The Reluctant Knight (4 page)

“She's not
succeeded.” Sherlock gritted his teeth together, and Mycroft shared
his younger brother's emotion. Despite their attempts at training
her, Amelia just wasn't quite good enough.

“No, she'd be
communicating with us properly if she had. She'll be gagged
underneath,” Mycroft said as he walked back to his own car. There
was little more they could learn at a glance.

“Should we be
looking for this Amelia woman? Is she important?” one of the
policeman asked as he hurried after them.

“No. We'll find
her. Just have the Commissioner forward me the details from
forensics when they're done.”

Mycroft got into
the car with a minute to spare, and Sherlock was only a few seconds
behind. Daniels had stayed behind the wheel and kept the car
running, allowing them to pull off and get to the Eurostar with
seconds to spare.

As they bypassed
the waiting cars and drove onto the train, Mycroft settled back.
For a little over half an hour they could do nothing but wait. His
hands were tied in many ways and his only consolation was knowing
that when they pulled off the train on the other side he would be
only two hours and thirty-seven minutes behind Amelia.

Amelia felt
herself drifting off while she tried to tap out her message again,
still having no idea if anyone was even listening. They'd moved
cars with her twice more, and each time she'd got to suck in fresh
air for a few seconds before she was shoved into another tight
space and enclosed.

The second one had
been the worst so far. The car hadn't been quite as wide, and she'd
been able to smell some of the exhaust when they weren't driving at
a high speed. To make it worse, it was the car they'd used to take
her under the Channel and into France. For a good twenty minutes,
they'd sat in a queue with the engine on.

By the time they'd
pulled onto what she later worked out was a train she was only
seconds away from vomiting. She didn't want to know what would have
happened to her if she had. With the cloth in her mouth there would
have been nowhere for it to go.

Thankfully, while
on the train, the engine had been off and she'd been able to listen
to the chatter of the men in the car while they waited to get to
the other side. She'd listened a little and worked out there were
now three men in the car, but they spoke in Russian to each other
and she'd not learnt the language. Given the last few months, she
was starting to wonder if she had been lax in not learning it
sooner. If she got out of this mess alive she was definitely going
to sign up for a crash course in it. She didn't doubt Myron would
want her to learn Morse code either.

About an hour
after that they'd paused somewhere again, and she thought she heard
voices as they possibly went through a second border control. Given
where Calais was, she had assumed they were going into Belgium and
fed the information on regardless.

So far she was
managing to keep a lid on her fear of the enclosed spaces, but she
knew it was only thanks to the frequent changes. Now she was in
Europe and probably driving a long way across it, she knew it could
be many hours between car swaps. For now, the hope that someone
could hear her tapped-out messages was keeping her calm enough, but
she had no idea how long she could cope, and given the mounting
pressure in her bladder and dryness in her throat she also knew her
own situation could still get worse.

Knowing her mind
was exhausted, she tapped out a quick message about having a nap
and tucked her hands back down under her chin. To stop her mind
dwelling on the various aches in her wrists, fingers, neck and
head, as well as the desire to empty her bladder, Amelia focused on
her breathing.

It took a few
minutes but eventually she was absorbed in the slow rhythmic
breathing that came before sleep. Thankfully, not long after that
she managed to slip into oblivion.

***

A jolt ran through
Amelia sometime later, jerking her from sleep. Her first reaction
was to try and move her arms and legs but she merely managed to
irritate the raw skin around her wrists, jab herself with her elbow
far too near her bladder for comfort, and bash her head on
something in the boot behind her.

She grunted into
the cloth, everything about her situation flooding back to her in a
whirlpool of burning pain and rushing blood. Adrenaline flooded her
system again, bringing another wave of fear with it.

Going to sleep had
been a bad idea. Now she had no clue how long she'd been stuck in
the car boot and how far she might be from Calais. Water pricked
her eyes at the hopelessness of her situation.

For a couple of
minutes Amelia allowed herself the first real vent to her feelings
since the situation had begun. Tears fell from her eyes and she
sobbed into the wad of material in her mouth. She knew it would
make it difficult to breathe but she needed to release all the
pent-up emotion so she could think clearly, and doing this while
she was alone in a moving car boot was better than later, when she
might have the opportunity to escape.

It didn't take her
long to cry out the tears she had, and her stuffed up nose deprived
her of enough oxygen to calm her quickly once she was done. Air
deprivation was incredibly useful for keeping the mind from racing
out of control.

Ten minutes later,
she felt light-headed but in control of herself again. Immediately,
she felt hope return, and she remembered that she probably wasn't
alone. Myron would be able to hear anything she chose to say. She
tapped out a quick SOS and then added some information on her
vitals. Mostly that she was dehydrated and couldn't feel her feet
or legs any more.

Not long after
this she noticed the car join another queue of traffic and slow.
Thankfully, in this car, when they idled, the back didn't fill up
with exhaust fumes. For several minutes nothing happened, but then
they inched forward again, bit by bit.

Amelia was just
deciding it must be traffic when they stopped again and she heard
more voices. This time one sounded like it might be speaking
German, and she thanked her mother for persuading her to take it as
a subject while at high school when she recognised a few words in a
sentence about a holiday. The men answered in English, saying they
were going home. Just like she had at the previous border controls,
Amelia tried to talk and yell, but nothing came out louder than a
muffled grunt. She soon gave the attempt up as useless and decided
it would be better to listen. She couldn't make enough noise for
anyone to hear her.

Within a few more
minutes, they were through the inspection and on their way again.
It seemed Russia just kept getting closer. More out of a sense of
duty than any real hope, Amelia tapped at her bug again to pass the
information on. With Myron's mind, there was a chance that knowing
what time she went through borders would help him rescue her.

To help keep
herself sane and take her mind of the growing discomfort she was
in, Amelia concentrated on keeping track of time in some vague way.
She tried to count out the seconds in every minute and then keep
track of the minutes.

After what she
thought was roughly an hour she re-sent her message. She tried to
keep it short, and given how little info she had it wasn't
difficult, but she found when she stopped tapping again she felt
another little part of her hope slip away. Much longer and she
wouldn't have anything left.

A couple of times
she lost track of her counting so she had to guess what was an
hour, but about eight of these sets of counting later she still
hadn't been let out of the car boot and she was so desperate to pee
that she knew she might have to wet herself.

Before any other
thought, she found herself wondering if Myron would be able to hear
it through the bug if she did decide to pee. A second later she
snorted with laughter, something he definitely would have
heard.

She was stuck in a
car boot on her way to Russia, where strange men would probably try
and torture her, or at least interrogate her over something she
knew nothing about, and her biggest concern right at that moment
was what Myron might think if she wet herself. If she wasn't
already crazy, she was definitely well on the way.

Not long after
this thought, she felt the car decelerate and the engine quietened.
A few seconds after that they turned several corners and then
pulled to a halt. The men said something to each other, but again
it was in Russian and meant nothing to her, other than that the
engine was quiet enough to hear them.

Someone opened a
car door and then slammed it shut shortly after. Then there was a
second door opened and shut. Whether the men intended to let her
out or not, it was pretty evident they were taking a break to use
some kind of services. For now, she was glad she hadn't wet
herself.

If there was a
chance they'd let her out to use a service station toilet, or even
a bush somewhere in the middle of nowhere, it would be a thousand
times better than adding the smell of urine and damp underclothes
to the unpleasantness of being stuck in such a small space.

Just in case she
was about to be let out, Amelia moved her hands away from the bug
on her shoulder and flipped her coat over it, but several minutes
later she was still in the cramped space with nothing but the sound
of her own muffled breathing for company.

When the doors
opened and shut another couple of times Amelia gave up hope of
getting a moment in the fresh air. It sounded like the men were
simply taking a break themselves and had no intention of allowing
her to go as well.

She clenched her
jaw to fight back the tears the disappointment brought, and tried
not to think about the embarrassment of having to wet herself. If
it was necessary, she would just have to do it and cope with it.
Survival demanded that she should push through whatever challenges
she was faced with.

Just as she was
about to let go and pee, she heard the dull thunk of the lid catch
being released. She gasped and held on a little longer.

Less than a second
later someone yanked the lid up, allowing the freezing air to come
flooding in. She gasped, and before they even grabbed her she was
shivering.

Two sets of hands
manhandled her out of the boot and into some kind of upright
position. She stumbled with her heels, and her legs flooded with
the early warning signs of pins and needles. She clenched down on
her teeth to keep from crying out and leant against whoever was
nearest.

Mercifully,
whoever it was seemed willing to support her until she could get
her legs underneath her properly. She then felt two different men
grab her high up on each arm and walk her swiftly away.

It was all she
could do to keep walking and not twist an ankle on what felt like
fairly uneven concrete. Several times her shoulders were almost
yanked out of their sockets as she tripped but wasn't let go.

Eventually the
ground underneath her became the tiled indoors of a toilet or
shower block. It was barely warmer than the winter outside but she
was grateful for the slight difference on her bare legs.

Not long after
being marched inside she was stopped and held still while one of
them reached up for the bag on her head. She heard him swearing in
Russian as he tried to un-knot the mess she'd created. A few
seconds later the other man said something and let go of her with
one hand. They talked among themselves for a moment until she heard
the flick of a blade being drawn.

A few seconds
later he'd cut the knot and the bag was yanked from her head. She
blinked rapidly, blinded and pained by the glowing artificial light
of the building interior, as the hair that had stuck to the inside
of the bag fell back around her face. She knew she must look a mess
but she focused on getting her eyesight back as quickly as possible
and taking stock of how long it took. At some point in the future,
knowing how quickly she could see might well be useful.

It took a minute
of holding her eyes shut and then squinting briefly for her to even
make an outline of the men she was with, and that seemed enough for
the men to decide she could do what she'd been brought there for.
They pointed her in the direction of a toilet cubicle and gave her
a shove.

“Use it quickly.
We won't wait long,” one of them said. Amelia nodded and stumbled
towards it. Even with them standing outside, being able to hear
her, she doubted it would take long. She couldn't ever remember
being this desperate to go to the loo.

It took her longer
than she'd have liked to get into the cubicle, lock it, and get her
dress hiked up out of the way, and the skin around her wrists
burned in protest when she hooked a thumb into her knickers and
yanked downwards, but the relief as she plonked herself down on the
seat and finally let go was worth every moment of awkwardness.

While she sat
there she blinked some more, and by the time she was done with the
longest pee on record her eyes had adjusted enough she could keep
them open, even if they were a little blurry. No sooner had she
stopped peeing than one of the men knocked on the door.

“Hurry,” he said,
letting her know she would get little time to make herself decent
again. Not wanting to be caught in such a vulnerable situation, and
relieved enough her mind could focus on other things again, Amelia
hurried off the loo and pulled her clothes back to their normal
positions.

As soon as she
clicked back the lock, the door was pushed open and she was grabbed
and pulled out of the cubicle. Now she could see, she took a quick
glance at both their faces. Immediately, her heart fell. One of
them was very familiar. He'd guarded her and Myron on a boat as it
sailed along the Thames. She'd hit him over the head with a hunk of
metal once, and by the look in his eyes he hadn't forgotten her or
that moment either.