Chapter 2
Steed pulled the Bentley to a stop in front of a richly-appointed hotel located only a few minutes from the University. The forty-year old stone architecture was an eclectic mix of Art Deco and Oriental. Two enormous statues of flat-faced Fu dogs flanked the Palladian entryway. Emma arched an eyebrow as she looked at the sign above it.
"The Golden Dragon?" she asked.
"Purely coincidence, Mrs. Peel." Steed grabbed the bags from the back and handed them to the porter. "The luxury should outweigh the bad connotation," he added, remembering her recent encounter with a certain painted strongman.
"That would require a lot of luxury," Emma said as he held the car door for her. Steed waited patiently as she fought a breeze that caught at the hem of her lightweight summer dress. Then he followed her to the entrance, grinning as he saw her pat the head of the jade-colored dog statue as they went past.
The lobby was opulently furnished with velvet-upholstered chairs, fake Ming vases, and potted palms. Steed dutifully checked in at the front desk and had the bags taken up to the room before suddenly noticing that he was quite alone.
"Mrs. Peel?" he called.
He turned around to see that she had wandered into a small dining area just off the lobby. Nearby, a waiter was already wheeling up a cart and unloading covered serving dishes.
"What's all this?" Steed asked as he strolled over.
Emma held up a plastic-sleeved list folded like an accordion. "Chinese Variety Meal," she quoted from the menu.
"Couldn't wait until supper, eh?"
"It's Chinese food. We'll be hungry again by supper. Did you get our rooms?"
Steed stowed his umbrella and hat in the seat next to her. He jingled a key before handing it over. "Yours is next to mine."
"Why doesn't that make me feel safer?"
"I can help keep intruders out," he suggested.
"Yes. But who's going to keep you out?" she teased.
The waiter supplied them each with a cloth napkin rolled around a set of marble chopsticks. Steed expertly handled the chopsticks; Emma was less certain, having only used bamboo before. They both dug in with gusto, famished from the long drive.
"I don't think I've ever eaten Chinese food off a plate before; only out of cartons," she commented as she managed to chase a bit of beef into her mouth.
"We could slip some cardboard under the serving dish."
"Here. Identify." Emma extended her chopsticks to offer him a small chunk of food covered with a reddish sauce. Steed leaned across the table and took it all in a single bite.
She snickered as Steed's eyes widened from the fiery reaction on his tongue. He groped along the table until he found a water glass to quench the burning sensation, gulping down its entire contents.
"What was that?" he stammered.
"Authentic Gong bao ji ding," she announced innocently. "Kung Pao chicken, rife with Szechuan peppercorn and red chilis."
"How come you're not eating it?"
"I'm preserving my taste buds. I prefer a more Western version of Chinese cuisine. The snow peas and rice are excellent," she smirked as she struggled to pick up some grains with the chopsticks.
Steed had a spoon he had used to stir his tea. He scooped up a generous helping of his rice and peas and offered it to her.
"Letting me have some of yours?" Emma asked. She leaned over the table, using her arm to hold the V-shaped neckline of her dress closed, and emptied his spoon with a single mouthful. "Mmm."
"You know what they say," Steed announced glibly. "The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach."
"You have some mixed-up ideas about anatomy. And before you ask, I'm not giving any lessons."
"You and Rita can't be the only women at this symposium," he countered slyly. "I'll just have to find one who can tell me what connects to what."
"Speaking of Rita, I should give her a quick call to let her know that we're in." Emma delicately dabbed her mouth with the napkin and excused herself from the table. There was a private phone box at the far end of the lobby. She smiled back at Steed as she approached the booth. She didn't see the two figures that ducked out of sight.
-oOo-
Rita Fox stormed into a building that looked like a converted warehouse, not a mile distant from the University's Singleton campus. Trailing in her wake was Tara King, and a step behind her, the short blond bob and lithe body of the Russian Olympic swimmer, Marina Irinova.
"It's really not necessary—," Tara began.
The massive room appeared empty, save for a tall golden-haired Amazon in a tight-fitting turtleneck sweater and slacks. She stood in the middle of the floor with her back towards the entrance. As Rita approached, the woman turned around slowly, guiding a wheelchair that had been hidden by her body. The chair contained a jolly, bulky figure with a well-groomed moustache.
"You see, Rhonda," the man said matter-of-factly, "I was correct in my predictions. I knew Dr. Fox would insist on seeing me the instant she got the message from Tara."
Rita halted in her tracks, taken aback for a moment at the sight, then gathered herself.
"You must be Mother," she said tersely.
Mother gave her a broad grin. "And you must be my Angels." He grabbed the wheels of the chair and pushed himself forward out of Rhonda's grip.
"One redhead, one blonde, one brunette," he beamed. "We should be well-supplied for undercover work."
"What makes you think that I want to be a part of this little scheme?" Rita said evenly.
The man's eyes lit up with mischief. "Come now, Doctor. Haven't you ever yearned for a secret life, fighting crime?" He gave a dramatic flourish. "Just imagine it—by day, mild-mannered university researcher; by night: The Scarlet Fox!"
Rita smirked, "I can find other ways to make my nights exciting."
"You must mean that research chemist, Herbert Fredrickson," Mother smiled cryptically.
She arched her eyebrow in surprise. Herbert "Freddie" Fredrickson was the tall, spectacled research chemist she had met in Brighton while on a holiday with Steed. Not only was his apartment near to the campus, but Rita had managed to obtain government funding and some private lab space at the university for him to perform his missile fuel experiments. Her master plan was to eventually bed the shy intellectual.
"How do you know about him?" she asked cautiously.
"The Ministry knows everything about you, Dr. Fox; and on behalf of the organization, let me say that we're impressed." His praise mollified her for a moment. Mother positioned himself in the center of the triangle formed by the women.
"If I may address you all by your first names," he offered politely. "The three of you have unique skills and capabilities. Marina is an Olympic-caliber athlete, and speaks Russian like the native that she is. Rita knows everything about everything, and speaks more than a dozen languages. And Tara is one of our brightest new recruits; within a year or two, after she's finished her training, I expect her to be one of our top field operatives."
"So what is this going to be?" Rita asked in amusement as she scanned the interior of the gymnasium-like area. "Some sort of Spy School?"
"Colloquially but aptly put, Dr. Fox."
"And we're to be the teachers?"
Mother nodded. "From time to time, you may be asked to perform some trivial bit of field work. The rest of the time, you can instruct the new trainees, passing on your skills and experience. I promise I won't interfere with your University schedule, Doctor. And it will give Miss Irinova a purpose—as well as room and board here at the 'Spy School'." He inflected these last words with a touch of wryness.
Tara spoke up. "I understand that Rita did some field work for the Ministry last summer," she said. "And I've been on several training missions. But what experience has Marina had?"
"She is the only person on our side who has actually seen the face of the double agent and traitor who calls himself 'The Ladja'—'The Rook'—and is still alive to identify him," Mother explained. "He is the KGB operative who was responsible for the deaths of many of our European agents before we sent in our top troubleshooter to stop him. His operations were dismantled, and The Ladja was sent to a Siberian gulag for his failures."
Marina's eyes widened. "So what do you need me for?"
Mother pedaled his hands in opposite directions to spin his wheelchair in a quick circle, looking at each of the women before bringing it to a melodramatic stop.
"The Ladja has returned."
-oOo-
Pyotr Pehlovich and Sergei Brodny were concealed behind a potted palm in the lobby of the Golden Dragon Hotel. Brodny scanned the loitering patrons nervously.
"What are we doing here, Comrade Peel? Why aren't we at the spy school?"
"The name's Pehlovich," the taller man corrected. "I've checked the reservations at the front desk. Emma's staying here tonight. We'll find out what she knows first."
A smile crept across Brodny's face. "You devil! You are hoping to get back together with your wife!"
"That is a fortunate side effect of my plan, yes." Pehlovich peeked out from behind the plant and grinned lasciviously as he saw Emma sitting at a table in the dining area. His demeanor changed just as suddenly when he saw Steed sitting across from her.
Brodny followed Pyotr's gaze. A touch of panic tinged his voice. "I thought you said Steed wouldn't be here!"
"The man follows her around like a pet dog," Pehlovich remarked bitterly.
The ambassador was not happy. "Maybe we should go to the spy school instead. Steed can be very dangerous."
"I have some men stationed around the perimeter," said Pehlovich. "We can handle anything Steed might want to dish out."
"I don't like this."
"You're not here to like this, Brodny," Pehlovich said easily. "Just follow my orders. Wait until she is separated from Steed, then expose her to the gas. After that, I will sweep her away."
"She's coming!" Brodny's eyes widened in alarm.
Emma walked past and entered the phone box at the end of the lobby, shutting the door behind her.
Pehlovich smiled malevolently. "The phone box will be perfect. The gas will be concentrated. Get over there, Ambassador, and stick the nozzle through the crack in the door."
Brodny made a surreptitious approach and stood next to the phone booth with his back to its occupant. Stealthily, he slipped the nozzle of the canister into the interior and turned the valve.
After counting to fifteen, he turned around to face Emma. She stared directly at him, and for a moment, the ambassador thought the gas had failed, and all would be lost. Then she halted in mid-dial and hung up the phone. He took a step back as she opened the door.
A hopeful look lit up Brodny's features. Perhaps the lovely Mrs. Peel would be attracted to him, after all! Her eyes were wild as she gazed into his face. Any moment she would step forward and smother him with kisses. Then he realized she was peering past his shoulder towards the figure of her husband at the end of the corridor.
Emma roughly pushed the ambassador aside in her haste to run down the hall. "Peter!" she called breathlessly. "You're alive!" She threw herself into Pehlovich's arms.
"My Emma," he said simply.
-oOo-
Steed had called for a second glass of water to wash away the effects of the Kung Pao sample. It was purely by chance that as he turned to tip the waiter, a familiar bald head caught the corner of his eye. Wasn't that Sergei Brodny? What was the Russian Ambassador doing so far from London?
As Steed rose from his chair to investigate more closely, the man noticed the attention and took off down a nearby hallway. Steed hurried to give chase. It was then that he observed Mrs. Peel was no longer in the phone box.
"Mrs. Peel?" he called out as he rushed in pursuit. He was sure that he had seen Brodny. Then, as he rounded a corner, he saw her standing there.
Mrs. Peel's eyes were on fire as she turned to face him. Steed vaguely discerned two figures vanishing down the darkened end of the corridor.
For a moment, Steed felt a trace of fear as he stared at the strange, conflicted expression that she wore. Then he relaxed as he saw a warm smile creep across her face. She sauntered over to him and pressed the full length of her body against his. The smell of her hair washed over him.
"Mmm," she purred. "I like you better, anyway."
Steed was startled at the contact. "Better than what?" he breathed.
"Never you mind," she answered playfully, tapping the tip of his nose with her finger. "Have I ever told you that your eyes sparkle?"
He was momentarily disarmed. "Why did you leave the phone box? Did you see someone you recognized?"
Mrs. Peel didn't answer; she simply slipped her arm around his waist and put her head on his shoulder, waiting for him to escort her back to the table. Although Steed was accustomed to occasional gestures of affection from her, she seldom exhibited so many in such a short period of time. He was about to ask about the uncharacteristic behavior when she started nibbling at his earlobe.
"You're still hungry?" he joked lightly. "Plenty of food left."
"It's not food that I'm hungry for," she announced as she pressed her warm palm to his chest, then slid it down towards his waist.
"Perhaps you'd better sit down, Mrs. Peel." He broke away from her touch to guide her to the chair. "Are you sure that you're all right?"
"I think every bit of me is right, so that would qualify as 'all'." She started unbuttoning the neckline of her dress to a point shamefully below her breasts, revealing that she wore nothing underneath. "Do you see anything that's wrong?"
"How much wine have you had?" Steed checked the bottle, noting it was still half full. He retreated to his chair on the opposite side of the table. As if she couldn't stand losing contact with him, Emma slipped her bare foot out of its shoe and started running it up the inside of his calf, tickling him with the tips of her toes.
"What's gotten into you?" he asked.
"Nothing, for several months," she said wickedly. "But that's all going to change now."
Her frankness gave him a sudden suspicion that she might be drugged. Steed moved back to her side of the table.
"Are you drinking the same thing as me?" He picked up her glass and took a tiny sip from it. Thanks to her prank with the Kung Pao, he could barely even detect the taste of the wine. If it contained a drug, would it affect him?
Unexpectedly, her hand shot out and grabbed him by his necktie. Before he knew what was happening, she pulled his mouth down to meet hers. Her lips pressed tenderly against his, then the kiss transformed into a ravening hunger. She teasingly flicked her tongue and nibbled at his lower lip. The sensation was sweet beyond all imagining. Steed was stunned as her moist mouth pulled away. Emma looked deep into his eyes.
"Mei-Ling wanted you. Rita wanted you. But I would have fought to keep them away from my man," she said brazenly. "I want every inch of you for myself."
Steed could barely speak. "Am I hearing you correctly, Mrs. Peel?"
"You must call me Emma, from now on." She nuzzled him, rubbing her nose against his. "What does it take to get through to you? In Paris, I spent more time prancing around in my lingerie than I did clothed. Remember wrestling around under the covers in the Alps? And I know you got an eyeful of me in Lo-Chen's warehouse," she added smugly. "That's right, Mei-Ling told me." Emma brushed her lips against his cheek. "You're attracted to me, John Steed. Don't try to pretend it isn't true."
"I—," he faltered. If it was a drug talking, and not her, it would be best to resist doing or saying anything they might both regret.
Emma's face betrayed a wistful longing. "When I let you paint my body, it was one of the most erotic experiences of my life. I only wish I had let you work on the entire canvas." Her mouth curled into a mischievous grin. "We can correct that now."
"I'm afraid I forgot my paintbrush," he ventured.
She smiled. "Improvise."
Steed's eyes darted around the dining area in alarm. None of the other patrons seemed to have noticed her behavior yet.
"Let's go up to your room," he said smoothly.
"Now you're talking! That's what I love about you, Steed. You're a man of action." She suddenly and awkwardly leaped into his arms, forcing him to carry her like a newlywed bride. He sighed. Surely, she was under the influence of some chemical.
Steed struggled with the weight of her athletic body as he grabbed his umbrella and their room keys, then headed for the elevator. When they arrived upstairs, he gently deposited her on the bed, then picked up the phone and ordered room service. She crawled over to him as he hung up the phone.
"You like me, don't you, John?" she asked.
"Of course, Mrs. Peel—er, Emma."
She arched her eyebrow and looked at him imperiously. "So why do we still have our clothes on?"
"I just thought a little champagne would be perfect, to break the ice." There was a knock at the door. "Ah, here it is now." Steed opened the door to admit a waiter carrying a silver bucket filled with ice and a large bottle. After he tipped the waiter, he popped the cork and filled two glasses. Shielding his actions with his body, he slid a small door open in the handle of his umbrella to reveal a secret compartment. He dropped the pill it contained into one of the glasses, then turned to hand it to Mrs. Peel.
"To us," Steed toasted cheerily.
She clinked her glass against his. "To us," Emma agreed. She drank it down in two gulps, while Steed sipped guiltily at his.
As he put the glasses down, she once again slipped her arms around his neck. Just as her lips touched his, her movements started to slow.
"I'm so tired," she yawned.
"It must have been the drive up," Steed said softly, almost regretfully. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yes," she answered, her head starting to nod languidly. "If you could just... take my clothes off... start without me... and I'll catch up." Her body sagged into his arms as he carefully set her back down on the bed.
"Nighty-night, Mrs. Peel."
The dosage he had used wouldn't put her out for more than an hour. Steed looked down at the sleeping angel. Her neckline was still gaping open from where she had unbuttoned it earlier. In the event she couldn't remember what happened when she was drugged, her state of undress would be a source of mystery and alarm to her. He carefully refastened the buttons, as if he were putting the clothes on a china doll.
Then an interesting thought occurred to him. What if she was still the same when she woke up? Was her amorousness just an effect of the drug, or did she truly have feelings for him? Perhaps all the drug did was remove her inhibitions, allowing her to act on her secret desires.
Steed parked himself in a chair at the foot of her bed, watching over her like a loyal setter.
-oOo-
Pyotr Pehlovich paced the first-floor hallway. He whirled on Brodny, his face betraying his impatience.
"I can only imagine what they're doing up in the room," he announced bitterly.
"Why did you run?" Brodny asked.
"Steed has seen my picture. If he discovers I'm still alive, it will ruin our plans."
"What plans?"
"Do you really want to know what the KGB's plans are, Ambassador?" Pehlovich gazed at him levelly.
"No! Of course not, comrade," Brodny countered quickly. "Forget I said anything!"
Pyotr ignored him. He continued his pacing. "Do you still have the Aphrodisiox?"
"Yes." The ambassador shook the container. "We barely used any."
Pehlovich nodded. "Steed will have to leave her alone sometime."
-oOo-
Steed continued his vigil over the doubly-drugged Emma. He was just starting to drift off when he noticed her stirring back to consciousness. She sat up in bed, looked at him, and smiled.
"Mmm. What a refreshing nap!" Emma exclaimed, stretching her arms above her head. She took in her surroundings. "Wait—how did we get up here in the room? I was... making a phone call." She tried to stand up, then sagged back down onto the bed, still groggy from the pill he had slipped her.
Steed went into the bathroom and fetched a cool washcloth. Her eyes followed him back to the bed, where he tenderly started daubing her forehead.
"Someone drugged you," he said.
Emma's eyes widened. "Oh, Steed! They must have been trying to get some piece of information out of me. Do you know if I revealed anything I shouldn't have?"
"You were only away from me for a few seconds," he soothed her. "I'm sure you were the soul of discretion, Emma." Steed watched for her reaction.
"Emma? Since when do you call me Emma?"
"Did I?" he corrected himself. "Perhaps they slipped me a drug as well, Mrs. Peel. What's the last thing you recall?"
"I think I remember seeing a familiar face... one I haven't seen for months."
"Ambassador Brodny?" Steed prompted.
"Yes, that must have been it," she said distantly. "I saw Brodny."
"He could have tampered with something at our table," he mused.
"Then why weren't you drugged like me?" Emma asked. "We were sharing the same food and bottle of wine."
"Perhaps we were both exposed to the drug, but I had achieved some immunity," he offered.
"What did you have that I didn't?"
Steed snapped his fingers and grinned. "The Kung Pao. It probably nullifies the effects of anything. I'll call room service, have some sent up..."
She wrinkled her mouth. "I'd rather have amnesia, thank you. Why would Brodny want to drug me?
"Perhaps he's doing it for someone else. Maybe some rival lecturer wanted to put you off your game for the symposium."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You know the cutthroat world of university politics," he teased. "Are there any Russian doctors attending?"
Emma shook her head. Outside the window, night was starting to fall. Steed gathered his hat and umbrella.
"You have a long day tomorrow," he said sincerely, heading for the door. "I'll be off to my room. Good night, Mrs. Peel."
"Stay." Her command was urgent.
Steed was breathless. "What for?"
"I... need someone to practice my speech on."
He relaxed. Steed sat down in the desk chair, gave her a cheerful smile, and spread his arms expansively.
"I belong entirely to you."
-oOo-