Copyright © 2001 by Barbara Davies.

This story may not be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of it may be made for private use only and must include all copyright notices, warnings and acknowledgements.

This is my homage to the likes of Emma Peel, Tara King, The Men from UNCLE and James Bond. And as with those characters and their settings, my secret agents and the organisation they work for bear no resemblance to anything in the real world.

I have never been to Brazil; I used a guidebook instead. Some errors are bound to have crept in. I claim artistic licence. <g>

There is some bad language. What can I say? Secret agents need to let off steam somehow.

There are also same sex relationships, but it's all done in terribly good taste. If the more explicit stuff is your cup of tea.... Sorry! My agents are British, doncherknow. <G>

This is the sequel to Say Goodbye to Boston and will make a little more sense if you have read that first.

by

Barbara Davies

(Email: bhdavies@cheltenham1.demon.co.uk )

"Won't be a minute," said Ashley Blade. "I just need to get some local currency." She strolled towards the Casa de Câmbio in Arrivals, glad to stretch her legs after the long flight.

The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled; her face was deeply tanned, her smile brilliant. "Sim?"

After a month of speaking Canarian Spanish, Portuguese came awkwardly to Ash. She thought for a moment. "Eu gostaria de trocar meus travellers checks?"

The Brazilian woman nodded, and a relieved Ash slid a traveller's cheque across the counter. Moments later, she found herself in possession of some coloured real notes in a variety of denominations. "Muito obrigada."

Ash crammed the money into the secret zipped compartment of the belt she had brought especially for the purpose. Then she hurried back to the spot near the carousel where her partner, Jemma Jacobs, was guarding their luggage.

The blonde smiled up at her. "Everything okay?"

She nodded and reached for her bag. "Let's go." Jemma picked up her own suitcase and followed her.

As they walked towards the Aeroporto Galeão's exit, Ash scanned for signs of danger. Jemma's head, she couldn't help noticing, was swivelling for entirely different reasons. Green eyes open wide, she was avidly taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds, among them the sensual female voice announcing plane arrivals. Ash suppressed a smile. She had been the same when she first came to Rio de Janeiro.

They emerged into brilliant sunlight and sweltering heat. Pity they couldn't have delayed this until it was cooler, thought Ash, but sightings of Libyan terrorists waited for no one, especially when the terrorists in question were Minyar al-Akhdar and Khaleb Abdusamad. She pulled out her sunglasses and put them on. Jemma followed suit, then turned towards the taxi rank.

Ash stopped her. "Those cost too much," she cautioned. "Follow me."

The blonde shrugged, shifted her heavy suitcase from one hand to the other, and trailed after her.

Normally she wouldn't have bothered trying to save a few reais, but after her Section Head's stern telephone call about 'the revised budget' she supposed she'd better make the effort. The Organisation's new Finance Director was slashing costs across the board, and she hated to think what the hotel London had selected for them was like.

A little way from the airport, around a corner, she found what she was looking for: several yellow cabs with blue stripes. Their drivers turned eager grins her way. She peered in the window of the first one, gave it a quick once-over, then declined.

"Não. Desculpe," she said firmly, ignoring the angry glance the driver gave her.

The next cab proved more suitable. It wasn't unknown for taxis to make off with the luggage, so Ash closely supervised its loading then opened the back door and waited for Jemma to climb in.

While they settled, the driver switched on his meter and turned his head enquiringly.

"Hotel Senador, Flamengo, por favor," called Ash. If she remembered rightly, the journey to that part of the City should take them about half an hour.

"OK."

The taxi headed out into the late morning traffic at a speed that would have done Ayrton Senna proud. Ash and Jemma exchanged rueful glances.

"So, what was wrong with the first taxi?" enquired Jemma.

"His meter was out of order, and his price list was photocopied." Rio's international airport receded into the distance behind them. "He'd have charged us through the roof."

"Ah."

The taxi turned onto the expressway and picked up yet more speed.

"I wish I was driving," muttered Ash.

"I wish you were too."

They travelled in silence for a while, then Jemma suddenly pressed her nose against the glass. "Wow! Look at that."

On their left, the sparkling blue of the Baía de Guanabara had come into view. Ash smiled at her partner's enthusiasm. "We should be able to do some sightseeing," she promised. "It won’t be all business."

"You ladies are here on business?" came the driver's voice over the roar of the engine. Ash had been aware of his brown eyes watching them in his rear view mirror.

"Yes." She raised her voice so he could hear her. "We're here to negotiate a textile contract with a Brazilian firm. Our company's based in England," she added blithely, ignoring Jemma's amused glance as she donned the false identity London had created for her.

"Textiles?" The cab driver nodded sagely. "We have many such factories here in Brazil."

"That's right." It was Jemma's turn to chip in. "The Brazilians came to Yorkshire last month. Now it's our turn to return the favour."

He shook his head. "Rio is the most beautiful city in the world," he chided. "You must make time to enjoy yourselves while you're here." He took a corner at breakneck speed, throwing Jemma into Ash's lap. She blushed, disentangled herself, and muttered an apology. Ash grinned. She hadn't minded at all.

"Two such pretty ladies," continued the cab driver, "will not lack companionship for long. We Cariocas have a lust for life, for romance." He nodded earnestly.

"So I've been told," said Ash. "I'm just disappointed we couldn't be here last month for the Carnival."

"Ah, Carnaval."

He took the bait, as Ash had intended, and needed little input from his passengers for the rest of the 15-kilometre journey. She didn't bother mentioning that she had already been to one carnival this year - in Tenerife - and that was quite enough.

Ash gazed dubiously up at the hotel's exterior as the taxi driver honked a farewell then drove off. The paint wasn't peeling... yet.

"Is this where you usually stay?" asked Jemma.

"No. Last time, I stayed in Ipanema. Still, this place can't be too bad. After all, it's got two stars." She picked up her bag, pushed open the front door, and headed for the lobby.

No one was on the reception desk, so she thumped the bell hard. A harried, middle aged woman appeared, removing a pair of pink rubber, washing-up gloves. "Sim?"

Ash was about to answer in Portuguese when she remembered she was supposed to be a tourist.

"Good morning," she said, checking her watch surreptitiously. Yes, it was still morning. They had gained 3 hours on the flight. "I'm Georgia Kenyon and this is my colleague Molly Blythe." She caught Jemma's almost imperceptible wince and suppressed a smile. The blonde hated the names London had chosen for them. "You have a reservation for us, I believe."

While she spoke, the receptionist was checking her computer screen. "Ah, yes. Standard room, double occupancy - is that correct?" She glanced up.

Ash nodded glumly. "Correct."

Normally she would have welcomed the chance to share a room with a woman as attractive as Jemma - all sorts of opportunities would undoubtedly arise - but before leaving Tenerife she had resolved that the blonde was 'out of bounds'. Seducing her new partner (always assuming she was susceptible to Ash's charms) could complicate matters considerably. Better not to risk it.

"Sign here, please." The receptionist slid the register across the counter and both Ash and Jemma filled it in, the blonde hesitating momentarily before signing her alias.

"Breakfast is included at no extra charge. Your room key."

She held out a tiny key attached to a bulky keyring. Ash took it and memorised their room number: 203.

"Your room is on the second floor. The stairs are over there." The woman gestured vaguely then grabbed her rubber gloves and disappeared back to wherever it was she had come from.

Jemma grimaced and reached for her heavy suitcase. "No porter?"

"Doesn't look like it."

Ash was heading towards the stairs when the receptionist reappeared looking even more harried.

"Excuse me. I forgot. There is a letter for you, Senhorita Kenyon."

She stopped, retraced her steps, and accepted the anonymous looking white envelope. "Thank you."

"I hope you both enjoy your stay at the Hotel Senador." With a distracted smile, the receptionist disappeared into the depths again.

By the time they had reached the second floor, Jemma was swapping over the hand holding her case every three seconds. (Jemma's idea of packing 'lightly' had turned out to be different from Ash's.)

"Nearly there," encouraged Ash, spotting room 203.

She crossed to it and slipped the key into the lock. The door opened onto a clean room, but that was all that could be said in its favour. The twin beds were lumpy, and the furniture worn. The refrigerator was empty and the air conditioning horrendously noisy. Sweat or sleep. Wonderful.

"Hey, there's a bidet," called Jemma, who had put down her case and disappeared into the bathroom. Minutes later came the sound of a toilet flushing, and the blonde reappeared.

Jemma flopped down on the twin bed nearest the window, glancing out at what should have been a spectacular view of the Baía de Guanabara but was instead another hotel. She turned to give Ash an interested glance. "So, who’s the letter from?"

Ash pulled the envelope from her jean pocket and examined it. "Delivered by hand." She ripped it open. It contained a letter and a small passport photo. She studied them briefly. "Celio Pacheco."

"Who?"

"Our man in Rio. He'll meet us at 5pm, at the restaurant on the Morro da Urca." She showed Jemma the photo. The handsome young man in it was wearing the smug expression of one who believes he's God's gift to women. He would almost certainly attempt to chat Jemma up. She sighed. If her hunch was right, Jemma would be immune to male flattery, but still -

"The restaurant on the what?" The blonde interrupted her reverie.

"It's the first cable car stop on the way to the Pão de Açúcar."

Jemma grimaced. "And where's that?"

Ash had been purposely obscure, drawing out the suspense, because she suspected her partner would like her eventual answer. "The Sugar Loaf."

There was a moment's silence then the other woman punched the air. "Yes! I've always wanted to go there." She paused. "As long as no seven-foot-tall man with lethal steel teeth follows us onto the cable car."

Ash laughed. "That only happens to James Bond. Anyway, as far as anyone knows, we're just two Yorkshire businesswomen on the loose in Rio. What could be more natural than that we visit one of the most famous landmarks in the world?"

***

Jemma surveyed her surroundings and tried not to wince. She hoped the chef had better taste than the restaurant's decorator. The fact that the little Churrascaria was just over the road from their hotel had swayed her decision. Now she was regretting it.

"It's called gaúcho kitsch." Ash's blue eyes twinkled.

So much for hiding my opinion. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she flushed.

"I'm hungry too," the older agent consoled her. "We've been up 3 hours longer than everyone else, remember?"

"Yeah." Jemma fiddled with her cutlery. "But I'm still not sure about eating Brazilian food on my first day. Maybe we should have gone to that Italian place you suggested after all."

"Don't be silly. You won't catch a stomach bug here."

Ash's face lit up as she caught sight of something over Jemma's shoulder. The blonde twisted in her seat, and was met by a waitress carrying a tray, and an appetising aroma that brought saliva flooding to her mouth.

"Ooh!"

The smiling Brazilian woman set a huge plate in front of Jemma, then moved round to Ash's side of the table.

Jemma looked at the skewers packed with barbecued beef and pork, onions, and something pale yellow called 'mandioca', apparently. She needed no encouragement to dig in. The mandioca tasted a little like potato.

When she was stuffed to the gills and her plate was clean, she licked her fingers, and leaned back. Ash was regarding her amusedly. "I may never move again," she admitted.

The other woman laughed. "Oh yes you will. We've got several hours to fill before we meet Celio, so I thought we might as well walk to the Sugar Loaf."

"Walk?" Jemma groaned.

"Certainly." Ash was unyielding. "The best way to see the sights is on foot."

They paid for their lunch, then Jemma let herself be led out into the brilliant sunshine once more. She put on her sunglasses, and was glad she had plastered herself with sunblock back at the hotel.

"First things first." Ash headed for a shop that sold cheap clothes, hats, and other goods. A few minutes later, they were both kitted out in broadbrimmed sunhats and Ash had also bought herself a cheap plastic watch that wouldn't break her heart if it was stolen. (They had left their expensive watches back at the hotel.)

The tall woman set off purposefully towards the bay. Jemma was gratified to find that they had soon left the built-up area behind them and were strolling through a huge park.

"Would you believe this is reclaimed land?" asked Ash.

Jemma glanced around in surprise. The landscaped lawns and grassy mounds were dotted with sculpted bushes, flowering trees, and groups of mature, towering palms. "Really?"

"Yes. This was once part of the bay."

She could see the Baía de Guanabara itself now, its blue water dazzling in the sunshine. And on the other side of it, to the southeast, was the distinctive dome shape of the Sugar Loaf.

"Wow!" was all Jemma could manage.

Ash laughed. "Shall we get out of the sun for a bit?" She led her partner towards a museum-like building. It would at least be cool in there, thought the blonde. Inside, she stared at her surroundings in disbelief. Ash suppressed a chuckle and, since she was carrying their money in her belt's concealed compartment, went to buy the entrance tickets.

Jemma pasted on a mock scowl and waited for the dark-haired woman to return. She put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot meaningfully.

"So you think I'd look good wearing a fruit basket on my head?"

Ash gave her a shit-eating grin. "Wouldn't everybody?"

Jemma rolled her eyes and snatched the ticket. "Give me that."

It amazed her that anyone would devote a whole museum to Carmen Miranda, but they had. There were over 3,000 pieces in the collection, she read. Performance and dress clothes, accessories, shoes, photos, advertising material, caricatures, videos, contracts, scripts and records....

It was too much really, and by unspoken agreement, they went round the exhibits at breakneck speed, bought a couple of postcards to send to friends and family, then exited into the sunshine again.

"After that, I need a sit down," said Jemma.

Obligingly, Ash led her to a stall selling iced drinks and fruit juices. They bought themselves cokes, then sprawled on the grass.

For a while, they simply sipped their drinks in silence and fanned their faces with their hats, then Jemma asked, "So, how much time have we left to kill?"

The other agent glanced at the cheap watch. "Another two hours. Enjoy it while it lasts, Jemma. Once we know what the Libyans are up to, it could get hectic."

She sighed. Why couldn't they just be here on holiday together?

Two women joggers were approaching along the trail, and Ash openly appraised the blonde one, taking off her sunglasses and flashing her a charming smile. Both joggers glanced interestedly at her, then giggled at one another, and ran on.

Oh please! Ash was much easier on the eye than those bronzed bimbos, but what did she know? Jemma leaned back against a tree, pulled the brim of her sunhat over her eyes, and let her eyelids flutter closed. "Wake me when you're ready to move."

"Sure," came Ash's lazy drawl.

"What the -? Get off me you little -" Crunch.

Ash's exclamation didn't faze Jemma one bit. After all, the tall woman was there with her in her dream, a very nice dream, in which they were just about to share their first kiss. Damn! She could feel herself surfacing and tried desperately to sink back under and pick up where she had left off.

"Oof!" That didn't sound like Ash. Thud.

If only the scuffling wasn't quite so loud. How was a girl supposed to sleep around.... Scuffling? Jemma sat up with a jerk and pushed up her sunhat, just in time to see a youth in blue jeans and a red T-shirt limping away across the park. One hand was pressed to his bleeding nose, the other clutched his groin.

"Tried to steal my passport." Ash held out a hand. "Come on. It's time to go."

Jemma accepted the strong grip and let herself be pulled to her feet. Memory of the dream lingered, and she steeled herself to meet the other woman's gaze as if nothing had happened. During the dream, the kiss had seemed inevitable, natural, but now she felt offbalance and slightly embarrassed. Guess the hero worship has finally turned into something stronger. Question was, what was she going to do about it?

She bought herself time by brushing off the specks of grass and bark that clung to her clothes, then pushed her sunglasses higher up her nose.

"Come on. We're late." Ash set off purposely towards the strip of beach. Jemma trailed after her, wishing her legs were as long.

As she hurried, she tried to piece together what had happened. How the youth had even got near to Ash was a mystery. And - Belatedly Ash's words registered. "Late? But I thought...."

"I dozed off, OK?" muttered the other woman, her tanned cheeks flushing a darker shade. "Must be jet lag."

"Oh." That explained it. Jemma hid a smile. Knowing how lethal Ash's reflexes were, the youth who had woken the tall woman was lucky not to have suffered far worse injuries.

They hurried along Botofoga beach, past several workout stations, where muscular locals, men and women alike, were assiduously sculpting their bodies into works of art.

"It makes me tired just looking at them," muttered Jemma.

Ash had been anxiously turning and scanning the main road that ran alongside them, and now her expression brightened. "An Urca bus. Come on." She broke into a jog and Jemma reluctantly did likewise.

They caught the bus with seconds to spare, then Ash was giving the collector enough money for both their fares to the Sugar Loaf. Jemma followed her through the turnstile and took her seat next to her with a sigh of relief.

A cable car was waiting at the station when they reached the Praça General Tibúrcio. Ash bought their tickets, and they boarded quickly, then the doors slid closed with a clunk, and they began to ascend.

Jemma scrutinised their six fellow passengers carefully. Tourists, just like them, she decided. Well, she amended wryly, perhaps not quite like us. After all, how many of them were dashing secret agents travelling incognito? She smiled.

Ash raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I think I'm jetlagged too," she confided. "My thoughts are all over the place."

"Hardly surprising. London, Santa Cruz, Rio... in just three days! You've been overdoing it a bit, you know."

"I know." Jemma would have liked to spend longer than one night in Ash's comfortable Tenerife casa, but London considered unravelling the reason for the :Libyans' presence in Rio to be top priority. Maybe when they had more time, when this assignment was over...?

Ash pressed her mouth to Jemma's ear. "No sign of Jaws yet."

"No, thank God." The feel of Ash's hot breath had sent a tingle down her spine. Belatedly, she realised she was supposed to be admiring the view from the cable car. The bay was an intense blue, and Rio.... Wow! The driver had been right. From up here, the city looked beautiful.

"It's even better at night," said Ash, noticing her rapt expression. "When the lights start to come on."

There was a violent jolt, and for an all too brief moment, the dark-haired woman's arm was wrapped round Jemma, steadying her. Then the cable car trundled into the Morro da Urca stop, and with a loud clang, the securing arms dropped into place. Ash released her hold as the doors slid open.

"We're here," she said unnecessarily. "Let's see what Celio has got for us."

Jemma sighed and followed Ash out onto the hill.

He was sitting in the little restaurant, pouting sulkily and looking frequently at his watch. Ash and Jemma exchanged glances then walked towards the Organisation's man in Rio. His brown eyes lit up when he saw them.

"Oi, Senhoritas 'Kenyon' and 'Blythe'." He ran a hand through his unruly hair in an unsuccessful attempt to straighten it, then gave them the traditional Brazilian greeting. Ash rolled her eyes but dutifully returned his kisses to each cheek.

Jemma was surprised when he bestowed an extra, rather bristly kiss on her. Three kisses were reserved for close friends. She narrowed her eyes at him and he gave her a wide smile in return.

"Please." He gestured, and they sat down.

A waitress hurried over to their table. Ash looked at Jemma. "Coffee OK?" She nodded. "Dois cafés." The waitress nodded and trotted off to get them. Ash placed her hat on the table and ran a hand through her hair.

"Do you know how we Cariocas like our coffee?" asked Celio, fixing limpid eyes on Jemma. Ash snorted derisively but he ignored her. "Strong as the devil, hot as hell, and sweet as love."

Jemma tried not to laugh at the young man's chat up routine. He seemed to realise she was immune, and he sighed and sat back.

Their coffees arrived soon after and she took a sip then grimaced. Wordlessly, Ash handed her the sugar. She shovelled some in until the coffee was drinkable.

"Right," said the older agent, when the waitress had gone. "Enough of the chit-chat, Celio. Have you brought the parcel I asked for?"

"Yes."

With his foot, he slid something towards them under the table. It brushed against Jemma's leg and she looked down. A supermarket carrier bag. How classy. She reached in and felt the familiar outlines of the two Browning automatics they had sent via the British Embassy's diplomatic bag.

Ash raised an eyebrow, and Jemma nodded.

"Ammo too?" asked Ash.

"As requested."

"Good." The tall woman drummed her long fingers on the tabletop. "We're going to need a car too. Something it's easy to get spares for. Can you arrange that?"

He gave a thumbs-up. "OK"

"Now. What news of Laurel and Hardy?" Since Abdusamad was lean and al-Akhdar patently wasn't, London's choice of codenames had been obvious.

Celio relaxed and sat back. "The news is mixed. They both disappeared from Rio yesterday -"

"What?" exploded Ash.

He raised a restraining hand. "- and reappeared in São Paulo."

Ash subsided, muttering, and he winked at Jemma.

"Laurel has been mixing with petty criminals," continued the young man. "Hardy has been spending time with a man named Mauro Pimentel." He waited expectantly. Jemma took the bait.

"Who is he?"

"A Brazilian industrialist, very rich. He manufactures chemicals."

Ash pursed her lips. "Now what would they want with chemicals?"

Celio shrugged. "Unknown, but I am working on it. It could be they are simply after Pimentel's money. Lately, there has been a spate of robberies in Rio and São Paulo. I think Laurel and Hardy have been doing some fund raising."

"For what?" chipped in Jemma.

He flashed her an apologetic smile. "Again, unknown."

Ash was gazing absently out over the bay as she mulled over this latest information. Jemma nudged her, bringing her back to the here and now.

"So what's next?" she prompted. "We go to São Paulo?"

The tall woman nodded then switched her piercing blue gaze to Celio. "Can you book us into a hotel there?"

"Tonight?"

She thought for a moment then shook her head. "Tomorrow should be soon enough." Her fingers drummed on the table. "We'll drive there."

A downward bound cable car rumbled into the stop and Celio glanced across at it then back to the two women. "Is that all, Senhorita 'Kenyon'? If so, I'll go and get started on the arrangements now."

Ash nodded. "That's all."

He stood up, gave Ash a respectful nod and Jemma a charming smile, then headed off towards the cable car. The last they saw of him, he was waving at them through the window as it disappeared on its journey towards the base station.

Jemma glanced up at the Sugar Loaf. So near and yet so far. Then she turned back to Ash, and tried to hide her disappointment. "So. Is that it, then? We go back to the hotel to pack and get ready for São Paulo?"

Ash smiled and shook her head. "Not likely. Since we only have one night in Rio, we're going to make the most of it."

She stood up, grabbed her sunhat, then beckoned to Jemma. "Come on. I want to show you the most spectacular view in Rio." As if on cue, an upward bound cable car rumbled into the stop....

***

Ash watched Jemma fling herself backwards onto the bed, and cover her eyes with one forearm. "I'm knackered."

In spite of their hectic day, Ash felt restless rather than tired. Maybe it was just anticipation about tomorrow's long drive to São Paulo? Which reminded her. Where the hell's that car Celio was supposed to be getting us?

The phone on the bedside table rang, startling Jemma, who lifted her arm and watched Ash pounce on the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Is that room 203?"

She recognised the night receptionist's voice. "Yes."

"A man has left something for you at the desk, Senhorita. Will you collect it as soon as possible, please?"

"I'll be right down." She slammed down the receiver then met Jemma's interested green gaze. "I think the car's here."

"Oh, good. What sort is it?"

"Don’t know. Want to come and find out?"

"OK." With a groan, the blonde heaved herself up off the bed. "Why did you let me eat so much?"

Ash shrugged. "I thought you were enjoying that filet mignon."

"Then I was." Jemma held a hand to her stomach. "Now I'm not so sure." She burped then blushed, the tips of her ears turning pink. "Sorry!"

Ash laughed. "A walk will do you good."

"Bully."

She threw Jemma an indulgent glance. "You're as lazy as Sam was." Thinking about her dead partner was getting easier, she reflected thankfully.

"Am I?"

Ash nodded and opened the door.

"Is that good or bad?"

"I'll let you know."

They headed downstairs to reception, where the item left for her proved to be a bulky envelope. Inside it was a set of car keys. Jemma examined them while Ash read the accompanying note. Job done, the receptionist disappeared into the back room.

"Volkswagen," deduced Jemma.

Ash pulled a face. "Really?" She preferred her cars sleek and sporty.

Placing her hand in the small of Jemma's back, she guided her outside. The night air was pleasantly cool after the heat of the day. "It’s green and parked down the road a bit, according to this. I've got the registration number." She scanned the number plates of the vehicles parked across the road and pointed. "That one."

"The 2-door Volkswagen Gol?"

Glumly, Ash strode towards it. "Yes." She slipped the key into the lock and opened the driver's door. Jemma came up beside her. She was trying not to laugh.

"How come James Bond gets Aston Martins and you get Fiat Cinquecentos and Volkswagen Gols?"

"Yeah," grumbled Ash. "How come?" She reached inside the glove compartment and found the papers Celio had told her would be there. "Still, spares should be a doddle, and that's the important thing. Right?"

"Right." The blonde didn't sound convinced.

Ash slid into the driver's seat, then looked up at Jemma. "Want to come for a test drive?"

The other woman shook her head. "I'm tired. If it's all right with you, I think I’ll go to bed."

"Good idea." To be truthful, she was a little relieved. Being constantly in Jemma's company, while delightful, was straining her self-control to breaking point. Ash kept wanting to touch her, to stroke the fine blonde hairs on her forearms.... It hadn't been this bad in Tenerife, she mused. Something had changed between them. Or maybe she was just still jetlagged.

She checked her watch. It was 9.30pm. "I'll be back before midnight."

Jemma raised her hand in a little wave. "OK. See you then."

Ash watched the blonde walk back towards the hotel, found herself admiring the shapely backside and gave herself a mental slap round the chops. She sighed, and set about shoving the car seat back as far as it would go (that was the trouble with being six feet tall). After experimenting with the various switches for a while, she was satisfied she knew all she needed to, so she strapped herself in and turned on the ignition. The engine sounded a bit rough, but at least it went. She pulled out into the traffic.

Instinctively, she headed for the parts of Rio that she was familiar with - Copacabana and Ipanema. A spot of girl-watching, maybe even girl-catching would be a pleasant diversion. As she drove slowly along the Avenida Atlantica, she gazed out at the laughing Cariocas and tourists intent on enjoying the nightlife. This scene needs music. She switched on the Volkswagen's radio, and tuned it to a station playing bossa novas. Perfect.

At the end of the Copacabana beach, she bore right, then right again, ending up on the Avenida Viera Souto which ran alongside Ipanema's beach. Tonight, there were plenty of leggy Ipanema women to be had (and Ash was an expert at judging availability). But her heart just wasn't in it. Sex with a beautiful stranger seemed to have lost its allure. She sighed. Perhaps I am tired after all.

Intending to call it a night and head back to the hotel, she took the next right. Half way along the road, her surroundings began to seem familiar. Puzzled, she slowed the Volkswagen to a crawl while she got her bearings. Ah. Wasn't this the Rua Teixeira de Melo? Which meant the Alegria Café should be just about... here.

She pulled up outside the brightly lit bar cum café, smiling at the memories it evoked, especially those concerning a certain voluptuous Carioca woman. Four years ago, she and Sam had come to Rio to recover from a strenuous assignment. She had been checking out Rio's gay scene, when she came upon the little women-friendly bar.

Giseli hadn't been Ash's usual 'type' at all. She was ten years older, her curly hair and large eyes were brown, and her figure might politely be called 'generous'. But there was a vivacity to the small Brazilian woman, a frank carnality that was irresistible. She had spotted Ash standing by the bar and openly made a play for her. By the end of the evening, she had won her too.

Ash smiled, remembering their brief time together, much of it spent inside a motel room (which Brazilians unashamedly hired by the hour whenever they needed somewhere private). It had been an intensely pleasurable time and she had learned quite a few new techniques from the other woman. Then her holiday drew to a close, and, as they had known it must, their relationship ended. There had been no recriminations though. They had parted as friends.

She realised she would really like to see Giseli again. Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps her subconscious had brought her to the Brazilian's favourite watering hole. Whatever, she parked the car under a streetlight, locked it, and headed for the Alegria.

The sounds of Acid House grew louder as she pushed open the outer door. It could have been worse, she saw from a poster - it could have been Disco night. Opening the inner door brought a blast of warm air smelling of perfume, alcohol, smoke, and sweat. She inhaled it, smiling at the memories it brought.

Interested looks followed Ash's progress as she made her way through the heaving throng of women, but she ignored them. What were the odds Giseli would be in tonight? And what were the odds she would still be the person Ash remembered? They were both four years older. A lot could have happened....

She drummed her fingers on the bar and scanned the drinks list until at last the busy bartender noticed her and raised an eyebrow.

"Um Camouflage," she said, deciding to be adventurous.

A tap on her shoulder startled her and made her turn. She found herself looking down into familiar, warm brown eyes.

"Blade. I thought it was you."

Ash returned the delighted smile. "Giseli. How are you?" The other woman had a few more fine lines around her eyes and mouth, but other than that she hadn't changed at all.

"Well, very well. And you?"

Throat clearing from behind proved to be the crop-haired bartender. Ash apologised for keeping her waiting, paid for her drink, then carried it over to an empty table. Giseli took a moment to excuse herself from the party of friends she was with, then brought her beer over. They sat on hard chairs and gazed openly at one another.

"So. How long are you in Rio this time?"

"Just tonight." Ash tasted her drink gingerly and decided adulterating whiskey with coconut water was not the greatest idea anyone had ever had.

"One night?" The Brazilian looked outraged.

She shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "It was going to be longer but - "

"I see." Giseli took a gulp of her beer. "Still, one night is better than none." She thought for a moment. "And your friend... What was his name? Ah, yes. Sam. He is with you?"

Ash sighed. "Sam's dead," she said quietly. "He was killed last year."

Giseli laid a tanned hand on her arm. "Desculpe." She looked genuinely sad to hear the news. "He was a nice young man. You must miss him."

Ash looked at her hands. "I do," she admitted.

"So," Giseli's change of tone and posture indicated a change of topic. "You are here alone?"

"Er, no. I have a new partner. Her name is Jemma. She's at the hotel. We only arrived today so she was tired." Ash shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Giseli gave her a penetrating look. "Is she pretty, this Jemma of yours?"

'Of mine'? Ash blinked. "Yes, she is."

"Nice figure?" Giseli made an hourglass shape with her hands. "Ripe, luscious?"

Thinking of Jemma's body in those terms brought a rush of heat to Ash's cheeks, and she took another gulp of her drink then wished she hadn't. "Well, yes... but...." She frowned. "Giseli, what's all this got to do with anyth-"

Giseli's fullthroated laughter interrupted her, and all around the bar people's heads turned towards them. "Everything, my friend. Oh, everything.... A pretty woman is in your hotel room, Blade, yet you are here with me." She squeezed Ash's arm. "You are on edge, all wound up, yes?"

The tall woman regarded her ruefully. She had forgotten how perceptive Giseli could be. "Yes," she admitted.

Giseli finished her beer and stood up. "Drink up."

Ash blinked at her. "But-"

The small woman's heavy brows drew together and she put her hands on her hips. "We have only one night, Blade. Are you going to sit here, wasting precious time?"

Throat suddenly dry, Ash gulped down what remained of her Camouflage. Then she stood up and followed Giseli....

The Brazilian woman blew Ash a kiss, gave her a little wave, then disappeared inside her apartment block. For a long moment, Ash regarded the space Giseli had occupied, then she pulled herself together and checked her watch.

Shit! It was just after midnight. If Jemma was awake, she'd be worried. Quickly, she put the Gol in gear and headed back towards the Flamengo district and the Hotel Senador.

She hadn't meant to stay out this long, but time had got away from her while she was with Giseli. The Brazilian woman had taken her to a motel room, removed Ash's clothes and pushed her down onto the circular vibra-bed. She had started with a light massage then moved on to more carnal activities, which at one point had utilised a sex toy from the sterilised selection provided in the motel's bedside cabinet. Ash had given as good as she got, though. And by the time they were through with one another, they both felt as boneless as jellyfish and very pleased with themselves. She yawned and thought longingly of her bed.

Amazingly, the parking spot outside the hotel which the Volkswagen had earlier occupied was still vacant. She parked there, turned off the ignition and got out. Another yawn overtook her, and simultaneously something hit her left shoulder from behind.

Momentary numbness was followed by stabbing pain. Fuck! A surge of adrenaline banished her tiredness, and she swivelled, ramming the heel of her right hand into the bridge of the attacker's nose. He dropped his bloody knife and toppled backwards like a tree trunk, dead before he hit the ground.

Ash explored the back of her shoulder with her right hand, her fingers coming away sticky with something that looked black in the lamplight. Blood. The wound was bad, she realised, but not life threatening. The thick leather strap of her shoulder holster must have turned the blade away from anything vital.

She wiped the blood on her jeans and was stooping to remove the man's ski mask and see who he was, when two more men, also wearing ski masks and dressed in black, emerged from the alleyway alongside the hotel. This was no casual mugging; they had been waiting for her.

She eyed them warily as they split up, then twisted to one side and delivered a series of kicks to the first man's groin and chin. His head snapped back with a sharp crack and he collapsed to the pavement.

Three more men slunk out of the alleyway, all holding wooden cudgels. They joined the surviving attacker and began circling her.

Enough! She drew her Browning automatic and fired two shots in quick succession. Two men dropped their cudgels and clutched their knees; one started to scream like a stuck pig.

The remaining thugs took up positions on opposite sides of her and started looking for an opening. One feinted with a switchblade. She evaded the knife and raised her pistol.

Three more men in ski masks appeared. Are they breeding in that alleyway?

The momentary distraction was enough. Pain flared as a cudgel found its target - her right forearm - and, unable to help herself, she dropped the gun. The odds against her reaching the hotel had just increased dramatically.

She dodged a blade, then a blow. One of the thugs reached for her gun and she gave him something else to think about with a kick to the groin. Her own attempts to retrieve it were thwarted, as the thugs forced her steadily backwards, away from both her gun and the hotel.

Did they know about Jemma? Have they already killed her? Ash suppressed a momentary panic. If they'd kidnapped or killed the blonde, the police would be crawling all over the place by now, surely.

Another flurry of kicks and punches left a man moaning and clutching his broken nose. But they were wearing her down - eventually they would get the better of her.

The last thing she wanted was to lead these killers to her sleeping partner. Maybe she should decoy them away from here, take them out one by one or give them the slip, and double back.

OK. That's the plan. With a last longing look at the hotel's lights, she barged into a surprised attacker, winded him with an elbow in the solar plexus, and headbutted him. It created the gap she needed, then she was through and running. The men shouted and ran after her.

I'll try to get back to you, Jemma, I promise. Ash ran into the night....

Part Two

Jemma was getting ready for bed and had put on her nighty and brushed her teeth when her gaze fell on the postcards she had left on the little table. Better write those before I forget.

She grabbed the cards and a ballpoint pen, and carried them over to the bed. Then she switched on the little light, plumped up a pillow against the headboard, and made herself comfortable.

The top picture showed a tanned and smiling movie star, right arm raised elegantly, hand poised just so. Jemma winced at the fruit basket hat, and the flamboyantly frilly, purple, yellow, and pink dress. That Carmen Miranda had managed to still look stunning in such an outfit was remarkable. Was that your idea or the Studio's, I wonder?

She shrugged, turned the postcard over, and began to write.

Dear Gary. I saw this and I thought of you.

She pictured her friend's probable expression and chuckled.

As you can see, I'm in Rio. Did you know the Brazilian Bombshell has a museum all to herself? Me neither.

She sucked the end of her pen and considered what else to say. Gary would have heard she was Ash's new partner by now. He would also guess from the postmark that Jemma was on a mission. No need to mention that then. So... What else would he want to know?

She remembered their conversation of just over a week ago. She had been suspended, pending the outcome of the Tenerife enquiry, unaware that it would not only clear her but also gain her the job in CounterIntelligence she had always wanted. Unaware also that she would be asked to partner the most dashing secret agent on the Organisation's books: Ashley Blade.

Gary had been drawing doodles on the little London pub's table, using spilt beer for ink, when he asked her bluntly, "Worked out whether you fancy her or not yet?" He had been referring to Ash of course. Then, she hadn't known how to answer her friend. Now....

She tapped the end of the pen against her teeth. Suppose she were to write 'Newsflash: I've worked out I fancy Blade'... and suppose Ash should happen to read it. Her cheeks felt hot. Perhaps not. The pen resumed its scribble.

Went up Sugar Loaf Mountain today. No sign of Jaws.

love,

JJ

There. That would have to do. She added Gary's address to it then reached for the next postcard.

This one showed the view from the top of the Sugar Loaf. It was spectacular - she'd discovered that she could see the entire city, Corcovado Mountain, Guanabara Bay, and part of Copacabana beach too from there - and having Ash by her side while she blinked at the stunning view had made it even more special. They'd stayed up there for an hour, before descending by cable car. Then, the tall agent had taken her to a deafeningly noisy but wonderfully exuberant samba club, and after that, they had eaten a late dinner at the renowned Café Lamas.

Dear Mum, Dad, and Maggie.

Having a wonderful time in Rio. The weather's hot and the sea is blue.

Ate some Brazilian food today. No stomach upset yet (just kidding!)

She wondered what else to say. Rightly or wrongly, she had never hidden the nature of her job from her parents, though she had kept the details vague. Until she was home safe and sound, they would worry. That was just their way. She thought for a moment then wrote.

Blade is here with me.

They would know who she meant. While she was training to be an agent, she had talked about Ash so much her sister Maggie had taken to pretending to puke whenever 'the great Ashley Blade' was mentioned. Jemma smiled wryly. She had perhaps overdone the hero worship a tad.

Love,

Jemma

She put away the cards and pen and yawned. Tomorrow she would buy some stamps and write the rest of the postcards. That would have to do for now. It might only be 10 pm by the travel alarm clock on her bedside cabinet, but her body still thought it was 1 am.

Repositioning the pillow, she slid under the sheets, and made herself comfortable. Then she reached up and turned out the light. Moments later she was sound asleep....

Jemma stared blearily up at the ceiling, glanced at the alarm clock's illuminated dial, and groaned. She'd been asleep barely two hours. Belatedly she recalled the sound that had woken her - a distant car backfiring. She plumped her pillow, closed her eyes, and prepared to go back to sleep. Then something dawned on her. Ash should be back by now.

She sat up and ran a hand through tangled hair. Then she got out of bed and padded across the room to the phone. What was Reception's number? She peered at the instructions then dialled.

The phone rang for what seemed an eternity before someone at the other end finally picked it up.

"Alô. Recepção." The male voice was almost inaudible above the sound of a heated argument going on in the background.

"Isto parecem tiros. Chame a polícia!" said the first voice.

"Você está maluco? Você sabe quais os problemas que eles sempre causam," replied the second.

Jemma frowned and held the earpiece closer. "This is Senhorita Blythe, Room 203. Are there any messages for me? Did Senhorita Kenyon call?" She's probably picked up some Ipanema babe and forgotten all about me. She tried not to feel either hurt or jealous, but it wasn't easy.

"Um momento por favor. I will check."

While she waited, Jemma try to understand the conversation going on in the background.

" Há uma gang lá fora! Eles tem pedaços de pau. É perigoso. Chame a polícia!"

"Palavrão!"

If only her Portuguese were better. She was sure the first speaker had said something about a gang, and calling the police!

The receptionist came back on the line. "Senhorita Blythe?"

"Yes."

"No messages."

"Oh. Thank you."

He hung up on her then, and she was left staring at the phone. Carefully she replaced the receiver. Ash had an English-Portuguese dictionary somewhere, didn't she? The older woman's grasp of languages was good, but even she needed to remind herself of a word occasionally.

Jemma rummaged through Ash's bag until she came across a little green book. She riffled the pages looking for - what was it? - 'perigoso'. "Dangerous."

She blinked and racked her memory for more words. A word came back: 'tiros'. She turned the pages. "Shots."

Now all her internal alarms were clanging. She threw the book aside, dressed quickly, checked her gun was loaded and settled it snugly into her shoulder holster. Taking one last look around the room, she decided she had everything she needed and headed downstairs.

There were two men standing at the desk, deep in conversation with the night receptionist. They looked up as she strode past them towards the exit.

"Senhorita, não vá lá fora!" called one.

She stopped and turned towards him. "Excuse me?"

His forehead wrinkled, then he said in halting English, "You must not... go out there, Senhorita. It’s... dangerous. We have called the police." She recognised his voice; he had been speaking in the background while she was on the phone.

"There was a fight outside a little while ago," explained the receptionist. "A gang. They had guns, knives, cudgels...." He looked embarrassed. "This kind of thing is not usual, Senhorita. Please. Go back to your room. All will be well by morning."

She marched to the exit and pressed her nose against the glass. "There's no one out there now."

"They might be hiding. Please, do not-"

But she had already slid back the bolt, pushed the door open, and gone outside.

Pressing her back against the hotel wall, and gripping the butt of her pistol so she could draw it instantly, she scanned her surroundings through 180 degrees. No one was lurking in the shadows, she sensed, and she relaxed minutely. Then her gaze fell on the little Volkswagen Gol parked a little way down the road. Her heart sank.

Don’t panic, she ordered herself. So the car is back and Ash isn't. It doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Something glinted in the middle of the road. She loped towards it, stooped and picked it up. A spent shell casing. Under a street lamp, it proved to be standard issue ammo for a Browning automatic. The same type of gun nestled in her holster. Most British secret agents, including Ash, used them. Oh no!

If she had read the signs correctly, Ash had returned... and walked straight into an ambush. The men at reception had mentioned a gang, with guns and knives and cudgels. No sign of the gang now... or of Ash herself.

Sticky black fluid on the pavement turned out to be blood not oil. Her pulse pounded. Was Ash wounded? Was she dead and they'd dragged the body away? She clamped down on that thought, hard. An experienced agent like Ash could take care of herself. Have a little faith, Jemma.

Forcing herself to think logically, she tried to imagine herself in Ash's position. Outnumbered; too many enemies between her and the hotel. And even if she had gained the shelter of the hotel, trouble would have followed her inside. Maybe she had decided to run for it then double back later when the coast was clear?

But if she's wounded....

Jemma stuck out her jaw and headed for the Volkswagen. Ash had the only set of keys, so she used a bent paperclip to pick the door's lock. She slid into the driver's seat, reached under the dashboard and wrenched some wires loose.

Where on earth do I start looking? Rio's huge and completely unfamiliar territory. She could be anywhere!

Only one thing for it. She'd have to start nearest the Hotel Senador then work her way outwards, methodically, street by street.

Jemma selected two wires and touched their ends together until they sparked. The engine roared into life and she twisted the wires securely in place, put the Gol in gear, and pulled away from the kerb.

"Hang on, Ash," she muttered. "I'm coming."

***

Things hadn't gone quite the way Ash planned.

She had headed for Largo do Machado, the subway stop nearest the Hotel Senador, but when she reached it, it was shut. Of course! The metro stayed open until 1am only at weekends.

Grimly she gazed as the locked gates. She wouldn't be able to grab a ride into the deserted heart of Rio and lose her pursuers there after all. But the thud thud of feet was growing louder, so reluctantly she left the subway station and broke into a jog.

Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way.

She turned left into the Rua das Laranjeiras. Normally it would have been a simple matter to shin up a drainpipe, clamber over the rooftops, and give her followers the slip. But with her shoulder wound, she didn't dare risk such a climb.

Not only was it hurting like hell, she was also losing blood. She had torn off a shirtsleeve and used it as a makeshift bandage, but it was already drenched and hadn't slowed the bleeding. She needed to apply pressure to the wound, which thanks to the holster had sliced through muscle only and not nerves or an artery. But it was in an awkward spot and no matter how she twisted and turned, she simply couldn't get at it. The sooner she got back to the hotel and Jemma the better.

Ash glanced back. Two of the thugs, the younger, fitter ones had broken away from the others, opening up a gap of several hundred yards. Two against one - not bad odds. She unzipped her money belt and, still running, plunged her right hand inside, searching for the garrotte. Ah. Carefully, she pulled out the length of wire. Then she scanned ahead for a likely spot. That alley looks promising.

Slowing, so as to make sure the two men saw her, she darted into the dark alleyway. At its far end were some overflowing refuse bins. Perfect! Moments later, the thugs were pounding towards her hiding place behind the bins. They'd have to split up... and that would be her chance.

She gripped the slim wooden handles, pulling the wire taut between them, licked her lips and waited. Then she leaped out, startling the man who had been creeping towards her.

He froze and stared at her. Then she was behind him, wrapping the wire round his bull-like neck and pulling. He thrashed about trying to break free, gurgling liquidly as the wire sliced into his throat. She clung on grimly.

The other man appeared, barrelling towards her from behind, one arm raised, knife blade glinting in the moonlight. She released the garrotte and twisted out of his way sharply, the blade missing her neck by millimetres. Then she threw herself at him, knocking him back against the refuse bins with a loud clatter that set a dog barking in a yard nearby.

Grabbing his jaw and the back of his skull, she wrenched the man's head sharply to one side. The movement sent agony flaring through her shoulder and down her arm, but she ignored it. There was a dull crack, and he went limp.

Ash let her assailant's body slump to the ground and took a minute to catch her breath. Then she stooped and checked that the first thug was dead. He was. But the wire was too deeply embedded in his neck for her to retrieve.

No gun. No garrotte. Great. She grimaced, wiped her bloody fingers on his shirt, then set off back down the alley.

The slower men were just approaching the junction where their companions had disappeared, and they shouted in fury as she darted out. She resisted the urge to thumb her nose at them, and set off running once more.

Two down; three to go. Pity they couldn't just give up on her, but they were as tenacious as terriers. The pay must be good.

She wondered how the Libyans had found her - the thugs must be working for them, mustn't they? Maybe it was just an unlucky fluke. Maybe one of al-Akhdar's men had spotted her while she was having lunch or on the bus or going up in the cable car....

She had come to the end of the street, and now she paused, unsure which way to go. Corcovado loomed to the west, and she pictured its summit and the huge statue of Christ, arms held wide to embrace the city. Or she could double back into the streets of Laranjeiras.

Which would make the best killing ground? She flipped a mental coin, and headed west towards the mountain's lower slopes.

In the early morning quiet, the rhythmic thudding of feet and gasping for breath seemed deafening. Her legs were turning to jelly, and she tripped on a curb and almost went flying. She steadied herself and ran on. It felt as though she had been running forever.

A familiar silhouette halfway down the road caught her attention. It was one of the little phone kiosks the Brazilians called 'big ears'. She crossed towards it, wondering whether to call Jemma or Celio, then realised that she wouldn't be able to call either. It was one of the old fashioned phones that required fichas.

Damn! She had meant to get some tokens earlier but hadn't got around to it. She could call 193 for assistance, but she had killed several people tonight, and being detained by police with a reputation for brutality was the last thing she needed.

Still cursing under her breath, Ash continued on to the end of the street, puffing as the incline steepened and her calves began to ache. Abruptly, the street ended, and she found herself staring at a cross between a rubbish dump and a housing development.

A favela. She headed up the slope towards the shantytown, whose ramshackle appearance was softened by the moonlight. The stink of rubbish and untreated sewage intensified as she drew nearer.

A muffled shout made her glance back then, and quicken her speed. Two of her pursuers were catching up fast, and as she watched a third appeared in the distance. They had long ago stripped off their ski masks, and, at the sight of her, fierce grins split their sweaty faces.

She gritted her teeth against the throbbing in her shoulder and scanned her surroundings urgently. It was difficult to make out things clearly in the moonlight, but wasn't that a plastic bag draped over a TV antenna? It could be just litter of course, but she'd heard cocaine dealers used such signals to indicate the presence of the police or the arrival of a drug shipment or....

Movement by a sheet of corrugated iron fencing snagged her attention, and she saw a huddle of several young men watching her warily. Yes! She swerved towards them.

"Os homens que me perseguem," called Ash, not slowing her approach, "trabalham para o cara rival que vende drogas."

At the mention of a rival drugdealer, the youths got to their feet, muttering and gesturing. Guns appeared in some hands.

"Eles querem você fora do acordo," she added, hoping that the thought of being cut out of a drug deal would aggravate them. Mutters became angry exclamations, and wary looks deepened into scowls. Maybe this would work after all.

Ash's momentum was such that, as she had intended, the youths had to part to let her through or be mown down. She didn't pause but kept on running, glancing back in time to see them close ranks against the three men following hard on her heels.

The reception committee for those invading their turf would be a hot one, she hoped. As she swung in a wide arc that would lead her back down the slope, a flurry of shots broke the early morning silence.

She bared her teeth. Serve them right.

Ash was trapped in a dead end, and this time she hadn't planned it. Two of her pursuers had survived their encounter with the favela youths, though one now sported a broken nose and the other was bleeding from a nasty gash to his thigh. They glared at her. She was supposed to be easier prey than this, presumably. Tough.

Brakes squealed in the distance, as someone took a corner too fast. Brazilian drivers!

Wistfully, she eyed the drainpipe up the side of the warehouse. She doubted she could make the climb in her condition, but she might have to. Not just yet though. She flexed her hands and prepared to give as good as she got. At least these two didn't have guns.

A car engine revved and wheels screeched. It sounded nearer now. Maybe, if she could get to the main road....

The two thugs started circling her, jabbing at her with switchblade and cudgel. She still had enough energy to evade the blows and keep out of their reach, but it was ebbing fast, and they knew it. More and more the pokes were malicious. She ducked a blow aimed at her wounded shoulder, and searched grimly for an opening.

The roar of the car engine was suddenly loud, and headlights dazzled her. What the-? A cudgel caught her in the ribs as she squinted against the glare, and she pressed a hand to her stinging side.

A Volkswagen Gol screeched to a halt behind her assailants, its tyres leaving a streak of rubber on the road. "Get in," yelled a familiar voice, and the passenger door swung open..

Ash didn't need telling twice. She dived for the thug standing between her and salvation, driving her head deep into his abdomen. Air whooshed from his lungs and his cudgel fell with a loud clatter. Then she was heading towards the open car door, swinging herself inside.

The blonde in the driving seat didn't wait for her to get settled before reversing down the alleyway at breakneck speed, and she hung on for dear life. With an effort, she finally managed to get the door closed properly, and she slumped back against the upholstery. The two thugs had receded to mere silhouettes in the distance, and she imagined them staring uncomprehendingly after her.

Ash laughed slightly hysterically. "In the nick of time."

"I'd have got here sooner if I'd known where you were. Next time how about a homing signal?"

"Sure." She glanced at Jemma, whose face bore a look of fierce concentration. "Your file didn't mention you were Ayrton Senna's sister."

"Never needed to be before." The blonde backed the car out onto a main road, straightened up, then put it in gear and began to drive more conventionally.

Ash's eyelids drooped as the night's exertions took their toll..

"You look awful," came Jemma's voice.

"Don’t feel too good," she admitted. The car slowed, and she had a feeling she was being scrutinised.

"Your shoulder! Let me pull up somewhere, take a look at it-"

"No time. Our cover's blown. We need to get our stuff from the hotel and get out of here."

"But you need a doctor!"

"Later," managed Ash. "We'll head for São Paulo. Give me a field dressing once we're on the road.... OK?"

Jemma cursed under her breath but muttered a reluctant "OK." The car picked up speed again.

"Thanks." With a sigh of relief, Ash let her eyelids flutter closed.

***

Just outside Rio, Jemma pulled off the highway onto a layby sheltered from the passing traffic by a line of trees. She pulled the dangling wires apart, and let the engine peter out. She gazed at the woman dozing in the passenger seat. It seemed a shame to disturb Ash, but it had to be done.

She stretched over to the back seat and grabbed the first aid kit and bottle of hydrogen peroxide she had flung there. Sterile saline would have been better, but the little supermarket she had stopped at hadn't stocked it. She got out, went round to Ash's side of the car, and opened the door.

"Hey." She crouched down next to Ash and touched her gently on the arm. Eyelids fluttered open and pale blue eyes regarded her blearily. "I need to clean your wound."

Obligingly Ash leaned forward in her seat, wincing as she did so.

Jemma pursed her lips. "Painkillers worn off?"

The dark-haired woman nodded.

"I'll get you some more when I've done this." Carefully she began to unwrap the makeshift bandage wrapped around Ash's left shoulder.

Jemma had managed to convince the obstinate woman that the Hotel Senador could wait a few minutes, and Ash had let her apply pressure to the stab wound. When it finally stopped bleeding, Ash had urged her again to get back to the hotel. Jemma sighed at her stubbornness but complied.

She had parked the little Volkswagen near the two star hotel, with its engine running and Ash in the passenger seat. The older agent had decided not to come in; she feared she might 'attract too much attention'. Since Jemma had stripped off Ash's tattered shirt, and she was now clad only in a bloodspattered white bra, she could only agree.

No one was in the lobby. Jemma rushed through it, then took the stairs up to their room two at a time, heart pumping, eyes peeled for an ambush. The coast was clear. It took her only a few frantic moments to cram their belongings into their bags, then she was half pulling and half pushing the heavy luggage down the stairs.

She stumbled over to the counter, dumped the bags in front of it, caught her breath, then pinged the bell. The middle-aged woman who had checked them in yesterday appeared.

"I’d like to check out please."

The receptionist gazed over Jemma's shoulder then into her eyes again. "Your friend, Senhorita Kenyon. She is checking out too?"

"Yes. She's outside, waiting for me. How much do we owe you?"

The woman worked it out, and Jemma handed over some of the reais Ash had given her and waited for the change. "Did the police come in the end?"

The receptionist grimaced. "You heard about the disturbance then?"

Jemma nodded.

"By the time the Polícia got here, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary."

Jemma opened her mouth to ask about the blood under the lamppost then closed it again.

"They were angry at us for wasting their time." The woman shrugged and handed Jemma her change. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Brazil," she added perfunctorily.

"Me too." Jemma had smiled, grabbed the bags and headed for the car and her waiting partner.

The last of the bandage came free, and she unscrewed the cap from the brown bottle. "This may sting." Carefully she poured hydrogen peroxide into the wound.

Ash hissed.

"Sorry."

"S'okay." The words came from between gritted teeth.

Jemma winced in sympathy. If it had been her on the receiving end, she would have been howling in agony. But Ash was made of sterner stuff, it seemed, so she kept pouring. Mac had covered 'in the field' medical treatment as part of the training course last year - it was vital to irrigate the wound thoroughly. She drizzled more antiseptic into the deep gash, then nodded in satisfaction.

"All done."

As Ash let out her breath with a gasp of relief, Jemma selected a sterile bandage from the first aid kit and began to rewrap the wound, which fortunately was not gaping enough to require packing. She tied off the ends, then fetched Ash's bag from the Volkswagen's boot and started to rummage inside.

The other agent raised an eyebrow. "Looking for something?"

"You can't go around in just your bra." Attractive sight though it is. "Ah." She pulled out a cotton shirt, rather rumpled as the result of her hasty packing. "This do?"

Ash nodded wearily, and allowed Jemma to help her into it. The blonde finished doing up the buttons then stood back.

"Want to tie my shoelaces too, Mum?"

Jemma smiled. If Ash was joking, she must be feeling a bit better. She returned to the driver's side and got in, then pulled out the packet of painkillers from the glove compartment and extracted two white pills. "Take these and go back to sleep," she ordered.

Ash frowned. "You can't do all the driving, Jemma. It's six hours to São Paulo." She took the pills, swallowed them, then made a face.

"Of course I can." Even if I didn't get much sleep last night, and I have to drive on the wrong side of the road, and Brazilian drivers are lunatics. She touched the ignition wires together. They sparked, and the engine roared to life.

Blue eyes were regarding her keenly, she realised, and a smile quirked the corner of Ash's mouth. She knows I'm not as confident as I sound. Jemma prepared herself for an argument. But it didn't come. Instead, Ash relaxed against the upholstery.

"OK," she said, closing her eyes. "Thanks."

Jemma breathed a sigh of relief, and put the car in gear. "No. Thank you," she murmured. "For having faith in me." She glanced across to see the reaction to her words, but Ash was already asleep, her head lolling.

She resisted a strong urge to reach over and brush back the strand of dark hair falling across Ash's face. "Sleep well," she murmured. Then she pulled out onto the highway.

Jemma had been hoping for a relaxing drive along a well-maintained, and preferably empty, highway. What she got was the BR116. The old highway that connected Rio to São Paulo was run down and riddled with potholes, and though she was travelling at just under the speed limit and minding her own business, it seemed trucks were constantly crowding the Volkswagen's tail, their drivers revving impatiently before pulling out and roaring past her in a stink of exhaust fumes.

The scenery was nice though. To the north was the Itatiaia National Park, and cloud-forested mountains dominated the skyline. And it was slightly cooler than it had been in Rio.

She glanced at the wounded woman sleeping in the passenger seat. Suppose I hadn't woken up and gone looking for Ash? Suppose the knife had severed an artery? Suppose....

For God's sake, stop it! Jemma tightened her hands on the steering wheel and thrust the recurring thoughts away. Ash was here with her and safe. That was all that mattered.

She reached for her Coke can and took another swig of its lukewarm contents. It was her third; the caffeine was helping to keep her alert. Only trouble was... Her bladder signalled its need again, and she checked her watch. Ninety minutes since the last stop. Time for a break and a leg stretch. When a likely spot appeared, Jemma checked the rear view mirror, then indicated and pulled over.

She rummaged about on the back seat and eventually found the box of tissues she knew was there. Grabbing a handful, plus some antibacterial travel wipes for her hands, she got out and headed for a likely bush.... The pressure on her bladder relieved, she returned to the car.

Ash's colour was good, she saw, as she scrutinised the other woman anxiously. She touched the back of one hand to Ash's forehead. No fever either, thank God.

The dark-haired woman stirred fitfully at her touch, and she pulled back quickly, fearing she was going to wake her. But Ash merely let out a deep sigh, and resettled herself more comfortably into the upholstery.

Jemma rebuckled her seat belt, and started the engine....

Several hours had passed, and, for something to do, Jemma was trying to remember the names of the towns and villages she had driven through. Barra Mansa, Guarantinguetá....

Beside her, Ash stirred and her eyelids fluttered open. "Where are we?" She rubbed her eyes.

"You're awake! Um... the last road sign we passed was to São José dos Campos, I think."

"Never heard of it." The tall woman yawned and started to stretch then thought better of it. "How much further is it to São Paulo?"

"50 kilometres."

Ash checked her watch and whistled. "Good going, Jemma."

The praise brought a glow to Jemma's cheeks. She cleared her throat. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been knifed in the shoulder." Ash's stomach grumbled. "And I could eat a horse."

Wordlessly, Jemma opened the glove compartment and pulled out the painkillers. While Ash swallowed two with a mouthful of Coke, Jemma took something else from the compartment that her partner might appreciate. "The heat's made this a bit squidgy but -"

"Gimme." Ash snatched the chocolate bar from her and seconds later there came a contented, muffled grunt.

"I'm glad you're awake. I was wondering... where exactly is the Esplêndido Hotel?"

"The Avenida Ipiranga.... Don't worry, I'll give you directions when we get there. Unless you want me to take over?"

Jemma shook her head. "You need to rest that shoulder. Anyway, I've come this far...."

"Okay. Thanks." Ash shifted her gaze out of the window.

Jemma hadn't cancelled the hotel booking Celio had already made; as Ash had advised, she had simply booked a new room under their new aliases - the opposition wouldn't be expecting them to remain in the same hotel.

Amy! She frowned. "Why do I have to be 'Amy Smith' of all things?"

Ash chuckled. "Would you have preferred my name, 'Elizabeth Dexter'?"

Jemma considered for a moment. "Not really."

"Well, then."

They travelled a few more miles in silence, then Jemma noticed that the traffic was increasing and as the road became clogged, she was forced to reduce speed. The skyscrapered silhouette of São Paulo came into view in the distance.

Nearly there. She mulled over what they would do next.

"Keep your eyes peeled," said Ash. "I think there's a turn off to the right quite soon."

Jemma grunted and started looking for road signs. The idiot driver in front slowed without warning, and she braked and dropped down a gear. Then a complicated road sign came into view. She recognised only one phrase: São Paulo. That's what I want. She indicated right, and prepared to take the turn-off.

For the next few minutes, Jemma was kept busy. Without Ash's help, she would have lost her way for certain. All this right-right-left-right stuff! She felt like a rat in maze.

Finally, she was turning the Volkswagen into the Avenida Ipiranga.

"Over there," said Ash, pointing.

Jemma sighed with relief. They had reached the Esplêndido Hotel.

It was a 2-star hotel again, much to Ash's disgust.

Jemma dumped their bags on the worn carpet and sank down on the lumpy twin bed nearest the window. "Glad that's over." She stretched out with a sigh of relief.

"Yeah." Ash was staring out at the cityscape, but Jemma sensed she wasn't seeing it. Some internal monologue had her attention and was making her frown.

"What's up?

Ash sighed. "Celio." The first thing the tall woman had done when they reached their room was to dial the number of the Organisation's Man in Rio. Once more she had got only his answering machine.

Jemma shrugged and clasped her hands behind her head. "He'll probably be in touch first thing tomorrow."

"Probably." Ash didn't sound too sure. She drummed her fingers on the windowledge. "I'm hungry. Sod London's budget. Let's get something from room service." She crossed to the phone and picked it up. Jemma listened to Ash's gabbling in Portuguese with only half an ear.

The tall woman put down the phone. "Five minutes they say."

"What did you order?" She remembered some of the dishes she had seen on restaurant menus in Rio. "Black beans, white rice, and mandioca?"

A dark eyebrow rose. "Roast chicken sandwiches and coffee for two. But I can always change-"

Jemma laughed. "That's great. Thanks." She unclasped her hands and sat up. "Let me look at your shoulder."

The other woman threw her a pained look, but Jemma gave her a no nonsense stare. Though she muttered under her breath, Ash sat obediently on the bed and started to unbutton her shirt.

Jemma eased the material off the tanned shoulder, revealing the bandage. Carefully, she unwrapped it. The knife wound didn't looked inflamed, which was just as well. She touched the surrounding skin with her knuckle. It didn't feel hot. "I think you got lucky. There's no sign of infection."

Ash squinted but couldn't see the wound and gave up "Will I ever play the violin again?"

"Could you before?" Jemma reached for the first aid kit, opened it and took out a fresh bandage.

"No."

"Well there's your answer." She rewrapped the wound, tied off the ends, then eased the shirt back up over Ash's shoulder. "All done."

"Thanks."

Jemma yawned, so widely her jaw cracked. "Oh God. All that driving is catching up with me."

"Hardly surprising. I slept through it and I'm still pretty tired."

A knock on the door proved to be room service with their food. Ash took it, thanked the uniformed boy, and dismissed him with a tip. For the next few minutes the only sounds were munching and slurping as they worked their way through the sandwiches and coffee.

When they'd finished, Jemma stacked the empty plates and cups on the tray, then reached for her bag. She pulled out her toothbrush and nighty, aware of pale blue eyes watching her.

"I know it's early, but-"

"So what? You're tired, you should sleep," said Ash. "I think I'll get some shuteye too." She reached over and from her bag pulled an extra large T-shirt she was evidently going to sleep in. Jemma watched open mouthed as, there and then, the tall woman stood up began to strip off her clothes.

"Er...." She swallowed and turned away. "I just need to use the bathroom," she called, heading for its shelter. "Won't be long."

"Take your time," came Ash's voice. "We're not in any hurry."

***

The knock at the door woke Ash from an interesting dream involving her, Jemma, and a room in a sex motel....

"Room service," repeated a man's muffled voice.

She started to sit up, then stopped, inhaling sharply as the movement set her shoulder throbbing.

"Stay put," came Jemma's voice. "I'll get it."

"Thanks." Ash propped herself up on her right elbow and watched the little blonde slip into a pale blue robe.

Had she asked for breakfast to be sent to their room? Ash couldn't remember doing so. But her brain wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. Perhaps the other woman had.

Jemma padded barefoot towards the door and undid the latch. She was just turning the handle when the door burst open, sending Jemma flying.

Five men surged into the hotel room - four were Brazilians, who looked as if they'd injected too many steroids, but the fifth man was of quite a different stamp. Ash recognised the lean figure with the pockmarked olive skin instantly. Khaleb Abdusamad!

She dived for the clothes piled on the floor next to her bed, searched them feverishly for her holster, and found it. Then she tossed it aside in disgust. Idiot! You lost your gun, remember?

Two thugs had grabbed a struggling Jemma. Two more were heading her way. Abdusamad was watching events unfold with hooded eyes and folded arms.

No guns?

Ash evaded the hands reaching for her, grabbed the cheap hotel chair by one leg, and brought it down on her closest assailant's head. He grunted, then his eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the floor.

She discarded the now useless mess of splintered wood, and looked for something else she could use. A meaty hand gripped her wrist, and she karate-chopped a nerve point on the thug's forearm. He howled and released her.

Jemma's shoulder holster was hanging over the remaining hotel chair, she saw. Ash dived for it and pulled the Browning free. She twisted and pointed the pistol, then froze.

Two thugs were holding Jemma up against the wall of the room, and a wicked looking knife was pressed to her throat.

Not again!

"Stalemate, Blade," came Abdusamad's voice. He sounded amused.

Jemma's eye widened. "Look out!"

A fist thudded into Ash's wound, and she thought she was going to throw up or pass out. She fell to her knees, and felt rather than saw the gun being twisted from her grasp. Pain came in intense waves, and her vision dimmed as she tried to ride them out.

"Idiot! That was too hard," shouted the Libyan.

She concentrated on her breathing, tried to move beyond the agony.

"If you've crippled her and she's no good to us...."

"But-"

"Silence!"

The pain receded to manageable levels and Ash's surroundings swam back into focus. Anxious green eyes were looking down at her. Don't freak out on me, Jemma. I know it looks bad but.... She forced a smile.

"Are you with us again, Blade?" asked the Libyan.

She explored her bandaged shoulder with one hand. Her fingers came away bloody. "No thanks to you." She glared at him. Last night they were trying to kill me. Now he wants me in one piece. "What do you want?"

"Why should I want anything?"

She gestured at Jemma. The knife was cutting into the soft skin of the blonde's neck, forcing her up onto tiptoes to avoid it. The green eyes were terrified yet determined, and she could read the message in them: Leave me. Save yourself. Ash ignored it.

Abdusamad laughed. "Pacheco was right. You are 'No nonsense' and 'To the point.' His dossier is very comprehensive. The Commander read it last night."

If they've got Celio's dossier then- Her heart sank. No wonder I couldn't get in touch with him. He must be dead, poor bastard. And that message I left on his answering machine led them straight to us.

The lean man pulled out a penknife and began to clean his bitten fingernails with it. "After the trouble you caused us in Tenerife, I wanted to kill you... but the Commander thinks you could prove useful. So." He looked at Ash. "We have a proposition for you." His gaze flickered to Jemma. "If you do a job for us, I will spare you and your companion. If not-" He gestured, and the blonde gasped as the pressure on her throat increased.

'We' as in you and al-Akhdar, presumably. "What kind of job?"

Another gesture. The knife eased and both Jemma and Ash could breathe more easily.

The terrorist folded and pocketed the knife then trained his black gaze on Ash once more. "Interesting. The Commander said you would co-operate if we threatened your partner. I did not believe him." He shrugged. "No matter."

"I won’t blow up innocent civilians."

"That will not be required, Blade. Your dossier said you were a 'cat burglar'. Is that correct?"

She regarded him coolly. "What do you want me to steal?"

Her instant acquiescence seemed to anger him. "You westerners!" Black eyes glittered. "No commitment to anything but your own skins, your own self-indulg-"

"Are you going to lecture me or tell me what you want?"

For a moment Ash thought he was going to hit her. Then his raised hand became an admonitory finger, which he wagged almost affectionately at her.

"Ah, Blade." His tone was once more calm. "There is an American businessman here in São Paulo. He owns a private gallery. In it is a very valuable emerald." White teeth gleamed against olive skin. "You will appreciate the irony. An American funding our struggle." When she remained silent, he shrugged. "You will steal that emerald for us."

She raised an eyebrow. "Will I?"

He nodded. "Or your little blonde friend will die."

Part Three

Her captors hadn't bothered to blindfold Jemma, for which she was grateful. The big car was heading south, she saw, along the busy main road that led out of the city.

"Where are you taking me?"

The curly-haired driver ignored her, and the man sitting next to her turned the page of his Playboy.

"I asked -"

"Shut up." The balding man with the shaggy moustached didn't even glance up, he was too busy turning the centrefold sideways for a better look.

The muscle-bound thugs (who Jemma had dubbed Curly and Baldy) had watched alertly while, at Ash's insistence, Jemma was allowed to change into a T-shirt and jeans. Then they tied her hands behind her back and bundled her down the hotel's stairs into the back seat of a waiting BMW, and, unfortunately for her, made sure the doors were locked.

She tested her bonds unobtrusively. Too tight. At least they had stopped holding that knife to her throat. Maybe I can headbutt Baldy, kick out the window, wriggle through it... and knock myself out and get run over by all this heavy traffic. Maybe not.

She wondered what Ash was doing. The last she had seen of her partner, the tall woman had been kneeling on the hotel carpet, clad only in the T-shirt she had slept in, face pale and clammy with sweat, long fingers smeared with her own blood. Even then her concern had been for Jemma. Pale blue eyes had signalled as clearly as if she'd spoken aloud, "Go with them. Trust me."

The older woman was right to play for time, Jemma conceded. 'Where there's life there's hope.' But she didn't have to like it. Ash should have left Jemma to take her chances and saved herself. Anger smouldered as she remembered that brutal punch to her partner's shoulder. If she ever came across the thug who had done that again....

I'll find a way out of this for us... somehow. She had to. Their future prospects currently looked dim to non-existent.

Jemma was under no illusions. The Libyan had promised to release them once Ash had stolen the emerald (which, in her present state of health, was by no means a certainty), but he wouldn't just let two British agents go. Either he would try to use them as a bargaining chip - but the Organisation never negotiated with terrorists - or he would kill them himself, and use their corpses to cause trouble with the Brazilian authorities,

A road sign featuring the silhouette of an aeroplane flashed by. So that's where we're going.

A few miles later, her suspicions were confirmed as they approached Congonhas Airport. The BMW turned off the main route, leaving the airport buses and tourist traffic behind, and following an access road that snaked round to the workshops and hangars at the rear.

At the first hangar they came to, the curly-haired driver frowned and looked around as though searching for something. He slowed the car, and wound down his window. A man in grubby white overalls left the little single-engined plane he was working on and came obligingly towards them, wiping his hands on an oily rag.

"Oi! Onde está o avião do Pimentel?" asked Curly.

Pimentel? Why is that name familiar?

The mechanic replied in rapid Portuguese and gestured towards the taxiway, where several small aircraft were parked, their pilots huddled together, smoking furtively and talking.

"Chocante." The driver waved his thanks, then the BMW picked up speed and headed for the taxiway.

As they drew closer to the parked planes, Jemma saw the logo emblazoned along the side of one of them: Pimentel Industrias. Must belong to that industrialist Celio told us about. She remembered the handsome young Brazilian waving at her through the cable car window as it descended, and wondered what had happened to him.

Curly pulled up alongside the jabbering pilots, and a stocky young man in a navy peaked pilot's hat and short-sleeved, pale blue shirt separated himself from the huddle and walked towards them.

"Oi." He nodded familiarly at the driver, then saw Jemma sitting in the back seat and grinned.

Her escorts unlocked the doors, and helped her out. At the sight of her bound hands, the pilot's smile disappeared and he looked round anxiously. He said something sotto voce. Baldy shrugged, removed his jacket, and draped it round her shoulders, hiding the evidence of her captivity.

It was now or never. She opened her mouth to call for help... then doubled up as Baldy's elbow gouged her solar plexus. I can't breathe!

"Tudo bem?" called one of the pilots. He sounded concerned.

"Tudo bom," replied Baldy. "Obrigado." His reassurances must have worked, because no one came to investigate Jemma's condition. Instead, under the guise of helping her, rough hands propelled her across the taxiway towards the Pimentel aircraft, then up its steps.

The pilot made his way forward to his seat, and busied himself with pre-flight checks, while Curly and Baldy bundled her into one of the cabin's twelve passenger seats and strapped her in.

She found she was able to breathe again, only small breaths at first, but eventually the pain eased and she was breathing normally once more. She gave the thug who had winded her a baleful look. He grinned, settled down in his own seat, and pulled out his copy of Playboy.

Moments later came the whine of the engine starting up, and the propellers began to turn, slowly at first, then faster. The pilot spoke briefly with the control tower, then called something back to them; her two companions grunted and made themselves comfortable. Then the little plane was taxiing towards the runway....

They had soon left São Paulo's high-rises behind, and were heading inland over pine-forested hills, rivers, and lakes. It reminded Jemma more of Southern Germany than South America. She pressed her nose to the window.

Those must be coffee plantations, she decided, staring down at the scenery whizzing beneath the plane. Then came treeless acres of waving crops and vast expanses of tall grass ideal for grazing. A herd of cattle stared resentfully up at the droning intruder, and she sighed and wished she was down there with them.

The forest resumed - green swathes of tropical forest, broken only by crumbling highways which connected astonishingly spacious, modern cities like shiny beads on a threadbare necklace.

One hour after it had left São Paulo, the plane began to descend. There was a clearing in the forest up ahead, Jemma saw, accessible from the highway. A sprawling complex of warehouses, office blocks, and carparks came into view. Moments later, she was jolted against her seat belt as the plane bounced and juddered and they came in for a very bumpy landing on the little airstrip.

"Opa!" called the pilot, turning and grinning unapologetically back at his glowering passengers. He taxied to a halt and switched off the engine. The sudden silence was startling.

Curly and Baldy stood up, stretched and yawned, then reached over, unbuckled Jemma's belt, and hauled her upright. Her legs were cramped from inactivity, and her solar plexus still stung, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of groaning aloud. She straightened painfully, limped towards the exit, and stumbled down the steps.

While men in grubby white overalls helped the pilot push the plane towards a hangar, Jemma's burly escorts directed her towards a four-storey office block several hundred yards away. She was glad of the chance to stretch her legs as they strode across the concrete carpark. Then they were pushing open the office block's double doors and going inside.

An unnecessary shove between the shoulderblades from Baldy sent her stumbling past the startled receptionist. The woman behind the desk clearly saw Jemma's bound hands but rather than protesting she flushed and turned away.

Guess they're all scared if they say something they'll get the sack, or worse.

They took the lift to the top floor, and moments later she was entering a huge office. Executives the world over would covet it, she mused, gazing at the large picture window and massive, leathertopped mahogany desk.

The door opened and her escorts straightened up. The owner of the office entered. He was not alone.

Mauro Pimentel (Who else could it be?) looked as though he had stepped out of a TV hair-care commercial. His abundant silver hair had been coiffured within an inch of its life. His skin was deeply tanned and unnaturally unlined, his eyes almost as vivid a blue as Ash's.

He took one look at Jemma and her bound hands and halted. "What is she doing here?" His voice rose to a panicky squeak.

The olive-skinned man accompanying Pimentel removed his cigar from his mouth. "Insurance," he said placidly.

Jemma recognised the second man instantly. Minyar al-Akhdar. She had seen a photograph of the plump Libyan asking Ash for directions in a Tenerife café. It had been part of a clever frame-up meant to cast doubt on the loyalty of the Organisation's top agent, but Jemma had exonerated Ash in the end. She wondered what the devious terrorist was up to now.

The industrialist turned towards al-Akhdar. "I told you, I want nothing to do-"

The Libyan's gaze hardened. "You're not calling the shots any more, Mauro. Get used to it."

Pimentel balled his fists, crossed to the picture window, and stared moodily out of it. "Who is she?" he asked at last, turning to regard Jemma.

She opened her mouth but a look from al-Akhdar quickly closed it again. "Do not concern yourself with her. All I require from you is somewhere secure to keep her for a day, maybe two."

The silver-haired man nodded tightly. "There's probably a storeroom free. Would that do?"

"Perfect."

Pimentel stalked towards his desk and picked up the phone. He spoke Portuguese so fast all Jemma could make out was the word 'seguro', then waited, the muscles in his jaw working. Finally he spoke a few words more and put down th