By the time Sherlock entered the intelligence market, John had already disappeared into the crowd.
Everyone was wrapped head to toe in identical robes, so Sherlock had no idea which hooded figure was him.
Fine.
They could work separately.
Sherlock headed toward the central counter to register his request.
Originally, he and John had agreed to ask for one thing:
Information on Tony Stark.
But when Sherlock reached the desk, a thought suddenly occurred to him.
He changed the request.
Instead of asking directly about Tony, he registered:
The coordinates of a Ten Rings weapons cache located in a mountain valley.
The moment the request was submitted—
Bzzzt.
Sherlock looked down.
His wristband was already vibrating.
That fast?
He hadn’t expected an immediate match.
Slightly puzzled, Sherlock followed the directions displayed on the band until he reached one of the small meeting rooms.
The interior was cramped.
Very cramped.
There was barely enough space for two chairs and a narrow table between them.
All three pieces of furniture were bolted directly into the walls and floor.
Sherlock took one look around and understood the implication.
The Continental might officially refuse to take responsibility for whatever happened inside these rooms…
but they clearly weren’t encouraging anyone to turn negotiations into a death match either.
Sherlock sat down.
Not long afterward, the door opened.
Another hooded figure entered.
The instant the door shut behind them, a deliberately raspy voice came from beneath the robe.
“You’re the one looking for the coordinates of a Ten Rings weapons cache in a mountain valley?”
Sherlock didn’t answer.
He simply nodded.
The stranger paused, then crossed the room and sat opposite him.
“I have the coordinates you want.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow beneath his hood.
Then, hidden beneath the robe, he brought his hands together.
A tiny alchemical adjustment altered his vocal cords.
When Sherlock spoke again, what came out was a pleasant young woman’s voice.
“And how exactly am I supposed to know the coordinates you give me are real?”
The figure opposite him visibly froze.
Only for a moment.
Then a low, hoarse chuckle came from beneath the hood.
The laughter continued for several seconds before finally fading.
The stranger leaned forward slightly, bracing both hands against the narrow table.
“You’re new.”
Sherlock remained silent.
“First time at the intelligence market, isn’t it?”
Still no answer.
The stranger seemed to take that as confirmation.
“Let’s discuss the price instead.”
They leaned back.
“If your offer satisfies me, I’ll also give you a way to verify the information.” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Sherlock frowned beneath his hood.
Something didn’t add up.
He’d never negotiated in a place like this before, but between the stranger’s behavior and how quickly Sherlock’s wristband had found a match…
this information couldn’t possibly be some rare, closely guarded secret.
Sherlock lowered his head and thought.
A few seconds later, it clicked.
Of course.
The coordinates of a Ten Rings weapons cache weren’t the real secret.
Hell, they were probably an open secret among people operating in this region.
What had made Sherlock assume the information would be valuable was something only he already knew:
Tony Stark was being held in a cave inside a mountain valley controlled by the Ten Rings.
That was the actual classified information.
Not the valley.
Not the weapons cache.
The fact that Tony Stark was there.
Sherlock almost laughed.
He’d fallen into his own logic trap.
The Ten Rings moved weapons all over the Middle East.
Anyone working the local intelligence scene would naturally know where at least some of their stockpiles were.
What nobody knew was that one particular valley also happened to contain the most famous missing billionaire on the planet.
That explained the instant response.
The market hadn’t even finished admitting everyone yet, and Sherlock had already found a seller.
It also explained why the stranger’s first instinct had been to ask whether Sherlock was new.
Only a newcomer would walk into an intelligence market and seriously ask to buy something so mundane.
Well.
That made this much easier.
Sherlock reached into his robe and placed a single Continental gold coin on the table.
“This is my offer.”
His borrowed female voice was calm and effortless.
“One coin.
That’s all.”
The stranger stared at it.
For several seconds, they didn’t move.
Then the raspy voice returned.
“Not enough.”
Sherlock wasn’t remotely bothered.
He pointed toward the door.
“Then leave.”
The stranger went still.
“One gold coin for information that’s practically public knowledge is already generous.”
Sherlock let just the right amount of bored arrogance creep into his voice.
“And yes, this is my first time at one of these markets.”
He paused.
“But I only came because I wanted to see what the experience was like.”
Sherlock tapped the coin lightly.
“Trust me.
If you walk out that door, whoever comes in next will probably be perfectly happy to take this coin and tell me exactly what I want to know.”
Silence.
The persona Sherlock had constructed was becoming increasingly convincing.
A spoiled young heiress from some powerful family.
Sheltered.
Arrogant.
Used to getting whatever she wanted.
Rich enough to casually wander into an intelligence market purely for entertainment.
The stranger across from him seemed genuinely uncertain now. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
After a long pause, they finally spoke.
“One last question.”
Sherlock waited.
“What do you want those coordinates for?”
Sherlock’s brow furrowed.
There it was again.
That faint feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
This person was asking too many questions.
A normal information broker should care about payment, not why the buyer wanted a location.
Still, Sherlock couldn’t drop the act now.
His feminine voice sharpened with obvious irritation.
“Sir, don’t you think that’s a little beyond your concern?”
The stranger said nothing.
“I already told you.
I came here because I wanted to see what this place was like.”
Sherlock let out a dismissive little huff.
“And obviously I’m not buying coordinates to a Ten Rings weapons cache because I’m planning a vacation there.”
Perfect.
At this point, the image was complete.
A spoiled, sheltered rich girl who’d wandered into the underworld for thrills and apparently decided buying the coordinates to a terrorist weapons cache sounded exciting.
The stranger hesitated no longer.
A gloved hand reached out.
The gold coin disappeared from the table.
Then the raspy voice recited a string of coordinates.
Sherlock memorized them instantly.
“If you don’t trust me,” the stranger added, rising from the chair, “spend another coin and verify them with someone else.”
They turned toward the door.
Sherlock stood as well.
“No need.”
His feminine voice sounded almost cheerful.
“I’ve already gotten what I came here for.”
Before the stranger could leave, Sherlock slipped past them and exited the room first.
The door swung shut again.
The hooded figure remained inside for a moment, staring at it.
Then they pulled out a phone.
A short message was sent.
Only afterward did the stranger leave.
Thousands of miles away, at S.H.I.E.L.D.
headquarters in Washington, D.C., Nick Fury’s phone buzzed.
A message appeared on the screen.
Clint Barton: Look into the High Table behind the Continental.
I want to know whether they’re involved in the Stark situation too.
Fury stared at the message.
Then started issuing orders.
Within minutes, S.H.I.E.L.D.
was moving at full speed again.
All because Sherlock Flamel had wanted to save one gold coin.
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