A Modern Odyssey Chapter 2: Aeolus
The next time the door opened, Molly jerked her head up from the table where she’d rested it in an attempt to nap. The attempt must have worked despite the lack of comfort; she could not have said how much time had passed, but her bladder was telling her it was enough for the bottle of water to have neared the end of its journey.
Mycroft Holmes and a well-dressed, older gentleman stood in the doorway. Mycroft gave her one swift look and turned to glare at the man. ‘Esto es lo que considera que son alojamientos confortables?’ He turned back to Molly.
‘Miss Hooper, I assume that you are ready to leave Madrid now.’ When Molly simply stared at him, he took a step closer, looking concerned. ‘Miss Hooper?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She jumped up, knocking over the empty bottle and making a clumsy effort to catch it. ‘Yes, please’, she added as it bounced across the floor. ‘But’-she looked between the two men and the several guards in the hallway-‘I can’t leave without my passport, and that-.’
‘That has been taken care of.’ Mycroft withdrew a small red book from his coat pocket.
She sighed and smiled at him. ‘That’s- Thank you.’ Her smile became a beam of joy. ‘Oh, thank you, Mr. Holmes.’
‘Perhaps you wish to freshen up before departure?’ he suggested, putting the passport away and holding up a small carry-on bag in his other hand. ‘There is a ladies’ room just down the hall.’ He moved back to the door, and the others fell back before him. When the suited man, looking anxious and apologetic, would have spoken, Mycroft quelled him with a look.
While Molly was grateful for the contents of the bag-basic toiletries and a complete change of clothes-she couldn’t help but blush at the thought of Mycroft Holmes carrying around a spare pair of knickers for her. Still, she quickly washed as much as one could in a sink, relieved herself, put on the blessedly clean clothes, and tidied her dishevelled hair into a single long plait.
When she felt sufficiently in order and had repacked the bag, she opened the door and looked around. The woman that had brought the sandwich was waiting to take her to the outermost part of the security offices. There, Mycroft leaned calmly on his umbrella while the older man stood in obvious distress, his anxiety increasing when he saw her.
‘Señorita Hooper, I hope that you are feeling better’, he said, taking a step toward her.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Señorita Hooper no tiene más necesidad de sus atenciones’, Mycroft broke in. ‘Ni de su incompetencia.’ He straightened and held a hand toward her. As he prepared to escort her from the office, he directed a last imperious look at the pathetic figure. ‘Esperemos, señor Soria, que esto no precipitar un incidente diplomático inconveniente.’
Mycroft took the carry-on from Molly and led her into the main area of the terminal, a hand at her back. She had a dozen questions to ask, but the first that came out was, ‘Who was that man? The head of security?’
‘He is the official in charge of this airport’, Mycroft responded. ‘And as fine an example of what happens when you reward mediocrity as I’ve seen in years. It’s no wonder his new wife has already taken to sleeping with her stepson.’ At Molly’s gasp, he clarified, ‘Her adult stepson.’
‘Oh. How do you-’ No, I don’t need to know that. ‘Where are we going now?’
‘I believe you wished to be on a tropical island’, he said.
‘Yes. You were able to get me new tickets?’ she asked hopefully. He barely glanced at her. ‘Right. Of course you were.’
‘That is why you contacted my office, is it not?’
They stopped then at a boarding area. Mycroft showed their passes and they continued on. Molly thought it odd that no one else was around, but when they reached the plane, she thought she understood. Looking right, she saw that the economy section was already full. Then an attendant was guiding them left toward the widest, plushest plane seats that Molly had never hoped to see. She settled herself while the attendant stowed the bag. When he left, she turned to Mycroft.
‘Were they holding the plane for us?’ she whispered.
Mycroft looked annoyed, and she regretted asking, but it seemed his annoyance wasn’t for her.
‘They wouldn’t have had to if señor Soria had been less obsequious and more efficient.’
Molly sat back as the plane began to move. She had more questions, but the few people in this section were so quiet, and then the engines were so loud once the plane was lifting into the sky. Whenever she glanced at Mycroft, she saw that his eyes were shut and he seemed to be concentrating intensely. When finally the plane levelled off and he had opened his eyes, she said, ‘Thank you.’
He gave a small smile and nodded.
‘Um, I was just wondering…’
He turned to look at her. ‘About?’
‘Well, you. I mean, when I called, I thought that maybe your PA could replace my tickets, send a new passport overnight, something like that. I didn’t expect-you’, she repeated.
‘Ah.’ He released his lap belt and drew an attaché from beneath his seat. Molly wondered when it had got there. ‘I suppose you could have spent another day as a hostage of the Madrid-Barajas Airport. I had thought, however, that you would appreciate a more immediate resolution to your situation.’
‘Oh, I do! Really. I was just surprised to see you here.’
Mycroft busied himself with searching through his case for some papers.
‘So we’re going back to London first?’ Molly asked quietly.
‘After all you have endured in attempting to achieve your tropical vacation, I would deem it unconscionable to send you straight back home. No, Miss Hooper, you are on a direct flight to the Caribbean.’
Molly considered this. ‘Why are you?’
Mycroft gave her a last quick look before opening a file and settling into reading. ‘May I suggest that you take advantage of the comforts of first class? I’m sure a nap would do you good.’
Mycroft was not often asked questions to which he could not provide immediate answers. When he was, they typically came from persons wielding a great deal of power in the world and involved at least seven foreign governments at once or mathematics that would make Stephen Hawking cry. They were not the three-word utterances of a mousy assistant coroner.
‘Why are you?’ Why indeed. Why are you on a plane bound for the Caribbean? Why are you sitting next to a mousy assistant coroner on that plane? Why are you not at your desk or in your accustomed chair at the Diogenes? Why are you troubling yourself to do something more easily done by one of your staff?
Mycroft sighed and tried again to focus on the report in his hand. He read three paragraphs before he found he was staring, for at least the fifth time, at Molly, asleep in the fully-reclined seat beside him.
You know why.
For his brother, of course. To repay the debt he might be considered to have to Molly for her help in getting Sherlock safely away from London so that he, and others, might live. For this, he would see her safely to her destination. And, despite a distaste for travel, he knew that it was beneficial to get away from the office occasionally. A day or two in the sun would also help to improve the Vitamin D deficiency his doctor was concerned about. With a small detour, he could even check in on Grant and Sommersby on his way back to assess the situation in-
No. The other reason why.
Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, replaying the conversation he had listened in on when Molly had called from Madrid. The desperation and fear and pleading-if ever he had heard the voice of a person in need of saving, it was Molly just then.
Yes. That reason.
Because when your strength was brain work, and you spent your days in dim offices pouring over reports and nights in a dim study composing responding analyses; when everything that you did was for the good of Queen and Country and some causes even larger and more important than those; when your every thought and action mattered in the world and you could raise or destroy nations with the stroke of a pen, yet who you were and what you did and that you even existed at all was forever a secret because that was the best way to get the work done and to help the most people and to do the most good…
You never got to be the hero.
But if you could help just one person, in just one simple way, and look that person in the eyes when you did it…
Mycroft opened his eyes and bent once more to the work before him.
Molly was awakened by the flight attendant’s gentle request that she return her seat to the upright position and fasten her lap belt. Mycroft, she saw, was just as he had been earlier: deep into his paperwork, making notes, the picture of focus and concentration. Just like Sherlock when he worked in the lab. She smiled as she noted the similarity.
‘Good morning, Miss Hooper’, he said, not looking away from his reading.
‘You can call me Molly’, she suggested, blinking and stretching.
‘As you wish.’ After a moment he tucked his papers back into his attaché and slid it under his seat. ‘I trust you’re feeling better now.’
‘Yes’, she agree. ‘Much better, thank you.’ She looked out the window on her left: darkness with a tint of light at what must be the horizon. ‘I guess we’re almost there.’
‘Regretfully, we have a short flight after this one. There were no direct flights available’, he explained. ‘You can bear another hour in the air, I hope.’
‘Oh, sure.’ She glanced around the cabin as the engines began to whine with the plane’s descent. ‘Did I miss dinner?’
‘I didn’t wish to wake you. I thought you would need the sleep more than the food.’
‘Oh. That’s OK.’
They were the first off the plane when it landed and, instead of entering the airport, they were taken directly to another, much smaller plane. Molly thought it a bit silly to have both pilot and co-pilot on so tiny a craft, especially when she and Mycroft were the only passengers to board before it was closed up and sent on its way.
As they taxied through the dim grey of early morning, Mycroft spoke: ‘My apologies for the need of an additional flight.’
‘After all that time stuck in Madrid, any progress feels good’, Molly replied.
‘You spent a great deal of time there. Nearly twenty-four hours?’
‘Oh, yeah. Yes. I made a mistake when I booked the flight. I thought that the lay-over was three hours, but it was actually fifteen.’ She paused. ‘AM, PM.’
‘I see. And how was it that you missed the connecting flight when you had all that time in between?’
‘That was because of Sherlock.’ Mycroft’s gaze intensified. ‘Well, not really. I thought I saw him’, she explained. ‘That’s happened sometimes, since he’s been away. I think I see him on a bus or walking down the other side of the street. Does that happen to you?’ She looked questioningly at him. ‘Ah. Well, it happened at the airport. It was just a flash, but his profile and his eyes, they’re so distinctive-I thought it had to be him. So I tried to catch up to him, but there were loads of other people and every time I thought I was about to get to him, someone or something would get in my way. Then I heard the call for my flight, the last boarding call. I hadn’t heard the earlier announcements, I guess. But I was so far from the gate, I didn’t get there in time. So, off went my luggage without me.’ She paused and thought that she might as well finish the tale. ‘I went to the ticketing counter to see what I should do. While I was waiting in the queue, my mobile started beeping-I thought I must have a text, but it was actually the battery dying. When I was looking at my mobile, I set my purse down, and when I reached for it, it was gone. So, most of my money was gone, too.’
‘Most of your money?’
‘I had some emergency cash with my passport and tickets.’
‘And how did you lose those items?’ he queried.
Molly blushed. ‘Um, well, I talked to the woman at the airline counter for quite a while, but she just kept saying that there was nothing that she could do since I had no ID and no proof that I’d had tickets on one of their flights. And then, I was- I had to- I went to the ladies’ room.’ She began a study of the floor. ‘I’d gotten one of those special belt-wallet things to carry your passport in, you know, under your clothes, so you can’t get pick-pocketed. But it was a little awkward just then and I wanted to check to make sure I really did have my emergency money in it and I thought that the bathroom stall would be a good place to do that since I was alone and no one could see, so I took it off. And I’d hung it on the little hook in the stall there, you know-’ miming, she glanced to see his somewhat astonished face. ‘Well, maybe you don’t have purse hooks in the gents. But, when I stood up, I knocked it off the hook and it went straight into the toilet, and that was bad enough, but then it was one of those automatic toilets that flushes whenever you move and I moved to grab the belt and the toilet flushed and there went everything.’
Twenty years of government service enabled Mycroft not to laugh aloud.
‘Pretty crazy, huh?’ she asked, looking up at him.
‘It is certainly unique in my knowledge of traveller’s mishaps’, he acknowledged.
While Molly hadn’t minded the need for another hour’s travel at the beginning of that flight, by the end she was relieved to step off of the plane and know that she was, at last, at her destination. She spent the short ride to the resort staring at the ever-present view of early-morning light over the ocean and marvelling at the white sands and flowering exotics. Mycroft passed the time in a more decorous fashion, although he could not help but smile at her amazement.
As they pulled through the gate to the resort, Molly’s eyes widened. ‘Wow. This looks even better than it did on the website.’ She looked more closely at the buildings as they approached. ‘Actually, this doesn’t look anything like the pictures on the website.’ As the car rolled to a stop and a man stepped quickly to open their door, she turned to Mycroft. ‘This isn’t my hotel.’
‘This isn’t actually your island’, Mycroft said.
‘What?’
‘You were going to the Dominican Republic. An interesting choice. This is Turks & Caicos.’
Molly let herself be handed out from the car. When Mycroft stood beside her, she said, ‘But, I had reservations at a resort.’
‘Better perhaps to have had reservations about that resort. You’ll be quite comfortable here’, he stated with a look around.
Molly, too, looked at her surroundings. The low arches, the balustraded patios, even the lettering on the building all said one thing: posh. ‘I really don’t think I can afford this’, she whispered.
‘How fortunate then that you’re not paying for it’, Mycroft said with a smile, then placed his hand to her back to guide her inside.
They were led to ‘The Villas’, as the desk clerk had called it: a series of buildings just metres from the ocean. On the short walk their escort informed them that ‘their luggage was unpacked’, ‘items were left as instructed’, ‘breakfast would begin soon in the Grill Rouge’, and more about the resort, but Molly couldn’t attend to most of it, too busy trying not to gawk like a schoolgirl. She gave up the attempt when the young man opened a door before her and handed her a key card.
From just inside the entry she could see to the windows overlooking the bay, the sea and sky framed by the low arches that seemed to define the place. Walking to the balcony was like walking into a postcard, one that you knew had to have been doctored to make it look so beautiful, but this was real. Molly was trying to decide on a name for the ocean’s colour when Mycroft appeared beside her.
‘It is stunning’, he allowed.
‘Yes’, she said. ‘Wow.’
He looked at her, amused.
‘There is a mobile phone, fully charged, on the desk. A laptop as well, should you have any need of it. If the clothes in the wardrobe aren’t to your liking, you can try at the resort’s boutique, although after that you may have to take a short plane ride to find anything else.’ She looked questioningly at him. ‘This island is almost exclusively occupied by a variety of resorts and the like. I doubt you’d find a regular shop closer than Grand Turks Island.’
‘Oh’, she said, then thought about what he’d said. ‘If I don’t like the clothes? Didn’t he say our luggage was here?’
‘In your case, replacement luggage. I directed that a variety of clothing should be sent for you.’
She looked back into the suite-living room, dining area, kitchen-and chose the double doors beside the television. She passed the bed to another door, but that was the bathroom-comparable in size to her bedroom at home-to finally find a closet off that. It contained, as Mycroft had said, a variety of clothing: sundresses, shorts, tunics, blouses, trousers, two cocktail dresses, and a bikini that made her blush to look at. She opened a drawer to reveal-
More knickers arranged by Mycroft. Or his PA. Hopefully very much by his PA. She retreated to the living room. Mycroft looked at her expectantly.
‘They’re…lovely.’ He smiled approvingly. ‘I can’t believe my luggage got lost, too. It’s all so…surreal.’
‘My suite is adjacent to this.’ He nodded toward a door near the desk. ‘Knock if you have need of anything that the concierge can’t provide. And just charge everything to the room.’
‘Oh. Right. Thank you.’
He left while she still stood trying to sort through all that had happened in the last two days.