The Last Avengers Story, Chapter 5

Avengers Forever - aka Die Hardest

Chapter Five: The Security Gambit

Covent Garden, West End, London

It had been a magical evening for those patrons who attended Covent Garden's production of Nijinsky's The Faun ballet, with Mikhail Baryshnikov in fine form. The tuxedo-clad men and evening-gowned women filed out of the Garden in an orderly manner, chatting amongst themselves about the beautiful scenery and the exquisite dancing and the tragedy of Vaslav Nijinsky who had created magic for many years and then gone mad.

The woman once and forever known as Purdey, tall and slender, with silvery blond hair and the effortless movements of a former ballerina, walked along on the arm of her husband, Mike Gambit. It was his left arm. He had lost his right arm twenty years ago, not in the service of his country, which would have at least made it palatable, but to a drunken driver on the M1 motorway. That the drunken driver had killed himself in the same crash was scant consolation.

Gambit had been forced to retire from Department S, even though the prosthetic arm he wore was a marvel of technical virtuosity, and had set up a business, with his new wife Purdey as equal partner, as a security consultant for businesses and private individuals throughout the world.

As they walked through the cool night air toward Charing Cross Hotel, where they were staying the night, Purdey seemed in a dream, and Gambit knew she was reliving the last two hours, picturing Baryshnikov and his company of dancers leaping about the stage, and how it would have appeared if the lead dancer had actually been the incomparable Nijinsky.

''Oh,'' said Gambit.

''What?''

''I had a call, while we were in the theater. Let me get out my phone. I had it on vibrator.''

Purdey released his good arm and he reached into his pocket for his cellphone. He pressed a few numbers and then held the phone to his ear. He listened for a few moments, his face growing extremely grim, then he snapped the phone closed. He stopped and faced Purdey, taking her hands in his.

''That was Marius, in Germany. The Alternities People have got their knickers in a twist and they absolutely insist that we fly over there for a series of meetings...that are going to last until next Monday.''

Purdey looked at him, stricken. ''But Steed's birthday is on Sunday!''

''I know. But I don't need to tell you how important Alternities are - not just to us as a business but to the civilized world as a business, and if they've got good reason to be worried...''

Purdey nodded. She bit her lip. ''It's not like no one else will be there. Cathy Gale. Tara King. Emma Peel. They'll all be there. And we'll be there the day after, and we'll be able to spend the whole week with him.''

Gambit nodded. ''That's right.''

Purdey nodded, and they started walking again. ''But to miss his eightieth birthday party,'' she murmured. ''When a man gets to be eighty, every day is precious. Every day might be...der Tag.''

''Nonsense.'' Gambit said robustly. ''Steed's in great shape, except for that arthritis of his. He'll live until he's 90. And if he doesn't...'' he glanced sideways at his wife and she glanced at him. ''Emma Peel will be there.'' he repeated.

Purdey allowed her lips to quirk into a grin. ''That's right. If they...um...and he...um...well, at least he'd die happy.''

''Nonsense,'' Gambit said again. ''One kiss from the lips of Emma Peel and Steed would wake back up quicker than Sleeping Beauty.''

Purdey hugged his good arm. ''Still,'' she said sadly, ''I wish this hadn't happened. But he'll understand. I'll call him tomorrow and let him know.''

Mulberry Luxury Retirement Center, Tibet-By-The-Sea

Mr. Honeywell covered the mouth of the receiver and glared at his short, black-clad associate. ''It is very distracting, Mr. Strange, to try to talk on the phone whilst in the background there is the constant sound of popping popcorn, not to mention that aroma. It's positively making my mouth water and I'm trying to concentrate here.''

''Sorry,'' said Mr. Strange.

Honeywell forebore to answer that he didn't sound sorry, and took his hand away from the receiver. ''What was that again, Adrian?''

Honeywell nodded several times, and made a few notes on a pad by his elbow. ''Right, I've got that.''

He hung up the phone and brought the pad over to his chair by the large screen tv. Mr. Strange had taken the popcorn bags out of the microwave and emptied them into two large bowls. Honeywell helped himself to a handful as Mr. Strange shoved Gambit, (starring Michael Caine and Shirley MacLaine) into the VCR, and turned it on. He put the mute on and turned attentively toward Honeywell.

''It's all working out so very well,'' Honeywell told him. ''The Sleep Gas has been delivered. My contact tells me the crew of the Triton have all been given weekend liberty. On Sunday there will be nothing but a skeleton crew aboard the ship - not to mention the naval base itself.''

''Oh, yes,'' Strange said appreciatively, licking butter from his fingers. ''That will make things easier.''

''Quite. And, the brass that are going to give Forrestal and our group the tour of the Triton have actually ordered that wheelchair ramps and other devices be placed in strategic areas, to assist in our little lambs getting around easier!''

''You're joking!'' Strange exclaimed.

Honeywell grinned. ''Admiral Forrestal, retired,'' he said. ''It's amazing what doors open when you can drop the right names.''

Strange returned the grin. ''And what doors can slam shut,'' he smirked.

The two men nodded at each other, then turned their attention to the television screen. Mr. Strange reached out a hand for the salt cellar.