“I have been utterly blind,” Holmes said, sometime later.
They were in the women’s quarters of the tent, where Elizabeth had brought him. She offered him a chair but sat upon cushions herself.
“Not totally blind,” she answered him. “You found me, after all.”
Holmes rejected the chair and lowered himself onto another cushion and studied her.
She sat perfectly still, allowing him the study.
There were differences time had wrought. Beneath the black silky robes she was still as slim and supple as he remembered but the steel strength that only he had known existed in her was a little more apparent now.
She wore the invisible cloak of command well but there was a tension and weariness that told of harsh decisions and life lived on the edge. The green eyes were unchanged. They were staring at him, now, waiting.
“For once, I didn’t foresee this,” he said slowly. “In hindsight, I should have a least surmised….”
“Why? You thought me dead,” she said crisply. “Leave it, Holmes—we don’t have time. I have another appointment in twenty minutes and there is much we must talk about.” She pushed his cup closer to him. “Drink. And tell me—are you really an agent? Part of Stainsbury’s system? Or do you too, report directly and only to Mycroft?”
Holmes closed his eyes briefly. “You are Mycroft’s agent,” he said flatly. “And you are not working for the Germans, so—”
“You came looking for a German agent? Here?” Anger wove through the words.
“I had good reason.”
“You usually do.” She settled her hands in her lap. It was a calming motion. “Tell me what brought you here,” she added quietly.
Holmes related the events since his arrival in the Middle East and Mycroft’s assault in desiccated tones. He omitted no facts and Elizabeth absorbed it all without interruption. When he had finished she remained silent, her gaze unfocused. After a while she stirred and her gaze returned to him.
“I can see no errors in your assumptions.”
“There are none.”
“Yet you arrived at a completely erroneous conclusion.” She smiled a little. “I am not a German agent, Holmes.”
“I know. You would not harm Mycroft, even through a second party. But it may be someone else in your camp. The fellow that poses as Hadiya. Cyrus.”
“Impossible. He has never stepped foot in Constantinople. His men are loyal to Hadiya. To me.”
“They are Persians? All of them?”
“All of them are hand-picked by me. I know these men—I know their temper and I know what motivates them. Your German agent is not of their number.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“Because they fight for vengeance sake.” Elizabeth lifted her hand, palm up. “There is no greater prod to man than fear or desire and they desire the blood of Germans. They want it to flow across the sand as their wives’ and children’s blood flowed.”
“Abadan,” Holmes spoke. “They are from Abadan.”
“Not originally. But they were there, living and working for me, when the Turks—under German control—crossed over the border from Mesopotamia and blew up the refinery in 1915.”
“Working for you?”
She smiled a little. “Does it seem so strange?”
“The Anglo-Persian Export company…it is yours?”
“It was, once. It is a public corporation now and it spreads across the globe.” There was a hint of pride in her voice. “One of the company’s interests is oil. I have good, scientific research that gives me reason to believe southern Persia is rich with it and have speculated to that effect. The refinery the Turks destroyed in 1915 was the first fruit of that speculation.”
She waved a hand at the walls of the tent, symbolically including the whole camp. “These men were there.”
“After four hard years, would they still thirst for vengeance?”
“Perhaps not but their loyalty to me is unquestionable.”
“Not entirely. I question it.”
She pursed her lips for a moment. “They have been with me for the last thirteen years,” she said softly. “Long before this war was an inevitability. These men, Holmes, once guarded and drove Sullah’s goods trains across Anatolia and Persia, until real trains replaced that necessity.”
Holmes remained silent.
“From Sullah’s family business grew the export company,” she added. “I was there right from the beginning.”
“You were in Persia when Watson came looking for you. You were with Sullah all the time.”
She hesitated again. Then she slid back the material of her gown from her wrist and consulted a modern-looking wristwatch. “I must go. It is nearly time for evening prayers and I have an appointment that cannot wait.” She stood up. “I will have food brought to you at once. Your saddle bags were missing that item.”
“They have been empty of food for two days,” Holmes admitted.
“Then I will delay your supper no longer.”
* * * * *
Later that night, when Holmes had dined well and long, Elizabeth returned. She spoke of nothing concerning her business but instead sat on the same cushion as before, a cup of mint tea before her.
“I am recovered,” he assured her. “Enough that my mind is free once more to concentrate on the problem at hand. I seek a man—a German agent—who has betrayed all of us. He is not you, and you assure me he is not one of your men.”
“On that you must trust me,” she added. “They have been with me a very long time and I speak for them all.”
“I will accept that for now. My reasoning has been restored along with my full stomach and I have come to some conclusions while you were gone.”
“I will hear them.”
“First, I must know how you came to work for Mycroft. I need a complete picture.”
She sipped her tea before beginning, “Mycroft did not know it was me. All our dealings have been completely anonymous. Contact has always been indirect. I approached him, originally.
“When the war broke out I was…well, I was in Europe. I gathered some initial information together and channeled it through to Mycroft personally. I knew he’d take the information seriously. Heaven knows no one else would have given much serious thought to information dropping into their laps out of nowhere. I was right, he did take notice and after a few more installments, he trusted me.”
“And eventually used you.”
“Yes. That is, after all, what I intended.”
“No one knows of this…activity?”
“These men? No. They are concerned only with the activities of the Divine Wind.”
“Then how does your information get to Mycroft from here?”
“I take it to Constantinople myself. From there it is couriered as a small, unremarkable package via the export company to London, where it is placed in the post and delivered to Mycroft by the efficient penny postmen.”
“You have been very active. Very mobile.”
“It has been to my advantage, my experience in traveling quickly and unobtrusively.” She smiled. “No one has beaten my times through the Alps. Not even you.”
“Your record will continue to stand uncontested by me,” Holmes assured her. “How do you come by your information, out here?”
“Observation. Deduction. A carefully built network of gossip collectors and rumor merchants. The truth comes in many guises—one just has to pan for the gold amongst the detritus—” She grimaced. “Why do I repeat back to you a truism that you yourself taught me?”
“It’s a truism that bears repeating,” he said.
She smiled a little. “London’s scandal sheets are, here, the women, servants and enlisted men of two empires. Between them they keep me floating upon a sea of fact and conjecture. That is where I had to go this evening. While Hadiya’s men were occupied with evening prayers I was sharing coffee with a woman from a village near here—a village close to the winter quarters of a Turkish military patrol. We camped here nearly a year ago and I met her then. Tonight she had much to tell me about the excesses of the troops, the hardships her family are enduring, the handsome officers…including their names and ranks and duty rosters, which she has catalogued and memorized so that she might coordinate her leisure time with the off-duty hours of the most desirable of them.”
“This explains why the Divine Wind is so well-informed. The Germans fully believe he is supplied his information from a source right amongst them. Another agent.”
Elizabeth’s smile broadened and became mischievous. “Perhaps they are right,” she suggested.
The sound of rifle fire was unexpectedly loud—the single shot echoed against the rugged sides of the gully.
Immediately, there was a cry of protest from somewhere in the camp and return fire—many shots that blended together.
Elizabeth surged to her feet and was gone even as Holmes was rising to his. He hurried through to the main section of the tent, just as Cyrus burst through from the outside, his gun in his hand.
“Germans!” he declared to Elizabeth, who was checking a revolver of her own. “Dozens of them.”
The sound of firing was growing steadily.
“Tell the men to disperse—scatter as far as they can.” She slid the gun into a hidden pocket within her robes and looked up at Cyrus. “This is the mischance we thought might come one day.”
“You still do not believe you have an agent among you?” Holmes asked. “One who directed them here the moment I arrived?”
Cyrus turned on him. “You brought them here yourself, English dog.”
“Enough!” Elizabeth snapped. “Concentrate on the present, or all will be lost. There is still hope, Cyrus. Disbanding and running will give some of us a chance to avoid the Germans—they cannot chase us all if we are separated. Those they do chase will weaken their ranks by separating their numbers. The men all know to make their way back and meet here when the Germans have finally departed.”
Cyrus gave a short bow, his hand to his heart and whirled and slipped from the tent.
There was a muted slap! Elizabeth flinched a little. “This tent will be their first target. They’re in range now. We must hurry.”
It was then Holmes realized the little noise was that of a bullet punching through the material of the tent.
Elizabeth picked up a skin with a long thong that she slid over her shoulder. From the gurgling it made and the swollen shape, it clearly carried liquid. Water. For a long trek. She adjusted her veil and looked at Holmes. “You must come with me.”
“I will make you their prime target if I am with you.”
“Holmes, they’re not here for you. It’s me they’re looking for. The Divine Wind.”
“You believe I brought them here?”
She moved to the back of the tent. “It is a curious coincidence that the Germans, who have failed to find us in over three years, suddenly discover us the moment you arrive. Did you bring them upon us? I do not know for certain.” She reached for the bottom of the tent.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.” The quietly spoken words, falling amongst the sounds of chaos and panic that seeped in from outside made her pause and glance at him. “I have brought danger upon you once more,” he added.
Through the veil he could not see her expression but her eyes narrowed as if she had suddenly smiled. “This is a danger I have courted for years. Do not worry for me. Cyrus willingly bears the brunt of their desire to find me. That is why I set up the operation this way.”
“I would have done that for you. I tried to.”
She dropped her gaze. “I know.” For a moment she stared at her feet, until another bullet slapped through the tent and ricocheted against the samovar with a sour whine. Then she gathered the loose long robes about her and pulled up the edge of the tent.
“Come,” she said. “We must employ the back exit.”
* * * * *
The tent hugged the back of the gully, protected on three sides by unscalable cliffs. The walls of layered stone rose directly before them as Holmes and Elizabeth emerged from the tent into the blackness of a night without a moon. The camp was well lit with cooking fires but into this pocket only shadows reached.
Elizabeth pulled at his jacket sleeve. “This way.”
They moved toward the cliff, skirting larger boulders, keeping to the deeper shadows at the base. In their black robes they melded into the night.
Holmes had sighted the narrow crevice ahead of them—another blacker shadow amongst shadows—when the bullet hit him. There was a sudden, sharp agony and then he was falling to the unforgiving ground.
Elizabeth dropped the water skin and sank down beside him as Holmes clutched at his thigh, gritting his teeth. Blood welled slowly around his fingers.
She pulled off her veil and quickly tore it into strips. “How bad is it?”
He grimaced. “The bone is broken…at least.” His breath was uneven, his voice tight with control. The leg felt as heavy as iron and ablaze with pain. Clammy perspiration broke out on his forehead.
Elizabeth looked around for any possible splints but the rocky ground was barren. Moving fast, she pulled his robes aside and bound the wound over the top of his trousers as best she could with the strips of veiling.
“It’s not a compound fracture. The bandage will stem the blood flow but that is all I can do here, with no medical kit.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Here.”
“You can’t carry me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You must.”
“No!” Her voice was low, intense. “There is a cave only a few feet ahead—it emerges into another valley far from here. We have only to reach it to gain a degree of safety. I will leave no one to their tender mercies.” She lifted a finger in warning. “Don’t give me any of your stiff upper lip, Holmes. If I leave you they will draw every last drop of information out of you, kill you and come for me.”
“Elizabeth—”
She grasped his wrists and with an abrupt, strong surge, pulled him up onto his good leg. She slipped under one arm. “You’ll have to help me.”
Holmes ground his teeth together to combat the pain motion gave him, his consciousness swimming in and out of focus. After a small moment that stretched for eternity, he found his vision was whole again.
Elizabeth was patiently waiting, holding him upright. “Holmes?”
“I’m still here.” It came out as a gasp.
“I warn you, if you faint on me, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you like a sack of potatoes and be damned to your dignity.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
He could barely hobble, hurry though he did. Elizabeth was carrying him more than assisting him and his injured leg dragged uselessly. Every pebble and rock the loose foot bumped over sent hurtful waves through the leg.
An eon passed before they reached the cave but Elizabeth did not stop. Coal black darkness enveloped them and cold brushed their faces.
He thought they had changed directions, when she halted and pulled his hand out to touch the rock wall. “I need both hands,” she explained. Even though she whispered, the cave picked up the sibilant and echoed it endlessly.
He supported himself against the wall and listened to quiet movements, the rustle of her robes and the clink of glass against metal. “You have a lamp here?”
There was a furry scraping sound and a sulphur match flared in the dark, illuminating her face beneath the black headcloth. “What use is a bolt hole if one can’t see the way through it?” She smiled a little. “We’ll have to risk light even though we’re not deep enough inside the cave to avoid detection. The way becomes challenging, further in.” She lifted the kerosene lamp with the wire handle and held it out to him. “You must carry this.”
He took the lamp in his free hand and she ducked beneath his arm again and took his weight once more.
“How far?” he asked.
The cold was seeping into his bones now and he shivered once.
“Far enough to know we cannot afford to dally,” she said quietly. “You least of all, in this cold.”
They began their peg-leg progress again, the lamp swinging wildly from Holmes’ hand in response to his drunken gait.
The narrow way they were following abruptly opened out into an enormous cavern. There was a rustle and stir in the air and Elizabeth came to a complete halt. “Shut your eyes!” she commanded and shielded her face by twisting and tucking her chin to her shoulder.
Knowing what was coming, he obeyed.
Abruptly, cold air fanned his face in a steady, blowing stream, accompanied by thousands of quick, clicking noises.
Bats, disturbed by the light of the lamp and the noise of the humans’ arrival, were leaving the cavern in an elongated cloud. They would pass out through the long slit Holmes and Elizabeth had just traversed.
“They’ll let them know where we are!” Elizabeth said, lifting her voice a little.
“Not if we’re no longer here when they arrive.” The current of air against his face slackened and he opened his eyes and lifted the lamp. “Where are we going?”
“You cannot see it from here. The lamp will not reach that far. On the other side of the cavern there are a number of cracks and holes. Only one of them leads to the next valley.”
She pushed him into forward movement across the sandy floor of the cavern.
They walked for long minutes until the swinging arc of the lantern began to radiate off stone, ahead. When the walls were fully illuminated, Elizabeth paused.
“I must check my bearings,” she explained and her voice was low and a little breathless. She studied the walls. “Could you lift the lamp?”
Holmes obliged and a moment later she said, “Yes, now I have it.”
They hobbled forward again, their direction slightly adjusted. The sloping, broken wall ahead of them held three fissures at ground level and another four at various heights.
“Which one?” he asked, his own breath ragged.
“The lower one, thank goodness.”
The slot she led him to was tucked into the crease of an outcrop of the wall and was the least obvious of those on the floor level of the cave.
Inside, after a few paces, it enlarged into an irregular, down-sloping path.
“This will lead us almost directly to the next valley over. We’ll go steadily downhill now. It’s quite a distance.” She looked up at him from under his arm.
“You should rest when you need to,” he told her.
She shook her head. “There’s nothing stopping them from following us and the way is level and wide enough that they could use horses if they wanted to.”
“The opening is narrow—they could only pass through it one horse at a time.”
“One man with a rifle is all they need. We’re barely moving a mile an hour. Resting is not a luxury we can indulge in.”
They began their long walk.
Silence, broken only by the sounds of their exertion, was their companion until they broke from the mouth of the breach and found themselves in a dried-up stream bed that led into the narrow valley ahead.
Elizabeth doused the lamp.
Compared to the unbroken blackness of the cave, the night was ablaze with starlight.
They worked their way clear of the stream bed and began the hard trek down the valley, heading for the way a mile or so ahead where the cliffs dropped away and the valley opened out. Until they escaped the narrow valley, the chance of being overtaken by the Germans was all too real.
They had been traveling for twenty minutes when Holmes sensed a reverberation beneath the one foot in which he still had feeling.
“Cavalry,” he said.
“I know,” Elizabeth said between deep breaths. “Coming up behind us. About…five minutes away.”
“We’re still in the valley,” he added. “The slopes?”
“It’s a fifty degree slope, Holmes. I’d be foolish to attempt the climb unaided even on my good days.”
“How far to the end of the pass?”
Elizabeth concentrated on her footsteps for a beat. “We’ll be lucky indeed to make it.”
Their speed increased a fraction, as the sounds of pursuing horses grew louder. The tattoo of hooves was a frenetic heartbeat pounding at them.
“We’re not going to make it,” Holmes said calmly.
“Shut up!” she said flatly.
Two more broken steps.
“You should leave me. You could reach the end of the valley without me.”
She did not answer.
“I’m a single British agent. I will tell them very little of affairs in this corner of the world and they will believe I know no more. You know too many people and too many secrets to risk such exposure.”
The thudding of horses was distinct now. They could hear the riders calling to each other. Their calls were in German.
“They knew which crevasse to use because my blood showed them the way,” Holmes added. “I am bleeding still.”
Elizabeth’s silence continued, as did her dogged progress.
“Elizabeth….”
“No!”
“Elizabeth, you must leave me here.”
“Not this time.”
Holmes pulled his arm from her grip and pushed her away from him. He sank to the ground. “This time, I make the choice,” he said. “Go. They’re almost here.”
He knew she understood the priorities that must power her decision. She was a leader of hard, uncompromising men and such decisions came naturally to her.
She sank down beside him. “I will get you back to London,” she said softly. “This is not the end of it.”
“I know.”
Her hand rested against his cheek and her lips touched his. Then she flexed herself back to her feet and was gone into the night with the suddenness of a fleeing deer.
Holmes wiped her tears from his cheek and sat back on his hands to await the arrival of the Germans.