The Last Avengers Story, Chapter 3

Avengers Forever - aka Die Hardest

Chapter Three: Countdown to danger

The man who called himself John Gascoine relaxed in the billiard room of the Mulberry Senior Citizens Luxury Retirement Center. He had poured himself a brandy and sat in an overstuffed leather chair by two of the vast French windows, warming the brandy with the palm of his hand and listening with gentle enjoyment to the murmur of voices from the players and the sound of billiard and snooker balls being hit with cues and bouncing off each other and the sides of the tables. The pleasantness was increased by the occasional sound of thunder and flashes of lighting coming from the windows, and raindrops pattering against the glass. A typical day in England, John Gascoine (Beresford Steed) thought to himself happily. He sipped his brandy.

Two men wandered by, deep in discussion of cricket scores. They were discussing Wisden (the cricketer's almanac) and complaining about a volume from 1964 missing from the Library. Scandalous!

A wild-white-hair-maned Professor Stephenson, born and bred in England who for some reason affected a German accent (and tried his best to look like Albert Einstein), entered the Billiard Room and came across to Steed's chair. ''My dear fellow,'' he said cheerfully, ''I'm sorry I'm late. But I see you have been using the time to advantage.''

''Certainly, Professor,'' Gascoine told him with a smile. ''Would you like a brandy before we start our 18 holes?'' A particularly loud roll of thunder and a bright flash of lightning accompanied his words.

''No, no, I must keep a clear head if I am to have any chance of beating you. Are we ready?''

Gascoine finished his brandy and rose, slowly, to his feet. ''Let's go. Through here, shall we?''

Gascoine opened one of the French windows, and he and Professor Stephenson stepped through, and into the sunshine of a bright English morning. Gascoine closed the window behind him and the sound and light effects began anew. Gascoine and Stephenson left the pleasures of a rainy English morning behind them and entered the bright sunshine, with the expectation of a day of 36 holes of golf in front of them.

The Great Golf greeter, clad in plus fours and a bulky sweater, greeted them at the starting gate of the Great Golf Game Center, and helped them to select the golf clubs they would need. They were playing the Greatest Golf Holes in the World, so they'd need clubs for snow, for ice, even for underwater. The vast panorama of the Miniature Golf Course, with its fairways and putting greens and exotic scenery, spread out before them. It was this Great Golf Game Center, more than any other amenity the Mulberry Luxury Retirment Home offered, that drew residents to it like flies to honey.

Professor Stephenson gestured for Gascoine to start first. Gascoine smiled and gestured that Stephenson really must be the first to tee off. Stephenson nodded his head in acquiescence and placed his ball on the tee. He took his stance as he assessed the various obstacles that stood between him and the cup.

''Have you heard about next Sunday's outing, Mr. Gascoine?'' Stephenson as he addressed the ball.

''To the Naval Base? Yes, I've heard.''

Stephenson brought his club up to the ball slowly, then took it back. He brought it up slowly again, then took it back.

''I can't remember. Is it an old sea dog that you are?''

Gascoine smiled. ''I was in the Navy briefly during the War,'' he commented (for men of Gascoine and Stephenson's generation, there was only one War).

''So you are going to attend?''

''I'm not sure. That day's my birthday, you see, and I'm rather expecting to have visitors.''

''Oh, is it so? Splendid. But surely you can bring them along?''

Gascoine nodded. Any visitors he'd have, male or female, would probably be quite delighted to get a tour of the nation's latest naval base, with all its mod cons and futuristic equipment.

''I'll issue them an invite, of course. Professor, I think that ball's about to grow moss.''

Stephenson looked down at the ball he had still not hit, smiled, and the next time he brought his golf club to meet it, golf club head met ball with a satisfying smack. ''Four!'' roared the Professor.