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“The item is unique, gentlemen,” Aberdeen was saying as Steed slipped through the curtain. “Not just a fragment for your engineers to puzzle over. These are complete plans for the Z28 missile guidance system. The finest minds in Britain created these plans and they can be yours tonight for the right price. All bids in British Pounds please gentlemen. We shall begin the bidding at five hundred.”
Steed strolled along the side of the room studying the bidders. He was pleased to see Darius Zhang seated in an end seat in the third row. As Abernathy took a bid for five hundred fifty thousand Pounds Steed came to stop near Zhang. After a moment Abernathy's gaze flicked over him and when it did Steed inclined his head toward the Chinese man to his left. Abernathy's acknowledgement was invisible to all but Steed, who was watching for it.
Message delivered Steed strolled up as far as the front row, paused again, then turned and strolled all the way to the rear. One or two of the bidders glanced at him, but most of their attention was focused on Abernathy. Gambit marveled at how unobtrusive he could be when it suited his purpose.
The bidding escalated to one million pounds, then a million and a quarter. Steed wondered what the real plans had cost Knight to develop, and what the contract price with the Ministry of Defense was. But he was scrupulous about staying out of Emma's business dealings so he could only guess.
Gambit edged over to him, his eyes always on the room, his hands behind his back in a non-threatening pose.
“You know something,” he murmured to Steed.
Steed shot him a devious look before refocusing on Abernathy, who had just acknowledged a bid from Zhang.
“Yes. Later.”
Gambit concealed a scowl as Steed glided away from him.
Steed was certain that Miss Tellerman was on the outs with the Chinese, but he still wanted to nail Hong, the agent turned diplomat who tended to hide within the Chinese embassy. They had failed to trail Tellerman to her meeting with Hong, assuming she’d had one. But he would settle for letting Zhang lure him out and then they would have him. He’d either rot in a very private cell in a very private British prison, or be exchanged – and then most likely rot in a very private Chinese prison. Steed would have picked the British prison, but there was no accounting for taste.
He hadn’t expected this opportunity to get Hong, but when he’d realized what Miss Tellerman was up to his new plan had sprung into being full blown. On the way to the auction from the gallery he had called in a surveillance team. They would pick up Mr. Zhang as he left the auction and stick with him until he met with Hong. Steed hoped when they finally met the team would have time to contact him so that he could personally make the arrest.
Gambit and his men could grab Oxley at the end of the auction too – they had plenty on him now. And Steed hoped that he would be interested in a deal. Perversely, the servant thieves were the element that bothered Steed the most. Their violation of British homes – his home – affected him personally. He shied away from thinking about the look on Hal’s face when he'd met him in the stable that morning.
Abernathy’s gavel striking the lectern was sufficient to distract him from his thoughts.
“Two and three quarter million is the bid. Do I hear three gentlemen? Two and three quarter to the gentleman on my left,” the gavel struck once more. “Final chance gentlemen.”
There was a nervous shifting in the room as the other bidders peered at their hands, the floor, one another, anywhere but at Darius Zhang. His gaze was directed at Abernathy, his shoulders and neck tense. Abarnathy raised the gavel. No one spoke or signaled a change of heart.
“Sold to the gentleman on my left for two and three quarters,” Abernathy said with an air of finality. Steed noted the way Zhang relaxed, his head dropping in a tiny bow. Gambit’s attention was on Oxley, who rose and crossed to him looking pleased.
The agent doorman approached Zhang, who was in turn approaching Abernathy. Steed did not doubt that he would produce the requisite payment in exchange for the plans, and that the ministry team outside would follow him home.
The two agent bidders each made eye contact with Steed as they exited, exchanging looks that confirmed that all had gone as intended. As the rest of the bidders made their way out, each avoiding all the others’ eyes, Steed strolled over to where Gambit was speaking with Oxley. The criminal would expect to wait for the auction to be settled so he could collect his payment.
“Oxley, isn’t it?” Steed asked, interrupting the criminal in mid sentence as he inserted himself into their conversation. A flash of surprise crossed Gambit’s face, then he turned stonily perturbed.
“Who are you?” Oxley asked, eying Steed with a mix of suspicion and irritation.
“This is my establishment,” Steed replied, feeling that it was a reasonable claim since he’d signed Gambit’s request. Oxley’s demeanor shifted immediately.
“I see. It’s quite a set-up,” he said, glancing around to indicate the furnishings and décor.
“It serves its purpose. It seems to have served you well enough this evening. Two and three quarter million for a few drawings?”
“Your man handled the bidding expertly,” Oxley nodded, allowing his pleasure to show. Steed nodded proudly and turned his smile on Gambit, who forced a tight smile.
The agent doorman crossing the room caught his attention and he half turned to greet him. Zhang was heading for the door, tucking folded papers into his inside coat pocket as he walked. Abernathy went to the green curtain behind the lectern and disappeared through the door.
Steed followed Gambit’s gaze, then watched Zhang until he had departed through the curtains. As the doorman handed a thick envelope to Gambit Steed went and peeked through the curtains, confirming that Zhang was truly gone. He turned back toward the group of men and nodded at the doorman, who stepped in behind Oxley and grabbed his hands to restrain him.
“Hey! What the –?” Oxley struggled as steel handcuffs were locked around his wrists.
“What’s going on?” Gambit added.
“Take him,” Steed inclined his head toward the exit. The doorman wrapped a meaty hand around Oxley’s upper arm and propelled him out.
“His game is up,” Steed said to the astonished Gambit. “We have his supplier, and we’ll soon have Zhang’s contact.”
“You might have let me in on it.”
“No time old man. I only just put it all together before I got here. I’ve put a team on Zhang. I hope they’ll lead us to Hong. You finish up here and we’ll debrief later at Whitehall.”
Gambit eyes widened briefly and Steed smiled wolfishly. “Yes, I thought you’d been itching to come in.”
“I’ll see you later Steed,” Gambit agreed as Steed headed for the exit himself.
* * *
“I’m sorry Catherine,” Gambit said as he entered the back room a moment later. The insurance investigator looked up from one of Mayhew’s computer terminals. “Miss Tellerman was a no-show,” he added in answer to her puzzled expression.
“Yes, I know,” she shrugged, turning back to the terminal. “That man Zhang was here for the Chinese, right Mayhew?” The other agent nodded. He was rewinding the tape of the auction, Abernathy looking over his shoulder. “So Miss Tellerman is no longer in their employ. That makes her vulnerable. I’ll have her soon enough. But Gambit, this database is amazing. What I could do with this much information all in one place–.”
Gambit pursed his lips and reached for her, shooting Mayhew a menacing look as he dragged her to her feet.
“That,” he said sharply as she tried to pull out of his grasp, “is classified data Miss Banning.”
“Oh, right,” Mayhew caught his tone and looked around, then reached over to Catherine’s terminal and pressed a key. The screen went blank. “Sorry Miss Banning, I should have said something earlier.”
“Yes,” Gambit hissed angrily. “This was a textbook operation.”
Mayhew’s face was coloring, but Abernathy looked coolly indifferent. “Nobody needs to know – Miss Banning is on our side, right Gambit?” Mayhew asked. “After all, you brought her here.”
“Of course I am,” Catherine purred, her warm smile for Mayhew obviously what she’d used to get as far as she had. Once again Gambit suppressed a jolt of jealousy mixed with anger at her for using him. It was, he noted with detachment, a particularly seductive combination.
“We’ll need the tape at the ministry Mayhew,” he said more sharply than he intended.
“I’ll bring it in,” Abernathy assured him, silencing Mayhew before he could say anything more to inflame Gambit. “Mayhew will pack up here.”
“Thank you. Catherine?”
Gambit gestured toward the door. She picked up her coat, shooting him a sensuous smile that went a long way toward cooling his anger, but fanned other flames.
* * *
In the event, the agent's smoldering went unquenched, at least in the manner he'd hoped for. Once they were back in his flashy red car Catherine asked to be dropped off at her flat, with emphasis on the "dropped off."
“Fancy a drink?” he asked tentatively, sensing her distance through her silence during the ride.
“Not tonight. I have some thinking to do.”
“About your case?”
“Yes,” Catherine half turned in her seat as Gambit stopped the car by the curb outside her apartment block. “Mike, I need to concentrate on my leads,” she went on. He noticed the emphasis on the possessive. His failure to produce Miss Tellerman tonight was more important to her than he’d realized. He had failed her, although he felt she was judging him unfairly. But he did not suppose there was anything he could do – after all she did have a right to pursue her case for her employers.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” he offered, unwilling to abandon all hope of their continued relationship, whatever it was.
“Good night Mike,” she leaned over and kissed him, a light touch but full of promise. He smiled at her as she got out of the car and shut the door.
* * *
Much like Emma had dealt her index cards, Catherine studied her notes. She wrote statements and drew lines to connect them, then scribbled out the lines and tried again, then rewrote her comments and started over. It was less efficient than Emma’s portable cards, but the scratching out and rewriting aided Catherine’s analysis.
She had to admit that she’d allowed her attraction to Mike Gambit to distract her from her mission. She had foolishly thought that he would lead her to Maxine Tellerman, forgetting that he did not share her goal and had no compulsion to help her. In fact, she reflected as she reworked her notes at one a.m., he might well have been under orders to divert her.
“He’s a good man, under the spy’s facade,” she told herself, getting up to walk around her sparse sitting room. “But he’ll do as he’s told by her majesty’s secret service,” she added resignedly, returning to her seat and her notes.
At two a.m. she roused a friend at Interpol and called in a favor. She would know by mid-morning if Miss Tellerman had left England. She hated using up a favor for this, but she was not about to lose her suspect.
At three a.m. she tossed her notepad on the sofa and got up to pace once more. She had exhausted her resources looking for Maxine over the last few days. The Belmont Gallery was a dead end; there were no more clues within the information she had gathered. Maxine Tellerman was not in the London general directory. The woman seemed to have disappeared, which is what Catherine would do if she found herself on the outs with her employers. But if Tellerman wasn’t working for the Chinese anymore she must want to get rid the paintings. She would have to surface somewhere, sooner rather than later. And unless she had some trustworthy, powerful friends who would protect her from the Chinese she would not be able to move the paintings very far.
At ten after three Catherine forced herself to set it all aside and go to bed, alone.
* * *
“So Maxine Tellerman sold Emma’s painting back to Nancy and then offered her several other paintings.” Gambit picked up his coffee cup and sipped, studying the remains of his breakfast. Steed had called him early with a breakfast invitation at home rather than the planned Whitehall meeting. When he reached the house Steed was preparing a full out fry-up under the watchful eye of baby John.
Emma, he explained, had rushed off to the office first thing, taking Tara with her to for an appointment in town. She’d sent Siobhan to the village on multiple errands, so he’d had to stay behind with John. He seemed genuinely pleased at being housebound, joking that it was “just the men.” Gambit had never had an opportunity to get comfortable with baby care, so he’d eyed John warily as the boy sat in the middle of the kitchen floor playing with a plastic bowl. And then he’d admired his superior’s grace as he transported hot breakfast and small son all into the dining room. John was placed in his high chair with a plate of scrambled eggs which he proceeded to eat with his hands.
“Please don’t tell Siobhan or Emma,” Steed said in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s supposed to be made to use a fork, but he’s extremely unwilling.”
“Not sure what to make of you loosing a battle of wills with a one-year-old, Steed,” Gambit chuckled. His superior’s annoyed expression silenced any further comment.
Steed served Gambit eggs, sausages, tomatoes, and potatoes all deliciously dripping with oil and butter. There was enough food to feed an entire ministry ops team. The flatware was silver plate. The napkins were linen. Steed, Gambit noted with amusement, did nothing without style.
By the time the meal was over Steed had filled Gambit with both food and information. He had made up for his brash behavior the previous evening, moving in and redirecting Gambit’s operation as he had, by describing his meeting with Nancy and explaining his analysis.
The team he had put on Zhang was still trailing him, waiting for him to meet with Hong. And Steed had contacted Nancy with a ministry phone number and alias to give to Maxine Tellerman when she called.
“When she calls back to find out if Nancy has a buyer, Nancy will send her to me. I’ll have everything for the meeting set up by later this afternoon.”
“And if she does not call?”
“She will.”
Gambit took another sip of coffee, watching Steed. He exuded confidence, which always made Mike feel the same.
“Let me be the buyer,” he said, watching as Steed mopped John’s eggy face with a damp cloth.
Steed shook his head. “That’s my pleasure,” he said.
“This isn’t a game. You have more to lose.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Gambit. This isn’t a suicide mission. I want to play cat to Miss Tellerman’s mouse. Besides, do you really want to catch her yourself? How will Miss Banning take that?”
“What do you mean?” Gambit frowned.
“She wants her badly. She’ll be displeased when we catch her instead – do you want do be the target of her displeasure?”
“I see,” Gambit pursed his lips at his superior’s perception. “No. But I intend to do my job regardless of her wishes.”
Steed refreshed his coffee from the French press on the table and studied Gambit for a moment as if considering something. He seemed to come to a decision, for he took a sip and set his cup down.
“You let her come to the auction last night – yes, I heard,” his smile was thinly tolerant, “You're thinking with your head this morning, at any rate, so I don’t think I need to remind you to continue to do so, despite that lapse.”
“There seemed no harm,” Gambit replied testily, hating to be so easily caught in a misstep.
“But what was the benefit?” Steed countered as Gambit should have known he would. “To us, I mean?”
Gambit chose not to reply, as the answer was obviously none. But Steed continued to watch him, taking another sip of his coffee. Gambit considered all of the inappropriate responses he could make, all of them related to Steed's recruitment of civilian Emma. While there were similarities between the two women, his relationship with Catherine and her involvement in this were nothing like Steed’s use of Emma had ever been. He realized as he considered this that he was truly envious of his mentor – not envious that he had Emma, although any man would desire her – but that Steed had created a workable situation that included her.
“Understood,” he finally muttered because Steed obviously demanded a verbal acknowledgement of his admonishment. It had been gentle, but coming from Steed it stung worse than the loudest reprimand from an army trainer.
* * *
“Look, you are concerned about recovering the missing paintings, right?”
“Yes. That’s how I earn my living.”
Gambit paused, once again reconsidering his next move. Steed’s warning had been very clear. But he did not think Steed intended him to allow Catherine to endanger herself. And that’s what she was doing. She had just outlined her plan to approach the Chinese in her search for Miss Tellerman.
He didn’t have to tell her why that was such a bad idea. All he had to do was promise her that he’d have her paintings soon and get her to promise to be patient.
She was giving him her curious, nearly annoyed, look now. He picked up the wine bottle that stood between them on the café table and topped off her glass. This did not distract her.
“We expect to recover the paintings this evening,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and then she looked at her full glass, picked it up, and took a sip. Buying time, he thought.
“How?” she asked.
“She’s been set up by our people.” It was standard procedure to limit the civilian’s exposure to the operative team. He had let her meet Mayhew and Aberdeen, but the others, including Steed, remained anonymous. The fewer points of contact the better.
“You found her?” she sounded incredulous – she knew he had not been looking for Miss Tellerman, so it must really rankle to think that he’d succeeded where she had failed.
“She found us,” he said, competing impulses making him pause. Tell her about Nancy? Explain the plan to satisfy her? Or insist she just be patient and I'll produce the art?
She won't be satisfied with a blind request. I would not be.
“She contacted someone who contacted us. She wanted to sell some art.”
“Nancy Belmont,” Catherine said, not a question.
Gambit nodded, tight mouthed. Of course she would guess.
“She is not an agent,” his tone was a warning. Stay away from her.
“So she’s an honest citizen with the right phone numbers in her address book,” Catherine said sharply. “Go on. What happened when she told you about the offer?”
Gambit decided not to correct her assumption that Nancy had contacted him personally. What mattered was that he convince her that his people had it sewn up and all she had to do was meet him later to collect the goods.
* * *
Steed knew that he had been extremely lucky to work with the civilian partners that he had over the years. Not one of them had ever compromised him. But that was a result of his own careful assessment of each candidate before recruiting them – he was not ashamed to take credit for choosing wisely.
Catherine Banning was another story, however. Gambit hadn’t recruited her. He had been seduced by her – granted with Steed’s encouragement to keep her close. But using his charms to monitor her was not the same thing as being led around by his private parts. Steed was fairly certain that Gambit was a better agent than that – better than, say, the dearly departed Robbie McCall. But he was young and still required guidance.
Steed wasn’t angry with him – Miss Banning was certainly attractive and Gambit did enjoy the company of women as much Steed did. But he had better exercise good judgment or Steed would have to send him back to the ranks of agents doing all night surveillance and listening to wire taps.
He hadn’t planned on adopting a protégé, but while using Gambit for the case in Venice last year he’d come to like him. Emma said it was because they had so much in common, although Steed didn’t see it. But when he pointed out the differences in their backgrounds, educations, and tastes she only laughed that enigmatic little chuckle of hers. Nonetheless, he knew she was right. Steed had plucked Gambit out of a career of unremarkable undercover assignments where he had been developing a reputation as a lone-wolf operator. Steed did recognize that he had spent his first years out of army intelligence in the same way, albeit not formally working for her majesty. He had evolved on his own, returning to Britain and discovering through chance the value of a dependable partner. All he had done for Gambit was speed up the process.
No, Gambit would take the delectable Miss Banning in hand, Steed was sure. His small lapse in judgment would not be repeated.
* * *
“I need someone trusted who can care for two horses. Not full time, just come and go a couple times a day,” Steed listened to the speaker on the other end of the line for a moment. “No, not from one of the approved agencies. I want someone of our own. … Yes right away. This afternoon. These are fine animals; they need the finest care. … Good. Very good. Have him – what? – Her?” he smiled. “Have her ring the front bell and I’ll show her around. But it must be before four. No excuses.”
Steed replaced the receiver on the telephone in his study and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, then locking them behind it, a satisfied smile filling his face. Replacing Hal the groom had been essential, but given how the man had been compromised, he would only trust a ministry-trained replacement. They were sending a woman, they said, which amused Steed no end. So long as she got there early enough for him to show her around and then get going on time.
As he contemplated the evening ahead he recognized a growing feeling of unease. He was putting himself back in the field, and he wanted his best team backing him up. The most important member of his team was down the hall in the library.
Along with his wedding vows Steed had made a personal vow that no matter what other agents he worked with or handled, Emma would always be his partner. They had both learned how difficult this was, particularly when Emma was pregnant with John and just after his birth. And now that she was pregnant again it was all too easy to use it as an excuse to relegate her to a side role. And she knew it, although she had not openly complained. He knew when she presented her analysis to him, and had reached all the right conclusions, that he had erred in not being open with her all along about the local robberies. But tonight he could make it up to her. He had a role in mind for her that would keep her out of harm’s way but make use of her many non-physical talents.
Pleased with his solution and slightly nervous that she might refuse, he got up and went to find her.
* * *
“How’s the view Mrs. Peel?” Steed asked, looking around the room at ceiling level for the security camera he knew was there. His tie tack was a microphone and the earpiece that was tucked into his left ear was almost invisible
“Straighten your tie Steed,” Emma replied from her seat in the museum security office.
Steed smiled and stepped toward the corner where he now saw the discrete little camera. Looking straight up into it as if it were a mirror he adjusted his Windsor knot with a wicked grin.
“Much better,” she said. “You are the image of a disgruntled assistant curator.”
“Whatever that looks like,” Steed said, looking back across the room at the door through which Maxine Tellerman would come in a few minutes.
“What do you see outside?”
“The black Saab is still parked across the road. The windows are tinted so I can’t tell if there’s anyone inside, but I don’t remember anyone getting out after it arrived.”
“Anything else?”
“Not yet.”
Steed thought the black car could be an ally of Miss Tellerman sent to watch for traps. But he, Emma, Gambit, and two more agents dressed as security guards had been in place for an hour before it arrived, so whoever was watching had not seen anything suspicious.
“Revise that,” Emma said. “Hummm.”
“What is it Mrs. Peel?”
“Your Miss Tellerman is driving a baby blue Volkswagon Beetle. Not at all what I expected.”
Steed grinned, remembering once again why he had never found a better partner than Emma. She was all business, but always found time to observe life’s peculiar details
“She’s on her way in,” Emma added, her tone hushed as if the newcomer might hear her.
Steed stood in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back watching the door.
He had told Maxine which external door would be open and where to go once she entered the building. He had not wanted to meet her right inside the door because it would give her a convenient escape route if she panicked. She probably knew what he was doing, but she had no choice but to accept his terms if she wanted to sell her paintings.
The museum housed a private collection owned by a retired general who had spent most of his military years in intelligence. He had agreed without hesitation when Steed telephoned him to ask if he could use it. As requested, all of the staff had been sent home, including the real security guards, by the time Steed, Emma, and Gambit had arrived. The General had met them and handed over the keys and alarm codes, then left himself. He hadn’t gone far, though. The museum was one wing of his rather sprawling home.
The general’s collection was eclectic and included minor works by the same artists that Maxine was selling. She should not question the assistant curator’s interest in her wares – if she bothered to consider it at all.
The door to the room Steed had chosen for the meeting opened and the imposing figure of Miss Tellerman stepped in.
“Mr. Steed?”
Her shoes clacked on the polished terrazzo floor.
“Miss Tellerman?”
“Glad we got that straight,” Emma murmured in Steed’s ear. He ignored her.
In the security room Gambit grinned at his companion. He was standing behind her watching all of the monitors at once while she concentrated on the one displaying Steed.
Maxine carried a large, rectangular bag made of stiff canvas with shoulder-length handles. She set it on the floor but kept a grip on the handles.
“I am she,” she said.
Steed nodded showing her his warm smile that contained no actual warmth.
“And these are they?” he asked, looking down at the bag. “The missing masters?”
“A small collection,” she replied as if disturbed at his characterization of the paintings as masters.
In the security room Gambit’s eyes flicked over the external monitors and moved on, then shot back. “Uh oh.”
Emma forced herself to take her eyes off of Steed. She followed Gambit’s gaze to the monitor that showed the outer door.
“Who are they?” she asked him.
“I think they’re Chinese,” he replied, cringing as the first of the four men – a very large dark haired fellow – planted a flat-footed kick on the door rather than simply opening it.
“Steed, you are about to have unfriendly company,” Emma said into the microphone. On the monitor Steed was crouching beside Maxine’s bag looking at one of the paintings.
At Emma’s words he looked up at the door just as a loud crash echoed from somewhere nearby. Maxine started, then turned to follow his gaze.
Emma scanned the monitors and found the two agents dressed as security guards.
“Griswold, Neustadt, we have unwelcome intruders approaching the meeting,” she said. Both guards started as if surprised to be summoned, then got moving.
“Damn!” Gambit said, still watching the external monitor. “What does she think she’s doing? I’ll have to leave you to it, Emma.”
He headed for the door as he spoke.
“Mike? Where are you –?” Emma leaned over to look at the external monitor just in time to see a tall, redheaded woman slip through the open door. “going.” Catherine Banning.
She straightened and looked back at the main monitor just as the first of the Chinese charged into the room.
Steed moved to intercept him and as he did Maxine grabbed the handles of the canvas bag and heaved it to her shoulder. She made for the opposite door as two more Chinese entered. They looked from Steed to her, and then one nodded to the other, who ran past Steed to follow her. That left two facing off against Steed.
“Good odds,” Emma murmured into the microphone. She caught Steed’s small smile of acknowledgement as he moved on light feet to face both men.
Emma scanned the other monitors.
There was Miss Tellerman running awkwardly along a corridor with the big canvas bag banging against her legs. The Chinese man, who looked rather like a wrestler, was going to catch her before she got to the end of the hall.
There were the two agent guards in a back hall heading for the meeting room.
And here was Gambit just coming out of the stairwell near the side door that all of their visitors and intruders had used. He was sprinting along a corridor now, and Emma scanned the monitors again to find the object of his hunt. There: Catherine Banning facing a fourth big Chinese man – he must have been straggling behind the others and seen her follow them in. Bad luck for her, but then, what’s she doing here anyway? Obviously she was in the BMW.
Steed realized rather soon that he wouldn’t be able to keep both men in front of him. He was going to have to pick one off and hope that the other didn’t get too many hits. He lunged at the one who’d come in first, charging with both fists raised defensively and striking out with his right as he got close. The man caught at his fists with big, meaty hands, effectively parrying Steed’s blows. But Steed carried through with his charge, slamming into the man and driving them both back a few steps. This moved them out of range of the other man’s swing.
More agile by far, but lighter and less powerful, Steed played to his advantage by drawing back before his opponent could stop himself. Steed sank a right jab into the man’s abdomen and followed with an uppercut with his left that made the man gasp.
The other man grabbed Steed by the shoulders and dragged at him so that he lost his footing. For a moment he was hanging from the man’s hands, and then a forearm like a leg of mutton wrapped around his chest, pinning him against the man’s body. The first fellow had sucked in a long, painful breath and lumbered forward now, arms spread as if to embrace his friend with Steed in between them.
Steed decided to make himself very un-huggable. He grabbed the forearm that was holding him with his left hand and slammed backward with his right elbow. At the same time he aimed a perfectly timed and placed kick at the advancing man, who stopped short, his face going pale, and lowered both hands toward his groin.
Steed’s elbow sank into solid flesh and the grip around his chest weakened. He used both hands to pry it looser and ducked, spinning and backing out from between the men as he gasped in a few revitalizing breaths.
Catherine had been sure she’d waited long enough for the four men to get into the building before following them. She hadn’t wanted to wait any longer for fear of losing them completely. But who would have guessed that one of them was a slow poke? She scowled at him as they squared off, his eyes focused on the brass knuckles she was wearing on her right fist.
It had been an impulse, snatched from the glove compartment just before getting out of the car. The smooth, heavy brass weapon had been her father’s, so it was big on her hand. She was strong for a woman, but the dirty weapon gave her punch the force of any man’s. And in situations like this it gave her another advantage – distraction.
She raised her fist in front of herself, adopting a boxer’s guard position although she wasn’t much of a boxer. She was a street fighter, as dirty as they came and armed with a vast supply of moves from several disciplines of martial arts.
Her opponent decided to use his size to his advantage and made an open armed lunge at her. She darted to the left, locking both her hands around his right forearm as she went. This spun him to the left with her. She held onto him as she planted a solid kick with her right leg into his left side.
A hollow grunt was his only reaction. He dragged her closer, pivoting and reaching for her throat with his left hand, until she let go of his forearm to get away. From a distance of a few feet she gained some perspective: don’t try to wrestle with a mountain!
She returned to the basics, swinging her brassed fist at his vulnerable face. To her surprise, her blow connected and although he let his head roll with it, the brass gouged a gash across his cheek.
That, it seemed, made him mad. He lunged for her throat again, much faster than she thought he could, with both hands this time. She stumbled back a few steps and came up against the wall much sooner than she’d expected. At the last possible moment before he pinned her with both hands she dropped. His hands smashed into the wooden paneling as she rolled to the right. She somersaulted across the floor and turned to face him just in time to see him peer at his hands and shake them as if to rid them of pain. That’s what you get for punching the wall.
And with a flash of inspiration she realized that he couldn’t possibly be as fast as she was.
“Ciao baby,” she said with a flippant wave, then she turned and dashed toward the door down the hall that he had been heading for when she came in.
He frowned, as if she was cheating him out of the rest of the fight, and started after her. At the opposite end of the hall a door smashed open and Gambit stepped out of the stairwell. The Chinese man turned at the sound and frowned again.
Thudding footsteps echoed in the large, mostly empty corridor. Maxine knew he was catching up with her. The paintings were slowing her down. She should get rid of them. If she dropped them would she be able to come back for them? If she didn’t drop them would she have any chance of surviving a fight? It was against her nature to toss away thousands of Pounds worth of anything. Her internal struggle ended abruptly as a powerful hand gripped her left shoulder, arresting her progress with a jolt. She inadvertently rotated toward him, the heavy bag swinging out from her body as she came around. It slammed into his thigh with a shattering crack as some of the frames inside fractured.
His left leg buckled under him. His arms flailed awkwardly toward her as he collapsed onto the paintings. She thought she was saved by Picasso until her attacker got a hold on the end of her seal wrap. The clasp at her throat held as he dragged her down with him. She wound up sprawled across his chest.
She reacted first, trying to climb onto her hands and knees on top of him, hoping to do as much damage as possible with her hard joints in the process. He reached for her throat with both hands, rolling his large body to throw her off at the same time. In an instant she was pinned beneath him, his hands constricting her airway.
***
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