Moriarty's Musician

Chapter 8: The Game is On, Part 1

Dan, Sam, and Soo-Ling were already waiting when Moriarty and Sebastian entered the Lair, as Moriarty called it. Nestled in a secret room at the back of the house, the Lair served as the headquarters for Moriarty's criminal network.

As Moriarty entered the room, he shut the door and immediately yanked his shirt over his head. Soo-Ling's eyes glittered as she watched him walk to a small closet. She licked her lips as he pulled out a dress shirt, put it on quickly, then reached for a tie and suit jacket. Standing in front of the mirror, Moriarty crossed the ends of the tie and within seconds, tightened it around his neck. Slipping his arms into the suit jacket, he caught sight of Soo-Ling's lusty face in the mirror's reflection.

She purred, "You look delicious."

He slowly turned, his mouth twisting with disgust. "If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it. Until I do, keep your mouth shut."

She lowered her head. "I apologize," she murmured. When she raised her eyes, she saw the smug look on Sam's face. Her mouth tightened as she glowered back at him.

Moriarty walked to the center of the room and stood in front of the screen that hung suspended from the ceiling. Dan sat behind the control board, waiting for his cue.

"Ready Dan?" Moriarty glanced at him. "Ok, open the line."

Dan tapped on the keyboard and the live transmission came up on the screen.

Moriarty smiled at the familiar face. Could this day get any better?

"Lord Byron, to what do I owe the pleasure at such a late hour. Surely the ponies are racing tonight."

Lord Byron grimaced. "Professor Moriarty, we expect this will be a quick call. It has come to our attention that you're harboring Miss Annabelle Watson. Is that true, Professor?"

Moriarty grinned. "Harboring? That is such an interesting word coming from you. You talk as if Miss Watson is a fugitive. Is that what your gutless son told you?" he leaned into the screen, "Or was it the rotting corpses of your two idiot hitmen?"

Lord Byron shifted in his seat, but his face remained dead-panned. "Do you or do you not have Annabelle Watson in your possession?"

"That all depends on your intentions, Lord Byron."

"We're willing to offer you 10 million pounds for you to hand her over to us. You are aware that she is now the owner of all Charles Magnussen's holdings?"

Moriarty did not let his shock register on his face as he stared back at the screen. How had he missed this information? His preoccupation with Annabelle was making him sloppy.

"Of course. That's why, Lord Byron, I will not take anything below 10 million pounds... to the power of two. Surely you can do the math."

Moriarty heard a sound that didn't come from the one he was addressing. "Lord Byron, turn the camera so that I can see everyone in the room or I'll immediately end this conversation."

Lord Byron nervously looked off to the side and swallowing, motioned his head. Moriarty's eyes gleamed as the roundtable of many of Britain's elite glared back at the screen. He laughed as one face stood out from the rest.

"Stop the camera." The screen remained fixed. "Well, hello, Lord Jansen. Isn't this a pleasant surprise."

Lord Jansen glared at the screen as Moriarty grinned. "So they let you go, did they? How much did it cost you this time, hmmm? Fraud is a rather expensive crime."

Lord Jansen's face twisted into a scowl. "What's it to you, Moriarty?"

Moriarty took a deep breath and closed his eyes, savoring the air of blackmail that was filling his lungs. He opened his eyes and peered into the screen.