“The Continental isn’t a single, unchanging institution,” John explained as he drove.
“Each branch operates differently depending on its rank, location, and manager.
The New York Continental, for example, is members-only and closed to the public.
Violence of any kind is strictly forbidden inside.
The Tokyo Continental is different.
It’s a mixed-use hotel that also accepts ordinary guests.
Fighting is still prohibited, but if something happens, the staff will attempt to mediate first instead of immediately declaring the offender excommunicado like New York would.
After all, the rules against conducting business on Continental grounds technically apply to members of the underworld.
A hotel that serves both assassins and civilians is bound to encounter situations that require more flexibility.
This branch operates in an active war zone, and it’s also relatively close to where the Elder is believed to reside.
Because of that, it follows the most basic version of the war-zone rules.
Once the sun sets, the entire settlement closes its gates.
No violence is permitted anywhere inside, but information, weapons, and supplies can be freely traded.
The moment the sun rises again, that absolute protection ends.
The prohibition against violence is lifted, and the settlement returns to the rules of the battlefield.” Sherlock listened carefully, and Helen was every bit as attentive.
Information like this was rarely known outside experienced members of the underworld.
Even Sherlock, despite remembering all three John Wick films, had never heard anything about it.
“That sounds less like a refuge for assassins and more like a marketplace for arms dealers and information brokers,” Sherlock said, rubbing his chin.
To his surprise, John nodded.
“That’s exactly what it is.
The war-zone rules were created primarily to support weapons and intelligence trading.
I suggested going there first because someone may know where Stark is being held.” Sherlock considered that, then nodded in agreement.
The intelligence available to them was frustratingly limited.
Neither the military nor S.H.I.E.L.D.
had been able to locate the site.
All anyone knew was that Tony was being held inside a cave somewhere in a valley controlled by the Ten Rings.
Under those circumstances, gathering information before charging into the desert was clearly the safest approach.
Sherlock still had reservations.
There was no guarantee that the Ten Rings did not have people inside the Continental settlement.
If word of their search spread, Tony’s captors might panic.
Right now, Tony was at least alive and swinging a hammer inside a cave.
If the Ten Rings realized a rescue team was closing in, they might decide that keeping him alive was no longer worth the risk.
…
When John finally brought them to the local Continental, however, Sherlock realized he had been imagining the wrong kind of place entirely.
Calling it a hotel was generous.
It was closer to a fortified town.
They arrived near sunset, driving through a battered stone gate as the last orange light stretched across the desert.
An attendant immediately approached the truck.
After John paid five gold coins, the group received four hooded cloaks and a large black covering for the vehicle.
Following John’s instructions, Sherlock, Helen, John, and even Doro concealed themselves completely beneath the cloaks before climbing out.
The moment the last door shut, an attendant covered the entire Ford Raptor with the heavy black tarp, hiding it from view.
Other staff members guided them deeper into the settlement.
For another gold coin, John rented a reasonably intact single-story house.
Once everyone was inside, John took one final look up and down the street before closing the door.
He pulled off his cloak and turned to Sherlock and Helen with a grave expression.
“Until we leave this place, those cloaks stay on whenever we step outside.
No exceptions!” “That especially applies to you, Sherlock.
Unless you want news of our search for Tony spreading throughout the region, don’t give anyone the slightest chance to recognize you.” Helen helped Doro wriggle free from beneath her tiny cloak.
Once the creature’s head popped out, John took a breath and continued.
“After sunset, this entire settlement becomes an absolute safe zone.
The central square serves as the intelligence market.
Sherlock and I will go there tonight and see whether anyone knows where Stark is being held.
Helen, keep Doro close.
Don’t let her wander off.” Before Helen could answer, Doro puffed out her soft little chest.
“Human, don’t worry!
Doro won’t run away.
Doro will stay right beside Human!” Her plump face was arranged into what she clearly believed was a stern and responsible expression.
Despite being cradled in Helen’s arms, she patted her own chest like a seasoned bodyguard making a solemn vow.
Sherlock, John, and Helen all struggled not to laugh.
Sherlock rubbed her head without damaging her confidence.
“In that case, Doro, I’m counting on you to protect Helen.” “Human, Doro promises!” All three adults smiled.
Wherever Doro went, laughter seemed to follow.
In the middle of this harsh journey through the desert, she was one of the few things capable of making the entire situation feel almost pleasant.
With Doro’s solemn promise secured, Sherlock waved a hand over the low table.
Food, bottled water, and a generous supply of Doro’s favorite oranges appeared across its surface.
The four of them gathered around and ate quietly while waiting for nightfall.
The sun sank lower until the final sliver of light disappeared beneath the horizon.
At once, torches flared to life throughout the darkened settlement.
A measured series of gunshots echoed through the streets.
John, who had been resting on the rug in the living room, opened his eyes and rose to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he said to Sherlock.
“The intelligence market is open.”