Her forehead resting upon the walkway's cool railing, Peggy was finally able to take a deep breath. She looked over at Jarvis in concern. That had been a hard hit to her friend's head.

Peggy wondered how much help the poor man could be now. And frankly, besides her sore ribs and back, she was running on fumes herself. She doubted she had much energy left for any more fights. They had to retake the boat now before she curled up on the floor for an unscheduled nap.

Squinting, Jarvis tried to focus on Hodge. The angry man was bobbing up and down in the water, his arms still pinned by the confines of the life preserver. Jarvis tutted, "I see he still lives, too bad."

Cheekily Peggy mused, "Well, it would hardly be a fair fight since he is now unarmed."

Hearing hurried thumping boots overhead on the upper deck, Peggy retreated to her friend's side, and both glanced up in concern.

The flamethrower goons stood by the deck rail above them and excitedly pointed to where Hodge was screaming bloody murder. Though the yacht was moving slowly ahead, already the fuming man was beyond their ability to rescue.

Laughing, one of them quipped, "Ha, serves Hodge right for fooling around with those two blondes."

His partner was far more troubled, "Think we should tell Smith to stop so we can go back and get him?"

The other agent shook his head, "Nah, he looks pretty pissed off to me. We should let him cool his jets first. Besides, when the mercenaries catch up with us, they can grab him. Let them deal with that fun. That's what they are getting paid for anyway."

Peggy frowned at that tidbit and hoped they could take care of things before reinforcements arrived.

Now in on the joke, the once worried agent murmured, "I'd like to see how those two blondes got the best of him."

Smirking, his friend replied, "Smith was right about suspecting that couple. Come on. They have to be around here somewhere."

Hearing them heading toward the rear stairs, Peggy grabbed the dazed Jarvis. Looking around, there were not any places to hide on the exposed walkway.

She dragged Jarvis around the corner and under the stairs as quietly as possible. As the goons stomped down the steps, Peggy spied the ornate double doors nearby. Hoping for the best, she pushed open the panels of frosted glass and poked her head into the darkened area. Relieved that it was an actual room and not another closet, she quickly pulled the befuddled Jarvis in with her.

Even with the sunlight muted from the thick drawn curtains, Peggy could tell that the area was big. Glancing around, she was impressed and also dismayed. Muttering, she asked, "Where are we?"

As Jarvis delicately touched the throbbing knot on his forehead, he sniffed dismissively, "It's the Ballroom."

Taken aback, Peggy whispered incredulously, "A Ballroom? Who has ever heard of such a thing on anything other than a luxury ocean liner?"

Feeling a tad better, Jarvis smirked and pushed a button below the light switch. The garish light fixtures flickered on, and a soft glow emulated from them. A nice-sized dance floor was in the center of the room, and a few tables surrounded it.

Suddenly, the atmosphere became even more intimate when the largest booth flipped over to reveal a loveseat. Smooth jazz played low in the background.

"Oh, it's that sort of ball-room." She shook her head, mortified yet intrigued. As she walked closer to the cushioned loveseat, she snorted, "I see that Howard has thought of everything."

"Also, the master kitchen is in the back." Jarvis nodded towards the rear of the room at the closed double doors.

"Master kitchen? So there's more than one of them on board?"

"Yes, the galley above is for the dining room. Down here is where the main prep is usually done."

Suddenly, the patrolling flamethrower agents raced into the room, "I told you, I saw someone sneak in here. It's gotta be the blonde couple."

The half-dazed Jarvis staggered back into the shadows just before they could spot him. Instead, the CIA Agents gaped in surprise at seeing Peggy front and center.

Readying for a fight, Peggy was hoping to keep this all contained, but one ordered, "Get on the horn to Smith and tell him that Carter is alive." He leered menacingly, "But not for long."

When the CIA agent pulled out a gun to target Peggy, his partner turned to use the intercom on the wall.

Though still a bit woozy, Jarvis wobbled out from the shadows and tripped him. The goon's arms flailed for balance, but before he could readjust, Jarvis shoved him into the frosted paneled doors. The man's head smashed through the ornate glass, shattering it.

Alerted by the noise, his gun-toting pal spun around in surprise. He watched his partner stumble backward away from the door.

Shaking his gashed head to clear the cobwebs, blood dribbled into the injured goon's eyes. He squinted at the equally unfocused Jarvis. Then both raised their fists in a typical boxer's pose.

Trading swings, each one missed the other by a mile. The fight was rather comical until Jarvis got in a lucky hit, and then all bets were off.

While Jarvis kept that man busy, Peggy launched herself at the slack-jawed agent before he could turn and shoot her. Knocking his gun free, she grabbed his arm and swung him around. Timing it just right, she released him, and he slammed into a nearby table. Stunned, he fell to the floor.

Behind her, Peggy heard the grunts and yells as Jarvis and the agent traded blows.

Worried about her friend's current impaired condition, Peggy moved to help him. But Jarvis had just finished successfully demonstrating the latest boxing techniques, and the CIA goon was laid out for the count at the taller man's feet.

Jarvis glanced up at her and grinned lopsidedly. Suddenly he yelled out a warning, "Miss Carter, look—"

She twisted around too late. The remaining agent seized her arm and tossed her onto the cushioned loveseat. Instantly he leaped on top of her. Straddling Peggy's thrashing body, they fought for dominance.

He punched at her ribs, and Peggy barely blocked it in time. Unable to reach her sheathed knife trapped under his thigh, she raked her fingernails down his face. As he howled in pain, Peggy's hands groped around the top of the seat in hopes of finding a weapon. Her fingers brushed along some buttons, and she frantically pressed them all.

Instantly, the music became softer, more intimate, and a decanter full of whiskey popped up from the console beside her. Peggy grabbed the glass container and crashed it against the man's wounded face. The amber liquid stung his deep scratches. Screaming, the goon rose as he tried to wipe the burning alcohol away.

Freed from his weight, Peggy kicked him back, and she rolled off the couch.

She did not even have to look at Jarvis. He instantly flicked the switch by the door. Before the enraged man could escape, the loveseat flipped over, and he was trapped within.

Their grin of victory was short-lived when they overheard two more CIA agents approaching their location. The larger one was loudly declaring, "Yeah, I am sure Smith wouldn't mind if we grab a sandwich before we searched for Stark. He couldn't have escaped far—" his words cut off when he noticed the ballroom's broken glass doors.

Triumphant, he added, "See, someone is in there. I told you Stark would come down here for grub and not go for a swim at his pool first."

Confident, they strode into the room but then stopped flabbergasted. The shocked agents took in the mess and the noise of their friend pounding from inside the loveseat contraption.

While this was happening, Jarvis and Peggy hurried as quickly as possible toward the back area where the master kitchen was. The whole time, they tried to be quiet and discrete.

It didn't work, for the two tommy gun goons saw their retreating forms. One of them asked worriedly, "Are they ghosts?"

"Don't matter. We will be if we don't get 'em! Now come on," the larger agent ordered, and they charged forward in pursuit.

After finally clearing enough gadgets that blocked the doorway, Howard entered his lab via the secret passageway. Making a beeline to his desk, he grabbed the shock wand device he had been tinkering on. He then motioned Professor Spencer to follow him to the side door where the small speed boat was located.

But before he could open it, Spencer cleared his throat. "That's far enough, Mr. Stark. I'm afraid this has gone on for too long, and I am behind schedule in figuring out the latest clue."

Frowning, Howard turned and gulped. Spencer had a gun trained on him. The older man sneered, "It is time that you accept the inevitable. Now hand me the weapon."

After passing over the shock wand, Howard watched as the Professor dropped it on the floor and then crushed it under his heel.

Sneering, Howard shook his head in anger, "So you were the mole? I should have known. When did Smith recruit you?"

"Right after you had left my office, he paid me a little visit. I wish his offer hadn't been so severe," he rubbed his bearded jaw from memory, "but the man can negotiate rather well. Now, let's head for the bridge as ordered," the Professor demanded.

Grumbling, Howard did as he was told, the whole time cursing his trusting nature.

As they pushed through the doors to the kitchen, Peggy was amazed by the size of the master galley.

Her astonishment was short-lived, for the last two CIA goons burst in right after them. The men spilt off, one going after Jarvis, the other toward Peggy.

Acting fast, Jarvis grabbed utensils off of the nearby rolling kitchen cart. Deftly he flung all sorts of nasty implements at the agent who charged his way.

While this was going on, the bigger goon advanced on the backpedaling Peggy. Tired of fighting, Peggy plucked her combat knife from her sheath and held it at the ready.

Stopping by the large center island, the CIA Agent reached for the butcher knife embedded in a nearby cutting board. Effortlessly, he yanked free the massive cleaver and easily hefted the weight. The man grinned maliciously as he stalked toward Peggy.

Peggy compared both of their weapons sizes and then took another step backward. The goon's leer grew.

Wearily, she watched as the man chopped the huge weapon downwards multiple times in mock tribute to what he would do to her.

Continuing to retreat, her back suddenly bumped against the island's metallic countertop, which momentarily cut off her escape.

Seeing his chance, the man swung down at her head. Quickly she ducked and then spun around to the smaller side path between the island and the ovens. If only she could get an opening to use her knife.

The goon's stare was fixed on Peggy as he followed her into the skinny alley. Because of the man's size, there was little room for him to fight. Also, her smaller weapon was better in tight quarters than his larger, hacking one.

Peggy grinned, relieved that the playing field had evened out somewhat. With how exhausted she was feeling, she would take whatever advantages she could get.

Before he could swing down again, Peggy suddenly moved in close. Quickly, she stabbed her knife toward the larger man's chest multiple times. But even hindered, he still managed to deflect the barrage with the cleaver, and the clashing metal clanged loudly from every hit.

With her sudden burst of energy waning fast, Peggy began to get sloppy. When she renewed her attack, his other hand snaked past her defenses. Instantly, it wrapped around her wrist that held the knife. As he squeezed, Peggy desperately punched his solar plexus with her free hand, but it barely affected him.

Feeling her small bones move painfully under the crushing pressure, she lashed out her foot. Peggy had tried for a more sensitive spot, but he had pivoted enough that all she kicked was his thigh.

Finally, he let go, but not before he had forced open her hand. Her knife dropped to the floor. Sneering, he shoved Peggy back and kicked her weapon in the opposite direction. For the cleaver to work satisfactorily, he would need more distance between them.

Resigned, Peggy raised her fists to defend. Once more, he swung violently for her head. She barely twisted out of the way, and he stumbled past.

Though she would be defenseless, Peggy took a chance and lunged across the island. She grabbed the thick cutting board and began to slide back down.

But the goon recovered too quickly. Spinning around, he hacked the cleaver at her again.

With the heavy butcher block in hand, she swiveled barely in time. She just positioned the cutting board to guard her head like a shield before he struck.

Wham, the hatchet-sized weapon bit deep into the wood.

He was strong, and he easily pushed the board down. Peggy's arms shook as she tried to heave him away. Being this close, she swore that he and Hodge could have been brothers. Not only from their bulky size but temperament as well. And that same arrogant grin of triumph energized her with rage.

Changing tactics, she rolled over and let the cutting board drop onto the table beside her.

With his strength no longer finding resistance, he lurched forward, his face headed for the countertop. Before he could stop, Peggy helped him along by ramming her elbow hard against his exposed neck. His forehead smacked hard into the metal tabletop, leaving a small dent in both. He then collapsed to the floor, stunned.

Shaking his head, the large goon began to push himself to his feet.

Not giving him a chance to recover, Peggy seized the cutting board. Then, as she slid off the island, she slammed the thick wooden square against the back of the man's head, knocking him out.

As she steadied herself, Peggy looked to Jarvis. She saw that he was keeping the empty kitchen cart between him and the other agent. The goon was using a long knife to try to skewer the butler.

Adrenaline fueling her effort, Peggy jerked the cleaver free from the cutting board. Awkwardly she hurled the sharp weapon at the deadly assassin.

Sneering, he easily caught the hatchet's handle before it could strike. He was about to chuck it back at her when Jarvis hefted a nearby flour-encrusted rolling pin. He then bounced the heavy kitchen implement against the CIA Agent's head. With nary a sound, the goon crumbled over unconscious onto the cart.

Exhaling, the triumphant duo was suddenly at the ready when they heard banging coming from the locked pantry doors behind them.

Scooping up her combat knife, Peggy mumbled to Jarvis, "I thought we had taken care of all the goons." That was all her exhausted body needed, more killers to deal with.

A wide-eyed Jarvis shook his head, unsure, and he raised the heavy rolling pin.

Cautiously, they approached the pantry doors. Then recognizing the outraged voices, Jarvis suddenly let out a sigh of relief. Before Peggy could stop him, he opened the doors.

The Chef and his workers streamed out, cans of food raised as weapons. Seeing who had just rescued them, they visibly relaxed. Peggy smirked, thankful to catch a break.

Rushing forward, the Chef kissed both of their cheeks and proclaimed, "Nos heros!"

Peggy grinned as the others gushed over them. Jarvis looked worriedly at his watch, and Peggy stated, "It's alright. From what those agents said, Howard's no longer in their care."

An antsy Jarvis sniffed, "No doubt he is hiding back down in his lab."

Smiling genuinely, Peggy reassured him, "Where he will be safe until we are done retaking the boat."

Jarvis nodded and then whacked the rolling pin across the skull of the larger agent who was coming to.

After eyeing the unconscious man, Peggy turned and asked the yacht's staff, "How many enemies are on board?"

Sporting a purpling and swollen eye, the Steward James answered, "Just four of them and their boss, Smith."

One of the maids spat out venomously, "Plus that nasty man, Hodge." Her pretty French accent had magically transformed into a harsher Bronx one, "Tried to grab me in a not so nice place, he did. What a jerk."

A sympathetic Peggy nodded amused. She was about to give an order when something caught her eye. Her gaze lingered on a plate of small sandwiches, and she grabbed one. She couldn't help it that she was famished. Shrugging to Jarvis, she stated, "I have worked up quite the appetite."

Taking a big bite, Peggy nearly swooned when she tasted fresh apricot jam smothered on top of a light coating of cream cheese.

"You deserve dessert early," said the pleased Chef as he offered her an eclair, "It is filled with the finest clotted crème. I made them for tonight."

"Ohhh, my favorite." She made a yummy noise and gulped one down. Smiling in bliss, Peggy licked off her fingers, she sighed, "My compliments to the chef."

"Please take another one," the Chef begged.

Shrugging to Jarvis, she did so and then stated, "Alright, while we take care of Smith, I want all of you to tie up his men. Oh, and there is also one locked in the loveseat. Then barricade yourselves in here until you get the all clear."

While they began to use poultry string to bind the groaning goon's wrists, Peggy led Jarvis out of the kitchen.

Trying to look at the positive, she added, "Well, at least Smith has run out of agents for us to fight."

Upon arriving at the yacht's bridge, Howard saw that Smith was using a pair of binoculars to spy off the starboard side.

Hearing them enter, the lead CIA Agent lowered the field glasses and glared at the millionaire inventor.

Howard recognized the sneer of contempt that Smith aimed his way. Ignoring the threat, he looked to his crew and noticed that the first mate was unconscious on the floor. Nearby, a beaten Captain Jasper leaned against the wall. Howard's fists clenched in rage at how his staff was being treated.

Smith explained what Howard was staring at, "You shouldn't have tried to escape Mr. Stark. Someone had to pay for your transgressions."

Howard seethed and his balled fists rapped silently against his thighs in impotent rage.

Sounding inconvenienced, Professor Spencer spat, "If you don't mind, I will continue working on deciphering those hatch marks."

Smith gave the Professor a dismissive wave, and Spencer scuttled off the bridge. With the Professor gone, he then once more focused on Stark.

Peeved, Smith's tone was low and very dangerous, "I suspect you will keep trying to escape. It seems that I will have to show you why that is such a bad idea." He raised his fist to strike Howard down.

Howard braced for the blow. This was not the first time he had taken a beating. But just before anything could happen, Peggy burst in.

She snarled, "Don't you dare strike that man."

A stunned Howard stared at his friend, aghast.

"You're alive? I'm beginning to change my mind about you, Carter," Smith said, impressed, and then he snatched his gun from his shoulder holster. Leveling it at them, he added, "Too bad you're so loyal to that old fossil Phillips. That and you are impossible to control. Not even the threats from Vernon Masters could stop you in the pursuit of your ideals."

"Sorry that my moral compass offends you, Smith."

Ignoring her vehemence, Smith asked, "Now, where is that lanky friend of yours?"

Peggy jutted out her chin defiantly, and Smith smirked, "Taking it to the grave, are you? So stoic."

But before he could shoot her, Jarvis silently entered from the side door behind Smith, the rolling pin held tight in his grasp.

"You first, you Yankee yutz." And before Smith could turn around, the butler slapped the wooden kitchen tool hard against the back of the man's hand. "And the name is Jarvis."

Yelping, Smith dropped his weapon, and Jarvis grabbed it. While the lead CIA Agent rubbed his aching fingers, Jarvis motioned for him to raise both hands.

A rejoicing Howard was beside himself in happiness at seeing his two friends alive. As the millionaire inventor hugged Peggy, he stated, "I can't continue like this for much longer, pal. The stress is murder."

After an emotional Howard released her, Peggy smiled at him reassuringly, "It's alright, Howard."

She then turned that same grin towards Professor Spencer, who had just reentered. But then Peggy frowned when he pointed his gun at her and Howard. Nodding to Smith, he muttered, "I saw the butler sneaking in here and figured you could use some help. Now drop the gun, Mr. Jarvis."

A surprised Jarvis lowered his weapon, and Smith took it from his hand, "Thank you, Professor, I can take it from here."

Peggy shook her head in disbelief and then raised her eyes to heaven, "Why am I not surprised that you are the mole, Professor." She then leveled a formidable glare at him and growled, "I had thought better of you."

Clearing his throat nervously, Spencer stuttered, "I had no choice. After Stark hired me, Agent Smith convinced me that he was the better option."

"But I thought you wanted the autonomy of working with me and not the government," Howard scowled at the older man.

Spencer shook his head, "I'll still get that with him."

Agent Smith crooned, "Exactly, Professor. And the notoriety from this discovery will make you a household name."

Peggy chuckled mirthlessly, "Do you really think they will let you publish whatever you find, Spencer?

The Professor glanced at Smith, confused, "But he promised."

Howard nodded, "Trust me, Professor. Half the stuff I invented for the military no one will ever know about."

Laughing, Smith stated gleefully, "You'll never turn him, Stark. You don't have the leverage. You see, the good Professor's family was a bit too sympathetic regarding the Germans during the war. I doubt your Colonel has the connections to keep them all out of jail as I do."

As Smith motioned the three of them to stand against the wall, Spencer stood by his side and explained quickly, "At the beginning of the war, many Americans had believed that the Germans were the right choice. Unfortunately, that included some of my family members."

Smith ignored Spencer's justification and cocked the hammer back on his revolver. He aimed his weapon at Peggy, "I should have done this myself back at the Smithsonian."

Dmitri and Zdenka entered where Jarvis had. Unnoticed, they were suddenly behind the gun wielders. The Russian man judo chopped Smith's neck. The CIA Agent cried out in pain and clutched his head. The Russian then easily snatched the weapon from Smith's relaxed grip and aimed it at him.

Turning, Spencer sputtered when he saw Zdenka, but before he could say anything, she punched him in the face. The force of the hit had him crashing to the floor, dazed.

Peggy nodded, "Thanks for your timely arrival," she then added, "And good job taking out the mole."

Zdenka spat, "Mole? I just hate that [Russian expletive] lazy American bastard."

Smith began to sneak a hand behind his back.

Seeing the movement, Dmitri warned him, "I wouldn't try it, comrade."

As his backup piece was confiscated, Smith growled to Peggy, "I cannot believe you are working with the Russians."

"At least I know where I stand with them," Peggy snapped back.

Dmitri demanded to Smith, "How many others are on this boat?"

Howard automatically corrected, "Yacht, it's a yacht."

Smith and Spencer refused to answer, so Captain Jasper did, "There were four others, plus that nasty man who likes to hit people."

A worried Howard glanced to his friend, "Peg, you know what to do." Suddenly conscious of the Russian's presence, he stumbled to clarify, "She's my acting protégé. Going to star in my latest spy thriller called, err, the Spoils of War. And she needs to practice her fighting scenes. Yeah, that's it." Howard seemed rather pleased with his explanation.

The Russians appeared not to be buying what Howard was trying to sell. Smirking, Dmitri drawled, "I see."

Cheekily, Peggy replied, "I can assure you that my right cross has now been perfected from all that practice. And not to worry, Howard, they are already wrapped up with a pretty French bow."

Suddenly, all heard the familiar "whoop whoop" of a warship's siren heading their way.

Smith grinned, "Ah, my reinforcements have finally arrived."

Grabbing the binoculars, Peggy looked out to see that a warship was barreling down on them. Hodge was on the deck of the large military transport, his finger pointing accusatorily at the slow-moving yacht. He was beet red with anger.

Peggy quickly recognized the big vessel that Smith's additional support had somehow procured from the Navy. It was a Clemson-class Destroyer from the early war years. Frankly, it looked like it needed a new coat of paint and some repair work. But it was still a fast ship and had the firepower to sink them quickly.

Wearily she watched as the high caliber gun turrets aimed their way.