Chapter 3
Emma Peel looked down through the rippling waters to the sky-blue bottom of the pool. Brightly-colored markers strung on ropes floated on either side of her lane. She pulled down a pair of tinted goggles over her eyes to shield out the sunlight sparkling on the liquid surface. On her head was a rubber bathing cap, jauntily emblazoned with the Union Jack. Emma gaily wiggled her bare toes on the edge of the rubber start block.
She was racing in an Olympic swimming heat!
She didn't know how he had arranged it. But somehow she knew that when she hung around John Steed, anything could happen; all things were possible. Her eyes scanned the crowd looking for his wavy dark hair. Surely, he must be watching from somewhere nearby.
In the lane next to her was a well-muscled woman with blond hair cut short enough that she didn't need to wear a swim cap. According to Steed's information, this would be Marina Irinova, the defector who was seeking asylum.
Emma finally glimpsed Steed standing near the officials' table. At first she didn't recognize him with his shirt off. It was amazing that he could still look dashing even without his clothes, she thought.
-oOo-
Steed caught sight of Mrs. Peel and gave her a quick wink in return, grinning when he saw her smile back. He took a moment to admire her as she waited for the race to start. Her body was more sensuous and less athletic than any of the other competitors, and her assets were boldly on display in the wet bathing suit. He stared in fascination at the inward dimple caused by her navel, at the fabric stretched taut over the delicate mound between her thighs. The tips of her breasts were perfectly angled and firm; a credit to the women of Great Britain, Steed thought. For a brief moment he tried to imagine her body without clothes, then shook his head to dispel the fantasy—he had work to do.
Several guards were loitering around the Eastern Bloc swimmers. Steed looked carefully at their shoes and the cut of their suits. These men didn't have the look of standard Soviet security forces; these men had the look of KGB. Perhaps the other side had found out that Miss Irinova was the bearer of top secrets. Then he noticed that KGB men seemed to be spending equal amounts of time around all of the athletes. They don't know which woman it is, he thought.
-oOo-
The crowd in the stands was now cheering wildly. The beginning of the race was only seconds away. Emma knew she had no real chance of winning, but at least it would be a good workout before her fencing competition. She loosely shook out her arms and legs before freezing into her starting pose.
At the sound of the gun, she hurdled forward into the water like a shot from a cannon. Her freestyle stroke wasn't as efficient as that of the trained athletes, and soon she had slipped a dozen lengths behind. In spite of a spirited effort near the close of the race, Emma still finished in last, putting an end to any awkward questions that might have occurred if she had advanced to the next heat.
The swimmers were cooling down after the race in the water by the starting blocks. Emma drifted over to the lane marker and addressed the Soviet athlete next to her.
"Miss Irinova?" she asked.
"Privet," the woman answered. "You have been sent by Steed?"
"Yes. My name's Emma Peel."
Marina nodded. "I have vital information about a killing."
Emma splashed some water on her forearms, pretending to be working out a cramp. "Who's the victim?"
"My information is for Steed's ears only," Marina said smugly.
Emma sighed. "Did you have some plan for escaping?"
Marina hung on to the side of the pool and stretched her shoulders. "There is a narrow service corridor leading from the shower room to a fire exit outside the building. I can use it after the finals of the 400-meter race, tomorrow at sundown. It will be our only chance."
"Won't your handlers be with you?"
"My guards do not follow me into the shower. But I must go in naked, or they will be suspicious."
Emma pictured Steed waiting outside the fire door with a broad grin on his face as he greeted the nude athlete prancing down the hall. She would put a stop to that.
"You'll have to find a way to smuggle some clothing in," Emma announced.
"How can I do that?"
"Many women wear their bathing caps in the shower."
"So?"
"You can hide a swimsuit underneath it."
"It would have to be a very thin one."
"It would be better than nothing."
Marina gave her an even expression, as if she was judging her. "You're very clever, Miss Peel."
"Mrs.," Emma corrected.
"So you cannot be Steed's lover. That is good."
Emma started to protest Marina's conclusion, but decided to say nothing.
"Tomorrow at five," Marina said resolutely. She then hoisted herself out of the pool and sprinted over to the waiting KGB men in order to allay any of their suspicions.
-oOo-
Emma stood by the officials' table while she waited for Steed's heat to begin. Now that she had completed the task of contacting the Russian athlete, she was eager to relay the information. Marina had already been hustled away by her guards; they were a professional-looking group. Portable Iron Curtain indeed.
She knew that Steed must have been getting an eyeful of her before the race, so it was only right that she return the favor. Emma unashamedly contemplated Steed's body as he waited on the starting blocks. He was hardly a specimen of physical perfection. The best adjective she could think of to describe Steed's physique was 'well-traveled'. There were traces of more than a dozen scars, many of them from their ordeal in the Amazon; but there was one on his left calf that looked like teeth marks. That one must have hurt. His muscles were not the toned sinews of an athlete, but underneath the softness of easy living she detected a hard core of determination. As her eyes dipped below his waist, she noticed that his wet trunks outlined equipment more impressive than any she had encountered in her limited experience. She drove the thought from her mind.
Steed didn't seem to notice her attentions; he was preparing for the race. It occurred to her how utterly convincing he was in the role of an Olympic athlete. He behaved exactly like all the other swimmers; did the same trivial exercises, had the same look of concentration and lifelong desire for victory. Emma made a mental note to be careful not to be taken in by any of Steed's pretenses. He was an expert deceiver when he needed to be.
The sound of the starter's pistol disturbed her reverie. Steed knifed into the water with barely a splash. His stroke was strong and natural, and he stayed close to the lead for the first half of the race. The crowd around her was shouting boisterously in support of a Japanese athlete that was in the same heat. Emma found herself swept up in the excitement in spite of herself.
"Go, Steed! Go!" she shouted from the sideline. She might as well play her part of a fellow British swimmer.
Emma watched in amazement as on the final lap, Steed starting passing the other swimmers. My God, she thought, he's going to win! But his sprint faded at the end, causing him to finish in fourth. It was still an incredible time, faster than hers, and just a few hundredths from qualifying.
Steed shook the hand of the winner in the lane next to him. The he exited the pool and walked over to where she was standing. His chest and trunks were still wet, and he swung his arms vigorously, as if he was just starting to get loosened up. He grinned as he approached her.
"Ah, nothing like a brisk morning swim to get the circulation going. How was your swim, Mrs. Peel?"
Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Don't pretend you weren't watching, Steed. You know how I swam. I didn't want to overexert myself. I still have to fence tomorrow."
"Of course!" Steed answered jovially. "Still, I do believe my time was better than yours."
"You're a man. It's supposed to be better," she said begrudgingly. She couldn't believe that he had beaten her time. He seemed to be about the same age as Peter, a decade older than her. In spite of her claims, she hadn't been holding back at all.
Their conversation was interrupted as two men in gray suits wandered over to the officials' table. Emma recognized them as the guards for the Soviet athletes. She tried to look innocent, thinking it would be best not to acknowledge Steed's presence while the enemy was milling about.
Steed took the opportunity to appraise the sleek figure standing next to him in the black one-piece racer swimsuit. As he was admiring the pleasing way that the wet nylon clung to her body, her nipples became urgently erect, reminding him of his hallucination in the Amazon. It wasn't that cold; Mrs. Peel must have felt his stare. Steed didn't avert his gaze. She kept her head facing forward, pretending to be watching the next men's quarterfinal heat.
Emma could sense Steed's eyes upon her. The thought thrilled her, and she felt guilty for it. Since marrying Peter two years ago, she had never gone a month without physical satisfaction. What awaited her now? Endless months of celibacy while she mourned a dead husband? Even as she thought of Steed, her breasts advertised her need; and she knew he would surely notice it through the wet bathing suit. With a frown, she folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to hide her arousal from Steed's eyes.
She became suddenly aware that Steed knew everything she was thinking. He was wearing that same cocky grin that he had been sporting the first time she met him in the Amazon.
Steed attempted to slide his arm around her waist. Emma playfully danced away from his grip.
"Careful, Steed. I know judo."
"Just thought you needed a warm embrace, Mrs. Peel. You seemed cold for a moment."
Emma hugged her arms tighter across her bosom. "I need no warming from you, sir," she said with mock sternness.
The KGB men seemed to lose interest in the area. Emma overheard one of them speak the name "Vasily" before they both wandered back to rejoin the Russian athletes. She couldn't help but wonder if Steed's attempt at physical contact had been a diversion staged for the benefit of the enemy agents. She turned and looked directly into Steed's eyes, trying to read his thoughts the way he seemed to read hers. But he was inscrutable as ever as he resumed their conversation.
"Did you speak with Miss Irinova?" he asked.
Emma nodded. "She says she has vital information about an assassination plot. She wouldn't get into any details, but she said you have only one chance to accomplish the defection, and that's immediately after the finals of the 400-meter freestyle, at sundown tomorrow. We're to pick her up at a fire door outside the shower room. She'll give you the details about the plot once she's safe."
"Straight from the shower? That should be interesting."
"I've arranged for her to acquire clothing," Emma said with a smirk.
"You're most efficient. I'm glad I have you looking out for me."
"You're welcome," she answered with an innocent smile.
Steed extended his hand to her. She shook it, then realized that he had just tricked her into uncrossing her arms to expose her chest. Emma quickly moved again to cover her bosom.
He smiled debonairly. "You've done the Western world a great service, Mrs. Peel."
"Helping the defection of a Russian athlete?"
"No," Steed grinned. "Appearing on worldwide television in that swimsuit." He started walking away.
"I was on television?" she called after him.
-oOo-