Chapter 77 Chapter 77 It's someone who just noticed you...
Mycroft would never admit to threatening Elio with a nationwide manhunt, demanding he cooperate or leave. Elio didn't waste time asking. Within 24 hours, he'd returned and met with the prominent politician at a Baker Street café.
"Don't put me on the wanted list. Seriously," Elio said. "I don't want to test the limits of my abilities."
The waiter served them two cups of tea. It was still black tea, with ice and toffee. Elio glanced at the tea tray, his expression as if he was about to speak but hesitated.
"Trust me, Mr. Smith. We don't want to either." Mycroft spread his hands. "So?"
Elio stared at him. Normally, Elio trusted his own judgment of people, even his own intuition; his upbringing had given him that experience and conditioning; after all, that was where human nature was at its most complex. With a mere blink, a twitch of a muscle, Elio could react before he even realized the theory.
But politics?
Politics was definitely beyond his purview. Elio couldn't read a single detail from the face or body of "Mycroft," the man who claimed to represent the British government. It was a perfectly poker face, covering him from head to toe.
"What conclusions have you reached?" said Mycroft. He was also, evidently, aware that Elio was watching him.
"Nothing," Elio waved his hand gloomily. "Except that you're clearly a middle-aged Englishman. I guess I don't have a choice. But seriously, are you going to use me and then throw me away?"
"I'd like to say you have my word, but it's clear you'd be hard-pressed to buy into any official statement." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Let's just say, no intelligent person wants to provoke a vindictive assassin. Especially since it's always so difficult to kill them completely."
Elio looked at him. The assassin smiled slowly. "Yes."
"No offense," Mycroft added.
"Don't worry." Elio grabbed the paper and pen from the suggestion pad and began writing. "At least I finally heard a sincere and honest word from you. That's a good start."
Mycroft frowned. Not because of what Elio had said, but because he could see what Elio was writing, even if it was backwards.
"I thought you were going to give me the information you got from Senator Moran," he said.
"Yeah," Elio wrote quickly. "I got it from him. Never mind."
Even the top-secret documents in Councillor Moran's study wouldn't be as comprehensive as Elio's. Mycroft's eyebrows knitted together as he read the beginning. He quickly flipped through the assassin's scribbled pages. In less than a few minutes, he'd gone through all of Elio's pages.
"These……"
"It's all true." Elio leaned back. "That's why I didn't bargain with you. Time waits for no one, Mr. Mycroft. If only you could forget about my wanted list while you're busy fighting global crime."
Mycroft waved. The couple at the next table immediately turned, took the stack of papers from his raised hand, and hurried out of the cafe. Elio watched everything quietly, including the slight agitation of the other red dots in the shop.
"Go ahead and do your work." Mycroft looked at Elio, who was sitting across from him. "Give us some privacy."
The entire coffee shop emptied out at an incredible speed. This made Elio frown.
"What else do we want to talk about?" The assassin sat up straight and asked cautiously.
"Excellent memory, Mr. Smith." Mycroft smiled, pushing the tea on the table towards him. "Descendant of Master Arno Victor Dorian, eh?"
Elio's hair stood on end for a moment. If he hadn't confirmed several times that this unpredictable politician still shone gold instead of red, the assassin would have jumped in anger. Although now he was almost furious. Elio tried his best to suppress the urge to ask, "How do you know?" "You know us assassins very well, Mr. Mycroft. So much so that I'm a little worried that you are our mortal enemy."
"That mysterious organization named after medieval knights? Ah, for God's sake." Mycroft shrugged dramatically. "I admit we English are more dramatic, but not to this extent. I just happen to know you better, Mr. Smith. And it's 'Mr. Holmes,' not 'Mr. Mycroft.'"
Elio was stunned for a moment.
"Wait a minute," Elio gestured wildly. "So you're actually 'Mycroft Holmes'? What's your relationship to Sherlock Holmes?"
"Unfortunately, brother."
Mycroft sipped his tea and gave Elio a smirk. The assassin, understanding now, leaned back, hesitant to speak.
"Um," Elio said, "I think there might be a misunderstanding..."
"I know," said Mycroft. "We're not very alike, are we?"
"Yeah." Elio said automatically, "Uh, no. I mean, my presence here is a coincidence."
Mycroft gestured towards the café, "Here?"
"Your brother's place." Elio scratched his head. "He's a consulting detective on a case, you know. I was just about to..."
"Just about to ask him about Moriarty." Mycroft leaned back, too, crossing one leg over the other in a relaxed manner. "I know. Why else do you think I didn't let them shoot?"
"Okay. You already know." Elio spread his hands. "In this respect, you and Mr. Holmes - sorry, the younger one - are quite similar. Wait, since you already know that I don't mean to kidnap your brother, then what are we going to talk about?"
Mycroft put down his teacup. He smiled at Elio.
"Are you inclined to take British citizenship?" he asked, "since your country has abandoned you?"
Elio was silent for a moment. "What?"
"Obviously, I'm trying to invite you to resume your ancestors' work." Mycroft blinked. "Still working in the shadows. Still doing what you excel at. But this time you'll have full government approval, a constant supply of resources, and someone always watching your back. Now, tell me, Mr. Smith, are you interested in working for the SIS?"
Elio sat up straight, crossed his fingers cautiously, and studied Mycroft's expression.
"You want me to be your agent?"
"To be Her Majesty the Queen, to be exact."
Mycroft's expression had become unreadable again by this point. Elio, without coming to any conclusion, leaned back in frustration. "Come on. Even I know your Queen is never really in charge."
"But you have to understand," Mycroft spread his hands, "the oath of office is still about her."
"I won't take the oath."
"You can't?"
"I can't." Elio took a sip of the tea on the table and stood up. "Thank you very much for your generous offer, Mr. Holmes, and for the tea. I wish you a pleasant day."
But just as he was about to slip out of the café, Mycroft said behind him, "I won't be the only one offering you an olive branch, Elio. But believe me, I'll be the friendliest."
Elio thought he was just making a political prediction and nonchalantly pushed open the glass door that rang with the ringing bell. "Oh, thank you so much. So who else is waiting for me down this road? The CIA?"
"syndicate."
Elio frowned. His movements stopped, but the bell continued to ring.
"'Syndicate'?" Elio turned around. "What's that? A secret intelligence agency of a small European country?"
But Mycroft did not answer immediately. He sipped his tea slowly, leisurely. Only when the assassin returned to the table, his eyes fixed on him with urgency, and only when the incessant ringing of the doorbell finally died down, did Mycroft offer him his trademark smile.
"No. It's a terrorist group that just noticed you."
Elio soon discovered that Mycroft's words were true. At least, they were true about him being the friendliest. Adhering to the quintessential terrorist organization principle of "beat him up first, talk it over later," the Syndicate stripped Elio of everything they could find (luckily, Elio had come prepared, depositing his Continental Hotel gold coins beforehand, or he would have been seriously out of luck!). Then, in the dark, they removed Elio's hood.
"Mr. Smith."
Elio blinked with difficulty, finally making out the blond man sitting across from him in the dim light. His hairline, like all British stereotypes, was spiky, and he wore ordinary glasses. If he were thrown into a crowd, Elio wouldn't have recognized him for a moment. But the look he gave Elio made the assassin pause for a moment.
It was a look so bland that it was almost inorganic, just like his low, hoarse voice.
“We were very impressed by your actions in Arabia,” he said, “and more recently in London.”
Elio was about to pretend, "I don't know what you're talking about." But now he changed his mind. The assassin tilted his head and looked at the blond man sitting opposite him with an expression that said, "I know what you're talking about." "Go on."
"You are causing chaos and death." The blond man looked at him and said slowly, "Civilized people might say so."
"But obviously you're not," Elio said.
"But after chaos and death, a new civilization often arises from the ruins. A civilization and order that is truly needed." The blond man smiled. "That is your purpose, isn't it? Only a gentleman who truly understands civilization can understand your intentions, Mr. Smith. You are right, I am not one of those foolish old-fashioned 'civilized people', but neither are you. That is why you belong to us."
He tilted his head slightly, signaling. The two guns pressed against Elio's head retreated, and the assassin, strapped to the chair, moved briefly, neither rushing to deny nor confirm. Elio simply squinted his eyes and looked at the blond man. "'We'?"
"We." The blond man stood up and stretched out his arms. "Welcome to the Syndicate."
The wall behind him rumbled open. Elio's eyes widened. Behind him, beneath them, lay a vast, deep base; perhaps a few hundred people sat there, answering phones, typing away at keyboards, busy controlling the small, glowing blue screen in front of them. But all around them, a whole screen hung, encircling them, tall, vast, and wide, enveloping them all.
"It's a whole world, Mr. Smith," the blond man said. "Our world."
On that screen, avatars and codes popped up from time to time. Syndicates were operating around the world.
This is not very friendly at all, Elio thought. They only left him one way to survive, and that was to join them.
"Okay," Elio held up his hands, "I'm in."
The rope that had bound his wrists fell lightly to the ground. He had, of course, already broken free. The armed guard behind Elio was about to step forward when a glance from the Syndicate leader made him retreat. As if expecting this, Elio smiled. The assassin flicked his finger through the air, and a silver-white card with a dagger pattern flipped out.
The guard examined his trophies in astonishment, "How did he..."
"If you could do me a small favor," Elio said briskly, "break this card for me."
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Author's Note: Here, Oreo and Brother Mai discussed some unspeakable things, and this Silver Kill is really about to expire.jpg
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