Chapter 4
Steed looked up into the beautiful crystal blue eyes that stared into his. The dark-haired woman had a bright countenance and a winsome smile. Her breasts were shapely and soft; he knew, because she was pressing them against him, almost directly in his face. In addition to her miniskirt, she wore leather boots that came up past her knees, well onto her thighs. She had trapped him against a bench, straddling him at the waist. Steed tried to maintain his poise.
"Do I know you, Miss—?"
"King, Tara King," she answered.
"Do you always pounce on passers-by?" he said charmingly.
She ignored him. "Go ahead, say it—'Rah-boom-di-ay'."
"Why would I say that?"
"You know: Ta-ra, 'Rah-boom-di-ay'."
Steed arched his eyebrows. "You're under some sort of intoxication, Miss King."
"Only by the sexiest, most skillful agent on Her Majesty's Secret Service!" she said eagerly. Tara locked her mouth over Steed's and kissed him deeply. He came up gasping for air. She pressed her lower body against his and wriggled her hips, as if delighted to feel him beneath her. He gently tried to push her away.
"I don't actually work for MI6," he countered. "Or MI5, for that matter."
"Oh, I know! You're the master troubleshooter. The Steed Method. That's all I hear at the Academy."
"You work for the Ministry?"
"We're starting a training facility for women agents here in Swansea," she explained. "I'm going to suggest to Mother that every room have a poster of you on the wall, to inspire the girls. Imagine it: John Steed—our idol!" she beamed.
"Mother?" he asked.
"I don't know his real name. An old friend of yours, an agent, recently shot and partially paralyzed."
"Mother is a man?" Steed asked. Then he thought for a moment. A school for women agents, here in Swansea. A drug that could be used to make women compliant and willing...
Tara casually unbuttoned her silk blouse and stripped it off, revealing a substantial white-lace foundation garment. She leaned forward and planted another lingering kiss on his lips.
"Work with me, Steed. We could be a great team. In bed and out. Excuse me while I get this off." She reached around to her back and started to unhook the clasp.
"No, no!" he said in alarm, then faked a smile as he stayed her hand. "I mean—leave it on. Much sexier that way."
"Really?"
"Er—yes," he said awkwardly, searching for a plausible reason. "There's something about a woman in lingerie. Look, Miss King—"
"Call me Tara. Perhaps you should just take a peek at my breasts," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm told they're really quite exceptional..."
"I'm sure they are." He managed a wry grin. "Look, Tara, I'm currently working with Mrs. Peel—"
Tara frowned. "The test pilot's wife? An amateur! And how can you even look at that librarian and the swimmer? I'm going to be a professional agent. I'm the one you need to be with." She leaned back and hiked up her miniskirt to give Steed a close look at her silky lingerie. Between the top of her soft leather boots and her panties she wore a holster complete with lockpicks and a small 22-caliber pistol. Tara grabbed Steed's wrists and pressed his palms to her thighs, just above the spot where her boots ended. Steed wrestled free and quickly withdrew his hands.
"It's all right to touch me," she laughed. "I'm not a hot stove." Tara again wriggled her hips sinuously. "Although I am getting warm!"
"Please, Miss King—"
"Ta-ra," she sang liltingly. A pout crossed her face. "You have a reputation with women that you're supposed to be upholding here."
"But you don't know what you're doing!" Steed protested.
Her voice deepened as she once again leaned close. "Then teach me," she said huskily. Tara's eyes glazed over with passion as she covered him with nibbles and kisses.
Steed slipped his hands up to her shoulders, delicately running his fingers across the exquisite line of her neck, seeking the warmly pulsing carotid artery. Tara mistook his actions as a caress.
"Now you're getting into the spirit of it!" she exclaimed cheerily, slipping her palms from his chest down to his belt. She pressed her cheek next to his.
"Come on, John Steed," she moaned in ecstasy. "Fly me into orbit!"
Steed applied pressure to the exact point he had probed out on her neck and held it for a few seconds. He felt the entire weight of her soft body as she slumped onto him, unconscious. He grinned as he reached around and playfully patted her behind.
"Maybe later."
-oOo-
Pehlovich and Brodny had not yet left the Chemistry Building when the missing KGB agent came running in.
"I have been to the Spy School," he panted, addressing them both.
"What did you see there?" Pehlovich asked.
"Three young ladies—one blonde, one redhead, one brunette. The brunette seemed to be in charge."
"Mrs. Peel?" Brodny offered.
Pehlovich shook his head. "Couldn't be. We were tracking her. It must have been that rookie agent we gassed in the hall."
"She's in charge?"
"I doubt it," Pehlovich said. "She's probably just the contact for all the other women at the school. We need to find out who she reports to." He turned to his man with a withering stare. "How is it that she arrived here before you?"
The man hung his head and said nothing.
Pehlovich looked at him in disgust. "You let yourself be overpowered by three women," he sneered.
"They're very tricky," he protested. "While I was strangling the dark-haired one, the redhead sneaked up behind me, and..." He pressed his thighs together at the memory of the stunning pain.
Pehlovich slapped him sharply across the face. "All of my men are useless children. I'm going to have to handle this myself. It is my belief that Emma is in charge of the Spy School."
He turned to the ambassador. "Go upstairs, Brodny. The instant that my wife regains consciousness, use the Aphrodisiox. I will be right behind you."
"I must check on my men," Pehlovich continued as he glowered at the KGB agent, "to make sure that none of their nappies need changing."
-oOo-
Emma opened her eyes to see glass retorts, beakers, and test tubes spinning around her. She closed her eyes, waiting for her head to clear. When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was a bottle of chloroform that had made a puddle on the table next to her. The second was the face of the Russian Ambassador.
"Brodny!" she managed to croak.
"Here you go, Mrs. Peel," the ambassador sang soothingly. "I have something for you." He pulled the stainless-steel canister out of his jacket.
Emma struggled against the chloroform-induced malaise. "What is that?" she asked groggily.
"It won't hurt you. Just a little something to make you answer some questions," he said as he tried to twist the valve. His eyes widened in panic. The handle was stuck.
Emma was starting to move. "When I get my hands on you, Brodny..." She staggered to her feet and lurched at him, supporting herself with one hand against the lab bench.
"No! Mrs. Peel! I—" He fought with the gas canister as she drew nearer.
"If you release that in here, you'll breathe it as well," she said reasonably. "But you've already taken an antidote, haven't you, Ambassador?" She clutched at his wrist with an iron grip. "Give it to me!"
Brodny frantically shook himself free of her hold and ran to the door. Emma couldn't see him as he sprinted down the hall and ducked into one of the nearby labs to hide. She ran past and headed down the stairs, to the front of the building.
-oOo-
Brodny looked around the lab for something to free the valve handle on the canister. This was Squadron Leader Peel's fault—he was the last to use the gas; he must have twisted too tightly. He found a metal rod he could use for leverage, and soon had the valve spinning free again with its accompanying hiss.
Footsteps were echoing towards him, coming up the outside hallway. Brodny grinned with determination; he was ready for Mrs. Peel this time.
He peeked out and to his surprise, he saw a young blonde checking each of the lab doors. He recognized her immediately. It was that woman that had been living with Steed last summer! She must have been the blonde at the Spy School that the agent had mentioned.
This would be his chance to prove himself to the KGB.
-oOo-
Pyotr Pehlovich was on the second floor, heading towards the lab where he had last seen his wife. He was surprised to see Brodny in the hallway.
"Is Emma in there?" he asked.
"Well," Brodny admitted, "not exactly."
"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"
"Mrs. Peel got away. But she has seen me, after the drug wore off," Brodny fretted. "She will remember it!"
"Get a hold of yourself, Brodny."
"I am a diplomat, not a cloak-and-dagger agent," he whined anxiously.
Pehlovich shook him. "Gogol will have my hide if I don't at least come away with the name of the agent they have placed in charge of this operation. Why are you guarding this door?"
The ambassador's face brightened. "I have—how do you say it?—'used my own initiative'."
"There's someone in there?"
"This woman was living with Steed last summer," Brodny explained. "Undoubtedly, she was his lover. Perhaps even a Ministry agent! She must be the blonde that was at the Spy School."
"Have you exposed her to the gas?"
"Yes. I told her that I was a friend of Steed's, and he would be up to see her at any minute."
"And she bought that?"
"She was almost ready to remove her clothes right then and there! You should have no trouble, Squadron Leader Peel."
"Pehlovich," he corrected. He opened the door to see the back of a slender blonde woman. Her hair was cut short, in a pixie, and she wore a sheer white blouse with khaki shorts. Pyotr waved Brodny to stand guard, then entered the room and shut the door behind him.
So this was Steed's girlfriend before he met Emma. She looked well-muscled enough to meet the Ministry's requirements. Brodny's analysis must be correct. Pehlovich crept up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
"Darling love," he said.
"Dushenika," Marina responded tenderly, without turning around.
"Mmm," he murmured, kissing her neck. "Tell me about the Spy School," he said smoothly.
"Isn't it exciting?" she bubbled. "I will be teaching Russian along with Rita."
"Teaching?" Pehlovich asked. "For whom?"
"A man in a wheelchair called 'Mother'. He seems very nice. Do you know him?"
"Mmm," Pehlovich responded in lieu of an answer, still kissing her neck. "Is this 'Mother' the top man?"
"Yes," Marina said distractedly. Under the effect of the gas, she was becoming inflamed with passion.
"Is Emma Peel involved?" he asked evenly.
Marina was too aroused to answer. "You are driving me crazy!" she moaned. "We must make love, this instant." She started unbuttoning her blouse, and when she made a move to slip it off, she looked back over her shoulder. The shock was instantly apparent on her face.
"You are not Steed!" she cried. "I have seen you before. You are The Ladja!"
A malevolent smile spread across Pehlovich's lips. "And you're that swimmer from Ozero Krugloye—the one who tipped off Steed to the assassination in Tokyo!" He quickly moved his hands from her waist and wrapped them around her torso like bands of steel, trapping her arms and crushing her ribcage with the pressure.
"And if I'm not mistaken," he added, "you're the only living person for the other side who can identify me..."
-oOo-
Marina tried to scream for help, but she couldn't draw enough breath. Using her strong swimmer's legs, she drove her feet against the floor in an attempt to impel her captor backwards into the corner. The Ladja's weight and resistance spoiled her momentum and he hit the wall with a feeble bump. He laughed at the futility of her efforts and tightened his grip.
Breathing was now impossible. The Ladja was a killer; this much she knew. But was he trying to kill her, or just render her unconscious? She struggled to launch a kick backward, but his hold on her was too complete. Her vision started to tunnel.
Marina weakly turned her head. Through her oxygen-deprived haze, she saw a sign: CHEMICAL EMERGENCY WASH STATION.
She must have backed him into the corner beneath the spout. A triangular metal bracket was hanging from a chain, waist high, just a few feet away. Marina slipped her foot out of its shoe, and with a final, desperate effort, kicked upwards and snagged the handle with her toes. She tugged down on the chain with all the remaining strength she could muster.
A sudden blast of cold water jetted from overhead, and she felt her startled captor reflexively loosen his grip. The Ladja spluttered as his face took the brunt of the icy spray. Marina was already moving, releasing the handle with her foot, then leaping forward while simultaneously kicking backwards with her bare sole. She winced as her toes jammed against the wall, but she kept driving her heel upward until she felt it impact firmly in her assailant's crotch.
"Ha!" she exclaimed in triumph. The Ladja released her with a pained grunt. She sprinted for the door, kicking off her other shoe. Another man was waiting just outside, but he simply stared open-mouthed at her wet, unbuttoned, transparent blouse.
Marina ran down the hall in search of her fellow Angel. Tara would know what to do; she had been trained in karate, or so she had said.
-oOo-
Brodny stood in the hallway gawking, the image of the woman in the wet blouse still imprinted on his mind. Pehlovich staggered out of the lab, unable to stand upright.
"Why didn't you mention she was our Olympic swimmer who had defected?" he snapped at Brodny.
"She did not look like a swimmer," the ambassador said slyly, "although now that I have seen her covered with water, I definitely approve!"
"She attacked me, you idiot," Pehlovich countered.
"I don't understand. She was attracted to Steed, so surely she should be attracted to you."
"The woman knows my true identity, as a double agent working for the KGB. This is apparently enough to override any physical attraction she might feel, even with the Aphrodisiox."
Brodny reddened. "You knew her in Russia?"
Pehlovich nodded. "At least I managed to gather some intelligence about the Spy School. Emma should be able to fill in the gaps. The identity of this 'Mother', for instance."
"What do we do now?" Brodny asked meekly.
"Emma has another lecture just after lunch," Pyotr said. "Let's get over to the main Administration Building and try to intercept her there."
-oOo-
Steed had left the amorous Miss King curled up on the padded bench with her head in her arms, hastily redressed. He ran up a flight of stairs to put some distance between them in case his pressure-point countermove hadn't been as effective as usual. As he arrived on the third floor, he noticed a tall, awkward man working in a lab right next to the stairwell.
When Rita had first mentioned her relationship with Dr. Fredrickson, Steed had pulled his dossier, just to make sure he was legitimate. The man in the lab was the same one he had seen in the file photo.
"Dr. Herbert Fredrickson?" Steed called out as he entered the room. "My name's John Steed."
"I know you. You're that government chap Rita's always going on about."
Steed removed his hat. "I need your help, Herbert."
"Rita calls me Freddie."
Steed smiled. "I know she does. Look, Herbert, I need you to isolate an experimental drug that the KGB has been testing here at the University."
"Top secret, eh?"
"Very. If I led you to a woman who had been affected, could you take a sample of her blood and identify the substance?"
"I'm a chemical engineer, not a medical doctor."
Steed pondered for a moment. "Several women have been exposed to a chemical that seems to make them wild with lust," he explained. "I have one of them knocked out in a lab downstairs."
Herbert took off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on his sleeve. "Did you say lust?"
"They can't keep their hands off me," Steed declared.
"I say, are you sure it's a drug?" Herbert offered. "I mean, it is springtime. Love is in the air."
Steed snapped his fingers. "You could be right."
"It was just a figure of speech."
"If I obtained a sample of the air where a woman had been affected, could you identify any foreign substances in it?"
"We have a chromatograph that should be able to do that. But it would have to be a high concentration, while the gas is taking effect. Residual traces would be too weak."
Steed nodded. "Are you going to be here this afternoon?"
"Yes. I'm running an all-day experiment."
"Keep your chromatograph warmed up. I have a love potion for you to analyze."
Steed trotted back down the stairs to the front door. He saw Mrs. Peel standing there, looking radiant in her floral print dress with her auburn hair cascading around her shoulders.
The chloroform must have worn off, Steed reasoned, and she had wandered here, looking for a lover. He came up behind her and slipped his hands familiarly around her waist. Perhaps he could coax her to have a seat, and he could satisfy her with mere cuddling until the drug wore off.
Mrs. Peel whirled on him, and his reflexes weren't fast enough to save him as the edge of her hand smacked into his jaw.
-oOo-