Part 69 - Mary & Mary

[soledad_writes]

THE ADVENTURES OF A CONSULTING TIME LORD
by Soledad
CHAPTER 05 – THE SERPENT’S LAIR

Author’s note: This story takes place several weeks after “The Blind Banker” but before “The Great Game”.

PART 69 – MARY & MARY

On the day after the visit of the enigmatic man with the arthritic old lady, Mary was surprised to see a black car with tinted glasses pull up in front of the Spice Bazaar. A young black man in a chauffeur’s uniform opened the door to the back seat and out got an attractive young woman of about thirty, wearing a tailored skirt suit in a decent eggshell colour and moderately high heels. Her dark, glossy hair was a bit below shoulder-length and fell in loose waves around her face.

She headed straight to the Spice Bazaar and entered without hesitation although, to Mary’s knowledge, she’d never been there before. That was decidedly odd. Most new customers lingered in front of the shop window for a while before entering.

“Good morning,” she said in a clear, confident voice that made Mary almost hurt with envy. What wouldn’t she give for half that self-confidence! “I’m looking for Mira Marsti.”

Mary came forth from between the tall shelves and bowed, folding her hands in the traditional Hindu greeting.

“You found her. How can I help you?” she asked in mild suspicion, because it wasn’t often that someone would ask for her by name and she definitely had not met the customer before.

“My name is Alison McAllister,” the woman introduced herself. “I have a… let’s say a passing acquaintance to a certain Mr Ronald Adair. I understand that he’s a regular customer of yours?”

“Indeed, he is,” Mary replied warily.

Mr Adair was one of her stepfather’s acquaintances. The two had some shady business together; a fact that did not exactly increase her trust in the new customer. If this woman worked with Adair…

“He mentioned to me that you can prepare a mix of spices that helps him focus on his work without the aid of any medical stimulants,” Ms McAllister continued. “I was wondering if you could mix the same stuff for me? I’m in a great deal of work-related stress right now, you see, and need all my wits around me.”

Mary shook her head apologetically. Mr Adair got his fix from her stepfather – she suspected drugs, some sort of opium derivate – to which she had no access. Not that she would hand out mind-altering drugs to a customer anyway. She was a healer, not a dealer.

“I am truly sorry,” she said, “but Mr Adair’s medicine is prescribed by my stepfather, Dr Grimesby Roylott, and the ingredients of it are carefully selected and measured to match his personal needs. You can make an appointment at the clinic, however, if you want – it’s right behind the shop – and he would decide on a personal mixture for you. Alternate medicine needs delicate balance, you see. Age, gender, weight … even eating habits play an important role. You need to consult him first.”

The other woman shrugged. “Nah; too much bother. I’ve got an aversion to doctors anyway. Can you give me some good spices for the digestion then? I’m afraid I don’t lead a very healthy life. What are those things here?”

She walked into the back of the spice shop and Mary followed her in agitation. Her other customers were never so bold – or so tactless – to wander around in her realm uninvited. This woman made her nervous. Very nervous.

Ms McAlister, if that was truly her name, stopped in the dead winkle of the shop where, Mary knew, the cameras could not see her – and how could she possibly know that? – and did something with her phone. In the next moment her expression changed from haughty and airy to serious and business-like.

“Listen carefully, because we don’ have much time,” she said. “This device can scramble and rearrange our words for about ten minutes, but if we hide here too long, your stepfather will become suspicious and come to check on you, so we must act at once. Take off your clothes!”

“I beg your pardon?” Mary couldn’t quite believe her ears.

“Take off your clothes and put on mine,” Ms McAlister was already stripping with calm, purposeful moves. “Then walk out of the shop and get into the black car waiting in front of the door. Smith will take you to my boss where you’ll be safe until we deal with your stepfather.”

“This is madness!” Mary protested, but she didn’t resist when the other woman quickly divested her from her clothes and helped her into the sinfully expensive skirt suit which, surprisingly enough, was a perfect fit. “We don’t even look alike! He’ll know I’ve bolted the moment I set foot outside the shop!”

“No, he won’t,” Ms McAllister fixed a silver filigree broche on the lapel of her jacket. “This is a piece of equipment that officially doesn’t even exist, so you’d do best to forget about it as soon as you’ve handed it back. For the purpose of your escape, however, it will create a fake holographic image of you that will fool everyone, unless they take a close look at you. Essentially, it will make you look like me; and the one I’ll be wearing will make me look like you.”

“But even if I manage to reach the car, my stepfather will notice the change, soon,” Mary protested. And then you’ll be in very great danger.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ms McAllister grinned wolfishly. “I thrive on danger. Besides, once you’re in safety, the gorillas of my boss can barrel in and save me if necessary.”

“Who is your boss?” Mary asked. “Who are you, for that matter? Why are you doing this?”

“The man with the curly hair who was here yesterday with the old lady, remember him?”

Mary nodded. The woman smiled thinly. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“My boss is his older brother. Your stepfather made the mistake to visit Sherlock yesterday and make some threats. Nobody threats Sherlock and gets away to make those threats true. My boss takes such things very personally; and I am one of his means to remove any threats against his brother. Permanently.”

Her voice was so cold that Mary couldn’t suppress a shiver. In the meantime she had put on Mary’s traditional Indian clothes with such practiced ease as if she had worn them all her life. Then she checked her phone again.

“The scrambler will work for another two minutes. We better go back into sight. Grab some spices as if I had brought them from you and head directly to the door. Don’t hesitate and don’t look back; they could still stop you until you’ve got into the car, so try to look confident. The next few minutes are crucial.”

Mary obeyed as if in a trance. The drugs her stepfather had been feeding her for years had weakened her resistance against clear, direct orders, and so she went through the moves of seemingly purchasing the spices that were her own from a woman that she’d never seen before – and that looked and sounded exactly like her – as if she were sleepwalking.

When she reached the door, though, she needed all her remaining willpower not to back off. She hadn’t left the shop for almost two years, and even though she knew she’d been imprisoned and manipulated by her stepfather all the time, conditioning was a hard thing to overcome.

Still, she managed to get through the door without stumbling in the long-unused heels. The car had pulled up right in front of the entrance in the meantime, and the young black chauffeur opened the door to the back seat with a polite bow.

“Back to the office, Ms McAllister?” he asked. A faded street accent could be heard in his voice, but he camouflaged it well enough.

“Yes, Smith, thank you,” she replied in what she hoped was a confident manner, glad that she could remember his name – if it was his name at all – and tried to climb into the car with so much grace as she could master.

The inside of the car was exquisite: black leather upholstery, high-polished chrome everywhere, and the dashboard looked like the pilot console of the Starship Enterprise – the new one, with Patrick Stewart as its captain. She barely dared to touch anything.

The uniformed chauffeur slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine, leaving her life as she had known for the recent years behind. She didn’t know whether she should be glad or frightened to death by the perspective.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked. Not that it truly mattered, as long as she was getting away from her fragrant cage.

The young man smiled into the mirror.

“To someone who’s missed you very much,” he replied, somewhat cryptically, but she understood the meaning of it nonetheless.

JOHN! He was taking her to John! All the strange events lately led to this single possible solution. First the young man in that expressive suit, then the strange one with the arthritic old lady, and now the attractive female agent… assassin… whatever. Straight out of one of those James Bond films John used to like so much.

But since when had John known such powerful people? His family had never been rich or influential, and they were all dead anyway, with the exception of Harry, who was not much of a help. During their marriage, they had to struggle to make ends meet… which had been the main reason why John had joined the Army in the first place…

Her thoughts slowly trailed off. The drugs and all the excitement of the recent days had taken their toll on her, and her mind simply shut down, making her drop off in a deep, exhausted sleep.

Mickey Smith, who’d been watching her on the small surveillance screen set in the dashboard the whole time, smiled and activated his comm link… the same issue as Ianto’s, coming from the same source. They’d both been Torchwood once, after all.

“Sir? I’ve got her. Yes, the perception filter worked like a charm. No, she’s sleeping; too much excitement, I guess. Yes, sir, we’ll be at the estate in about an hour or so. Depending on the traffic.”

In his office in Whitehall, Mycroft Holmes leaned back in his chair with a thin, satisfied smile. The pawns were all set, the stratagem fully formed. The game could begin.

~TBC~

Comments

[sammydragoncat.livejournal.com]

Great update! I can't wait to see Mary and John's reunion. While Mycroft is having the threat removed, I wonder what Sherlock will be doing?

[soledad_writes]

I'm afraid Sherlock will be moping in Mycroft's house and won't get to save the day this time. Mycroft has decided not to take any risks. Even a retired Time Lord needs his bamf!time now and again. ;))