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Emma watched the three simultaneous fights, her eyes darting from one monitor to another. She resisted the temptation to go join in by placing a hand over her bulging waistline. She was not especially worried about Steed – his opponents were getting in a few blows but she could tell that his superior speed and boundless energy would prevail. Catherine Banning had proven herself quite the wildcat, although Emma thought that the brass knuckles a bit inelegant. She had appeared on the monitor in an empty gallery, unaware that Gambit had taken on her former opponent.
Maxine Tellerman was the most upsetting. She was writhing on the floor, fighting to get out from under the man who looked unnaturally huge from the perspective of the ceiling-mounted camera. Emma knew the woman was a villain, but she couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for her position, having been in it herself a few times. But there were ways to get out of it, and Emma suspected that Maxine would hit upon one of them before she lost consciousness.
Catherine charged through the doorway into a gallery room hung with paintings on all four walls. The only furniture was a padded bench in the middle of the terrazzo floor. The room was otherwise empty and the door in the far wall was shut. Catherine frowned. She’d been sure that she would find Maxine and the rest of the Chinese, maybe Gambit as well. She absently looked at the artwork as she crossed the room to the far door, admiring a couple notable works.
Back out in the corridor Gambit’s hard fist smashed into the face of the Chinese man, who rocked back on his heels. Gambit hit him again, and again and he fell backwards to the floor, seemingly dazed. Gambit started on up the hall after Catherine and went sprawling as the man, who was not dazed at all, grabbed his ankle with both hands.
Gambit rolled onto his back and smashed his free foot into the man’s face. The man’s iron grip on Gambit’s ankle didn’t weaken, and he used his left to raise himself to his knees. Gambit bent his free leg and slammed it into the man’s left shoulder causing him to fall again, but not loosening his grip on Gambit’s ankle. Gambit sat up, locked his fists together, and slammed them down on the side of the man’s face where bruises were already starting to show.
Catherine opened the next door and found another gallery populated with sculptures. There was a loud thump from an adjacent room – something heavy hitting a wall. She spun around in the middle of the room trying to determine from which side the sound had come. It didn’t really matter – just like in the previous room there was only one other door.
A sledgehammer slammed down on Steed’s right shoulder so hard he thought it was dislocated. He wrapped his right arm around his middle and dodged under the big man’s left arm. The other one was a few feet away getting to his feet, having fallen under Steed’s fists just before the sledgehammer landed.
Steed wondered for the first time what had become of Miss Tellerman as he tried to move his right arm and carefully flex the muscles of his upper arm. His shoulder protested, but it wasn’t dislocated after all – he knew how that felt. He and both of his opponents were all wearing down. The one he’d hit last was looking unsteady on his feet, and the one who had fists like a sledgehammer was only now turning around to come at Steed again.
Steed grinned wolfishly and painfully raised his right to guard his face. If the Chinese thought he’d put Steed out of commission by disabling his lightening right jab he was in for a surprise. With renewed vigor borne of desperation he advanced and landed a solid left on the man’s jaw. Unable to follow with a right, he dodged back, then rammed back in low. His second punch landed in the man’s gut, and he followed it with a painful head butt that landed, as he had hoped, on the man’s nose.
There was blood everywhere. Steed recoiled in disgust and watched his enemy bury his face in his hands and back away. A movement across the room caught Steed’s eye and made him smile. The other man was exiting through the door where they’d come from.
“It looks like you’re done there Steed,” Emma’s voice tickled his ear. He looked up, taking a moment to remember which corner the camera was in.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Miss Tellerman is in the north-west corridor. She needs your help.”
Steed eyed the man with the broken nose, but he was entirely focused on stopping the blood. “Tell me more,” he said as he headed for the door. “What am I getting into?”
“She’s being choked by one of them – You’d better hurry.”
“Better get Griswold and Neustadt to her as well,” Steed said, holding his right arm close to his body as he trotted through the linked galleries to the corridor Emma had mentioned.
Gambit’s ankle was released as his opponent slumped on the floor. He dragged his leg out from under the man and got up, turning to go after Catherine. He’d noticed as he took on the Chinese that she had gone through the wrong door – not the one leading to the gallery where Steed was meeting Miss Tellerman, but the next one down. He had made a complete inspection of the museum earlier and knew that the chain of galleries and halls through that door had very few connections with the ones Steed had selected for his meeting, so it was unlikely that Catherine had caught up with Miss Tellerman. He ran right through the first gallery and into the second, pausing only long enough to listen for footsteps before moving on.
Steed locked his left fist on the Chinese man’s collar and dragged him off of Miss Tellerman. She wheezed spasmodically as his hands left her throat. Unable to hold him and strike him at the same time, Steed dropped the man to the floor beside Miss Tellerman and straddled him, then swung at his jaw with his left fist. Miss Tellerman coughed and rolled away from both of them. She got to her hands and knees and dragged at the canvas bag, which was pinned under the Chinese.
“Perhaps you should rethink your priorities,” Steed said acidly as he slugged the man a second time.
Maxine took a painful breath and dropped the straps of the bag dejectedly.
The Chinese man seemed to have passed out so Steed straightened and offered his hand to her to help her up. She took it, looking quizzically at his right arm, which he still held close to his body.
“Just a bit sore,” he said. “Now, about your paintings – there seems to be some additional interest in them. This could affect any deal that we might make.”
“Mr. Steed? What’s going on here?” Agent Griswold, costumed as a security guard, appeared through a side door.
“Confine this man. He is an intruder,” Steed indicated the incapacitated Chinese. “And hold Miss Tellerman while I check on the others.”
Griswold put a restraining hand on Miss Tellerman’s shoulder on top of her disheveled wrap. Her frown at Steed turned into a look of outrage as her hands were drawn back and handcuffs placed on her wrists.
“As I said,” Steed told her, “this additional interest changes everything.”
He nodded at Agent Griswold and turned to hurry back along the corridor.
* * *
The door to security room burst open.
Emma spun around in her chair to see the intruder: one of the two men who Steed had been fighting. Emma had focused on Steed, so she had lost track of him after he left the fight.
He filled the doorway and she ignored a stray thought that none of the four men had looked that big on the surveillance cameras. She pushed herself in the wheeled chair toward the door, raising her knees and letting the chair recline. She realized immediately that she couldn’t fight the way she expected to with the bump of her pregnancy keeping her knees from rising to her chest as they normally would.
Adjusting even as her chair carried her toward her enemy, she slammed her feet into the intruder’s solar plexus and yanked them back as he bent over. The impact rolled her back across the room and she dropped her feet to the floor and pushed the rest of the way until the chair hit the counter. She rotated half a turn to the left and put both hands on the counter, then straightened her legs and pushed off spinning. Her calves slammed into her opponent’s knees, but without enough force to undercut him as she’d planned.
He loomed over her leering sadistically. She dropped her feet to the floor and tried to scoot sideways, but he put one hand on the arm and reached for her throat with the other. She ducked her head into her shoulders like a turtle and planted her feet firmly, then shoved up out of the chair. Unable to adjust for her move he missed her throat and his hand slid over her shoulder and down her back. She kept moving, head butting him in the chest.
Once again, she was not moving fast enough to do much damage, but he grunted and tried to get his hands around her waist on either side, forcing her to bend further over so that the top of her head was pressed into his stomach. She realized that without her pregnant belly he’d be able to get a grip on either side of her slender waist. Pleased that her condition did have some advantages, she dropped to her hands and knees and rolled to the left onto her behind. Off balance, her opponent staggered forward and grasped her chair. She scrambled awkwardly to her feet and assumed a fighting stance.
He came at her again and she deflected his first swing with a chop, following up with another chop that landed on the side of his neck. He grabbing for her again and she punched him in the gut, dodging right under his arm. He slapped at her face as she spun around to face him again. She rolled with the blow and returned it with another double karate chop to either side of his neck. His eyes widened and he took a step back, then sat down heavily in her chair.
Emma sucked in a deep breath and drew her hair out of her eyes with the fingers of her right hand.
“Everything all right Mrs. Peel?” Steed stood in the doorway. The look of concern on his face vanished at the sight of her broad smile.
“Perfectly under control Steed. Good of you to come.”
“I was just passing by and saw your door was open – say, is Gambit on one of your monitors?”
Emma shrugged one shoulder and turned to look at the row of greenish tinted monitors. She grabbed two fists full of her attacker’s jacket and dragged him off of the chair, then sat down and turned toward the displays. Steed bent over the unconscious man patting his pockets.
The monitors showed fish-eye distorted views of empty museum rooms. Emma turned the selector knob and the displays changed to different views. She smiled victoriously and glanced over her shoulder, beckoning to Steed. He straightened and came to look.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” he muttered. Emma looked up at him curiously, then back at the middle monitor where Mike Gambit held Catherine Banning in a tight embrace. They were kissing, a long, romantic kiss that sparked a sympathetic fizz in Emma’s chest. She stared hard at the monitor for a moment, not at the kissing couple but at a painting mounted on the wall behind them.
It was one of hers, sold to an anonymous buyer last year.
“I thought he had learned: A gentleman does not take advantage of a lady in these situations,” Steed said primly.
Emma drew her gaze back to Steed and then chuckled to herself as she pushed her chair back and stood up. Steed had discretely averted his gaze from the monitor where Gambit and Catherine showed no sign of stopping.
“Shall we Steed?” she asked to distract him from his displeasure with his subordinate. His attention snapped back to her and his expression turned to a warm smile.
“Certainly!”
He took her right hand with his left, his warm touch surprisingly intimate. He turned with her, guiding her out of the room.
“You can leave? Just like that?” she asked, glancing back at the defeated man.
“I have learned the value of subordinates,” he replied. “They’ll take care of everything.”
Emma smiled knowingly but did not reply. She had been thinking that now that he had underlings he would need to supervise them, while in the past he had always walked away leaving the clean-up to someone else.
* * *
“Really Steed, I’m just not up to it. I’m sorry,” Emma sat on the bed in her dressing gown. They were in the Knight penthouse high above Marlybone. It was convenient to the retirement party for Lord Edward Smith, long-time operations manager for the ministry, in a London hotel. Emma still missed Steed’s old mews flat, but when the lease had ended earlier that fall they had agreed that it was time to let it go. The penthouse on the top of the Knight Industries building had become their city apartment.
“Then let’s drive out to the house. Surely you’ll be more comfortable there,” Steed replied. He was half dressed in formal wear, standing across the room holding his yellow satin waistcoat.
“You should go. I know you need to be seen there.”
Emma was right: Steed did need to see and be seen. But he hated to leave her alone and ill. It wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do.
“You don’t have to stay long,” she added. “Just go be seen, meet whoever it is you need to, and come back. I’ll be fine here with my dry toast and club soda.”
Steed grimaced at the oblique reference to her sour stomach. A late case of morning sickness, she had suggested. He thought she just didn’t feel like socializing with his crowd for once. He couldn’t very well make her.
“I’ll just go for an hour,” he said with little conviction. She nodded.
“Give my love to Sally if you see her. I won't ask you to kiss Gambit and James for me, not even on the cheek.”
Steed’s eyes widened in mock horror, then he grinned and crossed to her, bending down to kiss her gently. She did feel a bit warm.
“Do you have a fever?”
“Probably,” she agreed quickly. I’ll take my temperature.”
“See that you do, and if you need me call and have them come find me.”
“All right. I promise.”
The party was in full swing when Steed arrived, with dozens of guests moving between buffet tables and bars, and a few on the dance floor moving to modern music played by a six piece band. Lord Edward had been a fixture in the upper echelons of the ministry for more than thirty years. Every agent knew him and every non-agent worked for him. Rumor had it that the rather elaborate party had been financed by several of his underlings who were vying for promotion. Steed knew who the winner was and didn’t envy the fellow following in institution.
Not immediately recognizing anyone – at least anyone with whom he wanted to socialize – he started toward the nearest bar. Half way across the room he was intercepted by a familiar figure. He greeted Miss Drake, who quickly introduced him to her three companions. Uncharacteristically, their names escaped him almost the moment he heard them: Miss Drake’s laser-sighted approach had jarred him. She certainly did not seem to have gotten the hints he thought he’d dropped.
As she cooed over his party attire and simpered, clearly seeking his return compliment, he scanned the room for any sign of rescue but found none. Neither Sally, nor Bond, nor Gambit, who would have gladly taken some of the ladies off his hands, was to be seen. He did catch the eyes of one or two fellow agents of his generation, but they just winked and grinned, or returned his mild distress with envious stares.
Miss Drake inserted her arm through his and steered him on toward the bar. The other young women followed like an entourage.
“I’ve enjoyed serving you coffee and tea along with your files Mr. Steed. But I hope we can enjoy a more interesting drink and conversation tonight,” she said. Steed’s eyes widened at the overt suggestiveness in her tone. He had been certain that he had properly discouraged her. Positive.
“I’m planning on a short stay, Miss Drake,” he replied. He was about to add that his wife was at home ill when he reconsidered. He’d sound just like the philanderer that Miss Drake seemed to think he was. Do these women not know that I’m married?
“Oh dear,” she crooned, “That will never do. You’re to be the life of the party, Mr. Steed!”
“Am I?” He forced a smile.
They had reached the edge of the crowd at the bar and Miss Drake’s entourage surrounded them as they edged forward. He looked over his shoulder at the larger room and realized that they effectively concealed him from any possible rescue by a friend.
He endured their flirtatious small talk as they received sparkling wine all around and moved away from the bar. He could chat for hours, summoning mild but germane observations while his mind struggled with pressing concerns. Usually it was a matter of life and death, or at least of state security. Tonight it was for hearth and home, a priority of equal importance to him. It was laughable, actually – Steed the master playboy desperate to extricate him gracefully from a gaggle of women without turning them against him. For although avoiding Emma’s wrath was his top priority, retaining a good relationship with the women who supported his work at the ministry was almost as important. No, Miss Drake must be let down gracefully and not made to appear foolish in front of her friends.
A few minutes later, when the entourage had moved to an edge of the dance floor, Steed’s rescue arrived in a most unlikely form: Vice Admiral Clifford Randal. The entourage noticed him first and Steed followed their gazes to see the dashing naval officer in his formal uniform. But unlike the ladies, Steed’s gaze traveled on to the Vice Admiral’s companion.
Emma, in a low-cut, golden satin and lace gown, was favoring Steed with her warmest, most amused smile. He suddenly felt lighter, the burden of his predicament vanishing at the sight of her. The secretaries seemed to melt away from him as Randal delivered her to his side.
“Good evening Clifford,” he said, forcing himself to look away from Emma’s radiant face. The instant he saw her he’d known she planned it all – the feigned illness, the arrival with their old friend. Somehow she’d known he’d need rescuing. Later he would find out how.
“Steed! Delighted to see you. Look who I found checking her wrap,” he smiled at Emma.
“Hello darling,” Steed instinctively reached for her hand. She shot Randal a grateful smile and moved closer to Steed, gracefully slipping in to the spot at his side that was miraculously vacated by Miss Drake.
“Ladies, may I introduce my wife? Emma Knight Steed, and Vice Admiral Clifford Randal.”
For a moment Miss Drake looked puzzled, her gaze flicking from Emma to Randal, and then to Steed. Then she recovered.
“Vice Admiral Randal, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, edging closer to him.
“Miss Drake is very helpful with research,” Steed said. “You know how I hate dealing with files.”
Emma nodded agreeably and Miss Drake appeared to blush under Steed’s unromantic compliment.
Emma turned to Miss Drake’s friend Susan. “You were in Hemming’s self defense class the other day, practicing the underarm head ram.”
“Yes, I’m taking his class,” Susan sounded confused. As if sacrificing one of their number, the rest of the entourage began to edge away.
“Isn’t that the move you introduced to Hemming?” Steed asked, very much enjoying Emma’s game, particularly the effect it had had on the other women.
“Yes it is. I’d be happy to show you some refinements,” Emma said to Susan, then glanced around them at the party. “But perhaps not this evening.”
“No. I mean, yes. That would be most – instructive,” Susan said wanly, glancing toward Miss Drake as if for rescue.
Steed decided that it was time to put an end to his wife’s fun. “Would you like to dance, Mrs. Peel?”
Her knowing smile told him that his intentions were transparent to her, but that she’d behave.
“Thank you again for your company, Clifford,” she said, nodding to her original escort and inadvertently earning a sharp look from Miss Drake. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she added to her would be rival.
Steed made a small bow to the ladies and nodded to Randal. Their eyes met for a moment and he was glad to see amusement. They would enjoy a good chat soon.
“Why were you baiting the secretaries,” he murmured into Emma’s ear a few minutes later as he led her around the dance floor. Most couples were hardly moving, just swaying to the waltz that the band had segued into at just the right moment.
Emma did not reply, merely smiled enigmatically at him.
“I had the situation in hand,” he added, growing concerned that despite her game she might actually be angry at him.
“Did you?” she asked skeptically. “So you know about ‘Operation Steed’?”
“Operation what?” he frowned.
“Operation Steed,” she repeated subtly slowing him to a standing dance like the others on the floor. Then she nestled closer to him, her face angled slightly upward toward his. He held her tighter with his hand on her waist and she drew their clasped hands in near their shoulders. Her breath on his face sent a warm wave to his heart. “A couple weeks ago I was in the ministry sauna – you should spend more time there, darling, it’s very instructive.”
He smirked and she wrinkled her nose back at him. “For example, I overheard your Miss Drake speaking to Susan. She had a very developed plan to steal you away from me, starting with coffee and moving on to drinks.”
Were it not for the warmth in her voice Steed might have frozen with shock. Still Emma sensed his dismay and tried to ease it with her throaty chuckle.
“I knew that the best way to discourage the situation was to diffuse it – confronting her would have turned her against you. We can’t have that.”
The corners of Steed’s mouth curled up as he recalled his own conclusion of a few minutes before. It was no surprise that Emma had reached it ages ago and engineered an elegant solution.
“No, we certainly can’t. Not unless you’d like to come handle the files for me? No? I didn’t think so,” the edges of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “So you contrived to interrupt her, and to present her with an alternative target,” he said. “But darling, you’ve used Clifford,” he added with pretend shock at her involving an old friend. “Haven’t we only recently discussed the danger of involving friends in our intrigues?”
Emma’s bell-like laugh subsided into a burbling giggle as she looked into his sparkling eyes. He joined her with his own deep grumble of a laugh.
“Clifford was more than willing to be introduced to several available young women, for the sake of our marriage.”
“So this is what a room full of secret agents looks like.” Catherine Banning scanned the party, letting her gaze end on her companion, Mike Gambit. He coughed awkwardly. He had only barely managed to explain away her presence at the museum that night to Steed’s satisfaction by claiming that Catherine had followed Miss Tellerman. He knew that if Steed chose to investigate it, and even if Catherine supported his fib, the truth would have to come out. Fortunately, Steed had let his explanation lie. Which meant Gambit could bring Catherine to the ministry party. Looking around the room he felt a rush of pride at having one of the most gorgeous women on his arm – not that the competition was that stiff among the female ministry staff.
“In point of fact, only about half of the guests are agents. The rest are support staff,” he said.
“Very supportive, I’m sure,” she smirked, noting two young women fawning over a distinguished man in a naval uniform. She looked at the dance floor, considering whether she wanted to coax Gambit onto it to see if he could move. Somehow their experiences together so far had not included dancing. The couples were moving slowly to a ballad – hardly a challenge. “Why is Emma Knight Steed here?”
Gambit followed her gaze and grinned broadly at the sight of Steed holding Emma as they swayed to the music. He had seen them exchange the occasional kiss or touch, but this was the first time he’d seen them in such an intimate embrace. He knew that Steed the warhorse agent was possessed of an animal magnetism that drew women to him, but as a man he never could quite see it. But there was Steed revealing his romantic side, and probably feeling safe to do it because he was with his wife.
When he did not immediately answer Catherine tried again.
“Is she a spy as well as an artist and business executive?”
“More like a very talented amateur.”
“And her dancing partner – is he an agent?”
Catherine was clearly trying to establish Emma’s credentials. She didn’t like not knowing who was who, and clearly Emma had deceived her, whether intentionally or not.
Just then the band concluded the slow song and their leader, a guitarist, strummed several quick short notes. Steed and Emma’s heads both lifted as they looked toward the band and then at one another. They exchanged a look of agreement and moved off of the dance floor – Emma enjoyed dancing to rock and roll rhythms, but Steed only tolerated it.
Gambit steered Catherine to intercept them.
“Now they make a good couple,” Emma murmured near Steed’s ear, seeing them coming through the crowd.
“I hope Gambit isn’t too attached,” Steed replied.
“Why? You’ve never met her in person, have you?”
“I’ve read her file. She won’t be around long. She never is.”
Emma considered it and knew he was probably right. Even without the ministry’s file on her he was a genius at reading people.
“Good evening Miss Banning,” Emma extended a hand when they were close enough to greet one another.
“Mrs. Steed,” Catherine said, eyes flicking from Emma to her companion with open curiosity.
“Catherine Banning, this is John Steed,” Gambit put in, then greeted Emma and Steed himself.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Banning – much more satisfying than reading a file.”
“It certainly is,” Catherine agreed, although she had no file for this man Steed. “Do you work with Michael?”
She suspected that Steed was senior, but she wanted to gauge his reaction to the suggestion that he was Gambit’s peer or subordinate. Working “with” could be interpreted many ways.
“Yes that’s right, just another fellow in the trenches,” Steed replied lightly. If Emma was puzzled by his response she didn’t show it. Gambit was another story.
“Steed is the mastermind,” he said, placing himself firmly in the subordinate role.
“The brains behind the operation,” Catherine suggested.
“No,” Steed chuckled, glancing at his wife, “that would be Emma.”
“Not at all,” Emma chuckled too. “You’re too modest darling.”
Something in the look that shot between Steed and Emma suggested to Catherine that this was all some private joke between them. That Steed was not too modest seemed evident by his choice of bright yellow waistcoat. That Emma Knight Steed was in fact “the brains” in the family seemed plausible, but Catherine suspected that theirs was a balanced partnership. That Steed would deny it intrigued her.
“Listen, they’re starting a much more danceable song – will you?” Gambit asked Catherine. She was momentarily torn between accepting his offer and staying to probe the Steeds further, but then Steed inclined his head toward Emma and she nodded. They all started toward the dance floor.
“Wait, Steed,” Emma stopped him after a few steps, letting Gambit escort Catherine onto the floor. Emma had spotted Sally approaching leading James by one hand as he waved at someone else across the room.
“What does she think she’s doing leading six’s top man around like that,” Steed muttered.
“Exactly what she was trained to do,” Emma replied with a twinge of envy her former assistant’s cascade of blond curls that nearly reached her waist and her perfectly in-style dress, obviously purchased in Paris. Probably by James. Emma did not completely approve of Sally’s relationship with James Bond and she had tried to stop it once. But she had vowed not to interfere again since he had demonstrated honest affection and loyalty to the girl, and since Sally herself did not expect commitment or even monogamy. Emma could not have done it, but Sally was of a new generation, and she would probably be a very successful spy since her attitudes toward intimacy were so liberal. She would be comfortable using sex, where Emma never had been, particularly with Steed lurking in the background, a cross between the jealous husband and the protective father.
Sally had spotted them and was dragging Bond even faster. Emma noted that her figure had slimmed over the last few months – not that Sally had been overweight, but she had always had a country girl look of health and good nutrition. Parisian life had altered that, and Emma felt a twinge of envy at the way her dress fit her while Emma’s own gown was cut to accommodate her baby bump. Not, she assured herself, that Sally’s newfound waist was any more attractive then her own when she was not pregnant.
“Emma, look at you!” Sally unwittingly touched on Emma’s secret sore spot.
“Hello Sally,” Steed greeted her warmly. “And Bond.” He extended his hand to the other agent, who moved in beside Sally and took it.
“Good to see you Steed. Emma, you are as radiant as ever,” he took Emma’s hand and touched his lips to her knuckles. She shot him a sardonic smile, but before she could speak Sally went on.
“It must be a girl. My mother carried my two sisters like that. But my brothers were much higher.”
“You think so?” Emma glanced at Steed, who looked pleased.
“Do you want a girl?”
“We rather do, actually,” Emma squeezed Steed’s hand. “And she’s rather demanding. Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I just need to visit the ladies.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sally said, disengaging from Bond and taking Emma’s arm. They strolled off together like a pair of golden and auburn swans.
Steed and Bond admired them in silence for a moment, then Bond cleared his throat, obvious preface to something important.
“You’re pushing her hard,” he said.
“I know. But she needs it.”
“She might not. You might just break her.”
One of Steed’s brows arched regally. He was not accustomed to being questioned in this way, except, perhaps, by Mother.
“She did brilliant work tracking down McCall’s killers, and she almost killed them herself.”
“Yes. I wish she had.”
It was Bond’s turn for consternation and he frowned. “She didn’t because she was waiting for your order.”
“Yes. I was hoping she would do it anyway on her own initiative. She needs to develop an edge. Until she does, she isn’t safe in the field.” Or reliable.
Bond considered this for a moment. “Yes. She’s not yet blooded. You can’t trust her until she proves herself.”
“On her own,” Steed added pointedly.
Bond stared at him for a moment, then nodded. Their conversation moved on to recent news – bombings in far flung lands, an assassination attempt that was foiled at the last moment by Five, how this affected the track record of the woman who’d been placed in charge of Five a few years ago.
Presently Sally and Emma returned bearing fresh glasses: sparkling wine for all but Emma, who sipped club soda. As they chatted and watched the other guests Steed wondered whether James would honor his tacit agreement to stay out of it, or if he would push Sally toward the sort of defining act that would serve as a final test of her usefulness to the service.
Catherine’s head turned away from Gambit’s as she stared at a man near the edge of the dance floor. Gambit swung her around so that he could get a look at the target of her stare. Bond. Talking to Steed.
“Watch yourself, he’s the most dangerous man in the room.”
“Mr. Steed?” Catherine asked innocently.
Gambit smirked at her and she smiled winsomely.
“His companion. Does that turn you on?”
She did not reply, just gazed into his eyes.
“Because I’m pretty dangerous too.”
She laughed, slipping her left hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck to play with his collar seductively.
***
fin
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