The Last Avengers Story, Chapter 6

Avengers Forever - aka Die Hardest

Chapter Six: King For A Day

Montreal, Canada

Tara Truffaut (Tara King that was) opened the door of her walk-in closet and eyed the vast array of shelves with a critical eye. On the shelves were not clothing but mannequin's heads topped with a variety of wigs - over a hundred of them. Some women collected shoes, and outfits to go with the shoes, Tara had always collected wigs. Which ones should she bring with her on her trip to England?

Before she could make a decision or even give some thought to making her decision, her two grandchildren's voices called to her from below. ''We want to go feed the ducks, grandmama! It's almost time for mama to come get us and we want to go feed the ducks!''

Tara sighed. At age fifty-six she still retained her good figure, and one would not think to look at her that she was a grand mama, but today, after a day with her two five year old grandchildren, she was feeling very much like a grand mama. Fighting villains thirty years ago had never worn her out so much.

Nevertheless she trotted down the stairs at their request, slim and trim in corduroy jeans and a white button up shirt, helped the two darling little tykes collect breadcrumbs from the pantry, and then they set off for the pond behind her house to feed the ducks.

Tara had retired from Department S after only a couple of the years in the service, when she realized that Steed was not for her and that she wanted a husband and children. She hadn't decided that til she'd met the right man, Jean-Claude Truffaut, a French Canadian with ambitions for politics. Now he was a minister in the Montreal government and fighting a hard battle to keep Quebec in Canada.

When Tara and the tykes returned to her house, it was to find that her daughter had arrived to pick up the children. Tara didn't try to persuade her to stay for a cup of tea - she had packing to do and the tykes had been dropped on her unexpectedly that morning. Linda (Tara's daughter) handed her a small piece of Death By Chocolate Cake as a thank-you, and she drove away. Tara remained in the driveway returning the waves of her grandchildren, then turned her steps toward her house.

The front door was open. Surely she hadn't left that open when she and the grandkids had headed down to the pond? Tara sighed. She trotted back up the stairs and entered her room, with its open suitcase on the bed. Jean-Claude was not going to accompany her, which she thought was a pity. She'd spent little enough time with him these past two years...well, that was the fault of the Quebecois...

Tara reached up for one of her wigs when out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement in the shadows of the vast closet. Picking up the bust with one hand she turned sharply and shattered it over the head of the intruder. He collapsed at her feet.

''Well done, Mrs. Truffaut,'' came another voice, in French, this time from the door. She turned and saw that this one had a gun, which he pointed at her with a steady hand.

''What is it you want?'' she demanded, also in French.

''Your husband becomes a nuisance, madame. With you in our hands, he will no longer be a nuisance. Come, please.''

Tara assessed the situation critically. Could it be true? If they wanted to apply pressure to Jean-Claude, why hadn't they tried to kidnap his grandchildren? She did not want to ask this question for fear of putting ideas into their heads, but the man seemed to read her mind.

''We are not barbarians, madame, and we do not war on innocent children. Now, please, come.''

Tara took a deep breath. She'd go along with it - for a while anyway, until she could escape. But first...

''Look, you see I'm packing. I'm supposed to be taking a plane tonight for England.''

''You will miss your flight, madame.''

''Yes, yes, the point is I was going there to attend a friend's birthday party. He is going to be eighty years old on Sunday.''

''My felicitations, madame.''

''Thank you. The point is, you simply must let me call him and tell him I'm going to be delayed. He'll be terribly hurt otherwise.''

The man with the gun looked skeptical.

''Look,'' said Tara. ''There on the dresser. See that white-haired gentleman with his arm around me? That's him. Look there - look at that letter from a Mrs. Emma Peel. It gives all the details of the birthday party. I'll show you his phone number in my address book and you can dial the number for me if you like.''

The man in the closet had regained consciousness by this time, and his compatriot ordered him to verify Tara's words. At a nod from him, the man with the gun said, ''Zut alors. Make your telephone call. But be very, very careful. You will say only that you are delayed due to a crisis with your husband, and that he is calling to you even as you speak.''

''Right,'' said Tara.

The man without the gun dialed the phone number, then handed her the receiver. The man with the gun held it in a menacing manner. Tara took a deep breath as she heard the phone chirping away on the other end. No answer...then Steed's answerphone clicked on.

''John,'' said Tara, ''this is Tara. I'm terribly sorry, John, but Jean-Claude took a bit of a fall this morning.'' The man jerked his gun warningly. ''Nothing serious,'' Tara said hurriedly, ''but I am going to be delayed. I'm terribly sorry to miss your birthday, but I'll try to see you as soon as I can. Au revoir, John.''

She hung up the phone.

''Right,'' said the man with the gun. ''Let's go.''

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

The man known to the inhabitants of the Mulberry retirement Center as John Gascoine yawned and stretched. Tomorrow was the day, a day he'd been looking forward to for a long time. Not because it was his birthday, but because all his old friends were coming to visit him.

He turned and saw the light blinking on his phone. He pressed the button, and heard Tara King's recorded message. He listened to it, his brow furrowed. Why on earth was she calling him John? Perhaps to clue him in that it was a practical joke? Because it was, of course. First Cathy, then Mike and Purdy, now Tara, all telling him that they were going to miss his birthday. What a mean practical joke for them to play on an old man. They'd probably jump out from behind a door or something and serve them jolly well right if he had a heart attack.

He poured himself a brandy and changed into his silk pajamas. Now it only remained for Emma Peel to call him and give him her regrets.

But as the night hours passed on, Emma Peel did not call.