By the time Sherlock entered the intelligence market, John had already vanished into the crowd.
With everyone hidden beneath identical hooded cloaks, Sherlock had no way to tell which figure was him, so he headed to the central counter alone to register his request.
They had originally agreed to ask for information on Tony Stark.
Once Sherlock reached the counter, however, a thought occurred to him, and he changed his request to something more specific: [The coordinates of a Ten Rings weapons depot located in a valley.] To his surprise, his wristband began vibrating the instant the request was registered.
Sherlock frowned beneath his hood.
He had not expected a response so quickly, but he followed the directions displayed on the band and entered one of the private booths.
The room was barely large enough for two chairs and a narrow table.
All three pieces of furniture were bolted securely to the walls.
The Continental might claim that whatever happened inside these rooms was none of its concern, but the design made it obvious that the management would still prefer its guests not to start killing each other.
A second hooded figure entered soon afterward.
The moment the door locked behind him, a rough voice emerged from beneath the cloak.
“You’re the one looking for the coordinates of a Ten Rings weapons depot in a valley?” Sherlock said nothing and merely nodded, waiting for the stranger to continue.
The man paused, then crossed the room and sat opposite him.
“I have the coordinates you want.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow beneath his hood.
Keeping his hands hidden beneath the cloak, he quietly brought them together and made a minor alteration to his vocal cords.
When he spoke, a clear and pleasant woman’s voice came from his mouth.
“And how am I supposed to know that the coordinates you give me are genuine?” The figure across from him visibly hesitated.
A moment later, a dry laugh rasped from beneath the hood.
The laughter continued for several seconds before gradually fading.
The stranger leaned forward, resting both hands on the table.
“You must be new to this business—or at least to this particular market.” Sherlock did not answer.
Sure enough, the man continued without waiting for confirmation.
“Let’s discuss the price.
If your offer satisfies me, I’ll also provide a method for verifying the information.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed.
He had never negotiated in an intelligence market before, but the seller’s behavior—and the speed with which his wristband had found a match—suggested that this information was nowhere near as valuable or secret as the man wanted him to believe.
Sherlock lowered his head and thought it through.
The answer soon became obvious.
The location of a Ten Rings weapons depot was not truly classified information.
It was probably an open secret among anyone who operated in the region.
The reason Sherlock had assumed the coordinates would be valuable was because he already possessed another crucial piece of information: Tony Stark was being held inside a cave in a valley.
That had created a simple logical trap.
The Ten Rings’ movements throughout the region were not particularly secret.
What was secret was that they had kidnapped Tony Stark and imprisoned him at one of those locations.
That explained why his request had received an answer almost immediately, before the market had even finished admitting everyone for the night.
It also explained why the stranger’s first instinct had been to ask whether Sherlock was new.
Only an inexperienced buyer would treat such ordinary information as though it were a closely guarded secret.
Having understood the situation, Sherlock smiled beneath his hood.
He took out a single gold coin and gently placed it on the narrow table.
“This is my offer,” he said in the same feminine voice.
“I won’t pay anything more.” The seller stared at the coin and went still.
Several seconds passed before the rough voice finally answered.
“Not enough.” Sherlock showed no impatience.
He simply pointed toward the door.
“Then feel free to leave.
One gold coin is already generous for information that practically everyone in this region knows.” He paused before adding, “And yes, this is my first time visiting this intelligence market.
I came because I was curious to see how it worked, nothing more.” Sherlock’s voice and manner perfectly conveyed the image of a wealthy, entitled young woman accustomed to getting whatever she wanted.
“Believe me,” he continued.
“The moment you walk out, the next person who enters will be delighted to take this coin and tell me exactly what I want to know.” The seller fell silent again, apparently reconsidering his impression of the person sitting across from him.
At last, he asked, “One final question.
What do you intend to do with those coordinates?” Sherlock frowned.
The question felt wrong.
The stranger was showing far too much interest in what should have been a simple sale.
Still maintaining his disguise, Sherlock answered with obvious irritation.
“Sir, don’t you think you’re being rather intrusive?
I already told you that I came here for the experience.
And surely you don’t think I’m buying the location of a weapons depot because I want to go sightseeing.” With those few sentences, Sherlock completed the persona of a sheltered, spoiled woman playing at danger without understanding what she was getting into.
The seller stopped hesitating.
He picked up the gold coin and recited a string of coordinates.
“You can spend another coin to verify them if you don’t trust me.” After giving the location, the man stood and turned toward the door.
Sherlock rose as well.
“That won’t be necessary.
I’ve already experienced everything I came here to see.” He slipped past the stranger and left the booth first without the slightest hesitation.
The hooded man stared at the closed door for a moment.
Then he took out a phone, sent a brief message, and left the booth as well.
…
At that same moment, in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Washington headquarters, Nick Fury’s phone chimed.
A message appeared on the screen.
[Clint Barton: Investigate whether the High Table is involved in Tony Stark’s disappearance.] After reading Hawkeye’s report, Fury immediately issued a rapid series of orders.
Within moments, S.H.I.E.L.D.
was operating at full speed once again.