"Two down... one to go."
Gwen Dibley could hear the tiny "thump, thump" coming through the phone, and could picture the black rubber ball that he would be idly bouncing against the desk... once, twice, then squeezing it in his palm... then bouncing again.
"Excellent. We like things kept neat and tidy." thump... thump... "Keep me informed of your progress."
As his voice clicked off, she set down the phone with a sigh of satisfaction.
Neat. Tidy. Her own values precisely.
Gwen Dibley stepped out of her office, and looked with satisfaction up and down the corridors of the Ministry: the plain white paint on the walls, the geometric perfection of the layout of the place. The tidiness was reflected in the perfect piling of platinum-blond hair atop her head... the primly-starched collar of the white blouse that stretched oh-so-tantalizingly across her ample chest… the knife-like crease in the navy blue pencil skirt that highlighted her long, lush legs…
Two down... one to go.
It had really gone far more easily than either she or her superiors had ever dared hope. Two highly-respected ministers, brought down by inexplicable, scandalous behavior... their poor secretaries given compassionate leave, then reassigned to jobs far away from the painful memories... which meant new, green men in the jobs, with new bright, eager secretaries keeping everything in order… secretaries hand-picked and given very special training by Gwen herself
Which was why, as she left her office, she was particularly distressed to see the flustered face of Gretchen Tyler come frantically down the hall towards her.
"Miss Dibley... he's here. I thought you said--"
"Nonsense." Gwen cut her off. "The minister's replacement isn't due for at least a week. Plenty of time for us to--"
"But I'm telling you-he's here already!" the girl insisted. "What am I supposed to do?"
Gwen Dibley would sit still for many things, but a disruption of her orderly schemes was not one of them. With Gretchen in her wake, she stormed down to the office that had formerly belonged to the unfortunate Dr. Parkinson.
She opened the door, and was greeted by the soles of a pair of expensive men's shoes. Long legs were crossed at the ankles, legs clothed in finely-cut grey trousers, vintage Savile Row. A man's bowler and umbrella adorned the hatrack nearby.
"Excuse the interruption, please." As she got a good look at the stranger, Gwen was surprised to find herself taking a softer tone than she'd intended. "This is a surprise, Mister…"
"Tweed. Forgive me." The man rose elegantly, extending a hand. Gwen smiled, admiring the lithe way he moved, the way the perfectly-tailored Edwardian jacket set off the trimness of his figure. He was tall, with lightly-curling dark hair, and eyes of a vaguely roguish twinkle. "Raef Tweed. Deputy Under-Assistant to the Shadow Minister in re Extended Absences."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"I'm here to cover for the absence of Dr Parkinson."
"Oh, but we weren't expecting--"
"I'm sure poor Dr. Parkinson and his secretary didn't expect what happened to them, either."
Though the reference started an alarm quietly ringing in her head, Gwen found her smile vacillating between professional caution and genuine warmth. Whoever or whatever this Mr. Tweed was, it was going to be most interesting finding out.
"You see, Mr. Tweed," she let her cool blue eyes continue their appraisal. "I'm responsible for placing the young ladies in secretarial positions here in the Ministry."
"Indeed." Tweed raised an eyebrow, and sat back down, hands clasped behind his head. "Seems rather a routine sort of job for a woman of your obvious... assets."
If Gwen Dibley was at all put off by the glance Tweed spared for her chest, she gave no sign. She looked back over her shoulder.
"Gretchen, will you get some tea for the gentleman?" She raised an eyebrow to speed the girl on her way, then slid herself down, sitting on the edge of Tweed's desk.
"Tell me, Mr. Tweed..." she laid her fingers on his arm, admiring the fine cloth of the jacket, and the equally fine muscles underneath. "Is this your first assignment here in the Ministry?" She bent down, to ensure that Tweed received the full benefit of her expensive Paris perfume.
"In this branch, yes." Tweed's eyes were searching her face, with a lightness that seemed designed to mask deeper intent. "But you might say I've been around a bit in… other circles."
"Oh, I don't doubt that." Gwen purred. "You know, we really ought to get to know each other; perhaps we might lunch together? I know the area, and do know some fine places to eat, while you are..."
"As green as grass," grinned Tweed, "and entirely in your hands, Miss Dibley!"
"How splendid." Gwen bent her face closer to Tweed's... just as she heard the door open behind her.
"The tea can wait," she snapped over her shoulder, without looking back. "Mr. Tweed and I have business to discuss."
"Tea? White, no sugar, please."
At the sound of a voice that was clearly not that of Gretchen Tyler, Gwen started, turning around, to see an attractive young woman standing inside the doorway. From behind the stranger, Gretchen burst into the room, even more flustered than she had been by Tweed's unexpected appearance.
"Miss Dibley, I'm sorry, the lady said--"
"The lady has an appointment with Dr. Parkinson's replacement," came the visitor's cool, measured voice, "and the lady doesn't like to be kept waiting." She extended a hand. "Mrs. Diana Steel." Gwen took the hand unenthusiastically, noting the woman's sharp brown eyes, set in a face of fox-like beauty. The barest hint of a smirk on Diana's full red lips made it clear that she had seen Gwen's posture of a few moments before.
"But this is most irregular." Gwen regarded Diana stonily. "I have had no notice of--"
"Mrs. Steel is on my personal calendar," Tweed interjected. "Hadn't had time to let the girl know. Sorry."
"I see." Ice dripped from Gwen Dibley's tongue as she regarded Tweed's guest: five-nine, with a lithe figure nearly poured into a sky-blue pantsuit, with white calf-height boots. Glossy auburn hair was tucked up inside a white beret, boldly decorated with the image of a target.
"Very well." Gwen did what she could to mask the stiffness in her voice, but nothing would hide the acid. "Since you are here on the Ministry's... 'business'... I'm sure that you and I will meet again, Mrs. Steel." Brown eyes met blue, neither giving an inch.
"Yes, I'm sure we shall."
Gwen Dibley gave the office door an unaccustomed slam as she herded Gretchen out.
"Who's the Snow Queen?" Diana asked Tweed as she gave the small office a quick inspection.
"Gwen Dibley is the woman in charge of training and assigning the secretaries here in the Ministry."
"In other words, she's the one who would know the most about the comings and goings of the Ministers and their secretaries... maybe enough to provide that information to someone else."
"A possibility," Tweed nodded. "But not the only one."
Diana cocked an eyebrow at him. "Already giving Miss Dibley the benefit of the doubt, are we?"
"I just think we need to be open to all the possible explanations," Tweed responded.
Diana shrugged; by now, she was used to her partner's appreciation of the physical assets of the women they'd encountered in their adventures together. So far, though, he'd never let that cloud his judgement... yet.
"Tweed, this office is probably a treasure trove of sensitive information. Miss Dibley or not, someone probably expected to have access to it while Parkinson was being replaced."
"The building's full of people," Tweed mused. "Could be anyone."
"I'll have a look around the rest of the place," Diana said. "You know-- lie low and see what sorts of comings and goings… come and go."
"Capital," Tweed enthused. "Meanwhile I will attend to my no doubt arduous duties as Dr. Parkinson's replacement… I wonder what they are?"
Diana smiled. "My tax money at work."
"Meet me for a drink after my hard day's labor?"
"A girl would get awfully thirsty waiting for you to do a hard day's labor. Shall we say five o'clock?"
***
"We have a situation." Sitting at her desk, Gwen Dibley pitched her voice low, less from concern of being overheard than to mask any hint of panic… or personal interest.
"Indeed." ... thump... thump... "What sort of situation?"
"They seem to have replaced Parkinson already. I'd expected to have a week or so, but a man named Tweed showed up this morning, before we'd had a chance to--"
"Tweed?" thump... thump... "Something vaguely familiar about the name. Sent by the Ministry?"
"That's what he said. And..." her voice hardened. "There's a woman."
"Ah. Cherchez la femme, so to speak." thump... thump...
"Her name is Mrs. Diana Steel. I don't like her."
"I assume, then, that she's very attractive."
"I don't trust her. She's up to something."
"Could she be the one that idiot publican had the encounter with?" Thump… thump…
"It's possible. We've only used him as a middleman, though, so he couldn't have told her anything."
Thump, thump. "Very well, my dear... I will endeavor to learn what I can of this Mr. Tweed... while you keep a close watch on Mrs. Steel. I don't want to stir up trouble unnecessarily, but if she's going to be a problem, we must be prepared to..." thump thump... "deal with her."
Gwen hung up the phone, thought for a moment, then called "Gretchen!"
When the young secretary entered the room, Gwen asked her "Has Mr. Tweed's visitor left?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then perhaps it's time for us to get to work. Mr. Tweed hasn't had his tea, yet, has he?"
The hint of a smile crossed the secretary's face. "No, ma'am."
Gwen got up from her chair. "Very well. I will personally see to it that Mr. Tweed gets his tea... and while I'm doing that... you know what to do."
"Yes, ma'am." Gretchen opened a cabinet to reveal a vintage china tea set, which also had a large medicinal-looking phial on the tray. The girl left the room as Gwen went to the cabinet, and fingered the phial.
All right, Mrs. Steel... let's just see who "captures" Mr. Tweed's attention .
***
Diana Steel slipped from the door of the women's restroom, checking the corridor to make certain she was unobserved, as she'd done a dozen times before during a day spent watching the extremely dull comings and goings of Tweed's co-workers.
Shortly after she'd left the office, she'd seen the Dibley woman bring tea-for two, she noticed; she also noticed that the blonde stayed with Tweed longer than it would take to consume a casual cup of tea. After the woman had returned to her office, things had been quiet for a while. Then, Diana had to scoot back into hiding to avoid being seen by some of the workers, and when she poked her head out again, Tweed appeared to have left.
Odd that he'd leave without telling me. She peered into Dibley's office, and realized that the woman was gone, too.
Maybe he followed her. There were, of course, other options that Diana was not enthusiastic to consider. She opened the door to the secretary's anteroom, and found it deserted. The perfect opportunity for someone to have a look round. Moving quietly on the balls of her feet, Diana slipped through the door to Tweed's office, to see Gretchen Tyler, hunched over a cardboard file folder; once-locked file drawers stood open beside her, and the desk was strewn with papers.
"Finished with the dusting, then?"
Gretchen gave a yelp at the sound of Diana's voice, and jumped to her feet, still clutching the file folder. She opened her mouth as if to offer an explanation, then suddenly made a dash for the door. She made it through to the anteroom, but Diana moved even more quickly.
"Oh, no, you don't." Diana smiled grimly as she sidestepped to cut off the secretary's escape. "I have a few questions for you."
The panic in the girl's eyes translated to action as she flung the file folder at Diana, letting the contents fly out in a bureaucratic blizzard.
She raced toward the door, hoping her opponent had become lost in the cloud of paperwork, but Diana was right there. She reached out, and as Gretchen tried to rush past, let the girl's momentum carry her right into one of Diana's favorite judo holds. With a flip of her wrists, she sent the secretary flying, landing with an "oof" on her back on the floor. Gretchen tried to scramble to her feet, but Diana was on her like a cat, delivering a perfectly-measured karate chop to the side of her neck, dropping her like a sack of laundry.
"Now, then..." Diana rolled the stunned girl over onto her stomach, and pulled her hands up behind her back. She pursed her lips as she glanced about the office. Seeing nothing handy that seemed useful in the securing of her prey, and not having time to go looking, she reached down and flipped off the girl's black high heels.
"Sorry about this," she said, as she began to strip a pair of expensive stockings from her prisoner's legs, "but I can't have you running about just now." She took the first of the stockings and wrapped it around Gretchen's wrists, snugging and cinchng it tightly, trapping the girl's hands against her back. As her captive moaned, beginning to come to, Diana quickly turned to the secretary's legs. She crossed the now-barefoot girl's ankles, then bound them together as she had the wrists, knotting the sheer fabric tightly.
By now, Gretchen had recovered enough to lift her head and growl. "You can't do this to me! Untie me this instant, or I'll--"
Diana didn't need three guesses to know that the next word would be "scream"; she'd have to find a way of keeping the girl quiet for the time being. She reached up to the beret which, following the tussle, now rested at a cockeyed angle on her russet hair. She whipped it off, and before Gretchen could complete the sentence, she had stuffed the woolen cap deep into Gretchen's mouth.
"Hmmmppphhhh!" The rage and indignation were plain, but the sound was muffled sufficiently to satisfy Diana that the girl would not be giving the alarm. She reached down and slid Gretchen's scarf from around her neck, using it to bind the makeshift gag in her mouth.
Diana got to her feet, regarding the squirming captive on the floor. "Now, you sit tight like a good girl, while I find out just what it is that you're so interested in here."
Diana stepped through into the main office, and spent several minutes going through the papers that had scattered on the floor when Gretchen threw the file at her, since the girl had evidently been interested in them. Her brown eyes widened as the profusion of "Top Secret" and "Eyes Only" stamps became clear. Well, one thing was certain-this was more than a case of a secretary raiding the tea money.
"See? I told you!"
Diana dropped the papers and turned, her eyes already alert to any escape route that might present itself; none did.
Between herself and the small doorway to the outer office stood the disheveled Gretchen, freed from her bonds, a smirking Gwen Dibley holding a wicked-looking pistol, and a tall scar-faced man Diana had not seen before, who also carried a gun in one hand; in the other, he seemed to be squeezing something, his fist tightening and relaxing.
"Mrs. Steel, I take it." The man's tone was one of light amusement, knowing he had the situation completely in hand.
Diana nodded, smiling wryly. "And you would be--?"
"Let's just say that your government and mine are on... Opposite Sides... and that you are interfering in a rather important operation of mine."
"She... she tied me up!" Gretchen squalled. "And gagged me!"
"You can keep the hat," Diana offered helpfully.
"You witch!" Gretchen flew at her, but was restrained by the man's hand on her arm.
"That's enough. No need to start a ruckus, when our guest is being so co-operative." He waggled the gun to make the point. "However," he released Gretchen and chucked her under the chin, "under the circumstance, I don't think we should tarry here too long. You'll accompany us, of course, Mrs. Steel."
"Have I a choice?"
The man chuckled. "Not really, no." He squeezed the ball. "Gretchen, dear, please tie Mrs. Steel up."
"That will be a pleasure," snarled the secretary. The stockings had evidently had to be cut off her wrists and ankles, leaving her nothing to tie Diana with, so she rummaged in a desk drawer for a moment, coming up with a roll of heavy cord. She stepped up behind Diana, who was standing carefully still with two guns pointed at her, and yanked the brunette's arms behind her. Diana did her best to suppress a gasp of pain as felt the harsh cord being would around her wrists, several times, then back on itself; each turn was tightened by a savage yank from her former prisoner, who was clearly intending to discomfit Diana as much as possible. Once the wrists were secure, the secretary took more of the cord and wound it about Diana's upper arms, pulling them tightly together, as though to make her elbows touch; this time, despite her desire not to give her captors any satisfaction, Diana did give a sharp intake of breath at the strain being placed on her muscles.
"Our guest appears a bit uncomfortable," smirked Gwen. "Maybe next time she'll keep her nose out of where it doesn't belong."
"Is there to be a next time, then?" Diana inquired brightly, trying to ignore the feelings of helplessness that were rapidly descending on her.
"Not if I can help it," muttered Gretchen as she tightened the final knot. Diana Steel now stood before her captors, her wrists bound behind her, arms uselessly pinioned and rapidly losing sensation.
The scar-faced man handed his gun to Gretchen, and approached the bound Diana, who did her best to give him back a defiant gaze. He smiled, and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.
"Such a waste... to have to destroy such beauty."
Diana raised an eyebrow. "Well, there is an alternative -- you could give yourselves up."
The man paused... then threw back his head and laughed. Diana joined him -- then suddenly had her laugh cut off as the man took his other hand and brutally thrust the rubber ball he had been playing with into Diana's mouth.
"Ugghhh!" was the undignified cry that Diana was able to produce as the man reached to the desk, and picked up a roll of heavy tape. Before Diana could try and get her tongue behind the ball to force it out, he'd torn a strip off the roll and used his large hands to smooth it across her mouth, sealing her lips, the ball now filling her mouth inescapably. Two more strips of tape, in an "X" pattern, completed the gag, and Diana realized that not even the loudest scream that she could manage would make its way past the rubber and tape that gagged her.
All right, Tweed... she thought to herself... this would be a fine time to put in an appearance... blast it, where are you?
"Now, Gwen," the man addressed the blonde who was smiling with evil satisfaction at Diana's predicament. "About our other situation…"
Only a supreme effort of will allowed Diana to keep her face composed behind the gag, fearing the worst.
The blonde glanced at Diana, smiled icily, then just gave a nod to the scar-faced man.
What on earth does that mean? Diana did her best to remain calm. Is Tweed dead? Alive? A prisoner?
The man shrugged. "Very well." He started to squeeze his hand, frowned, looked balefully at Diana's gagged mouth, and dug into a pocket of his jacket for another rubber ball. His voice hardened. "Bring her along."
"My pleasure," the blonde smirked. She gave the helpless Diana a look of gloating triumph, then reached to her captive's head, and took a fistful of the auburn hair. Diana felt her scalp yanked painfully as she was turned around. She felt the grip in her hair tighten, and the woman's lips were at her ear.
"Now, you nosey little tramp," she hissed. "Let's see how much spying you can do from inside the boot of my car. Move."
She gave another yank on Diana's hair, forcing her to stumble, the gun hard in her back.
Oh, dear, Tweed... she thought to herself. What have we got ourselves into now...?
