Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of Hostage and the year-later bits of Gnaws and The Last of the Cybernauts...? It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, and Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: As promised, another fresh chapter. I'm going to make an effort to make them longer from now on, so this one should keep you occupied for awhile and move things along a little quicker than they have been thus far.

Enjoy! And Merry Christmas!

Finder bustled past the hard-working Morse ladies, busily deciphering messages from the four corners of the globe, and set about trying to balance his coffee and paper in one hand while he unlocked the file room door with the other. Somehow he managed it without a scalding, a first for that week. He hummed to himself as he wandered over to his desk, leaving the door ajar to signal to any agent requiring his services that he was open for business. He set the styrofoam cup on the desk with the paper, meaning to start in on the crossword first thing.

There was a soft thud.

Finder straightened in surprise, and peered down one aisle of shelves. Abandoning the crossword for the time being, he set off to investigate, down the middle aisle, and then off to the left. He was surprised by what he found.

Mike Gambit was on his hands and knees, gathering up the scattered pages of a dossier whose home was obviously the large gap in the shelf about three feet above the stool tucked in the corner. Mike looked up from his task and smiled with a touch of embarrassment. "Hello, Finder," he managed. "Er, sorry about the mess. Gave the shelf a bit of a bump, and the lot came down on top of me."

"Quite all right," Finder assured, bending to assist. "Happened to me more than once. The forties have always been a bit unstable." Gambit smiled. Finder was one of the less anal of the Ministry's file clerks, and that made his domain the best place to sneak off for a quiet read whenever he missed his annual checkup and Kendrick sent the cavalry after him. Today he hadn't been looking for a read, though. Today it was the quiet, the solitude, the opportunity to think, that had driven him to this old refuge. After his breakfast with Steed, he'd needed the opportunity to relax, some place away from Grey. Gambit knew better than to let himself wander the halls—he'd wind up back at Grey's, and he wasn't entirely certain how much of his tattered self-control remained. Finder didn't seem to mind, at least, but that didn't mean he didn't owe the man some sort of explanation.

"You've heard about Purdey?" Gambit ventured, and Finder glanced up from gathering pages momentarily, adjusting his glasses to focus on Mike.

"Yes," he confirmed, giving the younger man a once over with an appraising eye. He knew Gambit as one of the more amiable young agents, less likely to take out his frustration for being pushed into research duty on the man in charge of the research material himself. And Gambit was always in particularly high spirits if the young blonde tagged along. Finder liked Purdey, too—a refreshing change from a department consisting almost entirely of men. She knew how to flirt, too—gently, just enough to make him blush, even if it was all done so playfully that they both knew it was nothing more than her way of making him smile. Between the pair of them, they were usually good for an hour's entertainment before the tea trolly made the rounds. Now Mike was drained of spark, looking lost without the girl by his side. "I heard about it through the usual channels. And that Grey fellow's been by more than once, complaining that these files aren't in the database yet. As if it's my fault. Those boys in science can't drag themselves away from the damned machines long enough to put them to use. Not that I'm in any hurry. I've still got a good two or three years before retirement, and I'd just as well leave on my own terms than be chased out by some machine."

Gambit shook his head. "Purdey says you're irreplaceable," he confided, "so I wouldn't worry about the gold watch treatment just yet." The mention of the name chased what little light was left from his eyes. Finder watched sympathetically.

"She's really missing, then? Poor girl. I do wonder about lovely young things like her, out chasing after the dodgy chaps in this business. I was hoping she wouldn't be caught."

"She's been caught plenty of times," Gambit murmured, "but usually I'm around to do something about it."

Finder stood, shuffling the papers in his hands. "She's a fighter, though. I'm sure she'll manage all right until help comes."

"I hope so," was all Gambit had to say, standing as well and handing over his pile of papers. "Sorry about that. I just needed a place to think for a bit, so I let myself in." He held up a piece of wire as evidence, and Finder allowed himself a small smile. "You won't press charges, will you?"

"Won't leave this room, m'boy." Finder checked his watch. "You might want to get a move on, though. My sources tell me that Grey chappie's set a meeting for ten with McKay."

Gambit checked his own watch, arched an eyebrow. "Thanks. I'll come back and help with those, if you want." He pointed his chin at the papers.

Finder waved him off. "No need. Bring Purdey along when you've found her again, that's all."

"Thanks." Gambit seemed to genuinely appreciate the offer, and there was a half a smile for the older man before he left.

***

The meeting was already in session when Gambit poked his head in, to find Grey, McKay, and Steed settled around McKay's desk. There wasn't a chair open, but Gambit wasn't about to let that deter him. He closed the door loudly enough that they turned to see the newcomer. Grey frowned.

"I understood this meeting was open to senior staff only," he said pointedly, as Gambit made his way over to the little group.

"Gambit is senior," Steed asserted, "both among my own people, and in relation to Purdey."

"But he's—" Grey tried to protest, but was cut off by McKay.

"Get on with it, man. We don't have time to waste on squabbling. I've got other things to worry about besides your botched operations." He shuffled some papers irritably.

Grey bit back a retort, and by some miracle regained his composure. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, I've decided to send a clean-up operation, including security. We'll take whatever intel we've gathered and send it back here. All the classified files onsite will need to be destroyed. Can't have Pym using our own files against us."

"Finally," Gambit said with relief. "Now we're getting somewhere. McKay, I'd like permission to fly to Brazil with the crew."

"There's only one spot available for your department," Grey informed, with a ghost of a smile. "He'll be along as an observer, perhaps assisting in analysis of the scene."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "Now just a minute—"

"They are my people, Mr. Gambit. And it was my operation. I feel it's my responsibility to keep as many of your people out of the line of fire as possible. That is what you wanted, isn't it? After all, you lot are impartial, aren't you? Purdey was no different than any other agent."

"Is," Gambit corrected, "and I thought you chose Purdey because she wasn't like all the others." He rounded on McKay. "Can't we send our own detail? Or just me?"

McKay sighed in resignation. "It is his operation," he admitted grudgingly. "We're entitled to a representative, but with such a small role, anyone else has to go through Grey."

"If we have one spot, why not give it to Gambit?" Steed wanted to know. "He's more than qualified."

"Because I'm afraid that Mr. Gambit is too involved to be of any assistance," Grey explained, removing his glasses. "Furthermore, I believe he would be a risk to the team and to my people in the jungle. I've read your file, Mr. Gambit. You have a history of putting friendship above security, particularly where Purdey is concerned. Surely you can't deny that?" He watched Gambit's jaw work with mild amusement. "No witty retort? You disappoint me, Major. That was your rank, wasn't it? Right after your unceremonious withdrawal from Africa?"

Gambit felt his heart stop. Not many people had delved that deeply into his past, and it smarted whenever someone brought it up. The fact that Grey had somehow managed to read that far back worried him. If Grey knew about Africa, what else had he managed to dig up? And how would he use it?

"Well then, I think that's settled," Grey went on briskly. "We haven't been contacted regarding Purdey, but I assure you my team will do everything humanly possible to find her. We'll keep our channels open, and the reports are still coming in. I'm sure we'll hear something soon. In the meantime, we believe we've found a river route that hasn't been compromised. If you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to." He nodded to the trio before quitting the room. Gambit watched him go helplessly. He met Steed's eyes, willing the senior agent to find a way to circumvent the red tape, but Steed looked momentarily defeated as well.

"We're just going to wait, then?" Mike snapped angrily. "Purdey's having who knows what done to her, and we can't do a damn thing to help her?"

"It looks that way," McKay said tiredly, "but Grey's people are good. It's entirely possible that they'll find her."

"So we do nothing?" Gambit said in obvious frustration.

"For the moment," Steed broke in suddenly. "Right now it's our best option. That doesn't mean that it's our only one. We'll let the search go on, and if we're not satisfied, we'll go from there."

"That'll take time," Gambit pointed out, running a hand through his hair. "She might not have much."

"If you fly out, right now, will it buy her any more?" Steed said seriously. "They'll be mobilized in an hour or two, but the flight's the same no matter who ends up going. But if you go they're going to shut you out of the effort, and I'd just as soon have an ally here when the reports start flooding in."

Gambit swore under his breath. "Fine," he muttered, "I'll wait. But if Grey doesn't keep his half of the deal, and she's not found, then I'm going over with or without anyone's permission. No one deserves to be forgotten like that."

"We won't forget her," Steed said firmly. "It is Purdey."

Gambit couldn't argue with that.

Hours passed. Gambit spent his time by the radios, and generally made a nuisance of himself to anyone with the slightest connection to Grey's operation for the latest news, reports, anything. Forty-eight hours after he'd first received the call, Steed found his colleague sprawled untidily in one of the armchairs that equipped Steed's rarely used office, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. After determining that his hours of slumber for the past two days could be counted on one hand, Steed put his foot down and steered Mike downstairs to the car park, into the Range Rover, and started the long drive out to the country.

Gambit awoke much later and blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling in bemusement. A quick scan revealed one of Steed's many elegantly appointed guest rooms, the bed of which Mike realized he had deposited a sizeable puddle of drool. He sat up ruefully, squinting at the sliver of sunlight through the curtains, mind trying desperately to work out what time it was and what time it had been when he'd dropped off. He couldn't recall how he'd come to be at Steed's, or why his fingers were stained black. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaned, and ran inky fingers through his hair. He couldn't remember much of anything at the moment. Presumably Steed would know. He ran his tongue over his teeth, and felt fuzziness. His chin was next, and he was surprised to find a sizeable crop of stubble. Had he been drinking? But it didn't feel like a hangover. He stood and wandered over to draw the curtains, peering out at Steed's manicured lawns. In the back of his mind, something told him that there was an urgent matter requiring his attention, but he couldn't remember what it was. Don't force it. It'll come on its own.

Steed had thoughtfully appointed his bathroom with both razor and toothbrush, and after a shower Mike made use of both. He was contemplating putting the same clothes back on, when he caught sight of the suitcase by the door. Frowning, Mike went to retrieve it, opened it over the bed. Inside was an assortment of shirts and trousers, a couple of pairs of boots, and a few other necessities. Gambit dressed in silence, certain that the growing sense of dread had nothing to do with the idea of Steed rifling through his underwear drawer. He glanced at the door and debated whether he wanted to know what was troubling him, but decided not knowing was worst of all. With a sigh, he reached out and turned the knob.

Steed was at the dining room table, various files spread out before him, and the phone at his elbow. He looked up as Gambit entered, bestowed a smile in greeting. The way his eyes didn't smile with his mouth set Mike on edge immediately.

"Up are you?" Steed asked cheerily, and Gambit nodded slightly in confirmation. "Good. Can I get you something? It's been rather a long time since your last meal."

"Has it?" Gambit queried. "How long have I been asleep?"

Steed checked his watch. "Going on 18 hours, now," he informed. "You needed every second of it."

"I did?" Gambit frowned. "What time is it?"

"It's three in the afternoon."

"Three," Gambit repeated, as though in a daze. "Why? Did something happen last…last night, was it?"

"A night," Steed clarified, "but not last night." He eyed Mike with concern. "Do you remember anything at all?"

Gambit shook his head fearfully. "No," he admitted. "But something...something bad happened, didn't it?"

Steed's eyes closed in a way that told Gambit he was less than thrilled with that answer. "But you don't know what?"

"No."

"Mike, I think you ought to sit down."

Gambit's guts twisted. "Why?"

"Just sit. Please."

"Not until you tell me what's happened!" Gambit snapped, frightened at how unsteady his voice was, then looked around vaguely. "Where's Purdey?"

Steed paled slightly. "That's not funny."

"What isn't?" Gambit was panicking. "Steed, I honestly can't remember. Where's Purdey?"

"Gambit—"

"Where?!"

"I don't know!"

Gambit froze. "Wha--?"

"I don't know," Steed repeated, this time with more control. "No one does. I thought you'd remember."

Gambit wasn't listening, eyes filled with frightened recognition. "Oh, hell. Brazil. She's in Brazil. How could I forget that?"

"You've been under a lot of stress."

"But I should remember that." He scrabbled for a chair. "Something like it happened to me."

"Gives you every reason to block it out," Steed observed. "Gambit, you spent two days doing nothing but read reports, newspapers, fresh Morse, files. The mind can only take so much."

"Explains the ink," Gambit murmured, glancing at his trembling hands. "I need to get back."

"You need to rest. I brought you here because your flat's too close to the Ministry. You won't stay home and sleep when you've only a five minute drive to deter you."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Stay here. Catch up on your sleep. And if you promise to take evenings off, I'll consider resigning as your chaperone. Now." He rose and made for the kitchen. "Do you feel like breakfast or lunch?"

Days passed. Gambit spent his time meandering aimlessly around the farm, anxiously awaiting Steed's regular status reports over the phone. The senior agent was quite strict about keeping him away from the Ministry until he was certain his young colleague could exercise a little self-restraint. Gambit grumbled about it, but Steed took the broody looks as a sign that the younger man was trading despair for anger, which was at least more productive. Nonetheless, Steed was careful to keep the various sets of car keys out of reach. Technically, that wouldn't stop a determined Gambit, but Steed doubted Mike would resort to hotwiring anytime soon.

It looked as though he'd made a break for it after the first day, when Steed had returned to an empty house. A quick explore of the grounds out back revealed his colleague out on the chestnut mare that had been Steed's recent acquisition. It was quite a good arrangement. The horse got its exercise, and Gambit had a release for an hour or two.

Eventually, though, even equestrian pursuits weren't enough, and with Steed rapidly running out of hiding places for four separate sets of keys, he agreed to let Gambit, Michael A. have his pass back and return to work, albeit with a small surveillance assignment, just to eat into his spare time. Gambit was good at surveillance, and the thinking he did usually brought with it one or two valuable insights. Steed knew he could use a few just now. With Purdey's disappearance stretching into a week, he was catching a bad case of Gambit's impatience, but his own stable of agents was getting too restless for him to think of taking off anytime soon. While most of them were worried after their colleagues, a few were on the cutthroat side, and clamoring for what they now saw as vacant spots on Steed's select team. It was no secret that Purdey and Gambit were envied their positions as Steed's right-hand man and woman, and even less so that some would be more than happy to see the day when they fell from grace. With Purdey AWOL, and Gambit rapidly viewed as a basketcase in the making, two twitches away from permanent stress leave, it seemed that day had come, and it took every bit of bureaucratic wrangling Steed could muster to keep his colleagues' highly-valued spaces free from the threat of reassignment as the boys in personnel peered sternly over glasses and asked why they were paying for two people who weren't doing their jobs.

Gambit, meanwhile, was getting quite adept at ignoring the glances he was getting in the Ministry corridors. People were starting to notice the weight loss, and the sleep debt was accompanied by the sort of inflation that had brought down whole economies. And still, he made the trek to Grey's office, hoping against all odds that there would be good news today, that he wouldn't see the raven-haired radio operator shake her head at him again with that sad look in her eyes. But no news was good news. There hadn't been any report of a body yet, either. He held onto that on long nights.

There was something new today, though. As he strode down the hall, he caught sight of a girl exiting Grey's HQ. It took his fevered brain a moment to recognize her, but when he did he picked up the pace considerably, determined to catch her before she slipped off, out of his grasp. Already she was heading off in the opposite direction, and Gambit broke into a light jog, calling out even as he went.

"You're Samantha Grieve, aren't you?"

The girl stopped in her tracks, turning toward the voice. "Yes." The brown eyes registered mild surprise as he joined her. "And you are…?"

"Gambit. Mike Gambit." He offered a hand, and the girl shook it with mild bemusement.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Gamb—oh!" she exclaimed, then frowned. "Oh. You're that Mr. Gambit, aren't you? Purdey's partner." She eyed him with dawning recognition.

"Yes," Gambit confirmed. "Purdey's partner."

Sam thrust her hands into her pockets abruptly, pulling away like she'd been burnt. "Before you start in, you should know I really am sorry about what happened," she told the floor, brown hair falling in her eyes. "I saw them take her away, and I meant to go after her, but there were so many people who needed help…" The hazel eyes were moist when she finally raised them to meet his. "By the time I found a spare moment, she was long gone. And I feel responsible. I should have been watching out for her."

Gambit heard his own words being parroted back at him, and felt a rush of guilt greater than Sam's. "It's not your fault," he told the girl. "I don't blame you for it. You didn't know about the attack, and Purdey knows how to take care of herself." Usually.

"I suppose, but that it should happen on my watch." She sighed and looked at the ceiling, as though tipping tears back into her eyes. "I had a partner of my own, once upon a time. He had a run of bad luck like Purdey's, and I couldn't do anything for him, either." The way she swallowed made Gambit think that her partner's fate wasn't nearly the mystery Purdey's was. She took a deep breath and looked back at him again. "And they still haven't found her, have they?"

Gambit tried to quell the sadness that threatened to wash over him every day, every minute, every second. "No," he said softly, "they haven't."

"I wish I could help."

"You could answer a few questions," Gambit prodded. "Nothing official. Just a few things I'd like to know."

Sam nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "All right. Grey won't like it much, but after last week I'm having trouble caring."

I like her already. "We could go for a drink, if you think it'd be safer," he suggested.

"Oh, hell, yes. I could use one." The admission was one of relief, and she fell into step beside him easily. She was quite attractive, he realized as they walked, but for once he felt none of the stirrings that usually accompanied the lovelier examples of the opposite sex. There was only room for one woman in his mind these days, and until she was back home, safe and sound, even the shapely Miss Grieve wasn't going to do anything for him.

They made small talk until they were well and truly free of the confines of the Ministry, away from probing eyes and ears. Gambit knew that Samantha Grieve had likely been instructed to keep her mouth shut. For whatever reason, she'd decided to disobey, and he was going to make certain she didn't pay for it. He found them a pub that wasn't frequented by even the lowliest file clerk, and waited until they were ensconced in a booth before starting in on his questions.

"What do you want to know?" Sam asked after a healthy gulp of the pint that she'd ordered without so much as a wince. Gambit raised an eyebrow. She'd be an even match for Purdey in a drinking contest. Wonder which one would end up under the table first…

"First hand account," he said out loud. "What happened that night?"

"Don't you know?"

"I know what Grey told me, and what came through the official reports. But something, somewhere, doesn't fit, and I'm hoping you can tell me what."

Sam gazed into her beer. "Fair enough. I was up late, going over the documents Purdey delivered. When I went to turn in, I took a detour to say good night to Jack. He was on first watch, you see."

"Do your people see much during the night watch?" Gambit wanted to know.

Sam shook her head. "No, never. We've never been attacked like this before, night or day. Pym pretty much ignores us. I don't think he cares one way or another. Not that there's any reason why he should. We've turned up next to nothing, other than the location of his base, but we've only managed a few blurry shots of a man that might, possibly, be him. I think we're almost a running joke in his eyes." She paused. "Which makes it all the stranger that he decided to get violent…"

"You were there when it started, then?" Gambit hypothesized.

"Yes. Like I said, I went to check on Jack. He was sitting near the edge of the camp. He had his head down, like he was sleeping." She broke off, eyes darkening. "But then I got closer. No one's neck bends like that."

Gambit worked his jaw. "Then what happened?"

"I drew my gun, naturally," Sam replied, "because the next thing I saw was something in the bushes. And I shot it—him."

"And then?"

"All hell broke loose. They sprang out en masse. I recognized them as Pym's men. By then everyone was awake, and the firefight started."

Gambit swallowed. "And Purdey?"

"She was in one of the tents," Sam said quietly. "I ended taking cover behind one of our vehicles, and I saw her take out a few of Pym's men. She had some creative ways of doing it, too."

Gambit allowed himself a small smile at that. "You should see what she can do when she's awake."

"I think she was coming over to join me," Sam went on. "I mean, she was coming my way. I looked away for a moment, and when I looked back…." She bit her lip, brushed her hair out of her eyes angrily. "There were three of them. A leader and two lackeys. One of them had a gun. She didn't have a chance."

Gambit was clutching the edge of the table, white-knuckled. "Three?" he repeated in horror, calling to mind every fight Purdey had one against multiple opponents, how many times she'd emerged triumphant. And how many she'd lost. The odds were she hadn't managed the former this time around.

Sam nodded. "I'm so sorry. I tried to go after them, but I ended up pinned down behind the vehicle. By the time the air cleared, she was long gone. I did send a team after her."

"But no luck," Gambit finished.

Sam shook her head. "Actually, yes. My people ended up making contact and exchanged shots with two of the men that took her away. And I'm pleased to say they got the worst of it."

Gambit felt something like hope for the first time in ten days. "You got them? The men that took her?"

"Two of them," Sam confirmed. "Only problem is, we got them a little too well. No one to question. But there was no sign of Purdey or the third man."

"Better odds, at least," Gambit said, half to himself.

"Maybe," Sam said carefully. "I don't want to be the bearer of more bad news, but we're fairly certain there was a vehicle there to meet them. So we don't know who might have gotten away. Purdey easily could have gone with them."

The sick feeling that had taken up permanent residence in Gambit's stomach returned. "Thank you," he murmured. "For being honest. Grey didn't fill me in on a lot of that."

Sam snorted. "I'm not surprised. He plays his operations pretty damn close to the chest, and our department lets him because he gets results. And we need results. MI12's seen better days."

"So I've heard," Gambit informed, without much enthusiasm. "They want to amalgamate you into MI6, don't they?"

"Right," Sam confirmed. "They think our area's become a place for hand-me-downs from other departments, and we'd be better off helping the other boys get the job done. Of course Grey's against it, because he'd lose his rank to all those James Bond types. He needs this one."

Gambit looked thoughtful. "What about you?"

Sam sipped her drink. "What about me?"

"Are you afraid of MI6?"

Sam shook her head. "I'd welcome it. We're wasting resources. I know it. This Pym operation, for instance. Hasn't gotten us a thing. That attack was the first bit of real action we've had in six months."

Gambit felt the pieces falling into place. The puzzle was blurry at the moment, but held promise. "What will that mean for Grey? The attack?"

"It should be fairly obvious. Now that Pym's shown himself to be hostile, the mission will get an extension. We were getting close to our shutdown date, but now all his predictions about Pym are coming true, he'll be the darlings of our top brass."

"That's convenient," Gambit muttered. "What do you think, Sam? Why did Pym wait until now to attack? Has there been anything new? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Sam shook her head. "No. That's what's so odd. It seems so pointless. And the way they started. They killed Jack quietly. If I hadn't gone by, we probably wouldn't have known they were there until they fired the first shot."

"Maybe they weren't planning a full-scale attack," Gambit said slowly. "Maybe they were planning to infiltrate, and brought back-up just in case."

"Infiltrate? Why?" Sam shook her head. "We didn't have anything worth stealing—nothing worth the risk, in any case."

"What about the files Purdey delivered? I know you can't tell me what they were about, but could that have been what they wanted? It would explain why they took Purdey. She made the delivery. If they thought she knew what was in the case…"

Sam frowned. "I suppose that would make sense. But there wasn't anything too special about the case. I mean, new code words and contact times, new frequencies for the radio, intel, that sort of thing, but Pym's ignored us for this long without it. I don't see why he'd stoop to stealing it now. Besides, as soon as he took it, we'd have gone into emergency mode and changed all the codes."

"Still, it's something," Gambit pushed. "If we can find out why they took her, maybe we'll be able to get her back."

"Maybe."

Gambit eyed her in puzzlement. "Why are you telling me all this, Sam? You know you're risking your job."

"Because Grey's a bastard and I think he's gone over the line this time."

"I'm not arguing with you, but what's he done?"

"Look, remember what I told you. Grey's got no scruples at all. He uses his agents, in every sense of the word. Past indiscretions, anything to make you do the job, even if he's got no right to ask."

"Why don't you report him?"

"Like I said, he gets results. The powers that be don't want to admit he's bad. Otherwise MI12's down the tubes. Besides, he's got me on his list of manipulated."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "What does he have on you?"

"Remember my partner? His name was Simon. He was my partner, and we got…friendly. I told you he died on my watch. Well, Grey got ahold of our relationship and dragged me in, said I'd compromised Simon, distracted him, and that was why he was dead. And he told me he get me thrown out for it, blacklisted in all the departments. And I believe him."

"Then why tell me?"

"Because he's gone too far, pulling Purdey in, someone outside of his department. And I'll bet he's been using his tricks on you, too. Someone's got to do something stop him, and you've got a better chance than I ever will. Hopefully you'll make some headway before it's too late for you and Purdey, like it was for me and Simon. He doesn't like agents that are close like you two, and he'll do anything to keep you under his thumb. So I'm warning you—don't let him get you, or Steed, or anyone. And don't give up on Purdey." She finished her beer, held out a hand. "Good luck, Mr. Gambit. I hope Purdey hasn't gone on and met Simon."

"So do I," Gambit agreed. "Thanks, Sam."

"My pleasure."

Steed was in the corridors when Gambit returned to the Ministry, and he quickened his pace to catch up with his colleague. Steed was absorbed in the details of a file, to the point that Mike's presence went unnoticed until the younger man spoke his name.

"Gambit. I was just about to go hunting for you."

"Just as well," Gambit told him. "I've got news."

"So have I," Steed revealed, handing over the pages. "And at the risk of undermining yours, I think you ought to take a look at this first."

Gambit accepted the pages and scanned them hurriedly, disbelief creeping over his face with each line. He looked up at Steed with a puzzled line between his eyebrows. "They got into Pym's base?"

"Walked in, would be more accurate," Steed corrected. "Just a matter of picking the locks. They've been treading softly all this time, trying to avoid another massacre, but it appears Pym and his men vacated the premises long ago."

Gambit shook his head, still puzzled. "Why?"

"We don't know yet. Our man only sent the message half an hour ago. They're treading carefully, but they're hoping they can find Purdey, or at least some sign of her. If Pym did take her, it follows she'd end up at the base."

"Right," Gambit agreed, eyes drifting over the page again. "Funnily enough, I'm not sure whether I want them to find her there or not."

"We can't influence the outcome either way," Steed pointed out. "But it's something. Now, what did you want to tell me?"

Gambit frowned, and then shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. I was just talking to Samantha Grieve."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "Grey's head agent? I'm surprised she gave you the time of day."

"She gave me more than that. She's none too pleased with Grey. Apparently he makes a habit of blackmailing the people in his own department. Greases the wheels of his operations. And the people at MI12 are happy to let him do it if it means adding another achievement to their roster."

Steed smiled ruefully. "That Grey's ethics are less than admirable is fairly obvious, but what does it have to do with Purdey?"

"I don't know," Gambit admitted. "Not yet, anyway. But there's something else going on here. I know it. And I don't think Purdey was targeted for her courier job—it just doesn't fit. Grieve says there was nothing special in that delivery, and that Pym knew it. Not only that, but Grey's under pressure to deliver. You've heard about the MI12 amalgamation with MI6?"

Steed nodded. "The bureaucrats have been buzzing about it for months."

"Grey stands to lose if it goes through, but this attack by Pym has given new life to both his mission and his department. I don't think Purdey's involvement was just a coincidence."

"Can you prove it?" Steed wanted to know.

"Not yet," Gambit admitted. "But I've got something more important to back it up."

Steed arched a curious eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Instinct," Gambit revealed, with a light in his eyes. "And you have to agree, it was right when Purdey left."

Steed smiled back. "Point taken. Let's hope you're on a winning streak."