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"What is it with you people and gadgets?" he complained. "All the time
gadgets, gadgets, gadgets."
Stooping, he picked up the smoke-spewing pellet. There was no risk of the
poison seeping into skin. As soon as the danger was detected, his pores had
shut down, closing out the harmful effects of the gas cloud.
Remo flicked the pellet off his thumb. It launched up into the ceiling vent,
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there to hiss and die harmlessly.
Near the rear wall, Smedley's jaw hung slack. He quickly recovered.
With the tip of his umbrella, Smedley poked a button on the wall near the
elevator. Fans above their heads kicked on, sucking the gas from the parking
garage.
"Hmm. I am loath to admit it, but I believe I might require a spot of
assistance here, Mrs. Knight," the Source agent called over his shoulder.
The reply came from the open elevator doors. "I thought you'd never ask, Mr.
Smedley." Remo had sensed another person lounging inside. From his angle he
couldn't see inside. He was surprised when it was a woman's voice that spoke.
Even more so when he saw who it was that stepped casually out to join
Smedley.
Her long legs and thin arms were wrapped in tight black leather. Her neck was
a porcelain pedestal for a perfect face. She was the same cat-suited
pedestrian who had fallen to the ground in agony on the sidewalk near the
Royal Mews.
As Smedley tucked up his bowler gas mask and pulled off his gloves, the woman
stopped in a karate crouch beside him.
"You recognize our Mrs. Knight, I see," Smedley said. "Her performance on the
sidewalk was just a cunning plan to lure you to your doom. The other
pedestrians were frightened but unharmed by our little game. Well done, Mrs.
Knight."
"Did you expect anything less, Mr. Smedley?" she asked.
Remo was nearly on the two Source agents. When he was close enough, Mrs.
Knight made her move. Her attack was surprisingly quick. A graceful back flip
and she was before Remo, her hands flashing like mallets in killing blows.
"You sure you're English?" Remo asked, tipping his head to examine her face
even as he deflected her blows. "You're pretty okay looking. What passes for
sexy in England is usually 'yikes' in the brush-and-floss parts of the
world."
She tried launching a crushing knee into his sternum. Remo took the occasion
to feel her up. "Nice," said Remo.
"Arrggghhh!" screamed Mrs. Knight.
Behind her, Thomas Smedley still had one trick left up his sleeve. As his
partner fruitlessly fought Remo, the Source agent slipped the fabric off his
umbrella, revealing a long stainless-steel sword. Its deadly sharp blade
gleamed in the fluorescent light. He tested the weight of the blade over his
head once before extending the sword before him.
"En garde!" Smedley challenged.
Mrs. Knight was still kicking and punching. By now she was sweating in her cat
suit.
Remo looked at the sharpened tip of the umbrella sword. It was directed at his
chest. He turned to Mrs. Knight.
"You work for him or is it the other way around?" he asked.
"I work for Britain." She tried to gouge his eyes out.
"Hey, here's a tip," Remo said. And, taking Smedley's wrist, he plunged the
sword through Mrs. Knight's heart.
"Oh, dear," Smedley said as his dead partner slipped off the end of the sword.
"Bad show."
"Worse movie," Remo said.
He flicked the sword from Smedley's hand. The Source agent seemed surprised to
see it flying away. It buried two feet deep in the concrete wall. The sword
wobbled in place.
"Now it's question-and-answer time," Remo said.
Smedley wanted to bolt, but before he could even take a single step, Remo had
grabbed him by the hand. Remo pinched the fleshy web between Smedley's thumb
and forefinger.
The pain was awful. Blinding. Worse than anything Thomas Smedley had ever
experienced in his entire life.
"Eeeeeeaaaahhhh!" Thomas Smedley shrieked.
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"That's level one," Remo explained as he squeezed. "It goes to one hundred. If
you make it to fifty, you get a bonus of an umbrella suppository. Who do you
work for?"
Remo increased the pressure. He made it as far as level one and a half before
Thomas Smedley fell blubbering to his well-tailored knees.
"Source!" Smedley shrieked. "I work directly on order from Sir Guy
Philliston."
"Philliston sent you to kill me?" Remo asked.
Smedley nodded. "I believe he was following orders from higher up." He gasped
at the pain in his hand. "Please, go down from level one hundred. I can't bear
it."
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