Nick and Nora

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Emma By Gaslight Ch 7

Emma by Gaslight
by Gale Force

Part 7 of a 7-part story in which Emma Peel copes with the dangers of 1970s Europe, where eagles...and vultures... are gathering.

The file on Kelly Robinson and Alexander Scott

Kelly Robinson is a "tennis bum," he travels around the world playing tennis with the wealthy, in return for food and lodging. He participates in tournaments as well, and has been ranked in the Top 20 for the last three years. This is thanks to his trainer, Alexander Scott, an African-American. Robinson looks uncannily like the actor Robert Culp, and Scott resembles Bill Cosby.

It has been rumored that Robinson and Scott are actually operatives for the American government, but this has never been proved.
...File ends

Part Seven:

Emma - Chapter Three

My dear Nicola (wrote Jason King to his publisher),

I hope you get this letter...my captor has promised me that whatever my fate (he is currently waiting to hear from a colleague what that fate should be), he will send this letter to you. As long as I mention no names, and give no descriptions of people, he stresses.

I'll summarize how I got here...

This morning I was wandering around the Harbor of Monte Carlo and people-watching, and I saw an individual enter a taxi. His appearance gave me the idea for a character ...I won't describe him or the character he would have played, but he would have made a splendid villain, almost as good as George in my The Death of Rats. ...

[That was probably too obviously a planted clue, Jason thought – that his prospective assassin resembled, in features, the character George in his masterpiece The Death of Rats. Well, leave it for now and put more subtle clues in later. Perhaps he'll only do his censoring via a black felt-tip pen and some of the clues will survive. What's the time? How long is that woman going to wait for me to reappear before she calls the police? Although what they can do...never mind...there is plenty of time...Just need to stoke the old brain cells. He lit a cigarette and went back to the letter.

Indeed, several of the cabbies interested me, and I decided to do some research among them all - as is to be expected from any author who desires to put verisimilitude in their work.

Well, later on in the day one of the drivers drove his cab into the harbor and drowned, and that kind of put me off writing any kind a story featuring cab drivers. I'm rather sensitive, as you know.

Well, that's the way the plot crumbles.

Then, tonight, I was playing black jack at the Casino and not doing very well, so I decided to leave, and walk back to my hotel, the Grand. As I walked along, I saw in front of me a passenger who had been in one of those cabs, and I decided that perhaps I had abandoned my plot too precipitously. I decided to follow that man, just as a common exercise from an author who is concerned about verisimilitude.

[Perhaps he was over-doing the emphasis on his quest for verisimilitude, but that had been his story when he'd been caught and he was sticking to it.

As you know, I like to put myself in the character of Mark Caine, and see if my ideas/solutions, etc. will work.

So, I was following this man, purely as an exercise, and followed him into the hotel...I'll leave that nameless, as per my instructions! My captor is quite the little Napoleon and I shan't disobey him!

[Another too obvious reference...although his captor was British and not French and so might not know the history behind the hotel's name – L'Aiglon. He would have to hope so.

As I entered the lobby, I saw that it was empty of guests, but that a beautiful woman was behind the counter. As is my habit, I went over and chatted with her. I don't need to explain to you my charm, Nicola. Suffice it to say, she was soon telling me the name of the man who'd entered the lobby just before I had done so, and what the number of his hotel room was.

Now at this point I should have left, I admit it. My exercise was complete and it was a success. But then the dear girl made a remark that caused me to think perhaps I should extend my exercise a bit further.

She asked me if I were part of the company that Mister... Let's call him Mister X, Nicola... that Mister X was expecting that night.

"I didn't know he was having a party," I told her. "But I certainly wouldn't mind attending it. Any celebrities? Drinks?"

"No celebrities. But I think...(she looked from side to side, even though there was no one in the lobby) I think he has private poker games up there. One time he came downstairs with another gentleman and said something about losing all his chips...something like that."

Anyway, Nicola, I decided that I'd just take a brief stroll through the hallway, just on principle, before returning to my own hotel room to start work on my book. Perfectly innocent.

So I took the stairs up to the top floor, which is where my quarry's room was, and just started to stroll down the hallway...when a door opened behind me and before I knew it, I was knocked unconscious.

For innocently walking down a hallway! I do not blame myself at all for being in this little predicament!

My captor has explained that the whole top floor is given over to him and his organization, and that anyone who walks on this floor who is not recognized is knocked unconscious. I must say that I think that behavior is very reckless, and foolish. There might be any number of innocent reasons why someone is walking around the top floor of a hotel. Typically the best-furnished floor in the hotel, it must attract lots of innocent curiosity.

So here I am, sitting in this room. My captor has made a phone call, and is now waiting to hear back. He has very kindly provided me with brandy, however, and has no objection to my smoking.

[At this point, there was a knock on the door, and a woman's voice called out in French, "Maid service. Messieur, I have the towels you requested."

Jason felt a sudden chill - he recognized that voice. It was Emma. Why hadn't she called the police? What was she doing?"

His captor - Riordan, swore under his breath, and aimed his gun at the door.

"It's just the maid," Jason barked out. "For god's sake, man. She says she's brought towels."

Riordan glared at him. "Okay. My gun goes in my pocket. You stay where you are. If you move - she'll get it, and then you. Understand?"

"Completely," Jason said calmly.

"And don't go talking French at her. You say anything to her that I don't understand, she gets it, and then you."

Riordan opened the door wide. Emma Peel walked in. She was dressed in a maid's outfit - frilly cap, white apron over black dress, and sturdy white shoes. She was also carrying an armful of towels - so many that they obscured her face.

"'Allo, messieur...your towels."

"Right. Put them in the bathroom."

"Where else do you think she'd put them?" Jason asked sourly.

Riordan darted a furious look at him, as Jason had expected. And obviously as Emma expected, because she dropped the towels, stepped forward, grabbed Riordan's gun hand in both of hers, and raised it to her mouth. She bit, hard. Riordan screamed and dropped the gun. Emma kicked it toward Jason, then twisted and karate-chopped Riordan across the throat.

He fell backward, gasping, white-faced, staring at her.

"Emma?"

"Riordan."

She stepped forward. He attempted to punch her - despite the fact that Jason had now picked up the gun, and Emma twisted past the blow, and kneed him in the groin. He folded over.

She knelt beside him, grabbing hold of his tie with one hand and tightening it.

"Where's John Drake?" she demanded.

"...Village..." choked Riordan. "The Village."

"The Village? What's that?"

"It's where...agents who retire...go."

"What are you talking about? I've retired."

"It's where...unhappy agents who retire...go."

"Where is it?"

There was the crash of a gun shot from the doorway, and Riordan went limp, a bullet through his forehead.

With the speed of light Jason twisted and shot at the figure in the doorway. He also didn't miss.

They looked at the bodies ruefully.

"We'd better get out of here," said Jason. "These walls and floors are amazingly thick, but someone must have heard those shots."

"Yes," said Emma, very quietly. "Let's go."

Jason folded up his letter and put it in his pocket. Then he followed her out into the corridor. They didn't speak again until they were outside the hotel, walking back towards Emma's car.

"So you're an agent," said Jason.

"A retired agent," said Emma, absently.

"Thank god you're not an unhappy retired agent."

She glanced at him. "Yes..."

"You're going to track down this Village, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet. What are you going to do?"

"I have a novel to write."

"You better be careful, Jason. Mention anything about this Village...you'll upset somebody."

"Ye-es."

They got back to the car and Emma drove toward the hotel. They rode in silence. Emma Peel was thinking back over her years risking her life to serve her country...Steed had spent his whole life serving his country...and this is how they were repaid...well, how some of them were repaid.

And John Drake was there. Still alive. In the Village.

She was going to find this Village. She was going to find John Drake. And she was going to get him out.

Emma parked in the carpark, and she and Jason walked into the hotel.

"Would you like a nightcap?" asked Jason.

"No, thank you, Jason. I have an old friend I need to get in touch with. I'll be leaving Monte Carlo tomorrow."

"Yes, I thought you would."

"Thanks for your help."

"Such as it was."

Emma smiled, and stepped forward, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned and walked away. Jason watched her walk out of his life. Then he turned and went to his own room. He sat down in front of his typewriter, removed the letter he'd been writing earlier, and began to type. Soon he was engrossed in his creation, and the incidents of the night were forgotten.

THE END

Emma by Gaslight ch 6

Emma by Gaslight

by Gale Force

Part 6 of a multi-part story in which Emma Peel copes with the dangers of 1970s Europe, where eagles...and vultures... are gathering.

Emma Peel looked over and recognized Jason King. She gritted her teeth in frustration. She should have known. She should have just knocked him out and stuck him in a cupboard for the rest of the night - that would have simplified things.

She leaned over and pulled up the door lock with a snap, then settled back with resignation. (Temporary resignation, it must be said. When she caught sight of the first handy cupboard...)

Jason made himself comfortable in the passenger's seat.

"Look, let's stop playing games," he said. "I saw you jump off the roof, get into a taxi, and follow another taxi...somewhere. I also know that your taxi driver is dead - killed when he ran his car into the harbor."

He paused.

"Do go on," said Emma. "It's fascinating."

"You know the rest. You saw someone at the casino tonight, whom you intend to follow. He's obviously a dangerous individual - you'll need some help.'

"And you intend to give me that help?'

He raised an outraged eyebrow at her. "I do know something of this kind of thing. Mark Caine..."

"Jason, I appreciate that you've written dozens of novels where Mark Caine confounds the criminals of all continents. I'm sure they're very good. But..."

"You're sure they're very good? You mean you haven't read them?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Not even one?"

"I've kept meaning to..." (She was lying, but if it would soothe him...

"I shall give you a copy of A Page Before Dying, as soon as we return to the hotel. It's a masterpiece."

"Thank you."

"So, who is this man we're waiting for, anyway?"

Emma sighed. But, it could do no harm to tell him the story.

"About a year of so ago, two ...friends of mine, Mike Riordan and John Drake, were in a car crash in London. The car burst into flames and they were burned to a crisp. Identification of the bodies was made by dental records.

Well...Mike Riordan was the man I saw this morning...and again tonight."

"Fascinating," murmured Jason thoughtfully.

"I thought so."

"And the reason why you just won't go up to this man and ask him about the car crash?"

Emma raised an eyebrow of her own. "Would Mark Caine do that?"

"No, you're quite right. If this individual has come back from the dead - there could be so many reasons. Insurance fraud to name the most obvious.'

Emma nodded. "Exactly."

Or defection to the other side, to name the most terrible she said to herself. Riordan and Drake? Could John be alive also? This was what was haunting her. Riordan she had only known , slightly more. She'd liked him. Could he be alive? Could he have defected? No..surely not John.

"So I just want to follow him - see where he goes, see what he does. At the moment I'm simply in search of information. You see...I'm a journalist. This could be quite a scoop for my magazine."

"Ah," said Jason, understanding now. He well knew that journalists would sacrifice anything and everyone for a story.

Well," he continued, "Surveillance work can be so boring when there's only one. And four eyes are better than two."

"If you insist," Emma said - though in the back of her mind –until we come the first handy cupboard.

They sat in silence for some minutes, then Emma commented, "Your French accent is very good. I noticed it this morning."

"Thank you.'" he said, with a delighted smile. Emma catalogued this. Jason was as susceptible to flattery as any woman– it was a rather endearing quality.

"I was born in France...some years ago.'" he continued. "My father was an English diplomat, my mother was French. We traveled all over Europe, and I have an ear for languages. I can speak four fluently, and get by in another three."

"Impressive."

"Thank you," he said again. "And what about you?"

"Oh, I know a smattering of words, in several languages. Tourist phrases, you know."

"And is your husband really coming tomorrow, or did you say that just to put me off?"

Emma smiled. "I am married.'

Jason looked at her, started to say something, then seemed to think better of it, and shrugged.

"So what are you doing in Monte Carlo?" she asked him. She didn't want him to ask her what she was doing there. The less he knew about her the better - even if it was just in her legitimate profession as a journalist. And she knew he would be quite happy to monopolize the conversation by telling her about himself. And she was right.

Which wasn't to say that he didn't share some fascinating and funny stories. She quite enjoyed the next half hour-for all that her eyes continued to watch the entrance/exit to the casino.

And then finally... "'There he is."

"And he's coming right for us."

"Yes."

Swiftly, Emma twisted and put her arms around Jason's neck. To her surprise, he did not take advantage of his position, and though he put his arms around her, he confined his kissing to her shoulders. After all, they had to make it look like there was an innocent - well, relatively innocent - reason why they were just sitting there..

Emma kept her eyes open, and saw Riordan walk past.

"Okay," she said, straightening.

Jason settled back as well, smoothing his moustache. He was smiling beneath his hand, she knew it.

"How much of a lead are you going to give him?"

"He's heading for the taxis. If he takes one, we'll follow. If he keeps walking...we'll walk."

"I hope he keeps walking," said Jason. "It's such a ..."

He stopped. Riordan was going to keep walking. He had walked past the last cab at the stand.

"Hey ho," said Emma with resignation, getting out of the car. Jason followed suit.

"He must be staying nearby," said Jason, quietly, as they walked along. "There are three large hotels in that direction. You're not clicking."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your high heels. They're not clicking on the pavement."

"Oh. No, I changed them to tennis shoes as soon as I'd gotten settled in front of the casino. Just before you turned up.'

"Still, we'd better hold hands, just in case he looks back and sees us."

Emma gave him one of her patented glances, but took his hand nevertheless. His hand gripped hers gently, his skin was warm...pleasant.

They were not alone on the sidewalk - a straggle of people were going to and fro. Nevertheless Riordan was easy to keep in sight. He lounged along, clearly in no hurry. Emma remembered this behavior of old. Brisk walking was not at home to Riordan - which made his sudden bursts of speed - when the occasion demanded it - seem all the faster.

Finally, he turned and walked up the steps into L'Hotel Aiglon.

Without hesitation, Emma and Jason continued walking past.

"I can go no further," Emma began...

"So I should follow him in and find out his new name, if any?"

"If you would."

They stopped and, for the benefit of any watching eyes, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He turned and trotted up the steps into the hotel, while Emma strolled on a few more meters and sat on the steps of a neighboring establishment.

She watched a few people walk past, listening to their voices, their accents. British, French, Italian, even Americans - a white man and a black man, striding along, talking about the quality of tennis in Monte Carlo.

She looked at her watch. It had been fifteen minutes. Jason should have been back by now.

Emma had a bad feeling about this.

She'd have to do something...dressed as she was in evening gown and tennis shoes.

Emma by Gaslight ch 5

Emma by Gaslight by Gale Force Part 5 of a multi-part story in which Emma Peel copes with the dangers of 1970s Europe, where eagles...and vultures... are gathering. NOTE TO READERS In re-reading my chapters after I've uploaded them, I've found errors that I've had to correct, and changed some things around to make more sense. For example I thought the Monte Carlo Grand Prix took place in April, it actually took place in June, 1973. In Emma's Chapter 4 I didn't specify that she had a rental car - she does (as will become apparent here in chapter 5.) [For those who don't know, there's a running joke in the Jason King TV series that he can never get a cab...I'll be working that into this story somehow... You'll also have hopefully noted a running joke that Jason keeps pausing inside or outside doorways to light cigarettes...that's what he always does in the TV series... If you don't want to go back and re-read from Chapter 1 to see the bits I've changed, that's fine. Most of the changes are very minor, and there aren't that many. However, just be aware that if you DO see an inconsistency, chances are I saw it too and have now fixed it. But don't be afraid to alert me on them in any review you'd care to write. (Cough, cough.) Thanks. Now...on with the show. The file on Roulette There are two types of roulette wheels. The European version has a single 0, in green, and whenever the ball travels around the wheel and falls into the green, any and all bets on the table - from straight up on the numbers to odd, even, red, black, 1st, 2nd or 3rd twelve, and so on, are swept away. In the United States, there are two greens on the wheel - 0 and 00. The way in which the numbers are distributed around the wheel varies according to how many 0s there are, but of course they always alternate between red and black.. The individual who sends the ball spinning on the wheel is called the croupier. He (or she) has two minions standing on either side the table with long paddles, in order to push the winnings onto the appropriate square for the winners - if any - to collect. A jeton straight up on a number pays 36 - 1. Split between two numbers pays 18-1. Split between four numbers pays 9-1. Other, safer bets pay less well. ...File ends Part Five: Emma: Chapter Two, by Jason King Jason King was not one to spend evenings in his hotel room, except on those occasions when he had a deadline to meet. On this particular evening, he'd decided to go to the Monte Carlo Casino, and to that end, donned a tuxedo, counted out a few thousand francs which is all he would allow himself to chance at the tables, and then went out to the portico where he had the doorman summon a taxi for him. He did not ask the driver anything about the late Pierre Jouvert - he would tend to that kind of questioning in broad daylight. In any event, the night drivers probably had little to do with the daytime drivers. Also, the driver had his radio on a station playing the new Pink Floyd album, Dark Side of the Moon, and Jason rather enjoyed the music. He walked into the Casino, and paused just inside the entrance door to light a cigarette. The foyer was crowded with people milling about, trying to decide into which room...or restaurant...they wanted to go. The vaulted ceiling rose high above them. He looked up at it and spared a few seconds to enjoy the gorgeous architecture. Jason stopped at the Change desk to convert his francs into jetons, and then walked into the Salle l'Europe, which contained all the card games such as blackjack, chemin de fer, baccarat and so. But mostly...blackjack. And once again he paused at the door, this time to let his eyes scan the crowd and see if there was anything interesting to be seen. It was rather difficult with the crush of tuxedo clad men and evening gowned women, in all shapes and sizes. Each table had six chairs in front of it, and at least that many people standing behind it, watching the action. Except there...in the corner...under a sign that said "No smoking." There was a lone player there. Jason took a deep drag on his cigarette. By the time he made it all the way to that "No smoking" corner, he'd have finished it. With any luck, the lone player there would leave, giving him the opportunity to be the lone player. He preferred that to having to play with a group - whose knowledge of the game might be suspect. The quickest way to that table was straight down the central lane...but there was also the most crush of people there. He'd sidle around the side... The lone player had not left the blackjack table by the time he'd arrived, but he elected to play there anyway. When he was down a thousand francs, he left the table, in need of a drink. As he walked toward the bar, his eye caught sight of Emma...Knight, looking gorgeous and sophisticated in mink stole and evening gown. He followed her as she left the Salle de l'Europe, and walked int the Salle Blanche which had the roulette and craps tables. Surely she would not be foolish enough to play one of those games? Mindful of the events of the day, Jason hung back and merely watched what transpired. He witnessed her win - impressed with her single economical bet - obviously made to a plan- and the fact that she was prepared to take her winnings and walk away from the table - a characteristic that was not common among gamblers. "Masterfully done," he told her. She turned and her eyes widened slightly as she saw him. He was five foot ten...she was of a height with him with her high heels...so she must be about five foot eight without her shoes. Her eyes were a deep brown. "Mr. King," she said with a smile, one a little larger than any she'd graced him with at the breakfast table that morning. "Oh, Jason, please." Jason said with all his charm. "And I hope I may call you Emma. You're looking very lovely this evening." "Thank you." He dropped his eyes and saw that her champagne glass was empty. "I see you've finished your champagne. Would you like another?" "Thank you." She accompanied him to the bar, and stood beside him while he purchased two glasses of champagne from the bartender. Although he was concentrating on the bartender, he noticed out of the corner of her eye that she seemed to be looking for someone...her eyes scanned the room and flicked on occasion to the entrance. He lifted the glasses off the counter and handed one of them to Emma. "Thank you for paying my bill this morning," she said, taking the glass and taking a sip. "I apologize for leaving you in the lurch, as it were." "Oh, don't give it another thought," Jason told her warmly. Then...as innocently as possible: "Did you find your friend?" "No," the woman said shortly. "No, I didn't." "He must have been a very good friend, for you to go to such lengths to try to catch up to him." She glanced at him, but he kept an innocent expression on his face and sipped his champagne. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and smiled ruefully. "I know it was a bit foolish of me, but I've always been impulsive. It was someone I'd known in my university days. We were always doing outrageous things back then, and I'm afraid I just...regressed for a moment." "I see," said Jason, concealing his amusement. Did she really think he'd believe that story? "By the way, I left my tablet behind. Did you pick it up, by any chance?" "Yes. It's in my room at the Grand. Are you staying there?" "Ye-es," the woman said. She didn't sound very sure. "You don't sound very sure." She looked at him with melting brown eyes. "I wasn't very truthful with you this morning, Jason," she said in a demure tone. "You see..my real name is Emma Peel. Mrs. Emma Peel." Damn. "I'd been going through a bad patch with my husband...and came here to be alone. But...he's coming here tomorrow. I don't know if he'll want to stay there, or if he'll want to whisk me away on a second honeymoon. He can be as impulsive as me, sometimes." Could she possibly be telling the truth? Well...too soon to put her on the spot. Give her enough rope. "I see," he said. Jason reached into his pocket and drew out a gold cigarette case. He offered it to her, and she shook her head. He helped himself to one, lit it, and took a deep drag. Smoking always helped crystallize his thinking. "Well, I'm pleased for you, of course, but I must say I'm disappointed for me." She took a sip from her champagne. He liked the play of the light on her lipstick as she brought the glass to her lips. As he watched, he saw her eyes look past him. He saw them widen, only slightly, and then, to his utter surprise, she had slid around the booth so that she was sitting knee to thigh to him. "Emma?" he said, appreciatively. "Oh, sorry," she said, quickly. She scooched a few inches away from him. "I was getting a cold draft down my neck." "I'm surprised you could feel it, with that lovely stole around your shoulders." He put his arm around her shoulders, rearranging the stole. He saw her lips twitch. "Thank you," she said. "It's much better now." She placed her glass on the table and steepled her fingers, bumping her lower lip in an incredibly attractive fashion. She was thinking. It was so attractive to see a woman trying to think. "Well, she said briskly. "There you have it, Jason. My husband is coming tomorrow so I think it's best if I have an early night. I'll leave you, then. If you wouldn't mind, just drop my tablet off at the desk, and I'll pick it up tomorrow morning. Would you mind? That way I'll be able to pick it up and won't have to bother you any more." "Oh, it wouldn't be any other bother. Why don't I come with you now?" The merest shade of an expression of vexation crossed over her face, quickly replaced by an embarrassed smile. "No, no. I'm sorry, Jason, but I'd feel much more comfortable if I didn't see you again. I'm sure you understand what I mean." If he hadn't had his suspicions of her, he would have been prepared to believe that what she meant was that she was physically attracted to him and couldn't bear to be near him anymore, since she'd hoped to get back with her husband. That happened all the time, actually. She was doing her best to get rid of him. "May I call you a cab," he said as he walked with her towards the exit. "No, I brought my car. I have a rental." "Well, I'll walk you to your car, then." She smiled, so charmingly. "Thank you." They walked through the car park, her high heels clicking in the silence. The car park was well-lit, it was practically as bright as day. He stood by as she unlocked the door and slid into the car, and then closed the door behind her. He waited as she started the engine, and then returned her wave as she drove o ut of the exit to the car park and turn left. Instantly, Jason ran toward the exit, skidded to a stop, and peered to the left. As he had suspected, her car, a white Peugot, was not driving at such a clip that it's driver was looking to leave the premises. She was looking for a place to park so that she could keep an eye on the main entrance - which was also the main exit - to the casino. Jason lit up a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully as he watched her find a spot and parallel park with an economy of moves. So...she was up to something. Waiting for someone. And didn't want his help. Well, that was too bad - she was going to have it regardless. Time to end this foolishness and confront her with what he knew. Jason sauntered casually towards the Peugot, came up on the passenger's side, gripped the handle, and attempted to open it so he could slide into the seat and present her with a fait accompli. But she'd locked the door and he tugged at it ineffectually. Effect ruined. Typical.

Emma by Gaslight ch 4

Emma by Gaslight by Gale Force Part 4 of a multi-part story in which Emma Peel copes with the dangers of 1970s Europe, where eagles...and vultures... are gathering. The file on 1973: Events of January - May January January 3 - CBS sells the New York Yankees to a syndicate led by George Steinbrenner. January 14 - The Miami Dolphins defeat the Washington Redskins 14-7 in Super Bowl VII to complete the NFL's only Perfect Season. January 20 - U.S. President Richard Nixon is inaugurated for his second term. January 22 - Roe v. Wade: The U.S. Supreme Court overturns state bans on abortion. January 27 - U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War ends with the signing of the Paris Peace Accords. February February 21 - Libyan Arab Airlines passenger Flight 114 is shot down by Israeli fighter aircraft over the Sinai Desert, who suspect it is an enemy military plane. Only 5 of 113 survive. March March 7 - Comet Kohoutek is discovered. March 8 - In the 'Border Poll', voters in Northern Ireland endorse remaining in the United Kingdom. Irish nationalists largely boycotted the referendum. March 17 - Queen Elizabeth II opens the modern London Bridge. April April 3 - The first handheld cellular phone call made by Martin Cooper, who conceived the phone, in New York City. April 4 - The World Trade Center officially opens in New York City with a ribbon-cutting ceremony. April 6 - Pioneer 11 is launched on a mission to study the solar system. April 17 - The German counter-terrorist force GSG 9 is officially formed. April 17 - Federal Express officially begins operations. May May 1 - An estimated 1,600,000 workers in the United Kingdom stopped work in support of a Trade Union Congress "day of national protest and stoppage" against the Government's anti-inflation policy. May 3 - The Sears Tower in Chicago is finished, becoming the world's tallest building. May 5 - Secretariat wins the Kentucky Derby. May 14 - Skylab, the United States' first space station, is launched. May 17 - Watergate scandal: Televised hearings begin in the United States Senate. May 19 - Secretariat wins the Preakness Stakes. May 22 - Ethernet is invented by Robert Metcalfe. May 25 - Skylab 2 (Pete Conrad, Paul Weitz, Joseph Kerwin) is launched on a mission to repair the Skylab space station. ...File ends Part Four: June 3, 1973 Emma Peel wended her way through the long lines of blackjack tables that ran from one side of the room to the other. She carried a champagne glass in one hand, from which she sipped occasionally, and a handful of jetons (or betting chips) in the other. A black mink stole covered her bare shoulders and set off her white gloves and white evening gown. Formal dress was de rigeur at the Casino of Monte Carlo. She paused occasionally at a table to watch the play - invariably half the players would lose the hand, while the other half would win. And each half generally alternated with each new hand. Emma would suppress a shake of her head as she walked away. Emma had never understood why people played blackjack, or chemin de fer, or poker, any other card game that depended more on luck than skill. Oh, of course those people with fantastic memories (such as herself, though she did say it), who could "count cards," perhaps had a slightly better chance of winning...but overall it was a mug's game. Give her a decent game of bridge any day. Emma hadn't intended to go back out into the city that night, but after reading the news about poor Jouvert, she'd decided she wasn't yet ready to retire to her room. She walked out of the blackjack pit and into an adjacent room, which featured roulette and craps, and once again commenced her stroll around the tables. She was looking for someone, though she didn't really expect to find him. But if he was alive...he'd been a great one for the gambling tables. No matter what he was doing in any city, if there was a casino there, that's where he would invariable be found. "Where the casino is, there are eagles gathered," she paraphrased to herself. "And vultures." She watched a tuxedo-clad man push a stack of 100-franc-jetons onto the number 24 on the betting table, watched the roulette ball spin, saw him half-rise from his chair in anticipation as it seemed the ball was heading straight toward 24, and saw him sink back in despair as it fell into the adjacent slot. He uttered a brief profanity, stood up from the table with a jerk and strode away. "And fools," she thought, controlling that shake of the head again. She wouldn't find him in this room. Emma thought. Roulette and craps - two of the silliest games for anyone to play -ever. The chair in front of her was still empty. With a smile twitching her lips, Emma sat down. "Hey ho," she thought to herself. She'd risk a few francs. The croupier called for everyone to place their bets. Emma placed a one franc-jeton on the 24, and on the two numbers on either side of it, 16 and 5. She wasn't surprised when the ball followed the same trajectory as in the previous spin, and this time landed right in 24. The croupier pushed 36 francs worth of jetons at her. Emma gathered her winnings and rose. "Masterfully done," said a voice behind her. A deep, rich voice that she'd been impressed with this morning...it had belonged to the man at her breakfast table. The author of the Mark Caine spy stories. Jason King. She turned and gave him a brief smile. He wore a black tuxedo, with a frilly white shirt. "Mr. King." "Oh, Jason, please. And I hope I may call you Emma. You're looking very lovely this evening." "Thank you." She wished she could return the compliment, but although she quite liked his slenderness, and the ramrod straightness of his back, and the voice, the bouffant hairstyle and the Fu Manchu moustache did nothing for her. She knew it was the coming style...but just because something was in style was no need to embrace it, in her opinion. "I see you've finished your champagne. Would you like another?" "Thank you." She accompanied him to the bar, and waited while he purchased two glasses of champagne from the bartender. "Thank you for paying my bill this morning," said Emma, accepting one of the glasses. "I apologize for leaving you in the lurch, as it were." "Oh, don't give it another thought," said the author. "Did you find your friend?" "No," said Emma. "No, I didn't." "He must have been a very good friend, for you to go to such lengths to try to catch up to him." Emma glanced at him, but he was innocently sipping champagne. She shrugged and took pains to smile ruefully. "I know it was a bit foolish of me, but I've always been impulsive. It was someone I'd known in my university days. We were always doing outrageous things back then, and I'm afraid I just...regressed for a moment." "I see." "By the way, I left my tablet behind. Did you pick it up, by any chance?" "Yes. It's in my room at the Grand. Are you staying there?" "Ye-es," Emma said. "You don't sound very sure." She looked at him. He was smiling, and devouring her with his eyes, and concentrating on her absolutely. Oh, he was smooth, all right, and as self-confident as any man she'd ever seen, up to and including John Steed. She'd have to scotch this - she didn't want anybody hanging around while she investigated a possibly-defected agent, and murderer or murderers unknown. "I wasn't very truthful with you this morning, Jason," she said demurely. "You see..my real name is Emma Peel. Mrs. Emma Peel. I'd been going through a bad patch with my husband...and came here to be alone. But...he's coming here tomorrow. I don't know if he'll want to stay there, or if he'll want to whisk me away on a second honeymoon. He can be as impulsive as me, sometimes." "I see." He reached into his pocket and drew out a gold cigarette case. He offered it to her, and she shook her head. Long fingers withdrew a cigarette, tapped it on the case, and inserted it into his mouth. Cigarette case returned, gold lighter produced. He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. "Well, I'm pleased for you, of course, but I must say I'm disappointed for me." Emma took a sip from her champagne. At the same time, her eyes looked past Jason King and down the corridor and she saw that long-thought-dead agent, deep in talk with another man. Both in tuxedos. Both clearly about to go into the casino. Quietly, quickly, Emma slid around the booth so that she was sitting with her back towards that walking dead man. Unfortunately, she was now sitting side by side with Jason King. "Emma," he said in a delighted tone of voice. A sudden rush of longing for John Steed rose in her. It was all very well to be working alone...but Rioridan - for that was the name of that walking dead man - knew what she looked like and would invariably cut and run if he caught sight of her. Of course, he knew Steed as well...but Steed would be able to call someone to get to the casino to shadow him. She knew no one in Monte Carlo. She'd have to shadow him on her own. She had driven her rental car to the Casino, just in case she did come across someone she'd need to follow, and had some sets of spare clothing in the boot - slacks, shirts and boots better for running and jumping in than this evening gown. But...how to get rid of Jason King? She didn't want to place him in danger. He was clearly a dandy who liked to live vicariously through his super spy protagonist, but in the real world he would probably collapse like a house of cards at the first harsh word. She had to get rid of him.