— Well, that's the knighthood in the bag.
— And that's mine.
— All the photographs are on here, I presume?
— I have copies, of course.
— No, you don't. You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are unique, you couldn't sell them.
— Who said I'm selling?
— Well, why would they be interested?
— Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs.
— That camera-phone is my life, Mr Holmes. I'd die before I let you take it. It's my protection.
— It was.
— If you're feeling kind, lock her up, let her go and I doubt she'll survive long without her protection.
— Are you expecting me to beg?
— Yes.
— Please. You're right. I won't even last six months.
— Sorry about dinner.
— Where's John?
— He went out, a couple of hours ago.
— I was just talking to him.
— He said you do that.
There was a man, a MOD official and I knew what he liked. One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know but I photographed it...he was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it? Code, obviously. I had one of the contry's best cryptographers take a look, though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out. What can you do, Mr Holmes? Go on, impress a girl.
— Who's after you?
— People who want to kill me.
— Who's that?
— Killers.
Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?
I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself.
Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try it is always a self-portrait.
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