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. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. 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: Well, obviously Emma's part of the team this time round. She's quite difficult to write, but I figure that if you've already got a slightly sadder version of Steed for TNA, you can write an older, wiser Emma to match him. Regardless, I never set out to add Emma when I started writing this story. She's not been added gratuitously. But with Purdey and Peter Peel both disappearing in the Amazon jungle, it would have been silly to ignore the connection. If Purdey had gone AWOL in Africa I probably would've used Mrs. Gale.

Anyway, she'll flesh out the dynamic for the forseeable future. I know you're all worried about Purdey, but I promise there aren't many chapters to go before she puts in an appearance. Stay tuned...

Steed and Gambit mounted the grand staircase of Knight Industries, and entered the thoroughly modern lobby. Gambit didn't bother to stop at reception, simply flashed a card at the girl behind the desk, added a friendly smile for good measure, and headed for the lifts. Steed doffed his bowler at the girl and followed. Gambit had already pressed the button to the penthouse, and was holding the door for his colleague. Steed waited until the doors closed before he spoke.

"You'll get in trouble, flashing your ID when you're not on official business," he pointed out mildly.

Gambit smirked. "It's not my ID," he countered, holding up the laminated card for Steed to see. "Visitor's pass. Emma gave it to me a few months back. Saved time and haggling with the staff."

"I see," Steed murmured, crease appearing between his eyebrows as he looked the other way. "I didn't know you were counted among the regulars."

Gambit shrugged, staring absently at the rows of buttons. "I've taken her to lunch a few times. Or she's taken me. We usually end up haggling about the bill."

"You have gotten close, haven't you?"

"There's no rule against it, is there?" Gambit pointed out. "She's good company."

"The best," Steed acknowledged.

Gambit did look at Steed then, frowning at the other man. "Then why haven't you kept in touch?"

Steed rocked back on his heels uneasily. "Who's to say we haven't? You met her at my party, remember."

"Yes. And I also remember that she came unannounced. Have you talked to her at all since '68?"

"Once or twice," Steed said evasively. He'd run into her once shortly after her divorce, but the brief conversation had been rather awkward, and he wasn't keen on repeating it.

Gambit was unimpressed. "Once in ten years. Don't overdo it."

"There's been more," Steed defended, wondering why he felt at a loss for once against Mike's penetrating stare. "We still exchange Christmas cards," he added lamely, although that had been more out of habit, really.

"But no actual meetings?" Gambit pressed.

"You don't know—"

"I know she hasn't told you about me. That means you either haven't been speaking too often, or she doesn't want you to get the wrong idea and cut her off completely. Or both."

He sighed in exasperation. "What happened to you two? You were inseparable in the sixties. You do know Mr. Peel's out of the picture?"

"Yes, I did manage to locate that in the society pages," Steed confirmed dryly.

"So what's the problem?"

"It's complicated."

Gambit regarded him with half-lidded eyes. "Try me."

"Things change. People change. You have to move on. You can't live your life dwelling on what how things used to be."

"That's it, then?" Gambit sounded almost annoyed. "'You have to move on?' What does that mean? Ten years from now, Purdey and I can expect the occasional Christmas card, and that'll be it?"

Steed was taken aback. "Of course not."

Gambit crossed his arms. "When did you last hear from Mrs. Gale?"

Steed looked shifty. "She does send a card at Christmas, but she's been rather difficult to pin down. Her research takes her all over the world. She hasn't been back to England in months."

"Terrorizing some poor bloke in a jungle somewhere, probably," Gambit murmured, half to himself. "What about Miss King?"

"Ah, Tara I saw only last month," Steed said triumphantly.

"Then it's just Emma, then," Gambit mused with interest.

Steed scowled. "Mrs. Peel," he corrected tersely.

Gambit shook his head, slowly and deliberately. "Not anymore she's not—not to me, at least. No more than Purdey's still 'Miss Bryde'."

"You seem to be taking a great deal of interest in my personal life."

Gambit smiled sadly. "Just thoughtful. I mean, I always thought you and Purdey and I would be tight for life, that this job sort of guaranteed it. But if even you and Emma can drift apart, well, there's not much hope for the rest of us."

Steed softened, ever so slightly. "It's because you get so close...it's awkward trying to go back without the job to hide behind."

"Frightening, even?" Gambit asked knowingly, then went on when Steed didn't answer. "All right for some, I suppose, but I'm hoping for a bit more from Purdey down the road even if you're not in the mood."

"I'm sure you are," Steed murmured, but the doors slid open before Gambit could reply.

Emma Knight was clearing off her desk when she heard the knock. "It's open," she called, stowing the last of the pertinent files in a desk drawer.

Gambit and Steed came in, both slightly on edge and glancing at one another out of the corner of their eyes. Whatever had gone on, they quickly covered it up in front of her. Emma crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, but neither seemed interested in explaining. "Right, ready to go?" Gambit wanted to know, the first of the two to break from whatever mood had set in.

Emma nodded. "Just about. I have to drop the keys to the filing cabinet with Annie. And there's the luggage to attend to." She nodded at the two white suitcases and carryon huddled in the corner of her office.

"Why, Mrs. Peel, you wouldn't be trying to tell us something, would you?" Steed quipped, eyes twinkling merrily.

"Of course not," Emma said, mock serious as she moved to sling the carryon over her shoulder. "But I won't say no to volunteers."

"Point taken," Gambit acknowledged, bending to pick up with one of the cases, and grunting in surprise when it turned out to be heavier then expected. "What did you pack? Bricks?"

"Just some gear," Emma said casually, nodding at the case Steed had hefted without trouble. "That one has my clothes."

Gambit pulled a face, but didn't comment further, saving all his breath for lugging his burden after Steed and Emma. "It'll come in useful if we ever need to weight someone down and throw them in the Amazon," he muttered as they stepped into the lift. "Pym, preferably."

Emma frowned. "That's been bothering me," she murmured.

"My impending backache?" Gambit groaned, rubbing his spine ruefully.

"No, Pym," Emma clarified, tapping a foot impatiently. "I could swear I've heard that name before..."

"He was in the news a few years back," Steed offered.

Emma shook her head. "No, it was something more than that. I wonder..." She reached out and hit one of the buttons on the lift panel, somewhere in the middle of the building. "I think a short detour is in order."

The 'detour' was to a floor Gambit had never visited before. It reminded him of the Ministry's computer lab, used by Purdey and himself when there were problems that were a simple matter of sifting through information and finding common variables, something that would take infinitely longer by hand. This one was infinitely larger, though, and equipped with dozens of monitors, as opposed to the Ministry's handful. As Finder had said, the backroom boys were still in the process of digitising the department's vast cache of records, but a company like Knight Industries needed to keep on top of the latest developments or risked losing its competitive edge. Emma had always been tech savvy in any case.

She strode off as soon as the lift doors were opened, moving across the vast stretch of white tile, up the centre aisle between two rows of computers, to a single machine at the head of the room, obviously reserved for the use of the company's directors. Or maybe even Emma herself. Either way, she started booting the machine immediately, before turning to Steed, and the straggling Gambit, still lugging the indecently heavy suitcase.

"Knight's database is almost completely up to date," she explained. "We've diverted a massive amount of resources toward it. I've a feeling Pym and Knight crossed paths at some point. If he had anything to do with the company, we should be able to find it."

Gambit set the bag down with a 'clunk.' "Do you think it's important?"

"Would we be here if it wasn't?" Steed pointed out.

Emma was already busily clacking away. "What did you say his first name was?"

"Jeremy," Steed supplied.

"Jeremy," Emma murmured softly. "Like Jeremy Wade." Her eyes flicked to Steed momentarily, and Gambit swore he heard a click in the air around them. Something significant, long ago and far away, but nevertheless burned into two minds for eternity, something no one else could understand completely. That was what separated your friends from acquaintances, and that special one from them all. No matter how long he knew Emma, Gambit knew he would never know her as Steed had, the way he still did. Emma was the other man's special case. But it didn't matter. Gambit had found his own special case. If only he could find her again.

"Aha!" Emma's exclamation broke into his thoughts, yanking Gambit back into the present. "It's as I thought. Jeremy Pym. His firm was consulting with Knight concerning a government contract." She scrolled through the file. "Both the contract and Knight's association with Pym were terminated rather abruptly in April, 1966."

Gambit felt a niggling sensation at the back of his mind. There was more here than met the eye. "Why was it terminated?" he queried, and Emma frowned.

"I don't know. There's no reason given, but...ah!" She pointed at the screen. "That part of the file is restricted. Fortunately, I'm on the right list."

"One of many," Steed said with a spark in his eye, and Emma smiled lopsidedly. She entered a password and found her way to the next level of the system.

"Here we are," Emma announced, and the trio crowded around the screen. "Pym's loyalties had been under question for some time by certain government branches."

"But not ours?" Gambit asked, and Emma shook her head.

"One agent in particular, it seems, had his eye on Pym. He'd requested permission to work undercover with various other businesses that Pym consulted with, but Knight was the only one to let him in."

"Why?"

Emma grinned. "Because the chairwoman had some experience in that area."

Gambit grinned back. "Not many part-time spies on the corporate payroll."

"More than I'd like, actually," Emma said wryly. "Anyway, I didn't have anything directly to do with him. I merely signed off on it."

"Then what happened?"

"The agent found something," Emma went on. "Enough that Pym fled the country with the agent in pursuit."

"And then?"

Emma shrugged. "The file ends. But we have the agent's name. It was—" She froze, eyes locked on the screen. "Steed..."

"I see it," Steed confirmed, exchanging glances with Gambit. "Jonathan Bryde. Purdey's father."

"1966," Mike added faintly. "And he followed Pym. That must have been his—"

"—Last assignment?" Steed's eyes were dark. "Yes."

Gambit moved off to pace the corridor. He made it back and forth once. "Tell me you didn't know," he demanded levelly. "Tell me you haven't been holding out on Purdey."

"I haven't," Steed confirmed. "You can see for yourself. It wasn't Ministry business. You know how it is with other departments. Play everything close to the chest. I read about it in the morning papers like everyone else. Even then I didn't make the connection until Purdey told us herself."

Gambit nodded, as though he accepted this. "And Emma?"

"As I said, I only signed some piece of paper allowing it, along with everyone else on the board. In 1966 I more or less let Knight run itself. Not to mention certain other distractions that kept me from following it too closely." She looked pointedly at Steed.

"All right." Gambit pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off a headache. "Does this help us, or just rank up there with coincidence of the year?"

"It tells us that I was I right in making one of these for you, Mrs. Peel," Steed informed, delving into his pocket and producing a trio of passports. He handed one to Emma. "Grey's going to have his men on the lookout for Gambit and me. He's not convinced we're taking a relaxing vacation. But if Pym was associated with you, no matter how distantly, then it's advisable that your identity stay under wraps as well."

Emma arched an eyebrow and opened the booklet, lips twitching toward a smile at the name accompanying her photo. " 'Magnolia Thunderpussy'? Have you been brushing up on your Ian Fleming?"

"I don't know what you mean," Steed said with mock innocence, handing Gambit his own documents as he spoke.

" 'Frederick Norton'?" Gambit read aloud, arching an eyebrow at Steed. "Should I get the joke?"

Emma exchanged glances with Steed. "Let's put it this way," she said to Mike. "With that suitcase, you're right in character."

Gambit grunted unenthusiastically and picked up the bag. "Never mind. Let's go and leave some of the shockers to Brazil."

***

They didn't sit together on the plane. Steed had made certain of that. There was no sense in giving the game away before they'd even left England. Gambit couldn't disagree with that.

The flight was uneventful. Gambit tried to read, tried to sleep, tried to watch the in-flight movie, but his attention was elsewhere. Nothing could fully absorb his attention until Purdey was found. He drummed his fingers nervously on the armrest and hoped that now that he had a chance to investigate that he'd be successful. That he wasn't too late. He didn't want to think about the consequences if he was.

It was late-afternoon by the time they arrived in Brazil. Steed's rule of separateness extended to their cabs and check-ins at the hotel. It wasn't the same place in which Purdey had lodged, but there was less of a chance of being spotted by one of Grey's men that way. It was only when Gambit had made a sweep of his room for surveillance equipment that he ventured out into the hall, running into Emma on his way to Steed's room. The senior agent was busy unpacking shaving equipment.

"Right. What's the plan of attack?" Emma queried as she perched comfortably on the edge of Steed's bed. A half-dozen rumours coursed through Gambits brain at the gesture, but Purdey had been known to do similar things, and they'd never… Well, rumours were just that. Rumours. Weren't they?

Steed smiled down fondly at her, and another of those moments crackled through the air. "For now, we lie low. Go to your rooms, get some sleep, and don't come out until I've contacted you. I don't think we've been followed, but keep alert just in case. Grey's men might see past the fake names, and if they do, they'll want to deal with us as soon as possible."

"Barricade the doors against intruders," Emma suggested, eyes dancing. "Then what?"

"We'll discuss that later. For the moment, I think it's better if we limit contact. Check your rooms when you go back. Just in case someone's been visiting."

Gambit saluted jauntily. "Aye aye."

Steed grinned. "Dismissed."

"Do you always obey orders?" Emma asked as they headed back down the hall.

"Always," Gambit confirmed. "Except when I don't. But then, I was in the military."

"But I wasn't," Emma reminded, eyes dancing.

Gambit eyed her up. "Planning on mutiny?"

"Just a bit," she said coyly, ducking into her room. Gambit just smiled and shook his head.

***

Gambit slept fitfully. The prospect of attack was on his mind, of course, but more than that, it was Purdey. They were here, now, where he had believed from the beginning he could do the most good. But now he had doubts. What if his own investigations turned up nothing? What if Purdey really was lost to the world, and there was nothing he could do about it? He sighed and turned over. There was nothing to do but try. He'd have to remember that. But still, he knew sleep was going to be nearly impossible.

The morning arrived after an eternity, and Gambit rose unrefreshed to shower and dress. The first order of business was to check that Steed and Emma had made it through the night without incident. He vacated his own room, and set off down the hall. Steed was approaching from the other end and they met halfway at the ultimate destination, in front of Emma's door. Steed eyed up his tired colleague.

"Any disturbances?"

Gambit shook his head. "Nothing outside my own head. They wouldn't have had much of a chance to sneak up on me as it was. I slept like hell."

"You look like hell," Steed observed with sympathy. "I think you may be faring worse than Purdey."

"I hope so," Gambit muttered, looking Steed up and down. His suit was impeccable, as usual. "You obviously made it."

"Yes, I think it's safe to say we haven't been spotted. We'll just see about Mrs. Peel." He knocked on Emma's door, and the pair waited quietly for the occupant to answer. After half a minute of silence, Steed tried again, this time with a frown. Pressing an ear to the door revealed no sounds of life, no movement within. He looked to Gambit.

"She could be in the bathroom,"Mike tried, but his expression said otherwise. "With the door shut. Maybe she can't hear us."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Steed murmured, delving in his pocket for something to pick the lock. "Let's hope the worst she's about to suffer is violated privacy."

Gambit kept a look out while Steed went to work. It didn't take particularly long, and Gambit marvelled at the man's technique, even after witnessing it so many times over the years. Gambit knew his own ability to force entry without bruising the lock owed something to the master.

Steed had the door open now, just a crack, and he peered through before standing to one side of the door and gesturing for Gambit to do the same. It was only then that he removed the bowler and placed it over the umbrella's handle, before reaching the hat end over to gently prod the door open, letting the hat peer around the corner. Gambit held his breath, waiting to see if someone would take the bait.

Nothing happened.

Still cautious, Steed inched over to the door and gave the room a quick sweep before taking the first step inside. Gambit brought up the rear and followed suit. The room was laid out like his own, and bore all the signs of occupation. The covers on the bed were pushed back, and the pillow had a dent in it. The remains of a breakfast tray were laid out on the small table in the corner of the room. Steed walked over to feel the coffee pot while Gambit moved to the bathroom. "Cold," he said to himself, turning as Gambit emerged. "Well?"

"Damp toothbrush, damp towel, water in the shower. She wasn't here that long ago, but she's gone now." He shrugged. "No sign of a struggle. I'd say she's gone out for a bit."

"Yes, but where? And why?" Steed wanted to know, a worried line appearing beneath his brows. "Look for notes by the telephone, that sort of thing. I'll phone the front desk. We'll see if we can find out where she's gone."

"Or you could save time and ask her yourself," Emma Knight suggested from the doorway. "Really, Steed, I can handle Brazil quite well on my own."

"But can it handle you?" Gambit quipped with relief. They didn't need two missing women.

"It'll have to," Emma declared, closing the door that they'd inadvertently left gaping behind her. "I had a few errands to run."

"I would have come along. You should have called," Steed chastised gently. Emma smirked.

"You need your beauty sleep," she said dryly. "Anyway, I've seen to our transport into the jungle. I've hired a boat from the same man who accompanied me to look for Peter. We can leave as early as tomorrow morning. And I sent a message to the tribe, but it'll take a few days for them to receive it. They're not particularly interested in keeping close contact."

"Excellent," Steed proclaimed. "Do you know if you were followed?"

Emma pulled off her wide-brimmed hat and shook out the auburn tresses. "No. I kept a close watch, but I think we've managed to sneak in under the radar. As long as we don't press our luck...."

"I'm not planning on it. Not in Manaus, in any case," Steed told her. "We'll leave tomorrow. There isn't much to be learned here."

"What's the plan of action, then?" Emma queried, tossing the hat with admirable accuracy onto a ghastly statue that was obviously some poor soul's misguided attempt at modern art. "Or are we going to languish in our rooms until evening?"

"There is one place we should check," Gambit revealed. "Purdey's hotel room. Manders' report said it was preserved as part of the investigation, didn't it?"

"Right," Steed confirmed. "None of her things have been touched. It's a good place to start."

"Do you think it'll help?" Emma wanted to know. "What are you expecting to find?"

Gambit shrugged. "Don't know. Might be more interesting to see what's not there. If someone's been in there that shouldn't, it might give us a clue about what's happened to her. Or why she was taken."

"Sounds reasonable," Emma agreed, doffing the jacket she'd donned for the early morning cool to reveal a white linen t-shirt beneath. "But if the hotel's within walking distance, I suggest we keep to the shade." She nodded at Steed's bowler. "And dispense with the steel. We wouldn't want you to overheat."

Steed tapped the chapeau jauntily. "I'll think cool," he demurred, and opened the door for her.

***

The guard in front of room 718 was very, very bored. His shift had started only an hour ago, but it felt like centuries. He was fairly certain his foot had gone to sleep, and the rest of him threatened to follow suit. He'd had this assignment for nearly three weeks now, and the same hallway walls, painted an uninspiring shade of taupe, didn't provide much in the way of stimulation.

That was why the woman was so welcome. She was late thirties, but the spring in her step was that of a twenty-year-old, and the swirl of auburn hair had yet to be tarnished with grey. She smiled winningly at him as she passed, brown eyes alight with humour. Her destination was a room three doors down from his post, and he took the opportunity to admire her figure, outlined perfectly by the white linen top she was wearing. A thin sheen of perspiration made the material cling just a little more than usual, and the guard let his gaze linger as the woman tried unsuccessfully to insert a key into the lock. She tried three times before frowning at the key in her hand, foot tapping impatiently. Then she turned and seemed to notice the guard for the first time. She shrugged in defeat and took a few steps toward him.

"I think they've given me a defective key," she said in warm, lively tones. "It doesn't seem to fit."

The guard held out his hand, happy to help. "Would you like me to take a look?"

"Oh, would you?" She handed him the slip of metal, and he examined it for a moment before smiling.

"Ah, here's the problem, miss." He pointed at the engraved digits on the key. "This is for room 622. You're up a floor." He handed the key back to her.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, laughing. Her laugh was as lovely as the rest of her. "That wasn't very clever of me, was it?"

"Easy mistake, miss. Anyone could make it," the guard demurred, mentally noting the room number for future reference. Perhaps he could bump into her at the end of his shift.

"Well, thank you very much," she said sincerely. "Let's see if I can get it right on the second try." She set off for the lifts, smiling once at him over her shoulder before stepping inside.

Emma waited until the doors had closed before she spoke. "There's just one. British. Probably one of Grey's. One service revolver. Very bored."

"Do you think he suspected?" Steed queried, stepping away from the wall of the lift, where he and Gambit had been out of the guard's line of sight.

Emma snorted. "I think I'm his first bit of entertainment in weeks. We're safe." The lift doors opened on the sixth floor, and the trio stepped out and made their way over to the clutch of armchairs nestled in the small foyer. "The only problem is getting past." She settled into a chair.

"He'll be on the lookout for Steed and me," Gambit pointed out. "And he's seen you, so there's no sneaking you in as a maid."

"Too bad," Emma said with obvious sarcasm. "I'm not in the mood for any more costumes."

"You wore them very well," Steed murmured appreciatively.

Gambit tapped the arm of his chair impatiently. "There's no other way in?"

"Not unless you fancy traversing an inch-wide ledge seven stories up," Steed said mildly.

"We could just overpower him, I suppose."

"We want to keep Grey from suspecting, not send him an invitation to have us dragged back for interference."

"He had a radio," Emma revealed. "We could find the frequency and have him called away."

Steed sucked his teeth. "There's still a problem when he finds out there's no assignment. Grey will be on high alert for anomalies. We need a diversion that doesn't make them think sabotage."

Emma sighed and let her eyes rove over the foyer. Her eyes alighted on something across the hall. An impish grin passed over the feline features. "I think," she said slowly, "I may have the answer."

Gambit and Steed exchanged puzzled glances as she sprang up from her chair and made her way quickly to the facing wall onto which two plaques had been affixed, indicating the range of room numbers in each direction. Directly between them was their way in. Emma pointed her chin at it as Steed and Gambit came up behind her.

It was a small red box, complete with its own tiny hammer, and a message obvious in any language: "In case of fire, break glass."

"The fire alarm," Gambit said thoughtfully. "That might work."

"Think about it," Emma pressed. "We need a diversion that doesn't specifically target the guard. Otherwise Grey will be suspicious. This way the whole hotel's affected—our guard is one of the crowd. Fire alarms are set off all the time—it could easily be a teenager having a laugh."

"And it would clear the hotel of witnesses until the firemen got here," Gambit chimed in. "That should give us long enough to search the room."

"And we can slip away in the confusion," Steed finished. "I think it might work."

"But do you think he'll leave?" Gambit wondered. "Grey may have ordered him to stay put, come hell or high water."

Emma regarded him with unfazed eyes. "Would you stay and risk death by fire?"

Gambit grinned. "For you, maybe."

"But not for a missing woman's suitcase. I don't think he's paid well enough for that." She nodded down the hall at the door labelled "Emergency Exit." "The elevator's not meant for use during a fire, so the guests will take the stairs."

"More for us," Steed said cheerfully. "Shall we do the deed now, or…?"

Emma shook her head. "The guard thinks I'm staying on this floor. There's a link, however tenuous, that he might catch on. We should move someplace else."

"My dear, I'm delighted that you've retained that keen intellect of yours after all these years."

Emma smiled fondly. "That makes two of us."

They took the lift up to the ninth floor, and Gambit and Steed held the doors while Emma darted out and did the honours. She gave the glass a jaunty tap, then retreated before the first guest could spot her. Gambit pushed the seventh floor indicator and waited until they were between floors before slamming the emergency stop button. The lift shuddered to a halt, and Emma consulted her watch.

"Five minutes should do," Steed predicted, and Emma nodded in agreement.

"Not long to wait," she declared.

Gambit snorted. "Except when you're doing the waiting. I hope you're all right in enclosed spaces."

Emma's mouth quirked up on one side. "Ask me again when you've tried a coffin."

"Oh, yes, I remember reading about that," Gambit said thoughtfully. "Almost buried alive. That could've been nasty. Made good reading though--got me through a whole hour avoiding Ste—I mean, Kendrick, one afternoon" he corrected quickly at Steed's scowl.

"I didn't invent the forms," Steed reminded. "But if you didn't let them pile up, McKay wouldn't put pressure on me, and I wouldn't have to do the same to you."

"It was only a week," Gambit justified.

Emma looked from one to another in disbelief. "Do you do this often?"

"He's used to sparring with Purdey," Steed explained, locking eyes with Mike. "I've a sneaking suspicion they were married for one too many decades in another life."

Emma bit back a laugh and turned back to Gambit. "Mike, you should have told me. I wouldn't want to put you in a compromising position."

"We are not like an old married couple," Gambit grumbled, although the blush dusting his cheeks said otherwise. "We're just…opinionated."

"I caught them arguing over the dishes only last month," Steed informed, mischievous grin stretching his lips.

"It was her turn!" Gambit snapped, as Emma's shoulders started shaking. "As though you two were any better."

"I don't remember any fallouts over dishes," Emma choked, trying desperately to regain her composure. "Sorry, I don't know why I think it's so funny."

"Neither do I," Gambit said sourly, and hit the emergency button again.

"But the five minutes aren't up."

"I'll take my chances with the guard. Maybe he'll put me out of my misery."

But the hall was empty. Everyone, including the guard, had decided to be on the safe side and not wait for the flames to start licking at their heels. The trio darted out of the lift and made for the door, well-aware that the clock was ticking. There would be questions if the firemen found them inside without a good explanation, poking around rooms that weren't theirs. An arrest for burglary was the last thing anyone needed.

Gambit made it first, and set to work immediately with a piece of wire while Steed and Emma kept watch. It took mere seconds, but with the pressure on, it felt like ages, and Gambit felt uncomfortably exposed in the bare halls. His hands were slick with sweat, but he wasn't sure if it was the fear for what he might find, the risk of being caught, or just the heat of Brazil. Regardless, he was happy to hear the telltale click and dive into the cover of the room beyond.

It was a fairly standard hotel suite. Gambit wasn't certain why this surprised him. Maybe he was expecting more of the last place Purdey had laid her head before disappearing into the jungle. But if he was to glean any comfort from this place, he would have to make it himself. He looked to Steed and Emma, and the three fanned out automatically to begin their search.

The room hadn't been left completely untouched. The maid had obviously made her rounds before word of Purdey's disappearance had activated Grey's Brazilian contacts. Gambit was sorry they hadn't. It would've been encouraging to see some sign of life—an unmade bed, a glass with a lipstick stained rim. Anything. This place, wiped clean, reminded him too much of the solemn, silent process carried out by the men in files, as they unceremoniously destroyed a dead agent's documents, erased his very existence, denied him to any and all who spoke his name. That would happen to Purdey if they didn't find her—she would be an empty room, wiped clean of any identifying marks. All that would remain was a number, a record of another of the Ministry's fallen. He couldn't let that happen.

He shook off the melancholy that threatened to overwhelm him, and went to work. The closet seemed a good place to start. He made his way over and opened the door, spotted the suitcase on the top shelf. Purdey's. He reached up and grasped the handle, felt the déjà vu wash over him as he remembered stretching over Purdey's blonde head to retrieve it. So she could pack. And come here.

No time for nostalgia. It wouldn't bring Purdey back. Only hard work would do that. He gave the suitcase a heave and set it on the bed, opened it and found most of her clothes inside. She hadn't been planning on staying long enough to unpack. Only one outfit was missing—the one she'd been wearing when she'd…gone.

Steed was in the bathroom, and poked his bowler-hatted head out to give it a shake. Nothing. They were running out of time, and this was rapidly turning into a wild goose chase. Gambit hadn't been sure what he expected to find here, but it felt right that there should be something amiss. Something to do with Pym, or Grey, or both. Something missing, or tampered with. But it was only a protected site, a routine precaution in every sort of investigation. Gambit sighed at Purdey's orphaned belongings. He wished he could take them along without arousing suspicion. It stuck in his craw that Grey was officially in charge of them at the moment. He had no right to them. He had no right to her past. Or her.

"Here's something." Emma had found Purdey's passport, taped behind a drawer in the so-obvious-no-one-would-look-there spot that Purdey and he would see the humour in. She flipped it open and scanned the details. "This was faked," she observed to the room at large.

"Yes, for security," Gambit explained, closing the case. "So her name wouldn't pop up on any flight lists and set off alarm bells."

"Really?" Emma murmured, extracting a folded piece of paper from her trouser pocket. She unfolded it and spread it out on the dresser, skimmed it, a lime appearing between her eyebrows. "As I thought. The flight list doesn't have her faked name. See? 'Bryde, Purdey E.' Right down to the initial."

"Where on earth did you get that?" Steed wanted to know, coming up behind her.

"Oh, didn't I mention? I have a friend of a friend with contacts in the right places. It was one of errands this morning. I was confirming that our fake identities had gone through, and thought I'd ask for Purdey's flight while I was at it. Now I'm glad I did." She showed them the paper, lips pursed. "If ours worked, hers should have. Meaning…"

"Someone spilled the beans," Steed finished, glancing at Gambit. "And I've a good idea who."

"Well, now we know how Pym found her," Gambit muttered angrily. "Hang onto that. We might be able to use that against Grey later."

Steed shook his head. "They'll know we've been here if it's gone, and if they don't notice they'll have questions as to how we got ahold of it on holiday. No, we know it was faked. Mrs. Peel's flight list will be enough to prove wrongdoing. Now—" He crossed the room and glanced out the window at the fire trucks below. "—We've outstayed our welcome."

Gambit and Emma snapped into life, returning the room to its original state before darting out the door. By the time the firemen had declared the building safe, the trio was winding its way through the crowd, back to the hotel, the guard none the wiser, but happy that his shift had been at least moderately entertaining.