Moscow, and once he was in Moscow we could slip word to the Third Section and have him picked up. Genius, they say, is an infinite capacity for detail, and the Paradol Chamber does have a number of certified geniuses working to further its aims. And so, inevitably, it all comes down to a single point, at three o’clock this afternoon, when Shuvalov will have Mycroft Holmes bought to his office, and will die.’
‘But how do you know it will happen at three o’clock?’ Sherlock asked helplessly. He considered himself intelligent, but he was in awe of the incredible patience and planning that the Paradol Chamber displayed.
‘We have access to his diary,’ Mrs Loran said quietly. ‘A minor secretary who has been bribed. He never sees Shuvalov, never gets close enough to assassinate him, but he knows Shuvalov’s movements. Shuvalov has a half- hour slot between three and three thirty this afternoon. Before that he is at a briefing in the Kremlin; after that he has an audience with the Tsar. If it happens today, it happens at three o’clock. If not today, then we know where the gaps in his schedule are for the rest of the week.’
‘And what happens to me?’
Wormersley looked at Mrs Loran again.
‘Oh, you know too much,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s why Wormersley intercepted you at the hotel and bought you here – we needed to determine what you knew and what you might work out from that. The answer was that you know too much, and you are as clever as your brother. Baron Maupertuis told us, but we had to check. We can’t let you live. You’ll be taken out into the Russian countryside and disposed of. The bears and the wolves will clear up the traces for us.’
A shiver ran through Sherlock’s body. Gazing around, he couldn’t see any way out. He was surrounded by the agents of the Paradol Chamber. If he tried to run for it, they would be on him in seconds.
And Mycroft? Poor Mycroft, about to be framed for a murder he wouldn’t have committed – again. Only this time there would be nobody to prove his innocence.
It might lead to war – war between Russia and England. A diplomatic incident of this magnitude could shift the axis of history. But wasn’t that just what the Paradol Chamber wanted?
‘Take him away,’ Mrs Loran said over her shoulder to Mr Furness. ‘Make sure that his body is never discovered.’
Mr Malvin came up behind Mrs Loran. He was holding a wooden box. Sherlock noticed that holes had been drilled in the top, but he couldn’t work out why.
‘This,’ she said to Wormersley, indicating the box with a wave of her hand, ‘is for you. Be careful with it. And remember – three o’clock, on the dot.’
She turned to Sherlock. ‘Please understand, this is nothing personal. We have no animosity towards you, despite what happened with Baron Maupertuis. You are merely a stone in the road – a stone we need to remove before the cart of history goes past.’
‘Come on,’ Wormersley said, standing up. ‘Let’s get you to a place of extreme danger.’
Glass shattered on the stone basement steps outside. Sherlock glanced up just as the patio area exploded into flames.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Within seconds the cafe had filled up with greasy black smoke. Wormersley cursed and tried to grab Sherlock’s shoulder, but Sherlock pulled away. His chair tipped over backwards, sending him toppling to the floor. Quickly he scrambled away on all fours, underneath a vacant table.
The other patrons of the cafe – the members of the theatrical company he’d travelled with, ate with, trusted – sprang to their feet, shocked by the sudden fire. Tables and chairs crashed to the floor.
‘Get him!’ Mrs Loran shouted. ‘Get the boy!’
Flames were licking up the wooden front of the cafe now. Glass shattered in the heat. A table in the front, near the door, caught fire.
Something caught Sherlock’s arm and pulled him away, towards the back of the cafe. He tried to resist, but a voice with an Irish accent said: ‘If you only trust one person at one time in your life, lad, trust me now.’
Rufus Stone!
Sherlock let himself be dragged behind the counter by the back wall. One of Wormersley’s people – Sherlock thought it was Mr Malvin, but he couldn’t be sure – saw them and tried to get to them, but Stone pushed him to the floor.
A small door was half-hidden behind the counter. Stone pulled Sherlock through and shoved the door shut after him.
They were in a storeroom. Heavy bags of flour and crates of tea were piled around the walls. Stone started piling them against the door. Sherlock joined in, eyes stinging from the smoke.
‘How are they going to get out?’ he shouted.
‘Not my problem,’ Stone replied. He glanced across at Sherlock and, seeing the expression on his face, added: ‘They can use some of the tables at the back as shields, push their way through to the steps. If they’re quick they can get up to the road. People outside will be trying to put the fire out too. Don’t worry – we’re not condemning them to a fiery death, much as I might want to!’
‘How did you start the fire?’
‘Simple – there was a tea vendor with a cart just down the street. He was using spirits to heat the samovar.’
‘The what?’
‘The tea urn – it’s called a samovar. He had a bottle of spirits. I just borrowed them, splashed them around outside while they were concentrating on you, and threw a lighted scrap of paper down on top. Worked nicely, even if I say so myself
Stone led Sherlock to the rear of the storeroom, where a set of stone steps led up into a small yard.
‘How did you find me?’ Sherlock asked.
‘I was heading for the hotel to talk to Mr Holmes. I saw him being arrested, then I saw your path being crossed by a tall, dark stranger. I was intrigued, so I followed you here. Strange how much you can pick up if you’re lurking outside an open window.’
‘You heard everything?’
Stone’s face was grim. ‘I did.’
The yard gave out on to a narrow alley that ran between buildings. Stone turned right and walked fast. Sherlock had to break into a near-run to keep up.
‘So what do we do?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘We head for the the British Embassy and throw ourselves on the mercy of the Ambassador, that’s what we do.’
‘No!’ Sherlock stopped dead.
‘Come on,’ Stone urged. ‘We’re at risk every moment we stay on the street.’
Sherlock stood where he was: stubborn; defiant, and bone-achingly tired. ‘We have to get to my brother,’ he said grimly.
‘Look, lad, he’s far beyond our help now. The best thing we can do is let the diplomatic staff sort things out. That’s the kind of thing they live for, frankly: urgent diplomatic crises. That and cocktail parties. If we’re lucky, they might be able to get to Count Shuvalov before Wormersley or Mrs Loran do.’ He glanced back in the direction of the cafe. ‘It depends on whether they managed to get out of there in one piece. We may have scotched their plans already’ He smiled. ‘Or scorched them.’
‘Their plans may not depend on them being present,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘Mr Kyte wasn’t in the cafe. There’s no way he could have disguised himself. Maybe he controls the assassination attempt.’
Stone stared at Sherlock for a moment. ‘I recognize that expression. You had that same look in your eye when you were trying to master scales and arpeggios back on the SS Scotia. You’re a stubborn cuss, aren’t you?’
Sherlock shrugged, momentarily embarrassed. ‘It’s a family trait,’ he muttered.
Stone exhaled heavily. ‘All right,’ he conceded, ‘let’s at least go to the building where Shuvalov’s office is
