The Invisible Amateur

by Amelia Price

  The Invisible Amateur

  Amelia Price

  Copyright 2015 Jess Mountifield

  Cover Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Mackey

  Smashwords edition

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organisations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  This was probably one of the hardest books I've ever had to write. Trying to get Mycroft Holmes perfectly consistent while also putting him in the situation of being well over 100 years of age can make an interesting balancing act at times. I know I'd never be able to keep it all straight in my head if it wasn't for Bear. So thank you, Bear for being an amazing sounding board and helping me eliminate plot holes, character errors and other gaffs before the book is published.

  As always, thank you Phil, my darling husband for putting up with my writing habits and the impact it has on our lives, while also being supportive, encouraging and critical in all the right measures.

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Ella, you help polish up my rough work and help it shine and it's a pleasure to work with you.

  To Elizabeth, for the cover design. I always look forward to emails from you with cover concepts as you always manage to capture something unexpected that I fall totally in love with and this time was no different.

  Also a big thank you to the Retreat. I think I must have mentioned this series to you so many times while trying to work out the mechanics of it and you've graciously shared your wisdom again and again. Love you guys and I don't think I'd be doing so well without you all there to give me advice.

  Finally, to God, I really wouldn't be here without Him.

  Dedication

  To Phil, Bear, Alex, Sophie, Kate, David and Chris. You're always the people I think of when I get the impulse to adventure, whether that's in the literal sense or even when I want to go find new paths. Life wouldn't be half as fun without you all and I hope you know how rich all your differences and quirks make my life. Keep being you. You're awesome.

  Chapter 1

  Tension filled the muscles in Mycroft's neck and shoulders. He sat at his usual desk in his study trying to process the report in front of him. One of his agents had delivered it to the new drop-off point only an hour ago.

  The information he'd been provided with regarding Mr Delra was unhelpful at best. More than ninety percent of it, Mycroft had worked out himself over the last two weeks, and the rest was bizarre.

  Mr Delra lived either in his house in St Petersburg or on his yacht. He didn't often travel between the two and didn't go out much in public, but he had a female assistant who did much of his public business for him. He'd inherited wealth but had plenty of it invested and it was multiplying.

  No one could confirm where the yacht was. It was one of the largest yachts in the world, and all three of Mycroft's personal agents told him they'd seen it. One off the west coast of Ireland. Another in Norway, where Mr Delra kept his yacht when he wasn't on it, and the third in the Mediterranean, where he normally spent his summer. With only two weeks between the first and last sightings, being seen at those separate locations was impossible.

  At the time of the Lyubov going missing, the yacht was also apparently in more than one place. The most logical explanation was that there were several identical yachts and Mr Delra owned only one of them, but neither Mycroft nor his agents could find any reference to another yacht of the same design being built. It was a one-off custom design supplied by the owner himself.

  Somehow, the recent events with Amelia Jones, the terrorists in London and the Russian ruble coins no longer in circulation were related to this man and his yacht, but Mycroft couldn't find the connection or any reason why he might want to harm the UK and her citizens.

  Mycroft's only relief was the lack of activity from the terrorist group over the Christmas period. While London was in full celebration mode and packed with people, the terrorists had stayed out of the way. Not even a coin had shown up anywhere.

  Since his emailed warning, Mycroft had been very careful about who he had working for him in the field. All three of the agents were trusted men who knew to keep their information out of official channels.

  It wasn't the first time Mycroft had hidden his actions. Sometimes a country needed to be protected from itself. Those occasions had been rare, much to his preference. It never felt entirely comfortable to move behind the protocols he himself had set up.

  In his entire life, this was only the fifth time he'd acted against his reigning monarch, but this was the first time the subterfuge made his task difficult. Previously, he'd been able to move people into the right positions and act as he needed, but in this day and age it was harder to move unseen.

  He knew his own activities were being watched, and his brother had noticed strange people in the dark and shadows wherever he went. While either of them could give their tails the slip, it would arouse suspicion and so would need to be carefully planned. And he couldn't go to three different countries to try and verify the accuracy of information in the little time he would gain.

  For now, he had to wait and trust his agents would gain him the information he needed, and hope Sherlock didn't get too curious about the people watching. Mycroft hadn't told him about the warning, or Mr Delra.

  With a sigh, Mycroft filed the information away and ordered some tea. Patience would win out. It always did, and until then he could always focus on his protégée, Amelia Jones. The Wing Chun lessons he funded on her behalf were proving a good investment.

  She attended sessions at the Baskerville fitness centre in Bath three times a week and received solo tuition. The dojo area even had a small security camera that gave him access to footage of her training. Whenever his mind was clouded, he found himself watching it.

  Amelia moved with grace and already showed signs of aptitude at the techniques. For her safety, it was pleasing progress. She would always lack the main advantages he and his brother had, and would need much more training if she were to survive in their hidden realm, but it was a start and she learnt with an enthusiasm students rarely mustered.

  While he was watching her spar with her teacher, he heard the sound of gravel crunching under tyres and the low growl of a car engine. With a frown creasing the lines on his forehead, he looked towards his study door expectantly. Someone other than his brother was visiting him, and he couldn't think of many people who knew where he lived.

  A few seconds later he heard his housekeeper knock on the study door and show in two well-dressed men in suits. He recognised both at once. They worked for the royal family at Buckingham Palace, and both had been hired by him. He raised his eyebrows at them and saw the nearest gentleman's finger on his left hand twitch. They were nervous.

  “You're needed,” the man said when Mycroft still didn't respond or move.

  At first Mycroft remained sat where he was, but he knew he couldn't be aloof for long. He rang the bell to summon his housekeeper back.

  “I'm going out,” he said, when she came back. The woman nodded, knowing it wasn't something he'd have normally bothered to tell her, but having enough s
ense not to say anything to betray whatever had caused the difference.

  When Mycroft was satisfied he looked like he was leaving on his own terms, he got up and fetched his coat and umbrella. It might be considered petty by some for him to act that way, but the most likely reason for being summoned to the palace was Mr Delra, and that meant this was a wrist-slap, or worse. His pride wouldn't allow him to show even the slightest amount of any emotion but indifference.

  The men accompanied him out to the car. He noticed the letters on the number plate, and they confirmed his suspicions. They'd sent the highest numeral in the series of number plates bearing their particular reference. It made the nature of the summons clear. They were displeased and he had been relegated to their least important car.

  Both men sat in the front, leaving Mycroft alone in the back with his thoughts. Outwardly, he was the usual picture of calm patience and control, but the inside of him was a little different. No matter the conversation that followed, Mycroft would act in the best interests of his country and the people he had sworn to protect over a hundred years earlier. If the royal family were acting in a manner unfitting for their station, it would make that task more difficult, but not impossible.

  The task left to him would be figuring out the why of their interference in his work. Although he tolerated their belief that he answered entirely to them and the accompanying delusion of thinking they knew best, he wouldn't give them reason to think otherwise, but he would need to know why.

  Through the traffic of London, it took the better part of an hour for the car to make its way to the palace. The number plate afforded no special treatment on the road. The biggest difference between this vehicle and the ones around it was the armour plating built in and the bulletproof glass in every window. His own car was made the same way. When working for the government you could never be too careful.

  When they did finally pull up in the courtyard of the palace, Mycroft was escorted into the building. They needn't have done so. He knew where to go and how to get there, but it was one more part of the message for him. This time in the palace, he didn't have free rein to go where he pleased.

  While he walked he pretended to admire the décor. In truth, he didn't like all the crystal and shiny metal gilding everywhere. Not to mention the elaborate paintings of scenes and people. He much preferred wood of deep soothing hues, and the only things made from metal should be functional, like weapons or door handles. The bright metals and crystal reflected light in too many directions. One wrong glance when the sun was out and you were momentarily blinded. A metal should only shine enough to give off a dull reflection; anything more reduced its helpfulness.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Holmes,” the butler said from his position on the couch. Mycroft sat down opposite him. The lack of royalty in the room boded well. If he was being relieved from his position, it wouldn't be done by a lackey.

  “I hope her majesty is well,” he said and smiled. The warmth never reached Mycroft's eyes, as always.

  “Health-wise she is as well as can be expected for someone of her age, but she has a concern that she's asked me to mention to you.”

  “I believe I have an idea what that might be.”

  “Then you are probably aware that her majesty doesn't like having to repeat herself.”

  “Of course.” Mycroft lifted his chin a centimetre higher.

  “She feels that it would be unwise to look into matters concerning the Russian and North Korean people you recently... met, especially concerning their out-of-country support.” The butler paused and gave him a look to emphasise his point. “Since your initial encounter with them, which we understand was beneficial for us, and of course thank you for, we've come to an agreement.”

  “What sort of agreement?” Mycroft almost spat. Less than a second later he was calm once more. Thankfully his vocal tone had changed so little, the butler wasn't clever enough to have noticed his anger.

  “I was not privy to the details, but I believe they wish to finish one last small task, some unfinished business, which will pose no threat to the country as a whole, and then leave unhindered.” The butler smiled but Mycroft didn't return the gesture.

  “So I am to do nothing?”

  “Correct. The problem is already resolved. London is safe.”

  Mycroft picked up on what he wasn't being told. Amelia's life had been traded for the rest of the country, but he still didn't know exactly why. Why would they want Amelia dead, and why would a woman who prided herself in doing what was best for her citizens allow even one of them to be sacrificed without their knowledge? Nothing about this meeting was right, and he wouldn't be swayed from his task. It would be even more difficult, but he couldn't allow this arrangement to stand.

  “I understand the situation perfectly. Please reassure her majesty that I would never endanger the citizens of London.”

  “I'm sure she'll be grateful to hear that. The alternative would be quite distressing.” The butler stood and offered out his hand. Mycroft took it. “For all of us.”

  Ending the meeting and taking back control of the moment, Mycroft walked away, back down the hallways and corridors to where the car waited. He took long strides, making it difficult for the shorter men to keep up without quickening their paces. It seemed, for now, that these little things would be his only victories.

  By the time he was sat back in his study he already knew exactly what he wanted to do. From the moment the butler had explained, he'd known he had to stop it. No matter what the missing factor in the agreement was, it wasn't worth someone innocent dying. Mycroft would need to do two things. Find out why the arrangement had been made, and protect Amelia until he could prevent it from going ahead.

  When he'd agreed to teach Amelia he'd never expected to get far before she became boring or too much of a liability, but she'd been anything but dull. This was just another interesting development that he couldn't have expected.

  Although she'd made him angry enough on several occasions to want to stop their games, he'd found her impossible to ignore and she'd even proved her own intelligence to be far better than average in a couple of situations. Spotting a man as a threat to herself when not even Mycroft had seen it coming, and helping solve several tasks of his through her own knowledge, after he'd passed them to Sherlock, were not easy achievements.

  Most of the time, he told himself he was still teaching her because of Mr Delra's interest in her. She'd been battered at the hands of a kidnapper because the tycoon had decided she was part of the threat to the Russian and North Korean efforts. But it was more than that, and he knew it. After so many years, he was taking an interest in the way someone learnt. Within him, he knew there was the hope that she could learn. That someone else might understand at least a small fragment of his world.

  Using the spare phone normally reserved for contacting Amelia alone, Mycroft booked a hotel and train tickets from Bath to London and paid with one of his aliases. It took him only a few minutes. When he was done, he sat back and smiled. It was only the first of many tasks before him, but it was the most satisfying. Surprising people always gave him a buzz of delight.

  The rest would be satisfying in another way. It was a game of wits. Who could outsmart the other? Not once in his adult life had he lied. He'd told the butler he'd always do what was necessary to protect the citizens in London. Within twenty-four hours, that's exactly what Amelia would be, and he would make sure nothing happened to her.

  Chapter 2

  After placing the last decoration in its space in the box, Amelia stopped for a moment and stared at them. The same routine, year after year. She took the same items out at the beginning of December and put them all away again a month later. In between, she was just as alone in her flat, just as lost in her writing. Except this year she'd done something different, more adventurous. She'd gone to the fitness centre and learnt something new.

  This was a new year and full of the possibility of new adventures. Maybe next Christmas wouldn't b
e spent alone or with a few neighbours. The next might be in London, or perhaps even farther afield than that. Wherever it was, she would make sure she had company, and interesting company at that. Someone like Sebastian or Myron, if not one or both of them.

  After gazing at the decorations in the box a little longer and trying to work out how long she'd had some of them, she closed the flap and took it to the spare room. It took a little effort to get it to the back at the top of the wardrobe, but with some pushing and shoving while standing on a chair, it slid back into its old spot.

  When she came back to the living room to do the same with the small fake Christmas tree, she noticed a packet on her doormat. Amelia felt a familiar tug in her stomach and the muscles down her back tensed in expectation, but the moment soon passed. Her stalker had been dealt with and she was safe.

  The outside was unmarked and there was no name. With two raised eyebrows, she walked to the sofa and sat down to open it. Out fell a letter, train tickets, two small knives and a pouch to keep them in.

  Amelia,

  When you have finished reading this letter, destroy it along with the envelope and never mention it to me or anyone else. The knife holster will fit along the bottom of the corsets you wear and give you easy access to use them. Tomorrow morning at eight you have an extra lesson with Tom. He'll teach you everything you need to know.

  I'm sure I don't have to tell you that knives like these are illegal to carry. I expect you to keep them concealed in public.

  After your lesson, you'll pack your bags for two weeks and go to the hotel listed on the back of this letter. Memorise the address. If anyone wonders why you're in London, tell them you are here for business – doing research for a book you are ghost writing, all expenses paid, and that you cannot talk about it.

  In your hotel room you will find further instructions. Do not be late.