The Last Hurrah Of Pussy Galore's Flying Circus free porn video

John Steed, Cathy Gale, Emma Peel and the woman who had once been James Bond face off for the final time against SPECTRE and Lady Aurelia Welles, the former Auric Goldfinger. THE LAST HURRAH OF PUSSY GALORE'S FLYING CIRCUS by BobH (c) 2020. All characters (c) their respective owners. **************** Note: This is the fourth and final story in my Pussy Galore series. It contains spoilers for all those earlier tales. - 1 - It was a pitch black, moonless night as the cargo ship Weng-Po approached Matsu, a small volcanic island lying somewhere between Kobe and Shanghai in the Sea of Japan. On the far side of Matsu lay a fishing village, none of whose people would awaken until an hour before first light. This side of the island was uninhabited, the face it presented to the sea consisting of unscaleable rocky cliffs. As the Weng-Po headed directly for those rocks so the cliff-face opened, huge stone-faced metal doors parting and sliding back silently to reveal a fully-equipped dock. Imposing as it was, it was far from the most impressive of Matsu's many secrets. When the ship docked, her captain ordered her hold thrown open, while on the dockside, a large crane swung into action. Four enormous crates were lowered into the ship's hold, after which he ordered it to be sealed once more. This done, the officer in charge of the dock, a man dressed in a uniform of no known nation, came aboard with the transfer papers. "Do you have any news for me?" asked the captain, after the formalities had been concluded. "Someone on a coastal vessel, a female American tourist, took a photograph of the Ning-Po yesterday after she had delivered her cargo here last night." The Ning-Po was the Weng-Po's sister ship, both of them registered in Shanghai and owned by Osato Chemicals. "Was the woman eliminated?" "Of course, and her camera recovered. Everything is too far along to take any risks now." "And the Ning-Po?" "On her way to Kobe to refuel and pick up more supplies for us. Did you encounter any problems at Kobe docks before coming here?" "None. We filled our fuel tanks, resupplied, and we're ready for the seven week voyage we have ahead of us." "Good. If all goes well the next few weeks will bring SPECTRE our greatest triumph. You must maintain radio silence, of course, but by the time you reach your destination it should be a whole new world. If not, then the cargo you carry will be needed in the future. Good luck." Four weeks later James Bond and a hundred nijas led by Japanese head of intelligence Tiger Tanaka attacked the secret SPECTRE on base on Matsu, having discovered it was hidden in an extinct volcano there. As it turned out the volcano was not quite as extinct as believed. When Number One - Ernst Stavro Blofeld - activated the installation's auto-destruct during his escape it set off a series of massive explosions triggering an eruption which consumed the base and everything in it. Just as it was intended to. The following day Japanese authorities, now knowing without a doubt that the company was a SPECTRE-front, raided the Tokyo head office building of Osato Chemicals. They took away tens of thousands of documents and, after a month of sifting through them, realised the possible significance of the Weng-Po. This was a week after she had reached her destination, whereupon the crates from her hold had been swiftly craned onto four waiting low-loaders and driven away into the night. - 2 - The corridor they led her down was all painted walls and linoleum covered floor, harshly lit by too many fluorescent tubes. At the end of the corridor was a windowless room with another door on the opposite wall. Sparsely appointed, it contained only a hat stand, a television sitting atop a metal trolley with one of the new videotape recorders on the shelf beneath, and a pair of chairs facing each other across a wooden table bearing a tape recorder and microphone. She was pushed down onto one of the chairs. A few seconds later the other door opened and a familiar figure entered. "Steed!" she said, smiling in relief. At last she would find out why she had been handcuffed and brought here, wherever 'here' was. "Hello, Mrs Gale," he replied, giving her the briefest of smiles in return before turning to hang his bowler hat and umbrella on the hat stand. This done he took the chair opposite her and placed a manila folder on the table in front of him. "Can you tell me what this is all about?" "All in good time," he said, beckoning for the female guards who had brought her from her cell to leave them, "all in good time." When the women had gone he relaxed and was again the old John Steed she had known. "You're looking well," he said. "You, too. Are you still working with that girl who took over from Emma Peel?" "Tara? Afraid not. On our last case together we almost ended up in orbit. After that she decided to pursue career options more likely to keep her feet firmly planted on old terra firma. Can't say I blame her. Speaking of Mrs Peel, I was very surprised to hear you and she were a couple." "It happened quite naturally." "I'm sure it did, and I'm happy for you both. And now that the pleasantries are out of the way," he said, switching the tape recorder on, "let's get down to business." Cathy Gale shuddered slightly at that. Steed could be very charming and amusing, but he could also be coldly ruthless. "I've been charged with looking into everything you've been up to in the seven years since we last saw each other," he said, opening the folder before him, "beginning with your involvement with Auric Goldfinger soon after your departure. You adopted the rather surprising soubriquet of Pussy Galore before being hired as his personal pilot." "He was a criminal. I wanted to see if I could take him down by myself, and I did." "You took this task upon yourself without official sanction. If Goldfinger had rumbled you and discovered your prior connection to the service it could have been highly embarrassing. You must see that, surely?" "But I wasn't found out. I'm sure the report from MI6 on the affair is in that file of yours." "Yes, it is. It appears that despite being unsanctioned you nevertheless used your bona fides with British intelligence to call in the Americans." "What else was I supposed to do at that point? Goldfinger had a nuclear device he intended to set off in Fort Knox." "Yes, I got the postcard you sent later - very droll. However, what I was disturbed to discover was that Mrs Peel was also involved in that affair. I should have been told about your past connection - she should've told me." A lost little rich girl, Emma Peel had become a thrill seeker after the loss of her husband. Eventually she ended up as one of the pilots in Pussy Galore's Flying Circus. And John Steed had never met her. Her mind had got switched with that of James Bond, who was killed before it was possible to switch them back. *That* was the Emma Peel that Steed had known, a woman with the body of a beautiful heiress and the mind of one of MI6's top operatives. Nor had MI6's 00-Section lost an agent. What very few people knew was that the man known as James Bond - not his birth name - was one of two orphaned identical twin brothers recruited and trained by the section. James Bond had an understudy. When he was confirmed killed, his brother was activated and slipped into his life seamlessly with almost no one any the wiser. "Come now, Steed," Cathy admonished him. "You've been in the business long enough to understand 'need to know' and how we're all bound by it whatever our personal feelings in a particular situation." "Yes, quite," said Steed, visibly pulling himself together. "Please forgive my little outburst." He returned his attention to the folder. "Three years into our partnership, Mrs Peel was temporarily seconded to MI6 so that she could investigate Goldfinger's daughter Aurelia. She was sent to Hong Kong where she met up with you. The two of you involved yourselves in the affairs of one Su-Muru, a shady local businesswoman. Clearly there was more, but in the copy of the report that Six supplied us with those sections have been redacted. I don't suppose you'd care to explain why?" "Can't. Official Secrets Act." "Pity. Soon after these events, Mrs Peel ended our association on the pretext that her long lost husband had been found alive. He hadn't. Instead you and she went into business together as Knight & Gale Investigations - Nightingale, very droll. This lasted until you were hired by Marc Ange Draco, owner of the international Draco Construction and a man also known to be the head of Unione Corse - the Corsican mafia. Once again you and Mrs Peel found yourself in Hong Kong, this time with Marc Ange Draco. Would you care to comment on what you were doing there?" "I would not," replied Cathy. "I have no intention of revealing confidential client information when it doesn't affect our national security, and this doesn't." Steed studied her face for a moment, then took another sheet of paper from the file, one that had a small photo paper-clipped to one corner. "This is another report from our friends at Six," he said, "one compiled with the help of the Royal Hong Kong Police. It appears that while you were in Hong Kong a facility owned by Su-Muru was attacked by a group from SPECTRE led by a woman named Irma Bunt. She and most of her men were killed, but since a helicopter was seen leaving the scene as the police arrived it's assumed some got away. Soon after this, in circumstances that have not been explained, Marc Ange Draco died. Strange that you, he, and Mrs Peel should be in the colony at the same time these events happened." "Why?" "Because according to MI6, Irma Bunt was implicated in the murder of Draco's daughter, Tracy. You can imagine my surprise when I first saw a picture of Tracy." He unclipped the photo and tossed it on the table between them. Cathy glanced down, but she already knew what it showed. "She's a dead ringer for Mrs Peel, the same Mrs Peel who has taken over from Marc Ange and is now calling herself Emma Draco. Would you care to explain this, Mrs Gale?" "I should've thought it was obvious. She and Tracy were sisters, and Marc Ange was their father." Steed's eyebrows shot up at this. "Sir John Knight's wife had an affair with Draco," explained Cathy, "resulting in the birth of twin girls. Draco's own wife was unable to have children so he demanded one of the girls. In order to avoid the scandal it would cause if news of the affair got out, the Knights agreed." "This is all news to me." "Six knew, but they never shared that information with us." "And now Emma has taken over from her father. You'll appreciate why having someone formerly associated with British Intelligence heading up Unione Corse might be a problem." "Of course, but I guarantee Emma won't use any knowledge she acquired while working with you to go against our interests or further her own." "Are you sure you can make that guarantee?" "I am, yes." "Yet you and she are no longer living together." "I'm in London, she's either in Paris or the South of France. We see each other when we can. I'm sure you have photos." Steed removed two eight by tens from his folder and slid them across the table. One showed she and Emma sitting together at a table outside a restaurant in Paris while the other, obviously taken from a helicopter, showed them clad in bikinis and lying on recliners on the deck of Emma's private yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean. "Those are courtesy of Six," he said, sliding another photo across the table, "but this one's all our own work." Damn. It was a photo of her and Lena in the bar of a London hotel. They were seated at different tables and had their backs to each other but anyone with the slightest knowledge of tradecraft could see they were sitting close enough together to have a furtive conversation. "Lena Ritter," said Steed, "formerly of Hong Kong, and now working for Auric Goldfinger's daughter, Aurelia. And so we come full circle." "You've been having me followed," said Cathy, suddenly concerned, though not about Steed. "Were your men the only ones watching us?" "They're the best. If others had been watching either of you they would have spotted them. So, Lena Ritter...." "Am I being charged with something over my associations?" Cathy demanded. "If so, tell me now and let's get this over with." "It's not your associations, Cathy, suspicious though they are, but yes, you are being charged with something. What's the last thing you remember from this morning?" "Taking the lift from my penthouse to the underground car park beneath the club. No sooner had I climbed into my car than it was filled with a choking white gas. The doors wouldn't open, and I quickly passed out. I was awoken by men hammering on the windows. I checked my watch. I'd been unconscious for three hours. Then I was arrested and brought here, but no one will tell me why." Steed went over to the TV and videotape recorder and turned them on. The image was slightly grainy black and white, and taken from a high angle - clearly some sort of security camera footage. It showed an underground car park - not hers - and a young woman meeting an older man. They shared a few words, looking around furtively all the while, the woman passed over what looked like a audio cassette tape. That's when it happened. An older woman appeared from somewhere off camera and felled both of them with shots from a silenced pistol. She put another bullet in each where they lay to be sure they were dead, then retrieved the cassette. Before calmly walking away, she stared up at the camera and smiled. Cathy gasped. The woman was her. "Who...who were they? "The girl was Rachel Metz, the man Moishe Cohen - the Israeli ambassador to London. The Israelis are hopping mad and demanding we extradite you to Israel to stand trial for murder." - 3 - She lay on top of me grinning, her fingers in my wet pussy, working my clitoris until I cried out arching my back as I orgasmed. "I love pleasuring you," she said a little later as she gently stroked my breasts. "My sweet, sweet Lena." "And I you." Two beautiful blondes, we gazed into each others eyes, kissed, and then she rolled off me and got up. "I'd better be going," she said, throwing on the silk robe she had discarded when she slipped into my bedroom an hour ago. "They'll be here soon to do your hair and make-up. You're going to make a beautiful bride. Peter's a lucky man." When she had gone I sat up in bed and sighed. I'd got used to being Aurelia's lover - had come to enjoy it even - but I could never forget who she was: Lady Aurelia Welles, formerly Auric Goldfinger. Back when I was James Bond, the *original* James Bond, we had been deadly enemies. Since then we had both acquired female bodies and new identities, he as his own (fictional) daughter and me first as Emma Peel, then as Lena Ritter. Those who think that politics makes for strange bedfellows should try the spy game some time. Getting up, I padded over to the dressing table and examined my reflection thoughtfully. Even with my hair dishevelled I was still startlingly pretty. With professionally done hair and make-up and wearing my designer wedding gown, I was going to look like a princess as I glided down the aisle to join my groom, Lord Peter Wolverton. When we exchanged our vows it would complete my long strange journey from ladies' man to Lady. Not that being a woman *felt* strange any more. I'd had six years to get used to it, even the monthly indignity of periods, and had long since grown comfortable with wearing heels, skirts, and make-up. I just had time to take a shower and throw on a bathrobe before the hair and make-up people arrived to prepare me for my big day. What followed was two hours of sitting at my dressing table being powdered and painted, my hair primped and styled. What helped me get through the ordeal was drinking champagne and zoning out. For some reason my mind drifted back to the time I'd faced off against SPECTRE agents Rosa Klebb and 'Red' Grant. Ah, happy days! I think I preferred that to enduring this. Still, every ordeal eventually comes to an end. "There," said the make-up artist, putting the final touches to my face, "I think we're finished, Lena." "I agree," said the hair stylist. "Once we help you climb into the big dress and carefully add your veil, you'll be the most beautiful bride anyone has ever seen!" And when they had, I did. I looked breathtaking. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, eyes sweeping down over the work of art - there was no other word for it - that was my wedding dress, and I sighed. At no point in my life had being a bride ever been something I aspired to, yet here I was. How had it all come to this? I knew the answer full well, of course, but I was allowed to feel jittery; in a short while a man would make me his wife, a man who would expect me to eventually give him a son and heir. I was brought back to the present by the sound of a door opening behind me. It was my Chief Bridesmaid, Lady Aurelia Welles, my lover, and her ten year-old adopted daughter Lian, my flower girl. "Your limo awaits," said Aurelia. I rose carefully, gathered up my skirts and my long train, and allowed myself to be led out to the awaiting car which was carrying Aurelia, Lian, and me to the church. No one seeing us in our feminine finery would ever guess we all used to be middle-aged men. As is traditional we were the last to arrive at St. Michael and All Angels, the bridesmaids who would be carrying my train ready and waiting to attend to it as soon as I climbed out of the car. Since Lena Ritter's father was dead, it was Aurelia's husband Lord Rupert Welles on whose arm I would glide down the aisle. As soon as the bridesmaids had taken up the train, I took his arm and he led me into the church. I've been to any number of weddings where the organist struck up 'Here Comes the Bride' as soon as she appeared and everyone got to their feet, but it was surreal to actually be the object of that attention, something I'd never dreamed would happen. At the bottom of the aisle stood my groom, Lord Peter Wolverton, and his Best Man - a favourite cousin. I reached the alter, everyone sat down, and the wedding ceremony began. I have to admit to remembering very little of it, such was the daze I was in. When we came to the "I dos", Peter slipped the wedding ring on my finger, we were pronounced man and wife, and he was told "you may now kiss the bride," whereupon he carefully lifted my veil and did just that. The wedding dinner followed afterwards, then in the evening, the reception at the Savoy. All the great and the good of London high society were there, some members of the government, and a couple of pop stars including Mick Jagger and his new girlfriend Bianca. Peter and I danced together, slipping away early and heading upstairs to our suite. We travelled up in the lift together, found the room number, then paused at the door. Peter leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. "Enjoy yourself," he said, then he turned and left for wherever he was going to be spending the night. I entered the room and a breathy voice said: "Hello, lover." Aurelia, who had left the reception ten minutes before us, crossed the room and kissed me passionately. She was dressed only in lingerie and heels. And very soon, after she had peeled me out of my wedding gown, so was I. "Lady Aurelia Welles and Lady Lena Wolverton," she murmured. "I love the sound of that. We have all night to enjoy each other, darling, but first I want to tell you about a wedding present I arranged for you, something very special. You're going to love it!" "I am?" "Oh, yes. You see, I've had that bitch Cathy Gale framed for murder!" - 4 - Steed paused the video and Cathy stared at the two bodies, shaking her head. "You must know that wasn't me," she said. "Of course I do, Mrs Gale," he replied, "but you can see why convincing others of that fact might be difficult. Fortunately, we do have some clues to work off." "We do?" "We do. To begin with there's no security camera where the killings took place." "Someone removed it?" "There was never one to begin with. If there had been it would have been very stupid to hold an obviously clandestine meeting under its gaze. No, this was secretly filmed by someone already in place who knew what was about to happen. Then there's the fact that both we and the Israeli Embassy had copies sent to us by commercial couriers who were given them to deliver by a person or person's unknown. We've confirmed that copies were also sent to the BBC and ITV. The assassination of an ambassador is big news so it will be the lead item on the early evening news broadcasts Someone wants you out of the way, but who, why, and how did they do this?" "I think I know the answer," said Cathy. "From the photos you've shown me you obviously had me under surveillance for a while. Did you have anyone watching my place this morning?" "We did," said Steed, removing another couple of photos from the folder. "Here you are driving out of the underground car park beneath your club at 9.32 am, and here you are returning at 10.47 am. We now know the killings were carried out in that time frame. The videotape was delivered anonymously to us at shortly after 11.20 am. It was reviewed, the order was given to bring you in, and shortly before 12.15 am that order was carried out. It all looks pretty damning." "It's supposed to," said Cathy. "Did your men photograph everyone else entering and leaving the car park?" "Of course." Steed laid out several more photos, all of which had time stamps in the corner. Cathy examined them for a few seconds before picking two out. One showed a white Ford Transit van turning onto the entrance ramp at 8.42 am, and the other showed it leaving at 11.13 am. "That's the vehicle," she said. "It has to be. It's the only one big enough." "Big enough for what?" "Big enough to hold Viktor Krelmar's mind-swapping machine." Steed frowned. "Mrs Peel told you about that?" "She told me you and she destroyed it and wanted to keep its existence a secret, yes, but I've also seen one myself, in Hong Kong." "I think you'd better tell me everything," said Steed, gravely. Cathy stared at him for a moment, wondering what version of the truth she should give him. She certainly had no intention of telling him the Emma Peel he knew had once been a man. "After that business at Fort Knox, Emma and I were on a plane taking us to a dinner of thanks with the President, when Auric Goldfinger appeared, gun in hand. A struggle ensued and a window was shattered, which he got sucked through, falling to his death. Exit Mr Goldfinger. Or so we thought. Goldfinger next showed up in Hong Kong having swapped bodies with a local crimelord named Su-Muru, who despite her nom de plume is caucasian." "Goldfinger couldn't have survived that fall," said Steed. "So it can't have been him you encountered on the plane but someone else in his body, a loyal henchman, perhaps. Which means that there was another machine and that Goldfinger had it." Cathy was relieved. Steed had made the assumption she wanted him too. "That was our conclusion, too," she said. "Whoever that person was, Goldfinger in his body was busy removing Krelmar's machine, which we think he must have kept somewhere on his Kentucky stud farm, and arranging to have it shipped to Hong Kong while everyone else's attention was on Fort Knox. In Hong Kong he used the machine to assume Su-Muru's identity and then he, now she, presumably disposed of her former minion's body and the old Su-Muru along with it. Sometime after this she created her Aurelia Goldfinger identity to legitimately claim everything Auric Goldfinger owned." Cathy paused to let this sink in. "Aurelia Goldfinger?" said Steed, slowly. "The same Aurelia Goldfinger who's now Lady Welles? You're asking me to believe the wife of a peer of the realm moonlights as a Hong Kong crimelord?" "Sounds fantastic, doesn't it? I'm not surprised you're having trouble with the idea - Six dismissed it out of hand as absurd." "So you enlisted the aid of Marc Ange Draco in an attempt to destroy her Hong Kong operation?" "No, he enlisted us to find Irma Bunt, the woman who killed his other daughter, Emma's sister." "Wanted Nazi war criminal and ex-SPECTRE operative, yes." "Well she was working for Su-Muru, and thanks to Dr Krelmar's machine she was now Lena Ritter, thirty years younger and stunningly beautiful. Things went wrong in Hong Kong. Su-Muru escaped, and Lena shot and fatally wounded Draco. Krelmar's machine was rigged to explode, with a timer that was counting down. Only Draco, Emma, Lena and I were in the room. With no time to waste we first switched Draco into Lena's body, leaving her to die in his, then we switched between Draco and Emma, which left Emma in Lena's body. That done, we strapped the now deceased body of Marc Ange Draco to a gurney and got out as fast as we could. Krelmar's machine exploded behind us." "Why would Emma agree to that swap?" said Steed. "Why not leave Draco with Lena Ritter's body? I don't understand." "Since no one could be allowed to know about the existence of the machine, the only way for Draco to claim his position in Unione Corse was as his own daughter, as flesh of his flesh." "Ah, of course. I think I understand why Lady Aurelia Goldfinger Welles has it in for you now," said Steed, smiling ruefully. "Three years ago, she learned that Dr Krelmar had built a second machine. This had been destroyed by you and Emma but she couldn't allow Krelmar to build a third, so she had him kidnapped and then killed. Or so we were led to believe." "You think otherwise?" "I do now, and these surveillance photos prove that Lady Welles was behind the assassination of the Israel ambassador." "They do? How?" "Framing me was a two person operation. First I was gassed, then I was carried or wheeled over to the Transit, where I was strapped into the Krelmar machine. The person who swapped bodies with me then climbed into the other seat and allowed themselves to be gassed by their accomplice, the person who knew how to operate the machine. As soon as the switch happened, the person now in my body was given something to wake them up, after which they got in my car and set off while the accomplice stayed behind. On their return they climbed back into the machine, allowed themselves to be gassed once again, and the switch was reversed. Back in their own body, they were given something to wake them up, my unconscious form was returned to my car, and they made their escape. At no point during those proceedings was I conscious." "That all makes sense," Steed agreed, stroking his chin. "As you say, it had to have been a two man operation." "Two *person*," said Cathy, "and I know which two." She handed him a photo of the Transit that clearly showed a white man at the wheel and a young Chinese girl seated beside him. "That's Lord Rupert Welles, Aurelia's husband, and that's her adopted daughter Lian beside him. It has to have been him who killed the ambassador and she who operated the machine. Only she did more than that. She built it too." "What are you saying?" "Viktor Kelmar's body was found by police at Su-Muru's compound in Hong Kong, but he wasn't in it when it died. No, Lian is Viktor Krelmar." - 5 - It had started the day of Marc Ange Draco's funeral, Lena remembered. Afterwards, she and Cathy had been driven to a fine old building near the Palais Garnier opera house in the city's elegant ninth arrondissement. Here, after being admitted by the building's conciege, she, Cathy, and Emma Draco had taken an elevator to the top floor. When they stepped out, armed guards on the landing had frisked them before they were allowed into that level's sole apartment, which took up the entire floor. Inside were paintings, sculptures, and other works of art that would not have been out of place in the Louvre. Emma Draco had removed her fur coat, hat and gloves, and thrown them onto a high-backed Louis XIV chair, revealing the short, sleeveless black dress underneath. Looking at her, no one would have suspected that she actually *was* Marc Ange Draco his mind now inhabiting the body of Emma Peel, his daughter. A daughter whose death Lena had been responsible for, accidentally killing her when Emma was inhabiting her original, male body. Needless to say, she and Draco had had a lot to discuss. Later, after hashing out all but one of the matters between them that needed discussion, Emma Draco had studied the faces of the other women thoughtfully. "Besides myself, you two are the only other people in the world who know I used to be Marc Ange Draco," she said. " What, if anything, should I do about that, I wonder, hmmm?" She took a cigarette from the silver box on the coffee table, inserted it into her holder and lit it, leaning back on the sofa and exhaling expansively. She studied Cathy and Lena for a moment then, having reached a decision, pressed a button beside her to summon her maid. "Colette," she said, "please show our guests out." Colette appeared and gestured towards the door. "This way, ladies, if you please." "That's it?" said Lena as they stood up. "We're free to go?" "Yes, you're free to go," said Draco, "but I do have one last question. Your agency, 'Knight and Gale Investigations'; will you be changing the name now?" "There's no need," said Lena. "By happy coincidence the German word for 'knight' is 'ritter'." She turned to leave. "I know this might be pushing my luck," announced Cathy, suddenly, "but I've just had a crazy idea...." That was where it had started ten months ago, the road that had led Lena to the place where she and her new husband had come for their honeymoon, here in St. Tropez on the French Riviera. The couple had booked a room in the Hotel Byblos for the entirety of their honeymoon but only he would be using it. They had booked in together and would booking out together, of course - there were appearances to keep up, after all - but Peter would be sharing the room with someone else. His lover Marco, the true love of Peter's life, had taken the adjacent room and would be surreptitiously sneaking in and out of it. That a honeymoon couple's room should have the 'Do Not Disturb' sign out for so much of the time was not something anyone would question. As for Lena, she had other plans. Dressed in sandals, a long, flowing summer dress, and a floppy, wide- brimmed sun hat, Lena looked like for all the world like a young woman out for a stroll when she left the hotel early the morning after their arrival. Settling at a table in front of one of the many chic cafes on the harbour, she ordered an espresso and a croissant, then opened the copy of 'Le Monde' she had brought with her. ASSASSINAT DE L'AMBASSADEUR D'ISRAEL A LONDRES read the front page headline over photos of Cathy Gale and the late Ambassador Cohen. Lena sighed, laying the newspaper aside when the waitress arrived with her order. She consumed her coffee and croissant slowly, thoughtfully studying the area and everyone in it from behind the large lenses of her sunglasses. She had no particular reason to suspect anyone was watching her but old habits die hard and it always paid to be careful. When she was satisfied she was the object of no more attention than that which she attracted as a pretty girl, she made her way over to the marina, seeking out a specific vessel among all the millionaire yachts moored there - the Disco Verde. Despite its name, the yacht turned out to be painted all- white. Emma Draco was there to greet her when she located it. "Ah good, and right on time," said Emma as Lena came aboard. "we'll get underway as soon as we've settled in below deck." She was wearing heels and a skimpy red bikini, and over this a lightweight beach kimono open at the front. She looked very completely at ease doing so. "Nice yacht," said Lena, admiring its lines. "Sister vessel to the Disco Volante, the yacht Emilio Largo used five years ago when SPECTRE hijacked an RAF Vulcan bomber and stole the nuclear bombs it was carrying," said Emma. "I assume you were told of this?" "After the fact," said Lena. The operation against Largo - designated 'Thunderball' - was the first undertaken by her brother after he assumed the role of James Bond in her place. "We should continue this conversation below deck," said Emma. Lena followed her downstairs to the living area where a similarly-clad woman awaited them. "Lena!" said Cathy Gale delightedly, coming over and embracing her. "It's so good to finally see you again and not have to pretend we don't know each other. How did the wedding go?" "I made an absolutely stunning bride. How about you? I hear you've found yourself in a spot of bother?" "To put it mildly. Fortunately, a good wig, no make-up, and dressing down ensured no one made me when I travelled here. I got in last night and Emma and I have been keeping ourselves amused while we waited for you to show up." Lena knew exactly what Cathy meant by that. Though committed to each other emotionally both took other sexual partners. And Emma and Cathy were masquerading as a couple.... Still, it must be odd to have sex with someone inhabiting the former body that had been your lover's for the previous six years. It still felt weird to Lena to be seeing that face in the flesh and not in a mirror, as she had for so long. "I'm glad to see you decided to give in and explore the ways in which women can pleasure each other, Emma," she said, and she was. "Eventually, I will have to marry and bear children to continue the Draco line," said Emma, as they all took seats around the small table, "but until then, as long as I'm discreet, I can follow my own desires. Now, if you'll excuse me for just a moment...." She leaned over and activated an intercom on the wall that connected to the bridge. "We're ready now, captain," she said. "Please take us out." "Very good, ma'am," came the reply, followed immediately by the engines powering up as they pulled away from the marina. "You were telling me about the Disco Verde..." said Lena. "I was. She doesn't have *all* the extras Largo had fitted to the Disco Volante," continued Emma, "but enough that she's more than capable of defending herself, which is important for a woman in my position." "How did you come by her?" "A year ago, James Bond and officers of France's General Intelligence Directorate raided a building on Avenue Victor Hugo in Paris. The nameplate outside read CENTRE INTERNATIONAL D'ASSISTANCE AUX PERSONNES DEPLACEES, but it was actually a front for SPECTRE. In fact that organisation's executive committee were meeting there when the raid took place. All were killed except for their leader, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, who was not there in the flesh. Coordinated raids took place across the globe over the next few days, all but consigning SPECTRE to the history books. A very large number of documents were captured during the Paris raid, which was led by Inspector Sophie Depardieu. Inspector Depardieu is also a member of Unione Corse. It was she who found the papers referring to the Disco Verde, whose location and ownership documents she then passed over to me, as well as one other thing she kept from her General Intelligence Directorate colleagues, the reason we're all here and ...ah." The Disco Verde had suddenly picked up speed and the bow had lifted out of the water as they accelerated. "Something else she shares with the Disco Volante," said Emma. "Hydrofoils. As soon as we get out of the Gulf of St. Tropez and into the Mediterranean proper, the captain will turn onto a new heading - due south - and thanks to them we should reach our destination in a little over nine hours." "What is our destination?" asked Lena. "That's right, I haven't told you yet have I? We're going to Algeria." - 6 - It had been Cathy's idea that day in Draco's Paris apartment for her lover to take Irma Bunt's place, for her to pretend it was still that foul woman in Lena Ritter's body. "What? But that'll never work!" Lena had protested. "Su-Muru left Bunt to die. Yes, Bunt could have evaded capture, but why would she return to her after that betrayal?" "Extreme loyalty," said Cathy. "She understood the importance of her leader escaping, even if it meant her own sacrifice, and as such she did not hold it against her." "It could work," said Emma Draco, studying them thoughtfully. "And having a spy in the enemy's camp would be invaluable." "Yes, I can see that, but Su-Muru - Lady Aurelia Welles - is trying to set her up with Lord Peter Wolverton, and she was all in favour of it. I mean, there are many things I'll do - have done - for queen and country, but...." "Peter Wolverton is gay," said Emma. "He is? How do you know that?" "His lover, Marco, lives in Marseilles. Wolverton visits him whenever he can. Unione Corse has long kept track of such things when they involve the wealthy and influential." "For blackmail purposes?" said Cathy. "Among other things, yes." "Do you think Irma Bunt knew?" "I doubt it," said Lena, "but I'll bet Aurelia did." "I think so to," said Emma. "So will you do it? Will you take Bunt's place?" It had taken a bit more persuasion, but Lena had eventually come round. She had even gone through with the wedding, though it was thanks to luck rather than planning that her honeymoon should coincide with the operation they were embarking on. But it had been hard on both of them. Seeing her lover again now, Cathy vowed they would be together again as soon as their current mission was over, a mission Lena had not yet been briefed on. "Algeria?" said Lena. "What's in Algeria?" "Hammaguir," said Emma. "As to why that's important.... As you know, but Cathy doesn't, last week James Bond finally caught up with Ernst Stavro Blofeld in California and avenged the death of my beloved Tracy, but not before Blofeld was able to put one final SPECTRE scheme into operation." She opened the folder on the desk and slid two photos across to Cathy. "What am I looking at?" she asked, studying them. "A demonstration by Blofeld. Having contrived to get a laser satellite into orbit, he used it to destroy those military installations then offered control of that satellite to the highest bidder." "I'm guessing Bond destroyed the control centre," said Cathy. "Quite so, along with what he believed to be the only copy of the satellite control codes, without which no one can take control of it. However, Lena discovered otherwise." "Professor Jacob Metz, the laser refraction specialist working for Blofeld who helped create the satellite made a copy of the cassette tape containing the codes," said Lena. "He got this to his daughter, who was studying in England, with instructions to pass it to the Israelis. Aurelia Welles somehow learned of all this and shared that knowledge with me. I knew she intended to steal the cassette, but I didn't know she intended to frame you for murder in the process, Cathy. She saved that as a wedding surprise, one she thought would please me. And I had to pretend that it did." "Do we know what happened to the tape?" asked Cathy. "Aurelia had a go between deliver it to the Chinese Embassy in London on behalf of Su-Muru, who'd procured it on their behalf for what I'm sure was a tidy sum," said Lena. "As we speak it's probably on its way to China in a diplomatic bag, or already there. The Chinese have the technology to send a signal to the satellite. When they have the codes I'm sure they'll waste no time in doing so. That being the case, I don't understand why we're headed for Algeria." "Do you recall the loss of that American Gemini capsule three years ago, the Jupiter-7?" asked Emma "Yes, I was in Hong Kong when contact with the capsule was lost." "Do you know the story behind it?" "No. That was around the time M dismissed me." "Well it was SPECTRE, operating out of a secret base on an island in the Sea of Japan, one equipped to launch space craft of their own. It was their most audacious ever scheme, one intended to start World War Three." "You're joking!" "Sadly, no. Some weeks before James Bond and Japanese security forces shut down the operation a cargo ship called the Weng-Po owned by a SPECTRE front company left that island bound for Algeria. It turns out SPECTRE's clients had made *two* space craft for them. The Weng-Po was carrying the second." "That explains Hammaguir," said Cathy. "CIEES, the Centre Interarm?es d'Essais d'Engins Sp?ciaux. In English, the Interarmy Special Vehicles Test Centre. It's where the French launched their missiles and orbital rockets from 1952 until 1967, five years after Algerian independence when they moved their operations to French Guiana. When they left it was mothballed, or so everyone believed." "Exactly. If you want to get a rocket into orbit you have to have the launch facilities to do so. When the French left SPECTRE saw an opportunity, large bribes were paid to certain government officials to look the other way, and they acquired the use of a second launch facility." "So what are they intending to do with that launch capability now that they have it?" asked Lena. "Blofeld's scheme had two parts. The first involved getting the laser satellite into orbit then selling it to the highest bidder. The second involved then stealing that satellite from orbit and retrieving the diamonds that focus the laser, diamonds worth in excess of two hundred million dollars. The plan was to allow whoever bought it to test it first of course so the buyer couldn't claim the codes they'd been given didn't work." Cathy smiled as she saw comprehension dawn on her lover's face. "There's a good chance the SPECTRE operatives manning Hammaguir won't know Blofeld is dead," she said, figuring it out, "but they'll be monitoring the satellite. As soon as the Chinese make contact with it they'll know and will then launch their space craft. When they return with the satellite we're going to destroy the base and recover the diamonds." "Exactly," said Emma Draco. "So before we arrive in Algeria you need to familiarise yourself with this." She tossed Lena a manual. When she saw the cover, Lena's eyebrows shot up. "I know, lover," Cathy laughed, "that was my reaction too. This is going to be so much *fun*!" - 7 - It was after dark when the helicopter arrived at their destination, lights appearing in the desert to show them where to land. They were all exhausted. Nine hours to get from St Tropez to the port of Annaba, followed by a five hour helicopter trip with one refuelling stop to carry them the seven hundred miles to here - wherever 'here' was - had really taken it out of them. Using a powerful flashlight, Emma led them across from the chopper to a couple of prefabricated huts sitting next to each other on the hard ground. "That one's yours and this one is mine," she said. "Get a good night's sleep, because you're going to need it." In their hut Cathy and Lena found a double bed made up and waiting for them. Stripping their clothes off they climbed beneath the duvet and, after a brief cuddle, were soon dead to the world. They woke early the next morning, but not so early that Emma Draco wasn't already up. Emerging from their hut they found her sitting at a small folding table, a coffee pot and the remains of her breakfast before her, while at a table nearby stood the man they recognized as their helicopter pilot. The table contained a frying pan atop a small gas primer stove, various chopped vegetables and a box of eggs laid out along side it. Emma was smoking a cigarette, one mounted in her signature yellow holder. "Good morning, ladies," she said, cheerily. "Coffee?" They nodded, then each took a seat while she filled a demitasse cup for each of them, her cigarette holder clamped firmly between her teeth. The coffee was thick and dark. Lena took a sip, nodding approvingly. "Moroccan," she said, "and a very fine blend." "Hans can also cook you an omelette if you wish. As well as being an excellent pilot he's also a gourmet chef." "That would be splendid," said Cathy. Lena looked around, taking in the distant hanger, the fuel tenders, the barracks, and the smattering of other buildings spread across the flat, empty landscape of the desert. "World war two airfield?" she asked. "One of many dotted about the country," said Emma, "and long abandoned until Draco Construction bought it six months ago. I had it refurbished specifically as a base from which to launch an attack on Hammaguir. I'd learned about SPECTRE's plans for the base from the papers Sophie Depardieu gave me, of course, papers kept from everyone else. We're one hundred and sixty kilometres from Hammaguir here - about a hundred miles - not far from the Moroccan border, so it seemed the airfield best suited to that purpose." "There don't seem to be a lot of people around," observed Lena. "There aren't. Apart from we three and Hans, there's only half a dozen riggers, fitters, and mechanics - all Unione Corse - and the other two members of our team. They're currently working in the hangar. I'll introduce you after you've eaten. The locals and others who usually work here for Draco Construction have all been sent on a very generous paid vacation to a Medditerranean resort." "Are there many locals?" asked Lena, watching as Cathy tucked into the omelette Hans had just placed before her. "The Hammaguir facility is named after a small village relatively nearby, so a few," said Emma, stubbing out her cigarette. "In the aftermath of the Second World War, French soldiers were looking for a place to experiment with new weapon systems. They chose this place, the oasis of Colomb-B?char in what was then French Algeria. Operations there began in 1947 and continued for twenty years until the French withdrawal from Algeria in 1967. They took most of their equipment with them, of course, but the basic structures remained intact, which is why SPECTRE made a deal with certain elements of the new Algerian government to take it over." Lena took a sip of her coffee while she mulled this over. "Oh, and I'll be going by the name by which you first knew me while we're here," said Cathy as she finished off her omelette. "You'll understand why when we meet the rest of the team." She got to her feet and the three women crossed the short stretch of ground to the hangar. As they entered, two women who'd been working alongside male mechanics on the aircraft it contained stopped what they were doing, their eyes going wide. "Pussy!" said one. "It's Pussy Galore!" They downed tools and trotted over to greet the trio, but it was Cathy Gale who had their attention. "It's good to see you again, skipper!" said the taller of the two. "You too, Amanda - and you, Mary-Sue. Emma told me she'd lured you away from Aurelia Goldfinger." "We're guns for hire," said Amanda, "so with the money she was offering it was a no-brainer. Plus, who'd have guessed Tanya Smith was actually the daughter of Marc Ange Draco!" The original Emma Peel had flown with the others using the alias 'Tanya Smith' before the events that led to her losing first her body then her life. "This'll be just like old times," said Amanda, happily. "Pussy Galore's Flying Circus taking to the air once again." "Yes but not in those under-powered planes the Circus used to fly," said Emma. "The Piper Cherokee is fine for spraying crops, but we need high- performance fighters for this mission, which is why I procured these." "Late-model Spitfires," said Lena, smiling at the sight of the half- dozen aircraft in the hangar. "They last saw action in the Far East ten years ago," said Emma. "I bought them and had them shipped here, minus their weapons. One of them's even a rare two-seater. Officially, I'm storing them where the dry desert air will preserve them, with a view to eventually selling them on to museums and wealthy collectors. That's what the Algerian authorities were told, at any rate. In actuality I purchased the Spitfires for this mission, and their armaments have secretly been smuggled here across the Morrocan border to be refitted to them." "Which we've just about finished doing," said Amanda. "Good. Then it's time I delivered the mission briefing so everyone will be up to speed when the mission is a go." A semi-circle of folding metal chairs had been set up for them. They each took a seat in front of Emma Draco, there in the shadow of the Spitfires, looking at her expectantly. "Gemini 3 was launched, made three orbits, and returned to Earth in just under five hours," she said. "If we assume SPECTRE's rocket only needs one orbit to capture the laser satellite, then it could return to Earth in less than three hours from launch. The Spitfire was designed as a short-range point defence interceptor, but our Mk VIII's carry 122 gallons giving them a range 660 miles, more than enough for our purposes. They have a top speed of 350 mph, but we don't want to go flat out if we don't have to, so say 20 minutes to target." "How will we know when to take to the air?" asked Amanda. "We have a man on the ground keeping on eye on Hammaguir," said Emma. "He'll radio in when they launch, when the rocket returns to Earth, and again when a vehicle drives away carrying the diamonds. The first will be our signal to start getting ready, the second to get into our aircraft and do all necessary checks, and the third to get airborne." "The ground here is flat and open for hundreds of miles around," said Lena, "so how can your spotter spy on SPECTRE without being seen?" "Very little natural ground is entirely flat," said Emma. "There are undulations in it - slight, yes, but enough to conceal a man lying flat on his belly, particularly if that man is attired in robes dyed the colour of the surrounding sand. Now, unless there are any questions, Lena and Pussy need to familiarise themselves with the Spitfires. Take them out and taxi around, ladies. But no flying. Not yet." - 8 - It was early the following morning that the balloon went up. A short- burst wail from the airfield's WWII-era siren was the agreed signal. "They've launched it!" Lena said to Cathy. "They've launched the bloody rocket!" As they crossed over to the hangar it was evident the siren had triggered a lot of activity. A hundred or so yards away, on the runway, riggers and fitters clambered over the surface of the Spitfires, making sure everything was as it should be while beneath them armourers busily reloaded the machine guns in the wings, and hoses snaked from tenders, filling the fuel tanks that fed their mighty Rolls-Royce Merlin engines. Lena and Cathy arrived in the hangar the same time as Amanda and Mary- Sue to find Emma waiting for them. She was dressed in a form fitting black jumpsuit, one with epaulets, gold edging, and a gold sunburst over the left breast, accompanied by a wide white belt and matching white ankle boots. Lena recognised it instantly, as did the others. It was Tanya Smith's uniform, the one worn by all the female pilots of Pussy Galore's Flying Circus. "If this is going to be the last hurrah of Pussy Galore's Flying Circus, then I think it only right we should look the part," said Emma, "so I had copies made for all of you back in Paris." She indicated a clothes rack from which four more uniforms hung, each of them labelled. "Take them back to your cabins, put them on, then assemble back here for Pussy's mission briefing. Remember, we may have as little as three hours before that rocket returns with the satellite, so we'll need to be ready to go the minute we get the word from our spotter." This they did, Cathy/Pussy's briefing being a reiteration of the plan they'd already been over several times. By now everyone knew what was expected of them and was raring to go. When word eventually came through, the radio operator looked up from where he was hunched over his radio, gave them a thumbs up, then activated the siren to let everyone else on the airfield know the mission was a go. During World War Two pilots had had to scramble the instant word of enemy planes crossing the coast had come in, leaping to their feet and running for their aircraft. By the time they reached them, their mechanics had already started the engines, climbing out of the cockpits as the pilots climbed in. For the Flying Circus things were a lot less rushed. Lena's mechanic helped her strap into her parachute, then passed her the seat straps and helped her fasten them. This done, he shut the side door, jumped to the ground, and made his way around to the front of the port wing. As he was doing this, so Lena tightened her various straps, donned headphones, and plugged in the R/T lead. After checking the engine was running properly, she waved to her mechanic to pull away the chocks, opened the throttle, and moved forward out of the hangar, taxiing across the ground to take her place behind Amanda's Spitfire. Soon they were all in position, lined up in take off order: Cathy, Amanda, Lena, Mary-Sue, and Emma bringing up the rear in the two-seater. "OK, ladies, here we go!" said Cathy over the R/T. She opened her throttle wide, and began her take off run. As soon as she lifted into the air, Amanda began her own take off run. The instant Amanda's Spitfire left the ground so Lena opened her throttle... The team was soon all airborne, flying in formation at a height that should keep them below any radar, and had turned on to the correct heading. Lena glanced out of the window, smiling at the sight of their aircraft shadows racing across the hard, red-gray surface of the hard sand not far below. Twenty minutes later, when they were minutes from their target, Cathy addressed them all on the R/T. "Some music, I think," she said, slipping a cartridge into the eight- track player she'd wired into the RT of her Spitfire, "We're female warriors riding our flying steeds into battle, so there's only one piece it could be." Lena grinned as the stirring chords of Richard Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' filled her headphones. Cathy was right; no music could have been more appropriate. A few minutes later she broke in over the music: "OK, this is it, girls! Target dead ahead!" said Cathy, peeling off to starboard, "Tally ho!" The other Spitfires peeled off one by one, selecting their prey and heading straight at them, all except for Emma who had gone her own way a few minutes earlier. As the gun emplacement she had chosen came into range and into her sights so Lena pressed her machine gun firing button.... There were four Bofors guns strategically positioned by SPECTRE around the Hammaguir launch site. An anti-aircraft auto-cannon, the Bofors fired 40mm shells that could really spoil your day, but it also offered very little protection to those manning it. On hearing the Spitfires coming in the gun crews had raced to the four guns, those to the one Lena had targeted just seconds too late. As they tried to line the it up on her so her machine guns tore them to shreds. Almost all modern armed forces had short-range SAM missiles mounted on trucks these days and Lena had feared SPECTRE might have acquired some of these too and deployed them at Hammaguir. She breathed a sigh of relief when it became clear they hadn't. If they'd managed to get the hands on the Rapier missile system she knew was under development in Britain, this raid would have been doomed before it started. As she pulled her joystick back to climb away, Lena saw the other ground crews similarly cut down and a helicopter explode while trying to get airborne when Cathy fired a missile into it. As hoped, the SPECTRE personnel manning the base had been taken completely by surprise. The Flying Circus had taken out the big guns, but those on the ground were gathering their wits enough that small arms fire was now whizzing by the Spitfires. Lena used her second pass over the base to scythe through them with her machine guns. At this rate, she would soon be out of ammunition, but it didn't matter. They had SPECTRE on the run - literally. People were fleeing into the desert in all directions to escape the death being rained down on them. That was when Emma Draco arrived from her side-mission and fired her remaining rockets at the SPECTRE spacecraft. It was still standing there on the launch pad, proud and erect, until that is those missiles slammed into it and exploded. Then it slowly toppled over, bursting into flames and falling apart when it hit the ground. "OK, ladies," came Cathy's voice over the R/T, "time to return to base." "Roger that, skipper," came Amanda's voice in reply. A couple of the Spitfires were now pocked with bullet holes but they had all come through largely unscathed. Pussy Galore's Flying Circus had flown together for the last time, and it was a very happy and relieved group of women who landed back at the airfield. When they did so the riggers and fitters immediately took over. As well as removing and disposing of all weaponry, they had to re-spray the aircraft and add RAF livery. Emma had picked up a passenger on her side-mission, a man dressed in sand-coloured Arabic robes that covered him from head to toe. When he climbed down from the rear of the two-seater, Emma introduced him to the others, who had gathered round. "Ladies, I'd like you to meet our gallant spotter." He took off his head and face covering and gave them a little bow. "Hello, ladies," said John Steed. - 9 - "The roar of a Rolls Royce Merlin engine is a sound to gladden the heart of any patriotic, red-blooded Englishman," said Steed. He laid a hand on its fuselage reverently, looking wistful. "The old girls did us proud. This was their final sortie against the forces of darkness, and no one will ever know about it but us." "Amanda, Mary-Sue, could you give us a minute, please?" asked Cathy. "There are things we and Mr Steed need to discuss in private." "Sure thing, Pussy," said Mary-Sue. "C'mon Amanda, let's go grab some chow." "Steed, how...?" asked Lena, after they'd gone. "Ah, Mrs Peel," he grinned. "My but you've changed." "You know?!" "Cathy told me about the body swaps, yes, and how you gave yours to your father, Marc Ange, to save his life and enable him - now her - to keep control of Unione Corse." Lena glanced at Cathy and Emma, who were keeping their facial expressions carefully neutral. Both knew she had actually once been male, though only Cathy knew she'd been the original James Bond. "So how are you here?" "All in good time, Mrs Peel, all in good time...or should I call you Lena now?" "Yes, Lena. But Steed...." "Let's get comfortable first. I assume you have champagne Madamoiselle Draco?" "But of course!" said Emma, smiling. "How else would we toast the success of the mission?" "Splendid! Then please lead the way, dear lady." True to her word Emma Draco had a bottle of champagne on ice. These were fetched then she, Cathy, Lena, and Steed retired to a table in the shade of the hangar. When champagne had been poured into glasses and a toast made, Steed was ready to continue. "I was supposed to take Cathy to a safe house and keep her there while we negotiated with the Israeli government to determine her fate," he said, "and I did. At least at first. Fortunately, I had a good man at the safe house who could cover for us while Cathy and I did what we could to sort this mess out. First we contacted Miss Draco, who was able to fill us in about Blofeld's satellite, the control tape, SPECTRE's base in Algeria, and their plan to recover the satellite. This and the assassination of the Israeli ambassador were all connected, so we offered our services. Cathy then travelled down through France to Marseilles, while I made my way to Algeria." "It must've been unpleasant and uncomfortable spending all that time lying in the sand outside the SPECTRE launch facility," said Cathy. "Initially, yes. But as well as my radio and my water I had a digging tool with me and, concealed in my robes, a foldable shelter roof. That first night I dug down into the sand sufficiently to create a shallow hideaway, putting the shelter roof over me, covering it with sand, and making sure I was under cover before first light. Since I wasn't interested in anything until the rocket was launched - which I would *feel*, let alone hear - I mostly stayed in that shade and slept. When it *did* launch I remained alert until its return, radioing in as soon as the truck that had to contain the diamonds from the satellite set off from the base. I'd previously planted a small landmine under the road a few miles away, so as soon as it did I broke cover and took off after it, keeping low." "Which is where I came in," said Emma. "As arranged, I peeled off from the Flying Circus and found the truck. The landmine had disabled it and my Spitfire's machine guns disposed of the driver and guards. I landed the plane on the road just as Mr Steed got there. Even if they'd radioed for help the attack on Hammaguir was then under way and there was no chance of any coming, so Steed and I were free to recover the diamonds at a comfortable pace with no fear of interruptions. That done, we climbed back into my plane, and the rest you know." "Well done Steed," said Lena. "Well done you both." "All strictly off the books, of course, and Cathy and I will need to get back before we're missed. Speaking of which, I really need to get in touch with my man at the safe house. Can I use your radio?" "Of course," said Emma. After he'd gone Cathy asked Emma about something that had been puzzling her. "Why did you want me to make only one machine gun pass at the control building to make its occupants flee but otherwise leave it unscathed?" she asked. "Because while elements in the Algerian government had colluded with SPECTRE other elements were unhappy about it. They couldn't openly oppose those who'd made the arrangement, couldn't openly use Algerian military forces, but they *could* turn a blind eye if an outside party took out SPECTRE. The deal I made with them was that we would leave the control building relatively undamaged so they could take it over later, and in return we'd get a free run without having to worry about the Algerian air force." "So what are you planning on doing next?" asked Lena. "I have a meeting with James Bond when I return to Paris," Emma replied. "James told me that as soon as he'd found Blofeld and avenged my Tracy's death he would be resigning from MI5. Apparently someone else will then take on the mantle of 007 and become the new James Bond. Of course, I was still Marc Ange when he told me all that. Now, so far as he and everyone else except for John Steed and those at this table are concerned Marc Ange is dead and has been replaced by Tracy's twin sister. This is how it has to be, but I admit to being nervous." "About what?" asked Cathy. "About how he'll react on meeting me like this for the first time, someone with his dead wife's face." "Shock will come first," said Lena, "but after that...." "After that, what?" "You look like the woman he loved. It would be very easy for him to fall in love with you too." "I hadn't considered that," said Emma, frowning. "That could be a problem." "It doesn't have to be," said Cathy. "What do you mean?" "You told us that you'll eventually have to marry and bear children to continue the Draco line. Can you think of a more worthy mate?" "I..I..James?" "Why not James?" said Lena. "You already like and admire him, so you might find being his wife not just something to be endured but something you could actually come to enjoy. You and he would make a formidable couple" Whatever Emma's answer might have been was lost when John Steed chose that moment to return to the table. He had an announcement to make. "It's time you and I were getting back to dear old blighty, Mrs Gale," he said. "Her Majesty's Government has agreed to the Israeli extradition request. We'll be handing you over to them to stand trial for murder." - 10 - The little private ambulance might be small compared to other such vehicles but it was still large enough to make negotiating the roads of east London more of an annoyance than John Steed would have liked. Still, as soon as he cleared the city's outer suburbs the going would get much easier. He occasionally glanced over his shoulder, peering through the small window into the rear compartment to reassure himself that his passenger was still secure, which she was. Sedated and strapped into a wheelchair, Cathy Gale slumbered on as the hours passed. By the time he was driving through first rural Essex and then the flat landscape of East Anglia, Steed was making good time. He had always found the fen country, with its long, straight roads and open fields as far as the eye could see, naturally relaxing. The air was crisp with just the faintest hint of a breeze, as he finally reached his destination, a small, secluded airfield a few miles inland from the coast. There was a compact private jet - a Lockheed JetStar - standing near the small hangar just off the runway. In front of it stood a dark- haired young man in a dark suit and sunglasses, waiting patiently for the arrival of the ambulance. This was David Roth, his Mossad liaison Steed pulled up twenty yards or so in front of Roth, retrieved his bowler hat and umbrella from the passenger seat, exited the vehicle, and walked over to him. "Hello, David," he said. They shook hands. "Steed," said the other man. "You have Cathy Gale?" "Of course," he replied, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small reel of 8mm film, "and also this. It's Mrs Gale's filmed confession." "It is?" said David Roth, looking surprised. "Confessed to the whole thing and also to being behind that unfortunate business a few years ago when Viktor Krelmar was snatched from us before we could hand him over to you. Turns out she was working for SPECTRE all along." "That was careless of you, particularly given the history of your security services with Kim Philby and the others." "Quite," said Steed. "But before I hand Mrs Gale over to you there's the small matter of Jacob Metz." "Who?" "Don't insult my intelligence please, David. He's an interesting chap, Jacob Metz," said Steed. "Born Munich, 1917, his family fled to England in 1937, where he continued his studies at Cambridge. Late in the war he enlisted in the British Army, eventually becoming part of the Jewish Brigade and subsequently taking part in their reprisal executions of Nazis during the immediate postwar occupation of Germany. Unlike many of his comrades who then went on to fight for the founding of Israel, he returned to England to finish his studies. In 1948 he met and married his wife, and in 1949 they had a daughter, Rachel, the young woman who was gunned down alongside your ambassador." Steed cocked an eyebrow and stared at the other man significantly. Getting no response, he continued: "Metz designed a laser satellite for SPECTRE, but secretly made a copy of the control tape which he sent to his daughter with instructions to pass it on to your ambassador. It seems Metz wanted Israel to have control of the weapon, which would have had a significant effect not only on the balance of power in the Middle East, but elsewhere, too. Her Majesty's Government takes a dim view of such arms deals taking place on British soil." "It's my government's position that no such exchange took place." "In which case I might be inclined to ask you why your ambassador was taking a secret meeting in an underground car park, but it's all moot now, anyway. The satellite is gone." David Roth was momentarily startled by this revelation but quickly recovered his composure. "The UK doesn't have the missile capability to take out a satellite in orbit," he said. "No one does." "And yet if you scan the heavens and try to find it you'll discover it's no longer there," said Steed. He gave a thin smile. It would be quite useful for rumour to go around that Britain had such a capability. "We're wasting time. Give us Cathy Gale and we'll be on our way." "Of course." Roth held up a hand and snapped his fingers as Steed handed over the keys to the ambulance's rear doors. In response a second man climbed out of the Jetstar and the pair went over to the ambulance together. Dropping the rear ramp, they wheeled Cathy out on to the tarmac. The second man, who was obviously a doctor of some sort, produced a stethoscope from his jacket. He used this on Cathy's unconscious form, nodding to David Roth when he was done. "She's under heavy sedation but otherwise ok," he said "Then that concludes our business here. Have a safe journey, Steed." "You, too, David." They shook hands once more, then Steed turned and headed back to the ambulance. That was when it happened. A single shot rang out. Acting on instinct, Steed dropped to the ground, pulling a handgun from inside his jacket as he did so. On hearing the distant sound of a motorcycle taking off at speed on the road beyond the airfield perimeter, he turned and looked back to where David Roth and the doctor had also hit the ground. Still in her wheelchair sat Cathy Gale, blood pouring from the hole left where the bullet had blown out the side of her skull. - 11 - 'DOUBLE TRAGEDY' read the newspaper headline. 'Peer Kills Daughter and Self'. According to the report the bodies of Lord Rupert Welles and his adopted daughter Lian had been found in the garage at their home, sitting in a car filled with fumes fed into it by a rubber hose running from the exhaust pipe. Lady Aurelia Welles, who was away at the time, was reportedly 'distraught' and had asked for the press to respect her privacy at this difficult time. Emma Draco laid the newspaper down on the seat beside her and took a long drag on her cigarette holder. The newspaper was from seventeen days ago, but she had brought it along with her for a reason. Gazing out of the window of the black London taxicab carrying her eastwards she frowned at the sight of the grim concrete tower blocks that blighted much of the East End. Built quickly to rehouse those made homeless by wartime bombing they hadn't turned out to be quite the idyllic "streets in the sky" promised by urban planners. The taxi turned on to Pudding Mill Lane and headed into the maze of scrap yards, smelting works, and small galvanising plants that found a home here on the cheap, polluted land nestled in among the Bow Back Waters. They were headed for a particular scrap yard, one whose ownership by Draco Construction was concealed behind an array of shell companies. "We're here, madame," said the cabbie, a Unione Corse man, as they pulled into it. They came to a halt in a clear space of oil-streaked dirt between towering, tumbling stacks of old car bodies. Here a woman waited, leaning against the white Transit van whose destruction Emma had come to observe. Tucking the newspaper under her arm she extinguished her cigarette, climbed out of the taxi, shivering slightly. It was three weeks since the Hammaguir raid, but she still missed the warmth of Algeria. Emma smiled at the other woman, who had a large manilla envelope under her own arm. "Hello, Lena," she said. "Emma," said Lena, acknowledging her with a nod. They went to the back of the van, whose doors were already open. Inside was Viktor Krelmar's machine, a number of large clay pots arrayed over it at strategic points, fuses from each joining together in a single larger fuse. "May I?" asked Emma, taking out her lighter. "Be my guest." She lit the large fuse then watched in satisfaction as the thermite powder in the pots ignited in bursts of incandescent brightness. The pots soon split open, and molten thermite poured out onto the machine, melting it as it went. Soon only a glowing pile of metal slag remained, sitting on the asbestos panels Lena had earlier placed under the it. This was the third Krelmar machine whose destruction she had witnessed, the third and the last of them. "Satisfactory?" she asked. "Oh yes," replied Emma Draco, raising her hand and giving a single wave. At this signal, the tower crane operator who had been watching proceedings lowered its claw, which dug into the sides of the Transit. He then hoisted the van into the air, swung it around, and dropped it into the yard's scrap compactor. Lena walked over to this and pressed the button that started the compaction cycle then stood back, she and Emma watching carefully as its mighty jaws did their work, crushing it down into a small cube of metal which a ram pushed out at the other end of the machine. The tower crane's claw swung into motion once more, picking up the cube and dropping it unceremoniously among dozens of others on one side of the yard. "Everything evidently went to plan," said Emma as it fell. "It did," confirmed Lena. "Ever since his interrogation of Cathy Gale, Steed had had men keeping an eye on Aurelia Welles comings and goings. Turns out she was having an affair with an actress in Camden." "So her marriage with her husband wasn't physical?" "We don't believe so, no. Like you and me, Auric Goldfinger's sexual preferences were not automatically altered by him ending up in a female body. Which worked to our advantage. Aurelia had to be discreet, of course, so having her chauffeur take her there was out of the question. We nabbed her leaving her lover's flat, bundled her into a car, and drove her to where Krelmar's machine awaited her." "How did you know where it was?" "Fortunately, one of the team Steed had on Cathy at the time of the Israeli ambassador's assassination followed the Transit van it was in back to where they were storing it. No one knew the significance of the van until I told Steed, of course, at which point this became vital information." "So you swapped her body for Cathy's. How's Cathy enjoying being Lady Aurelia Welles, by the way?" "She's certainly loving being ten years younger." "And you had no qualms about killing Aurelia when you had her in your sights at the airfield in East Anglia? She had Cathy's face and body, a face and a body you'd loved for six years. That didn't make you hesitate? Not even for a second?" "Not even for a second. I used to be a part of MI5's 00-section, remember, with a license to kill. I may not have needed to do so very often as Emma Peel, but I have no problem killing anyone when necessary, anyone at all. She may have had Cathy's body but the mind inside belonged to Auric Goldfinger, someone long overdue for their appointment with the Grim Reaper." Emma unfolded her newspaper and indicated the headline. "Your work, too, I imagine?" Lena nodded. "It needed to be done. They were Viktor Krelmar and the real murderer of the Israeli ambassador, after all." "I'm intrigued by the logistics of all this. Can you back up a bit and lay it out for me, please." "After you took me back to Marseille on the Disco Verde, I flew home from our honeymoon with my husband. Steed and Cathy Gale took a direct flight from Algeria to London the same day. The first thing they did when they got back was to film Cathy's 'confession' to the murder she was accused of. After the bodyswap between her and Aurelia Welles, I drove the Transit to a lock-up I own under the railway arches at Bow. It's also where I store the motorcycle I travelled to East Anglia on the following day. I keep a disassembled high-powered sniper-rifle under the seat. While I was doing this, Steed reported in that he was holding Cathy Gale at a safe house and asked his superiors to arrange a handover with the Israelis. This was agreed for two days later. Steed phoned me at the inn where I was staying and I then reconnoitered the area to find the best place to take my shot." "From what I understand of the location and the distance involved, it was one hell of a shot," said Emma, admiringly. "It was," Lena agreed. "Afterwards I needed to get away as fast as possible, of course, so I left the rifle and roared off on my bike immediately. Fortunately, the Israelis were more interested in getting away quickly than in investigating where the shot had come from, so Steed was able to retrieve it before heading back to London. Cathy - sorry, it's Aurelia now - had gone to visit her lover in Camden to stay overnight and then break things off with her, knowing I would go straight to her London home to carry out the next phase of the plan. It also gave her an alibi should one be needed. Lord Rupert and Lian knew me of course, so they opened the gates remotely and let me in. You can imagine their surprise when they met me at the front door and I pulled a gun on them. I marched them down to the garage, had them sit in the car, then injected them both with an undetectable sedative. That done I ran a hosepipe from the exhaust, turned the engine on, closed the garage door, and left." "Weren't you worried about servants?" "No. Like a lot of grand London houses these days they have staff who come in during the day but who don't live there. So after a good night's sleep, I retrieved the Transit van from my lock-up this morning and here we are." "And Steed's employers...." "Know only about the handover to the Israelis. Everything else, Hammaguir and all the rest, was 'off the books'." "Good. Then our business is almost concluded." "Almost," agreed Lena, handing the other woman the manila envelope. "And it's all in there?" "Yes, all the information you need for Unione Corse to take over Su- Muru's operations in Hong Kong. After discovering the satellite control tape she sold them doesn't do anything the Chinese aren't going to be very happy with her. How will you handle the takeover?" "We'll procure a suitable corpse, set up what looks like a hit by a rival group, and have the badly burned remains positively identified as those of the late Su-Muru. The Chinese don't know about her double life, so that will leave Aurelia in the clear." A stray breeze carried a wisp of Emma's perfume to Lena. "Mmmm, Chanel Number Five," she said, "and I couldn't help but notice you'd taken extra care to make sure your hair and make-up are immaculate. Do you have something special on tonight, Emma?" "I'm just having dinner with James Bond at our hotel, that's all." "*Our* hotel?" "It's not like that," Emma protested. "We have separate rooms." "Oh, I'm sure you do," said Lena, trying and failing to suppress a smirk, "but I'll bet they're on the same floor, possibly even next to each other." Emma Draco said nothing, but then she didn't have to. Her blushes spoke volumes. - Epilogue - Subject: Dissolution of Project Harvest Status: Your eyes only. Destroy after reading This message will be sent out automatically to all project participants in the event of the organisation being closed down and/or my death. On receipt of the message all further harvesting of knowledge from your charges is to cease, as are all attempts at contact since these will almost certainly endanger you both. From this point on the girls are your sole responsibility. Sums have been transferred to your bank accounts to help with the raising of your daughters. Treat them well. - Su-Muru * "So you *did* hold something back when you handed details of her Hong Kong operations over to Lena Draco," said Lena, studying a copy of the letter. "I did," agreed Cathy - no, *Aurelia*, she had to get used to calling her Aurelia. "Ending that odious project this way was the right thing to do, so I kept back all details of it and of one of Su-Muru's many bank accounts." Su-Muru had had a theory that if you put the mind of an adult in the body of a small child and treated them as a child, it should be possible using various behavioural modification techniques, and with the assistance of child psychologists, to reactivate old programming so that they reverted to a child emotionally while still retaining their adult intellect. To that end she established a school for orphans in Hong Kong that gave her a supply of five and six year old girls, then used Victor Krekmar's machine to place the minds of captured scientists into those tiny bodies, most of them middle-aged men. Her theory proved to be correct. Subsequently, each little girl was adopted by one of Su-Muru's followers, who then lavished her with a mother's love. The child's emotional dependence was now such that she eagerly accepted that love and a strong mother-daughter bond was formed. When that happened the child would do anything her mother asked of her. She would happily spill all her scientific and other secrets in order to please her mother and be rewarded with more of the affection she craved. Su-Muru could then either keep those secrets for her own use or sell them to the highest bidder. Now Aurelia had ended the project with the letter she had forged and sent out. Lena laid the letter down on the bedside table then rolled back over and kissed her lover's naked breasts. "Lady Aurelia Welles and Lady Lena Wolverton," she murmured. "Imagine how scandalised people would be if they found out we were lovers." "Probably as much because you're recently married and I'm recently widowed as because we're two women, my love. But it's a new decade, and the times are beginning to slowly change for the better in such matters." "Amen to that," said Lena, nestling up against her, "amen to that." *********** THE END. *********** James Bond Returned in 'Live and Let Die' Pussy Galore Will Not Return. NOTES: 1) Yes, I know I said lack of comments on the last tale meant I wasn't going to write this one, but the story started to percolate in my mind until it reached the point where I had to get it down. There are times when writing isn't a choice. Having said which, I laid it aside a few months ago and only returned to it on hearing the sad news of Diana Rigg's death. RIP, Dame Diana. 2) Much as I don't care for 'Diamonds Are Forever', one of the weakest Bonds, I realised that if I wanted to finish my Pussy Galore sequence and wrap everything up I had to find something in it I could use. The obvious thing was Blofeld's laser satellite, which was still in orbit at the end of the movie, hence this tale. I also liked the symmetry of finishing with the end of the original Sean Connery (& George Lazenby) era. Although there was a two year gap between the cinema release of 'On Her Majesty's Secret Service' and that of 'Diamonds Are Forever', for the purposes of my tale I've assumed there was actually less than a year between the events they depict. Unless I've overlooked something, this ties up every loose end from my earlier tales. 3) These stories were designed to work with The Avengers TV series and the early James Bond movies, and should do so if read in sequence. If you're mad enough to want to try this (and if COVID is keeping you indoors, why not?), then the continuity is as follows. If whole seasons of the Avengers are too much, those in brackets are the episodes referenced in my tales: a) Goldfinger (up to Bond and Pussy Galore going into the barn together) - 1964, then THE DEADLY DESIRE OF PUSSY GALORE. b) The Avengers - 1st Emma Peel season (or just 'Too Many Christmas Trees', 'The House That Jack Built' and 'The Cybernauts') c) Thunderball (1965) d) The Avengers - 2nd Emma Peel season up to "Who's Who" (or just "Who's Who") e) THE RIOTOUS RETURN OF PUSSY GALORE (up to final chapter) f) You Only Live Twice (1967) g) The Avengers - remaining Emma Peel episodes (or just 'Return of the Cybernauts' and 'The Forget Me Knot') h) THE RIOTOUS RETURN OF PUSSY GALORE (final chapter) i) On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969) j) THE FINAL FATE OF PUSSY GALORE k) Diamonds Are Forever (1971, but 1970 in my chronology) l) THE LAST HURRAH OF PUSSY GALORE'S FLYING CIRCUS