much movement would strangle her. She felt her breath hitch as fear dug into the pit of her stomach and she closed her eyes, trying to force it away.
As soon as she was laid down again she went still, fear threatening to overwhelm her long before they slammed the lid on her. Exactly how long was not much longer?
Chapter 8
The first feelings of tiredness finally threatened Mycroft's senses. His body had broken down the last of the adrenaline from his encounter at the Ukrainian and Hungarian border, and they were back on the road with Daniels driving smoothly but swiftly.
It was well over twenty-four hours since he'd last slept, and the average person would be feeling the tiredness. Even Sherlock had opted to get a few hours' sleep. While they knew exactly what car Amelia was in and the Ukrainian police were refusing to lend assistance there was nothing they could do.
Mycroft had just decided to have a brief power nap when Daniels spoke.
“Sir, I have a police car flashing me over.”
Instantly, Sherlock sat up beside him.
“Should I pull over, sir?”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, then nodded. If they'd been closer to the Russian border he might have considered getting Daniels to drive on, but given what happened at the border into the country, Mycroft suspected this was related.
As soon as they were stopped on the hard shoulder, the policeman behind them got out and wandered over.
“Stay in the car,” Mycroft said, as much for Sherlock's benefit as Daniels'.
“There's been reports that this car is stolen,” the butch policemen said in Ukrainian. Within five seconds, Mycroft knew he was the father of three kids, and needed some more money. He'd been paid to waylay them. Mycroft sneered. “Do you have ownership papers?”
He didn't bother to reply, but fetched them from the compartment in the back of the car.
“I will have to check these details with our report.” the guy took the document back to the police car and then got back into the driver's seat to talk on the inbuilt radio, leaving Mycroft standing in the cold without a document he couldn't leave behind.
Sherlock got out a few seconds later.
“It would be wise for me and Daniels to try and continue. They'll drag this out, brother of mine.”
“They'll just do the same to you. We need to stop it at its source.”
“We can't wait here and do nothing,” Sherlock said. Mycroft finally felt his own emotions overboil.
“I am well aware. Trust me when I say that I wish to rescue her as much as anyone. This should never have happened,” he snapped.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows but said nothing. It had been many years since Mycroft had ever lost his cool in front of his younger brother. Both of them were normally so calm and collected, even when they were irritating each other.
“This isn't your fault, you know.” Sherlock turned to face the police car, taking his focus off Mycroft and giving the elder Holmes a moment to compose himself. Mycroft sighed.
“It is. We both know it is. We've been unbeaten too long. We've grown overconfident.”
“There's not been a good challenge since Moriarty.”
“Hitler wasn't exactly easy.”
Sherlock gave him a glance and shook his head. A few seconds later Mycroft's pocket buzzed.
He frowned as he pulled out the phone Amelia usually messaged and his frown deepened when he saw that it was the same semi-anonymous sender as last time.
Seems you've got yourself into a spot of bother. It's sorted now. Consider it my apology. I really do hope she lives through this. It wasn't part of my plans at all. D
“Maybe we do have someone as exciting as Moriarty on our hands,” Sherlock said, having read the message over his shoulder. With a small chuckle, Sherlock got back into the car again.
As Mycroft looked up, the police officer came back with the ownership document.
“I'm sorry, my friend. It seems there was a misunderstanding. You can go now.”
“I hope this won't be repeated.” Mycroft gave the man a stern glare. It soon made him look away.
“I'm sure it won't,” he mumbled into his shirt, and then backed away.
Whatever Mr Delra had done to assist them, it had worked. Mycroft got back into the car and nodded to Daniels to drive on.
He sighed with the relief of knowing he was following Amelia again now, but he couldn't help but also feel uncomfortable. Somehow, he expected he was going to wish at some later date that he didn't owe Mr Delra for this assistance.
“Go a little faster, Daniels,” Mycroft said a few seconds later. “I don't think we need to worry about the speed limits anymore.”
“Yes, sir,” Daniels replied, making his satisfaction at such an order very obvious. They still had two-thirds of the distance across Ukraine to drive, and they were approximately an hour behind. If the Russians obeyed the speed limits they had a reasonable chance of catching them.
Mycroft didn't dwell on what would happen if the Russians sped as well. It wouldn't change his decisions now. He'd come a long way and pushed the British monarch too far to turn back. He would only be forgiven if he delivered somehow.
Not long into the journey, Sherlock started to fidget.
“I need something to do. I'm wasted like this,” Sherlock said, ten minutes after that.
After half a second's thought, Mycroft reached into one of the storage areas built into the car and pulled out a small radio receiver. Immediately, Sherlock's eyes lit up and he pulled a small screwdriver from his pocket. If the police were following the progress of the car at all, then there would be chatter on their radio system. Once Sherlock had adjusted a few components inside, it should work on the Ukrainian frequencies.
Allowing his brother to do all the work, Mycroft sat back and waited. Hearing his brother doing something was much easier to tolerate than the strange noises he made when he was bored.
Several hours passed by as Sherlock tried to find Amelia's exact whereabouts and Mycroft tried to rest and wait. He caught a couple of fifteen-minute naps throughout the day in between one-sided conversations from Amelia, but something always woke him. He was used to silence, not sharing a small space with both his brother and his chauffeur.
It had been dark for a couple of hours by the time they reached the outskirts of Kiev. Still not knowing how far behind Amelia they were, they refuelled the car, and Daniels and Sherlock both acquired more food. Mycroft stuck to his stash of biscuits and dried fruit in the back of the car.
One way or another, they were about to start the final stretch. He estimated they were a little under five hours away from the Russian border. If they had been catching up with Amelia as he expected, they were still twenty to thirty minutes behind.
“Got something,” Sherlock said from the passenger seat of the car. While eating, he'd moved there to keep the smell of the fast food away from the back of the car. It was a small gesture of understa
nding towards Mycroft but he was grateful for it nonetheless.
“The police are keeping tabs on their car as well as ours. They're just the other side of Kiev.”
“Good, we're catching up,” Mycroft replied, although it was possible it wasn't quite fast enough. They were farther behind than he'd hoped.
“I can go a little faster on the straighter sections, I think.”
“Do,” Sherlock and Mycroft said in unison, but they needn't have bothered. Daniels was already putting his foot as far down as it went.
Not long after, Amelia stirred, obviously getting ready for her regular download of information.
“Well, it's Amelia again, Myron. Nothing's changed since I last spoke. I'm stuck in the back of a car, being driven God knows where by three, maybe four, Russian men. It's a blue Ford Focus, which, if you were listening, would probably mean you'd rescued me by now.”
Amelia paused and exhaled, evidently holding back tears.
“I can't keep doing this. I'm going to assume you're not listening or able to do anything to help. I...” Her voice broke off and Mycroft found himself clenching his fists again. Even Sherlock looked uncomfortable. “I just want to say, thank you for everything you've taught me... and tried to teach me. For a short while there life was pretty awesome.”
Silence filled the car as everyone looked away from each other. Mycroft swallowed and tried to exhale slowly, not convinced he could breathe quietly enough for Sherlock not to notice how discomposed he was. Amelia was saying goodbye.
“We'll rescue her,” Sherlock said when it was evident Amelia was done. Mycroft nodded, knowing they might not.
As the next few hours passed by, Mycroft could see Daniels getting more and more tense. He gripped the steering wheel with both his hands, and his knuckles whitened steadily, while he pushed the car as fast as it would go whenever it could be done safely.
Although they saw police cars here and there, not one of them tried to pull them over for speeding. Just as they were watching the Russians' car speed past, and not doing anything more than reporting on their progress, they were reacting the same way to Mycroft's bullet-proof Bentley. It seemed like the Ukrainians had decided to stay out of the car chase happening on their roads and hope it moved into Russia swiftly.
We're about twenty-two minutes behind,” Sherlock said, looking at the stopwatch he'd just pressed halt on. The last time Amelia's car had been mentioned, Sherlock had pressed go. They had just passed the same stationary police car.
An hour later and a few minutes into the new day they heard the engine slow as the car halted somewhere.
“They at the border?” Daniels asked.
“No. They should still be a few miles away,” Sherlock replied before Mycroft could.
“Are they changing car again, then?”
“It would be the most logical assumption.”
They fell into silence again, listening as Amelia wiggled a little, but nothing else happened for several minutes. Finally someone opened the boot.
An argument started up in Russian when one of the men blamed another for doing a bad job of tying her up. Amelia still didn't react.
They continued to listen as Amelia moved and brought the attention back to herself. Mycroft found he was barely listening to the feed. As long as he picked up on the important information, he just wanted to get there as swiftly as possible. Just as he was about to turn it down, Amelia started running.
A thud echoed out in the car as she hit the ground with both feet and then the bug bounced along against her skin in rhythm to her movements. In between each bounce they picked up on the yells.
“She's buying us time. Floor it, Daniels,” Sherlock said, and then closed his eyes to better concentrate on the noise being fed through to them. Mycroft didn't bother; he could easily picture the exact scene.
Every few steps Amelia grunted when she tripped or caught a foot, and then they heard a loud whmmph as Amelia went over. Another loud thud and then the sound of close Russians yelling their triumph let them know what little extra time she had got for them was now over.
Mycroft considered turning the feed down for a second time instead of listening to Amelia being punished once more, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. When no severe beating came, Mycroft raised his eyebrows.
Either they knew that Mycroft was close to catching up and didn't want to waste time or her punishment was something other than a beating. Whichever it was, he would have to wait to find out.
As they passed a sign saying the border was only eight miles away he clenched his jaw. It took all his restraint to fight the emotions coursing through him and sit in the same position and wait, but with each mile that ticked by he managed to hold it in.
“There, up ahead, I think that's them,” Daniels suddenly yelled when he saw a car drive onto their road from a slipway a quarter of a mile up ahead. Sherlock and Mycroft both sat forward to get a better look.
“Yes, that's the car. Drive faster, man.”
“I'm going as fast as I can.” Daniels stomped his foot on the accelerator, but he was telling the truth. They couldn't get any more out of the car.
Mycroft could only watch and will the car closer with his mind while they caught up metre by metre to the also speeding car in front. When they were still two hundred metres behind, they caught sight of the Russian border control. It would all come down to how the guard standing by the little hut reacted.
“Come on,” Sherlock said, echoing everyone's thoughts as the Russians got closer to the border and the guard stayed in his building. As the guard came out of the hut and finally looked at the incoming cars, Mycroft exhaled the breath he didn't notice he'd been holding.
Instead of stopping the car to check their passports, the guard waved his arm and ushered them through. As soon as they were past him he stepped out into the road, blocking the Bentley's pursuit.
Daniels slammed on the breaks, bringing them to a halt only a few metres away from the reckless man. Mycroft put his head in his hands. Despite it being too late, he heard Sherlock get out of the car and berate the Russian for his actions.
As much as he wanted to do the same, Mycroft knew it was pointless. He couldn't do a single thing without starting a war between England and Russia. An old agreement he had with their government tied his hands. He couldn't even step on their soil.
A few seconds later, Sherlock got back in the car, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Head back to the town, Daniels,” Mycroft said, not even trying to hide the disappointment from his voice, but not trusting himself to look at either of his two companions.
Not long after Daniels swung the car around, Mycroft's phone rang.
“Good evening,” Mycroft said, even though it was anything but.
“Her majesty sends her condolences. She's aware the woman was important to you.”
“Yes. Amelia Jones is a very talented woman. Does her majesty have any suggestions for how best to console her many fans?”
“She hasn't asked me to mention anything regarding that. I'm sure that's more your sort of thing.”
“Well, perhaps her majesty should have a think about it. I believe quite a number of them are exceedingly fond of her. Writing is just one of her very many talents.” Mycroft hung up, unable to suffer any more of the pathetic attempt at an apology.
Less than a second later his other phone buzzed with a message. It seemed Mr Delra had heard by now as well.
I'd offer you my condolences, but I won't deny that I'm still hoping you won't need them.
Daniels drove them to the nearest town, a couple of miles from the border, and paused at the next available opportunity. While on the way, Mycroft mulled over his options. There were few.
As soon as they were stationary, Sherlock and Daniels looked to him. It didn't take a genius for him to notice neither of them wanted to give up on Amelia.
Sherlock had never had any regard for rules. Now that he'd decided he liked her, he'd quite ha
ppily do whatever was possible, and both of them knew it was still possible to rescue her. And Daniels was just too simple to think of anything else but helping a person in distress. For both of them, the next decision was simple.
Mycroft, however, had given his word that he would never ever plunge his country into war for personal reasons. And saving Amelia was definitely personal.
“Is the only objection that the UK doesn't go to war?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft nodded, seeing a look in his younger brother's eyes that he recognised.
“Just the UK,” Mycroft added, understanding exactly where Sherlock was going.
Chapter 9
Despite Amelia's best efforts, she shivered with fear. The situation that she didn't think could get much worse had got worse. With each little shudder that rippled involuntarily through her body she felt the noose around her neck tighten a tiny bit.
Already it had gone from a loose-fitting circle to a very present collar. To make it worse, the position they'd tied her in was painfully awkward. She had her legs bent up behind her back. If she dared move more than a fraction she could grab her feet with her hands.
Landing on the snow-covered ground had also made her clothing damp. Even if she could calm her fear, she doubted she could warm herself enough to stop shivering.
Every now and then, as she felt the noose tighten further, she let out a whimper. Somehow she didn't cry, but she came close and her breathing was ragged and uneven.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine something else, but the roar of the car engine and the feel of the rough rope on her skin just brought her back to the present.
“Calm yourself and think,” an imaginary version of Myron said in her head.
“Easier said than done,” she whispered before she could stop herself.