The Reluctant Knight (7 page)

“We're about half
an hour away,” Sherlock said a few seconds later as Mycroft made it
obvious he was waiting.

“Sounds like
something is happening,” Amelia whispered a few seconds later. “We
seem to have pulled off to one side and traffic is now moving past
us.”

“Yes!” Daniels
yelled, losing his usual composure. Normally, Mycroft would have
given him a reprimanding look, but given the circumstances he
allowed the man to express his pleasure unchecked. After hacking
around for a few minutes, he managed to pull up a video of the
border control Amelia was at. The blue Ford Focus was off to one
side as Amelia had suggested it might be, and several men were
standing outside with the one of the passengers.

“Hey, I'm in
here!” Amelia yelled a few seconds later. “I'm in here!” She kicked
and thumped with all her might but everyone in the video ignored
her. Mycroft knew they should be able to hear her, but he could
only watch as the Russian handed over an envelope and got back in
the car again.

A few seconds
later they drove off, and the engine roared to life through the bug
on Amelia.

“No!” Amelia
yelled and hammered her fists on the inside of the car.

“Shut up,” a
Russian must have yelled back. It came out muffled, but Mycroft
hoped Amelia had the sense to obey it. If she kicked up a fuss now
it was only likely to earn her a beating. Thankfully, she had
enough presence of mind to work through that logic herself and she
quietened down.

“I have no idea
what just happened,” she whispered. “But I don't think I'm going to
have a chance to escape on my own until I get wherever they're
taking me. Not that I even know if you're listening, Myron. For all
I bloody well know I could be talking to myself.”

Mycroft blinked,
swallowing the lump in his throat. When Daniels caught his eye, he
knew he wasn't the only person wishing they could respond and
reassure Amelia that she very much wasn't alone.

Ten minutes later,
the Commissioner came back on the phone.

“I'm sorry, Mr
Holmes.”

“I'm aware of what
happened.”

“I've tried to get
my Ukrainian counterpart to step in but he's assured me we must
have made some mistake. Apparently the Russian you sent me a
picture of has some kind of immunity in Ukraine. I'm blocked from
doing anything further.”

“I'll do what I
can at my end,” Mycroft said and hung up.

“We're on our
own.” Sherlock said, in all likelihood to fill Daniels in on the
situation. The chauffeur was still sitting in the passenger seat,
his eyes wide and his hair stuck up at odd angles from the strange
sleeping position.

“We'll have to
catch them up,” Daniels said and firmed his mouth into a grim line.
They may not have Amelia safe yet, but none of them would give up
while she was still in a neutral country. “Would it help if we
split up?”

“No. I have few
allies out here and none could be roused in time,” Sherlock
replied, again saving Mycroft the effort of explaining a thought
process they'd gone through a long time ago.

Less than ten
metres later, Sherlock was pulling up at the end of a queue to get
into Ukraine.

“I'll speed this
up,” Mycroft said and got out of the car. He pulled out his actual
ID rather than the one for Mark Turner. This would require the full
amount of his power to sort out. Before he could show it to anyone,
several guns were pulled out and pointed at him.

Not knowing if he
could survive a bullet to a vital organ, even with his extra
powers, Mycroft paused and put his hands up. Fury rippled through
him but he contained it and kept his face impassive.

“I'm a British
diplomat,” Mycroft said in perfect Ukrainian. “I demand to be let
through on European business.”

The men looked at
each other but none of them lowered their weapons. He took a step
towards the person who looked to be in charge.

“My country will
consider this an unsanctioned act of aggression if you do not put
down your weapons and allow me through.”

After staring at
him a few seconds longer they dipped the noses of their AK47s, but
footsteps behind him sounded and they raised them again.

“Sebastian?”
Mycroft said, knowing it could only be his younger brother.

“We're just
passing through,” the younger Holmes said, also in perfect
Ukrainian. “We need to get to Russia to sort out a misunderstanding
with them.”

This started the
men off chattering.

“We don't believe
you,” the nearest guard replied a few seconds later. Mycroft rolled
his eyes. He never seemed to find anyone intelligent to negotiate
with when he really needed to.

“I've got my ID in
my hand,” Mycroft replied and waved it. He then took a slow
deliberate step forward and then another until the nervous looks on
everyone's faces made him pause. “Take a look at it.”

It took another
minute for the guard in charge to edge forward and take the piece
of laminated card. The whole while, every car in the area had to
sit and wait. Given the number of guns in the air, they all
appeared perfectly patient. It didn't matter that all of the
weapons were aimed at Mycroft.

“I will need to
speak to my boss,” the guard said and motioned for someone else to
come take his place, standing not four feet from Mycroft with a gun
pointed at his chest.

When the most
senior of them took the ID and walked into the little hut to pick
up the phone, Mycroft knew this wasn't going to be quick. As the
guard moved, he tucked the envelope from earlier into his back
pocket, out of sight. The Russians must have let them know he was
somewhere behind. All this was a complete set up.

Amelia didn't know
whether to cry or scream. It had seemed like she'd come so close to
being discovered, and then the car had just pulled off. Many hours
later she was still shut up in the dark and still on her way to
Russia. To add to the discomfort, she needed to pee again.

Like before, she'd
tried to count out rough hours. She'd got to nine before she
totally mucked up and lost track of where she was. After that she
hadn't bothered. She'd pleaded one last time with whoever might be
listening to send help and stopped communicating.

If Myron truly was
listening she felt sure he'd have rescued her by now. She'd given
him the make and model of the car as well as the first part of the
registration. It wouldn't be much of a task to narrow down the
rest. She doubted there were many blue Ford Focus cars on their way
to Russia. It could only mean that she was on her own and needed to
make her own way out of this mess.

At first, this
thought had overwhelmed her, and for the third time that journey
she'd found herself sobbing. When she'd asked Myron to teach her
she hadn't expected his work to be so much more dangerous for her
than Sebastian's had been. In pursuit of a man she would probably
never attain she'd probably signed her own death certificate.

After an hour of
wallowing in these sorts of thoughts Amelia pulled herself
together. If she was truly alone then this was up to her. Somehow,
she needed to use the mind she'd been given or die trying. Most
importantly, she couldn't give up.

For most of the
journey, she'd been splitting her thoughts between getting
information to feed him and keeping herself going. Several times
she'd made decisions that gained her information but had painful
consequences. It was time to focus solely on getting herself out of
here with minimal pain.

She felt tired,
but she didn't want to sleep again. To keep awake and prepare her
body for a possible chance at escape, Amelia kept fidgeting, trying
to get circulation in her legs going again. This made her hot and
sweaty, stuffed in such a small space, but it couldn't be helped.
Given how cold the air had been the last two times she'd been out
in it, she knew she'd be glad for the warmth later.

The one thing she
couldn't prepare for when she next got a chance to see some fresh
air was her eyesight. She didn't doubt that being in the dark for
so long would make it difficult to see. Her only aid might be if it
was dark, and given her estimate of time, she thought it would be
if they let her out soon.

It felt like a
little over a day since they'd last given her a break to pee. Her
head hurt as if she were dehydrated. She didn't need to pee as much
as she'd expected, but that could also easily be down to
dehydration. They hadn't exactly done much to take care of her.

As she thought
about all the meals she'd missed she realised some of the pain in
her stomach must be due to hunger, not just the beating they'd
dealt to her when they'd found her ungagged and able to see. She
tried to push the thought of what they might do when they found her
like that a second time out of her head. It was bad enough being
shut up in a small space; she didn't need to dwell on anything else
that scared her.

Whenever she felt
her emotions overwhelming her she tried to think of what Myron,
Sebastian, or even Tom might do if they were here. It mostly
helped. When she remembered they were all strong men, and two of
them might even be immortal, she laughed aloud again. The sound was
strange to her ears, like she was laughing because she might cry at
any moment. It only made her laugh all the more.

A thump on the car
seat behind her quietened her down again, and she found herself
mentally thanking whoever had done it. She couldn't go crazy. She
was meant to be thinking of a way to escape. Not knowing where she
was and how far away safety might be posed a problem, even if she
could get away from her captors. But, she needed to try. It was
down to her.

With this decision
firmly held in her mind, Amelia waited for the car to stop again.
Thankfully, she didn't seem to wait too long before the car slowed,
turned a sharp corner and then ground to a halt.

She took several
deep steady breaths as the doors opened and closed in the car.
Still, she waited.

Seconds ticked by
and she counted them off in her head, breathing in and out every
eight. The tenth time she'd done this she heard the sound of boots
on gravel nearby and then the lid opened. She caught a glimpse of
the stars in the dark night sky and fought off the grin that it was
dark enough her eyes weren't blinded. The breeze blew, wafting cold
air into the small space and flushing out the heat that had filled
it, bringing a few flakes of snow with it. Snow wasn't a good
sign.

As soon as they
noticed she was untied again there was more angry yelling but she
didn't move in the boot. Until she could see exactly where she was
and what her options were she wasn't going to give them another
reason to hurt her. They argued amongst themselves for a little
while, and then she wiggled, bringing the attention back to
herself.

After taking a
look at her compliant behaviour, one of them grabbed her shoulder
and pulled her into a sitting position. He then held a bottle of
water out to her. Without uttering a word, she took it and drank it
down.

Unlike before,
this was warm water, but it refreshed her nonetheless. Water was
water. By the time she'd finished it she had several flakes of snow
sitting on her coat. Another landed on her face, forcing her to
blink.

“I need the
toilet,” she said.

“There's not one
here,” the nearest Russian replied. He motioned with his arm and
she found she was in the middle of a field. There wasn't even
another car.

“A bush, then.”
She looked pleadingly at him. “I'm desperate.”

It was a lie; she
barely needed to go at all, but they didn't need to know that. Her
words sparked another flurry of conversation between the men. None
of them were looking at her, and it was all the opportunity she
needed.

In the blink of an
eye her feet were on the ground and propelling her away from the
car. She almost tripped as her legs protested at the now strange
motion, but even in her heels she managed to keep herself
going.

The argument
behind her turned to yells of surprise and she knew she had all the
lead she was going to get. Up ahead she spotted the lane they must
have driven in on, and she ran for it. If she could get back to a
main road she stood a chance of flagging down someone who might
help her.

When she reached
the gap in the gloomy hedges either side of the lane, she pitched
forward. The sound of something snapping let her know it was the
heel on her shoe that was responsible for it. She slammed into the
ground, finding it more solid than a field usually was and ice
cold.

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.