Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING (10 page)

The lone torch light that illuminated some of the sombre surrounds of the room stood upright in a sconce hooked on a far wall. The brownstones of this dungeon were damp to the touch, some mildewing water seeping from the cracks in the mortar. The only other piece of furniture that decorated the space was a huge desk carved of wooden posts and a table-top that reflected the torch light strangely.

The eerie shadows that danced along the walls intermittently seemed to wait to be called and respond to the lord’s bidding. They moved incongruously in response to the rhythmic flickers of the flame.

The hearth of the huge fireplace was alight with burning wood and glowing embers – although the emanating heat from the blazing fire would never be enough to warm the blood of anyone visiting this room. Evil was present in this place.

Tonight Lord Mobius was waiting for someone. He had summoned the man to his enclave and expected him to descend the stairs leading to his den momentarily. He strode from his reading stand to his desk, wrapping his body with the long robe that scarcely enveloped his tall and gaunt figure. He sat down in the imposing high-back chair and focused his gaze onto the last steps of the stairwell-opening on the opposite wall.

When the young man appeared, Lord Mobius welcomed him with cackled laughter and urge him to approach the desk. “What have you to report, my son?” he asked in a cavernous voice.

David Penny – a name that he only adopted at the Lord’s insistence, and meaning ‘the
penny
that Mobius had saved, would be the
penny
he would have earned and kept’ – seemed to have shrunken in size since he had left his London abode in a hurry. Although attired of one of the latest designer’s suits, the young man displayed all of the signs of someone whose apprehension had managed to overwhelm him. His blond curls, moistened with perspiration, hung limply around his boyish face while his hesitant grin did nothing to hide his frightened eyes. “I have succeeded in driving Sherlock Holmes out of the States and he is now residing in Wellington, New Zealand with his new bride…”

“New bride… ?”

“A Miss Adler, My Lord,” David replied. “I believe she had formed an association, you might say, with my father at one point…”

“Ah, yes, of course, you are speaking of Irene Adler the operatic diva of the nineteen century who had the good sense of driving our Mr. Holmes to the brink of ruins and self destruction.” He stopped, stood up and rounded his desk to come to stand in front of a cowering David. “Your father would do well to join the ruffians of the twentieth century, my boy,” he uttered, caressing David’s cheek with a skeletal finger, “so that we could give Mr. Holmes a run for his money as they say.”

Short of understanding Lord Mobius’s conniving suggestion, David nodded, but asked, “Does this mean you want my father to emerge before I was born?”

“Precisely, my boy, and I leave the details of this enterprise entirely to your good sense. And once you would have completed this task, I will assign you to one more deed more demonic than any one could have imagined – except for my good self, of course.”

Baffled, yet knowing that the comment spelled the end of this short interview, David turned on his heels and took his leave as Lord Mobius shouted, “May Evil be with you always, my son!”

 
Chapter Five

The
Earth
Hawks

In the days that followed their first meeting, Holmes and Watson had many conversations regarding Watson’s latest endeavours in the academic fields, especially those delving in the latest technological developments.

That afternoon the two men were sitting in one of the university lounges, where Watson was explaining some of the Internet and email uses to a bewildered Holmes.

“. . . Do you know if the authorities use any of these somewhat
intrusive
methods as you described them, to help them in their investigation of criminal activities?” Holmes asked.

Watson nodded. “Absolutely. These professional
hackers
, as they are called, are often employed by various government agencies to survey the information circulation between suspects. Of course, not all hackers are employed by lawful agencies. As a matter of fact, for the most part, hackers are criminals who generally introduce an encrypted code or
virus
—”

“Did you say “virus”, as in a disease?” Holmes interrupted.

“Yes, similar to it, yes.” Holmes nodded. “—and they manage to
infect
your system, so to speak, using the Internet, and that code is specifically designed to destroy or eliminate your files and programs.”

“And I supposed that’s not all they do?” Holmes began to realize how clever and thoroughly knowledgeable this century’s criminals must be.

“Oh no, Mr. Holmes, they also commit another felony that is extremely difficult to trace—”

“And what would that be?”

“They watch your personal activities on the internet, or induce you to engage into a path, designed to steal your identity, your credit card numbers and use these items to charge your accounts with horrendous expenses or to divest your bank account or investment portfolios of their contents.”

As if mesmerized by the moving and ever changing advertisements on the ‘home page’, Holmes had a hard time keeping his attention focused on Watson’s explanations. “When I first arrived in Washington,” he said, “I bought a similar computer to this one, and I was shown how I could access some information about people or places which were of some interest to me. And that’s how I gleaned most of the information I have on a terrorist by the name of Adnan Al Shukrijumah.”

This latest remark from Holmes aroused Watson’s curiosity instantly. “And was he in any way connected to this David Penny you mentioned when I first came to visit you at the hotel?” Watson asked. He had been impatient to return to the subject and learn more about the people who might have had a hand in killing his wife.

“I thought so at first. But now I’m not so sure.” Holmes leaned to the back of the chair and then, suddenly, got up from the seat, looking down at Watson. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

Somewhat surprised, Watson said, “Yes… , if you’d like. But let me pack my laptop – I don’t want to leave it unattended in here.”

Once the computer was safely stored in his shoulder bag, Watson hurried after Holmes who was already waiting for him outside. “Do you wish to visit some of the other buildings… ?” he asked, falling in steps with Holmes.

“No, Watson. I just don’t want to speak of terrorists in a room that may have ears listening to what I want to tell you.”

“Okay then, let’s go to the greens – we should be out of earshot there,” Watson invited, pointing toward a vast expanse of grass lawn extending to the edge of the plateau overlooking the city. Such as a blanket thrown over the gentle incline of the hilltop, the lush green led the eyes and one’s steps to the perilous edges of the cliffs plummeting into a vertiginous descent toward the copses of trees skirting the town’s dwellings far below.

As they strolled down toward the overhang, Holmes said, “The Adnan fellow I just mentioned is purported to be employed by al Qaeda. In the last few months, he apparently assigned this David Penny to divert the attention of the authorities by planting empty briefcases in London and driving everyone to think that he had hidden an explosive device – again – in the London underground and in the stock exchange building, before vanishing.”

“And these empty cases were only decoys, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, Watson. I believed these manoeuvres were only designed to have me running in circles while Adnan was planting a much deadlier device at the Majestic Theatre on Broadway in New York. But, in hindsight, I now believe, Adnan had no need to engage the services of David Penny. These Islamic terrorists seem always to act decisively without advance notice and at the peril of their own lives, if necessary. They do not need a diversion. On the contrary, a surprise attack is more in line with their modus operandi.”

Watson had been listening attentively to Holmes’s explanation but remained silent for a few minutes before he asked, “But who do you believe is behind David Penny’s actions then? Would he be acting of his own accord perhaps?”

“I don’t think so, Watson. David Penny is, as far as I could tell, a rich boy, avid of excitement and who, up to this point, has been led into acting out his devilish fantasies by someone very powerful.”

“Do you have any idea who that person could be?” Watson asked as they were reaching the edge of the greens.

“If it were happening in the past century, I would certainly point the finger at our Professor Moriarty.”

Watson shook his head and with a smirk, he said, “Ah, yes, the famous Moriarty. My great grandfather described him as being a fierce enemy who seemed as elusive as he was deadly.”

“Yes, Watson, he was that. But today, I doubt he is alive or able to play such games across continents to divert the attention of the British and United States’ authorities from the real terrorist problem in this century.”

They walked in silence for a while until Watson stopped and turned to face Holmes.

The latter was taken aback when he looked into his companion’s keen – not to say anxious – eyes. “What’s on your mind, Watson? You look positively unnerved.” Holmes took his pipe, already filled with tobacco, out of his coat pocket and lit it.

“Mr. Holmes… , I am hesitant to ask you… or rather… tell you this… . I don’t know… . You see… , you might not be interested… , no… , I’m sure you will be interested… .”

Although Holmes was a little taller than the younger man, he made a point of looking down at Watson with kindness and yet some curiosity, when he said, “What is it? It’s not like you to babble your way through a sentence. Out with it then – what would interest me?”

“Shall we go back to the quad? We could sit there and speak freely,” Watson suggested, taking the first steps up the hill again.

Holmes nodded and followed without a word. His instincts told him that whatever Watson wanted to discuss next was important enough to lead the young man to less open or threatening surroundings.

It took them but a few minutes to reach the quad, which was now deserted. Somehow, at this hour – nearly five o’clock – the students and teachers seemed to have vanished behind the walls of the university.

They sat on a bench; Watson deposited the shoulder bag beside him and once again faced the detective with a more determined look in his eyes. The walk back to the quad had apparently helped him in making a decision. “While you were gathering information on the Internet regarding terrorist activities, have you ever come across an organization called the Earth Hawks?” Watson had his eyes riveted on Holmes’s face.

“The
Earth
Hawks
you say?” Holmes asked, apparently searching the recesses of his memory for the name. “No, not that I recall. Who are they?”

“Before I describe who or what they are, let me ask you this: do you know what a think-tank is?”

Holmes’s grin clearly indicated that these terms conjured up some amusing images in his mind. He shook his head and exhaled a puff of smoke from his pipe. “Neither of these descriptive names have any significance to me, no.”

Watson smiled. “I didn’t think they would,” he said. “So let me first describe the think-tank. This is a gathering of particularly ingenious or educated people who pool their thoughts together in order to find solutions to specific problems or quandaries. They’re top-notch
geeks
 . . .” Holmes’s eyebrows shot up. These new expressions were beginning to annoy him. “ . . . I mean they are very clever people who have unlimited resources and contacts.”

“Would you say that these
geeks
have contacts such as in government contacts? Are there some of these hackers, in this
think-tank
too?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, these people are often the long-arm of the law.”

“I see.” Holmes seemed to ponder that answer. “And would you say that any one person is dedicated to a certain task at any given time?”

Watson’s head bobbed up and down. “Although most of these people work separately to develop their singular answers to various problems, they have a common goal, which resides at the depth of the tank. Once they have found unique answers, they pool their results to attain the desired goal.”

“I see,” said Holmes musingly, “much like a team of researchers who pool their efforts to find an answer to some problematic subject.”

“Precisely. However, think-tanks do a little more than research a solution to a problem; they act upon resolving the problem. And they can tackle an array of unrelated topics without necessarily be learned in the matter. It is most often a matter of logical thinking rather than research.”

“And are you telling me that these Earth Hawks form such a group of people?”