Chapter 7

Peter Peel, born Pyotr Pehlovich, leaned over the body that had been removed from the gas-packaging chamber and laid out on a utility table. He grinned triumphantly.

"John Steed is dead!" he announced with a joyous clap.

Mistress Leov stood nearby, looking less certain. "He didn't last as long as most," she observed. "Usually, a person can survive without oxygen for several minutes. Are you sure he's dead?"

Pehlovich pressed his ear to Steed's chest. "No respiration, no pulse," he said gleefully. "Emma will be mine again!"

Mistress Leov frowned at his remark. "I bet if I try mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, I could bring him back," she argued. She leaned over, her lips only inches away from Steed's.

"Don't you dare," Pehlovich chortled. "Let him lie for the next ten minutes. Even you would have to admit he's dead after that amount of time."

Leov shrugged and nodded agreement. Pyotr went to a pile that contained Steed's clothes. He donned the bowler and umbrella.

"How's this?" he asked.

"You look just like Steed," Leov commented. "Except you're still alive."

Pehlovich nodded. "Prepare to take Steed's body to the hotel. I'll write a suicide note about how he couldn't stand to go on living once he learned that his Emma had betrayed him and was going back behind the Iron Curtain." He watched through the one-way glass as a group of guards tried to subdue Emma. They had finally resorted to menacing her with the electric prod.

"Have my wife taken to a cell," The Ladja ordered. "I will charge to her rescue and sweep her away in my arms. We'll be on a flight to Moscow by morning."

-oOo-

Emma felt cool air over her skin as she was prodded along in her underwear, shackles around her ankles. Her hands were free, but she had seen the effect that the electric stunning device could have, should she think about resisting. She was numb with the thought of Steed's death. How could she carry on? Of course, she always had Knight Industries to run; but now the Ministry would be convinced she was working for the KGB. Without Steed to explain things, her life would become an endless challenge of eluding government agents. Actually, that sounded rather glamorous compared to the fate that undoubtedly awaited her.

The Ladja and Leov would now have her taken to a hotel room with Steed's dead body. They would use a gun covered with Steed's fingerprints to shoot her, framing him for her murder. Then they would take his asphyxiated corpse and hang it from the showerhead, making it look like he had taken his own life. LOVE AFFAIR WITH KGB AGENT ENDS IN MURDER-SUICIDE, the papers would read—except that the Ministry would see to it that it never made the papers, that the whole thing was hushed up. They couldn't afford the scandal of the Ministry's top troubleshooter having an illicit affair with a KGB agent, to whom he was most assuredly giving away state secrets.

Emma set her mouth into a firm line of grim determination. She must escape, if for no other reason than to protect Steed's honor. From the corner of her eye she assessed the man who was herding her with the electric prod. It was the same guard that she and Steed had disabled earlier. He didn't look particularly happy about her previous attack; that was too bad, because she had no intention of letting The Ladja's plan come to fruition.

She whirled suddenly and leaped forward, launching herself into a close-legged butterfly kick that impacted the side of his head, the taut chain from her shackles smacking him across the temple. Emma had expected him to be unconscious before he hit the floor, but the only effect of her attack was to cause him to drop the electric prod.

Still, taking encouragement from having disarmed her opponent so quickly, she tried to capitalize on the element of surprise, cracking an open-handed slap across his face. The wild, feral look in her eyes must have startled him; the guard couldn't even think of retaliation, only fear. Instinctively he raised his hands to protect his face, leaving his lower body undefended.

It was a shame that the shackles kept her from moving her ankles more than a half-meter apart; her instep was itching to deliver one of a dozen possible kicks. Instead, Emma jumped again with her legs close together, slamming the soles of her bare feet into the pit of his stomach to pitch him backward against the wall.

The guard recovered immediately and lunged forward to wrap his hands around her neck. Why doesn't he stay down? Emma thought. She bent forward to try to break the stranglehold, using her hands to claw at his powerful biceps. It was like trying to bend steel.

The choking pressure was starting to weaken her, but the guard had mistakenly left her arms free with sufficient room to throw a punch. Emma regretted having to unman him twice in one day, but she had no alternative. Quickly interlacing her hands into a fist, she swung upwards between his legs as hard as she could.

The guard didn't flinch as the blow made contact, and for a moment Emma worried that she had either missed the mark or not swung hard enough. Then he released her neck with a sudden gasp and his knees buckled. Delayed effect, she thought. Takes a while for the nerve signals to reach the brain.

The man slumped dazedly back against the wall. Emma fired a solid jab to his solar plexus just to be sure that she had curbed his violent tendencies; then she reached forward and grabbed the hem of his turtleneck sweater, neatly stripping it off over his head as he sank to the floor.

"Thank you," she said smugly as she put on the sweater and rolled up the sleeves. "I've been wearing this more than you today, anyway." The keys to her shackles were on a ring hanging from his belt loop; she relieved her stunned captor of these as well and quickly freed her ankles. He was too feeble to resist as he rolled over on his side with a groan. Emma mischievously patted his rear.

"There, there," she said sympathetically. "You'll be walking again in ten minutes."

More than enough time for her to escape.

-oOo-

Emma held the electric prod at the ready as she moved quickly through the warehouse, making her way back towards the location where Leov had ambushed her. Perhaps she could track her quarry from there. She didn't know how many charges the battery pack held, but the weapon could come in handy if she encountered any armed guards. If only such a device could be made portable, small enough to fit in a handbag...

She wound her way through the maze of pipes and cement. Shortly before she came to the finished portion of the plant, Emma passed the utility room where she and Steed had been imprisoned together. A strange premonition came over her, as if a psychic bond had tugged at her mind. She stopped and peered into the workroom.

Under the harsh glare of the fluorescent light, Emma saw Steed's corpse lying in repose. Her leathers were neatly folded in a pile on a table next to him. She would need those; she couldn't very well run along the wharf on the Thames wearing only her underwear and a sweater.

Her heart felt frozen in her chest as she solemnly walked into the room, stripping the sweater off over her head as she made her way to the table. From the corner of her eye, Steed's body seemed to beckon to her in its stillness. Emma tried not to stare directly at it; the sorrow would have swept away her reason. How unfair that such a great man should have such an undignified end. She sighed; she couldn't possibly take his body with her, as much as it pained her to leave it behind.

It was vital that she escape Canary Roe quickly, but she couldn't go just yet. Emma found she was drawn to her partner like a lodestone. She finally forced herself to look at Steed as he lay there in his boxers—immobile, stoic, peaceful. Almost as if he could just sit up and start talking. He was entitled to a shroud, at least; but there was nothing in the room that would be suitable.

Emma put her hand against his bare chest. No heartbeat; he was completely still. The corpse was warmer than she had expected. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the sense of loss. Steed's wild adventures had formed the framework for her life since Peter's death. What would she do now?

She set her mouth into a firm line. She would not let The Ladja's plan succeed. A tear trickled from the corner of one of her eyes.

"Dear Steed," she said in a determined voice barely louder than a whisper, "I won't let them hurt you any more." Emma leaned over and planted a single, final, tender kiss on his lips.

Her heart stopped beating as she felt a twitch beneath her.

"I must be in heaven," Steed said suddenly. "And Saint Peter sent an angel to greet me."

Emma was trembling—first in fear, then shock, then excitement. She started pummeling his chest with her fists.

"What did you think you were doing?"

"Feigning death," he said matter-of-factly. "I take it that Mistress Leov and The Ladja were convinced?"

"You're lucky they didn't try to cremate you on the spot," she scolded in relief. "Or that I don't try right now. What caused you to revive? Was it timed?"

"Like a fairy-tale princess, I can only be awakened with a kiss," Steed grinned. "Was it from you, Mrs. Peel?"

A grin tugged at the corner of Emma's mouth. "I was just wiping your lips with my kerchief, tidying up your corpse."

"I don't see any kerchief," Steed said innocently, swinging his legs down off the table to stand before her.

Emma didn't answer; she just threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace. Steed gave her waist a gentle squeeze. She could feel his warm body through the thin fabric of her lingerie. She tilted her head up to his and planted a solemn kiss on his lips. Steed simply looked at her in fascination. Emma gave him a mischievous smile.

"Don't get any ideas," she teased. "I'm just making sure you're completely revived. We may have to fight our way out of here."

"You have me fully stimulated, Mrs. Peel," he declared wryly.

She suddenly look perplexed. "How could you live without oxygen?"

"I couldn't—not entirely. That's why I had to feign death as quickly as possible, so they would remove me from the chamber," Steed explained. "I assume this was all The Ladja's doing?"

"All I heard was a voice on the loudspeaker," she replied. "I assume it was his. It sounded familiar, somehow." Emma looked into Steed's eyes, saw a fire there.

He said evenly, "I'm ready for a showdown with The Ladja. He spends entirely too much time trying to kill me for my taste."

Emma nodded in silent agreement as she retrieved her leathers and boots from the table. Without a word, without taking her eyes off Steed, she stepped into the catsuit, put her arms through the sleeves, and zipped it up to her neck.

She strode confidently from the room with Steed two steps behind. He gave her plenty of room and respect, as one would a loaded weapon.

-oOo-