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.
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