Chapter 3
The foyer just outside the lecture hall was "old school", walled with mahogany and decorated with oil paintings of long-dead trustees. In this somber atmosphere, a sea of excitement had formed around the two young women who had just spoken at the morning session. And in that sea, men had gathered like sharks at a feeding frenzy: the young, long-haired medical students, and the ancient, fossilized professors. Perhaps they were not as interested in phytopharmaceuticals of the rainforest biome as they were in a personal relationship with the fiery redhead or the auburn-haired beauty. And if their tastes didn't run toward the academic, there was always the blonde Russian Olympic swimmer to choose from, hovering nearby.
Off to one corner, John Steed stood silently. Instead of blending in, as he usually did, he looked conspicuously like a security agent: eyes darting, mentally cataloging each person in the room, ever watchful. His heightened level of anxiety was due to the large concentration of women he cared about all in the same place at the same time. In addition, someone had clearly tested some sort of drug on Mrs. Peel last night. He hadn't confided in her about the effects she had exhibited, but he doubted she would believe she was capable of such wanton sexuality towards him.
Rita Fox was conservative as always in her white blouse, red ribbon, flannel skirt, and brown leather calf boots; Emma, more flamboyant in her floral-print summer dress. It made for an odd combination. While Emma was shaking hands with some university bigwigs, Rita was answering questions from a small group of young men.
"You mean that you and Mrs. Peel were both taken hostage by arms smugglers while in the Amazon, and that's how you met?" one of them asked.
"Yes," Rita bragged. "Luckily, we were more than a match for their jungle intellects. We overpowered them and escaped."
"Against a band of armed guerillas?"
"Women are far more crafty in hand-to-hand combat," she answered smugly. "Emma made sure that more than one of them left with his tail between his legs."
"And neither of you were hurt?"
"I took some shrapnel from a Claymore blast," Rita offered nonchalantly.
Steed grinned as she wickedly hiked up the hem of her skirt to reveal a generous portion of her right thigh. He thought several of the older doctors might have lapsed into cardiac arrest as she pointed out the scar. The young doctors moved in closer, and one of them suggested that therapeutic massage might speed the healing.
Emma wandered over and gently touched Steed's arm.
"Any Russians lurking about?" she asked.
"Nary a Red has shown his head," Steed rhymed. "But I could have sworn that I saw Brodny last night. How's your memory?"
"I had a vague impression of meeting him," she offered. "Maybe we both imagined it."
"Perhaps. Your speech seems to have gone over well."
"You weren't even listening," she chided.
"I heard it twice last night. I have it memorized."
Emma straightened his tie. "So you won't mind taking a little quiz?"
Steed gave her a wry smile and hung his head. "I promise to listen more closely when you lecture this afternoon."
"I thought so." Emma noticed that the young men had completely hemmed in her co-writer. "I'd better go bail Rita out," she observed, heading back into the crowd.
"Are you sure she wants saving?" Steed teased after her. Then his senses went on alert. Someone new had entered the room and was now talking to Marina. It was a very young woman with dark, perfect hair wearing an embarrassingly short skirt. Steed ducked around the corner to avoid being seen, watching the exchange with one eye.
He wasn't close enough to overhear. The dark-haired woman left, and Marina drifted over to where Rita would undoubtedly be signing autographs soon, if her admirers had their way. Marina whispered discreetly into her ear.
"Tara says we must meet. She will be waiting for us at the warehouse."
-oOo-
"They say they won't interfere with my university schedule, but here they are, demanding we show up again," Rita complained as she approached the warehouse that had been designated as the "Spy School".
"But it is exciting, is it not, dushka?" Marina ventured from beside her. "Also, did not we come yesterday of our own will?"
"Hmmpf." Rita pulled the door open and cautiously scanned the interior. The man who called himself "Mother" was gone, and several padded mats had been laid out on the floor. A leather-covered practice bag hung on a chain suspended from a cross-brace, and Tara was attacking it with more enthusiasm than skill. She had changed into a lightweight silk martial arts gi; and as the lapels gaped open when she launched a high kick, Rita could see that she wore little else underneath.
She couldn't help but admire Tara's profile with a flash of jealousy. If only she were twenty again, but this time with a perfectly toned body and full, flawless breasts like Tara had. Perhaps she would have become a government agent, rather than a librarian. But then she wouldn't have the Research Chair at the University of Swansea.
"I still have another lecture after lunch," Rita reminded her as they approached.
"Mother has some intelligence that indicates there are KGB agents in the area." Tara announced. "Perhaps even The Ladja himself. So it's important for us to have combat skills. We need to set up regular practice and sparring sessions. Do you two know anything about fighting?"
"I know where a man's vulnerable spots are," Rita smirked. "What more is there to know?"
"Yes," Marina agreed. "You just wait until he's close enough, and yaishnitsa!" She thrust her knee upwards into the bag with such vigor that Rita winced in sympathy for her imaginary male victim.
Tara rolled her eyes. "Look you two, one of these days you'll be attacked, and it'll turn out that he's a cricket player or something, so he's wearing protective equipment. Then what are you going to do?" She waved her hand for emphasis. "No vulnerabilities, no yaishnitsa, or whatever Marina calls it." She glared sternly at the two of them. "Then you'll be in real trouble."
Marina and Rita hung their heads and glanced sideways at each other, like schoolgirls called before the headmaster.
"That's why you need to learn real fighting skills," Tara explained. "Judo, karate, jujitsu..."
"Do you know how to do all of those?" Rita asked.
Tara reddened. "Well, I'm learning. You could too."
"So then I'll be able to fight like Emma Peel or Cathy Gale?"
"I don't recognize the names," Tara frowned. "No, wait—isn't Emma Peel that test pilot's wife?"
"She's my co-author," Rita replied. "And her husband, the pilot, is dead."
Tara continued, "There was a Catherine Gale who used to work with the Ministry's top troubleshooter, John Steed." Her eyes lit up. "Now there's a man who knows everything about espionage. The consummate operative. The Steed Method. I've never met him, but just spend ten minutes with him, and I bet you'll learn more about covert procedures than a week of classes could teach you."
A distant look filled Rita's eyes as she smiled. "My first impression was that he was a bit of a trickster, but I learned to love him in time."
Tara arched her eyebrow at Rita's choice of words. Love?
"You got to work with The John Steed?" she asked skeptically.
Rita nodded. "For five months. It was an exciting summer, I can tell you."
Marina bobbed her head in agreement. "He is a wonderful man."
Tara was exasperated. She turned to Marina. "Don't tell me you worked with him too?"
"Of course not," Marina answered. "I am Russian. I could not possibly have worked with him." Tara seemed to cool off for an instant before Marina added quietly, "I just lived with him for several weeks."
"Lived with him?" Tara fumed.
"I needed a place to stay, right after he helped me defect. He slept on the sofa and let me take the bed. A perfect gentleman."
Tara clinched her fists. "Has everyone here met John Steed except for me?"
Marina exchanged grins with Rita. Then they both turned their heads at a sound that came from behind some gym equipment stacked in the corner. Someone else was in the room. Marina sprinted directly at the source of the noise, and a sinister man emerged to charge at her. Acting purely on instinct, she grabbed his wrist, and with a violent jerk, sent him stumbling across the floor to a position directly in front of Tara.
The man recovered almost instantly and put his hands around Tara's neck in a stranglehold. Suddenly, any training she might have acquired seemed to desert her. After a moment's hesitation, she started to grapple with him; then her robe loosened, and it proved to be the perfect distraction. While her opponent stared open-mouthed at her revealed torso, Tara executed a quick counter to chop his arms away from her throat and fired the heel of her palm into the spot just below his rib cage, right into the nerve plexus. The man was stunned into paralysis for a moment, teetering as he struggled for breath.
In her zeal to contribute, Rita ran up behind him and snapped a sharp kick squarely between his legs with her leather calf boot. The intruder gasped a lungful of air and then sank to the floor with a whimper, his hands clutching his groin. Tara shot Rita an expression of disapproval as she adjusted her robe.
"I had already disabled him."
Rita smiled sheepishly. "Well, at least now we know he isn't a cricket player."
Marina rejoined them and combed her short hair back into place with her fingers. "He will be helpless for several minutes," she declared matter-of-factly. "Perhaps we should check his pockets."
"Might as well, since Rita's made sure he can't answer questions anytime soon," Tara said with irritation. She flipped the incapacitated man over with her toe and fished the wallet out of his back pocket.
"KGB," she said knowingly as she examined his driver's license.
Rita's eyes got big. "It actually says that on there? I didn't know they had a spot for it."
"Of course not," Tara answered patiently. "This ID is a forgery. Standard Kremlin issue."
Marina examined the face more closely. "I recognize this man from Tokyo," she offered. "One of The Ladja's henchmen."
"Shouldn't we tell Mother?" Rita asked.
"We need to learn to function autonomously," Tara replied. "We can't go running to him every time there's a development in a case."
"Oh, so now we're on a case?" Rita demanded.
Marina was beaming. "How exciting!"
Tara pondered the situation for a moment. "Rita, you have another lecture to give, but Marina and I can search the campus. She's the important one, since only she can identify The Ladja."
Rita gave a cynical snort. "And what do you do when you find him?"
Marina and Tara looked at each other cluelessly for a second. Then Marina's face lit up.
"We hope that he is not a cricket player," she answered smartly.
-oOo-
Emma was at Steed's side as they walked down the corridor of the Chemistry Building.
"Remember, I have another lecture in a couple of hours," she said.
Steed nodded. "We'll be back in plenty of time."
"Who are we looking for?"
"Dr. Herbert Fredrickson," said Steed, making no sign he intended to elaborate. His plan was to ask the doctor about any drugs that could cause the effects Emma had exhibited.
"Why not just check the University Directory?"
"He doesn't teach here. Rita just fixed him up with some lab space."
"Why would she do that?"
"He's her beau."
"Oh?" A smile tugged at the corner of Emma's mouth. "I always assumed she was still carrying the torch for you."
"Not at all. Now's your chance, Mrs. Peel. I'm completely available."
She looked at him with a smirk. "I like to browse the market a bit before making my selections. Did you see some of those young doctors?"
"You need an older, more experienced man," Steed said with mock seriousness. "One who can put up with your eccentricities."
"My eccentricities?" she teased. "I'm not the one who drives a thirty-year old sports car."
"Some things just improve with age. A fast car, a fine wine, a sharp cheddar—me."
"Is that a famous palindrome?"
"You're thinking of 'a man, a plan, a canal—Panama'. Although we are both timeless constructions."
"We'll find his office faster if we split up," she suggested.
Steed didn't like the idea of leaving Mrs. Peel unattended. "But you don't know what he looks like."
"Describe him for me."
"Tall, studious-looking, wire-rimmed glasses," Steed responded noncommittally.
"Your powers of observation are keen. That narrows it down to half the professors here."
Steed grinned. "If you see anyone who seems likely, just go up and ask his name."
"And why wouldn't he be suspicious of a complete stranger?"
He looked her over, from her open-toed high-heeled shoes to the dazzling floral print dress and perfect auburn hair.
"Believe me, Mrs. Peel, if a man sees someone like you walk up to him and ask his name," Steed smiled, "he tells you."
-oOo-
"Finally," Pehlovich commented. "He's left her alone."
He stood next to Brodny as they both watched Steed walk away down an intersecting corridor, leaving Emma unescorted. The two men started to approach her, ducking into doorways whenever she gave a sign that she might turn around. Emma was now moving slowly down the hall, checking each room as she went past. Pehlovich smiled as he saw her take a sharp turn that led to a dead end.
"Now we have her," he said smugly. "I'll catch her in the last lab on the left."
Brodny looked nervous. "What if Steed comes back?"
"You can be my diversion," Pehlovich announced. "Just make sure to keep him busy, and keep him away. Give me the Aphrodisiox."
Brodny handed over the stainless-steel cylinder. The ambassador kept his eyes on Mrs. Peel as her husband crept stealthily up behind her. Then he heard the hiss of the escaping gas.
-oOo-
Steed slowly walked down a corridor adjacent to the one Mrs. Peel had taken. It was only a ploy; he had detected two figures following them, at extreme distance. After a purely arbitrary count to thirty, he wheeled suddenly and loped back the way he came. As he turned another corner, he saw Brodny with his back to one of the lab doors. Steed gave him a warm greeting.
"Ambassador Brodny! What are you doing here?"
"Oh, Steed! What a surprise to meet you!" Brodny's eyes darted back and forth in panic. "I'm er—vacationing. I am hoping to enjoy the lovely Wale-ish countryside."
"The word is 'Welsh', Sergei," Steed corrected smoothly, giving a false smile. "One might think you were stalking Mrs. Peel."
"Mrs. Peel is here? I had no idea! How wonderful for you to have such a beautiful woman to accompany you!" Brodny backed against the door, using his body to block the small window above the handle.
"You're not going to see much countryside in the Chemistry Building," Steed said evenly.
"Is that where I am? Silly me. It is so easy to get lost in your fine country!" Brodny leaned forward and joked conspiratorially, "It's the alphabet, you know. It's just not Greek to me."
Steed politely shouldered past him.
"You mustn't go in there!" Brodny cried in alarm.
"So that's where Mrs. Peel went," Steed said evenly.
"But—!"
Brodny's words were cut short as Steed pushed through the door. The room was filled with sinks and Bunsen burners. Behind him, Steed could hear footsteps as Brodny took off running down the hall. Almost immediately, a scuffling sound came from the far end of the room.
"Mrs. Peel?" he called out.
A male figure vanished through the only other door, in the opposite wall. Brodny must have had an accomplice. The man was tall, but was turned such that his face couldn't be seen.
Steed nearly jumped through the ceiling as Emma came up stealthily behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist to hold him captive while she slipped her other hand between his thighs. She gave his inner leg a suggestive caress.
"Why don't we ever go to bed together?" she cooed softly over his shoulder.
"We've shared a bed together on many occasions, Mrs. Peel," he replied, somewhat unsteadily due to the contact.
"Emma," she reminded him. "I don't mean sleeping. I mean making love. I've been thinking about it for some time now. I'm sure we'd be spectacular at it." Emma gave his backside an affectionate squeeze to emphasize her point.
"I share your certainty. Can you remember what you were doing when I walked in? Did someone just give you something to eat or drink?"
"The only thing I'm hungry for is you," she said as she nibbled on his earlobe, delicately tugging at it with her teeth.
"Then it must be a gas," Steed reasoned, trying to maintain focus through her attentions. "Or perhaps an aerosol that could be sprayed on?" He sniffed at his own lapels, then leaned backward to sniff Emma.
"You smell perfect to me," she laughed. "Perfectly delicious." She spun him around and ran her hands across his chest. "Let me wear your shirt again." Emma tenderly pressed her lips against his mouth. "Mmm. You taste delicious, too."
Steed continued, "Maybe it's something they injected you with." He disengaged himself and examined her forearms. "Do you have any needle marks on your body? Perhaps very small?"
"I suggest you remove all my clothes and examine me thoroughly, just to be sure," Emma said playfully, holding her arms out to offer herself to him.
Steed forced himself to concentrate. There was a shelved cabinet behind Mrs. Peel's left shoulder. As he quickly scanned the labels on the solutions stored there, he saw one that looked promising. He gently pushed Emma forward, pressing her up against the case so that the bottles would be in easy reach.
"That's more like it," she growled sexily. "You're finally coming alive." She grabbed his wrist and pressed his palm to her breast, gasping with passion as it made contact. Meanwhile, Steed reached over her shoulder for one of the bottles. He unstoppered it and quickly held it under her nose, at the same time holding his breath.
Her eyes glazed over as the chloroform took effect. Steed barely managed to catch her as her warm, soft body sagged into his arms, a contented smile still on her lips.
Steed set down the bottle and propped Mrs. Peel in a chair next to the lab bench. Then he took the chloroform and spilled it out onto the table next to her. With any luck, when she came to, she would think that she had accidentally knocked over the bottle and been overcome by the fumes. If her recovery was the same as last night, she wouldn't even remember his being there.
Something unusual was going on, and Brodny was definitely involved. Steed decided that he needed to get in touch with Rita, find out where Herbert was, and get him to examine Mrs. Peel while she was still drugged.
-oOo-
Pehlovich had chased down Brodny in the hall. He grabbed the ambassador by his jacket collar and dragged him back to the small window in the lab door.
"I thought I told you to keep Steed busy."
"I tried!" Brodny protested.
"If only Gogol would give me permission to kill Steed," Pehlovich remarked grimly. "You don't know how I long to be rid of him, Brodny."
The ambassador was disturbed at this outburst, but said nothing. Pehlovich frowned as they both looked in through the narrow window. "Doesn't that man ever leave her alone?"
"He must suspect something after yesterday," Brodny reasoned. He watched as Steed overturned the bottle on the table. "I think he chloroformed her!"
Pehlovich give a smirk. "Steed is a fool not to take advantage of her when she's in this condition. What kind of a man is he?"
"Steed is a gentleman!" Brodny said vigorously, then nervously added, "Not to say that you are not, of course, Squadron Leader Peel."
"Pehlovich."
Brodny noticed that a dark-haired woman in a short miniskirt was walking down the hall towards them. Pehlovich pulled him aside.
"That woman has seen us. I believe she's a rookie agent for the Ministry. There's an outside chance she may recognize me and report back. Expose her to the gas, Brodny."
"You wish to seduce her?" the ambassador asked.
"No, just to erase her memory," Pehlovich countered. "Then let's get out of here. We can question Emma later. The place seems to be crawling with Ministry agents, and for some reason, one of my men hasn't reported back yet."
-oOo-
The doubly-drugged Emma was left with her head resting on the lab worktable as Steed walked briskly towards the hallway. As he neared the door, he thought he saw a face vanish from view in the small window. It must have been Brodny, or perhaps his accomplice.
Steed flung the door open just in time to hear the ambassador call out, "It's Steed!" Two figures took off running, leaving a single occupant in the hall with a dazed expression on her face.
It was the young, dark-haired woman who had been talking to Marina earlier. Perhaps she knew where Rita was; and once he found Rita, he would know how to find Herbert. Steed approached her with a friendly smile.
"Good morning," he said, tipping his hat. "I'm looking for Rita Fox or Marina Irinova. Perhaps you know them?"
"That man called you Steed," she said with reverence.
He nodded charmingly. "Because it's my name."
The light of adoration filled the woman's eyes. She lunged forward and pounced on him, like a playful kitten on a ball of string, knocking him back onto a nearby bench.
"John Steed!" she squealed in delight.
-oOo-