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The mistakes of men would be the death of him. Jim pressed at his temples, lips in a thin line of impatience. Another already well-compensated pilot had taken to asking for even more money. Greed never got any client very far, at least not since Moran’s employment. People usually just ended up dead.
“Another one bites the dust,” Jim muttered to himself, collecting his glass of wine before retreating to the office window. He needed to fly to Zurich. His recent televised resurrection would no doubt stir trouble for the Holmes brothers; staying in London to watch them squabble, as delightful as it sounded, was an unnecessary risk. Zurich would be last on their list of cities to search for a dead man walking.
A knock on the door broke his concentration. Sebastian stepped in, laptop in his hand and cigar in his mouth. Good boy kept the cigar unlit this time. Jim loved the smell of ash and gunpowder on his sniper, but not in his office. Not that he would admit to the former.
“Found one, boss. Think you might like it.”
If the line of dancing aeroplanes was anything to go by, Jim was sure he definitely wouldn’t like it. And the flashing letters M-J-N were doing nothing to soothe his headache. Sebastian took the cigar from his mouth and used it to point at the screen.
“Mr. Alyhakin travels this one. Says they’re a small charter business with only four pilots under its command.”
“Two.”
“What?”
“Two pilots. It’s why their bookings are so spaced apart. Always leaves room for the CAA sleep requirement. Alyhakin is a Russian idiot.”
Nevertheless, Jim scanned through the amateur website with its broken links and repeating 8-bit tune that sounded something like “Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines.” Carolyn Knapp-Shappey was listed as CEO. Funny. He had heard of Gordon Shappey (Jim prided himself in being knowledgeable of England’s criminal under belly) and knew him as a rich bastard with grubby henchmen always at his back. Perhaps there was a relation there. Jim leaned back, sipping his wine. There weren’t any flights available this weekend. But the bookings were cheap. Perhaps a bit of persuasion would get Ms. Knapp-Shappey to cancel any plans to then fly one consulting criminal and his sniper to Switzerland.
“Fetch me my phone.” Jim sighed.
Sebastian rolled his eyes and pulled the phone from the suit coat Jim was wearing, handing it to him with an eyebrow raised.
“Can’t risk chipping a nail to get it yourself?”
Jim took the phone and wiggled it by his ear.
“It’s rude to talk when someone is on the phone, darling.”
Sebastian growled as he usually did when the boss did something annoying that didn’t warrant an argument. He moved to the leather chair in front of Jim’s desk. He reclined. Got comfortable. He took the cigar in his hand and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. Sometimes Sebastian felt more like Jim’s boyfriend than his number one sniper. He glanced around the office, noticing Jim’s suitcases already positioned by the door. Their flat had been a nice hiding place for the last couple months. There was Jim’s bedroom and bath, an open kitchen and bar, Sebastian’s bedroom and bath, a lounge in the front, and the office. Sebastian spent most his time in the kitchen’s bar. Jim spent his in the office. It had been strange sharing a flat with his boss. To consolidate space, Jim had said. Sebastian thought it was more about protecting the man who had just thrown away his entire criminal organization. But he had to admit: he would sort of miss this “consolidated” space.
Sebastian’s attention was back on Jim as the man slipped into his best business persona, like an actor just before a stage performance.
***
Carolyn was at her desk doing her best to prepare for their flight.
Mr. Alyhakin had been busy expanding his yacht empire in Zadar. Finished with his business there, he needed a flight to his tertiary home in Abakan. The trip was paid for. He was expecting the best accommodations, including better wines than the absurdly laughable list she had provided him the last time they flew together. Carolyn was tempted to find an expensive bottle, drink it herself before the flight, and refill it with cheap swill Alyhakin wouldn’t recognize as dishwater at 35,000 feet.
She was searching through a collection of Bordeaux when the phone rang.
“MJN Air. Carolyn Knapp-Shappey speaking.”
“Ah, yes. Ms. Knapp-Shappey. My name is Mr. O’Kelly and I’d like to schedule an immediate flight to Zurich for two.” The Irish lilt came through the other line, pleasing and soft.
Carolyn pulled up her schedule.
“Our next available flight is-”
“This weekend.”
The CEO frowned. She really didn’t need the Irish version of the Russian yacht broker ordering her around.
“Unfortunately, we are already booked and couldn’t possibly cancel our plans.”
“I’ll compensate for any loses made by cancellations, in addition to payment for an immediate flight to Zurich.”
There was a moment of silence on the phone.
Jim turned his attention to his bank account – the one used specifically for business travel. It was already pulled up on his laptop. He was fully prepared to transfer the correct amount of pounds as soon as the number was given. Jim grinned to himself. He won this battle before it begun.
“Double.”
“Excuse me?”
“You will pay double the cost of flying two to Zurich.”
Jim screwed up his face in obvious displeasure. Sebastian, listening, swallowed the laugh rising in his throat.
“Compensation and original price, or should I inform Alyhakin of your less than up to par flight standards?”
Carolyn didn’t even pause to consider the threat.
“Double the flight cost or you can find some other small charter firm willing to fly you to Switzerland without questions.”
Silence. Carolyn held her breath. She did indeed need Alyhakin’s money. His paychecks padded her company’s pockets quite nicely, considering the constant threat of MJN’s inevitable bankruptcy. Of course, she couldn’t let this potential client know all that. If he did go through with the threat, MJN was in for a serious financial crisis, as well as a possible lawsuit from the Russian billionaire for reckless flying. But the man on the other line sounded overly confident. Working with Douglas taught her better. The Irishman was demanding an immediate flight, was willing to pay a considerable amount to make it happen now. Switzerland is known for its neutrality, so this was probably an attempt to leave some less-than-legal issues behind. And no one offered compensation in addition to the original flight ticket price unless they had enough quid to throw around in the first place.
“Fine.”
“Very good. What names shall I put down?”
“Conor O’Kelly and Fionn Bailey.”
“Very generic Irish names.” Carolyn commented.
“Would you prefer Saint Patrick and Farmer Leprechaun?” Jim sneered into the phone.
“We will see you at 0900 hours this Friday, Mr. O’Kelly, with full compensation, double ticket payments, and additional tips for the pilots.”
“What?”
“Have a pleasant afternoon!”
Carolyn hung up before her new client could fuss. She smiled to herself. Not a bad day after all. She picked up her phone again to inform her pilots and Mr. Alyhakin of the flight changes. She would have to try and not sound too enthusiastic. After all, this was the perfect solution to avoid being called babushka this weekend.
***
Jim hissed, glaring at the words on his phone reading “call ended.” She had hung up on him. Clients were never that stupid. Jim always managed the last word and here was this stroppy CEO daring to pull out more demands at the last minute. His eyes snapped up to Sebastian. The sniper was sitting there, failing miserably at hiding his stupid grin.
“Shut up.”
“Heavy negotiations, boss?”
“Go away before I decide to staple you to the tarmac and have you run over on my flight out of here.”
Sebastian placed the unlit cigar he had been playing with back in his mouth, heading out of the office to finally have a smoke. He waited until he was clear down the hall to chuckle. Yeah, he was looking forward to this flight.
Jim meanwhile remained at his desk, glaring at nothing in particular. Two years off the criminal network had made him soft. In the old days he would just threaten blackmail or torture or murder (not always in that order) to get what he wanted. Now here he was getting ready to pay more than he bargained for just to get a flight out of London. There were plenty of other carter firms he could have called. Plenty of other ways to leave the British Isles. If “The Fall” on Bart’s rooftop was anything to go by, it showed he didn’t particularly have the will to fight anymore. Jim had retired. The televised broadcast of his return was just the punchline. The world would panic, and he would be sitting by a fireplace, warm in a log cabin, without internet or cable to inform him about any of it.
***
Jim was silent the entire drive to Fitton’s airport. His fingers flew over the keys of his phone, eyes flickering over the words he typed. Sebastian slouched in his seat, eyes closed as the cabbie drove. He wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the cold. He had tried to convince Jim to fly to India where it would be warm. Unfortunately, the boss wasn’t too keen on the 25 million inhabitants in New Delhi, or the 21 million in Mumbai. Too many flies to tangle in his web, he’d said. Sebastian bit back the reminder that Jim didn’t have a web anymore. He lost that with his whole fake-shoot-myself-on-Bart’s-rooftop-and-hide-for-two-years-while-Sherlock-destroys-all-my-work scheme. Moran was still trying to wrap his head around the point of it all.
He looked to his employer. Jim was still typing, though to whom Sebastian couldn’t be sure. Sherlock and his omnipotent brother had taken down every thread of Moriarty’s network; at least the clients with blood on their hands. Anyone left was either deemed unimportant or nonthreatening.
Jim had never been easy to work for. But at the same time, he was. Get orders. Complete kills. Repeat. Of course, Sebastian had more responsibility than that. He had ordered around clients and subordinates like a cantankerous army general. He arranged the occasional hit. He made the occasional hit. Then Jim pulled him from the firing squads to a more administrative position. He made plans. He watched the numbers of their many international bank accounts. He met clients. By the time Jim was planning his fake suicide, Sebastian was practically running the business himself.
“Why did you do it?”
“Hmm?”
Sebastian recognized the hum as the Jim-pretending-he-didn’t-know-what-Sebastian-was-asking one. It was the silent invitation to drop the subject. He didn’t.
“Why did you fake your death?”
“How many times are you going to ask that?”
“I’ve only asked about it now.”
“But you’ve thought about it a hundred times.”
It was true. Sebastian had learned early in his employment to never question Jim’s plans involving the Holmes brothers. Moran, as second in command, was allowed business questions. He could even challenge Jim when he thought they were taking on a deal with too much unnecessary risk. But when it came to Jim’s obsession with the posh born Holmeses, Moran was to shut his mouth or have it shut for him. This, Sebastian imagined, would have involved string and a threading needle. He only ventured to ask about it now because it seemed so pointless if Jim was going to come back into the ring. What with his recently televised return.
“It doesn’t seem very productive.”
“I’m beginning to regret telling you anything. Would have been sooo funny to see your face when you saw me pop up on the big screen. Did you miss me? Did you miss me, Sebby?”
Jim spread his hands in front of him to map out a television screen. His playful tone was laced with ice. He was giggling.
Jim never called Sebastian by a nickname unless he was annoyed, threatening him, or manic. Sebastian backed down. If anything, he was glad Jim had told him about the fake suicide plans in the first place. The point was to ruin Sherlock’s reputation. It had for a little while, until New Scotland Yard finally cleared the consulting detective’s name. But if Jim hadn’t of said anything, hadn’t told him he would put a gun in his mouth to fire a blank, hadn’t told him to be on that rooftop five minutes after hearing the shot to get Jim to immediate surgery…
Yeah. Sebastian dropped the subject.
***
When they arrived at Fitton Airport, Jim stepped onto the tarmac with phone in hand, ready to be escorted on board when he noticed an entirely too cheerful young man struggling to load crates into the cargo hold, a grey-haired older gentleman shouting from behind.
“That’s it, Arthur! Quickly now, before your mother sees the surprise!”
The taller man turned then to see Jim and Sebastian witnessing the whole display. He tried to hide the momentary annoyance of being caught behind a cheeky smile full of teeth. He stepped forward, extending a hand to Jim. His voice flowed like warm honey.
“Douglas Richardson, the man in charge of flying today. You must be Mr. O’Kelly and Mr. Bailey.”
Jim didn’t like his voice. It oozed with charm. The consulting criminal smiled anyway, feigning the perfect, innocent passenger.
“O’Kelly. We are grateful for your being so accommodating.”
“In quite a rush to get to Switzerland today?”
“I suspect not as hurried as you are. How long does fish keep on a two hour flight?” Jim shot back, tossing a glance to the crates.
Douglas’ eyes shifted involuntarily to the crates behind him, though he didn’t turn his head. His assorted fish and fish products were carefully packaged in ice. They would last the flight. Douglas had calculated it carefully. How this man knew he was carrying fish was the question.
Jim watched the wheels turn behind the pilot’s eyes. Before Douglas had a chance to tell him just how long fish could last on ice, a shorter woman and a skinny, freckled face man approached them. The two were locked in a heated debate before seeing the crates, their eyes going wide in surprise.
“Douglas. Arthur. What are – ” Jim interrupted Carolyn by clearing his throat. He didn’t have time for lectures or arguments. He wanted the plane loaded so he could go. Timeliness is godliness.
“It’s 0900 hours, Ms. Knapp-Shappey. I believe that is our take-off time.”
“No, it’s the time I said I would meet you.”
Jim glowered and Sebastian braced himself for any onslaught his employer was no doubt formulating in his head.
“B-but of course we will be taking off soon, sir,” the freckled man stammered out, “We just have to get everyone on board and I’ll do the walk around and we’ll be off in just a tic!”
Jim cocked an eyebrow, not particularly fond of groveling if it didn’t promise results. He checked a sigh and instead cracked his neck. It was a habit of his when it came to dealing with annoyances.
“I’d like to board now, Captain.” Jim nodded to the gold braid adorning the man’s hat.
“Of course, sir. Yes, I’m the captain. Yes. Yes, I’ll escort you.” The captain ushered Jim and Sebastian inside the plane, giving Carolyn a pleading look to get along with the obviously rich passengers they would be taking to Zurich. Carolyn did let out a sigh and turned to Douglas. He was smiling like a Cheshire cat.
“This will be a delightful trip, don’t you think?” Douglas mused.
“Get whatever it is your smuggling into Zurich on board so we can go. I want to get this over with.”
***
Within twenty minutes the plane was taxing down the runway and Jim could let out a breath of relief. They were taking off. They were leaving the filth of London. The baggage of years of criminal work could finally lift off his shoulders just as the plane lifting in the air. Little did he know how short lived his relief would be.
Bing bong!
“Good morning. Or, at least, we hope it is a good morning for you on this short flight to Zurich. I am your captain, Captain Martin Crieff, and will be your captain today. With me is First Officer Douglas Richardson, who will be your first officer today. We hope you enjoy your flight and if there is anything we can do to make things more comfortable, our flight attendants, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey and Arthur Shappey, will do everything in their power to accommodate you. For you are our guests. And we would never imagine doing anything less than our best customer service to make this flight more enjoyable for you.”
Bing bong!
“If I may just add to our brief announcements, of course your flight attendants are here for you. You are our priority. We would never do anything to sabotage any tip giving or compensations you may wish to provide the pilots that are here because it’s their job. And not because they want something to pad their pockets.”
Jim listened to the strange banter over the intercom and wondered if these people knew they were broadcasting their sarcasm to the entire plane.
Bing bong!
“Oh, yes. Hello! I’m Arthur. Oh. I mean. Hello, I’m Arthur Shappey, your steward for today, glad to be at your stewardship. Now, normally we would show you our safety video. But. The video is broken. Well. Not the video. But our televisions on board the aircraft aren’t working and so, I’m here, doing the safety demonstration! Which is brilliant because I’ve always liked putting on the lifejacket and pretending to blow into the tube.”
Sebastian looked over to his boss and saw the best horrified expression he’d ever witnessed on Jim. His brown eyes were bulging slightly, brow scrutinizing, lips parted and turned downward at the corners. The sniper turned back to Arthur blowing through the whistle and trying to talk at the same time.
“So in the even- whoo! of an emergen- whoo! you can just blow on this whis- whoo! and mum and I will come to he- whoo! you!”
“Arthur! Stop blowing on that whistle before I make you eat it!”
“Sorry, mom!” Arthur called behind him before turning to his two passengers and whispering a little too loudly to be considered a whisper: “Don’t worry, she doesn’t mean it. She won’t actually make me swallow a whistle.”
“I might if you keep talking to me.” Jim muttered. Arthur carried on like he hadn’t heard him, returning to the steward’s station.
Sebastian looked over at his boss again and smirked. It was always funny when Jim made threats. He was a small man, short and lean with spidery hands. He dressed smart. Put product in his hair (which Sebastian realized, in their time living as roommates, was to tame Jim’s otherwise very fluffy hair that stuck up every which way in the mornings). He didn’t look intimidating, but could swallow up an entire room with his emanating persona. Sebastian remembered the first time he met the boss. The Boss. It made his muscles twitch and his blood was racing…
“Do stop fantasizing about me. I’m not about to join the mile high club.”
“I’m already a member.”
“Of course you are. Probably joined it with just your right hand. Or did you use your left? Never know with you ambidextrous types.”
“Want to find out?”
Jim mustered up enough energy to give his sniper the side eye before effectively ignoring him, putting in headphones and tuning out the world. Sebastian turned his attention to the window. Jim had always been like that. He always made comments about or alluding to Sebastian’s sex life. When he was first hired, the boss called him out every time he’d had sex. Laughed at him. Ridiculed him relentlessly. Called him an array of nasty things. Sebastian always assumed it was to try and break him. See if he would crack under the verbal assault in addition to the physical beatings Sebastian would get if he screwed up. The boss was ruthless those first few years. Sebastian understood. It was to get the best employees. It wasn’t like Sebastian was getting special treatment either. At least he didn’t think so. All of Jim’s personal employees had been under the same scrutiny. All of them would get ambushed and beaten and broken until they admitted to screwing up as Jim stood there watching. But. Maybe they hadn’t been subject to Jim’s derision for their sexual choices…
Sebastian chewed on his lip. Jim had calmed down around him unlike with anyone else. As Sebastian continued up the ranks of Moriarty’s employment, Jim gave him his due credit. Then the boss made him an admin; he gave him an administrative position that hadn’t existed before. They worked as equal business partners. They planned “The Fall” and stayed out of sight for two years while the criminal web turned in on itself and was picked apart by the Holmes brothers. In that last year of Jim’s consulting criminal work, and especially during the two years of hiding, Jim’s taunting and scorn had turned to teasing and jest. After five years of knowing one another it never occurred to Sebastian that maybe that meant something.
“May I offer sirs a drink? We have plenty to choose from! Even fresh lemonade made from a lemon we could no longer put in play.”
The flight attendant broke Sebastian’s thoughts and the sniper turned to look at him.
“You what?”
“You know, The Traveling Lemon! Where you hide a lemon on the plane and find it again. It’s like hide and seek. Except with a lemon. Anyway, we had to use up the lemon we had been playing with because it was a little bruised up after Skip – ”
“Arthur…” Carolyn’s voiced sounded with warning.
“Right. Sorry. Would you like a drink?”
“Water’s fine. Get him something sugary.” Sebastian indicated to his boss. Jim did have a sweet tooth.
“Um. Right. I suppose a coke will do, then? I mean. Mum is always saying I shouldn’t have it because of the sugar. So I guess that makes it sugary, right?”
“Yes…”
“Great!”
Arthur poured their drinks from the trolley and handed the water to Sebastian before setting the fizzy drink on Jim’s tray.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No.”
“Alright. If you need anything, just give us a ring!”
Sebastian nodded once in acknowledgment and watched the man go.
***
“I can’t believe you are actually trying to smuggle 560 Euros worth of fish to Zurich! With passengers on board! Important passengers!”
“Oh they don’t look all that bad. Sure, they dress in fancy suits but that doesn’t mean we have to treat them like The Queen.”
Martin shook his head. It was bad enough he had been arguing with Carolyn over cancelling their flight with Alyhakin. Now he had fish and fish products to worry about. Who knows what their passengers would think about that! It wasn’t professional looking at all!
“We have to treat them respectfully if we want to get any sort of…gratuity.”
“I’m surprised at you, Martin, holding out your tin cup for a couple of quid from any man in a business suit we happen to fly. Honestly I thought you were already stretching your moral standards thin for Mr. Birling’s tips.”
“And I’m surprised at you for thinking you can cart around fish when we need to do everything to impress these clients to keep booking with us! Especially if we lose Alyhakin to this whole thing – ”
“What do you mean?” Douglas asked, suddenly serious.
“Carolyn cancelled our job with Alyhakin just to fly these two this weekend. I mean. They are paying for cancellation and everything, but we hardly know if they will want to keep taking flights from us whereas Alyhakin has been a steady source of bookings. By cancelling his job…”
“We lose quite a bit of money.”
“If he decides to stop flying with us, yes.”
Douglas grew quiet a moment, thinking about their situation. Carolyn had made quite an interesting decision to cancel the yacht broker’s flight. He had known of the flight changes, of course, but hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. Not that he would ever admit to not foreseeing these consequences, of course. He did have an all-knowing reputation to uphold.
“It will be fine, Martin. Trust me. My iridescent personality coupled with your…personality will win the hearts of our new clients.”
“Except when they start to smell fish throughout the cabin and wait hold on what’s wrong with my personality?”
“I didn’t say anything is wrong with your personality.”
***
“Mum. What did you say our passengers do for a living?”
“I didn’t say because I didn’t ask. Why?”
“Well. Skip is really excited about getting a tip. And usually only Mr. Birling gives tips. Mr. Birling is a millionaire. So are they millionaires too?”
“Millionaires aren’t the only ones who pay tips. What do you think you do when you go to restaurant?”
“Eat the whole meal so I don’t have to bring home any leftovers that just get soggy in the refrigerator?”
“No, no. You pay them a tip for their work. And we are not millionaires. Not by a long shot.”
“Then who are they?”
Carolyn had to admit she was curious about it herself. She usually liked to know about the passengers she was flying ahead of time. Hester Macaulay was a film star. Nancy Dean Leibhart was a jumped up rep of not much consequence. Madame SB was a paranoid bassoonist who, consequently, had forever lost privileges to a working service bell. The information allowed Carolyn to carefully plan how much tomfoolery and japery she could allow during the flight. Conor O’Kelly and Fionn Bailey were two mysteries in suits. Their IDs had checked out. The money came through for the booking and compensation. She didn’t think they were harboring criminals or anything of the sort. But as she tried to search their background further, there wasn’t much of a digital footprint. Two businessmen of some company based in Galway. Who had been in London for no discernible amount of time. That now needed to go to Zurich. It was a concern she wouldn’t allow her son to share.
“They are our passengers that are patiently awaiting their breakfast.” Carolyn deflected, pressing a notebook into her son’s hands, motioning to the cabin aisle. “Go and see what they want.”
***
Jim listened to his favorite playlist, gently bobbing his head up and down to Jimmy Dorsey, Glenn Miller, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dinah Shore. It was a guilty pleasure of his. It reminded him of good film, political turmoil, real dancing, and a growing need for independence worldwide. Why that soothed him was a bit difficult to answer. He supposed it had to do with the fine balance of beauty and turmoil. People back then were so desperate to find peace, to dance and find something beautiful in the world, instead of seeing all the death and frustration of WWII and the Cold War. It was a creativity that came flowing from desperate people in a war-torn world. Sometimes he wished he too could have that balance inside of him.
Jim opened his eyes briefly from his reverie. He immediately wished he had remained in his black and white thoughts.
“Are you a millionaire? What I mean is, is do you give tips because you’re a millionaire?”
“No.”
“No you’re not a millionaire or no you don’t give tips because you’re a millionaire?”
“Both.”
“Right. Are you a film star?”
Jim narrowed his eyes.
“No, probably not. I’ve watched a lot of films so I maybe probably would have heard of you before. Oh. Unless you’re just starting out! But, no. That doesn’t explain Mr. Bailey over here. Unless you were his agent. Or the other way around. Or a bodyguard! Are you a bodyguard? Is Mr. O’Kelly really important? Maybe you’re in the government. Wow! Are you in the government?”
Jim said nothing as Arthur rationalized his own assumptions. Sebastian was looking far too amused with himself.
“We are simple businessmen, thank you.”
“Oh. Really? That seems, well. Boring.”
“Quite.” Jim granted.
“Oh well. I suppose we can’t always fly someone interesting. I mean. You’re both brilliant, of course…”
“I am interesting!” Jim cut in. He was not about to be called anything but interesting. That was an insult of the highest order.
“Oh! Right.”
“And I’ll show you just how interesting when I pin your – ”
“Boss.”
Jim narrowed his eyes again, this time towards his sniper. Sebastian gave him a stone face back, but his eyes were full of warning. Dishing out threats was probably not a good idea on a flight. But Jim dug his fingernails into the armrests on either side of him. His toes were curling and he felt the hair on his neck rise. Of all Jim’s buttons, calling him boring was an explosive one. Sebastian’s warning glance wasn’t going to stop him from ripping this boy limb for limb.
“Have you ever killed a man, Arthur?” Jim asked. His tone was even with a strong undercurrent of threat. Sebastian was still holding his gaze, silently demanding him to shut up.
“Yes, actually.”
Both men snapped their attention to the flight attendant.
Sebastian stared. The lad was probably late twenties, early thirties. Average height, maybe on the shorter side. He wasn’t muscular. He probably wasn’t even that strong considering how much he struggled with those crates earlier. Nothing about him suggested criminal background. Hell, the guy stumbled over his sentences and got overly excited giving safety tips.
Jim was equally puzzled. He read every detail about the flight attendant standing before him: loyal to his mother and the two pilots driving the plane; optimistic, sickeningly so; basic IQ though not a complete idiot as people might assume by his mannerisms and speech pattern; dedicated to his job and the people he served. What detail stood out most, glaring red in Jim’s analysis, was his honesty. The man was incapable of telling a lie. Which made this declaration all the more absurd. He remained silent with his brain short circuiting while Sebastian spoke up.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well. It wasn’t on purpose,” Arthur explained with no difficulty, “Skip told me to use a fire extinguisher on Mr. Lehman and when I did he had a heart attack.”
Jim stared at the kid in front of him. These two puzzle pieces were not fitting together.
“You killed a man?” Sebastian asked, looking between Arthur and Jim as if the explanation would magically appear between them.
“I did say a few words, you know. He loved to shout. I remember that about him.”
He was smiling. Sebastian couldn’t believe it. The flight attendant was smiling, reflecting on the memory as if nothing serious had actually happened, like it was something to remember fondly when conversing with friends or family.
“Fire extinguishers are useful, actually. I used one to break the glass protecting the crowned jewels once. Got to wear the jewels too.”
Jim had finally decided to speak and he chose to say that.
“Jim…”
“Really? Oh, wow! I didn’t think you could do that.”
“No. It caused quite the debate. Do you watch the news, Arthur?”
“Not really. I prefer old cartoons, actually. Like the ones with Goofy in them. Or Miss Marple. Or Quest for Camelot and things like that!”
“Miss Marple? You like detectives?”
“Ooh yes. One time Martin was like Miss Marple when he was trying to find Mr. Birling’s whiskey. But then Douglas was acting like Miss Marple and then I had to act like Miss Marple so we could all find out who stole the whiskey.”
“Fascinating.”
The next ten minutes were filled with purely hypothetical situations that involved murder, kidnapping, and bank heists, and what the other thought might be the most effective plan of action. Jim liked to take the scalpel approach to things. Mostly. Unless semtex was involved. Arthur was more of a go in guns blazing sort. His strategies usually involved the element of surprise and no real plan whatsoever. Sebastian listened to the proceedings and couldn’t believe Jim was actually having this conversation with anyone, let alone a flight attendant.
“Arthur! Breakfast!” Carolyn’s call interrupted the very interesting conversation. Jim turned on his best conniving smile, waving a hand in dismissal.
“Tell your mother to put the kettle on for tea. I’ll take biscuits and my friend here will have a full English breakfast. He never can contain his appetite. We can continue our discussion of how to poison the Queen’s corgis when you get back.”
“Right-o!”
Arthur left to get their breakfast sorted. Jim suddenly remembered his iPod was still playing and shut off his music, stowing the device as Sebastian gaped at him.
“What the fuck are you playing at?”
“What?”
“That lad’s going to tell the rest of the crew that you admitted to stealing the crowned jewels and then planned assassination attempts on the Manchester head coach and the Queen’s bloody corgis, not to mention the heist of America’s Federal Reserve and the kidnapping of the Russian ballet you’ve also got sorted.”
“I did not steal the crowned jewels. I wore them. If I wanted to steal the worthless things I would have them.”
“That’s not the point.”
Jim sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically as he turned to face his sniper.
“That lad got away with murder with an entire plane full of witnesses and a cabin crew fully knowledgeable of what happened. Was he arrested? Was he acquitted? Was he indicted? No. Nothing happened and he talks about it like it was yesterday. That is admirable. Honestly, Sebastian, I thought you would be impressed as a fellow killer.”
“Impressed isn’t the word I would use.”
“Jealous?”
“No.” Sebastian growled.
“Calm down mother tigress. Your little kitten isn’t going to get tossed to the dogs.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth and crossed his arms. This was mental.
“So I suppose when we get to Zurich and start building up your empire again, I should have this mass murderer’s CV on my desk?”
“Mmm.”
Sebastian looked up. Jim wasn’t looking at him. There were never big tells that informed Sebastian when Jim was upset. But that quiet hum and a minute shift in Jim’s posture was enough.
“We are building the web up again, right?”
Jim said nothing.
“Boss?”
Nothing. Sebastian felt his stomach drop, his head spinning.
“Are you fucking kidding me? We showed your face all over England as what, a joke? What is going on?”
Arthur returned then. He had his trolley with hot breakfast and tea adorning it. He grinned as he served his passengers, though they suddenly didn’t look as open to conversation now as they had minutes before.
“One hot breakfast and tea, all ready for you!”
“Thank you, Arthur. That will be all.” Jim commented softly. He took his tea, taking four sugars and milk.
“Hey! That’s how I take my tea!”
Jim smiled without it reaching his eyes.
“Then that’s something else we share in common: a taste for sugar, detectives, and fire extinguishers.”
***
Carolyn stepped up to the flight deck as Arthur prepared their passengers’ breakfast. She spoke up, with mild disappointment in her tone.
“Well. This is an awfully quiet trip. Only two passengers and neither of them are demanding anything out of the ordinary.”
“I thought you’d like that for a change.” Douglas said.
“Has it escaped your notice that I only come on these trips when we’re flying someone important?”
“I don’t know. That box of horse product wasn’t all that important. You didn’t need to be present for that one.” Martin commented.
“Anyway. I figured men who associated with Alyhakin would act like him, demanding expensive wines and more than two lowly pilots to fly him wherever he needs to go.”
“They know Mr. Alyhakin?” Douglas asked.
“Well Mr. O’Kelly threatened to tell him about our small company and its under-piloted status if I didn’t fly him and his…associate to Zurich today. I figured they must know each other then.”
Douglas thought on that. London wasn’t exactly the place to own a yacht.
“Why would they know him? I thought you said they were coming up from London. Not a place you can ride around on an expensive boat.”
“They did come up from London. That’s where the cab picked them up from. I don’t know how they know each other. Mr. O’Kelly and Mr. Bailey do have a company in Galway. Plenty of ocean shore there to sail about.”
“And how does he know we are the only pilots? Did you tell him?”
Carolyn paused at Douglas’ question. She hadn’t thought about that. She was just playing hard ball to get a new client.
“No, I didn’t say anything. Look. What does it matter? They are paying us a pretty penny for this flight.”
“Because, Carolyn, we don’t know even the tiniest hint about them. I smell something…fishy.”
“That was a terrible pun.” Martin pointed out.
“But you picked up on it.” Douglas simpered.
“Actually…it does smell like fish up here…”
Suddenly all three of them were sniffing the air and found that it did, indeed, smell like fish.
“Douglas, what have you done?” Carolyn asked, knowing full well her first officer would be the culprit.
“Oh god. I knew it. I knew it! I knew it would smell like your stupid fish and now we’re going to have to explain that to Mr. O’Kelly and Mr. Bailey.” Martin bemoaned.
“Don’t worry! I’m sure Arthur just mixed up their breakfast orders and decided to make a nice grilled salmon with a fresh dill sauce complement…”
“Your comments are all the more amusing when they’re obviously fabricated.” Carolyn said flatly.
“Your sarcasm is noted.”
Arthur burst through the cabin door, causing Martin to squeak and Douglas to shout, though neither man would admit to doing such a thing.
“Can you smell it? It smells like fish, doesn’t it? What a surprise…” He winked (or rather, blinked) at Douglas. He remembered his friend had told him the fish was to be a surprise for mum. Though why it had to be a surprise, Arthur wasn’t really sure. But he liked surprises and wanted to help with it, no matter what!
Douglas bit back a comment as Carolyn turned to her son.
“Arthur, did you help Douglas get fish on board?”
“I’m not sure if I helped with fish exactly to get it on board. I mean. I wasn’t holding any fish or anything…but if I did, it definitely wouldn’t have been in the crates I loaded up into the cargo hold this morning and it definitely wouldn’t have been part of a surprise.”
“Your secrecy is inspirational.”
“Thanks, mum.”
“Could we all focus on what we’re going to tell our passengers? We need an explanation!” Martin’s wits were on end. He couldn’t afford to lose a tip because of fish smells and he definitely didn’t want to see MJN fold because Carolyn cancelled a job with Alyhakin and didn’t have the promise of these new clients continuing to book with them.
“I could tell them I was making the dinners?”
“At ten in the morning?” Carolyn questioned her son.
“Well obviously someone is having dinner somewhere in the world. It could be six o’clock in Ireland right now so they would want their dinners soon, wouldn’t they?”
“It’s nowhere near six o’clock in Ireland!” Martin exclaimed.
“What about in Zurich?”
“Setting aside the time zone explanation for a later day, can we just tell them about the cargo and apologize for the smell? O’Kelly already guessed there was fish in those crates.”
“How did he know?” Carolyn asked.
“Nevermind that! Can we do that?” Douglas said.
The four crew members nodded, deciding it was the best decision. Well. Three of the crew members nodded in decision. The forth one just nodded because everyone else was.
***
Bing bong!
“Good morning. I do hope everyone is enjoying their flight to Zurich. We will be landing shortly, with only an hour left of scheduled flight time. And on the off chance anyone has noticed a sort of…unwelcome aroma permeating throughout the cabin, please do not be alarmed as we are also a charter flight for products the Swiss do not have much access to. Namely fish. In this case, fish. Thank you!”
Sebastian groaned internally at the announcement. The smell had spread around quite a bit. He only noticed it after the smell of his undercooked eggs and overdone ham evaporated as he finished his breakfast. He muttered quietly, though loud enough for his boss to hear.
“This plane isn’t the only thing smelling fishy.”
“That was a terrible pun, Sebastian.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
Sebastian looked to his boss who was still avoiding his gaze. Something didn’t sit right with him. He had been under the impression that Jim’s televised return was Jim’s gaudy way of saying yes, I’ve come back criminal world; I’m very much not dead and can’t wait to play with all like the strings of a violin all over again. Jim had let him be under that impression. He hadn’t said anything to indicate otherwise. Sure, Sebastian never asked what the plan was after “The Fall” beyond going into hiding. He never asked what they would do to make it back into the criminal world after two years of being out of the game. He never asked what the plan was or what the purpose was. He just did as ordered. It’s the army way.
“I want a real explanation, Jim. Not a deflection like you gave me in the cab. What is going on?”
Jim played with his fingers, picking at his nails and cuticles. It was a nervous habit. One he developed as a kid. Sebastian’s question washed over him. His sniper had done so well just following orders. You’re going to fake your suicide to ruin Sherlock’s reputation? That was fine with him. You need to go into hiding for a couple years? Sebastian kept them moving around enough to stay out of sight. You need me to film your face in fifty different takes until you get the one you want to plaster all over London? The sniper did it. He had been so loyal and so naïve.
“Why do you think I let the web fall, Sebastian?”
“You wanted to ruin Sherlock’s reputation. You had to let the web fall and stay in hiding for two years so that no one suspected you were actually a criminal mastermind.” It was his best guess anyway.
“But why continue to let it go when Sherlock’s name was cleared?”
Sebastian didn’t answer right away, thinking before giving another guess.
“By then, too much of the web had been swept away. The Holmes prats were destroying everything but it had all been undercover, so it wasn’t like the people that mattered to Sherlock knew he was going vigilante. So you let it get destroyed. Then, when Sherlock’s name actually cleared, it was too late to salvage anything we had.”
“And why would I return when I have nothing left, Sebastian? I am not a phoenix rising from the ashes. That video was just to give the Virgin and his icy brother a little laugh. They’ll squeal and panic and it will make it look pointless. It will make Sherlock feel pointless after all his efforts to get rid of me. He will feel worthless, and that was the point all along. To make him feel like me.”
Jim’s voice sounded hollow and it was so unlike anything Sebastian had ever heard come from his boss that it actually shook something in his core. Seeing Jim vulnerable was unnatural. He should never look like that. Ever.
“James…”
Moriarty actually lifted an eyebrow at that. No one called him by his full name. The two were quiet for a few beats. Sebastian looked at the man across from him and thought of all the work he had done. It had been to make a name for his self. He had made a name for himself. The most feared name in the criminal and legal world had been “Moriarty.” And all of it still left Jim feeling nothing. Sebastian had no idea his boss had so little self esteem. He had no idea his boss could actually be such a fantastic actor. He had feigned confidence and control for so long. No wonder the joke was that he had been the storytelling Richard Brook. Jim told fairytales to everyone, even the fairytales about himself.
“You still have me.” Sebastian said.
Jim kept his gaze out the window, refusing to let Sebastian see anything in his expression. Sebastian waited a few minutes for a response. When he could see he wasn’t going to get one, he spoke up again with a gentle question.
“Why are we going to Zurich?”
Jim stiffened and Sebastian had the sudden urge to touch the man across from him, just to see if it would take away the tension across his shoulders.
***
The last hour and a half of the flight was traveled in silence. At least, it was silent between Sebastian and Jim. They didn’t ask for anything. The stewards let them be. And Carolyn was honestly impressed with how easy this flight had been. As they made their final preparations for landing, she stepped forward to her passengers with her best company smile.
“I must say, it’s been a pleasure flying you both this morning. We shall be landing shortly and hope you will fly with us again soon.”
“To whom should I provide my gratuity?” Jim asked.
“The pilots of course, as we agreed on the phone.”
“And for Arthur?”
“You…you want to tip Arthur?”
“Naturally. He did all the servicing today.”
“Right.”
The CEO briefly glanced up to see her son grinning at them, making his way towards them.
“Well. I. Suppose you could ask him.” Carolyn said.
“Ask me what?”
“What is the biggest tip you’ve ever gotten, Arthur?”
“Oh! Definitely eight thousand quid. Wales won the rugby and Mr. Birling, I think I mentioned him to you earlier, he was very drunk and very happy about that! It was amazing.
“Then I raise your Mr. Birling another two thousand.”
Arthur’s eyes grew wide and Carolyn stumbled over her words.
“Ten…thousand…you’re giving my boy ten thousand quid? He served you tea!”
“Well and we talked about murder and dogs and kidnappings…”
Bing bong!
“The captain has switched the little light indicating seatbelts should be worn. If you could hazard a guess, it might be about time to click those locks into place so that we may make our final decent into Zurich. Flight crew, five minutes to landing.” Douglas’ voice sounded over the PA.
“Oh, right. The best bit! Landing! Well. The best bit of flying after the taking off part. And the flying part. Honestly there are a lot of best bits when flying.”
“Arthur, take a seat.”
“Okay!”
As Arthur went to his station Carolyn turned her attention to the two passengers before her. Sebastian was watching Jim carefully. Jim looked completely unfazed by any of this.
“Right. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you give my son that much money...”
“Consider it a bonus for such a lovely flight.”
“Is this a joke because I’m not finding it very funny?”
“I am an honest man, Ms. Knapp-Shappey. I may have been…disinteresting in providing tips in addition to compensation and doubled ticket prices, but I find that this little cabin crew has quite the sense of humor.”
Carolyn looked at the men before her and decided she wouldn’t question this stroke of luck. She retreated to her seat and put on her seatbelt. Five minutes later the plane landed smoothly and pulled into its stand. Martin and Douglas quickly got up from their seats to stand by the door, ready for tips that Carolyn had promised them when she made the flight change. Arthur made sure he had given the all clear for his passengers to exit the plane. Carolyn waited for whatever might happen next.
Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran stepped forward with their carry-on luggage. They paused only briefly to hand over four cheques, and left without another word. Martin’s jaw dropped to the floor. Douglas blinked several times. Arthur muttered a surprised ‘wow’ under his breath. Carolyn glared at the tip she wanted to refuse until she saw the amount.
If that was how much they were willing to pay in tips alone, Carolyn wouldn’t have to worry about flying Alyhakin anywhere ever again.
***
As Sebastian held the door open for the cab, Jim reached up and patted his cheek lightly. Sebastian stood stunned for a moment, then shut the door and sprinted to get in on the other side. He didn’t have the chance to say anything before Jim was talking.
“I brought you to Zurich for a vacation. It can be a permanent one, if you’d like. This is a trial run, Sebastian, to see how we do in the life of retirement. If it doesn’t suit you, you may go back to London to rebuild the web and it will be yours. You know how to run it. You’re ready to start your own. And I would be very proud to let you take my place.”
Sebastian felt like purring and it was an odd sensation. Especially since he wasn’t a bloody cat.
“What about you, boss?”
Jim turned to look at his sniper. He had been so loyal. It was time to let him go. He just hoped that, perhaps, after a couple weeks here Sebastian might…choose to…stay…with him. They had been working together for years. And over those years Jim found Moran to be the only constant in his life. Jim lowered his eyes and looked to the seat between them.
“I don’t know.”
Jim didn’t have a plan. He figured he was retired now. He had no web. He had successfully ruined the Holmes’ so that game was over. The only thing he had interest in exploring was sitting right next to him. After several moments of quiet, Jim felt a hand touch his. It was cautious, but firm as Jim didn’t pull away.
“Let’s figure it out together, yeah? Maybe we’ll just travel a bit for awhile. I think we might have won over the hearts of that little charter plane with the size of those cheques.”
“It was a nice incentive, wasn’t it?”
“You did leave your business card, right?”
“Left it right on Arthur’s seat.”
***
“Douglas! Welcome to Switzerland. I trust your flight went well?”
“Yes, Florian, my old cricketing friend. Why it’s been quite awhile since I last saw you...”
Douglas was beaming his best charming smile. Martin was glaring at him, watching the smuggling proceedings take place just as they had in Helsinki with that customs officer. How Douglas was never found out about these sorts of things baffled him. It was like their plane harbored criminals with absolutely no consequences in sight. And Martin wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.