Chapter 5
As Lee waved his way through customs with his ISP, he looked around for Francine. He spotted her by a newsstand where she was casually thumbing through a magazine. Lee joined her there, picking up a newspaper and avoiding eye contact.
"They're going through customs now. You should see them any minute now."
Francine turned a few pages.
Lee looked up from the Times. "Here they come. Got them?"
Francine did not move her head as she said, "Got them."
Michael Shayne had all four of them from his spot behind a cardboard cutout of a Swiss Alp.
"I owe you, Francine. See you later."
He headed for the long-term parking lot, then to 4247 Maplewood in Arlington.
Dotty West was pruning a rosebush in the front yard when she saw the familiar silver Corvette pull up.
"Lee, it's so wonderful to see you! I thought Amanda said you were going to be in Europe for a while."
He kissed her on the cheek, then replied, "I was, but I just got back. The production schedule changed. I have to be back in the editing room in an hour, and I need to talk to Amanda." About this ridiculous cover story, he added mentally.
"She should be back any minute. She was just taking the boys to soccer practice. Why don't we go in and have a nice cup of tea?"
"I'd like that. Thank you."
Mrs. West went into the kitchen to start the kettle while Lee sat down in a chair by the front window. He turned it so he could watch for Amanda's car.
"Lee? Lee?" Mrs. West had to repeat herself to get his attention.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"Would you like lemon or sugar?"
"Neither, thank you," he said as he picked up his cup and saucer and glanced back out the window.
Mrs. West was starting to become concerned. "Is everything alright, Lee?"
Lee let out a breath and smiled, relaxing a bit. "Everything's good, Mrs. West. I'm just anxious to see Amanda."
"You know, when Joe starting getting anxious to see Amanda, there were wedding bells on the horizon."
Lee began, "Mrs. West..."
She raised a hand to stop him. "I'm not trying to pressure you, Lee. I'm just being hopeful. Amanda cares for you very much, and I think you two make a handsome couple."
Lee nodded and sipped his tea as Amanda pulled up. He put his teacup on the coffee table and went up the few steps to the front door to meet her.
He opened the door just as she reached for it, taking her outstretched hand in his and pulling her into the house and into his arms.
"Lee! What are you..."
He did not let her finish her sentence. He kissed her hungrily, leaving Mrs. West to intently study the delicate flowers on her teacup.
When they finally separated, Lee whispered, "I need to talk to you."
Mrs. West, with a wink to Lee, excused herself and went back to her rosebushes outside. Lee and Amanda went into the living room and sat together on the sofa.
"What are you doing here? You were on a case in Europe."
"Tupolev's network seems to extend to the States."
"Should you be here? I mean, shouldn't you be out tailing suspects and meeting informants in seedy places? You said it was extremely important that you catch these guys."
"It is."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I had the opportunity to see you and I took it. Francine will be calling in a while. She's following some people for me right now."
She put a hand on his cheek. "That's sweet of you."
"I do want to talk to you."
"Oh? About what?" Amanda was trying to decide if he was about to tell her he was going to be gone for a few months.
"I spent a lot of time on a bench in London waiting for a delivery. Twice."
She eyed him questioningly, but he waved it off and continued.
"It gave me the opportunity to think about us."
"What about us?"
"I love you, Amanda. You're my wife. You, Joe, and I are the only ones who know, except for Billy's suspicions. I'm tired of it. I want to shout it from the rooftops."
"But Lee, won't it be dangerous for us? The bad guys will use anything they can."
"You're right, so I guess I'll just settle for whispering it to a few people. We need to come clean to Billy, your mother, and especially," Lee said, "to my stepsons."
Amanda looked at him with wide eyes. Either he referred to Phillip and Jamie by name or as "the boys" like she did. She took this change in terminology exactly as he meant it. It was a sign that he was very serious about telling them he was their stepfather.
"How are we going to tell them?" Amanda asked. "We should have done it right away. Now it's going to be that much harder."
"We'll just have to think of something. Any ideas?" He leaned back into the couch cushions.
"I think we should explain this to Mother first. I just don't know what to say. She's going to be upset."
"Oh, I don't know. While I was waiting for you, she practically told me it was time to propose."
Before Amanda had time to respond, the phone rang.
"Amanda, it's Francine. Is Lee there?"
"Yes, he is, Francine. Just a minute."
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I? You know, I could call back in a few minutes." She enjoyed getting Amanda's goat.
Amanda did not answer. She shook her head and held the telephone out to Lee.
"Lee, how are things? Is your little suburban vacation going well?"
"It's fine, Francine. What's happening? Where should I meet you?"
"Well, they're still at the airport. You were right about a car being their next step, but it's not a rental. It's some kind of old white roadster. I saw it when they opened the hanger door. They went in, but no one's been in or out since."
"What are they doing?"
Francine turned up the corners of her mouth. "Let's just say they've gone beyond passing notes in study hall. I can't say I blame the woman. Your description of her was fine, Lee, but you neglected to tell me that the man was one of the sexiest in the known universe. I'll tail him for you anytime."
Francine gave Lee the hanger number. Lee was on his way after telling Amanda he would call as soon as he could with a plate number and some research she could take care of from Q Bureau.
Chapter 6
Inside the hanger at Dulles, Remington Steele had stretched his long body across the seats of the 1936 Auburn Speedster, his feet up on the dash. He was watching Laura go from window to door to window, nervously looking out.
"There's someone out there."
"It's a busy airport, Laura," he informed her, stretching his arms and interlacing his fingers behind his head.
"It's the same woman I saw in the terminal. The blonde I thought was following us. You know, if you know her, you should tell me."
"I already told you, Laura. I've never seen her before. Why don't you forget about it and tell me what sights you'd like to see, what landmarks you'd like to visit, and, most importantly, whether you'd rather stay at the Ritz or the Hilton."
Laura pursed her lips at him, then turned back to the window. In a few minutes, she excitedly waved him over. He grudgingly obliged.
"A man in a sports car just pulled up. I can't see his face, but the blonde is pointing this way."
"I think you may be right. You're the trained PI. What should we do?"
"We see if they follow us."
"Laura, you don't suppose it's..." He stopped, not wanting to say the name aloud.
She turned and placed her hand on his arm.
"I'm sure it's not."
Remington nodded and let the matter drop. After activating the automatic hanger door, they climbed into the car with Remington at the wheel. When the door was open just wide enough, they sped out across the tarmac and onto an access road.
Lee jumped into action, leaving Francine to call Amanda with the plate number. He tore after them, then realized they had spotted him. He pulled off into an open lot, watching as they turned behind a building, then reappeared three buildings down. When they stopped their slightly amateurish evasion methods, Lee knew they thought they lost him. He followed at a more discreet distance.
"He's gone, Laura. I think we were just being paranoid," Remington said as they drove toward the Hilton.
"Maybe you're right," she said. Nevertheless, she took a final look at the traffic behind them.
As they pulled up in front of the hotel, he said, "Why don't you go ahead and check us in. I'll pop round and get a nice bottle of burgundy."
"Ok."
"Be back in a flash."
She got out of the roadster, closing the door gently behind her. He did not immediately speed off, so she spun on her heel to see why. He was just sitting there, looking at her. He quickly flicked his eyes forward and pulled away.
Remington drove for a while, heading nowhere in particular, the bottle of wine temporarily forgotten. He was thinking about Laura and their four months of wedded bliss. He thought about his life as Remington Steele. Mostly he thought about Laura.
The reason for his drive popped back into his head as he passed a small wine shop. He picked out a suitable bottle. As he paid for it, he decided there was one more stop he needed to make.
While he did so, Lee Stetson picked up his car phone and called Amanda at IFF.
"What did you get on the license plate?"
"The car was flown in two days ago from Los Angeles. It's registered to Remington Steele Investigations, a private detective firm based there. The man and woman are Laura and Remington Steele. They were recently married under slightly unusual circumstances. The INS thought the marriage was phony, but they were later cleared."
"Good work, Amanda. They sound ok. I wonder just how involved they are in all this. Check Steele out a little more. He looks awfully familiar."
"Can you narrow that down?"
"Not really. I've been trying to place him all day."
"Francine said to tell you Shayne is in the country."
There was a confused silence on the line.
"Lee, who's Shayne?"
"He's a British agent who works as a small-time double agent. He has an office in Washington, but spends a lot of time on the move. He contacted Steele in Ireland. If he made his exchange, why would he come here? Does Francine have a location on him?"
"No. They lost him."
"I guess I'll worry about him later. Right now, Steele is alone. Why don't you go over to the hotel and talk to the woman? Maybe you can get something from her."
"Will do."
"Bye, Amanda."
*
Laura opened the door cautiously after carefully scrutinizing her visitor through the peephole.
"Mrs. Steele? Amanda Keane with hotel security."
"Is something wrong?" Laura ran through the possibilities in her head. The way her life had been going for the past four years, there were a lot of them.
"We're not sure. Do you know a man named Michael Shayne?"
Laura knew a Michael O'Leary rather well, but no Shayne. "I don't think so. Why?"
"He's called several times looking for you, even before you arrived. We thought we should check it out since you had no reservation, yet he looked for you here."
"My husband and I are private detectives. Maybe he has an urgent case for us."
"I don't think so."
The bluntness of the response surprised Laura. "Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry. It's just that Shayne is a bicycle messenger," Amanda lied. "He delivers here quite a bit. He said he had a rather unusual package from a..." Amanda pretended to consult a small notebook. She hoped her research held up. "Mildred Krebs."
"Mildred is our secretary. What was unusual about the package?"
"Well, he said it was a five foot tall stuffed heart with arms and legs." Amanda crossed her fingers.
Laura smiled. "That sounds like Mildred. Tell him he can deliver it tomorrow."
After a few more questions, Amanda was satisfied that they did not know anyone named Shayne. She went back to the lobby. Shortly after, Remington returned.
Laura opened the door. "Mildred sent us a present. A five foot tall heart."
Remington looked around. "Where did you put it?" he asked after not spotting it.
"It's being delivered tomorrow."
"That's fine. Laura, there's a beautiful sunset out there. Let's go for a drive and enjoy it."
"Why," she purred, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him, "when we can stay here?"
He ran his hands through her hair. "We've got the Auburn and no case. That means we can have a pleasant drive..." One of her hands moved down his back. "...enjoy the lights of the city..." Her other hand went to his shoulder inside his suit jacket. "...and no one will shoot at us."
"That sounds wonderful. What are we waiting for?"
They drove with a warm, summer evening breeze blowing through their hair. Remington had scouted a small overlook earlier. They parked, then she was in his arms once more.
A few minutes later, a low silver car coasted in, lights off. It stayed under the trees.
Laura and Remington were in no position to notice it. They were lost in each other. Remington hugged her to him, never wanting to let go. He raised his head slightly to kiss her once more. He began to say something, his courage up from her mood and the strange effects of the car. Then he saw the moonlight glint off the shiny silver automobile under a nearby tree.
"Laura," he whispered urgently, "he's back."
"Who's back?"
"The man who met the blonde at the airport."
"Can you see him? Who is it?"
"I can't see him, but I have a good idea." He slipped out of the car and cursed, "Antony."
Laura let out a surprised gasp. Before she could stop him, Remington was running, low to the ground, toward the other car.
Lee looked around and saw several concerning developments. The man was gone, and Amanda's car was just pulling in. She must have followed him.
Lee put his hand on his gun and quietly opened his door. Remington Steele's fist sailed in. He realized a split second too late that this was not Anthony Roselli. His fist landed solidly on Lee's jaw.
Lee fought back instinctively. He sent his own fist right back. He did not know the reason for the assault, but, at the moment, he did not care.
They took turns knocking each other down by throwing kidney punches, stinging jabs to the face, and wild hooks that did not always connect. Laura and Amanda, both now out of their cars, watched side-by-side as their husbands beat the tar out of each other.
"What's going on?" Amanda was not sure how to react to this turn of events.
"Remington thought that man was an acquaintance of ours who didn't exactly endear himself to my husband."
"So why is he fighting with mine?" Amanda let her secret slip in the confusion.
"Your husband? I think we better stop this and straighten some things out."
Amanda hastily agreed and ran with Laura toward Lee's car and the fracas that was escalating near it.
Remington and Lee had gone beyond a simple fistfight. This was not a fight that was going to end with the two men doing some male bonding. Remington was throwing punch after punch to Lee's stomach, doubling him over. Lee fell backward and Steele backed off a step. Lee was back up in an instant, delivering a violent kick to Steele's head, sending the detective to the ground in a heap.
Laura and Amanda took the opportunity to break it up. Amanda stepped in front of Lee. Laura knelt down by Remington, preventing him from getting up and starting it all again. Both men were almost comical. Blood streamed down their faces, and their hair had been violently restyled. Every visible inch of each was covered in dirt and developing bruises.
Amanda left Lee sitting on the hood of his car and walked over to the Steeles.
"I think we all need some time to cool off before we straighten this all out. We'll meet you at your hotel tomorrow morning." She returned to her car, locked it, then started for the Agency with Lee in the Corvette.
Once they were gone, Laura helped Remington back to the Auburn. Before he could say anything, she shoved a wad of tissues under his nose and walked a short distance away where she stood, her back to him.
"Why did you do that?"
Remington started to speak, but could not at first. He coughed and spit out a mouthful of blood. He managed to say, "I thought Tony had come back for you."
She faced him, a look of disgust firmly set in her features. "Let's just get you back to the hotel for now."
Once they had returned to their room and decided his nose was not broken, Laura asked, "Even if that was Tony, why would you do that?"
"Laura, I..." He stopped. "Who was that, anyway?"
"We'll worry about that tomorrow. Answer my question."
He began again. "Laura, I thought he was back. I wanted to settle it. What would you have had me do? Are you protecting him?"
"I'm not protecting him."
"Then what are you doing?" His voice had a hard edge to it.
She did not know what to say. She was not sure herself why she was upset.
"Laura, are you still interested in him?"
She made no sound. She was trying to work out how to say no without her voice wavering.
"Laura, answer me." He paused. "Please."
When he got no answer, he walked into the adjoining sitting room, closing the door behind him. He fished a small velvet box out of his pocket and placed it on the glass coffee table. He sat down heavily on the sofa and stared at it.
A few moments later, Laura opened the door.
"Remington, I'm sorry. You know that Tony..." She stopped abruptly when she saw the small box in front of him.
He raised his head wearily. There was a catch in his voice as he softly said, "Tony what, Laura?"
Her voice also came out quietly as she worked out exactly what was happening. "Tony is in the past. Over. Surely you can appreciate when something or someone is in the past."
"I can, Laura." He stood, then went on, "But I need some time."
He walked out.
*
Amanda was busy wrapping bandages around Lee's three cracked ribs when the Agency doctor came back into the room.
"You owe me for this, Scarecrow. Do you know what time it is?"
"I know, doc. Am I going to live?" he asked lightly.
The doctor replied, "You never can tell with you agents, but you're not going to die from cracked ribs and multiple contusions. That must have been some pounding you took. Go home and rest."
Amanda would not let him stay at the Agency as he wanted. She bundled him back to his apartment, reminding him of their morning appointment.
Chapter 7
In the earliest light of the morning, Remington Steele returned to the hotel. He quietly unlocked the door to their suite and glanced around. Laura was not in the sitting room, so he went into the bedroom.
She was asleep, fully clothed and tucked into a ball, on top of the covers. Steele gently covered his wife with the half of the comforter she was not sleeping on, and then went back into the other room.
An hour later, the exhausted man on the sofa awoke with a start. There was a soft knock on the door followed by the subtle clicks of someone picking the lock. Remington silently placed the jacket that had been his blanket on the floor and padded to the door.
It opened a fraction. A cautious eye peered in, then went wide as it met Remington's stare.
The man stood, straightened his tie, and announced, "Steele, I need your services."
The accent was slight; the detective could not place it.
"Who are you?"
"That's not important right now. Go get your wife so I don't have to explain this twice."
Steele eyed the man, but made no move.
The man continued, "She is, after all, the only one with a legitimate investigator's license."
Remington's brow knit in confusion, unsure of what this man was after. Nevertheless, he went to wake Laura.
"Mrs. Steele, it's a pleasure," the man said as they all sat, Steele and Laura on the couch and him in a chair across from them.
This time it was Laura who asked, "Who are you?"
"I'll tell you that in due time. I need to be assured of your assistance and protection."
"We'll do what we can, sir," Laura politely replied. Remington nodded his agreement. They wanted to hear this. Both were looking for an explanation of the events that plagued their return to the US.
The man considered this, then spoke. "Very well. My name is Michael Louris. I work for the US government by way of the British government, usually out of Europe. Occasionally, I take a job for the Russians, but I am not a traitor. I act on orders from my Washington handler, feeding the Russians false or misleading information with a bit of the real stuff thrown in to keep up my cover. The problem is that he has now disappeared. And he's the only one who knows my work for the Russians is really for our side.
"I know Stetson is after me, my contacts, and my Russian superior. He thinks I've gone over. He also thinks you're one of my contacts."
Steele stopped him. "Who's Stetson? Why does he think we're involved?"
"Lee Stetson, codename Scarecrow, works for the Agency. He's the gentleman you had the little row with last night."
Remington rubbed his jaw in remembrance, then repeated, "So why does he think we're one of your contacts? We've never met before, have we?"
"No, we haven't, but I have been following you. I almost caught up with you in Ireland, but Stetson was on my tail. I suppose he thinks I made contact."
Laura said, "He may have thought that before, but the woman with him..."
"The blonde or the brunette?" Louris asked.
"The brunette. She came here yesterday asking questions. She seemed satisfied with the answers and didn't try to detain us last night. I take it she's not hotel security."
"She's his partner, Amanda King. The blonde you saw at the airport is another agent who works with them from time to time. After Mrs. King left you, you two left, followed closely by Stetson, then her. She must not have had the chance to talk to him. Then you," he pointed at Steele, "jumped him. I don't know what they think now."
He stood and went to the window, nervously looking out.
"I have papers to prove all this, but there is a more pressing matter."
A knock on the door interrupted him. After seeing through the peephole that it was Scarecrow and Mrs. King, Louris went into the bedroom, closed all the curtains, looked under the bed, and then sat down on it.
"Don't tell them I'm here."
Laura opened the door and greeted Amanda. Lee and Remington eyed each other warily.
Laura broke the silence. "Who are you two? You're not hotel security."
Lee replied, "No, we're not." He waved an official-looking identification card at them. "We work for the INS. I'm Steadman, she's Keane."
"You're Lee Stetson and Amanda King of the Agency." Steele was done playing games with this guy.
Amanda sighed and looked at Lee. When he nodded, she told them the truth.
"The man I asked you about yesterday, Laura...may I call you Laura?...is Michael Shayne. He's a double agent who has been giving the Russians information on US weapons, agents, and codes for years."
"I still don't know anyone by that name."
Remington spoke up. "I know that name."
Laura asked, "You do?"
"Of course. Michael Shayne, Private Detective. Lloyd Nolan, Marjorie Weaver, Twentieth Century Fox, 1940. Nolan plays a confident, unpretentious private eye who must keep track of Weaver, who is a heavy gambler. This was before Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe made shamus a household word. There was a whole series of films. Hugh Beaumont took over the role in the late forties, but the character was never quite the same."
Laura could see they were perplexed by this response. "You'll have to excuse Remington. Old Hollywood is something of a disease with him."
Lee asked, slightly annoyed, "Do you know the guy or not?"
"No."
Before Lee could ask another question, a gunshot cracked nearby. They heard the thud of a body hitting the floor. Then there was nothing. They all rushed into the bedroom.
The man Remington and Laura knew as Michael Louris was on the floor, a red stain spreading on the carpet beneath him. His chest was a bloodied tangle of tissue and bits of his shirt.
Lee crouched by the body, studying it. Then he pointed to the door that led to the hall. "Is that door locked?"
Remington checked it, answering, "It's locked."
Lee thought aloud, "The door is locked. The window is intact. I don't see a gun, so it can't be self-inflicted. How did they get in?"
He wandered the room, searching for any clue. He spotted a small hole in the wallpaper and pried a bullet out of it, then turned to Remington and Laura.
"Would you care to revise your answer to our previous question?"
Laura asked, "Which question?"
"Do you know Michael Shayne?"
"The answer is still no, mate," Steele said.
To Amanda, Lee said, "He must not have told them anything."
He turned to face Steele and Laura. He announced, "This is Michael Shayne. Let's get him to the Agency medical examiner; then you two can explain his presence in your hotel room."
While they waited on the autopsy, the pair of detectives explained to the pair of spies all the happenings since they left Glen Cree for the airport. Both Remington and Laura deftly omitted Anthony Roselli.
"I told you they weren't spies," Amanda whispered to Lee.
"We'll have to see if Shayne was telling the truth about his, uh, activities." He turned to Laura and asked, "He didn't give you anything? A name? A meeting place?"
"All he said was his Washington superior had gone missing, and he had papers to prove it all."
"He said Washington? Not US or American? That's something, at least. Ok. Amanda, you and Laura go up to Q Bureau and get a list of agents who are missing, presumed dead, or even on vacation."
Amanda asked, "What are you going to do?"
"Steele and I will wait for the report while he tells me why he gave me three cracked ribs."
Remington Steele tugged his shirt cuffs back into position under his suit jacket. He motioned to a concerned Laura, indicating that he would be fine and that she should go.
Once they were gone, Lee prompted, "Well, Steele?"
Remington considered his answer for a moment, then said, "Thought you were someone else."
"Who?"
He paused again. Through clenched teeth, he spat, "Roselli."
"And?"
"There is no 'and'. He's an American chap who needed his teeth knocked in."
"That's all you're going to tell me? Who was he: an old enemy, a client who owed you money, your wife's ex-boyfriend?"
Lee saw the detective tense up at the last one. He tried to calm his new friend.
"Look, we're going to see a lot of each other until we solve this. You can trust me. We might as well get to know each other."
Remington weighed this. After a moment, he said, "Just how much do you know about Laura and me?"
"You mean Norman Keyes, the INS, and so on? It's all in your file. Your marriage was declared legal and the case dropped."
"But you don't know about Roselli."
"I know you helped him clear himself of treason charges, but that's all. I'd like to hear the whole story."
"It's a long one." Steele paused. "I can trust you?"
Lee shrugged. "Why not?"
"I don't think so."
Remington got up and went down the bare, overlit hall to a well-used vending machine. He returned with a bag of pretzels. The two men sat in silence, waiting.
Lee took the opportunity to study Steele's face. He still thought he looked familiar. He tried to picture the detective with a moustache, then with a beard. When he tried a hat, he had it.
"You're Douglas Quintaine."
Remington Steele choked on his mouthful of pretzels.
Continued