The God of the Hive

“A week ago, I might have disagreed,” I said sadly-and indeed, his use of the present tense testified that Lestrade himself was not altogether willing to quit his belief in Mycroft’s omniscience.

“However, I’ve come to wonder if I may have been wrong,” he said.

“About his divinity?”

“About treating him as the object of an investigation.” He clawed his fingers through his thinning hair. “Mycroft Holmes asked me to meet him privately, that same day he came into my office. He left at one o’clock. Twenty minutes later, I was handed a note that he’d left for me, telling me to meet him at the Natural History Museum, the statue of Charles Darwin, just before closing. He told me to keep it entirely to myself, and to come alone.”

“But you didn’t go?”

“In fact I did, although I’d put it off to the last possible instant. He wasn’t there. The next I heard of him, he was dead.”

Chapter 46

The thud of that word, dead. Inconceivable, inescapable, dead: Mycroft.

I shook away the memory of his prodigious appetite and more prodigious memory, and-

Tell no one.

Come alone.

Where does faith part from loyalty?

I looked at Lestrade, thinking, Russell, you need some sleep, before you forget how to think. “Did you, in the end, keep the meeting to yourself?”

“I did.”

“Surely being instructed to come to a meeting alone must raise a policeman’s suspicions? You weren’t concerned that it might be some kind of a trap?”

“Had it been another man, I’d have been a fool not to tell someone where I was going. But this was Mycroft Holmes-I did check, and it was he who left the message. And although in theory I know nothing about him, in truth I know enough to be sure that if the man wanted to dispose of me, he hardly needed me to come to him. No, I figured the reason for the meeting was the same reason he couldn’t tell me in my office.”

“That being…?”

“One possibility was, he wanted to test me, either to see if I’d do as he asked, or because he wished to propose something so illegal it could bring down his career or mine, and didn’t want to risk being overheard. Or, he suspected a traitor in the ranks.”

I mentally apologised to the man in front of me, for Holmes’ disparaging remarks over the years.

“Your ranks, or his?”

“I thought at the time he meant mine. Why else did he want to get me away from the Yard? And although I have considerable faith in the trustworthiness of my officers, the bald truth is, there’s always an apple in any barrel ripe for spoiling. Bribery or threat-a determined man can usually find a police officer to corrupt.”

“Do you still think it’s one of yours?”

He raised an eyebrow at me, a look that would have been pure Holmes had his features not resembled those of a sleep-ruffled ferret. “I’m not the one going into the ground tomorrow,” he pointed out brutally.

I blew out a slow breath. “It does make one rather wonder.”

“About what?”

“Who could have got close enough to Mycroft for him to let down his guard.”

“You think his organisation-whatever that might be-could have a traitor? Is that why you asked about Sosa?”

“Mycroft was talking to a friend recently, and out of the blue, brought up the topic of loyalty. Who better to betray a man than his secretary? And what more painful treason?”

“What friend was that?”

I shook my head. “Mycroft passed on no information, merely indicated that the idea of loyalty had been on his mind.”

“I need to know who he was talking to,” he said sharply.

“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, I am not going to tell you. You’ll simply have to trust that if there had been anything more substantial to learn, I’d give it to you.”

He mashed out the cigarette stub with unwonted violence, and snapped, “Tying my hands like this, we might as well turn the country over to the SIS and let us all go back to being rural bobbies.”

“I think we’ll find there’re ways around it. You were asked to investigate Sosa’s disappearance. Surely you would be expected to follow that up, until you can speak with the man himself?”

He looked at me. “I could lose my job.” It was less objection than observation.

“I hope that’s all you could lose.”

He snorted in disbelief. “I’m Scotland Yard-they come after me with paperwork, not weapons.”

“And Mycroft?”

After a moment, his eyes involuntarily flicked upwards, towards his sleeping family.

“Yes,” I said.

“But Sosa is a secretary!”

“I was not thinking directly of Sosa. But it may be that someone has control over Sosa. Someone who has his hand on Scotland Yard as well.”

“But who? And why Mycroft Holmes?”

I could think of any number of nations who would pay to end Mycroft’s meddling. Sixteen of whom had written explosive letters currently resting beside Mycroft’s oven. But without facts, I might as well throw darts at a spinning globe.

“That’s what I need to find out. First off, can you find out more about Sosa?”

“I can try.”

“And beyond that?”

“I’ll be locked out of anything with international significance.”

“Which is interesting, considering Reverend Brothers spent so many years in Shanghai.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Brothers again.”

“If Mycroft’s death and Sosa’s disappearance are not somehow tied in with the machinations of Reverend Brothers, I may be forced to believe in coincidence. I’ll never be able to look my husband in the face again.”

Lestrade picked up his empty cup, and put it down again. “Do you want a drink? Hard drink, I mean?”

“No thanks. You have one, though.”

“If I went to church with whisky on my breath, my wife would leave me. Look, maybe you’re right. I’ll see how far I can get before someone pushes back. That should tell us something.”

“But about Mycroft. If I don’t have to worry about being arrested, there’s nothing to stop me from going to his superiors and asking what they know about Sosa, is there?” Nothing other than sharpshooters and hard men.

“God knows I’ve never been able to stop you from asking questions. I’m not sure how they would like it.”

“What, a bereaved private citizen, broken-hearted over her brother-in-law’s death, concerned that his assistant-to whom Mycroft was very close-might be even more troubled?”

He came very near to laughing, and said in admiration, “It’s not a track I’d have thought of, but I wish you luck with it.”

I glanced at the window, wondering if the darkness was less profound than it had been. Should I ask him to trace the telephone numbers? No: If he decided to search Sosa’s flat, he would find the numbers himself. “One last thing. I know that, theoretically speaking, you have no knowledge of Mycroft’s work. However, have you any idea how I might get into touch with a colleague of his by the name of Peter West? I think he may work for the SIS, and he may be more willing to talk than Admiral Sinclair would be.”

“I’ve heard of him, haven’t met him.”