Same Time Next Year

Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.


"Where is he?"

Purdey stormed down the corridor of the interrogation block, the part of the Ministry operation that everyone knew about but pretended they didn't. Larry hadn't told her where they were taking Gambit, but she didn't need him to. She already knew.

Purdey's pass got her past the security, but that didn't mean they wanted her there. Even now, as she strode purposefully down the stairs into the bowels of the facility, there were agents from Larry's team trying to dissuade her from going any further, and failing miserably. It was abundantly clear that the blonde was not going to be stopped by anything less than physical force, and no one wanted to pick a fight with Purdey, mostly because they knew they'd lose.

Larry was staring through a one-way mirror into an interview room when the door flung open and Purdey stormed in. Steed, who was overseeing the proceedings with a jaded eye, didn't even bother to turn and see who it was. "Purdey, you shouldn't be here," Larry barked, expression sour.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Purdey snapped, stepping up to look him in the eye. "You've caught him. I can't exactly be accused of hiding him any longer, can I?"

"Yes, but you're still too close to this investigation," Larry countered. He rested a restraining hand on her shoulder, but Purdey shrugged it off.

"What am I going to do? Break him out?" Purdey treated Larry to a withering look. "Besides, he can't even see me. How on earth am I going to interfere?"

Steed smiled to himself. "She does have a point, Larry," he said benignly.

Larry huffed and turned on his heel. "Neither of you should be here," he grumbled.

"Oh, I rather think we should. It's in your interest to have some sympathetic eyes in the room. Balance things out, innocent until proven guilty and all that." Steed looked to Purdey as she came to stand at his shoulder. "I'm surprised you didn't arrive sooner."

Purdey crossed her arms angrily. "I went to see McKay. I tried to plead Gambit's case so he could at least be held somewhere a bit less…institutional."

Steed nodded in understanding. "No luck, I take it?"

Purdey sighed and shook her head. "Not a bit. I think McKay would sympathise, but he has too much pressure from above to contend with. He can't be seen to be sympathetic or they'll throw him in there with Gambit as a co-conspirator."

"He's the only reason we're being allowed as much access as we are, I'm sure of it," Steed opined. "So we'll have to take our blessings where we can find them for the moment."

Purdey looked through the window at Gambit. Someone had relieved him of his well-worn clothes and given him a greyish-green set of coveralls in return. They'd allowed him a shave and a shower as well, and as a result he looked less scruffy than he had, but the toll the past few days had taken on him was more evident. His face looked grim and tense, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair, without the benefit of any styling, had reverted to its natural curls, making him look both younger and more careworn. His hands were cuffed, resting in front of him on the tabletop, fingers laced. Purdey's heart ached at the sight of him, at the slump of his shoulders and his downcast eyes. She wanted nothing more than to fling open the doors, grab his hand, and take him out of that place, but with the level of security he was subject to, it was impossible—and anyway, Gambit wanted to be here, despite how incomprehensible that choice seemed to her. She would have to wait, no matter how much it pained her to do so.

"Has he said anything?" she asked Steed, in lieu of saying something that would get her in trouble.

Steed shook his head. "Very little. He won't talk to Larry, and he refused an offer to talk to me as well. I think he's trying to keep me as far out of it as possible."

Purdey smiled slightly. "Sounds like him. What will Larry do if he refuses to talk at all?"

"Oh, he'll talk," Steed told her, then noted her surprise. "Piece of information you don't have. He says he'll talk, but only to one person."

Purdey frowned in bemusement. "One person? Who?"

"Sara," Steed informed. "His cousin."

Purdey's frown deepened. "Sara?"

"Yes." Steed cocked his head to one side in interest. "Do you know her?"

"She came to Gambit's flat right after Larry finished ransacking it," Purdey told him. "And she was there when he came back from Africa. She took care of him." She looked back at Gambit, trying to work out his next move by sheer force of will. "I would have thought Gambit would want to keep her out of this, too."

Steed was looking at Gambit with a strange, secretive expression on his face. "I'm sure he has his reasons. We'll just have to trust him, as always."

Purdey smiled tightly. "As always."

A door opened, and two people entered. "Miss Lynley is here," an agent announced.

Purdey and Steed turned to see Sara standing in the doorway. She nodded at Purdey and smiled. "Nice to see you again."

Purdey nodded in return. "I hoped Gambit would be able to join us the next time we met, not locked up in the cell next door."

"Sounds like a good way for him to escape being ganged up on," Sara quipped, but there was a worried line between her eyes that told Purdey it upset her to see Gambit chained up behind the glass. "They say he asked for me?"

Steed nodded in confirmation. "You're the only one he'll speak to. I've offered to go in, but he won't see me."

A thought occurred to Purdey. "Has he asked to speak to me?"

"He's specifically asked not to see you," Steed told her as impassively as possible. "I suspect he's trying to keep you clear of the whole debacle. I shouldn't read too much into it."

Purdey was fuming nonetheless. "I'll read something into him once he's out of here."

"I imagine you will." Steed's grin was less-than-innocent. "But you must recognise that anything you said to him in there would probably be held against you. You'll have many opportunities to sully your reputation in the years to come, but I think Gambit would rather they weren't due to him."

Purdey opened her mouth to reply, but there was no arguing with Steed when he was being wise and wicked in equal measure. Instead, she asked Sara, "Are you going to talk to him?"

"I want to help, so yes, of course," Sara confirmed. "They'll be listening?"

Steed nodded. "You know that."

"I do. A good time to practice projecting, I suppose. My elocution instructor will be so pleased. When can I go in?"

"As soon as Larry clears you," Steed said simply, turning to Larry. "If you've no objection. I'm sure they've frisked her for all the usual jailbreak accoutrements."

Larry pulled a face. "This isn't a joke, Steed."

Steed's expression was deadly serious. "No. It isn't."

Larry shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and cleared his throat, turned to Sara by way of a distraction. "Whenever you're ready."

Sara gave him a look that said she'd been ready for quite some time, and would have got on with it much sooner if she'd been allowed. Then she squared her shoulders and moved for the door. Purdey drew in close to Steed, shoulders nearly touching as they watched her go. "Why do you think he wants to see her?"

"I suspect we'll find out in a moment," Steed replied, eyes fixed on Sara's back as she entered Gambit's cell.

Gambit looked up as Sara stepped inside, and Purdey detected a flash of emotion before he reverted to the impassive expression he'd been wearing up to that point. He clearly didn't relish Sara seeing him in his current predicament, even though he'd asked to see her.

"Hello, Michael," Sara said softly, voice pumped over the speakers to Purdey and Steed's side of the partition. She slid into the seat across from him. "I'd ask how you were, but it seems a bit redundant."

Gambit smiled ruefully. "It's good to know you can still get straight to the point, even when everything else has gone to hell."

"I'm not going to play games when you're sitting there in cuffs," Sara replied tartly. "They say you asked for me. How can I help?"

Gambit sighed and looked at his cuffed hands. "I've had some time to think—"

"Not necessarily a good thing where you're concerned," Sara cut in. "If you're going to think about something, think about what you're saying, Michael. You know they're listening."

Gambit shot a knowing look at the mirror. "Of course they're listening. But you're the only one who'll understand what I have to say."

"All right." Sara leaned in. "What is it, Michael?"

"I've decided to give the Ministry the papers."

Sara was taken aback. "Michael!" she exclaimed, jolting back in her seat, and Purdey's voice joined it in the observation area, adding an outraged, "Gambit!" to the disjointed chorus.

Gambit waved Sara quiet, but to Purdey it felt like he was aiming the gesture at her as well. Knowing her as well as he did, and where she'd likely be, he probably was. "They're not going to stop investigating me until I hand them over."

"They might not stop if you do!" Sara protested. "Handing them over isn't going to undo the case they've built against you. In fact, it's more likely to play right into it!"

"I've thought of that," Gambit said softly, fingering with the chains around his wrists. "But I can't do this anymore. Not to the people I care about." He looked at the mirror again, and this time Purdey knew he was looking at her, regardless of whether he could see her or not. She felt a lump form in her throat. "But they're hidden. I can tell you where to find them."

Sara shook her head. "I don't like this, Michael. You can't just decide to condemn yourself for all our sakes. If you want to do that in our name, we should have a say."

"I came back home and didn't know what to do with them," Gambit ploughed on, ignoring Sara. "Then I thought of Gran, and the plot she bought for herself."

Sara froze. Purdey couldn't see her face, but she could tell from her body language that the other woman had suddenly gone quite stiff. "What are you saying, Michael?" she demanded, voice low but laced with tension.

"I'm saying if Gran thought that was a good enough place to keep something as precious as her safe, it ought to be a safe place for other things." Gambit swallowed hard. "So I buried it there."

Sara was shaking now. "You're telling me," she said, voice barely staying steady, "that you buried the stolen papers in Gran's plot?" Gambit clearly didn't want to admit as much vocally, but Sara was insistent. "Did you?"

Gambit cast his eyes downward. "Yes."

The slap came out of nowhere, Sara's hand swinging round with unbelievable speed to connect with Gambit's cheek with an ear-splitting 'crack'. Purdey staggered backward involuntarily, shocked at the viciousness of the act. She goggled at the scene as Gambit's head wrenched sideways with the force of the blow, but he looked less surprised than anyone at his cousin's reaction. His head was ducked but his gaze was level. "It was the safest place I could think of at the time," he defended, cheek already sporting a vivid red handprint.

"It's Gran!" Sara was on her feet, hands clenched so tightly into fists that Purdey could see the knuckles were snow-white. "Our gran. She loved you more than anyone. You were her favourite. She deserves better than to be someone's glorified safety deposit box!"

Gambit sat back in his chair, refraining from rubbing at his stung flesh, despite how angry it looked. "She taught us to do the right thing. She'd understand that I did it to keep people safe."

"Don't you dare try your excuses on me, Michael, or you'll get worse than a slap." Sara's accent was getting ragged with emotion, the essential cockney bleeding through much the way Gambit's did in similar situations. She stumbled backward, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I can't stand the sight of you."

"Sara!" Gambit called urgently after her, but his cousin was already storming toward the door, black curls bouncing with every determined step. She exited the cell and was immediately met by two guards, who received an ugly glare for their troubles. She locked eyes with Larry. "Call off your guard dogs, or so help me I'll make this an interdepartmental incident for the books. Or do you fancy tangling with MI6?"

Larry seemed to realise that annoying the irate woman further was not the wisest course of action, and nodded at his men to clear a path. Sara shouldered past them and made a beeline for Larry himself. "And while we're on the topic of interdepartmental squabbles, before you get any ideas you are not—NOT, do you hear?—to so much as think about sending any of your minions to my grandmother's grave, or you'll wish I'd cut you down nice and quick right here, get me?"

Larry was getting annoyed now, too, and squared his shoulders aggressively. "This is my investigation, and I will do whatever I have to to find those papers."

"But this is MY family," Sara countered. "No matter what he—" She pointed an accusing finger through the glass at Gambit, who was only now nursing his wounded flesh. "—decided to do, we will not grant you any kind of exhumation order, and I'm going to make sure you don't get within 100 feet of my Gran. And if you don't believe me, don't say I didn't warn you."

Purdey, who had been watching the entire scene unfold in a state of shock, stepped forward now, rested a soothing hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Sara, I know he didn't mean it that way. Gambit would never—"

Sara shrugged her hand off, and Purdey could tell anger was being overridden by sadness. "It's not your fault, Purdey. You don't have to explain anything." With that, she turned on her heel and hurried out the door.

Purdey turned to Steed, who looked remarkably calm given what had just unfolded right in front of him. "Steed, we need her on our side. She can't actually be thinking of disowning Gambit, can she? Not when he needs her?"

"I confess that I don't know Miss Lynley as well as I'd like, but it does seem unlikely she'll bear a grudge toward Gambit indefinitely." He sucked his teeth. "Whether she'll allow anyone to go poking about in the resting place of her family members is another issue entirely."

Purdey turned back to Larry. "If I talk her around, will you let Gambit go? He's told us where the papers are."

Larry's jaw was set stubbornly. "It doesn't undo everything else he's done, but it could help his case if he's seen to be cooperative."

"He hasn't done anything except what he had to to keep those papers safe," Purdey shot back.

Larry was unmoved. "It'll help, but I can't promise more. I'm sorry, Purdey."

Purdey was fuming. "We'll see about that." She looked to Steed. "I'm going after her. Make sure no one touches that grave until I do. She'll never forgive us if we do it surreptitiously."

Steed nodded. "Leave it with me. Go."

Purdey took off like a greyhound, darting out the door and down the corridor at full speed. She nearly bowled over several guards, fellow agents, and other Ministry staff in the process as she raced toward the lift that would take her out of the basement where the Ministry did all of its dirty work and back up to the more civilised world above. She was keenly aware of the fact that Sara had a head start and had left in a hurry, not in the mood for dawdling. If she missed her, Purdey knew she might lose her chance to talk Gambit's cousin around before she did something that couldn't be undone.

Sara wasn't standing by the lift when she arrived, and Purdey cursed as she lost precious seconds waiting for it to come back down. The second the doors opened, she was inside, stabbing the button for the main floor repeatedly, willing the doors to close as quickly as possible. The lights on the floor indicator panel lit up with agonising slowness, counting up past various other subterranean departments before finally, blessedly, returning her to the main floor. The doors opened and Purdey darted out, deftly avoiding a collision with a very surprised secretary, and made a beeline for the front door. She pushed it open with a mighty heave and dashed down the steps. Parked in the lot in front of the building's entrance was a silver sports car with a telltale head of black curls visible through the driver's side window. Purdey pelted across the lot, making straight for it, arrived just as the key turned in the ignition, and prayed that the passenger door was unlocked as she reached for the handle. It was and she threw it open, leapt inside just as the car pulled away with a squeal of tyres. Purdey's innate sense of balance kept her from being thrown out of the still-open door, and she closed it hurriedly before the next turn sent her tumbling. Only then did she turn to look at Sara, who was driving with purpose and expertise. "I know you're not in the mood to talk," Purdey began, as she set about fastening her safety belt, "but at the very least you could have waited until I was actually in the car."

"I had to make it look good," Sara replied matter-of-factly, checking her rear-view mirror. "I'd already spent too long sitting there radioing my people about Gran's grave. I think they were starting to get suspicious."

Purdey frowned. "What do you mean, 'look good'?" She studied Sara's expression, noted the disappearance of the angry flush on her cheeks and the steadiness of her hands on the wheel. "You're not going to tell me that was all an act?"

"Why should I, when you've worked it out all on your own?" Sara flashed Purdey a cheeky smile. "Not a bad performance if I do say so myself, but I hope you'll forgive me."

Purdey was taken aback. "I think Gambit's the one you should be asking for forgiveness," she said sharply, offended on Gambit's behalf.

Sara shook her head. "Michael doesn't have much choice in the matter. It was his idea, after all. And anyway, I've owed him a slap for years."

Purdey cocked her head quizzically. "Gambit's idea?"

"You were wondering why he didn't ask for you," Sara pointed out as she turned the wheel. "You thought he was trying to keep you out of it, and maybe he was. Maybe he was trying to protect you. But the main reason he didn't want to talk to you was because you didn't have the information to understand what he was saying."

Realisation dawned in Purdey's eyes. "It was a code. He told you something."

Sara nodded smartly in confirmation. "And the something is something only a family member would know. And you're not quite there. Not yet."

Purdey blushed in spite of herself. "We haven't really talked about…"

Sara waved her off with a knowing smile. "Yes, yes, whatever you say. Anyway, the important thing is, he gave me a very important clue that very few people would spot."

Purdey's interest was piqued. "Do tell."

"Gran. The gran we share. We both loved her dearly, but Michael adored her. She was one of the few people who really cared about him growing up. Really took an interest." Sara paused for a moment as she considered the significance of that statement, swallowed the emotion, then carried on. "She didn't have much money—no one in the family did—but practical woman that she was, she saved up and bought herself a very humble plot. Not the one she wanted, mind—she wanted to be buried beside her husband on the Isle of Man, but she couldn't afford that, so instead of complaining, she settled.

"That was until Michael got wind of it. And when he found out what was going on, he was determined to make it right, even though Gran kept saying it was fine and not to worry himself. But you know how stubborn he is, self-sacrificing idiot. So he scrimped and he saved and he worked for heaven knows how long doing whatever, and he bought her that plot. And that's where she is now, keeping granddad company." She shot Purdey a meaningful look. "But she still owned the original plot."

Purdey could see the pieces of the puzzle dropping into place before her eyes. "Gambit said that he buried the papers at the plot your grandmother bought for herself. That means—"

"They're not in the plot where she's buried. Which is the place everyone immediately assumed he was talking about. But what he really meant was that he buried it in the plot Gran bought for herself, which, incidentally, Michael inherited when she died."

Purdey's eyes lit up. "So while they're fighting you for an exhumation order, we can go and dig up the papers ourselves, without disturbing your grandmother."

"And use them to our advantage," Sara pointed out. "Or, more importantly, Michael's advantage."

"Gambit let himself get captured so he'd have Ministry back-up if he got Vanessa to agree to an exchange. But he wants to keep the papers out of the Ministry's hands as much as Vanessa's. If we have them, neither Vanessa or the Ministry or even Gambit will know where they are. That gives us leverage!" Purdey was wired now, like a bloodhound waiting to go on the hunt. "Are we going there now?"

"Yes, eventually." Sara checked her rear-view mirror again. "We're being followed, but I've got a contingency plan in place. I radioed a friend while I waited for you to hopefully come out to talk me around. We're going to have to engage in a little deception, if you don't mind."

Purdey turned her chin up defiantly. "Just try and stop me."

Sara grinned wickedly and turned sharply, pulling into a parking spot adjacent to a well-appointed restaurant. "Right," she said to Purdey, as she applied the clutch. "We're going to lose them here. When we get out, pretend that I'm still desperately angry and you're trying to talk me around."

"I always liked drama in school," Purdey said brightly, removing her safety belt. She stepped out and put on what she considered to be a suitably nuanced performance of 'beseeching yet persuasive' as Sara somehow managed to conjure up some more angry tears at will. They disappeared into the restaurant and Sara led the way to a private room at the back. There was a man sitting inside, alone, nursing a glass of wine as though he had all the time in the world. A set of car keys rested near his elbow on the table.

Sara nodded at him in acknowledgement as they stepped inside. "Our watchers are out front just around the corner," she told him.

The man raised his glass in a one-sided toast. "I'll keep an eye out." He pointed his chin at the keys. "Car's in the alley. How long will you be?"

"Not more than an hour, I hope," Sara told him, grabbing the keys. She looked to Purdey. "I'd introduce you, but I think it's better if you both remain nameless."

"I've had many relationships that worked best that way," the man quipped, giving Purdey a wink. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Sara was already on her way out the door. "And don't drink your way through my tab. I have a reputation to keep up."

"I thought adding to it was doing just that," came the snappy reply, and Sara just shook her head and led the way out into the restaurant's inner workings.

"Friend of yours?" Purdey asked in amusement.

"After a fashion," Sara allowed. "Not all of the company I keep is of the same quality." She found the back door and stepped out into the alley. The car was parked there, as promised. "I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea."

"I think I'm getting the right one," Purdey quipped, sliding into the passenger seat. "It must be a family trait. How far is it to the plot?"

Sara slid the key into the ignition and set the car purring into life. "Not far. Have you ever ventured across the Thames to Battersea?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm quite well-travelled," Purdey said with a smile. "Hadn't we better be going?"

After some quick manoeuvring to ensure that they didn't cross paths with their one-time tail, Sara drove them directly to their destination, a neat but unassuming graveyard occupied by souls who had undoubtedly aspired to more, but had never achieved it. Stepping out of the car, Purdey felt vaguely mournful, knowing this was Gambit's world, his roots. He had never been ashamed of where he came from, and it had never occurred to Purdey that he should be, but the deprivation that she knew accompanied his early years made her heart ache in a way that she couldn't ignore. She pushed it aside in favour of the task at hand, but it continued to lurk just outside periphery of her consciousness. She vowed to ask Gambit more about his past, and his childhood, when this was all over. He'd endured more adversity than he'd let on, and she wanted, needed, to share in it.

Sara swung open the low gate and started to wend her way through the gravestones, certain of where she needed to go. Purdey followed in her wake, taking care not to disturb the slightly-wilted flowers on the stones, the legacies of the bereaved who refused to forget those who had gone before them. For a moment, she had an image in her mind's eye of her father's own grave, and the bunches of flowers she faithfully took out to him every year on the anniversary of his death. She could hear her own words, echoing in her ears, as she told him how much she missed him, what had happened in her life since they'd last had one of their one-way conversations. She felt the tears rise unbidden, but forced them down, focussed instead on Sara. Her father was gone, but Gambit was still here, and she didn't intend to sit by his grave for some time to come.

Sara had stopped by a plot and was studying it intently. Purdey, realising she'd been lagging behind, caught up in the tangle of memories of her past, hurried over to the woman's side. To her surprise, the plot appeared to be occupied. At the very least, it had a tombstone to call its own. Purdey read the inscription out loud: "Annie Gambit. Beloved mother, wife, and grandmother." She looked at the dates and did the math. They looked right for the grandmother of a man Gambit's age. She looked quizzically at Sara. "If your grandmother is on the Isle of Man, who is this?"

Sara's jaw was working the same way that Gambit's did when he was turning a puzzle over in his mind. "That's her first name, but Gran-our gran-was an O'Carroll. Irish. Not a Gambit. As far as I know, Michael doesn't have an Annie on his father's side. This person doesn't exist." She glanced at Purdey. "This proves my theory. This is the plot Gran bought, but it's a decoy grave, meant to hide the papers. I'm sure of it."

Purdey dropped into a crouch, ran the backs of her fingers over her lips in thought. "If this is where Gambit hid the papers, where exactly would he put them?"

Sara cursed silently. "Damn it all! I didn't think to bring a shovel."

Purdey shook her head. "No, that would attract too much attention. It would take too long and raise too many questions to exhume the grave, and if he dug it up himself someone might see him and raise the alarm. Gambit wouldn't risk that."

Sara put her hands on her hips in annoyance. "Well if he didn't want to bury them, where would he put them?"

Purdey tapped her knuckles against her lips and considered, eyes sweeping over the entire grave before settling on the gravestone. There was something strange about the inscription that was bothering her. She walked around to the side of the grave to get a different perspective. "Sara, look here." She pointed at the text. "The serif on the bottom of all the letters—they look like little arrows. Do you see it?"

Sara crouched down beside her, squinted at the text. "Possibly. What are you thinking?"

Purdey was getting excited now. "Gambit loves hidden compartments and things. He has them in his flat to hide the mechanism for his bed, and to keep files and things safe when he brings them home. He wouldn't bury the papers, but he might hide them behind a secret panel. What if the arrows point the way?"

Sara looked uncertain but Purdey was already exploring the side the gravestone, fingers questing for any unusual grooves or indentations. After a moment of feeling around, Purdey started to wonder if her instincts had steered her wrong. But then, suddenly, there it was: a seam in the stone that shouldn't have been there, a groove that gave way to a telltale indentation. Purdey applied a modicum of pressure, and couldn't hold back the smile that spread across her face as the stone gave way beneath her fingers, before popping out with a hiss. Purdey slid out a container while Sara looked on in disbelief. The prize was a fairly unremarkable metal box, about the weight and size of a hardcover book. Purdey swiped away a thin layer of accumulated dust, revealing a tapestry of dents and scratches that betrayed a long, somewhat violent history. Purdey couldn't help but draw a parallel with Gambit's own body.

Sara had been remarkably quiet throughout the reveal, and even as she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "So that's it," she said softly. "That's the damn thing that got Michael locked away in his own personal hell for three months."

Purdey could hear the anger in the words, and knew she couldn't argue with it. "Yes, and it's doing a very good repeat performance just now. But not for much longer, if I have anything to say about it." She straightened up. "Gambit didn't have any allies then, no one to turn to for help. But he does now. We can use this to his advantage."

Sara took the box from her, weighed it, examined it with a certain amount of scorn. Purdey was suddenly reminded that, while they had both listened to Gambit's account of his imprisonment, only Sara had actually sat at Gambit's bedside and been forced to bear witness to the damage his ordeal had wrought, physical and psychological. Purdey hadn't been there, hadn't known he existed. But it still seemed somehow intolerable to know that he'd been in such pain, and she hadn't been able to do a thing about it.

Sara had discovered a small keyhole in the metal, traced it with a finger. "Do we open it?"

Purdey considered. "Yes," she decided. "But not to read it. I want to take out some insurance. Do you have a lockpicking kit?"

Sara nodded. "In the car."

"Then let's get it."

"Presumably Michael has a key somewhere," Sara surmised, turning her attention back to the grave. "I wonder where he buried that."

"I imagine we'll find out," Purdey said unconcernedly.

Sara looked back to Purdey. "What do we do after we get it open?"

Purdey's face suddenly broke into a giant grin. "Where's the nearest post office?"