Mr. And Mrs. Spy

Cover art by Susan Bodendorfer

Electronically published in arrangement with the author

Except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, the reproduction of this work in whole or in part in any form by electronic or mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including printing, faxing, E-mail, or copying electronically, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Wordbeams.

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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To Marie and LuLu, Honorary Sisters
To Garrett, for believing; To Susan, for helping more than you know
To my special angels, Diane and Goodloe Suttler, God Bless
And to my parents.

Toni Lo Tempio

Prologue

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

About the Author

Prologue

"You bit me!" Clarissa glared at Gary, her eyes blazing.

He regarded her levelly before dropping his eyes to her tightly bound wrists.

They'd been bound hand and foot and thrown into this damp, cubicle-like room. Fortunately--or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it--they'd not been gagged, probably because the walls of the little room were thick and supposedly soundproof.

"Sorry," Gary grumbled. "I felt the rope start to loosen. I must have got carried away."

Clarissa looked at him then lowered her gaze. "Just try to be a little more careful," she murmured.

He looked at her archly. "Oh, I'll try," he said, with exaggerated politeness. "But it's a little hard when all I have to work with are my teeth."

She sniffed. "Well, I don't need your teeth marks in my flesh."

He chuckled. "I didn't hear you complaining about that last night."

"Don't remind me of last night," she shot back, her cheeks beginning to flame. "That was a mistake."

"Was it?"

"You know damn well it was. My nerves were on edge, you comforted me and we went a little too far. It would be better if you forgot about it, and focused your concentration on trying to get us out of this mess instead."

"Fine," he said tightly. "Should I also focus on who it was that got us into this mess in the first place?"

She frowned at him. "You blame me for this, don't you? How could you, when you know damn well it wasn't my fault."

"Oh, no?" He looked at her. "For someone who hated playing the part of a spy on TV, you surely sunk your teeth into it in real life. You jumped into this with both feet and your eyes wide open. I was merely watching out for you."

"I didn't need your help."

"Oh, no," he said sarcastically. "Not much."

"And you were obviously a lot of help, seeing the position we're in now," she said. "Any minute now this cubicle will fill up with that toxic nerve gas. You know, if you really want to put blame somewhere, blame Harry. He's the one really responsible for our predicament."

"Clarissa." His voice held a trace of impatience. "Harry's dead. He had nothing to do with this. How can you possibly blame him?"

"All right, so blame me if it makes you feel any better. All I did was offer to use my talents. I repeat," Clarissa said evenly, "the root of all our problems is Harry.”

He cut her off. "Okay, okay, let's table it for now. I almost had those ropes loose. Once I free you, you can untie me and we can figure a way out of here."

"If there is one," she responded glumly. She sighed and leaned against the wall, watching Gary's head dip and his teeth sink into the hemp rope once again. Just a few short weeks ago life had been much simpler; maybe not quite as exciting, but a hell of a lot simpler for actors who had formerly starred as married spies in a popular, but now defunct TV sitcom. Now, it seemed, they were enacting their TV roles for real!

It was incredible--just like the plot of a B movie. It all started at that darned reunion of the TV show that Harry claimed he'd created just for them, Mr. and Mrs. Spy.

Chapter One

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the duo that you've all been waiting for. The popular stars of that TV series that's still alive in our hearts, even though it was cancelled three years ago." The announcer, a popular local disc jockey, smiled into the milling throng of eager faces before him. "Yes that's right. I'm talking about none other than the actors who portrayed Doug and Julie Samson, America's favorite secret agent couple." He paused, allowing the shouts and murmurs to die down before continuing. "So let's give a big Baltimore welcome to Mr. and Mrs. Spy themselves--Clarissa McMillan and Gary Preston."

He stepped back and the curtains parted. Clarissa tossed back her mane of honey blonde hair and stepped forward, eyes shining. She wore a lemon-yellow pants suit that set off her creamy skin to best advantage. The crowd of over 3,000 people gathered at the Stiller Auditorium in Baltimore screamed and yelled. With a bright smile plastered across her face, Clarissa gave what she hoped was an enthusiastic wave.

Gary, lean and ruggedly handsome, shifted his position so that he was now standing slightly in front of her. He shook his head of dark curls and blew kisses into the crowd, delighting several females who sat in the front row.

"Ooh, Doug," a redhead with long eyelashes and full lips gushed. "Sex-y!"

Gary flashed her his 100-watt double charming smile. "I aim to please," he said, giving her and her companions a roguish wink.

Clarissa rolled her eyes. "Oh, puh-lease," she muttered under her breath. Gary heard her and flashed her an annoyed look. She smiled and shrugged as she turned away from him to pick up the microphone. "Hello, everyone," she said into the sea of eager faces.

"We love you, Julie Samson," came a shout from the audience, followed by a smattering of applause.

"And I love all of you too," Clarissa said firmly. "But let's all not forget that Mr. and Mrs. Spy was a fictional show, and Doug and Julie Samson--"

"Were two of the best-loved, best-trained, spies ever to smuggle a secret in from anywhere," Gary said, taking the microphone away from Clarissa in a single movement and moving forward. An engaging smile lit up his boyish features. "After all, how many times did I do battle with those Russian agents, hmm?"

"Thirty-nine," piped up the redhead.

Gary shot her another dazzling smile. "Say, that's pretty good. I think we have us a die-hard fan right here in the front, Julie." He glanced over at his co-star.

Clarissa was grinding her teeth and mentally counting to ten so as not to lose her temper as she'd done so often with Gary, particularly while they'd been filming the last few weeks of the show. He had a tendency to get too involved with his part, to believe that he actually was the character, and it was a quality that endlessly frustrated her. She forced another smile. "All of our fans are die-hards, dear. Right troops?" she yelled to the audience. Furious applause was the response, and she grinned triumphantly at him and snatched the microphone back.

She waited for the clapping to die down before she continued. "Okay. Most of you returning fans are familiar with the schedule. We're going to start the Mr. and Mrs. Spy marathon now, beginning with the very first episode. At noon in the Crystal Room, Gary and I will be pleased to sign autographs and pose for pictures for all of you. Then at two p.m. it's back here for the big Q and A session, more episodes at three, and then another autograph session at five before we take a break. And let's not forget the big fan club dinner tonight in the Starlight Room starting at eight p.m." Clarissa paused to take a breath. "And now, before we begin, I'd just like to take a minute to introduce the brains behind Mr. and Mrs. Spy, the producer and creative consultant, Mr. Harry Slominski. Harry?"

Clarissa looked around her. Their producer usually came out at this point in the proceedings for his fifteen minutes of fame, took a few bows, and disclosed some trivial information about their antics during the filming of various episodes, most of it made up on the spur of the moment. Today, however, he was nowhere to be found.

"That's odd," Clarissa murmured under her breath to Gary. "He usually loves to bask in the glory of his one commercially successful TV triumph."

"That's true," Gary agreed. "I understand he wanted you to get pregnant in the last season. That would have been quite a sight, you with a pillow tucked under your blouse."

Clarissa made a face at him. "Funny, aren't you. I still think it's odd. Harry loves these reunions."

"He'll get here. Maybe he had a late night last night." Gary winked broadly, and Clarissa blushed. Gary slipped the microphone from her hand and turned back to the buzzing crowd. "Well, looks as if our pal Harry's still off on a secret mission of his own, if you get my meaning." Gary grinned again into the milling throng and light laughter emanated from the group. When it died down he waved his arm. "No matter, I'm sure he'll make his customary appearance before the end of the day. So now, ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure we present Timetable to Russia, the very first episode of Mr. and Mrs. Spy. And don't forget, twelve sharp in the Crystal Room for pictures and autographs."

Clarissa replaced the microphone and she and Gary walked off the stage to tumultuous applause that died quickly as the room darkened and the familiar theme music from the show began.

Once offstage, she caught his arm. "You just can't let up, can you? You're still playing Doug Samson."

Gary shrugged. "I have to admit, it was my favorite role."

"That's because Mr. and Mrs. Spy was your only successful role. You're just going to milk this thing forever, aren't you? I can see you now, on Medicare and still coming to these things."

Gary looked at her, puzzled. "What in hell are you talking about now, Clarissa?"

"I'm talking about how you help perpetuate the myth that Doug and Julie Samson are real people. Don't you know you're just feeding these people's fantasies? Do you even care that some of them actually believe we are spies and not actors at all? They think we allowed them to see some of our home movies or something. God, Gary, do you ever read that fan mail, or do you just automatically send out an autographed picture?"

He smiled patiently. "Clarissa, Clarissa, what harm can feeding a little fantasy do? At least I play the role."

"Meaning I don't?"

"You were something of a wet blanket at the beginning," Gary chided her gently. "Starting to rag on how Doug and Julie Samson were only fictional characters--"

"That's because they were--are. Doug and Julie Samson are creations of Harry Slominski's deranged mind."

Gary clucked his tongue. "See? That's what I mean. Don't be such a wet blanket. If it brings them pleasure to think that we actually are these people, these spies, then where's the harm?"

"Oh, you are so exasperating," she groaned, walking away from him. "It's not right. It's just not--"

"Now I remember why I was so happy the day we got the news they were taking us off the air," Gary grumbled. "It was because I knew that I'd never have to work with you again. Who knew the show would become a cult favorite, more popular in re-runs, and Harry would rope us into doing these conventions?"

"Certainly not me. And if that sly dog hadn't had this written into our contracts I wouldn't be here right now. He certainly was prepared for everything."

"That's why he's been so successful."

"Then how come he hasn't had another hit show since ours?"

"He has his finger in quite a few pies," Gary said. "You should lead the life he does."

"Hmm. And he's taught you well, I suppose?"

"Well, one of the things that he taught me was always to please the fans. It's a lesson that I live by. That's why my web site gets 4000 hits a day."

"And it's why you do off-Broadway too, I suppose?" she said snidely, her lip curling.

He looked injured. "Now you're just being cruel, Clarissa. You could be a little nicer to me, considering our limited spate of appearances at these things." They were contracted for only a half-dozen reunions a year, usually the major cities. Two other actors, Fritz and Barbara, usually did the rest.

"I wish Fritz and Barbara were here right now," Clarissa said with feeling. "Thank God they'll be joining us for the big convention in Washington D.C. in two weeks."

Gary sniffed. "You'd think you could be nice to me for just the mere eight hours a day, six days a year that we're thrown together, instead of wailing for reinforcements."

"Eight minutes is too long to spend with you," she began, but stopped as a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Ah, you two are still at it, I see. You fought from the first day I put you together on the set, and you're still fighting. Just like an old married couple."

"Bite your tongue, Harry." Gary grinned, looking down at the slight man who had come up behind them. What Harry Slominski lacked in stature, however, he more than made up for in business savvy.

Harry gave them a tired smile. "You see, I was right. You two have that chemistry, whether or not you want to admit it. That was part of the reason the Mr. and Mrs. Spy series was so successful. People loved the friction you two created."

"And just think, ninety percent of it wasn't acting," Clarissa said.

"You two belong together. You should be married for real."

"Oh Harry." Clarissa kissed him on the cheek. "Stop talking nonsense. You missed your introduction, darling, for the first time in the three years we've been doing this. Did you have a hot date?"

Harry glanced nervously about him. "Not really." He sighed. "Something came up."

"Blonde or brunette?"

"Very funny, Gary. Are women all you think about?" Clarissa said.

"No, occasionally I focus on other things."

Their agent laughed. "Come up to my suite after the fan dinner, I have some business to discuss with the two of you."

Gary frowned. "Tonight? Can't we chat earlier?"

Their agent chuckled. "What's wrong, Gary. Maybe you have a hot date, eh?"

"That'll be the day," Clarissa said.

Gary ignored her and turned back to Harry. "Actually, I was hoping to sneak away early. I do have a personal matter I thought I might take care of tonight."

"Anyone I know?" Clarissa said sweetly. "Or is it a new acquaintance? That charming redhead for instance?"

"Can't you let up on him for two seconds?" Harry said, frowning. "I have something very important I've been meaning to discuss with you both, and I don't want to put it off any longer. Surely you can spare ten minutes out of your busy schedule to come up to my suite for a drink. Say about ten-thirty?"

Gary looked at him. "You sound serious, Harry? Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? I wouldn't say that, no. Not exactly."

"What, then? Don't tell me that you want to pitch another series to us!" Clarissa actually sounded horrified. Gary gave her a black look.

"Not a series," Harry said proudly. "I've been approached about doing a reunion movie of Mr. and Mrs. Spy."

"Oh, no," Clarissa groaned.

"Would that be so bad?" Gary snapped. "After all, Ms. Shakespeare, I don't see a crowd of Hollywood moguls knocking down your door either."

"Hey, regional Shakespeare is classy, at least."

"And I suppose your piano bar act is classy, too," he snapped.

"I got wonderful notices for that," she said.

"Yeah, from a couple of tone deaf, alcoholic critics."

"Listen, it's not my fault that we're typecast now. For months after we were cancelled all I got offered were spy roles."

"And it's not my fault that the genre is déclassé right now, is it, Julie dear?"

"It's Clarissa. You can't even distinguish between me and the character I played!"

"Oh, believe me, I can distinguish."

Harry waved his hand. "Could you two take a break?"

"Sorry, Harry," Clarissa mumbled. "He just pushes all my wrong buttons."

"I didn't realize you had buttons to push," Gary rejoined.

"There you go again. Lighten up," Harry said. He glanced at his watch. "I have to leave now, but I'll see you tonight."

"You're leaving now?" Clarissa looked puzzled. "But you always stay at these things. I thought you enjoyed them."

Harry sighed. "I do, darling, but I have an important meeting."

"You're not going to be here for the Q and A?" Clarissa persisted. "I always count on you to field the questions."

He laughed. "I'm sure you two can handle it. My business can't wait I'm afraid. See you later."

When he was gone, Clarissa turned to Gary and sighed. "He's in that mysterious mood again."

"Mysterious mood?"

"Yeah. Every now and then he used to get into one on the set, remember? Usually when he was coaching us on some scene that made totally no sense to the storyline at all."

"There were a lot of those. It was a spy series remember? Anyway, he was probably just pissed at our witty repartee. Lots of people don't realize that we do it with affection."

"Sure. Like two snakes mating." Clarissa gave him a frozen smile. Gary looked at her, shook his head and turned to leave.

Clarissa paused, her attention arrested. "Say," she called after him. "Did you see that guy?"

Gary turned. "What guy?"

"The one that just went out that way. I noticed him while Harry was talking to us. He seemed to be watching him."

"Who, Harry? Well, maybe he's someone Harry knows. Maybe it's got some connection with whatever he wants to talk to us about later."

Clarissa frowned. "He looked rather shady if you ask me."

"Now whose imagination is working overtime? Forget about it." He shrugged and walked off.

Clarissa stared thoughtfully at the doorway through which both men had vanished. "I wish I could," she murmured. "But my gut is telling me that all this spells trouble."

Chapter Two

"There he is again."

Gary looked up from the picture he was autographing into Clarissa's pensive face. "There who is again?"

Clarissa's reply was cut short as a girl came to stand in front of her. In her hand she held a photograph of Gary and Clarissa. "Oh, Ms. McMillan," she said. "May I call you Julie?"

Clarissa coughed lightly. "I'd rather you didn't," she began.

"Hey, sure," Gary interrupted. "After all, that's what this weekend is all about, isn't it? To relive the adventures of Doug and Julie Samson?"

Clarissa bit back a retort. "Sure, you can," she said to the girl.

The girl's eyes lit up. "Great. And can you sign the picture To Chrissy, all the best? "

"What?" Clarissa said distractedly.

Gary chuckled. "We're at an autograph session, remember Clarissa? The Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion? This is what we do to please our fans." He flashed the girl a dazzling smile. She smiled back.

"Oh. Right." Clarissa looked up into the fan's eager face. "Sure. Chrissy, you said?"

"Yes. Chrissy White. Mr. and Mrs. Spy was our very favorite show down on the farm. You made life there bearable."

"Glad we could help," Clarissa said dryly.

"We wrote tons of letters when they cancelled it," Chrissy said.

"Well, maybe a few more tons and we would have been renewed," Gary cut in with a smile. "Would you like my autograph as well, Chrissy?"

The girl fairly beamed at him. "Oh, gosh, yes. And please, if it's not too much trouble, may I have my picture taken with you?"

Clarissa started to decline graciously but Gary interrupted again. "A pleasure, my dear. As a fan you're important. After all, without you guys keeping our memories alive there'd be none of these reunions to look forward to, right Clarissa?" He draped his arm across the back of her chair and smiled engagingly. Chrissy positioned herself next to him, and her friend took their photograph.

Clarissa looked toward the back of the auditorium. The man she'd noticed earlier following Harry, and who'd just been watching them had disappeared.

"What? Oh, sure. Of course. And we do so look forward to these reunions."

Chrissy gave them a puzzled look. "I've always wanted to ask you, how come you don't do more of them? It seems as if you two only do the major cities."

"Ah, alas, work scheduling conflicts prevent our doing more," Gary said. "However, who knows? Perhaps that will change in the future. Why don't you write a ton of letters to our producer, Harry Slominski? He's behind organizing these events, and perhaps he'll pay us more to attend them."

After the girl moved away and they were awaiting the next group of fans, Clarissa turned to Gary and sighed. "I have to wonder just what it is about that peevish attitude young girls find appealing."

He laughed. "Chrissy certainly was charmed, wasn't she?" He paused. "Did you want to ask me something?"

Clarissa frowned thoughtfully. "Didn't you see that man in the auditorium?"

"Who are you talking about?"

"The man I saw follow Harry out of here earlier," Clarissa said thoughtfully. "The tall one in the trench coat."

Gary burst out laughing. "There's a good description for you. I'd be able to pick him out of a crowd anywhere with that sketch."

"Oh, go to hell!" Clarissa snapped. "I should know better than to tell you anything."

"What are you getting so upset for? It's only a fan reunion."

"Only a fan reunion? Funny, you've been acting like it's more of a family get-together. He was following Harry earlier though," Clarissa said thoughtfully. "I'm certain of it. And he was standing there quite a while watching us. I wonder what for?"

"Maybe he wants an autograph and isn't sure how to approach us."

"I don't think so."

"Well, then, maybe he's got a secret formula for something or other on his person, and he has instructions to pass it along to the two best looking people in the room." Gary laughed outright at Clarissa's disdainful look. "Get out of spy mode, Julie, my dear." He deliberately used her character name, knowing how much it irked her. "Here comes another gaggle of eager adoring fans who have dutifully purchased pictures of us. And now it is our sworn duty to smile at each one, sign each and every photo, and at the end of this glorious weekend receive our percentage of the profit made from their unswerving loyalty."

"That's what I love about you, Gary. You're so self-sacrificing. Not concerned about your own interests at all." Clarissa made a face at him, but further discussion was made impossible by the arrival of the fans. Clarissa sighed. She'd have to ask Harry later just exactly what was going on.

***

"I'm going to stretch my legs." Clarissa said, rising quickly from the table where they were seated. The last wave of fans had finally disappeared. One more group was due before the question and answer session, an event that Clarissa always dreaded, probably because the fans directed the majority of the questions to their fictional characters and not the actors themselves.

Gary looked at her sharply. "You're not going to duck out on me like the last time, are you?"

"When did I ever duck out on you?"

"In Los Angeles last year. Left me with a whole pack of giggling groupies if I recall correctly."

"Pardon me. That was a hardship for you? Those girls were obviously more interested in you than me. I was just obliging the fans."

"Right."

She grinned slyly at him. "Cheer up, Gary. Your little redheaded friend is probably in this group. I'm sure you have much to talk about."

"Clarissa, so help me, I--"

"Relax will you. I just really need to stretch my legs, we've been sitting for quite a while. Don't worry, I'll be back in time to help you fend off your admirers."

Before he could protest further she rose and slipped out the back door. From this point she could see the crowd lined up, waiting to get in. Sure enough, the redhead was there, a pile of photographs clenched tightly in one hand. She must have spent a week's salary on them, Clarissa thought. And they were probably all of Gary too. She chuckled. She should just take off and leave him, not go back until it was time for the Q and A. It would serve that egotist right! But the grief she'd have to endure wouldn't be worth the few minutes of pleasure she'd get out of seeing him squirm. No, better to wait for a more satisfying opportunity. She had no doubt one would turn up, it usually did.

She rounded a corner and stopped short. Standing not three feet in front of her was the man she'd noticed before; the same one she suspected of having followed Harry. Startled, she made a little sound. The man turned. His ice-blue eyes bore into her wide green ones.

She made a move to walk past him. "Excuse me," she stammered.

"So sorry." He bowed. His voice had a distinct accent, but she couldn't quite place it. He squinted at her. "Excuse, please. You are Miss Julie Samson, are you not?"

Clarissa looked at him strangely. "In a sense. I'm the actress who played Julie Samson, Clarissa McMillan."

The man looked puzzled for a moment, then his expression cleared. "Of course. My mistake. Your show was so, how do you say, realistic that sometimes I get confused."

Clarissa smiled. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is nice to meet you." He hesitated again. "By any chance, are you acquainted with Mr. Harry Slominski?"

It was Clarissa's turn to look puzzled. "Yes, of course. He's our producer."

"Ah." The man smiled. "And you have known him for a while?"

"Years. Too long, sometimes." She gave a wan smile, remembering how Harry had first noticed her doing a performance of As You Like It with a regional theatre group in Chicago. He'd invited her out for a drink, listened to her aspirations of becoming a serious Shakespearean actress, and promptly cast her in Mr. and Mrs. Spy. And the rest, as they say, is history. But as she looked at him, she had the feeling that this man wasn't in the least bit interested in her humble beginnings. The stranger was staring at her, almost as if he could see right through her.

"This Mr. Slominski, he seems to be a hard man to find," he said.

"Harry? Not really. He's usually pretty accessible, particularly at these conventions. He's always willing to talk to the fans." She paused. "Why did you wish to speak with him?" She watched curiously as the other man's eyes seemed to darken.

"I am--how do you say here--a potential investor. I am interested in speaking to him about a project."

"A project? What sort? A film? Or a TV show?"

The man shifted uneasily. "Not exactly."

Clarissa's eyes narrowed. "May I ask just who you are?" she said archly, to which he responded with a disarming smile.

"As I said, I am a potential investor. I have much to discuss with Mr. Slominski. Yes, " he added, half to himself. "Much."

Clarissa frowned. The man seemed to show an inordinate interest in Harry.

Suddenly, the stranger bowed to her and said abruptly, "So nice to have met you. Good day, Ms. Samson--I mean, Ms. McMillan." Turning on his heel he left quickly.

Clarissa stared after him. "Wait a second," she called, but he'd already vanished. "Now what the hell was that all about?"

***

The Crystal Room was packed with fans straining for a glimpse of their hero and heroine.

Gary adjusted his tie and patted his white dinner jacket. He glanced up as Clarissa entered. She looked stunning in a black halter gown, her blond curls piled atop her head. It was a real shame that her disposition didn't match her looks, he thought. She turned toward him and for a moment he thought she could read his mind. He smiled brightly, and received a frosty grimace in return.

"All we have to do is get through this, and then we have two weeks to prepare for the big one," she said with a sigh.

Gary shook his head. "You really should be used to these things by now, dear. We've been doing them long enough."

She frowned. "I'll never get used to it. Although I must admit that I was getting used to you, just before we got cancelled."

"Really? See, I knew I'd grow on you."

"Thank God my prayers were answered. I never wanted to be out of work so badly in my life."

"Come, now," he said. "Surely you exaggerate."

"Wanna bet?" Clarissa flopped down in a chair, no easy feat in her form-fitting gown. "And just where is Harry? Don't tell me he's not showing up for the dinner!"

Gary pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "Sorry, but Harry sends his apologies. However, he does most emphatically reiterate his invitation to go to his suite for a drink after this exciting event draws to a close."

Clarissa glanced at her watch. "I hope he doesn't cancel out on us. Even though you think it was nothing, I still want to tell him about that guy I met this afternoon."

"Are you still harping on about that?" Gary shook his head. "For God's sake, Clarissa, the man's a stranger in a strange land. You know our reruns are shown abroad. He's probably just interested a little more in the technical side of things. Maybe he wants to produce a show like that in his own country, and he's trying to get an audience with Harry."

"Next you'll be telling me that he's probably a big honcho at the network involved in the reunion movie."

"That's a possibility, too."

Clarissa frowned. "Sorry, but I don't think so."

"Well, it's eight p.m. Let's start this gathering on time for once. Maybe we can make our exits a little early, although with a crowd this size I doubt it." Gary took her arm, and wasn't sure if he was relieved or not when she didn't pull away as she usually did.

Clarissa sighed. "So do I. But anything's worth a try."

"You really abhor spending any time at all with me, don't you?" He said, frowning. "What did I ever do to you?"

She smiled sweetly at him as the curtains parted for their grand entrance. "You exist, darling," she whispered.

***

They were seated in Harry's spacious suite, sipping wine. The dinner had gone better than expected, and by ten-thirty they'd managed to satisfy all their fans and slip upstairs to the Presidential suite where Harry was staying. Their host, however, seemed rather distracted when he let them in, and now Gary faced him squarely, a quizzical look in his eye.

"So, Harry, what's gives? What's the news on this movie deal?"

Harry leaned back in his chair. "Bill Moyer, you remember him, don't you?"

Gary nodded. "Yep. He's one of the big honchos at the network, isn't he? He always seemed okay at the Christmas parties."

"Right. Well, Bill approached me a few weeks ago. It seems that several Mr. and Mrs. Spy fan clubs have written a ton of letters clamoring for more of their favorite TV show. He thought about a reunion movie, and wanted me to feel you two out to see if there was any interest before he pursued this any further."

Gary chuckled. "A ton of letters, eh? Any of them from Iowa?"

"What?"

Gary waved his hand. "Nothing. Just something one of the fans said today. Well, speaking for myself, I'm interested. I'd love to do it."

Harry nodded. "I thought you would be." He turned to Clarissa. "I told them that if anyone wouldn't be interested, it would probably be you."

Clarissa nodded. "You know me too well, Harry. You're right. I have no interest whatsoever in doing this movie."

Gary leaned forward impatiently. "For God's sake, why not?"

"For one thing, I've been working very hard to break out of being typecast in that sort of role. For another, I don't know if I want to work that closely with you again."

Gary sighed. "You just can't let up, can you?"

Harry broke in. "Not even for a million dollars apiece?"

Clarissa and Gary's heads both snapped around to stare at him.

"How much?" Clarissa asked.

"One million for each of you, plus a percentage when they release it to video, as I'm sure they will. Your other co-stars, Fritz and Barbara, will get a quarter million each. It'll make a tidy nest egg for all of you--especially you, Clarissa." He smiled. "Don't you need a cushion to tide you over when you go pounding the pavement for those Shakespearean roles?"

"And this is a one-shot deal?" she asked. "No more reunion movies after this one?"

Harry shrugged. "Right now the plan is to do only the one movie. Of course, if it's successful, who knows? The network might want to do more than one movie, may even reprise the series itself."

"Successful? Of course it'll be successful. These people are obsessed for heaven's sake. Harry, I don't want to make a career out of this."

"Too late," Gary interrupted cheerfully. "In case you haven't noticed, we already have."

Clarissa swallowed. "Can I think about it?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure. But I need your answer in two weeks so the network can get the publicity ball rolling. No later."

"Two weeks. That's when the D.C. reunion is scheduled," Clarissa said thoughtfully. "All right, I'll have an answer for you then." She paused. "By the way, Harry, a strange man was asking about you this afternoon."

Harry's expression tightened as he turned to Clarissa. "A man was asking about me?"

Clarissa nodded. "Yes. I noticed him in the auditorium, watching first you, then us. I happened to bump into him when I was taking a break. He made a few discreet inquiries about you."

"Did he now. Well, that seems odd." Harry grinned. "It wasn't that worthless nephew of mine by any chance?"

"What a way to talk about your only relative," Clarissa said. "No, it most certainly wasn't Max. I know what he looks like."

"Well then, perhaps it was one of his new associates. He's been dying to break into the movie business."

"He admires you. He wants to be like you."

"He has a lot to learn." Harry said shortly. "Oh, well. Someday he'll get it all. So tell me, what sort of inquiries was this man making?"

"He said you were a hard man to get in touch with and that he had a project to discuss with you."

"Really." Harry looked amused. "What sort of project?"

"He didn't say, exactly. Actually, he didn't say too much." She hesitated. "He had a sort of accent I couldn't place--and he called me by my character name, Julie."

"I told her who he was, Harry," Gary chuckled. "Just another adoring fan."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What did this man look like?"

Clarissa shrugged. "He wasn't particularly outstanding, just a tall man in an overcoat." At Gary's snicker, she added quickly, "All right, a balding, tall man in an overcoat. He had ice-blue eyes that seemed to stare right through me. Do you know anyone who fits that description?"

Gary snorted. "A lot of men would fit that description. Unfortunately, most of them are in jail at the moment."

Harry ignored him and turned to Clarissa. "It doesn't seem all that unusual to me. After all, Clarissa, you're a beautiful woman. Perhaps he was merely looking for an excuse to have a conversation with you. Perhaps he wanted to undress you with his eyes." He laughed, but Clarissa sensed that he was more upset about the encounter than he was letting on.

"But he specifically mentioned having business with you," she said firmly. "There's more to this than meets the eye isn't there, Harry? Is there something you're not telling us?" Clarissa lowered her voice. "It's not the IRS again, is it?"

Their agent laughed. "No, no, of course not. My returns are all in order."

"Well, that's good to hear." Gary raised his glass. "I don't feel like getting another phone call from those goons about you." He added playfully, "So, what's the story then? Have you been smuggling secrets to the Russians and not telling us?"

Harry almost dropped his glass, spilling some of the ruby liquid onto the white rug. He gave Gary a filthy look. "Man, the things that come out of your mouth sometimes."

Startled, Clarissa stared at him. "But Harry," she said quietly. "Why should Gary's thoughtless remark upset you so?"

"I beg your pardon." Gary said, bristling. "Thoughtless remark? I'm not sure that qualifies--"

"If anything upsets me, it's the constant bickering between you two, and not much else!" Harry snapped. "Now, if the two of you don't mind, I have some work to finish up."

"Are you sure you're not in some kind of trouble?" Clarissa persisted. "You're not laundering money, or smuggling diamonds or something are you?"

Harry laughed. "You give me too much credit, Clarissa. I fear my life isn't as exciting as you imagine."

"I feel as if I'm back on the show, taking my orders from Mr. Pomfrett," she said.

"And is it a good feeling, Clarissa?"

She shrugged. "Not really."

"Well, my friends, think about what I've said. I'll see you in D.C. for your final answer."

Gary chuckled. "You have my answer. Clarissa here is the holdout."

"You're not going to be here for the final day tomorrow?" Clarissa said. "You're leaving?"

Harry shrugged. "Sorry my dear. Business." And he ushered them out of the door and shut it firmly in their faces.

Gary turned to Clarissa. "How about that, huh? That's a lot of money they're offering us. We just can't pass it up."

"Maybe you can't," she said.

"You can't afford to, either. Harry's right. It'll make a nice cushion while you search for more serious roles."

"Maybe. But there's also the annoyance factor to consider."

"Annoyance factor?"

"Working with you." She smiled sweetly and stepped into the waiting elevator. "Coming?"

"No, thanks. I think I'll walk downstairs to the bar for a nightcap."

"Suit yourself. But remember, we have a full day tomorrow. I don't feel like covering for you because you have a hangover."

Whatever Gary said in reply was lost as the elevator doors slid shut. Clarissa sighed. She had the distinct impression that something else was going on with Harry besides plans for a reunion movie. She was certain it was just the tip of the iceberg. She had no proof, just her feminine intuition, but she was seldom wrong. She hadn't been wrong about Gary after all. Her mind was a whirl with a thousand questions. Questions that, for the moment, would have to remain unanswered until Washington. After all, if Harry wanted to suck her life's blood one more time, the least he could do was let her in on what was really going on with him.

Chapter Three

The taxi whizzed down the streets of Washington, past the Capitol Building. Clarissa turned her head to look at it as they sped by. She hoped to get a little sightseeing in before she returned to L.A., the last convention hadn't left them much free time.

Perhaps after she gave Harry his answer, she'd have more time than she bargained for because she'd decided to pass on the reunion movie. The thought of working so closely with Gary again nauseated her, not to mention that if she agreed to do this she feared she'd be hopelessly typecast as a female spy forever. That wasn't what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. She actually wanted to do Shakespeare: Portia and Lady Macbeth, and maybe even Juliet. She doubted any casting directors would find Mrs. Spy an appropriate credit to garner her an audition.

She thought nervously of the reaction her bombshell would have. Harry would be disappointed and try to talk her into it, but she was determined to stand firm. She also knew what tactic he would take: the money. And while it was true that a million dollars was certainly nothing to sneeze at, she just felt that doing Julie Samson again would produce more trouble than she could ever be compensated for. And then, of course, there was the matter of her co-star.

Perhaps if she and Gary had gotten along a little better she might have been tempted to resurrect Julie Samson one last time. But he was oil and she was water. The two just didn't mix, and the thought of spending three months with him--the endless battling, the veiled remarks that would ensue--was unthinkable. No, she'd left that part of her behind three years ago and wasn't anxious to revive it. They could recast the part. They'd all just have to live with her decision.

The taxi came to a halt and Clarissa gazed up at the hotel. The Willard Inter-Continental on Pennsylvania Avenue was one of the most prestigious hotels in Washington, and the site of this year's Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion. The Residence of Presidents, according to every guidebook Clarissa had ever read. It all seemed fitting somehow. The Willard was just the sort of place Harry would choose. She entered the lobby and made her way to the front desk.

Attired in regimental hotel tan, a smiling receptionist greeted her politely. "Good afternoon. May I help you?"

Clarissa smiled. "I hope so. I'm part of the Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion--"

"Julie Samson! I thought I recognized you." The clerk lowered her voice. "Mr. and Mrs. Spy was one of my favorite shows."

Clarissa smiled at the curious looks she got from several passers-by. "Thanks. But I think you'll find I'm registered under my real name, Clarissa McMillan."

The girl laughed. "Oh, of course. Sorry. We've been inundated since noon yesterday with eager spy fans from all over the country. I'm sure you must be used to that by now."

"Not really. You never get used to it."

"I suppose it can be pretty wearing. They really get into this stuff."

"That's true. To hear some of them, one would think that we actually were spies."

"Tell me," the clerk asked as she punched some figures into her computer, "does that happen to you very often? Getting confused with the character you played for so long I mean?"

"More often than not," Clarissa said, now more convinced than ever to decline the reunion movie.

The girl slid her a large key. "Room 1401. Mr. Slominski rented the cast members adjoining rooms on the 14th floor."

Clarissa took the key. "Has Mr. Slominski arrived yet?"

"Not yet. He has the Presidential suite."

Clarissa frowned. "That's odd. He's usually the first one here."

"Most of your co-stars are here already though. Barbara Power and Fritz Connor checked in about an hour ago. And Gary Preston got in last night. Say, he tells me there's a reunion movie coming up. I'm looking forward to that."

Clarissa sighed. Gary apparently had been working his fatal charm already. "I wish I was," she told the startled clerk as she took the key and turned back to the lobby.

She intended to get a porter to help carry her bags, but was startled to find her suitcase and carry-on weren't where the taxi driver had left them. "Oh, great," she muttered. "Now my luggage has been stolen."

About to report it to the front desk, a hand touched her elbow, and she found herself looking into Gary's blue eyes.

"Hey, Ms. Shakespeare. I just moved them out of the lobby. We can get someone to bring them up."

Something touched a nerve in her, and she bristled. "So, my dear co-star. Is this all you have to do, skulk around the lobby and hide innocent people's luggage?"

He laughed. "Not innocent people's. Yours. Your cabby put them right square in the middle of the floor. I merely moved them to a more advantageous spot. You might thank me instead of being so suspicious of my motives. After all, we may be working together again soon. Real work, I mean."

"Over my dead body," she said through clenched teeth, and turned away.

Gary grabbed her arm and spun her around. "Now, just what is that remark supposed to mean? Don't tell me you've decided against the reunion movie?"

She sighed. "If I had, I certainly wouldn't tell you. I owe it to Harry to tell him my decision first."

"Which means you've decided not to do it. Why, Clarissa? It's a terrific pile of money. More than enough to keep you while looking for those Shakespearean roles you so desperately want."

"All the money in the world won't help me if I'm hopelessly typecast as Julie Samson, Mrs. Spy," she said.

"Always thinking of yourself," Gary mumbled. "Think of what a shot in the arm this movie would be to me, not to mention Fritz and Barbara."

"They'll survive."

"Did it ever cross your mind that they'd jump at the chance to reprise their roles? That they may have actually enjoyed doing the show, and miss it?"

"Well, I think it's great that the three of you want nothing more out of your lives than basking in the glory of a former TV show. I for one, want to find life after it."

"Would that life include financial security? Because that's what this reunion movie is offering."

"I'm not stopping you from doing it. I'm sure the role can be recast."

"It wouldn't be the same."

"How flattering. You give me more credit than I deserve."

"I heard the deal Harry was negotiating was for the four original cast members only."

"I see your grapevine has been working overtime."

"Be serious, Clarissa. If Harry has to recast your part the backers may not go for it. Besides," he added in a wheedling tone, "you know you're dying to work with me again. You just want to get those mental and creative juices flowing again." He lowered his voice seductively. "You want to let those insults roll from that rosebud shaped mouth, those soft pink lips."

"Talking to me like that is definitely not going to help matters," Clarissa said tightly, although she had been taken aback for a moment by how sincere he sounded.

"Ah, then there's a chance your mind can be swayed," he said. "Tell me, Clarissa, what would it take to make you do it? Tell me, and if it's within my power, I'll get it for you."

"Oh, it's within your power. Drop out of the film. Let them recast your role. If I get something other than a sub-human co-star, perhaps I'll lower myself to play that ridiculous role one more time." Of all the nerve! Who did he think he was, dictating to her just what she should and shouldn't do in her career?

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think that all this pent-up hatred of me was just a cover."

"A cover? For what?"

"A means of fighting your obvious attraction to me. Face it, you want me."

"For your information, Gary Preston, I want you about as much as I want a bad case of poison ivy!"

"I'm just stating the obvious."

"Obvious to whom? You and your insufferable ego?"

"Could you two please stop fighting in the hotel lobby?"

They turned at the sound of the pleasant voice behind them. A slender, black woman dressed casually in jeans and matching jacket smiled back at them.

"Barbara. How nice to see a friendly face," Clarissa said, greeting their former co-star.

Barbara Power grinned. "It was bad enough having to listen to you two on the set every day, but you're going to blow your image as a happily married couple for all the fans if you keep this up." She inclined her head toward the lobby. Several people had stopped and were glancing in their direction. "We can only hope that none of them are reporters. Harry'll have a stroke if his beloved Mr. and Mrs. Spy team gets bad press, particularly in light of the fact he's planning on making an announcement about the reunion movie on Sunday."

Gary raised his eyebrow. "Oh, really. You've spoken to Harry about that?" She nodded. "I assume that means you and Fritz are in."

"For a quarter of a million apiece, I should say so. All I've done since the show ended are commercials, summer stock and these reunions. It'll be nice to make some serious money for a change. And you two are in, certainly?"

"I am," he said pointedly.

"You're not Clarissa? Oh, please reconsider. They may not go through with the deal if you refuse."

"I can't believe that I'm so indispensable," Clarissa said. "Look at other TV shows that have recast the leads. Soap operas do it all the time."

"Usually with disastrous results. I doubt that our followers will accept someone else in the role of Julie Samson. You and Gary, well, you just seem made for each other."

Clarissa rolled her eyes. "Bite your tongue, Barbara. Heaven forbid."

A slight man with wide brown eyes and a receding hairline sauntered up to the group. "Well, well. Look what the wind blew in. Glad you could make it, Clarissa."

Clarissa smiled. "Hello, Fritz. Or should I call you Rex Pomfrett. Since you all seem determined to live out our characters' lives, perhaps we should address one another as such."

Fritz glanced at Gary. "What's wrong with her?"

"She doesn't want to do the reunion movie," Barbara began, and Fritz turned quickly to Clarissa.

"No? Why not? Oh, don't answer that, I know how you feel." And he probably did, too, Clarissa thought. Fritz was the only other one of them who'd had classical training. He'd originally come from a Shakespearean company, and like the rest of them was having a hard time becoming disengaged from identification with his character, the head of the secret intelligence agency that employed Doug and Julie Samson.

"But, Clarissa, it's only for this one time," Fritz continued. "After this, why, you don't even have to come to these things any more if you don't want to. I was hesitant at first, but Harry told me that if I did this movie he'd nullify the clause he put in our contracts that states we must appear at these functions for a five-year term. I'm sure he'd do the same for you if you want it."

"Really. Well, I haven't discussed it with him yet. My pal Gary was jumping to conclusions."

"I'm not and you know it," Gary said. "You don't want to do that movie. You're being selfish as usual."

"Me?"

Barbara took their arms. "Can we please take this upstairs, we're starting to attract too much attention." Gary and Fritz each picked up a suitcase and the group headed towards the bank of elevators.

"This discussion is tabled, at least for now. I want to talk to Harry first," Clarissa began, but suddenly stopped short, staring at the elevator. Barbara, Fritz and Gary followed her gaze.

"What's wrong?" Gary said sharply. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Maybe I have," Clarissa said weakly. "He's here."

"Who's here?"

"That man I saw in Baltimore two weeks ago."

"The balding man in the trench coat with an accent?"

"I just saw him get on that elevator, I swear."

Gary shook his head. "What exactly did you have on the plane coming over, dear? Did you empty out Continental's liquor cart again?"

"Very funny. I know what I saw."

Barbara and Fritz looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?" Barbara asked.

Gary shrugged. "As much as she disdains her spy role, Clarissa is acting it out in real life. She fancies that a trench coated man with an accent is lurking about, with evil intentions toward Harry."

"Oh, stop it. I said no such thing. If you'd run into him as I had, you'd be suspicious as well. There was just something in his manner."

"Well, I didn't run into him, but if I had I wouldn't be jumping to fantastic conclusions. It's probably got something to do with the reunion movie. Remember, you said the man told you he and Harry were involved in a project."

"I don't think it's that. Harry didn't seem to know him, remember?" Or did he? Clarissa wondered. She still couldn't help thinking that their agent had been familiar with the man, although he denied it.

"Forget about it, will you?" Gary said, as the elevator doors opened and the four of them got in. "Honestly, Clarissa. And you talk about us living out our characters' lives. What is this paranoia?"

"I'm not paranoid," she snapped. "There's just something about him I don't like. "But," she held up her hand to silence them before any of them could speak, "I'll talk to Harry first before I make a final decision, I promise."

"We'll hold you to that, won't we, guys?" Gary declared as the number 14 lit up and the doors slid swiftly open. The little group made their way down the hall to Clarissa's suite.

"I'm right next door." Barbara said. "And Gary and Fritz have adjoining rooms down the hall. Harry certainly took care of everything. This hotel is first-class and beautiful."

Clarissa could see what Barbara meant when she opened the door to her room. It was large and spacious, elegantly appointed with all of the creature comforts, including a well-stocked mini-bar. The bed was king-sized and looked very inviting. Fritz and Gary deposited her suitcases on it.

"Thanks, guys. You don't mind if I take a little nap?" she said. "I could meet you, say around four-thirty for a drink in the lounge? That'll give us plenty of time to unwind and plan our strategy for meeting our adoring fans at the kickoff dinner tonight."

"Sounds fine to me," Barbara said, as she and Fritz turned to go. "The dinner isn't until eight so the timing's perfect. If you need anything I'll be right next door."

Gary didn't leave, but regarded her thoughtfully. She looked at him pointedly, but he just stood there, hands folded across his chest.

"Well, you can stand here all afternoon if you like," she declared at last. "I'm going to take a shower and a nap. I feel grungy."

"You look fine," Gary said. "Remember, if the bogeyman pays you a visit, Fritz and I are just down the hall."

"Thanks so much for your support."

"No problem. And Clarissa?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me you'll think about doing the movie. I mean, really think about it. Can't you put this ridiculous dislike of me aside? There are other lives involved here."

"I know," she said quietly. "I'll consider it." But as she shut the door in his face, she knew already what her answer would be. For her own sake, for her own sanity, she simply could not bring herself to do that movie. Not with him. Maybe not with anyone.

She sighed and headed toward the shower.

***

Gary paused for a moment and leaned his head against the oaken door of Clarissa's room. She wasn't going to do it, he could just feel it. He knew her too well. Somewhere along the line, he just wasn't sure how, they'd gotten off on the wrong foot and try as he might, she resisted all his attempts to undo whatever it was that had caused it. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Harry should be here soon, he thought. Perhaps he should have a talk with him first, clue him in to Clarissa's feelings. His mood brightened somewhat. Harry would know how to handle her, he always did.

He turned and walked back down the hall in the direction of his room, unaware of the tall man in a trench coat standing in the shadows, watching his every move.

Chapter Four

A hot shower and a brief nap did wonders for Clarissa's attitude. She stretched and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Three forty-five. She rose quickly. There was just enough time to dress before meeting the others downstairs. First though, she wanted to speak with Harry. Surely he'd arrived by now. She dialed the front desk and asked to be put through to the Presidential suite.

"He hasn't checked in yet," the clerk responded. Clarissa was surprised. Harry always loved to get to these things early, check over every detail, and even meet with them to discuss little skits. The Washington D.C. reunion was one of the bigger ones he arranged in the top five behind New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Chicago. She shook her head, thinking again how odd it was he wasn't there.

"Well, when he arrives, can you leave him a message that Clarissa McMillan would like to see him at once. Before he sees anyone else?"

"Certainly, ma'am."

Clarissa sighed and hung up the phone. For the moment it seemed, all she could do was wait. The same feeling of unease she'd had in Baltimore was back, only stronger.

***

The others were seated at the bar when she arrived, five minutes late. She slid onto the stool next to Barbara and the bartender appeared almost instantly.

"I'll have a Zinfandel spritzer, please," she said, smiling. Gary and Fritz were polishing off beers, while a Vodka Gimlet was in front of Barbara.

"So tame," Gary said, his tone half-mocking. "Why don't you try something a little adventurous for once. Be daring. Julie would."

"Precisely. I am nothing like Julie Samson, although to listen to you or half of America you'd never know it." She inclined her head toward the hotel lobby. It was getting more packed with fans by the moment. "The desk clerk said that the hotel's full up for the weekend, thanks to this convention."

"Amazing! Who'd have known we'd be more popular in reruns? If only they'd shown this much spirit we might still be on the air," Fritz said, taking another swallow of his beer.

"It did seem odd, didn't it?" Barbara said. "I mean, we were number one for years, winning our time slot every Thursday night. Then, out of the blue, Harry tells us that the network's decided to cancel us. It seems so unfair. I mean, look at all these people, these fans who show up convention after convention. We're more popular now than we were when we were on."

Gary frowned into his glass. "Harry said that ratings weren't the problem. It had something to do with the amount of violence on the show. The network was trying to make a statement, and we were the sacrificial lamb."

"Oh, puh-lease!" Barbara rolled her eyes. "Some statement. Have you seen the shows that are on now? They make our little bombs and exploding suitcases seem tame by comparison."

"Maybe there was more to it than we know," Clarissa said thoughtfully, and instantly regretted the words.

Gary turned to her, a sneer across his face. "Ah, maybe our baldheaded, trench coated, accented man had something to do with having us cancelled, is that what you're saying?"

"No, I'm not saying that. It's just that …" Her voice trailed off.

"Just what?" Gary prompted. "That perhaps our stories were hitting a little too close to some espionage tactics and they booted us off the air? You really think that guy you saw at the last convention is a spy, don't you? Well, don't you?"

"He acted very suspiciously is all I said. And so did Harry if you ask me. I think that maybe something's going on with him, something we don't know about."

"Uh-huh. You know something, Clarissa? Maybe you shouldn't do the reunion movie after all. Maybe your brain is getting fried, and you're seeing spies and hatching up espionage plots where there are none."

"Now, Gary, you don't mean that," Barbara chided.

"Oh, yes he does," Clarissa hissed. "He never misses an opportunity to take a snipe at me, and it's my fault. I should have known better than to confide in him." She downed the spritzer with one gulp and passed the glass back to the startled bartender. "A refill please. Make it a double."

"Hey, go easy you two. We've got a long night ahead of us yet. Harry, where are you?" Fritz rolled his eyes.

"That appears to be the million-dollar question," Barbara said.

"And I seem to be the only one interested in asking it," Clarissa snapped, taking a long swallow of the drink set before her.

Barbara gave her a worried look. "Maybe you should go a little easy," she suggested. "We still have a job to do."

"Ah, yes, more deathless questions and gushing remarks from our legion of fans. Well, if the worst comes to the worst I'm sure that you three can handle it. I'm especially sure Gary can handle it."

"They come to see Mr. and Mrs. Spy, remember? And whether you like it or not, my dear, to them you are Mrs. Spy."

Clarissa raised her glass. "Alas, 'tis true that I should suffer such indignities, the slings and arrows of my fate."

Gary took a deep breath. "I think we're all agreed that William Shakespeare can rest easy in his grave tonight, can't he?"

"Oh, stop being so damned snide, just because I have some ambition."

"Meaning I don't?"

"If the two of you don't cool it, you're going to start attracting attention," Fritz hissed, gesturing toward the doorway. Several women wearing Mr. and Mrs. Spy sweatshirts had paused, obviously listening to the exchange between Gary and Clarissa.

Clarissa tossed back the rest of her spritzer and turned to them. "Why, hi there. My co-star and I were just engaging in some witty stage repartee, practicing for later."

One woman smiled broadly. "That's what I said. You were rehearsing a skit or something."

"Yes, we just knew that you two wouldn't talk like that to each other," her companion said. "You seem so happy on the show. It's just so natural that you should get along so well in real life."

"Oh, yes, we're great buddies actually. Often play tennis together. She doesn't like to, though, I beat her too often." Gary winked broadly at the group, who laughed.

Clarissa glared at him while they obligingly signed a few autographs, and then the fans started to drift off one by one until the first woman who had spoken was the only one still there.

Gary smiled. "You seem to be a very perceptive fan, Ms--?"

"Rodgers. Lorraine Rodgers. Oh, Ms. McMillan, Mr. Preston, I still can't believe it. Could I impose on you to autograph my sweatshirt?"

Clarissa nodded. "Why, certainly. We'd all be pleased to sign your sweatshirt, wouldn't we guys?"

The woman looked as if she would faint from sheer ecstasy. "Oh, that's so sweet of you. Just think--I'll be the envy of all my friends. To have my own Mr. and Mrs. Spy sweatshirt signed by Mr. and Mrs. Spy themselves."

Lorraine leaned over and Clarissa scrawled her name across the back with a flourish. She handed the marker to Gary. "Here, dear," she said, smiling sweetly. "And do watch where you sign, won't you?"

Lorraine giggled. "I'll just bet the two of you got on great on the set, it always seemed as if you worked really well together."

"Oh, there's much to be said for camaraderie," Gary chuckled. "Perhaps I'll tell some funny stories at the fan get-together tomorrow afternoon."

Lorraine nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, that would be fabulous. Simply fabulous." She looked up at Gary with a pleading expression. "I don't suppose that I could have a sneak preview?"

"Well, since you asked. I do remember one afternoon …"

Gary launched into a story as Lorraine gazed at him admiringly. Fritz and Barbara stifled yawns. Clarissa shrugged and, seeing them all engrossed, took advantage of the moment to slip away to the front desk.

"Ms. McMillan, I was just ringing your room," the desk clerk said, holding out an envelope. "This telegram just came for you."

"A telegram? For me?" Puzzled, Clarissa retreated to the side of the lobby and slit the envelope with her fingernail. Her eyes grew wide as she scanned the printed message:

JULIE S:

May be late for reunion stop must speak with you stop have script of new movie you must read stop you'll know what to do then stop

LOVE, HARRY

Clarissa frowned. The missive made absolutely no sense at all. In the first place, whatever had Harry been thinking of when he wrote it? Addressing her as Julie S! Was he drunk? And telling her that she must read the script of the new movie! He must have an inkling I don't want to do it, she thought. Perhaps there's something in the way the script is written that he thinks will convince me otherwise. But why on earth send her such a cryptic telegram? Because he was running late, or he knew she had reservations against doing the movie and the deal was important to him? Or was there some other reason?

She turned back to the desk clerk. "Have you had any word on Mr. Slominski's arrival?"

The clerk smiled at her. "Mr. Slominski's assistant phoned and asked that his room be held past midnight. Apparently he's in a very important meeting and missed his plane."

His assistant? Clarissa thought. That's a new one. Harry either did his own letters and PR work, or had his nephew Max take care of it, refusing to spend the money to hire a good secretary/assistant. Now, apparently, things had changed. She was getting the impression that there was a lot about Harry she didn't know. Of course, she'd never really been interested enough to find out before, but still …

"You don't happen to know where Mr. Slominski was flying in from, do you?"

The desk clerk shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry. Those other two men asked me the same thing, but I really have no idea. Of course, you could check with Western Union to see if they have a record of where the telegram was sent from."

Clarissa looked at her. "What other two men?"

She glanced over Clarissa's shoulder. "Those two. The ones just getting into the elevator."

Clarissa turned around quickly. She had a fleeting impression of height, of nondescript good looks and matching dark blue suits before the elevator doors slid shut.

"They didn't by chance leave any names?" Another regretful shake of the head. "I thought not. Well, thanks for your help."

Deep in thought, Clarissa retraced her steps to the bar. Lorraine Rodgers had left, and Gary, Barbara and Fritz were in a corner, sipping their drinks.

"Hey, you missed a heck of a funny story. Oh, well, you'll appreciate it more later." Gary grinned, then catching sight of her expression, sobered. "Say, Clarissa, what's the matter? Has something happened to Harry?"

She slid onto the stool next to him, tapping the telegram thoughtfully against her chin. "I honestly don't know," she said at last. "Read this."

The three of them scanned the telegram. "What in hell is this supposed to mean?" Gary said. "Was he drunk?"

"I wondered the same thing," Clarissa said. "I just don't know. At first I thought he might be trying to get me in the Mr. and Mrs. Spy mood. But when the desk clerk mentioned the two men that had been asking about him--"

"What two men? Oh, no." Gary rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me. Two more men with trench coats and accents?"

"No, I caught a glimpse of them as they were getting in the elevator. They looked quite ordinary to me."

"Why is everyone making a mountain out of a molehill?" Barbara said. "Harry's probably in negotiations somewhere and got hung up. Maybe these two guys are potential backers for the movie and they're supposed to meet with him. It's really not so mysterious when you think about it."

"What about this telegram?"

"It's his idea of a joke. Honestly, Clarissa, I do believe you're losing your sense of humor."

Gary chuckled dryly. "That's assuming, of course, that she had one to start out with."

"Now, now, kids. Can't you two lay off each other for five minutes?" Fritz shook his head in exasperation, but Clarissa shuddered. Some sixth sense was telling her that there was a lot more to what was going on with Harry than her co-stars wanted to believe. But for the moment at least, there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. She'd just have to wait until Harry showed up, and then quiz him about those men and the cryptic message.

The bartender set another Zinfandel spritzer in front of her, and she raised her glass. "Just as long as my sense of humor's all I lose," she said solemnly, and downed the drink in one long satisfying gulp.

Chapter Five

"Remember, ladies and gentlemen, eight p.m. in our Crystal Room is the kick-off banquet for the annual Mr. and Mrs. Spy, Washington D.C. reunion. Come and meet your favorites, the stars of that popular nineties TV series, Mr. and Mrs. Spy themselves, Gary Preston and Clarissa McMillan, as well as other members of this stellar cast. Those of you with early bird badges can enter the Crystal Room at seven-thirty for advance photographs and autographs."

Clarissa sighed as she listened to the announcer's voice and gave herself a last once over in the mirror. Her blonde hair was piled high on top of her head, and the long, black Donna Karen gown she wore was simple and elegant. Very Julie Samson, she thought. Also very Clarissa McMillan. About the only thing she had in common with her alter ego was her wardrobe, not, as many people thought, her personality. Though one thing was for sure; Julie Samson would be the one who would get to the bottom of Harry's strange behavior.

She met the others in the anteroom and glanced out from behind the curtain onto the large platform that served as the stage. A bank of microphones had been set up, with comfortable chairs for Q and A. She could see all the tables that were arranged for the guests, with the buffet table way off to the left. White-coated waiters buzzed back and forth, preparing the room for the moment when the great doors would open and the fans would come in, anxious and eager to see their favorite stars.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Clarissa turned and looked into Gary's anxious eyes. He looked especially handsome in a white dinner jacket and tie. It really was too bad, she thought, that he was such an insufferable bore.

"They're worth at least a quarter. Inflation, you know," she replied, trying to smile, but she feared the effect was rather sickly.

"You're really concerned about Harry, aren't you?" Gary said, looking at her anxiously. "He'd be flattered to know that he means so much to you," he added teasingly. "I know you wouldn't worry about me like this."

"I don't know if I'm worried as much as I am puzzled," Clarissa said, frowning. "It's almost as if I'm discovering there's so much more to Harry than I imagined."

"Ah, those Hollywood types. He signed me on right after I graduated from the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, and guided me up through the ranks. I owe my career, such as it is, to him."

She glanced at him. "New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, eh. Classical training?"

He grinned at her. "Why do you think I throw up every time you mention wanting to do Shakespeare? I must have done every play, every character at least twice when I was in school."

She whistled softly. "Who would have guessed? And now you're totally the opposite."

"That's right. I'm a crass commercialist. Whatever it takes to rake in the dough, even if I have to stand on my head in the middle of a crowded lobby I'll do it. I'm afraid I've become rather jaded. My lofty ambitions are lofty no more."

Clarissa sighed. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. First it seems that Harry has secrets and now you reveal your classical past to me."

Gary chuckled. "How about you, Ms. Shakespeare? What deep dark denizen from your past do you want to reveal to me?"

"Nothing actually. My life pales in comparison with yours."

Barbara and Fritz approached them. "You two are at it again, I see." Barbara shook her head. Fritz laughed.

"Did you see all the people lined up outside for the early bird portion? We might get out of here tonight around midnight if we're lucky."

"Joy!" Clarissa said, wrinkling her nose and peering out from behind the curtain. The doors had opened and the fans were slowly filing into the ballroom. Suddenly, she caught her breath. Two tall men, dressed alike in dark blue suits, had entered the auditorium and were looking around. She was certain they were the same men the desk clerk had pointed out to her earlier, the ones who'd been asking about Harry.

"Uh-oh, what now?" Gary leaned toward her anxiously. "Don't tell me it's the bald-headed spy again."

"Not exactly." She moved aside so that Gary could look out. "See those two men at the back of the hall, the ones dressed alike in blue suits?"

"Them?" Gary laughed. "They look about as much like spies as you and I." He grinned. "Just kidding, just kidding. But, seriously, what's up with them? They look anything but suspicious."

"The desk clerk pointed them out to me. They were asking about Harry too."

"Is everyone in the world asking about Harry? What gives with our erstwhile producer?" Fritz said. "Harry was always a popular guy though. Always getting called away from the set for something or other."

"That's right, he did, didn't he," Clarissa murmured thoughtfully. "I wonder--"

"Clarissa," Gary began patiently. "Listen to me. We are not spies, we are not involved in anything underhanded, and we are not James Bond and Miss Moneypenny. We are actors--normal, red-blooded actors who happen to have a nut for a producer. Let it go at that, will you?"

She sighed. "I wish I could, but--"

"I know, I know." He threw up his hands. "Your sixth sense is telling you that there's some sinister plot behind Harry's behavior."

She groaned. "Is it asking too much for you to actually listen to what I've been saying?"

"I'd listen if it made any sense. It doesn't. It's just a pile of coincidences that has a perfectly rational explanation. And when Harry finally makes his appearance we'll find out all the answers."

"You mean if Harry makes his appearance. He still hasn't checked in," she said.

"He's probably still negotiating the movie deal." Barbara's voice was sharp. "Honestly, Clarissa, you're blowing this way out of proportion."

"I can tell when I'm outvoted," Clarissa grumbled. "I only hope you're right."

"We are," Gary said confidently, and they all turned as the announcer's voice boomed out again, making their now familiar introductions.

***

Clarissa looked up from the picture she was autographing to glance toward the back of the auditorium. It was a few minutes to eight. In another minute or two the line would shut down, and the rest of the fans would file in for the buffet dinner, the Q and A session, and the Mr. and Mrs. Spy marathon. Harry, who usually spearheaded the beginning of Q and A, was still conspicuously absent.

Suddenly she tensed. The balding man was back. He was standing at the rear of the auditorium. He had on a different colored overcoat, but she was sure she recognized him. He was carrying a black briefcase in his right hand. Another movement caught her eye and she turned her head slightly to see in the rear of the auditorium, the other men she'd noticed that afternoon. They seemed to be watching the man in the overcoat.

She nudged Gary. "I know you don't want to hear this, but look at the back of the Crystal Room," she hissed.

The balding man had started to move toward the exit. The other two men rose also, apparently following him.

"That is odd. Usually they're fighting to get in, not casually walking out. Maybe they work here," Gary remarked.

"The one on the right was the man from Baltimore."

"Ah, the baldheaded, overcoat-clad accented spy. I should have recognized him from your description."

"Don't be snide."

Another voice piped up. "Well, I recognize him."

The two of them turned. Barbara was standing behind them.

"You what?" Clarissa looked up at her. "What did you say?"

"I recognize that man on the right. He's on our floor, room right down the hall from yours, Clarissa. I saw him when I was leaving to meet everybody downstairs." She grinned. "Actually I bumped right into him. He was standing rather close behind me."

Clarissa turned to Gary triumphantly. "See. That proves it."

He looked at her in amusement. "Proves what? All it proves is that he's got a room on our floor. He told you he had something to discuss with Harry."

"And Harry didn't seem to know anything about him," Clarissa said.

"Perhaps he didn't recognize him from your excellent description," Gary said impatiently. "There's a logical explanation for these incidents, Clarissa, take my word for it."

A waiter approached them. "Ms. McMillan. This is for you. The desk clerk told me to give it to you immediately." He pressed a white slip of paper into Clarissa's hand. She opened it and scanned the printed words, then turned triumphantly to the others.

"Well, it looks as if we may finally be able to solve this mystery." She waved the paper in front of them excitedly. "Harry's just checked in. Let's go and find out once and for all."

Gary pushed her gently back into the chair. "We can't go right this moment, Clarissa. In case you've forgotten, there's a legion of fans out there who expect us to have dinner with them and make merry."

"You three can handle it. I won't be long."

"Not on your life." Barbara glared at her. "We're a team on this. Besides, we all want to hear what Harry has to say."

"Yeah, and we're curious about the reunion movie deal, too. Besides, Harry should be here any minute. He always comes to the Q and A's," Fritz said with conviction.

Except in Baltimore, Clarissa thought. And, try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that he might not show up now, either.

Another waiter appeared, this time with a portable phone. "Ms. McMillan. Phone for you."

Clarissa took the phone. "Hello?"

Harry's voice, sounding rather strained, boomed over the wire at her. "Clarissa. How's it going?"

"Harry!" she breathed into the phone. The others turned to look at her. Gary grabbed the waiter's arm. "Hold off on opening those doors a minute, will you?" he hissed.

"Harry, where are you?" Clarissa asked.

Harry laughed. "In my room, as you well know. The girl at the desk said that you were checking hourly as to my arrival."

Clarissa smiled. "Guilty as charged I'm afraid. As a matter of fact I was just going to try to get up to see you. Are you coming down here?"

"Later. I have some unfinished business to take care of." He paused. "You got my telegram?"

"Yes, and what was that all about?"

"I have no doubt that you can figure it out, if you have to."

"Harry, this is starting to seem a little like the plot of a Mr. and Mrs. Spy show."

"Well, perhaps it's my way of getting you in the mood for the reunion movie."

"Harry, about the movie--" Clarissa began.

He cut her off. "I'm sorry, love, but I have to go now. If I don't make it downstairs, come up to my suite after the show."

"But Harry--"

" See you later." He rang off, leaving Clarissa staring at the receiver.

"Well?" Gary demanded.

"He said he'd talk to us after the show. He said he might not make it down tonight."

An odd feeling swept over her as she repeated the words, almost as if something dire were about to happen. At that moment the doors opened and enthusiastic fans began to flood the ballroom. Further reflection on Harry and his strange behavior would have to wait for now.

***

"There they are again."

Gary looked up from the picture he was autographing as Clarissa spoke. "There who are?" he hissed.

Clarissa nodded toward the back of the Crystal Ballroom. "The two men. They're back, standing in the rear." She saw where he was looking. "No, over to your left." She frowned. "I don't see the man they were following."

Gary laughed. "If you want my opinion, they look like Feds."

"Feds?"

"Oh, come on, didn't you learn anything from our years on the show? Feds, meaning federal agents."

"FBI or CIA? Yes," Clarissa said thoughtfully. "Maybe they could be."

Gary rolled his eyes. "I can't wait to talk to Harry. Maybe he can take these fantasies of yours and weave them into the reunion movie. It would make it a huge hit."

"You just don't want to give me credit for anything, do you?"

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that my feminine intuition just might be right for a change, and Harry's involved in a peculiar situation."

Barbara leaned across the table. "Can't you two knock it off for five minutes? You're disrupting the fan flow."

Clarissa started. She'd become so engrossed in her argument with Gary that she'd totally forgotten that they were seated at the reception table, signing photos and posing for pictures. She glanced quickly at her watch. Another thirty minutes and they would break for dinner. Maybe then she could get up to Harry's room and find out for certain what was up with him.

Chapter Six

"A little rare for my taste, but good." Gary bit into another piece of filet mignon and grinned across the dinner table at Clarissa.

Barbara took a sip of her champagne and glanced at Clarissa. "You haven't touched your food," she said pointedly.

Clarissa shrugged. "I don't seem to be that hungry tonight. I'm sure Gary will finish my dinner for me."

Gary was already reaching across the table for her plate. "Well, if you insist. Are you sure you don't want any? It's really good."

"No. Please. It makes me feel better just knowing my dinner has found a secure home in the pit of your stomach." She rose and threw down her napkin. "I'm taking a break," she said shortly. "They aren't ready to serve dessert yet, and we're at least forty-five minutes away from starting the marathon."

"You've been antsy all during the meal," Gary said, staring at her. "You're not planning to bother Harry with all this foolishness right now are you? The man told you he had business to conduct. I'm sure whatever it is you want to discuss with him can wait until tomorrow."

"For all we know, tomorrow might be too late."

"For Goodness sake, Gary, if she wants to pay Harry a visit, what's the harm?" Barbara smiled at Clarissa. "Do you want me to go with you, Clarissa?"

Clarissa rose swiftly. "No thanks, Barbara. I'll be fine. I won't be long."

Gary watched her as she moved swiftly out of the auditorium. "Uh-huh," he murmured. "This is trouble."

***

The elevator stopped. Clarissa got out and started to walk down the hall towards the Presidential suite when suddenly a door opened. Instinctively, she slipped into an alcove. Harry stepped out into the hallway. Another man was right behind him. Clarissa's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the man from Baltimore.

She leaned closer, trying to hear what they were saying, but she was too far away. The baldheaded man was waving his arms and looked very upset. Harry appeared to be trying to calm him down. The man reached into his overcoat and pulled out a thick, manila envelope. Harry took it from him, and just for a moment, raised his voice loud enough for her to hear.

"I will meet you later, Boris. I know what to do with this."

Harry tapped the envelope, tucked it under his arm, and returned to his suite. The other man paused, staring at the closed door almost as if he wanted to knock on it again, but after a few moments he shrugged and went down the hallway toward the elevator. Clarissa shrank back into the alcove's protecting shadows as he passed her. Once he was on the elevator she hurried over to Harry's door and pounded her fists on it. She was just about to knock again when the door was suddenly flung open and Harry stood there, staring at her quizzically.

"Now what is--?" he began, but stopped speaking when he recognized her. "Clarissa. My dear, I didn't expect to see you tonight."

Clarissa smiled weakly. "I'm sure. May I come in, Harry? I can't stay long. The marathon will be starting soon and I have to get back for it."

He motioned her inside, into a large drawing room complete with marble columns, Victorian-style furnishings and an ornamental fireplace. Clarissa's eyes widened at the grandeur. She chuckled at the portrait of Abe Lincoln on horseback over the fireplace.

"Nice touch, eh?" Harry grinned. "A friend of mine painted it for me and gave it to me before I got on the plane. I've only just unwrapped it."

"Very nice. He obviously knows your fetish with Abe Lincoln."

"Honest Abe, the greatest President ever. I think I'll hang it in my poolroom when I get home. Max will love it." He looked at her somberly. "So tell me, what's behind this sudden burst of concern? Or can it be you've decided to do the Mr. and Mrs. Spy movie after all?"

"Harry, who was that man?"

He looked puzzled. "Man? What man?"

"When I came up on the elevator, you and another man were just coming out of here. Harry, that was the man I told you about."

He looked puzzled, then his expression cleared. "That was the man? Well, you can relax, Clarissa. Boris Benson's a writer and he and I have known each other for a while. There's no deep, dark plot afoot I assure you." He moved to the large bar and poured two glasses of sherry. "Join me?"

She took the glass he offered her, but her expression was still puzzled. "Harry, even you have to admit you've been acting a little strange lately. Take that telegram for instance."

He regarded her over the rim of the glass. "It wasn't obvious to you?"

"Hardly. And if it was a subtle prod to get me to do the movie, I'm afraid it was a waste of time."

"You've decided against it?"

"Yes. But I'm sure you'll have no trouble recasting the role. A lot of actresses would die to play Julie Samson."

"Die. An appropriate choice of words." Harry grew thoughtful. "I think reading the actual script would prove to be enlightening to you, Clarissa."

"Why? What would be different about it, Harry? It's still the same old spy game. Something I desperately want to get away from."

Harry leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. "I know what you mean," he said at last. "I would like to get away from it, too."

"Really? It doesn't seem that way. I mean, why negotiate to do the movie at all if you 're sincere about it?" Clarissa said with feeling.

Harry raised anxious eyes to hers. "I was hoping that certain things would work out. That it wouldn't be necessary to reprise Mr. and Mrs. Spy again. Alas, no such luck."

Clarissa looked at him sharply. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

He went on speaking as if he hadn't heard her. "Life is funny, Clarissa. We make choices. Sometimes the choices work out, sometimes they don't. Sometimes one decision we make can alter the rest of our lives."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why do I get the feeling you aren't talking about the show right now?"

He straightened and smiled at her. "What else would I be talking about?"

She frowned. "So who do you have interested in this reunion movie, Harry? Who actually wants to put money up to see Gary and me reprise our roles?"

Harry's eyes took on a faraway look. "You wouldn't know him," he said shortly.

"Try me. I know a lot of influential names."

"Have you ever heard of Charles Geoffrey Adamo?"

"Now there you've got me. No, I haven't," she said wryly. "He must be fairly new to the Hollywood scene."

"Oh, he's been around for awhile. Dabbling in a little of this, a little of that. It's safe to say that I've had my eye on him for some time."

She frowned. "Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

He leaned forward, lips parted to say something to her when the phone rang. Muttering an oath under his breath, he scooped up the receiver.

"Slominski here. Yes. Hello, yes, I recognize your voice. No, no, not now. I'm not alone. Fifteen minutes. Fine." He replaced the receiver, frowning thoughtfully.

Clarissa stood up abruptly. "Harry, I won't waste any more of your time right now. I just wanted to tell you my decision concerning the movie as quickly as possible so that you could make other arrangements."

"Well, if you're certain--"

"I am."

"I won't force you, but I would ask you to do me one favor based on our long association." He picked up a thick envelope from the table. "Here's the script for the movie. Take it. Read it. Then come back and let me know what you think." He paused. "I mean, tell me if you think anything about the script seems familiar to you." He pressed the envelope into Clarissa's outstretched hand and gently steered her to the door.

"Harry, this won't do any good. I really don't want to do it."

"Please, Clarissa. Just humor me. Take the script."

She sighed. "All right, Harry. I'll read it. But I'm not making any promises."

"And one other thing, Clarissa."

"Yes?"

"Don't tell anyone I gave it to you. I don't want it to get out that I handed you an advance copy. After all, it's still a work in progress. Someone would claim favoritism."

She raised an eyebrow. "You, Harry? Never." She laughed. "I will look at it though. That I can promise you."

"And you will tell no one. Not Gary, Fritz, Barbara--not anyone."

She thought his request a trifle strange, but then again everything about Harry seemed strange lately. She nodded again slowly.

"Excellent," he said, smiling broadly. "Go on, now, or you'll be late getting downstairs."

"You won't be there tonight?" she asked anxiously.

"No, I'm sorry. I have another appointment."

His tone seemed rather brusque, she thought. "Well, what about tomorrow? You know, Harry, those fans count on your being there just as much as anyone else."

He shook his head. "Somehow I doubt that. Go, Clarissa. I'll speak with you later."

He watched her from the door of the suite until she was on the elevator and the doors closed behind her. Almost as if on cue, the doors of the elevator next to it slid open, and the two blue-suited men emerged. The taller one caught Harry's eye and smiled.

"Hello again, Harry. Are you ready?"

Harry sighed. "As ready as ever, I suppose. Come in, gentlemen, and let's begin."

Chapter Seven

Clarissa was just about to enter the Grand Ballroom when she realized that she was still carrying the manila envelope with the script for the Mr. and Mrs. Spy movie. She'd better put it somewhere safe, she thought in consternation. Damn Harry and his stupid promises! What on earth would be the matter with Gary or Fritz or Barbara knowing that he'd given her the advance copy? He'd been most insistent, however, and it was probably best to humor him, at least until she could figure out what in the world he was up to. However, there wasn't enough time to go back to her room, and she could hardly conceal the bulky script somewhere on her person since her gown clung to her like a sausage skin. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the envelope and suddenly it came to her

In the hallway where she was standing there was a small alcove housing several statues. She stealthily approached it and hid the envelope in the base of a small winged Cupid. She remembered a similar thing being done in a movie she had seen once. Now, if only her action turned out to be as clever as the one in the movie.

Minutes later she was back in the Grand Ballroom, seated once again between Barbara and Gary. She congratulated herself, and decided she should stay up late and watch those B movies more often. That's probably where the writers on their show got most of their ideas anyway.

Gary leaned close to her. "So, what's up with Harry?" he hissed, and while his expression was one of bland indifference, Clarissa thought she could detect a flicker of concern in his eyes.

She waved her hand impatiently. "Harry's the same old Harry. He had a million and one excuses why he was late, and more as to why he won't be showing up tonight. I suppose I was foolish to worry."

"You don't mean that I'm sure," Gary said levelly. "And you told him, didn't you? You told Harry that you had no intention of doing the reunion movie."

"Yes, Gary, I told him. But he didn't seem particularly concerned. I still think Harry has other things on his mind."

"Were you quite definite? Or did you at least leave the door open for negotiation?"

"I was quite definite. However, dear old Harry hears what he wants to hear. He gave me--" She broke off abruptly, remembering that Harry had specifically told her not to mention the script to any of her fellow cast members.

Gary and Barbara were looking at her curiously. "Gave you what?" Barbara prompted, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Clarissa waved her hand dismissively. "He gave me a headache, actually, going on and on about how good this script was going to be, how it was going to be so much more intense than what we were used to in the show."

"Really? Now that would be interesting. Maybe he can let us have a peek at the first draft of the script when it's done."

"No!" Clarissa all but shouted. Now she had commanded Fritz's attention as well. They all gathered about her like vultures circling prey.

"What's eating you?" Barbara demanded. "Does he have the script? Did he show it to you, and is it lousy?"

"No, he didn't show me anything. He was just so … I don't know, intense for Harry. He was always a rather happy-go-lucky, a go-where-life-leads-me type of person. Now it seems as if everything he says has some sort of double meaning."

"You're not making any sense, you know that, Clarissa," Gary said. "What in the world happened up there?"

"Nothing I tell you. I went up to see him because I wanted to let him know that I have no intention of doing this movie. I figured that if he knew early enough he could get the ball rolling on recasting the role. He didn't seem concerned at all. He wants me to think it over. I told him I would, but I really don't see a chance of changing my mind. End of story."

"And of course, you're shutting the door on any possibility of doing the film," Fritz grumbled. "All that matters to you is you and your Shakespeare in the park. To hell with us and what it would mean to our careers."

"It may startle you to know, Fritz, but Harry always encouraged these lofty ambitions, as you put it. He discovered me while I was in Shakespeare, and he never discouraged me from pursuing it. He even arranged for one of my Shakespearean auditions in New York after the show ended."

"Hey, gang, I think we should table any further discussion on the subject until we can all get together with Harry." Gary said earnestly. "We're starting to snipe and swat at one another like so many flies. Where's our spirit of camaraderie?"

"It flew out the window along with that movie if she doesn't do it," Fritz spat.

"I don't see where my not wanting to do this project should have any bearing on the rest of you. I'm sure Harry can use his clout with the studio and get the role recast. And who knows, maybe my replacement will have more electricity with Gary and fit better into the role of Julie Samson than I ever could."

"Oh, Clarissa." Gary rolled his eyes. "No woman alive could heap the verbal abuse on me you do."

"Someone has to keep your ego in line," she said. "It'll encompass the rest of us if it isn't kept in check."

"You're going to turn my head with all this sweet talk," Gary replied.

Barbara frowned. "Look. It's almost time for the second half of the evening. What say we call a truce, or this eager beaver group of fans is going to find out a lot more about us than they bargained for."

"Agreed." Clarissa raised her wineglass. "To truces."

Gary regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his glass. "Amen," he said at last.

***

"One last question before we begin tonight's Spy marathon. Yes, the young woman in beige at the back of the room." Gary clutched the microphone and beamed into the sea of faces before him.

Following the buffet dinner, the customary Q and A session had been held, and now it was winding down to the beginning of the marathon

Clarissa, seated on Gary's right, glanced across at Fritz and Barbara. They looked plain bored, and it was a sure bet they'd slip out as soon as they could. All she had to do was make sure that Gary wasn't around before she retrieved the script from its hiding place.

The woman at the back of the auditorium looked to be somewhere in her mid-forties. "I just loved your show," she said. "Couldn't understand why it was cancelled."

Gary grinned. "Frankly, neither could we." He waited until the light laughter had died down before asking, "And your name is?"

"Oh, Patrice Williamson, from Canton, Ohio." Patrice nervously stumbled over her words. "Oh, Doug … I mean, Mr. Preston, I just wanted to ask you and Julie ... I mean, Ms. McMillan, if you get along as well in real life as you seem to on the show?"

What a question! Clarissa wished the woman had asked it of her. It was about time the world found out just what a low-life she thought Gary Preston was. Her gaze raked over his lean, muscular body. Handsome yes, but definitely a low life. She grimaced as she recalled his earlier words to her. Secretly in love with him indeed! She was as much attracted to him as she was to a rattlesnake!

Her breath caught in the back of her throat for a moment as Gary abruptly got up, leaned over her, and kissed her tenderly on the lips. What startled her even more was the fact that her first instinct was, surprisingly, to twine her hands around his neck and run her fingers through his mass of dark, curly hair rather than punch him in the stomach.

Gary broke the kiss suddenly and gazed at Clarissa's half-lidded eyes and flushed face. A slow smile lit his features.

He turned back to the audience, who began applauding enthusiastically.

"Does that answer your question, Patrice?" he said, grinning.

Clarissa shook her head to clear it, and caught the amused glances of Fritz and Barbara. Color flooded her face, making her cheeks turn scarlet. She started to get to her feet but Gary, sensing her change in attitude, gently pushed her back into the chair and perched himself on the arm, one hand casually draped around the back, fingers like a steel trap digging into her shoulders so that she couldn't move.

"Clarissa, dear," he murmured under his breath. "If you have any respect at all for Harry and for our former co-stars, you'll just grin and play along with this."

Patrice was speaking again. "Oh, I just knew it. The electricity was too great. Tell us, are you two an item in real life?"

"Over my dead body," Clarissa hissed, as Gary rose smoothly to his feet, gripping the microphone once more.

"Alas, I fear milady concentrates more on her career than on romance, Patrice. Ms. McMillan, as you well know, is an accomplished Shakespearean actress, and has appeared in many Broadway and off-Broadway productions of the bard's works since leaving the show."

"Oh, could you quote a line from one of the plays for us, Ms. McMillan?" Patrice said. "We'd all be so thrilled." An encouraging titter went up from the audience.

Gary grinned wickedly and handed her the microphone. "You're on, Ophelia. Or is it Morticia? I always get them confused."

"You'll pay for this, Gary Preston," she hissed, but she couldn't deny the tremor that went through her as she faced the crowd. "My co-star is too kind," she said sweetly. "I'll be pleased to recite one of my favorite speeches for you. Unfortunately it's not Ophelia, Gary's favorite choice. No, I shall do for you Portia's speech from the Merchant of Venice, act four, scene one. I hope you like it." A hush fell over the audience as she began. "The Quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed. It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes."

She glanced up at that moment and her eyes widened in amazement. Harry was standing in the back of the auditorium! Just to his left was the baldheaded man, the one that he'd called Boris.

She drew in her breath sharply and realized that she was not in a position at the moment to do anything about it. She continued. "'Tis mightiest in the mightiest, it becomes the throned monarch better than his crown. His scepter shows the force of temporal power, the attribute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings."

Her gaze locked on Harry. Almost as if he felt her piercing gaze, he raised his eyes to meet hers. His lips moved, and Clarissa thought she could discern what he was saying, and it startled her. Nonetheless, she continued on with the speech. "But mercy is above this sceptered sway, it is enthroned in the heart of kings, and is an attribute to God himself. And earthly power doth then show likest God's when mercy seasons justice."

Harry turned and walked out of the auditorium with Boris close at his heels. Somehow, she didn't know just how, Clarissa managed to finish Portia's impassioned speech, a cry for justice for the Merchant of Venice, and sat down heavily in the chair to tumultuous applause. She barely heard Gary's whispered chuckle in a tone that was almost admiring. "Say, Ms. Shakespeare, you're not half bad. No wonder you feel you're above the rest of us."

Her mind was racing, trying to grasp the full import of what she was certain she'd just seen: Harry, his face pale and frightened, looking right at her, mouthing two words that she was certain were for her, and her alone.

Help me!

Chapter Eight

"We can all rest easy in our respective beds tonight," Gary said contentedly. "Clarissa is happy; she's had her chance to strut her Shakespeare for our little group of fans, and they in turn are now happy beyond measure, ensconced in their little world of Mr. and Mrs. Spy reruns. Fritz and Barbara are happy because another day of interminable drivel has ended, and I am happy because all of you are, well, so damned happy."

Gary raised his glass of champagne to his lips and drank it in one swift gulp. They were all gathered in the back room off the main ballroom where now over three hundred fans sat, mesmerized by yet another Mr. and Mrs. Spy marathon. He let his gaze wander over Fritz's look of disdain and Barbara's bored indifference. He finally came to rest on Clarissa. Anxious, he thought, the word popping into his subconscious without any particular thought process involved. She looks anxious. Why?

He shook his head. He must have had too much champagne. What was that, his fifth glass? Ah, why count. But if Clarissa was indeed anxious, he'd bet his bottom dollar Harry was at the root of it. Good old Harry. If only she could get as worked up over himself …what was he thinking? The only interest he wanted Clarissa to have in him was to co-star once again in that reunion movie. And that was it. Still, he couldn't deny the little burst of electricity that had coursed through him when he'd kissed her onstage earlier. Sure, they'd kissed many times in front of the cameras, but this one had felt different somehow. He wasn't sure that he wanted to delve into it any more than that. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. Clarissa McMillan was a vain, self-centered woman, totally in awe of her own ability, and she'd no doubt be a bundle of trouble for the unfortunate man who fell in love with her; like Scarlet had been to Rhett, Eve to Adam, Delilah to Samson, and so on. In love with her, hah! Hell, he didn't even like her! Yet, their differences aside, something was definitely troubling her. Would it ultimately affect him? He rather thought that answer was in the affirmative, which now made it his concern as well.

Fritz rose, sighing heavily. "I think we've all had about as much of one another as we can for one night," he said, making a faint attempt at levity. He glanced at Barbara who had risen and was brushing out the folds of her aqua gown. "May I escort you to your room, Barbara? How about you, Clarissa?"

Clarissa started at the mention of her name. "What? I'm sorry, Fritz. Did you ask me something?"

Barbara shook her head. "You've been a million miles away, Clarissa. No, I take that back. You've been on another planet. Did something happen when you went up to see Harry, something you're keeping from us?"

Clarissa's eyes widened. "Now what on earth would that be? I told you, nothing happened. I went up to discuss the movie with Harry and he all but threw me out of his suite. He was not in a mood for conversation!"

Fritz leered, almost evilly. "Oh, and just what was he in the mood for, Clarissa?"

"Don't be crude, Fritz, it doesn't become you," Barbara said shortly. "I'm sure that if anything important happened Clarissa would tell us, wouldn't you, dear?"

"Sure I would."

Barbara's eyes narrowed. "Tell you what. Tomorrow morning, before all the fan festivities start, the four of us will haul ass right up to that Presidential suite. We'll sit Harry down and get him to tell us straight out what's been going down with him lately. And while we're at it, we'll get the skinny on this movie deal too. All agreed?"

Gary made a mock bow and salute. "Aye, aye, captain. And should we swab the decks while we're at it?"

"Don't be snide with me, Gary. It isn't as charming as your repartee with Clarissa. The two of you were made for each other, although both of you are too thick to realize it."

"Why, thank you, dear Abby for that unwanted advice to the lovelorn. I bid you a sweet goodnight." Gary poured himself another glass of the hotel's complimentary champagne.

Clarissa raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think you've had enough for one night? I don't want you getting a hangover tomorrow and leaving me your self-appointed job as master of ceremonies out there."

Fritz looked at her. "There are two others here who can help you with the burden," he said flatly. "As a matter of fact, Barbara usually emcees ours. She's developed quite a knack for it."

Barbara shook her head. "No thanks, I don't want to poach on Gary's territory."

"How kind of you. Unlike other people who are ready to dance on my grave." He raised his glass to Clarissa. "Have other business do you, Clarissa? With Harry, perhaps?"

Clarissa drew a breath. "I think that you all are a little too fixated on my relationship with Harry."

"No we're not," Fritz said. "But since you brought it up, just what is your relationship with him? You always seemed to be able to get away with things that the rest of us couldn't. He seemed to regard himself as your guardian, your protector. Why was that?"

Clarissa shrugged. "Maybe Harry thinks of me as the daughter he never had. He always encouraged me to confide my hopes, my fears, my ambitions to him."

"You always did have patience with him too, Clarissa." Barbara remarked. "Sometimes Harry's a little tough to take, particularly when he goes off on one of his tangents--like that portrait of Abe Lincoln he obsesses over, or how he thinks the maids and porters in hotels steal him blind. You always seem to know just what to say to humor him."

"Gee, thanks. I guess I'm just a good listener."

"All this crap aside, may I escort you upstairs?" Fritz asked Clarissa. He'd always liked her, in spite of Harry's preferential treatment of her.

She shook her head. "No thanks. I think I'll just stay down here awhile. But I'll be up bright and early tomorrow, never fear."

Barbara widened her eyes. "You're going to hang with Gary? I can't believe that."

Gary raised his glass. "I prefer to think of us as sparring partners."

Clarissa chuckled. "Sparring, definitely. Partners, that's debatable. No, you guys go on. I'll be fine. And we'll meet in the lobby, six a.m. sharp."

Gary winced. "Six! What an ungodly hour."

"Well, the fan festivities begin at nine. We want to have breakfast and see Harry before that."

"Refresh my memory a minute. Just why are we converging on Harry again?"

"Because we all feel something's going on with him. We want him to be straight with us."

"Can I take that to mean you haven't shut the door on doing the Mr. and Mrs. Spy Reunion movie?"

Clarissa inhaled deeply. "At this point in my life I begin to wonder whether I will ever be able to shut that door, Gary. Or erase the part it's played in my life."

Gary sipped more champagne. "Encouraging words. I shall take them to my grave."

Clarissa frowned. "You'd be wise to temper that champagne. I repeat, I'm not going to take over your duties because you were foolish enough to get a hangover."

"This is where we go out," Fritz said firmly, grabbing Barbara's arm. "See you in the morning."

After they'd left Gary looked at Clarissa sternly. "Okay, we're alone. Now give. What really happened up in Harry's suite?"

She stared at him. "I told you. Nothing. I told him I didn't want to do the movie. He asked me to think about it. End of story."

Gary shook his head. "There's something you're keeping from me. You've been jumpy as a kitten all night, ever since you got back from his room."

"If I'm jumpy it's because I have to be in constant contact with you and your stupid questions," Clarissa snapped.

"Where are you going now? I thought you were going to hang here for a while."

"And watch you consume that whole crate of champagne? I can think of better things to do. I'm exercising my woman's prerogative--I'm changing my mind."

"Are you now? Well, give Harry my love."

She went out, slamming the door behind her without a backward glance. He stared at the closed door for a few minutes, then shrugged and proceeded to empty the last bottle of champagne.

***

In the hallway she drew a breath. She'd thought Fritz and Barbara would never leave! Gary, she reasoned, was safe there. He wouldn't go until he'd finished all the champagne, and she knew that Harry had ordered three cases to be sent down. It would be a long night for Gary, she thought, chuckling to herself. He could hold his liquor, but he'd certainly be feeling no pain and be in no mood to check up on her. She was, for the moment, safe.

She hurried to the alcove where, just hours before, she'd secreted the envelope. A puzzled expression crossed her face, however, as she reached her eager, slender fingers inside. The envelope was gone! But how? she thought frantically. She'd been so sure no one saw her hide it.

Her first thought was Harry. He was probably familiar with that old movie as well. Could he have taken back the script? But why? What was in it? "I've had just about enough of this cloak and dagger bullshit," she grumbled, slamming Cupid back into his place in the niche. "Time you 'fessed up, Harry. Starting right now." She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to twelve. She'd better hurry. The Mr. and Mrs. Spy marathon was timed to end precisely at midnight, and the last thing she needed now was to be waylaid by a group of over-zealous fans.

She turned and fairly ran to the bank of elevators, not even taking notice of the figure that melted into the shadows, watching her every move.

***

Something was bothering her.

The feeling came over her as she stood in the elevator, nothing tangible or concrete that she could explain, but a feeling nonetheless. Something, some little detail, was striking her as not being quite right. But what was it? She had absolutely no idea where the thought or idea came from, what it was connected to, or what it could possibly mean. But one thing she was certain of … there was danger.

The elevator stopped and she stepped out. The feeling that something was wrong was even more acute now. As she approached Harry's suite, she noticed that the door was slightly ajar. That didn't seem right.

"Harry?" she called, pushing the door open. "Harry, are you here?"

Like a fly being beckoned into a spider's web, Clarissa moved inside and stood uncertainly in the marble foyer. A blast of cold air hit her like a slap in the face.

"Harry?" she called again, her voice just a shadow above a whisper. "Harry, where are you?"

She moved through the suite, taking in again its luxuriant surroundings. Glancing to her left she saw the elegantly appointed living room where she'd chatted briefly with Harry a few hours before. She moved slowly through it, and on into the next room to the dining room. It was easily large enough to accommodate a dozen people. From there she went through the kitchen to the guest bedroom, which, she noted, had a private entrance. On impulse she tried the knob and found it locked. There was still no sign of Harry.

Perhaps her uneasy feelings were unfounded. Perhaps he he'd gone out somewhere, to a business meeting. But so late? And with whom? With the man he'd called Boris? With those two other men who looked--as Gary put it--like Feds? Harry hadn't looked at all happy when she'd seen him at the back of the auditorium, and she was more certain than ever that she hadn't imagined how he'd been looking pointedly at her, or the words he'd uttered.

"Help you how, Harry? What trouble are you in?" She spoke the words aloud as she slowly retraced her steps. Somehow she had the notion that it wasn't the IRS after him this time, or anything else connected to finances. No, Harry was in real danger.

She paused again in the dining room to look out at 14th Street through its massive picture window. Washington was beautiful at night, all lit up. It was a pity Harry wasn't here to appreciate the view with her.

Back in the living room she paused beneath Abe Lincoln's portrait, again overwhelmed by a feeling of danger. There was only one room she hadn't explored--the master bedroom and its ensuite bath. But the door to that particular area was closed. She frowned as a sudden thought came to her. Could Harry have fallen asleep in there? But if so, then why had the door to his suite been open? Harry was a stickler for keeping hotel doors locked.

She placed her hand on the knob. She was hesitant to enter. After all it would be embarrassing if he was in there. Still, if he was she'd just have to apologize, it wasn't as if she hadn't seen him in pajamas and a robe before. And then he could start explaining what had happened to his precious script!

The door swung open silently on its hinges. Clarissa stepped inside the darkened room and the feeling that something was wrong hit her again. But it was more overpowering this time. Stronger in this room. All her instincts told her to leave, but she forced herself to move forward.

"Harry, are you here?" she called nervously. "Why won't you answer me?"

Her feeling of unease intensified as she moved toward the ensuite.

Her first thought was that the man lying there on the floor bore absolutely no resemblance at all to Harry. Always a small man, in death he seemed smaller still, his white body whiter against the pale marble tile of the floor, marred only by the growing pool of red that was slowly spreading out from beneath his head.

She heard a gut-wrenching scream and barely recognized her own.

Still staring at Harry's lifeless corpse, she backed swiftly out of the room, and came in contact with another body, this one living and breathing, with powerful arms that wrapped around her body and crushed her to him with amazing force. Clarissa let out a piercing shriek.

It took her a minute before she realized that the arms were Gary's, and he was screaming too.

Chapter Nine

"Clarissa. Clarissa, get hold of yourself!"

Gary's voice, though shaky, was commanding and Clarissa's scream died down to a whimper in her throat as she leaned weakly against him.

"Oh my God, Gary. Is he ..? Is he ..?"

Gary moved away from her and bent over the body, trying to find a pulse. He raised his eyes to Clarissa's. "He's dead, Clarissa. Harry is dead."

"Oh, my God!" she cried as her knees buckled.

Swiftly, Gary caught her in his strong arms before her head could hit the floor. He carried her out of the bathroom and laid her gently on Harry's bed. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. "Shall I get you some water?"

"No. I … I'm all right." She shook her head to get rid of the spinning feeling that had overcome her.

Gary sat down next to her on the bed. "Care to tell me what happened?" he asked softly.

Clarissa looked up at him. "I wanted to talk to Harry, to see if he would tell me what he was up to. And I wanted to find out if he'd retrieved something that he'd given me earlier. I came up here, and the door to the suite was ajar. I walked through the rooms and finally came upon … this." She shuddered and started to cry.

Gary frowned. "You said you wanted to find out if he'd taken something back from you?" he asked, puzzled.

Clarissa took a deep breath. Harry had sworn her to secrecy about the script, but Harry was dead now. What could it matter? "Yes. When I came up here before he gave me a copy of the Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion movie script."

A look of amazement crossed Gary's face. "What? Why on earth would he do that?"

"He wanted me to look it over."

"I thought you told him you weren't interested."

"I did."

"Then why would he give you a copy of the script?"

She shrugged. "He probably thought if I read it I'd change my mind, and yet … I can't help feeling there was more to it than that. Harry had almost a desperate air about him."

Gary laughed. "Harry? Our Harry? Desperate?"

Ignoring him, Clarissa went on. "He made me promise not to tell anyone that he'd given it to me. Not you, not Fritz or Barbara, or anyone connected with the show."

Gary shook his head. "But for goodness sake, why? That doesn't make any sense. He always treated us all like family."

"He didn't want any of you to think he was showing me favoritism by giving me the advance copy."

Gary rolled his eyes. "Well, if that was his only reason it was pretty lame. Come on, Clarissa, we all knew Harry favored you above the rest. It was no trade secret. Everyone on the show knew it, from the director down to the prop girl. That excuse doesn't cut it."

"That was what he said," Clarissa maintained stubbornly. "I had no reason to doubt him. And since I made that promise, I could hardly keep it with me. I had no place on my person to hide it--"

Gary's eyes raked her figure appraisingly. "You can say that again."

"So I hid it. And when I went back to get it, it was gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes, as in vanished. Someone, obviously, saw me hide it and took it."

"But who would? Oh, nuts! Probably a lot of people. A curious reporter, a fan perhaps, another co-star." He met her gaze levelly. "Well, rest easy. I didn't know anything about it."

She smiled at him frostily. "I didn't say you did. I was thinking more along the lines of my friend from Baltimore."

"Ah yes. The baldheaded spy."

"None other. I saw him at the back of the auditorium with Harry during the Q and A."

"What?"

"I saw them," she repeated. "I also saw Harry look right at me and mouth two words: help me."

Gary threw up his hands. "Don't you think you're laying on the drama a little thick, Clarissa?"

She waved her hand impatiently. "It actually happened whether you believe me or not. Harry was in some sort of trouble, and he had a notion that I could help him."

"You? How? By reading a copy of a movie script?"

She gave him an injured look. "I didn't say it made any sense. But you know Harry. And why is it so unthinkable that I might have been of help to him?"

"Yes, we both knew him," Gary said, emphasizing the past tense and ignoring Clarissa's last remark. "Harry hung around with a lot of shady characters," he said thoughtfully. "But I can't imagine him pissing any of them off enough to want to kill him."

"Nor can I," Clarissa said. "I'm more inclined to think it's got some connection to that damn reunion movie."

Gary rose. "We can worry about all this later. Right now I think that we should call the front desk and have them call the police. They frown upon unreported homicides I'm told." He shook his head. "Some publicity eh? Mr. and Mrs. Spy creator found dead in hotel room by his two top spies. It couldn't have worked out better if Harry had planned it that way himself."

Instead of picking up the phone, Clarissa started moving around the room, opening the drawers.

Gary stared at her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for that script. It has some sort of clue in it to what's been happening, I just know it."

"Clarissa," Gary said patiently, "if Harry did take the script and he was murdered for it, don't you think that the murderer would have made off with it by now?"

"Possibly." She sighed. "It's all so confusing. If only I could have talked to Harry. Gotten him to explain what was going on."

Gary smiled thinly. "You know as well as I do that Harry was the master of double-talk. If he wanted something to remain a secret, then it did. That's why he loved the spy genre so much I think. Why, it was almost as if he were one himself."

Clarissa stopped what she was doing to stare at Gary.

"What?" he said. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Out of the mouths of babes--you may have hit on something."

"What now? Oh, no. Don't tell me that you think Harry was a spy?"

Clarissa shrugged. "He certainly knew a lot about the business."

"Yes, he did." Gary said slowly. "The entertainment business."

"And the spy business. Why do you think our show was such a hit? He paid painstaking attention to every detail. How did he know so much?"

"Lots of reasons. He did a lot of research. Come on, Clarissa, what you're suggesting is ridiculous."

"Not so ridiculous, Mr. Preston."

They turned. Framed in the doorway stood the two, blue-suited men whom Clarissa had noticed earlier. She gripped Gary's arm. "It's those men," she hissed. "The ones you said looked like Feds."

As she spoke, the taller man reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a badge. He handed it to Clarissa, then looked at Harry's body.

"I see we're too late. We had hoped to prevent what you've just found."

Clarissa looked into the man's eyes. "This says that you're Special Intelligence Agent Bill Keating."

"That's right," the man said easily. "And this is Special Intelligence Agent Tim Reynolds."

Clarissa passed the identification over to Gary, who whistled. "So, you are Feds. Lucky guess on my part. Say, what did you want with Harry?"

Reynolds looked at them solemnly. "Mr. Slominski was working with us. Unfortunately, it seems as if his services have been terminated." He leaned over the body. "A clean shot right through the brain. Clearly the work of a professional. Poor Harry."Gary and Clarissa stared at each other, utter disbelief and shock in their eyes. "Working with you? Harry was working with you? Then that could only mean--" Clarissa looked from one to the other.

Keating slipped his badge into his pocket. "There's a great deal you two need to know about your former employer. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come along with us. Mr. Slominski wasn't just a Hollywood mogul, he also worked for Uncle Sam."

Gary stared at the two men. "You can't mean--" he began.

Keating nodded. "Yes, Mr. Preston. Harry Slominski was a double agent. A spy."

"Many a thing said in jest," Gary said to Clarissa ruefully.

Keating nodded grimly. "Quite true, Mr. Preston. Now, if you and Ms. McMillan don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Clarissa drew back. "About what? We didn't know anything about Harry's double life."

It was Keating's turn to smile wryly. "No, but you may be able to help us."

Gary looked at the man suspiciously. "And just how can we do that?"

Keating chuckled. "We have a proposition for you. How would you two like to play Mr. and Mrs. Spy again? This time for real?"

Chapter Ten

Clarissa sat stiffly in her seat, shoulders tensed, hands gripping the sides of her chair. Takeoffs and landings were always a particularly tense time for her, as flying wasn't one of her most favorite activities. It was even less so right at this moment, and she glanced at Gary in the seat next to her. He had his eyes closed, and looked calm and relaxed.

Frustrated, she poked him sharply in the ribs.

His head jerked up and he looked at her balefully. "Beg pardon, Ms. Shakespeare, but you're interrupting my beauty sleep."

"How can you be so calm?" she hissed. "And how can you go to sleep? We haven't even gotten off the ground yet!"

The gentle hum of the engines morphed into a whirring crescendo and there was a slight sound as the wheels rolled back. Clarissa felt her stomach lurch as the plane began its ascent.

"We have now," Gary said shortly, leaning back in his seat once again. "I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from disturbing me. I want to be fresh for our meeting."

"Good Lord. You're looking forward to this. You're convinced we can pull this off, aren't you?"

Gary gave her a level gaze. "You're not? Then, may I ask, what the hell are you doing on this plane?"

"A good question," Clarissa muttered under her breath. Mentally she reviewed the events of the last forty-eight hours.

After their stunning revelation, Keating and Reynolds had taken them to their offices downtown, and answered a few questions about Harry. Harry Slominski hadn't been his real name, they said, it had been Harry Wojoczefitz, and he'd been born in Russia. At first he'd worked solely for the Russian government, but when one of his closest friends, Fredrick Struller, was sacrificed in a raid gone bad, he'd gone to the American Embassy and offered his services as a double agent.

Struller had been like a brother to him, Keating said, and Harry suddenly felt no loyalty at all to his mother country, which would sacrifice one of its most dependable operatives without even shedding a tear. The Embassy, in turn, had been pleased to secure an operative of Harry's caliber and talent. Eventually he was transferred to the United States, and took with him his only living relative, his sister's son, Max, who was unaware of his uncle's double life. Harry's love of the theatre and films proved to be an invaluable cover.

For the last few years Harry had worked more on theatrics and less as a spy, save for a brief spell when he produced the Mr. and Mrs. Spy TV series. At that time there had been a series of raids on the American Embassy in Russia, when several documents critical to world survival had been stolen. Over the years Harry had gotten them back one by one. Each week he'd send a message to his partner as to where the plans were secreted, by inserting a special scene near the end of the show.

"So that was the reason behind a lot of those scenes," Clarissa said. "The dialog never made any sense to me, but obviously it did to someone."

Keating smiled at her, allowing a twinkle to soften his otherwise serious expression. "Yes, Ms. McMillan, those speeches made perfect sense to us. You know, your friend Harry wasn't just any run of the mill agent, he was a pro, one of the best, and he's going to be sorely missed."

"Yes, and not only by you," Gary said. He glanced at the agents sharply. "Tell me, was this reunion movie on the level, or was this just part of some hidden agenda?"

Reynolds sighed. "A little of both I'm afraid. It was Harry's idea to resurrect Mr. and Mrs. Spy for what he told us would be his final job." Reynolds paused. "Be careful what you wish for eh?" he murmured sadly.

"Well, at least you're off the hook," Gary said to Clarissa. "There'll be no reunion movie now."

Keating rose from his chair. "Maybe there won't be a movie, but that doesn't mean there's no need for Mr. and Mrs. Spy," he said. "Harry had a definite plan in mind. Obviously, someone got to him before he could execute it." He paused. "That's where you two come in," he said pointedly.

"Us? How can we help you? I'm not a trained agent like Harry," Clarissa said quickly.

Reynolds smiled thinly. "No, you've just played one on TV. You've played spies for years, and, whether you knew it or not, you were trained by a master. Harry was a stickler for authenticity. You two have no idea do you, of how many times your little show actually mirrored a real-life crisis situation. How many innocently delivered lines of dialog actually saved our nation."

"I believe innocent is your operative word," Gary said dryly. He paused. "But, I must confess to a certain amount of curiosity. Just how in the world could we be of help?"

Reynolds leaned forward eagerly. "Go back to California. Pretend that arrangements for the movie are going forward as planned."

Clarissa frowned. "What good would that do?"

"Harry was working on retrieving a reconstructed formula for a toxic nerve gas from the Russians."

"He was what?" Clarissa said.

"It was a formula our boys were working on, and someone lifted it from us. The Russians actually made a few improvements. We want it back. You see, the formula was lifted during your last season on the air. Harry had a slight suspicion that there was another agent at work--possibly a member of your cast or crew--who sabotaged his mission. He was determined that it shouldn't happen again."

"I wonder if that's why--" Clarissa began, then lapsed into silence. That must have been the reason Harry hadn't wanted her to mention the script to anyone. She frowned. He'd said that she could help him. That once she read the script, she would understand. Well sorry, Harry, she thought vehemently, but I don't understand. I'm more confused than ever.

Keating was watching her closely. "Do you have something to add, Ms. McMillan? Something, perhaps, that Harry may have mentioned to you?"

Her head jerked up abruptly. "No, Agent Keating. Nothing at all."

Gary leaned forward. "Clarissa, didn't you tell me Harry said--"

Clarissa's foot shot out, catching him in the ankle. Gary winced with pain and leaned back in his chair. The agents exchanged a glance.

"If you're keeping something from us, don't," Reynolds advised. "We've dealt with espionage for years. We know how to handle it. Don't try to play detective on your own, Ms. McMillan. You'll only end up getting hurt."

Clarissa's eyes widened innocently. "I wouldn't dream of it," she said softly, and she looked away, avoiding the agents' penetrating, and rather dubious, looks. She'd have to be more careful. Harry had meant for her and her alone to see that script. Something, something that would be familiar to her, was in it. He didn't know he was going to die--or maybe he did know that someone was after him. But it was she, Clarissa, with whom Harry had wanted to entrust his secret, and she felt duty-bound to honor his wishes, especially in death. Now the only thing remaining was to find that script. Whoever had taken it obviously wasn't either Reynolds or Keating. It could have been Harry; it could have been that man Boris, or someone else. Possibly the mysterious contact whom Harry had thought was a member of the Mr. and Mrs. Spy troupe. It was a scary thought that another cast member might be playing spy for real.

"What about that other man I saw Harry with?" she asked abruptly. "The baldheaded man who asked about him in Baltimore and who was with him here? I saw the two of them together during our show, and I'm fairly certain that Harry mouthed the words, help me. He was looking right at me."

Gary rolled his eyes but the agents were leaning forward in their chairs.

"You don't mean Boris Reshnick, do you?" Keating said, his eyes narrowing.

Clarissa paused thoughtfully. "Harry told me he was Boris Benson, and that he was a writer."

"Boris Reshnick is one of Harry's contacts from the old days. Most likely he was the one who helped Harry recover the formula from the Russians."

"Another double agent. You guys are all over the place, just like on our old show," Gary quipped. "But I suppose if this Boris fellow was helping Harry, and this other double agent got wind of it, he's in danger as well."

"Maybe Boris took it," Clarissa said thoughtfully, then flushed as she realized she'd spoken aloud.

"Took what?" Reynolds demanded. "Come now, Ms. McMillan, you'd do well to confide in us. We aren't the enemy you know."

Clarissa looked at him sharply. "Just how do we know that? You yourself said there was a double agent trying to get the formula back from Harry. You might just have said it was a member of the Mr. and Mrs. Spy troupe to throw us off. It could be one of you."

The two men stared at her for a minute, then burst out laughing.

"You're right, Ms. McMillan. It can't hurt to be careful," Keating said at last with a broad grin. "But I assure you, Reynolds and I are guardians of our nation's security, not Russian spies. If you know anything else about this case that will help us find out who iced Harry, it's in your best interest to tell us, believe me. Tell me, do either of you have any idea who in your cast ensemble Harry might have suspected?"

Gary shook his head. "Hollywood breeds a lot of strange characters. Frankly, it might have been anyone."

"Were there any others than yourselves that Harry was especially involved with?"

Gary thought a moment. "Well, there were a couple of writers. A few guest stars. And of course, the other two regulars on the show, Barbara Power and Fritz Connor. But surely none of them--"

"Harry suspected someone. Until we have that formula back, we do too" Keating said.

"Even us?" Gary said.

Reynolds smiled thinly. "We're inclined to disqualify you two. We still think you can be a big help to us, if only you will."

Clarissa hesitated. Gary, impressed by the agent's forthrightness, was of a different mind. "It has to do with a script," he began, then winced as the toe of Clarissa's shoe made contact with his shin.

Keating leaned forward. "A script? What script?"

Clarissa sighed. "Oh, all right. Harry sent me a telegram, indicating that I should read the script for the movie. When I went up to tell him I wasn't interested he gave me a copy of it and told me not to tell anyone. He told me I'd understand after I'd read it."

Keating and Reynolds looked at each other. "Interesting," they said at length. "And did you? What was in the script?"

"I have no idea because it was taken before I could look at it," Clarissa said. "When I went back downstairs I secreted the script in the hollow base of a Cupid in the foyer. Someone must have seen me do it though, because when I went back for it later, it was gone. I thought Harry might have taken it since I'd seen him in the auditorium, so I went up to his room to ask him, but … the rest you know." She sighed heavily.

Gary leaned forward. "So, do you think that there was some clue to the location of the formula in the script?"

"With Harry anything's possible," Keating said. "But why on earth would he tell Ms. McMillan that she would understand?" He glanced sharply at her. "You knew nothing about Harry's other life--about the secret formula?"

"Of course not," Clarissa said indignantly. "Frankly, that's a question I asked myself."

"And one we'd like to get an answer to. To put it bluntly, Mr. Preston, Ms. McMillan, your country needs your help. Are you willing to help us recover the formula and smoke out the double agent--Harry's killer?" His steely eyes bored right into Clarissa's. "Won't you do it for Harry so he won't have died in vain?"

"Us?" Gary looked askance. "Say, Agent Keating, we may have played spies on TV, but any resemblance between us and Remington Steele is purely coincidental. We're not real spies, not even detectives. We're actors. So how could we help you?"

"Actually, your lack of expertise could come in handy. All you have to do is keep the meeting that Harry set up with the backer for the Mr. and Mrs. Spy movie. Publicize your moves, so that whoever among you is the traitor is aware of what's going down. Most of your troupe attends these reunion functions don't they?" At Gary and Clarissa's nod the agent continued. "Harry believed that the backer, Charles Geoffrey Adamo, had Russian ties, and had enlisted a member of your show to help him reclaim the formula. Adamo's a powerful force in Hollywood, apparently. Our checks on him so far have turned up nothing. He does seem to have some ties to foreign emissaries, but as yet we haven't got enough evidence to make a connection between Adamo and the Russians who are looking to retrieve this formula. If he is doing double duty he's certainly clever. He's managed to cover his tracks perfectly. My point is, you're smart enough to notice anything suspicious. You'd know what to look for simply because you have played it on TV. It really isn't so dissimilar you know."

"Somehow the idea of matching wits with a foreign agent and ending up with a bullet in my brain doesn't hold all that much appeal," Gary said.

Keating leaned forward. "Harry put a lot of faith in you two, particularly Ms. McMillan. Why, she's positive that she saw Harry asking for her help! We'll have a trained agent watching you at all times. All you have to do is keep your eyes open, see if perhaps you can spot the renegade among you. You, better than anyone, would recognize a former show member. You'd be doing your country a great service."

Gary smiled thinly. "No hand-to-hand combat?"

Reynolds chuckled. "None. Disappointed?"

"Not in the least." He turned to Clarissa. "Well, what do you say? Shall we take a stab at recreating Doug and Julie Samson for real?"

Clarissa stared at them all. She was assailed by that memory of Harry when he'd been standing in the back of the auditorium. Somehow, he must have felt that events had spiraled out of his control. He'd been appealing to her for aid!

She sighed. "Do we have a choice?"

***

They were now winging their way back to Los Angeles with Clarissa still incredulous that they'd become so involved. The FBI had taken care of retrieving Harry's body from the hotel room. News of his demise would be kept quiet for a while. As far as the rest of the world was concerned Harry Slominski was still very much alive, just temporarily incapacitated. And he'd appointed his two best actors, Gary and Clarissa, to carry on negotiations for the movie.

Now they were on their way to keep the various meetings that Harry had set up, hoping to stumble on some sort of clue that would smoke out the double agent and scare up the object of their search, the missing formula.

Clarissa leaned toward Gary. "What if we should run into that baldheaded man again?" she said. "That Boris Reshnick, whatever?"

"We get a bead on his whereabouts and let the pros handle him," Gary replied. "Keating and Reynolds said that another agent would meet us in L.A. So, why don't we both try to get some sleep. We're going to need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed you know."

"Sure." Clarissa grumbled, twisting around in her seat. She hadn't wanted another thing to do with playing spy, and now she was in the role of her life. Only this wasn't some script, this was for real, and there was a lot riding on their performances. "Gary--" she began, but stopped. Her companion's steady breathing told her that he'd fallen asleep. She sighed, and closed her eyes.

Soon, soon, let it all be over soon, she prayed. Let us get back safely. Let me get back to New York and the theatre in one piece.

After a few moments, she also slept soundly. Neither she nor Gary was aware of the shadowy figure that sat, a few aisles back, watching them with great interest.

Chapter Eleven

"What's the matter, Clarissa? Luggage not arrived yet?" Gary, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, skillfully piloted his 28" inch Pullman as he made his way over to the corner of the luggage carousel where Clarissa stood, her eyes anxiously scanning the remaining suitcases as they went around and around.

"A good thing I packed a change of clothes in my carry-on," she said dolefully, as the red light stopped flashing and the carousel stopped turning. "Apparently my luggage is still in Washington, and never made it to L.A."

Gary stared at the few remaining suitcases on the machinery.

Clarissa threw up her hands. "What? What, Gary?"

"Ordinarily I wouldn't think anything of it, you know how these airlines are, but in light of recent circumstances … Did you have anything in your luggage?"

"What do you mean, did I have anything in my luggage? My clothes, my makeup, my--"

"Nothing in there that would suggest a hint of what we're really doing here?" Gary said quietly.

She gaped at him. "Oh, puh-lease! Come up for air, James Bond. Of course there was nothing in my suitcase to indicate that we're here on a--" She lowered her voice and glanced around conspiratorially before she hissed, "Secret mission."

"Well, you never know. It doesn't pay to be careless. After all, we're rather playing for keeps now, aren't we."

"Not by my choice."

"Or mine either, but the fact remains, my dear, that you and I are now Mr. and Mrs. Spy for real."

"For one thing, Gary, we are not spies. We are merely looking for a link, a clue, and a common denominator, at which point the pros take over. And for another most important thing, we are not a Mr. and Mrs. We are not a couple."

He grinned boyishly at her. "We sure argue like we've been married for years."

"God blessed us with extremely different personalities, like oil and vinegar. We don't mix."

"You sound almost happy about it."

She was struggling to think of a retort when a tall redhead wearing a short black skirt sauntered over to them. "Pardon me, but you are Clarissa McMillan? And you are Gary Preston?"

Gary bestowed one of his most charming smiles on her. "Absolutely. A Mr. and Mrs. Spy fan, eh? Well, we'd appreciate it if you'd not draw any attention to us. We're trying to be incognito, but if you'd like to step over to the lounge right over there, we'd be happy to sign an autograph for you."

The redhead smiled and shook her head. "No, I don't want an autograph, Mr. Preston."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Well, what then? Perhaps your picture taken with us?"

She laughed and waved her hand. "I don't want that either. I was told to meet you here."

Gary looked taken aback. "You were? By whom?"

She reached into her bag and pulled out an I.D., which she handed to him.

Gary glanced at it and gave her a mortified stare. "You're Special Agent Tony Watson?"

"None other than. Oh, and Mr. Preston, that's Toni with an i. Last time I checked I was a woman. And I'm sorry to tell you, I've never even seen Mr. and Mrs. Spy, although--" She turned to Clarissa and added warmly, "I did catch you in Othello off Broadway about a year ago, Ms. McMillan. You were brilliant."

Clarissa felt her cheeks flame. "Why, thanks."

Toni smiled. "I have a car outside. Shall we?"

Clarissa hesitated. "I should report my bag, though. My suitcase seems to have taken a detour."

Toni frowned. "Really. Well, don't worry, the Department will handle it. But who might have known you were coming on that flight?"

"Lots of people," Gary said. "We did as Keating and Reynolds instructed, and at the Saturday night cast dinner we announced that Harry had come down with a bad case of the flu and had asked us to handle some business in L.A. for him. There were quite a few former cast and crewmembers there. Any one of them--"

"Could be the double agent," Toni finished. "And any one of them might have taken your luggage, Ms. McMillan, although for what purpose we don't know … yet. But we'll find out, don't worry."

Clarissa cleared her throat. "I'll need some clothes. I only have one change in my carry-on."

Toni fished in her purse and tossed Clarissa a credit card. "Here. Use that to get what you need." She smiled thinly. "I trust you won't be putting any ten thousand dollar evening dresses on it."

"Well, maybe a five thousand dollar one," Clarissa said, then as the redhead flashed her a look she added quickly, "Only joking. It would be easier for me to shop if you people could tell me just how long you expect us to be here."

"That's an easy answer, Ms. McMillan," Toni said, as they emerged from the terminal into the bright Californian sunshine. She waved them to a long black sedan parked right outside. "As long as it takes." She slid in behind the wheel. After a moment's hesitation, Clarissa slipped into the front seat beside her, while Gary rather reluctantly got in the back.

The same furtive figure who'd watched them so closely on the plane came outdoors just in time to see them speed off in the sedan.

***

"If this is how they treat their guest spies, where do I sign up?" Gary said, grinning at Clarissa from his position on the chaise lounge in the suite of the Beverly Hills Hotel.

Clarissa, running a brush through her tangled hair, bit her lip in agitation. "You would. I swear playing Doug Samson has affected your mind. You really believe you're a spy." She stepped back, giving herself a critical once-over. "At least my suitcase was returned. It was a relief to find it here."

"Ah, which brings to mind several interesting questions. How, exactly, did it end up here?"

"I told the airline the name of the hotel."

"It was still mighty fast work. And that indicates to me that the suitcase was lifted at the airport, not lost in transit. You mentioned that several of the articles looked as if they had been repacked. Who do you think may have followed us and rifled through your luggage? And what exactly were they hoping to find?"

"The answer to both question is, I don't know," she said tiredly. "And I'll say it again, you really believe you are a spy. Or at the very least, one of the Hardy Boys."

"At times. It's called immersing oneself in one's character. Something that you, my pet, seem unable or unwilling to do." He leaned back. "Nice comfortable chaise you have here. Mine's a little lumpy."

"Well, perhaps you'd better complain to the management." Clarissa nodded toward the door of the adjoining suite. "Thank God, we don't actually have to play married people in this little charade."

"Yes, it's a disappointment, but try to grin and bear it won't you?"

Five rapid knocks in succession sounded at the door.

"Door's open. Come on in," Gary called.

Toni entered, a VCR tape clutched tightly in one hand. She clucked her tongue at Gary, who was still sprawled full length across the chaise lounge.

"Tut-tut, Mr. Preston."

He smiled engagingly at her. "Gary."

"Mr. Preston," she repeated firmly. "I thought you'd have learned something from all those years on the show. It could have been an enemy agent at the door, imitating my code. You should never just invite anyone in."

"Ah, but I knew it was you."

"How so?"

"I'd recognize your knock anywhere. Those aristocratic knuckles …"

Toni glanced across at Clarissa and rolled her eyes. "My aristocratic knuckles notwithstanding, be a little more careful next time before you blare out that your door's unlocked. You never know who's going to be on the other side."

Gary swung around into a sitting position. "Point taken," he said graciously, then glanced curiously at the tape she held in her hands. "What have you got there?"

Toni was already opening the highboy to reveal a TV/VCR combo. She snapped the TV on, then slipped the tape into the VCR. "The Agency did a quick search of Harry's home out here, and we found this in a sealed envelope, marked to be viewed on his death."

Gary chuckled. "That's Harry for you. What is this, his last will and testament? Don't tell me that we're in it."

Toni sat down on the bed next to Clarissa. "Hardly," she said dryly.

The static cleared and Harry's image appeared on the small screen, looking just as he had on his last day. Clarissa choked back a sob at the sight of him.

Harry looked right into the camera. "If you're watching this, then I can only assume that I must be dead. So--" He chuckled a trifle self-consciously. "I'm delivering this message from beyond the grave. I hope that somehow you're there, Clarissa, and watching this too."

"Hey," Gary grumbled. "What about me?"

"Quiet," Clarissa hissed, as Harry went on,

"Doubtless if I'm dead, then you've found out my little secret; that my career path has, for the most part, been in the service of not one, but two governments. However, my most satisfying relationship has been with Uncle Sam, believe me. I'm embarking on my most dangerous assignment ever--recovering a stolen nerve gas formula--and I fear for my life. The Russians will stop at nothing to get this back. That's why I'm making this tape." He turned and Clarissa felt his eyes sought and bore into hers hypnotically. His next words startled her. "Clarissa, if you're watching this, then not only I, but our entire country, is depending on you."

"Talk about pressure," Clarissa muttered.

"I have three words for you. Remember the Alamo. Think about it, Clarissa. You're a smart girl."

"Remember the Alamo? Who does he think you are, John Wayne?" Gary interjected.

"Sh," Clarissa and Toni hissed at him.

"I have no idea where my investigation is going to lead me. There's a traitor among us, Clarissa, believe it or not. One of our very own co-workers on Mr. and Mrs. Spy was instrumental in abducting this formula the first time. But through the expertise of my spy network I expect to receive the formula in Seattle, and then I'll be joining you in Washington for the reunion. If you're watching this, I guess I didn't make it. But that formula has got to be returned to our scientists. There are some very dangerous characters that want to see that doesn't happen. I've secreted it somewhere safe, and I'm hoping that if you're watching this, Clarissa, you'll be smart enough to aid in recovering it. Remember the Alamo, and don't let me-- our government--down." He smiled benignly as the tape melded into static once again.

Toni shut the VCR off. "Does that make any sense at all to you, Clarissa?" she asked. "Have you any idea what Harry meant?"

Clarissa frowned thoughtfully. Something tugged at the recesses of her mind, but for now, it was fleeting, a shadow only. Ruefully she shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's not ringing any bells right now."

"Perhaps it will in time," Toni said hopefully. "I hope it does, before it's too late." She glanced at her watch. "You two should start getting ready."

"Ready?" Clarissa said.

"Yes. The first in a series of meetings connected with the Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion movie begin tonight in this very hotel. You and Gary will be attending in Harry's place."

Clarissa followed Toni to the door. "Will this man be there, the one that Harry suspected was behind the attempt to get back the gas formula?"

"Charles Geoffrey Adamo? He most certainly will. He's a shrewd one. We can find no concrete evidence of a Russian connection, yet Harry was certain Adamo was at the back of the whole affair." She opened her purse and took out a photograph, passing it wordlessly to Clarissa.

Clarissa looked at it. It depicted a tall, powerfully built man with gray hair and cunning eyes. The eyes attracted Clarissa the most. They seemed to bore right through her.

"I think he looks evil," she murmured, returning the picture to Toni.

"Harry thought he was. Make no mistake, Adamo's a brilliant mastermind, well respected in Hollywood circles, and quite possibly in other more secret circles as well. He's clever to have covered his tracks for so long, I have no doubt that he's a dangerous adversary. A very dangerous adversary." Toni emphasized her point by tapping on the picture as she spoke each word. "You two had better keep your eyes and ears open and your wits about you."

"Sounds like we're getting thrown right into the lion's den, with the head lion ready for lunch," Gary grumbled.

Toni Watson smiled. "Don't worry. There'll be agents around, just in case."

Clarissa shut the door behind the agent and leaned weakly against it. She met Gary's concerned stare.

Chapter Twelve

"Ready?" Gary said.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess," Clarissa replied, giving her hair a final pat and surveying herself critically in the full-length mirror.

Her hair cascaded in deep waves down past her shoulders, and the pale pink of her evening gown made her skin seem luminous, almost translucent. She caught Gary's glance in the mirror and he nodded approvingly.

"If nothing else works, perhaps you can charm some information out of this guy we're supposed to meet," he commented. "What's his name again, Adams?"

Clarissa slipped her lipstick into a silver beaded bag. "Adamo. Charles Geoffrey."

"Good Lord. You'd have to be a mogul with a name like that. How did Harry hook up with him anyway?"

"Toni didn't say. Perhaps he sought Harry out." She paused thoughtfully. "I remember Harry mentioning him, just briefly. He made him sound like a slippery character."

"If that's so he could be working with that other agent--the one Harry believed was a member of our cast. I wonder who it could be?" Gary murmured.

Clarissa linked her arm through his. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. I just hope we aren't looking down the barrel of a .45 when we do."

"Cheery thought."

"Well, if this man Adamo is involved, then he surely knows Harry's dead and will be suspicious of our motives."

"Not necessarily. After all, maybe the assassin got out of there in a hurry. They may think Harry's still alive."

"But you don't believe that do you, Gary?"

He grinned. "Not for a second."

They made their way down to the Polo Lounge Loggia. A band was playing the strains of a popular song as they entered, and men and women in evening dress milled about, either dancing on the wide floor, or in groups along the heavily laden buffet table.

Gary whistled. "Now this looks like my kind of party."

Clarissa glared at him. "Would you kindly remember what we're here to do?"

"Relax, relax," he said. "I didn't play a top spy for all those years without picking up a few pointers."

"Well, let's hope."

Gary frowned. "Say, who died and left you in charge, anyway?"

She stiffened. "If you want to know, Harry did. Literally. I don't know if you were listening to that tape or not, but he specifically asked me to help. You're just along as window dressing."

He drew a breath. "Still as conceited as ever I see."

"Speak for yourself--" Clarissa began, but stopped as her gaze fell on a tall, distinguished-looking man in white tie and tails regarding them silently from across the room. Even at a distance she recognized the set mouth, the cruel eyes from the photograph Toni had shown her.

"Don't look now," she hissed. "But I have a feeling we're about to meet the mysterious Mr. Adamo."

"What? Oh!" Gary looked up to find the man suddenly right in front of them. He made a low bow. His voice was resonant and pleasant, but Clarissa thought she could detect the merest trace of an accent.

"You are Clarissa McMillan and Gary Preston. I recognized you at once. A pleasure. I am Charles Geoffrey Adamo, your host." He took Clarissa's hand and kissed it. She tried to suppress the involuntary shudder that coursed through her.

He looked at them intently. "Our friend Harry has taken ill I understand. He sent word that you were both to participate in the negotiations for the movie."

Clarissa cleared her throat. "That's correct."

Adamo pursed his lips. "Odd, to entrust such a chore to mere actors. These things are best handled by producers and agents."

"Harry puts a great deal of trust in Clarissa," Gary interjected smoothly. "Why, he often consulted her about details on the Mr. and Mrs. Spy set. Ms. McMillan has what you would call good business sense."

"Ah, does she now. We'll see. I assume your presence here is indicative of the fact that you will be joining the cast of the movie?"

Gary nodded quickly in the affirmative but Clarissa hesitated, a gesture not lost on the shrewd Mr. Adamo.

"Do I detect some hesitancy on your part, Ms. McMillan?" he said. "Odd in light of recent events, don't you think?"

"I don't quite understand."

He shrugged. "Harry's sent you in his stead to continue the negotiations. Why would you want to participate in that if you're not interested in the movie?"

"I never said I wasn't interested, Mr. Adamo. You did. I want to be sure that the shooting schedule doesn't interfere with my other commitments."

He raised an eyebrow. "You have other commitments?"

"Clarissa is a very popular Shakespearean actress," Gary cut in. "She has many offers to perform on the legitimate stage."

Adamo regarded them without so much as a flicker of an eyelash. "I see. Well then, perhaps the next order of business is to put together a shooting schedule. It's pointless to continue negotiations, obviously, until that detail is resolved?"

"Obviously," Clarissa agreed.

"I can have that for you, let's say, the day after tomorrow? I trust that will suffice?"

"That will be fine."

"Excellent. After you've reviewed it, I will let you know the time and place of our next meeting. Until then." He bowed again. "Please, help yourself to food and drink. Enjoy yourselves." He paused, letting his gaze sweep appreciatively over Clarissa. "I will be seeing you again."

He moved away from them. Clarissa shuddered and moved against Gary, a gesture the actor did not dissuade.

"He gives me the creeps," Clarissa muttered under her breath. "He looks like he'd give an order to do away with Harry."

"Get hold of yourself," Gary said. "We should report this to someone I suppose. Where are all those agents Toni Watson told us would be here?"

"Obviously well disguised. Uh-oh." Clarissa gripped Gary's arm. "Look. Over there by the punchbowl."

Gary followed Clarissa's gaze. Standing by the punchbowl at the opposite end of the room was the baldheaded man!

"Looks like your friend is here," Gary whispered. "We'd better find one of those agents. Have them tail him."

"Too late," Clarissa whispered, as Boris made for the door to the verandah. "We'll have to do it ourselves."

Before Gary could say another word, she broke free of his embrace and started after the other man. Gary hesitated only a second before he followed.

***

Clarissa walked slowly toward the massive fountain in the center of the patio. She glanced nervously about. Boris was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn," she hissed. "I've lost him."

"Not really."

She whirled about and gazed into Boris's penetrating eyes. "So you are here," she said softly.

"Yes. May I ask why you are following me? Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I'm sure that you know me, or rather, of me. You were working with my friend, Harry Slominski."

For a minute the man looked puzzled, then his expression cleared. "Oh, yes. Now I recognize you. You are Julie Samson--excuse, the actress who plays Julie Samson." He grinned, displaying uneven teeth.

"I'm Clarissa McMillan," she declared, "And we've had this discussion before, Boris."

His eyes narrowed. "You know who I am?"

Clarissa drew herself up to her full height. "I know all about you," she said boldly. "Harry told me you were a writer, but I know better. I think the most you've written lately is your name. You were working with Harry on recovering the stolen formula, and most likely you're the one who sold him out."

Boris's mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. "What makes you think that? You have no proof."

Clarissa's jaw jutted out. "Haven't I?" she challenged.

Boris advanced menacingly toward her. "You know what happened to your friend Harry, you're in over your head little girl."

"Oh? Why is that?"

His hand moved toward his left breast pocket. "Shall I show you?" he whispered. "Shall I demonstrate what happens to people who butt into things that don't concern them?"

"Oh, but it does concern us, friend. It concerns us very much."

Boris whirled around a second too late. Gary's punch caught him flush in his jaw and the man staggered backward, crashing unceremoniously to the ground. Gary stood over him, rubbing his knuckles.

"Very good indeed." Clarissa said. "Where did you learn to hit like that?"

"Where do you think?"

"The show?" At Gary's nod, she shook her head. "I thought the stuntmen did all your work."

He grinned, helping the stunned Boris to his feet. "Not all of it," he chuckled. He reached inside Boris's left breast pocket, pulled out a snub-nosed revolver, and pointed it directly at him. "Okay, pal, start talking. Let's begin with what happened to Harry. Why did you kill him?"

Boris's face blanched. "Kill him? I didn't kill Harry."

"You were the last person to see him alive," Clarissa said. "You were with Harry when he came into the auditorium at the Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion in Washington. I saw you."

Boris squirmed in Gary's firm grasp. "I don't know what you're talking about," he hissed. "Harry and I worked together. We were partners. I wouldn't kill my partner. I admit that I was trying to double cross him, obtain the formula, but kill him! Never!"

"Not even be tempted?" Gary asked, with a sidelong glance at Clarissa. "Not even for a great deal of money? Come now, Boris. Even if you didn't murder him, someone paid you a great deal to sell Harry out. Who was it?"

Boris shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled.

"Don't we?" Gary turned the spy's face up to his. "Why don't you tell us about the script that you took. What was in it?"

Boris' eyes darted about nervously. "Script? What script?"

"You know very well what script," Clarissa declared, following Gary's lead. "The Mr. and Mrs. Spy script that Harry gave me. You followed me and saw me hide it, then you took it. I want to know why."

Boris licked his lips nervously. His eyes darted around the darkened patio.

"Not here. Not now. It is too dangerous."

"For whom? Us--or you?"

"Both. It's true. I was working with Harry. This was to be Harry's final job. He was retiring from the spy business forever, he said. It was Harry who told me how important the script was to his plan of retrieving the formula."

"How so?"

Boris shook his head. "He didn't go into detail. He seemed to think that Ms. McMillan would know. I was offered a great deal of money to try and get the formula back from Harry, but that's all. I know nothing about his murder."

"Who made this offer to you? Adamo?"

Boris eyes narrowed. "Adamo?"

"Our host this evening. Isn't he the one who wanted you to retrieve the formula so he could sell it to his Russian cohorts?"

Boris shook his head. "I don't know. The negotiations were always in secret, by missive or over the phone. I never saw the person."

"What about their voice?"

"Disguised. Harry suspected one of the members of the Mr. and Mrs. Spy cast was involved. I thought perhaps it was one of you."

"Obviously that guess was wrong." Gary regarded the man suspiciously. "So you have no idea who the other double agent was?"

"I don't know, I swear it," Boris said frantically. "Harry didn't confide in me. I don't even know if he was certain of the traitor's identity."

Gary flung the man from him in disgust. "Listen, Boris. We want that script you purloined, and we want it now. There's some sort of message in it for Clarissa, and we're rather anxious to get to the bottom of this matter."

"I can understand that."

"Can you also understand that if you don't help us we'll be turning you over to the federal agents? They won't be as kind as we are, I assure you."

Boris rose unsteadily to his feet. "Not now, I tell you. I will get it for you--later."

"How much later?"

"Meet me back here at midnight. I'll give you the script then."

"Fine. Then perhaps you can also help us figure out who's behind all this."

He looked uncomfortable. "I, too, would like to find out who killed Harry. My own life may be in danger."

"We're all in danger, Boris," Gary said gravely. "Remember, we meet at midnight, here. And don't be late."

The tall man scurried away, blending into the shadows.

Clarissa watched him anxiously. "Do you think he'll come?" she whispered.

"I certainly hope so," Gary commented, as he carefully put the gun into his jacket pocket. "I want him to take this back. You know, I have absolutely no clue as to how to actually shoot one of these things."

Clarissa swallowed. "Let's hope you don't have to learn, then."

Chapter Thirteen

"There's Toni," Clarissa said.

"I wonder if that's one of the other agents," Gary said musingly. "She surely looks interested in what he's saying to her."

Re-entering the banquet hall, Clarissa and Gary noticed the slender redhead at the far end of the room. She was wearing a short, royal blue dress with matching high-heeled pumps and was deep in conversation with a tall, blond man in a tuxedo. As they watched, the man removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and pressed it into her hand. Toni glanced at it, then quickly slipped it into her evening bag. As she looked up, her gaze fell upon Clarissa and Gary at the other end of the room. She flushed, rather guiltily Clarissa thought, and hastily looked the other way, ignoring them.

"Why, I do believe she's annoyed we've seen her," Clarissa said. "I wonder why?"

"She's acting like she hasn't seen us. Perhaps we've caught her in the act." He chuckled. "Maybe that's really her secret lover."

Clarissa cast him a sideways glance. "You sound jealous."

Gary shook his dark head. "Me? Nah. Believe me, if I really wanted Toni Watson I could have her just like that." He snapped his fingers.

"Do tell," Clarissa said mockingly. "What's the matter? Decided she's not your type?"

"Truthfully, yes. Women who pack a .45 just aren't in my league. I prefer them sassy and blonde." His eyes raked her body.

"Dreamer," she said, glowering at him to cover up the strange sensation she felt when he looked at her that way. "Kindly keep your focus on the matter at hand will you?"

Gary inclined his head. "Looks like Special Agent Watson and her friend are beating a hasty retreat. I wonder why?"

"Let's find out," Clarissa said, and, suiting action to words, started off after the redhead.

Gary caught her arm. "You're going to follow her? Why not just walk up to her? She's on our side, remember?"

"I am going to walk up to her. As for being on our side, that remains to be seen."

"What are you talking about?"

"If there's one double agent in the mix, there can be more than one don't you think?"

Gary whistled. "Suspicious aren't you? Don't tell me you think--"

"It can't hurt to be cautious," Clarissa said.

They approached the hallway. Toni stood just outside the door, a cigarette in her hand. Her companion of the tuxedo was nowhere to be seen.

"Hah! Smoke break." Gary hissed, and made his way over to her. "Hi, there. Lovely evening, isn't it?"

Toni turned and started slightly when she saw them. Recovering quickly, she smiled disarmingly at Gary. "Mr. Preston. Clarissa. Any luck with Mr. Adamo?"

Clarissa wrinkled her nose. "He seemed a trifle suspicious of us. He questioned us as to why we were taking over Harry's negotiations."

"He was especially interested in whether or not Clarissa would be a part of the reunion movie," Gary added quickly. "She told him that her hesitancy was due to her theatrical commitments, so he's putting together a shooting schedule."

Toni frowned. "Could be on the up and up. We'll have to see. Obviously, whoever killed Harry didn't get to the actual formula. They may have garnered a clue as to its whereabouts, but they don't know what to do with it."

"And it's something that I should know," Clarissa murmured reflectively.

"Yes," Toni said soberly. "And if these people get wind of that--well, we won't cross that bridge yet."

Clarissa's brow shot up. "I could be in danger, is what you're saying."

Toni smiled. "Now, now. Remember that we have agents all over watching you. We'll get to them before they get you, believe me."

"I'd like to," Clarissa muttered.

Gary moved a step closer to Toni. "Was that man you were talking to before one of your agents?"

Toni looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?" .

"Clarissa and I saw you in the ballroom before, speaking to a blonde man in a tuxedo. Come now, you saw us. You looked right at us."

Toni shook her head emphatically. "You're mistaken, Mr. Preston. I've been out here for the better part of an hour, keeping tabs on the comings and goings. I haven't been in the main ballroom."

Gary caught Clarissa's gaze and the same thought flashed through both their minds. Toni Watson was obviously lying. But why?

Gary cleared his throat. "My mistake," he said softly. "I suppose we should report to you, however, that we did find Boris Reshnick."

Toni's head shot up, and her expression turned granite-hard. "You did? Where?"

"We had a little tête-à-tête with him out on the patio. Friend Boris was the one who confiscated the Mr. and Mrs. Spy script from Clarissa's hiding place."

The agent whistled. "Do tell."

"I rather convinced him that it would be in his best interests to bring that little article to us later on. He's going to me-ow!" He cast Clarissa a baleful glance as the toe of her evening slipper made contact with his shin.

Clarissa smiled sweetly at Toni. "Boris was going to meander up to his room and see if he could call the person to whom he'd given it, and try to get it back for us."

Toni looked at them suspiciously. "And just how did you manage to convince him to cooperate with you?"

Gary smiled. "A little friendly persuasion goes a long way. I merely convinced Mr. Reshnick it was in his best interests."

"Well, Mr. Preston, I'm impressed. Maybe you'd like to change professions."

"I don't think so. But thanks for the offer."

"So, when is this all going down?"

"Oh, around mid--"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Clarissa cut in with a smile. "Apparently he has to contact the recipient."

"Oh. Well, when you get a definite meeting place let me know so I can have a team of agents watching. We don't want you taking any unnecessary chances."

"No, neither do we," Clarissa murmured.

Toni glanced down the hall. "I see my relief coming," she said, as a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared. "We'll talk later,"

As she disappeared, Gary turned to Clarissa. "Just what was the meaning of all that?"

"That was called exercising caution," she hissed back at him. "She lied to us, didn't she, about speaking with that other man? How do we know she's not in on this?"

"We don't do we? But do you really believe that?" Gary's eyes widened. "I wouldn't think so."

"You wouldn't as long as she looks good in a skirt," Clarissa declared.

"Now, just a minute--"

"Call it a hunch, but I really think we'll learn more if we keep our rendezvous with Boris Reshnick our secret for now. At least, until I have a chance to look over that script and see if I can figure out what Harry meant. Remember the Alamo," she repeated softly. "Somehow, I can appreciate it has special significance, but for the life of me, right now I just can't figure out what."

***

Boris Reshnick raised his eyes to meet those of the other occupant in the room.

"Perhaps, if I give the actors what they want, they will be able to pick up on what we are missing," he said. "Harry had that formula, I know he did. But where he stashed it is another matter. The answer is somewhere in that script. If I can gain the confidence of the actors and convince them I am sincere, perhaps the McMillan woman will lead us to what we seek."

He held up a torn page and grinned at his companion. "I did manage to get out of Harry that this page contains the combination to the hidden formula. Its location, however, died with him; unless of course, you are able to decipher the secret supposedly contained in the rest of this. After all, you worked on that show as well."

The person he spoke to rose from the chair. "You fool! Don't you think I've tried? Unfortunately I have no clue as to the workings of Harry Slominski's mind than I ever did. However, you've bungled this assignment from the very beginning. You were supposed to get the hiding place for the formula out of Harry. You didn't. He trusted you. He never thought you'd be so easily seduced by promises of wealth."

Boris turned wide, frightened eyes upon his companion. "Harry trusted me, but he was cautious. He was excellent at his job." He paused. "And you were not supposed to kill him," he hissed.

The figure shrugged. "It couldn't be helped. He was becoming too much of a nuisance. Had I known you hadn't done your job--" The figure rose, and in one swift movement, snatched the page from Boris's hand.

"Say, give me that," Reshnick yelped.

"Quiet!" his companion commanded. "You've been a bundle of ineptitude so far, my friend. Now, where's the rest of this?"

Boris shook his head. "Sorry. Its location remains my secret. It's my insurance policy."

"Then it's time I took matters into my own hands. You have a lot to learn Reshnick. In our business there are no certainties, and certainly no insurance policies. Everyone is expendable, particularly the inept ones. Clarissa and Gary will doubtless find a way to secure the script, and decipher its meaning."

"And we'll be right behind them."

"No we my friend. I'll be right behind them. You will be … otherwise engaged."

"You can't mean--"Boris began, but stopped abruptly as he found himself looking into a barrel of blue steel.

***

"Almost time." Gary swung Clarissa into step as the soft strains of a waltz filtered through the ballroom. Idly, he glanced at his watch. "Almost midnight. I wonder if our friend Boris will show."

"I'd like to know the answer to that one myself. Along with a few other questions," Clarissa declared with feeling.

"Such as?"

"Such as why Toni Watson denied speaking with the blond guy. Is she friend or foe? And who was he? You didn't recognize him did you? Do you think he was someone from the show?"

Gary clucked his tongue. "He didn't look familiar to me, but I didn't take particular notice of everyone that was connected with the show. We can't go around being suspicious of everyone, Clarissa."

"We have to, if we value our lives. Shame on you, Gary. Doug Samson would never have said that to Julie."

"You're right. I'm slipping."

"Mesmerized by a good pair of legs is more like it," Clarissa said with a sniff.

Gary grinned. "You sound jealous."

"Don't flatter yourself. Why on earth would I be jealous?"

Gary leaned closer. "Because deep down you're so in love with me you can't stand it. You want me and you know it."

"In your dreams."

The music stopped and Clarissa glanced at her watch. "One minute to midnight. Care to step out on the patio with me? Now we'll see just how sincere Boris Reshnick is."

"A spy? Sincere? Surely you jest."

They moved swiftly through the throng of people and emerged out on the patio.

"We said we'd meet him by the fountain. Let's head over there." Gary began walking swiftly in that direction then, noting Clarissa's hesitation, stopped. "Well come on," he said impatiently. "What's wrong?"

She paused. She didn't know exactly, but she sensed danger. Danger all around them.

"Gary," she whispered hoarsely. "Something isn't right. Something's gone wrong, I feel it."

"What is this, your feminine intuition in overdrive? Come on, Clarissa, before Boris chickens out."

She shuddered. The last time she'd had a feeling like this she'd found a dead body. Was history about to repeat itself? Reluctantly she followed Gary down the path. The actor was in front of her when he stopped short, causing her to run full tilt into his back.

"What did you stop for?" she hissed. "Isn't Boris there?"

Gary's voice came, thin and reedy. "Oh, he's there, all right. Clarissa, what was the record we held for discovering bodies in one episode?"

"What a question--wasn't it six?" Her eyes widened as the meaning behind Gary's words came clear. "Oh, no. Don't tell me--"

"I won't, but at this rate, we may soon set a new record." Gary stepped aside grimly, and they stared straight ahead at the fountain and the body of Boris Reshnick that was floating, face up, in the basin.

Chapter Fourteen

They stared at each other in stunned silence, and then Clarissa found her voice. "Oh, my God. We're making a habit out of this." She looked fearfully at Gary. "Is he dead?"

Gary stepped forward and touched the body. "As a mackerel. Obviously someone found out that he planned to give us that damned script, and it didn't sit too well with them." He glanced around furtively. "Perhaps the assailant is still in the area." He touched Boris's head. "It appears to be the same type of wound that killed Harry. A clean shot to the head."

"How comforting," Clarissa said dryly, "to know that Harry's killer is still getting his target practice in. What shall we do?"

"I suppose we should get Agent Watson."

"Should we?" Clarissa murmured doubtfully.

Gary looked at her sharply. "You don't think that's the thing to do under the circumstances?"

Clarissa shook her head. "I don't know what to think, but I do know that I don't want to end up like that." She shuddered. "Face it, Gary. We can't trust anyone. Not even the agents assigned to protect us. We're going to have to get to the bottom of this by ourselves."

Gary stared at her. "Has the champagne gone to your head, Clarissa? We're not trained agents. How can we possibly--?"

"I don't know," she said desperately. "I don't suppose Boris still has the promised script on him?"

"You're kidding." Gary leaned over and hauled Boris out of the fountain. The body fell back on the concrete patio. "Well, he hasn't been dead too long," Gary observed. "Body's not stiff yet." He quickly made a search of Boris's soggy jacket. "No script. Good thing too. It'd have been ruined."

"Do you think he was killed here?"

Gary looked at her. "What's the difference? He's dead all the same."

"But with no script," Clarissa said thoughtfully. "I wonder if it could still be in his room?"

"What makes you think he had a room here?"

"Just a hunch," she murmured. "Let's check it out."

"And leave him here?"

"Unless you want to sling him over your shoulder and bring him along," she retorted. Turning on her heel, she started off. Gary stared helplessly for a moment at Boris's body, then sighed and hurried after her.

***

"Our friend Boris wouldn't have won a prize for neatness," Clarissa said.

They were standing in the middle of Boris's hotel room. A very cooperative maid had fallen for Clarissa's ploy of forgetting her key after they'd obtained his room number from the desk clerk downstairs. They stared at the interior of the large room. It looked as if a cyclone had hit it. Clothes and other personal articles were scattered all about.

"Looks more like someone was searching for something," Gary said grimly.

"Before or after they iced him?" Clarissa asked. "Let's hope whoever did the deed didn't find the script."

"Let's hope." Gary surveyed the mess critically. "Well, Sherlock, where do we start? It's your party."

"Let's see … if I were going to hide a script, where would I put it?" she mused. "In a place where no one would ever think of looking at all …" Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell upon a massive potted plant by the bay window. "Maybe I'd hide it in a planter," she murmured.

Kneeling beside the plant, she measured the base with her hands. "It's wide enough," she declared. Oh, and Gary … look! The plant is plastic, see? It just comes out … oh!" Giving the plant a tug, Clarissa toppled backward, palm and all. Gary reached triumphantly into the base and pulled out a sheaf of papers. The missing script!

"Say, maybe you should have written a couple of these yourself. You're pretty good," he said grudgingly, as he started to thumb through the movie script. "Now let's see what all the fuss is about."

"Do you mind?" Clarissa extended her arm and he pulled her up to sit on the bed beside him. They were silent as their two heads, one blond and one dark, huddled close together, intent on the printed words.

"This makes no sense," Gary grumbled after several minutes. "There's no plot. It's just a whole bunch of vignettes from different shows strung together. Do you think that's what you were supposed to recognize?"

"Could be," Clarissa said thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what I think, Gary. There was no reunion movie planned at all. This was all just a front so Harry could get close to the backer he believed to be dealing with the Russians. Who wrote this anyway?" She glanced at the cover. "It says Tom Agard. I remember Tom. He used to churn out some pretty good stories. I wonder if Harry told him which shows to use in this, or if he did it on his own."

"Ah, so now you think Tom Agard is a spy I suppose. I doubt that. He always seemed a serious writer to me. Didn't he win an Emmy?"

"First season. I think it was for one of the shows you weren't in."

Gary made a face at her. "As if that had anything to do with it. Say look here, there's a page torn out."

Clarissa leaned forward. "So there is. I guess we're too late. That page obviously has some significance. If I could have seen the script, maybe--"

"You don't think--" Gary began, but a scuffling noise interrupted him. "Say, what's that?"

Clarissa drew to attention. "It sounds like it's coming from that closet."

Gary put a finger to his lips and softly tiptoed over to the closet. With one fluid motion he jerked the door open, then gasped in amazement. Lying on the floor was Toni Watson, hands and feet tied, a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth!

Recovering from his initial shock, Gary reached into the closet and pulled her out. He whipped the handkerchief out of her mouth and started to untie her hands. "Toni! What happened to you?"

Clarissa thought a more appropriate question would have been what are you doing here? but kept her mouth shut.

Toni grinned ruefully and began chafing her wrists as Gary worked on the bonds that bound her feet. "I happened to notice Boris hanging around downstairs, and I followed him up here. Someone wearing a long dark cape came to the door, and Boris let him, or her in. I moved nearer the door to try to listen, when suddenly I heard a shot. I pushed against the door and it swung open, and then someone got me from behind. I woke up bound and gagged in the closet. Then I heard you and started banging on the floor to attract your attention. It worked."

Clarissa frowned. The story sounded rather contrived to her. Toni, being a trained agent, would have exercised more caution wouldn't she? Or was she so anxious to apprehend Boris that she'd dropped her guard?

Gary appeared happy to take the agent's story at face value. "Well, consider yourself fortunate," he told her. "Boris wasn't so lucky."

"What do you mean?" Toni asked.

"I mean, he was supposed to meet us at midnight with the script for the Mr. and Mrs. Spy movie that he'd lifted. Instead we found him taking a little swim in the fountain, dead."

"No," Toni gasped. "Then whoever was here must have killed him. That must have been the person he was going to get the formula for."

"The person that Harry suspected was a member of the Mr. and Mrs. Spy show," Clarissa murmured.

"Have you two seen anyone familiar tonight? Anyone who used to work on your show?" Toni said.

They shook their heads in unison. "Not a soul," Gary assured her. "But we did find the script."

"You did! Was it here all along?"

Clarissa reluctantly held it up. "Apparently. It was hidden in the base of that plant. We've looked it over," she added, as Toni took the script and began thumbing through the pages. "There seems to be a section missing."

Toni sighed regretfully. "The section no doubt, that gives the clue as to the location of the formula. And Harry was so certain that you'd pick up on whatever it was, Clarissa."

"Well, perhaps this other person did as well. Whoever has it is one jump ahead of us now."

"It's our job to make certain that they don't stay that way," Toni said grimly. "I'm going to head downstairs and take care of Boris's body. I'll be in touch with you two later,"

After she'd gone, Gary looked at Clarissa. Observing her serious expression, he threw up his hands. "What's wrong now?"

"Nothing I can put my finger on. I just wish we hadn't told Toni so much, that's all."

"For heaven's sake, why not? She's a trained federal agent."

"Yes. But for all we know she could be working for Adamo, or for whichever backer has the Russian ties."

Gary shook his head. "I think Toni's on the square."

Clarissa looked at him scornfully. "You would. You're a typical man."

"Now what does that mean?"

"It means that you're a sucker for a swell pair of legs," she said. "You let her good looks influence you and we can't afford that. Can't you get it through your thick head, we can't trust anyone!"

"We have to trust someone," Gary said patiently. "After all, Clarissa, we aren't trained agents. We do have to rely somewhat on them."

"Sure. Look where it got Harry. When push comes to shove we can only rely on ourselves, Gary."

"Uh-huh. Since when did you become so brave?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure I don't know. At least she forgot the script." She picked it up and paused thoughtfully. "But if Mohammed can't go to the mountain …"

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Now what are you babbling?"

She took his arm. "Come along. Time to get some rest. We have a lot to do in the morning."

He raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Such as going through the phone book. We're going to track down Tom Agard, the writer of that script, and make him tell us everything he can remember about it. Maybe then something will jell and I'll figure out what Harry was so certain I'd recognize."

Chapter Fifteen

"14 Chauncey Street. This must be it," Gary said, as he parked the rental car in front of a small Cape Cod style house set far back from the street. Clarissa was already undoing her seat belt and opening the door.

"You're not too anxious, are you," he laughed, running around to the other side of the car to help her out. "Don't get your hopes too high, Clarissa. Tom said to come on out but he may not even remember anything about that particular script."

"Then again, he may," she shot back. "He seemed very anxious to see us."

"Well, did this thought cross that brain of yours?" Gary said soberly. "Tom Agard would be considered a member of the Mr. And Mrs. Spy troupe. Who's to say he's not the enemy agent?"

Clarissa paused, regarding this for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't think so," she said slowly. "He wouldn't need to steal his own script back."

"Unless, perhaps, a certain page had been substituted--a page containing the formula."

Clarissa paused. "It's something to consider," she said at last. "But I still think that the script was a clue to the formula's location rather than the formula itself. I don't think Harry would have chanced putting it so out in the open like that."

"You may be right," Gary said thoughtfully.

"Of course I am. Come on, we're wasting time. Look, there's Tom at the door."

A tall, sandy-haired man had opened the front door and was waving at them. Clarissa eagerly started up the walk, leaving Gary no choice but to follow.

Across the street, in a long black sedan, two pairs of eyes watched them closely.

***

Tom Agard poured coffee into three steaming mugs and set the pot back on the table. They'd spent a pleasant half-hour catching up on old times, but now Clarissa was eager to get to the heart of the matter.

"As I told you on the phone, Tom," she said. "Harry gave me a copy of the script for the reunion movie."

Tom furrowed his brow in thought. "Oh, yes. Odd thing, that."

"How so?"

"Well, he came to me and told me that he had some people that might be interested in a Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion movie. So, I thought, well, great. I always enjoyed writing that show. But then …"

"Yes?" Clarissa prompted eagerly as Tom hesitated.

"Well," the writer hedged. "He was damn strange about it."

"Strange? Or just exacting?" Gary said. "You remember how Harry used to get on the set, Tom. Especially when he had a definite opinion about something."

Tom shook his head. "No, this was downright strange," he insisted. "I brought a rough treatment of the script over to his house, and he crossed out over half of it. Then he told me to take certain scripts and piece a story together from them."

"What?"

"That's what I said. Instead of a fresh new concept, he wanted pieces of old scripts, the names changed, but the same old plot lines. He was very definite too, about which ones he wanted."

Clarissa reached into her bag and brought out the copy of the script. "Is this the one you gave Harry?"

Tom took it and thumbed through it. "Sure is. I mean, it comes out a pretty good story, but I had a better one, an original one lined up at first. Oh, hell! Like you said, Gary, who can figure Harry out?"

"Who, indeed," Clarissa murmured. "See there, Tom. There's a page torn out. Does this section seem familiar to you?"

Tom's eyes raked the printed page. At last he raised his gaze to hers. "I should say so. Don't you recognize it?"

"Should I?"

Tom laughed. "It was during the first season, so maybe not. I thought it might stick out in your mind because this is from one of those three shows you did on your own; when Gary was off doing that low-budget slasher flick."

"And it wasn't worth it either, I can tell you that," Gary said. "I got butchered in the first fifteen minutes. Imagine, ninety days shooting for about six minutes on-screen. I don't even have the damned thing on my résumé."

"Can we please get back to the matter at hand?" Clarissa asked. "Now that you mention it, Tom, I do recall this vaguely. Refresh my memory."

Tom laughed. "You were on the trail of stolen plans, which you eventually discovered were secreted in the safe of a restaurant operated by the opposing spy ring."

Clarissa snapped her fingers. "That's right." A look of dawning comprehension slowly crossed her face. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Tom, but wasn't that the script you won the Emmy for?"

"Sure was."

"And it was called--"

"Oh, yeah. You know Harry and how he loved John Wayne. That episode was called Remember the Alamo."

Gary almost fell off his seat. "Remember the Alamo! The famous battle cry."

Tom chuckled. "In this case Alamo was the name of the restaurant, remember, Clarissa?"

She nodded, her eyes bright. "I certainly do. But the part that's missing--"

"That's the scene where you figure out the combination. It was a nice piece of acting."

"Thanks, Tom. You've been a big help." She paused. "I don't suppose you have a copy of that script do you?"

He shook his head regretfully. "Not handy. If you want to come back later I may be able to scare one up for you."

"We'd appreciate that."

He walked with them to the door. "By the way, how are the negotiations coming?"

"Negotiations?" Clarissa said.

"For the reunion movie. Will I have to do many more rewrites?"

"Actually, I'm hopeful that we can wrap everything up soon. Go with what we have," she replied.

"That'll be a first. Harry tell you that?"

"Not exactly."

Tom laughed shortly. "Well, then, I'll wait till I hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Take care. And I'll look for that copy for you."

He shut the door, and they hurried back to the rental car. Gary started the motor and they slowly pulled away from the curb.

Across the street, one person exited the black sedan and began walking toward Tom Agard's house. The sedan set out behind Gary and Clarissa.

Tom Agard hurried impatiently to answer the insistent ringing of his front doorbell.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." He flung the door open. "What's the matter, Clarissa, did you forget--?" he stopped abruptly as he recognized who was standing on his front porch. "Say, hi! I didn't know you were in town, too. Is there a reunion going on I don't know about? Come on in. Clarissa McMillan and Gary Preston were here, you just missed them."

Tom Agard shut the door and turned back to face his guest. The look of pleasure on his face quickly turned to puzzlement, then remained frozen in a mask of disbelief as the bullet from the snub-nosed revolver found its way to his brain.

***

"Where to now, Sherlock?" Gary asked. "I imagine that what Tom told you rang some bells?"

"I think so," Clarissa said. "How clever of Harry, really. I always said that Remember the Alamo was one of my favorite shows. I should have picked up on it sooner."

"Well, fill me in. I never watched the shows that I wasn't in, so I've no clue."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Okay," Clarissa leaned forward. "I was in charge of finding stolen plans to an underground cave in the White House. Enemy agents had gotten possession of them and were planning an attack on the President."

"Sounds like Emmy winning material."

Ignoring him, Clarissa went on, "My big clue was a piece of paper on which was written the word Alamo. I eventually traced it to a restaurant operated by members of the enemy spy ring. The plans were hidden in a safe in the wine cellar."

"So you think Harry was trying to tell you--what? That the formula is hidden in a safe in a wine cellar?"

"Among other things."

"Such as?"

"Such as getting our hands on that missing page. I have a feeling when we finally find the safe, the combination in that script is what'll open it."

"Ah." Gary nodded. "So that's why Harry thought you were the only one who could help him. He was counting on you to remember that particular story line. So now our mysterious nemesis has the combination, but no clue as to where the safe is." He paused. "Of course we don't either. Or do we?"

She grabbed his arm. "Stop at this drugstore. We're going to go through every phone book and trace every place with the word Alamo in it."

Gary sighed as he pulled into a parking space. "Sounds like a fun afternoon. Seriously, Clarissa, why don't we report back to the agency and let them handle it. You've obviously done what Harry knew you would. You've made the connection."

"I wish we could. But I've got to tell you, I just don't trust Toni Watson."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "Call it feminine intuition. I still don't buy that story she told us last night."

"Oh, now you're going to tell me that she tied herself up and stuffed herself in the closet."

"No, but whomever she's working with could have done it so her story would be plausible. For all we know, she might even have pulled the trigger on old Boris."

"Well, we could contact agents Keating and Reynolds directly. Let them handle it."

"We could, but we're not," Clarissa said stubbornly. "I want to check this out and be sure that I'm picking up on this correctly. If we tell the government agents and it turns out to be a dead end lead, we'll look like fools."

"I'd rather be a live fool than a dead one."

"Hey, you were more into this spy thing than me. You were all gung-ho at first. What's happened to your sense of adventure?"

"Flew out the window after I discovered two dead bodies. And you know what they say, everything happens in threes."

***

The shadowy figure stood over the inert body of Tom Agard. Suddenly the front door opened, and framed in the doorway was Charles Adamo. His cold eyes took in the little tableau before him.

"Dead, but too late," he said softly. "He's already talked to them?"

The figure nodded.

"You've searched the house. You found the script?"

The reply was in the affirmative.

"But those two actors, they're under surveillance?"

Again the figure nodded.

"All right. Then we'll just have to let them lead us to it. Obviously the McMillan woman has a bead on Harry's cryptic sense of humor." He waved his hand in the direction of Agard's lifeless form. "And see that this is disposed of." He shuddered. "You know I can't stand the sight of blood."

Chapter Sixteen

It took a good half-hour of poring over every telephone book in the drugstore before Clarissa gave a little cry of excitement. Gary, more than willing to drop his disagreeable task, hurried to her side.

"Find something?" he asked hopefully.

"I should say so," she exclaimed gleefully, and pointed with her bright red fingernail.

"Adagio Dance Club," Gary read. "What does that have to do with--?"

"Not that ad, stupid. Although it does sound right up your alley. I mean the one underneath it."

"Oh." Gary leaned forward and read. "Alamo Comedy Club. Bright new talent every Wednesday and Friday evenings. Saturday is amateur night. That's tonight. Fitting. You think Harry had some connection with this club--that this is the Alamo he meant?"

"I don't know for certain, but it's worth a look don't you think?"

He shrugged. "Why not. But, Clarissa, may I ask just what we're looking for?"

She frowned. "I don't know exactly. It must have something to do with that script." She glanced at her watch. "Think we should swing back to Tom's house? Maybe he's found it by now. If I read it over, maybe something will come back to me."

He sighed. "Why not? It sounds about as logical as anything else does lately. Let's go."

***

"Something's happened," Clarissa said as they turned back onto the quiet, tree-lined street. "Look! In front of Tom's house. Isn't that a police car?"

Gary muttered under his breath. "Sure is. Don't tell me we're about to see body number three."

He parked the car quickly and the two of them made their way back to the house. A uniformed policeman greeted them at the door this time.

"Can I help you?" The officer's eyes were as cold as ice.

"We would like to see Mr. Agard. Is he here?" Clarissa asked quickly.

"Sorry. Mr. Agard isn't in a position to speak with visitors right now." The officer made a move to shut the door, but Clarissa quickly wedged her foot in the jamb, blocking him from closing it.

"We had some business with him. He was supposed to get a copy of an old script for me. I'm Clarissa McMillan." At the officer's blank look, she went on. "I used to be on a show Mr. Agard wrote for Mr. and Mrs. Spy."

The officer's puzzled look cleared. "Oh, sure. Julie Samson. I remember you." He peered more intently at Doug. "You were on that show too, weren't you?" he asked. "Didn't you play her husband?"

Before Doug could answer, Toni appeared behind the officer. "It's all right, Skelly," she said, touching the man's arm. "Ms. McMillan and Mr. Preston are with me."

The officer moved aside, permitting them to enter. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" he grumbled, moving back into the living room.

Clarissa cast a fretful glance over Toni's shoulder. On the living room floor she could make out a chalk outline where a body had lain.

"Agard's dead." Toni said shortly. "A neighbor heard a gunshot and called the police. I happened to be in the area, so I dropped in too. He was shot cleanly right through the brain, same as Harry and Boris Reshnick."

"Our mysterious killer strikes again," murmured Gary. "It must have happened right after we left. Had we stuck around a few more minutes--"

"A good thing you didn't. So, why were you visiting Agard? Was it something to do with Harry?" Toni asked.

"I needed some information from him about an old script," Clarissa murmured, her eyes darting around the room. Had Tom found the script? And was it now in the killer's possession?

"You're welcome to look around," the agent said quickly. "Obviously someone followed you here and feared Agard would tell you something important. Why else would he have been killed?"

"Why indeed?" Clarissa moved into Tom's den as she spoke. A large filing cabinet stood off to one corner. The bottom drawer was slightly ajar. Clarissa glanced over her shoulder. Toni was speaking with another officer at the other end of the room. Gary stood facing them, his back to her. Satisfied that his position would shield her movements, Clarissa bent over and opened the file drawer. One of the tabs was marked Mr. and Mrs. Spy. She quickly felt inside the folder. Her hand closed around a small, hard object. It was a tiny safe deposit box key, with a tag attached to it that read, California National. Box 310.

She rose quickly, slipping the key into the pocket of her jacket. Toni had finished conferring with the officers and now came toward her with Gary following.

"So," she said. "It would seem as though you and Gary were some of the last people to see Agard alive. Did you notice anyone or anything suspicious?"

Gary shook his head. "Not a thing."

Toni scribbled something in her tiny notebook. "What did you and Agard talk about?"

Before Gary could say another word, Clarissa cut in. "Oh, the usual. We talked about the Mr. and Mrs. Spy series. Tom was the one who collaborated on the reunion movie script. I wanted to ask him about it, but there was really nothing he could add. Harry had made a lot of changes to his draft, he couldn't understand why."

"I see." Toni's tone indicated that she really didn't see at all. "You told Skelly you were here to get a copy of an old script from Agard?"

Clarissa thought quickly. She didn't want Toni to know the real purpose behind their visit, at least, not yet. "Tom won an Emmy for one of the early scripts, a show that I did myself without Gary. I just wanted to have a look at it. He was going to see if he could get his hands on a copy."

"Any particular reason why you were interested in that script?"

Clarissa smiled disarmingly. "Just sentimentality on my part I'm afraid. You see, I figured as long as we were out here anyway, I wanted to show it to Gary--sort of bragging rights."

"Oh. Well, someone must have thought Agard had something to do with the case. Too bad."

"For Tom," Gary said. "I wonder if Mr. Adamo could be behind this."

"We still don't have concrete proof tying him to this," Toni said. "Most of it was Harry's conjecture--his famous hunches."

"Yes. Well, I'd place my money on Harry any day of the week," Clarissa declared with feeling. "I didn't get a good feeling from Mr. Adamo when we spoke to him."

Another uniformed officer came up to Toni. "Ms. Watson, we need you over there a moment," he said.

"Excuse me," Toni said. After she'd gone, Clarissa tugged on Gary's arm. "Let's go," she whispered.

"Go?" Gary said, puzzled. "Go where?"

Clarissa took his arm and propelled him out of the front door while Toni's attention was occupied with the policemen. "You'll see," she said mysteriously.

***

Mr. Heaney, the serious-faced bank president, regarded Clarissa and Gary doubtfully.

"I can appreciate your position," he said, nervously fingering his pencil-thin moustache. "But what you're asking is most irregular. I simply cannot let you into a customer's safety deposit box."

"Listen, this is a matter of national security. I believe we've explained that to you," Clarissa said patiently. "You have our I.D.s. We're federal agents. Who has more of a right than Uncle Sam?"

"Call agents Keating and Reynolds if you want further verification," Gary suggested. "Here's their number. We'll wait."

Heaney cast them a dubious look, then picked up the phony I.D.s and studied them again. Clarissa and Gary looked at each other, their fingers crossed. Clarissa especially prayed that the tiny little shop that advertised phony I.D.s for a song had done an exceptional job on the federal agent badges they'd made. Clarissa patted her handbag where Toni Watson's badge still rested. It had made a good model.

A half-hour later they were in the bank vault, accompanied by Heaney and his secretary. With trembling fingers, Clarissa raised the lid of Box 310. It was packed to the brim with scripts from Mr. and Mrs. Spy.

It took another fifteen minutes for Clarissa to locate the one she wanted. An hour after they entered the bank they were on their way again, with a complete copy of the Alamo script safely tucked inside Clarissa's oversized bag.

"I have to hand it to you," Gary said. "You were brilliant back there."

"Thank you, thank you. You weren't bad yourself," she replied. "Thank God those phony I.D.s did the trick."

"Of course, we probably should have really contacted Keating and Reynolds."

"But then they'd wonder why we didn't turn everything over to Toni Watson. And I'm not ready yet to confide my suspicions about her. No," Clarissa chuckled, "we're actually getting good at this spy stuff, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe a little too good. Soon they'll be offering us jobs."

"Wouldn't that be ironic?" She chuckled once again.

"And what's next on the agenda, Sherlock?"

"First we go back to the hotel so that I can read the script. Then we dust off our party clothes."

"You mean--"

"Yep. Tonight's as good a night as any to try out our new stand-up comedy act at the Alamo. Maybe with a little luck we'll even find that formula."

***

Adamo leaned back in his swivel chair, his eyes heavy-lidded with concentration. He regarded the person seated across from him with a shrewd countenance.

"Too bad that script wasn't in Agard's house. Of course, there's always the possibility McMillan and Preston got their hands on it." He paused thoughtfully. "The real question is, will Clarissa McMillan realize the significance of the scene? Will she be able to decipher what Harry meant and put her hands on the formula's hiding place? Because if she is successful, then she and Preston can be eliminated. The page that we have should tell us the combination to the safe. All we need is for them to lead us to it."

The figure seated across from Adamo smiled and nodded in satisfaction.

"Your contribution to the cause so far has been invaluable," Adamo said. "You are as aware as I of the importance of finding that formula. The sophisticated nerve gas that it can produce can paralyze a human being within seconds. A massive dose can induce instant death. It can be put to good use as a strategic undercover weapon."

Adamo's companion laughed lightly. "A dangerous tool in the wrong hands--our hands".

Adamo nodded. "Absolutely. But remember," he added, his expression turning cold. "You are as expendable as any other. Should you fail ..."

His companion laughed throatily. "I don't intend to."

Adamo smiled. "Good. Your prime mission is to ensure that should Gary and Clarissa find this formula, they are not to escape with it. They must be eliminated. They must not succeed in their little game of playing Mr. and Mrs. Spy-for real."

Chapter Seventeen

The Alamo Comedy Club was set far back on the street, and it was ablaze with lights and people milling to and fro when Clarissa and Gary drew up in front of it.

Gary glanced at his watch. "Quarter to nine," he observed, "and the first show is at nine-fifteen. We're right on time."

Clarissa glanced around her as they made their way to the club's entrance. "Now according to the script, Dan Everett and I got to the restaurant at about this time." Dan Everett was another actor who'd played a minor role in the series. On that particular show, due to Gary's absence, he'd posed as her husband.

"Okay, and once you were inside, what then?"

"Dan, as Agent Conrad, kept the owners occupied while I did a little investigating. As I recall, he volunteered to do a brief comedy act. While they were all mesmerized by his one-liners, I was in the wine cellar, cracking the safe that contained the missing plans."

"Okay. Sorry to disappoint you, but won't be volunteering to make a fool of myself onstage."

"That's not a disappointment, that's a relief."

"Be that as it may, what was your big clue that the safe was in the wine cellar?"

Clarissa chuckled. "The faint odor of Zinfandel on a paper taken from the dead agent's pocket. The agent had kept the plans in his possession. I deduced that the paper in his pocket must have become tainted with the wine while he was hiding them."

"Well, unfortunately, I very much doubt that this place has a wine cellar," Gary said. "So we'll have to come up with another hiding place for this formula. After all, this is only a hunch, Clarissa. We're not even sure if this is the place Harry meant. Alamo could mean something else."

"What else? This club has some connection, I just know it. I--hey, wait a minute. Look over there."

"What? I don't see anything."

"You don't? You don't see a familiar face?"

Gary looked more closely, then whistled. "Well, well. Our good friend Mr. Adamo. What in the world is he doing at a comedy club? Somehow it seems more than a touch out of character."

"You can say that again." They waited until Adamo had disappeared inside, then swiftly made their way to the door.

As Gary paid their admission, Clarissa smiled at the young girl making change for him. "Pardon me, but I was just wondering about a man who came in here a few minutes ago."

The brunette rolled her heavily made-up eyes in exasperation. "We got a ton of men coming and going here, sister. Care to be more specific?"

Gary smiled disarmingly at the girl, his gaze resting on the ample décolletage displayed by her low-cut blouse. "I don't see how you could have missed him. He looks rather like one of those Hollywood moguls. Tall, clipped moustache, white jacket and hat …"

The girl smiled. "Oh, you mean Mr. Adamo."

"Yes, I believe that is his name. Adamo. We've been trying to contact him about a movie deal. Tell me, does he come here often?"

The girl snorted. "I'll say. He likes to keep an eye on his investments."

"His investments?" Clarissa repeated.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Well, duh! He's like, the owner. He's here all the time, checking up on this or that. He thinks the staff is going to rob him blind and he'll lose one of his precious dollars." She lowered her voice. "If you're in negotiations with him over something, good luck! He'll try to get off as cheaply as he can, the old crow." Her tone of voice left no doubt as to her feelings.

Gary and Clarissa exchanged significant glances. "Owner, eh," he muttered. In a louder tone, he said, "Thanks, Rosie," after peering at the girl's nametag.

She smiled up at him. "Oh anytime. If you want to ditch Blondie there later, I'll buy you a drink. Let her deal with Adamo, she looks like his type. He's always got some classy broad on his arm. Lately he's been hanging around with some black chick. I don't see her here tonight. Before that, it was a swell-looking redhead. All legs. He's an equal opportunity employer, if you get my meaning." She gave Gary a broad wink.

He grinned and winked back. "I certainly do, Rosie. I may take you up on that drink."

"I'll be here."

They moved past her into the club's dark interior, and stopped by the bar.

"Drink?" Gary asked Clarissa, and she nodded. He ordered two beers and turned back to her. "So," he grinned. "It seems as if our pal Charles Geoffrey Adamo certainly gets around."

"Sure does," Clarissa agreed. "How like Harry to hide the formula right under his nemesis's nose. Who would have thought Adamo owned this joint?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of his prowess with the ladies. Too bad his black chick isn't with him tonight. I'm curious as to his taste."

"I'm more curious about her predecessor. Redhead with long legs. Who comes to mind with that description?"

"Ann Margaret, Gillian Anderson--"

"How about Toni Watson? She's a leggy redhead. Wouldn't that be something if she were one of Adamo's squeezes?"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Clarissa. After all, that could all be a cover. She may have been cozying up to him to see what she could find out. After all, Harry did have him pegged as a possible traitor."

"Or she could be working hand in glove with him against Harry and the dear old U.S. of A. It's amazing what people will stoop to for money."

"Or the lack of it," Gary remarked dryly. "Not all of us have your courage and principles. Many of us are swayed by the good old greenback."

"But not all of us commit murder or treason," Clarissa insisted. They had taken a table in the back of the room. On the stage, a young man was telling a few jokes, directing his remarks to a few bored patrons in the front. For the most part, the room was empty. Most of the crowd seemed centered around the bar.

"I wonder where Adamo went?" Clarissa mused. "He's not in here."

"Do you blame him? That guy is awful."

"And I didn't notice him by the bar," she continued. "Perhaps he has an office around here."

"An office? What a novel idea, the owner having an office in his place of business. You do have a knack for this."

"What I'm getting at is, since there's no wine cellar, perhaps the formula is hidden somewhere in Adamo's office, right here."

"Now there's a stroke of genius. I suppose our next order of business is to find it."

"That should be simple."

Gary stared at her. "Oh, should it be now. Care to enlighten me, Sherlock?"

"Of course." Clarissa took a sip of her drink. "You merely go back out there and cozy up to-what was her name? Rosie. I'm sure she'll lead you right up to the office. Maybe you can even get lucky in there."

"Bite your tongue."

"Remember, it's all for God and country. You don't even have to enjoy it."

"I assure you, I wouldn't. She looks like she just came out of a horror movie."

"Well then, she should fit right in with most of your dates. Go on, now, time's a-wastin'." She held up her watch. "Give me some sort of sign and I'll follow you."

"Now how am I supposed to do that?"

"Can't you be inventive? Do I have to think of everything? Drop your wallet."

"Well, that's better than my pants," Gary muttered, and reluctantly started back outside.

Clarissa waited a few moments, then rose and casually went over to the bar, positioning herself so that she could see out into the foyer.

Gary was apparently engaged in a deep conversation with Rosie, who looked up at him adoringly and kept touching his arm. Gary, for his part, seemed to be turning on the charm, smiling engagingly at the girl, laughing heartily at some things she was saying. As she watched his dark head bend nearer Rosie's, Clarissa suddenly felt a slight twinge of--what? Jealousy?

"Never," she grumbled into her drink. "Never in the world would I be jealous of Gary Preston paying attention to another woman. Why on earth should I? I can't even stand him."

"Sure, sister, sure," remarked the burly bartender, causing Clarissa to realize with a start that she'd spoken her thoughts aloud. "Believe me, it's when there's no reaction at all that there's no interest. You're having a definite reaction. So I'd say there's definite interest."

"If there is, it's purely professional," Clarissa said. "We work together."

"Oh? He your boss?"

Clarissa laughed. "No. Actually, we're actors."

The bartender squinted at her. "Actors, eh. Well, you don't look familiar to me. Whatcha been in?"

For a moment Clarissa was tempted to tell him that she and Gary had been the stars of Mr. and Mrs. Spy, then thought better of it. After all, she had no idea who might be listening. She shrugged. "Regional theatre. He's done a few films. I've done a lot of Shakespeare."

"Oh, one of those arty types. I thought you looked too classy for this joint. Whattaya doing here, research for a part or somethin'?"

"Yes, research," Clarissa said firmly. Her eyes wandered back out to the foyer. Gary now had his arm around Rosie's waist, and the girl was batting her lashes at him. Clarissa found herself suddenly unable to watch, and looked away.

She told herself to take a hold. She'd seen him play love scenes before. She glanced outside again. Rosie had risen from her seat and was pressing herself against Gary. One of his arms encircled her waist, the other was fumbling in his back pocket. A moment later he'd removed his wallet and let it slip from his fingers onto the floor. Clarissa hastily laid a ten-dollar bill on the counter and jumped up, reaching the doorway in time to hear Gary say, "Oops, I dropped my wallet."

"That's okay, Sugar, I'll get it," Rosie crooned, bending down and flashing her ample bosom. She hesitated a few seconds before rising, then as she handed Gary his wallet, melded herself against him. "Come on, Sugar," she drawled. "I only get a twenty minute break, but I bet we can cover a lot of uncharted territory in that time."

Gary took her hand. "You're sure it'll be private?"

Rosie laughed. "Hell, yeah. Mr. Adamo left about a half hour ago. And I'm the only one with a key tonight!"

Gary enveloped her in his arms. Over her shoulder he gave Clarissa a broad wink.

Clarissa, for her part, wasn't sure if she were happy or sad at this turn of events. She sighed. At least she'd get a chance to get into that office. She only hoped that her hunch paid off and this was what Harry had meant by that cryptic message.

She waited a few minutes until Gary and Rosie had disappeared up the stairs then quickly followed.

***

Reaching the second floor of the club, Clarissa saw a pencil-thin beam of light emanating from beneath a closed door at the far end of the hall. Cautiously, she made her way forward. She paused next to the door. Through the frosted glass she could hear the soft murmur of voices, followed by Rosie's throaty chuckle.

"Ooh … Gary. Oh, right there. Oh, heaven."

Clarissa felt her cheeks begin to flame. What was he doing to her? She'd just told him to distract her, not maul her. Obviously he was getting immersed in his role playing again!

"You're a little tiger. But save it for later, okay? I want to fix my face." Rosie giggled. "You should wipe your mouth, too. I'll be right back, okay?"

Clarissa barely had time to get out of sight before the door opened and Rosie emerged. Her blouse was askew, her hair mussed, and the expression she wore could only be described as rapturous. She tottered down the hall to the ladies room. Once the door closed, Clarissa went swiftly back to the office door and let herself in.

Gary, perched on the edge of the desk, looked up as she entered.

He regarded her scornfully. "You owe me big time for this," he growled.

"It sounded to me as if you were enjoying yourself," Clarissa said, with a sniff.

"Well she definitely got more out of the experience than I did. She's an animal."

"Are you sure? I heard her call you Tiger."

"Believe me, all the moves were hers. I think she's love-starved. She almost took her damn blouse off. I had to grip her around the shoulders to keep it on." He grinned. "Not a bad kisser though," he added reflectively.

Clarissa shook her head. "Wipe your lips. It looks like Samoa Red to me."

He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and scrubbed at his lips. "Well, I take it that I can meet her in the hall and lead her downstairs now with the promise of more to come later? Okay, I'll wait for you downstairs then, and I'll be sure to keep out of Rosie's way. Be careful, won't you?"

"Don't worry, I don't intend to get caught. I'm in and out of here, just like in the script."

"I'd better go so I'm in the hall when she gets back. We don't want her coming back in here. I must say, though, I'm a little disappointed. Aren't you even curious as to how I survived this ordeal?"

"What ordeal?"

"Romancing Rosie."

She shook her head, but just as Gary was about to open the door she called out, "Okay. I admit. I'm curious. Just how did you?"

He paused, his hand on the knob. "The same way I get through a lot of disagreeable love scenes. I imagine I'm kissing someone else." He flashed her a wicked grin. "In this case, I imagined it was you."

Clarissa stared at him, her mouth open. But before she could think up a suitable retort, he left, closing the door firmly behind him.

Chapter Eighteen

Clarissa waited in the office after Gary had gone. Eventually she heard Rosie's heels clicking as she came back down the corridor.

"Hey, Handsome. What'd you come out for?" she drawled, ostensibly at Gary.

Gary replied, "Say, I don't want to get you in trouble with your boss. Your break's almost over."

"I won't get in trouble, Pet," she purred back at him. "Adamo's most likely left. He very rarely stays past ten."

"Ah, but that night manager was watching us as we left--what was his name again?"

"Buck." Clarissa could hear the disdain in her voice. "You're right, he's a squealer. I'd best get back." A pause. "I will see you again though, won't I, Tiger?" She gave a low imitation growl. Clarissa felt her stomach lurch.

"Oh, bet on it …" Their voices faded as they disappeared down the stairs. Clarissa waited a moment or two, then cautiously opened the door and peered out. The hallway was deserted. Smiling, she closed the door.

The first order of business, she realized, was to recall just exactly what had happened in the Alamo script. She furrowed her brow thoughtfully, sorry that she hadn't been able to carry the script with her, but she'd felt that carrying a large bag to a nightspot might have looked a trifle obvious.

She crossed over to the large desk and lowered herself into the swivel chair. In the show she'd slipped into the wine cellar and searched the kegs. One of them had a false bottom, and voila! The plans had been secreted in a miniature safe concealed there. Obviously, she thought, the formula wouldn't be secreted in the same way because this was an office. What then?

She looked around her for something similar that could be tied to the script. "But what?" she murmured.

Her eyes suddenly fell on an object at the far end of the room. She moved closer to find it was a large wooden wine rack that held more than a dozen bottles. She began picking up the bottles, searching for an empty one in which the formula might be hidden.

A few minutes later she leaned back, a puzzled expression on her face. All the bottles were tightly sealed, and still full. The formula couldn't be there then, could it? What the hell was Harry referring to? She thought for a moment. The missing page referred to the safe combination. If he'd hidden the formula in a bottle, then that code was useless. So there had to be a safe in there somewhere. But where?

She began tapping on the walls, listening for a hollow sound to indicate possibly a secret aperture. Nothing. She moved some paintings and looked behind them. Still nothing. Dejected, she slumped back down in the leather chair, letting her eyes wander the length of the room.

Then she saw it. The section of the floor on which the wine rack rested seemed to be raised slightly higher than the rest. Eagerly she sprang up and made her way back to it. One by one, she lifted the bottles out and set them on the desk, then gave the rack a slight push. It slid forward, and Clarissa stared at the section of floor it revealed. The floorboards seemed to be of a different color and texture than the rest.

"Harry, you sly old fox," she murmured, as she bent down and pressed against the uneven boards. Suddenly a section gave way, swinging inward and revealing a tiny safe! Exultant, Clarissa removed a paper from her purse. It was a copy of the page torn from the script.

"Okay," she breathed. "Now for the combination." She ran her finger down the page until she came to a line that her character, Julie, had said. "Right, Alma, seventeen, had left her eight brothers behind. Right, again, seven were sad." The line made absolutely no sense at all unless you were a top spy and realized that you were supposed to take every other word and open a safe.

"Right, seventeen. Left, eight. Right, seven. Okay, baby, open up."

With trembling fingers Clarissa spun the dial. The lock clicked back, and she flung open the lid. Inside lay an envelope with the words Nerve Gas scrawled across it in handwriting she recognized to be Harry's.

"Harry, Harry." She snatched the envelope up and kissed it. "James Bond has nothing on me, Harry. Hey, look at me! I'm really getting good at this." Slipping the envelope into the pocket of her jacket, she quickly pushed the wine rack back into place. Then she tiptoed to the office door, opened it a crack and peered out. The hallway seemed to be deserted. Carefully she exited, closing the door behind her.

She was halfway to the stairs when she suddenly heard the distinct rumble of a voice, someone speaking in a low tone. She turned and made her way back the way she had come, pausing at the door to the ladies' room. No mistaking it, the voice was coming from there. She frowned. Something was familiar about it. But what?

"Yes. Yes, I understand," the voice said. "Thursday, at the Renaissance Hotel. Nadia Resulski. I'll know her by her long dark hair, and she'll wear a red carnation. I'll turn it over to her at that time. Of course, contact will be limited. No one will know you're involved, don't worry. I know how to handle it."

Curious, but also fearful of getting caught, Clarissa quickly started back toward the stairway. She was almost there when suddenly she felt eyes on her back, watching her every move. Slowly she turned, and came face to face with Toni. She must have been the woman in the ladies' room, Clarissa thought, and now she was standing in front of the office, watching her intently.

Clarissa cleared her throat. "Toni," she said evenly. "What a surprise."

Toni shook her head. "I might say the same. I thought that was you. What are you doing up here?"

Clarissa smiled disarmingly. "Looking for the ladies' room," she said evenly.

"Well, you're going the wrong way. It's back down there." Toni gestured with her hand. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here."

Clarissa raised an eyebrow. "You mean that you didn't follow Gary and me?"

"No, sorry to say. Actually I was keeping Mr. Adamo under surveillance."

"Oh, so he's still here?"

"You saw him?" Toni asked swiftly.

"Yes, but that was a while ago. I believe one of the employees mentioned he'd left."

"I didn't see him leave," Toni responded thoughtfully. "So, is your friend with you here?"

"You mean Gary? He's not really a friend, we've just worked together."

"Oh? You two seem pretty tight to me."

"Tight? You have to be joking. Gary's a conceited, insufferable bore."

"Uh-huh." Toni grinned. "So, you really like him, huh? He seems stuck on you."

"Whatever would make you think that? We really can't stand each other. Actually, the show being cancelled was a big relief for us."

"Maybe you just think it was a big relief. I've seen this before," Toni said wisely. "What's that old saying, the lady doth protest too much. I'll bet he'd like to get together with you."

"You're mistaken." Clarissa flashed her a swift look. "Why all this sudden interest in us, anyway?" she demanded.

Toni shrugged. "No reason. I'm just trying to get to know you better. After all, we are all on the same side, aren't we?"

"I don't know. You tell me." Clarissa said slyly.

There was a moment of silence, then Toni looked at her shrewdly. "So, what were you really doing up here? And don't tell me you were in the ladies' room. I was in there for a while and you didn't come in. So what gives?" At Clarissa's hesitation, she leaned forward earnestly. "You're not playing secret agent on your own, now, are you? We warned you that such a thing could be dangerous."

Clarissa looked at her, all wide-eyed and innocent. "Why, we wouldn't dream of doing such a thing."

"I hope not," Toni said soberly. "Because this isn't one of your TV episodes you know. This is real, this is serious stuff."

"Obviously it is, since three people have died for it already," Clarissa remarked dryly.

"And we want to make sure no more innocent people meet a similar fate," Toni said softly. "So, I'll ask you again, why are you here? Has it anything to do with the clue Harry mentioned? Have you figured something out, Clarissa?"

Clarissa spread her hands. "I wish I could help you, Toni, but I'm as much in the dark as I ever was."

"Hmm. Somehow I doubt that. All right, I'll take you at your word. For now, at least."

"How very kind." Clarissa turned to head back down the stairs. Toni suddenly seemed to slip on the stair, and in grabbing for the railing jostled Clarissa's arm, causing her bag to go flying and spilling the contents all over the stairs.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," Toni said. "Here let me help."

"It's okay," Clarissa assured her, picking up the various articles and jamming them back inside the tiny purse. She noticed the other girl's eyes quickly scanning all the objects and suddenly wondered if this little incident were actually an accident at all.

Toni actually looked crestfallen as Clarissa finished replacing everything in her purse and she bit back an impulse to look her square in the eye and ask her if she was satisfied. Instead she forced herself to smile pleasantly. "No harm done," she assured her. "Well, I'd better find Gary before he makes dates with half the women here."

"I still say he has eyes only for you."

"Sure, sure."

Toni suddenly pressed very close against Clarissa. Her breath came hot in her ear. "Just watch out, okay, Clarissa. We'd hate to have you become a statistic."

Clarissa pulled herself away. "Don't worry. I don't intend to."

Toni suddenly seemed in a great hurry. "Well, I'll be in touch," she murmured, backing away. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Puzzled, Clarissa watched her scurry away. The first thing she must do was to find Gary, and then they'd contact Keating and Reynolds and tell them the formula was safe. And they'd insist on turning it over to those two men personally, Clarissa thought. She wasn't about to trust anyone else!

Clarissa motioned to Gary, who was still with Rosie. Fortunately, she was occupied carding several youths who'd just walked in, and didn't notice Gary return to the club.

"Well? Was my torture worthwhile at least?" he said.

"I'll say." Clarissa said, brightly, and tapping her jacket pocket. "I hit pay dirt!"

Gary whistled. "No kidding. Well, good for you! You interpreted Harry's message correctly. See, playing a spy does have certain advantages."

"I ran into Toni upstairs."

"Toni Watson? What's she doing here?"

"She says keeping an eye on Adamo. But I think she was actually having a conversation with him on her cell phone. And let me tell you, it sounded pretty suspicious to me."

"What did she say?"

"She was talking pretty low, but from what I gathered, she plans on meeting some sort of Russian agent on Thursday."

"Really? I wonder why?"

'"I'll tell you why, to pass on that formula. Obviously she and whomever she's working for plan to be in possession of it by then. What I'd like to know is which Feds we can trust, and which we can't. Right now my money's on Keating and Reynolds."

"Mine, too." He grinned at her. "But since you've got the formula, we've just blown her little meeting. All we have to do is give it to Keating and Reynolds."

"If we can hang onto it long enough for that."

"Are you going to show me the object of our search, what so many people have gotten killed over?"

Clarissa looked around furtively. "It's in a sealed envelope," she whispered.

"That's okay. We don't have to open it. I'm just curious to see what all the fuss is about. Where did you find it, anyway?"

"In a safe hidden beneath a wine rack."

"Oh. Clever of Harry to use the wine connection. Cleverer of you still, to figure it out." His tone was admiring. "You know, you're beautiful when you're playing Mata Hari." His hand came up to brush her cheek and Clarissa was surprised at the heat that rushed through her body at his touch. Unbidden, Toni's words he seems stuck on you came back to her. For the first time ever, she wondered if Toni's observations might be correct, and she began to wonder about her own feelings toward him.

"Penny for your thoughts," Gary said, smiling down at her and forcing her mind back to events in the present.

"Right," she said, suddenly flustered.

Gary noticed her sudden discomfiture. "Say, what's wrong with you?" he said. "No snappy comeback for a change?"

"I'm at a loss for words," she mumbled quickly, trying to hide her sudden confusion.

Gary spun her around, tilted her chin up so that he could look right in her eyes. "If I didn't know better--" he began softly.

Quickly, she pulled away from him. "Say, let's look over that envelope. Here's a quiet corner." She reached into her jacket pocket, and then suddenly her expression turned to one of disbelief. "It's not here!"

"What do you mean, it's not there? Did you drop it?"

"No. I dropped my purse, or rather, Toni bumped into me, and everything else went flying, but I had this in my pocket. Oh, rats!" She raised alarmed eyes to Gary. "She's quick, that one. She must have searched my pockets when she brushed up against me."

"Why did she brush up against you--? Oh never mind, I don't want to know," Gary said quickly. "Are you sure about this?"

"She's the only person that I've even spoken to in here other than you. She's trained in all this subterfuge, Gary. She could have lifted it from my pocket easily. Probably was glad that I had it in my jacket and not down the front of my blouse. Hell, I should have stuck it there!"

"I think I'm getting too much information. Why would she lift it from you anyway?"

"Can't you figure that out? Because she wasn't here watching Adamo, he's here working with Adamo! She was watching us, hoping that I'd figure out Harry's clue and find the formula."

"If what you say is true, then how come she just didn't kill you and take it?"

"Who knows? Maybe she's a double agent with a heart. Gary, we have to notify Keating and Reynolds immediately."

"And tell them what? We had the formula and it slipped out of our grasp? And we think one of their own is the culprit?"

"Yes, that's exactly what we tell them, because it's the truth."

"All right, but let's go out the back way. I've had about all I can stand of Rosie for one evening."

Resolutely, they headed towards the exit at the far end of the club. Stepping outside, they found themselves in a dark alley.

"This must be a back entrance," Gary said. Suddenly he stiffened and gripped Clarissa's arm. "Say, look. Down there."

Clarissa followed his gaze. At the end of the alley was a black sedan. Leaning inside the window was Toni Watson!

"Damn. Adamo must be in there," Clarissa hissed.

"Adamo, or possibly the other double agent," Gary said.

"Let's go." Clarissa started to go after Toni, but Gary grabbed her arm. "No! What good will that do? They probably have guns--we don't."

Clarissa suddenly gasped. "Look. It seems as if they're arguing."

They could hear Toni's voice. It was raised, as if she was angry with the person in the car, but they couldn't distinguish the words. She appeared to have something in her hand. Suddenly someone from within the car reached out and snatched it from her.

"It's the formula! I know it is," Clarissa cried. Her cry died in her throat as a muffled sound was heard. Toni Watson crumpled to a heap on the ground, and the black sedan with its heavily tinted windows sped off into the night.

"Oh, no." Clarissa set off at a run, Gary close behind her.

As they drew near, both sucked in their breaths. Toni lay still, her sightless eyes staring upward. Underneath her red hair a redder pool of blood had begun to form.

Clarissa shrank back against Gary, who sighed. "We've got to stop doing this, Clarissa. It could become habit-forming."

Chapter Nineteen

"So it seems your suspicions were correct, Ms. McMillan," Keating said. "Toni Watson was indeed a double agent, who we believe was working for Adamo."

Clarissa and Gary were seated in Gary's hotel suite with agents Keating and Reynolds, who'd arrived during the early morning hours and were still bleary-eyed from their travels.

"I had a feeling about her," Clarissa mused. "Call it feminine intuition if you will."

Reynolds shrugged. "Toni Watson was one of our most respected agents out here on the West Coast. Her duplicity has been a great shock to us, I can tell you that. We started an investigation as soon as we received your phone call, Mr. Preston. It's amazing what we uncovered once we started digging."

"Yes," Keating said. "For one thing, we've learned Toni Watson was responsible for the shutdown of an operation in Istanbul called Operation Primus. She was instrumental in bringing negotiations for an arms treaty to a complete halt. Had the treaty gone through, it would have resulted in a great loss of revenue for one of Adamo's major companies. Our investigation also uncovered that she was also involved in several top-secret dealings with major Russian agents, several of whom are suspected to have ties to, none other than, Charles Geoffrey Adamo! It seems as if our friend, Adamo, is looking more and more like a fence between traitors and Russia than a movie mogul. His name has been linked with some of the top players in the espionage field."

"Can't you arrest him and put an end to all this?" Gary said impatiently. "Preferably before we discover more bodies?"

"It's not that simple, Mr. Preston. These dealings are of a sensitive nature. We can't just go forward and accuse someone of being a traitor without proof."

"But you just said--"

"I said his name was linked. It's a conclusion based mostly on suspicion, not on fact. We need some solid, concrete proof."

"Such as?"

"Such as finding the stolen formula in his possession, or better yet, catching him in the act of actually passing it to the Russians. Then we'd have grounds."

"I suppose those chances are slim to none?"

"Adamo's clever. He wouldn't be involved in what he is if he didn't know how to take care of himself. He surrounds himself with top people, and if they should bungle they're sacrificed or eliminated. He keeps his hands clean. It's a pretty good bet that the other person who was working with Watson is the one who actually pulled the trigger on her. Direct confrontation isn't Adamo's style."

"By other person you undoubtedly mean the traitor on the Mr. and Mrs. Spy set," murmured Clarissa. "If Toni worked so closely with Adamo, I wonder why she was killed."

"It's possible she was planning a double cross and someone discovered it. We found one way tickets to Switzerland hidden in her apartment." The agent paused. "You have no idea who the other spy could be?"

Gary shrugged. "In a nutshell, no."

"That's too bad. Because we're thinking that finding that person is our key link. We're running out of time. Now that Adamo has the formula, he'll be most anxious to wash his hands of it. Mark my words it'll be passed, and very soon."

"In enemy hands that toxic nerve gas could prove an extremely dangerous weapon, even lethal in some instances. We have to find it before Adamo gets it out of the country," Reynolds said firmly.

Clarissa had been sitting very quietly. Now she rose, her eyes were shining brightly.

"Gentlemen," she began. "I have an idea."

Gary leaned back and groaned. "Oh-oh! Why do I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach? This is trouble."

"No, not trouble. But the whole idea is that you need proof of Adamo's involvement. You need to catch him in the act of passing information to the Russians, correct?"

Keating looked at her. "Yes," he said slowly.

"Well, then," she said brightly. "What if we were to intercept Adamo's Russian contact and replace her with a ringer? Maybe we could get Adamo's mole to lead us straight to him."

"Her?" Keating said.

"And just how do you propose they do that? We don't even know who the Russian contact is!" Gary cried.

"I've got a pretty good idea," Clarissa declared. Quickly she repeated what she'd overheard in the ladies' room.

Gary stared at her. "You didn't tell me that," he said.

"There wasn't time. But if we can get to the Hotel Renaissance and intercept this Nadia woman, perhaps a female agent can pose as Nadia and convince the go-between to lead her to Adamo; catch him in the act, and at the same time discover just who the traitor is from our show."

Keating and Reynolds exchanged a glance. "It sounds plausible," Keating said slowly.

"It sounds like Spy Time in Russia," Gary spat. "Episode number thirty-three. Is that where you dreamed this crazy idea up, Clarissa? From one of our old shows?"

"And I suppose you have a better idea?" she snapped. "If you'll recall Gary, Harry co-wrote that script."

"So that makes it do-able, I suppose?"

"Damn right! As we now know, Harry knew a lot about this spy business. If he wrote it, you can bet it must have been taken from a real life experience."

"In case you haven't noticed, there's a big difference between doing it on the screen and posing as an enemy spy in real life," Gary retorted.

Keating rose. "Listen you two. Believe it or not, I think Ms. McMillan's come up with a pretty good idea."

Gary snorted. "Pretty dangerous if you ask me."

"Not if we have a trained agent take Nadia's place," Keating said thoughtfully. "Let's discuss it at headquarters. If we can get everything in place, it just might work."

Reynolds rose. "We'll make a few inquiries and get back to you." At the door he paused. "You know, Ms. McMillan, if we can pull this off, you and Mr. Preston can get back to your normal lives." He smiled at her. "I'm sure that'll be a relief to you both. You've done an excellent job, and we're very grateful to you."

"It was our pleasure," Gary assured them. "After all, as you said, we really did owe it to Harry."

After the two men left, Gary turned to Clarissa. "Did I imagine it, or did you actually look disappointed when Reynolds said our tour of duty may be over soon. May I take that to mean that playing spy didn't turn out to be the burden you thought it would be?"

She shrugged. "Maybe not. It's certainly turned out to be exciting."

"Ah. So am I to assume from that remark that should the Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion movie somehow become a tangible opportunity, you wouldn't write it off?"

Clarissa looked at him. "Of course I would."

"But you just said--"

"I said that spying was exciting. However, playing a spy, specifically Julie Samson, would mean that I'd have to work with you again."

He moved closer to her. "But we've been working together on this, and you didn't seem repulsed. In fact, I could swear that you actually enjoyed it."

"You flatter yourself."

"Take for example, last night," he persisted. "Why, if I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn you were jealous of my interaction with Rosie."

His nearness was discomforting. She pulled away abruptly. "Jealous, hell! I was just concerned your hormones would take over and we wouldn't get the job done. I hate to break this to you, but I do not, nor have I ever had any interest in you, Gary Preston, other than possibly wanting to see you hang."

"Now, now. You don't really mean that, do you?" He shifted his body so that he stood over her, and his arms went around her waist. Against her will, Clarissa found herself wanting to melt against him.

"No--I mean, yes-- Damn you! I don't know what I mean. Get away from me!"

He released her with a chuckle. "Your cheeks are red," he said softly. "The time is coming when you're going to admit that you want me. If not to me, then to yourself."

She put a hand to her face and, with a frustrated cry, hurtled through the connecting door that led to her suite. Once on the other side, she slammed it shut. It infuriated her to no end to hear Gary's amused chuckle through the door.

***

"Ready for dinner?" Gary said. He opened the connecting door and stood there lazily regarding Clarissa who was perched on the edge of the bed wrapped in a terrycloth robe, her hair still damp from the shower.

"Do I look ready?" she barked. "Your sense of timing is impeccable, as always."

He chuckled and stepped into her suite, closing the door behind him. "Thanks for the compliment. And you sure look ready to me, Doll. Ask me for what."

Clarissa reached for the brush and began running it through her hair. "I think I'll pass on that, but knowing you I can probably guess," she said dryly.

"I could eat." He grinned at her, then ducked to avoid the pillow she aimed at him.

"Very funny," she said. "Am I to assume that you intend to stand there while I get dressed?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation?"

"Most emphatically not!" she said. "I'm on pins and needles though. Any word from Keating or Reynolds?"

"None so far. If I didn't know better I'd say that you sounded almost anxious that something would happen to prolong our little sojourn as spies."

"No, I'm not," she protested. "If you'll recall, you were the one anxious to help our country, not I."

"But the tables seem to have turned, or am I wrong?" he said softly.

"You know what I'm anxious to get back to, my Shakespearean roots."

"Not our future Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunions?" He sobered as a sudden thought struck him. "Say, Harry always used to organize those. I wonder what will happen to them now?"

"You sound positively devastated," Clarissa said. "If you ask me, you enjoyed those get-togethers. I think you'll miss all the fans, all the attention, all the reminiscing with Fritz and Barbara."

"I will miss it," Gary said honestly. "I never denied that. Say, I wonder how Fritz and Barbara will take the news. They don't even know Harry's dead yet."

"Someone in our troupe knows the truth, that's for certain."

"The traitor."

"Uh-huh. I know that Reynolds and Keating were hoping that we could lead them to him or her, but quite frankly I haven't the vaguest notion who it could be."

"Oh, well." Gary sighed. "This will probably all be over soon. If that agent is successful in impersonating Nadia, we'll get all the answers we need."

"Let's hope."

Clarissa rose and gestured pointedly toward the door. "I'd like to get dressed now if you don't mind."

Gary grinned wickedly at her. "Go right ahead. I'm not stopping you."

Grumbling under her breath, Clarissa picked up her dress and started for the bathroom. She was halfway there when a loud knock came to the door.

"Who's there?" Gary called.

"Keating and Reynolds."

Gary opened the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Preston, Ms. McMillan." Their gaze lingered a moment longer on Clarissa, who was still in her bathrobe. "We just wanted to drop by to tell you that it's all set," Keating said. "We've managed to get one of our top female agents, Chris Barker, to substitute for Nadia tomorrow. Chris will be waiting for her when she arrives at the hotel tomorrow morning and we'll make the switch then. Nadia won't be expecting anything to go wrong, so hopefully it will all go off without a hitch. We're counting on it."

"Oh, good," Clarissa said. "I'm so glad you thought my idea was worth acting upon."

"That's kind of why we stopped by." Reynolds cleared his throat. "We were wondering, since you two have been so helpful, if you'd like to come along tomorrow." He grinned. "It's rather unorthodox, but then, so much about this case has been, and we know that your friend Harry would approve."

"Would we! We'll be ready bright and early," Clarissa declared enthusiastically.

Keating smiled at her. "I rather thought so." He paused. "I must say, you really got into this, Ms. McMillan. We didn't really think that you were so crazy about it to begin with, but you've managed to surprise us."

"Yes," Gary said dryly. "She's full of surprises."

"Well, we won't keep you," Reynolds said. "We'll be by here at eight a.m. tomorrow morning."

"We'll be ready," Clarissa said. She smiled triumphantly at Gary after the agents had gone. "Isn't it exciting! We're going to be in on the conclusion; we're going to see that justice, in Harry's name, is served!"

"You're really into this," Gary said. "I would never have believed it."

"Let's just hope everything goes smoothly tomorrow."

"Why wouldn't it? They seem to have everything all worked out. We'll just be interested observers."

Clarissa frowned thoughtfully. That persistent feeling of danger was back again. And there was something else, too, something shadowy, that clung to her brain like a stubborn cobweb …

She shrugged and smiled at Gary. "It'll all be over soon. Now, would you mind? I'd like a little privacy."

He grinned as he opened the door to his suite. "Privacy you shall have, for now! But after this is all over--"

Before Clarissa could ask him what he meant, he'd shut the connecting door. She sighed and went into the bathroom, still puzzling over whatever memory it was that was eluding her.

Chapter Twenty

Clarissa's sense of dread was even more acute the next morning when she and Gary met Keating and Reynolds in the lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel. They drove to the nearby Renaissance Hotel, where they parked the car.

"It was arranged that Chris would wait for Nadia to arrive early this morning," Keating said. "She should be holding her at bay by now, so we'll just go up there to take charge of the prisoner."

"Does this mean that we'll have to ride back to your office with her?" Clarissa asked. The feeling of unease was overpowering now.

"Not necessarily. You and Mr. Preston are free to go at any time."

"We just might do that," Gary said. "After all, it's agency business now."

"I'd like to see it through actually," Clarissa said unexpectedly. "May I go up with you?"

Keating cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we couldn't permit that, Ms. McMillan. Things should be under control, but there's always a slight chance events could go awry. We can't take the chance of possibly risking your or Mr. Preston's life."

"Why not? We were risking it with the other undercover work we were doing," Clarissa demanded hotly.

"My, my," Gary clucked. "Such bravery. Truly worthy of Julie Samson."

Clarissa ignored him. "I'd really like to accompany you. Gary can do whatever he wishes," she said icily.

Keating and Reynolds looked at each other. "Okay. Come along. But stay in the background just in case. We don't want you getting hurt."

"That makes two of us," she said, and glanced over her shoulder at Gary. "Coming?"

He sighed. "This is crazy, Clarissa. Why not leave it to the experts?"

"I'll take that as a no then." She turned to the agents. "Okay, guys. It's just us." Swiftly she stepped from the sedan and started into the hotel with the two federal agents.

Gary looked after her in exasperation, then groaned. "Okay, okay. Wait up." He jumped from the car after them as they disappeared through the hotel's revolving door.

***

They moved slowly down the corridor.

"It's 1213, the room on the right," Reynolds said. "Quiet, now."

Gary and Clarissa followed a few steps behind the agents. As they approached, they could see that the door to the suite was slightly ajar.

"Uh, oh. This doesn't look good," Reynolds muttered. He and Keating moved forward, guns drawn.

Reynolds paused at the door. The silence was deafening. Raising his weapon, he kicked the door open with his foot, and they entered, guns drawn.

After a few moments, Clarissa gripped Gary's arm. "I'm going in there, too," she whispered.

"Clarissa. No, don't do that!" But Clarissa broke away from him and ran to the doorway. Gary cursed. "What a stubborn woman you are," he muttered, following her.

Keating and Reynolds were bending over the body of a woman with long dark hair. They turned as Clarissa approached.

"Nadia?" Clarissa asked.

Keating shook his head. "Nope." Slowly he removed a wig, revealing short blonde hair. "This is--or, rather was, Chris Barker."

"She's dead? The agent is dead! Oh, gosh! Then somehow Nadia must have gotten wind of the plan."

Gary had come up behind them. Seeing the body he gave a low whistle. "That makes four," he said.

Keating felt Chris Barker's pulse. "The body's still warm. Nadia couldn't have gotten far."

Suddenly a sound caused them to turn.

The door to the connecting suite was slowly closing. Quickly, the agents sprang forward. They jerked the door open just in time to reveal a tall woman with long dark hair stepping onto the fire escape. She turned and fired a shot into the room. Gary grabbed Clarissa and threw her to the floor.

"You idiot!" she hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to keep you all in one piece, although for what reason I don't know," he said. "In case you didn't notice, a trained agent is lying there dead and we're being shot at. Did those events manage to signal to you that we might be in danger here?"

Clarissa twisted her body so that she was lying next to him. She pointed. "They're going after her. Look!" She scrambled to her feet and ran to the window. Far below, she could see the dark haired woman climbing down the fire escape with Keating and Reynolds in hot pursuit. The woman turned and fired more shots. The agents fired back. When she went to fire again, nothing happened. Her gun was empty. With an oath, she flung the weapon from her and started down the slippery railing.

"Stop or we'll shoot!" Keating commanded. The woman looked up and shouted something back in Russian, then pulled a knife from her jacket and hurled it at him. It sailed cleanly past Keating, narrowly missing his temple. He took aim and fired.

This shot hit home. The expression on Nadia's face changed from cunning to shock. Gripping her chest, she toppled off the fire escape to the concrete below.

Clarissa turned her head and buried it in Gary's chest and he put his arms around her, protectively. "And then there were five," he said solemnly.

***

"Well, now we have a problem," Keating said.

They were back in Room 1213. Nadia's body had been taken care of, and now they were waiting for the coroner to come and get Chris Barker's.

"That's an understatement, wouldn't you say?" Gary said dryly. "So what happens now? Obviously, Adamo is going to learn that his Russian contact has, ah, bitten the dust so to speak."

"What about getting another female agent?" Clarissa asked.

"Ordinarily that would be an excellent idea, but we have no other qualified female operatives available right now. Chris Barker was a mistress of disguise--she could change her voice, affect any accent. She used to be on the stage before she became a full time operative. Her talents will be sorely missed."

"When Adamo finds out he may cancel the drop," Reynolds said. "Or send his operative directly to the Russians. We'll lose our chance to catch him in the act."

Clarissa was staring reflectively out the window. "I don't see any reason why the meeting with Nadia can't go on as scheduled," she said suddenly. "When was it for again?"

"According to Chris's notes, tomorrow morning at nine a.m. But how can it go on now? Oh, I suppose we could get a female operative from one of our foreign offices, but she'd have to be briefed, and--"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen. You already have someone."

"We do? Who?"

"Someone who's very good at disguise and accents, and someone who's already familiar with every aspect of this case."

"Where is she?"

Clarissa picked up the black wig and twirled it around on her finger. "Standing right in front of you."

The men looked at each other in amazement. "You?"

"None other than. Who better? After all, I am an actress. I can do a Russian accent. And there's no doubt that I am familiar with what's going down. What's more, I'll certainly be able to recognize Adamo's emissary, particularly since you're convinced it's a former Mr. and Mrs. Spy cast or crew member."

"No! Absolutely not!" Gary said angrily. "I won't let you do it, Clarissa. It's too dangerous."

She bristled. "What? You won't let me do it? Since when do you tell me what I can and can't do?"

"Since now."

"And, who may I ask, has appointed you as my guardian angel?"

"I have."

"Oh, have you now?"

"Yes, since you obviously can't look out for yourself. In case you haven't noticed, these people play for keeps. Five bodies, Clarissa. Five."

"And counting. But it can all end here. I realize I'm not a trained agent." She looked at Keating. "Surely there's a way that I can be kept under surveillance, and step in once I have the formula back in my hands?"

"Clarissa, I think it's very sweet that you feel you want to repay Harry for all he's done for you," Gary said. "But believe me, this is not the way to do it."

Keating pursed his lips. "Ms. McMillan is a trained actress," he said thoughtfully. "And it's true, she should recognize Adamo's operative. It just might work."

Gary stared at him. "You can't be serious."

"Ordinarily we wouldn't even consider the idea, but frankly, we're desperate."

"Well, thanks a lot!"

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," Reynolds said apologetically to Clarissa. "Naturally, your life is our first concern. We don't want to put you in any danger. However, if you were to wear a wire and a tracking device--"

"We could keep you in our sights at all times and step in before you were in any danger. It's been done before," Keating added.

"Yes, it certainly has been done before," Gary said quickly. "As a matter of fact, right on our show. Episodes twenty-three, thirty-five and eighty-six; but they were fictional vignettes, carefully crafted by writers."

"Not just any writer," Clarissa protested. "But by Harry. Harry oversaw every script."

"And no wonder." He looked at Keating. "Didn't you say that Harry would insert scenes with special codes into every script?"

Keating nodded. "The scenes made no sense at all, except to a trained operative."

"Yes, I acted on one the other night when I used it to open the hidden safe in the office of the Alamo," Clarissa said.

"You remarked many times that those scenes made no sense. Yet, the fans ate them up. The public loved that show." Gary shook his head.

Reynolds smiled. "Your average person surely loves to imagine himself caught up in the so-called glamorous world of an international spy. Little do they realize--"

"How truly unglamorous it is." Clarissa said. "Just like acting."

"Not just like acting, surely," Gary said snidely. "Real life, especially where spying is concerned, can be much more dangerous. Just look at the body count."

"I declare, Gary, you have an obsession with that."

"No, I have an obsession with staying alive. You should too."

"Relax, Mr. Preston," Keating cut in. "We wouldn't even entertain the idea if we didn't think that Ms. McMillan could carry it off." He turned to Clarissa. "We have used civilians in our undercover work before, but they weren't placed in quite so precarious a position. However, I must say you display a real aptitude for this sort of work. Ever consider giving up acting and becoming a spy for real?"

Clarissa smiled thinly. "Actually, no. As a matter of fact--"

"She hated doing the series," Gary interrupted. "Just hated it. Clarissa can't wait to get back to the greasepaint and footlights and do her Shakespeare again, can you? And believe me, Ophelia is a mighty tough role to play without the added incentive of a bullet in your brain."

"In some cases it might be considered an improvement."

"You're talking about me, aren't you?" he said peevishly.

"Why, whatever makes you think that?" she said mockingly. "However, if the shoe fits." She shrugged.

"At least I'm not possessed with a crazy notion that I have to risk my life to repay all someone's done for me."

"Okay," Keating broke in. "We'll take every precaution, Mr. Preston, to assure that the lady won't be in any danger. As a matter of fact, Ms. McMillan, if you'll come back to the agency with us right now we'll fit you for that wire."

"And fill you in on Nadia's background," Reynolds added.

Clarissa slipped the black wig onto her head. "Yes, Dahlink, please to lead me to American agency. I must get feel for what is going to happen." Her Russian accent was perfect. The two agents nodded in satisfaction.

"You just might pull this off," Keating said approvingly. "But at the same time I don't want to minimize the danger involved here, Ms. McMillan. If something should go wrong, or if Adamo or his emissary should see through your disguise--"

"Then we'll have to make sure that doesn't happen." Clarissa said firmly. "I have no doubts. After all I'm an actress. I can pull this off."

"What about coming face to face with the traitor from our show?" Gary said suddenly. "What about your reaction? Are you sure you won't give yourself away, Clarissa? No matter how prepared you think you are, it's going to be a shock."

"I'm an actress," she repeated determinedly. "I can handle it."

"You can eh? Do you realize that you're going to be looking into the eyes of Harry's killer! The person responsible for putting a bullet in his brain!"

"Mr. Preston does have a point," Reynolds said. "You were extremely close to Harry, Ms. McMillan, closer than anyone else on that show. How will you feel looking at the person who's responsible for not only betraying our country, but for killing Harry and the others? And you'll be facing a cold-blooded professional, make no mistake," he added soberly. "Those killings all had the mark of a trained hit man."

Clarissa swallowed. "I know it's an awkward situation, but at the risk of repeating myself, I am a trained actress. I can display emotion or conceal it. And no one knows more than I do, the risk involved here. After all, it's my hide on the line."

Gary rolled his eyes. "Episode number forty-seven. That's the exact line Julie says; only she substitutes spy for actress. You can't handle this and you know it. Why not just save everyone a lot of trouble and admit you're in over your head."

"You heard them. There is no one else to do it. We've come so far, I can't let Harry down now."

"Believe me, Harry won't notice."

"All right," Keating said abruptly. "That's enough. Sniping at each other isn't going to get us anywhere. Ms. McMillan, are you sure you can handle this?" he asked crisply.

"Absolutely!"

"Then let's get going. Reynolds, you wait here for the coroner. I'm going to take Ms. McMillan down to the office and start prepping her." He turned to Gary. "Would you like to come along, Mr. Preston, or wait here with Agent Reynolds?"

"Oh, I'm definitely coming along," Gary said, giving Clarissa a sobering look. "This is one performance of Clarissa's that I wouldn't miss for the world. Who knows, perhaps I can even be of some small assistance."

"Over my dead body!" Clarissa hissed.

Gary looked at her. "Poor choice of words."

Chapter Twenty-One

Clarissa sat in the wing chair and stared out the window of her hotel suite into the inky blackness beyond. Whatever had possessed her today, she wondered. Just what made her think that she could pull off something that trained agents didn't seem to be able to do?

Feeling cold suddenly, she burrowed her naked body fresh from the shower deeper into her robe, and shrank back farther in the chair. After spending all afternoon getting fitted for a wire and tracking device at the agency, she'd accompanied the agents to Rodeo Drive, where they'd picked out a simple blue suit, black wig and appropriate makeup for her performance the next day. She glanced over at the chaise lounge where everything was laid out and a shiver ran through her, not of anticipation, but of cold, stark fear!

Why was she doing this? she asked herself. Did she need to prove something to herself? Lord knows, she wasn't in the least qualified for what she was about to undertake. She was bewildered. In the beginning it had been Gary who'd seemed so eager to play spy for real. Funny how the tables had turned.

What was this disquieting feeling about this whole episode that nagged at her? It even had in the beginning, when Harry was still alive. It was a feeling that there was something very obvious that she was overlooking. But whatever it was, it continued to elude her; to be nothing more than a vague shadow locked in the deepest recesses of her mind.

Gary had accused her of feeling that she owed Harry something, of needing to repay him; and perhaps that was true. After all, Harry was the one who'd discovered her. He'd brought her to the attention of millions in the role of Julie Samson, and he'd made it possible for her to return to her Shakespearean roots without having to worry about finances. He'd stood in awe of her talent and beauty but always treated her with courtesy and respect, wanting only the best for her. Why, then, shouldn't she want, in no matter what guise, to avenge his death?

She buried her head in her hands. Yet, despite those sentimental feelings for Harry, what had she been thinking when she'd offered herself that day? She didn't know the first thing about espionage, or about undercover work other than words she'd memorized from a carefully crafted script, even if the person who'd done most of the crafting was a master of the game. She wasn't acting now, she was in this up to her neck for real, and the water wasn't just lukewarm. It was scalding! One misstep would prove fatal.

Tapping lightly upon it, Gary opened the connecting door. He was in his pajamas and bathrobe. His hair was slightly tousled. "Hey," he said softly. "Mind if I come in?"

"To visit with the condemned before the execution? Why not?" She casually waved him in, indicating a tray at the far end of the room. "Want some food? Somehow I just didn't feel hungry tonight."

He walked over and inspected the contents of the tray, helping himself to an apple. He bit into it and stood there studying her while he chewed slowly.

"Well, are you just going to stand there and stare at me all night?" Clarissa said, frowning at him. "Obviously there's something on your mind. Care to share it?"

He perched himself on the edge of the bed facing her. "Actually I was just admiring you, believe it or not."

She cocked her head. "Admiring me? Well, that's a first. You're joking, right?"

"Honestly, no. As much as it pains me to admit it, and as much as it probably hurts you to hear it, I actually admire what you're doing. Laying it all out on the line like this. It takes a lot of guts."

"More guts than brains, eh?" She smiled thinly.

"Well, for someone who wanted nothing to do with the spy genre in the first place, I must say you've done a remarkable about face. I guess I just never realized that you cared for Harry so much."

She looked at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that obviously, you must have cared a great deal about Harry to risk your own life to find his killer."

She rose, clutching the bathrobe tightly about her slender figure. "Oh, so this is about my relationship with Harry. You won't let up will you. I've told you, all of you repeatedly, that Harry and I did not have a sexual relationship."

"I didn't say that you did."

She stopped. "Wh-what?"

He rose, put his hands lightly on her shoulders. "I said, that you must have cared a great deal about Harry. And I know that you did. He cared a great deal about you, too. After all, he practically took you--took all of us--under his wing. He did pay special attention to you though. You have to admit that."

She allowed herself a chuckle. "Who knows? Maybe I reminded him of a lost love in his younger spy days."

"Possibly. Or maybe he viewed you as the daughter he never had."

"Harry wasn't that much older."

"Old enough. Haven't you ever wondered, though, since this whole thing started, just what Harry's life was like? How much of Mr. and Mrs. Spy was fiction, or based on his own personal adventures?"

"If Harry was the prototype for Doug Samson, perhaps he had a real Julie. Maybe that's how I got the part. Oh, well. I guess we'll never know."

"Maybe not," Gary said softly. He moved toward her. His fingers grazed her face then he tilted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You know, Harry always used to say that you and I were perfect casting. We acted like we'd been married forever."

"Why, because our personalities clashed? Since when is that the secret of a good marriage?"

"They say absence makes the heart grow fonder," he said. "And I have to confess, once the show ended and we didn't have our daily battles, well, I kind of missed it." He paused. "Missed you."

Her eyes widened. Gary's thumb continued to stroke her jaw line. Confused suddenly, she backed away and lowered her eyes. "What would you like me to say now, Gary. That I missed you, too?"

"It would be nice."

Suddenly she began to cry. Gary reached out and clasped her firmly in his arms.

She leaned weakly against him. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't know what's come over me."

"Nerves. After all, tomorrow you undertake the role of a lifetime."

"Gary?"

"What?"

"I'm scared."

He held her at arm's length, his eyes searching her tear-stained face. "What did you say? Clarissa McMillan, scared? You've never been afraid of anything in your life."

"I don't know how to handle all of this. I am scared. It's a new emotion for me. I don't know how to deal with it I'm afraid." She dabbed at her eyes. Gary reached across to the nightstand and handed her a tissue.

"Well, well," he murmured. "I thought this day would never come. Clarissa McMillan, reduced to tears in my presence."

"Oh, stop it! I knew I should never have confided in you," she said hotly.

"Hey, hey, wait a minute. Can't I joke with you?"

"Gary, tomorrow is no joke. Tomorrow is serious stuff. I just hope--I mean, I should be able to, but, well, anything could go wrong-- I mean, five dead bodies."

He gathered her back in his arms. "You'll do fine. Keating and Reynolds will be able to follow you and hear everything because of those wires you're going to wear. Nothing will happen to you."

"Trained agents have died, Gary. What makes me think I'm Superwoman?"

"Because you usually are. You usually get the best of me after all, and that's quite a feat." He was gratified to see the beginnings of a smile appear on her tear stained face. "Clarissa, Clarissa," he murmured. "I don't know what's come over me where you're concerned lately. I see your smile in my dreams, and at odd times I've had the most ridiculous urge to make love to you. I couldn't be falling for you, now could I?"

She drew back and looked into his eyes, half-expecting to see his famous sardonic smirk, but the passion she saw there a reflection of how she'd been feeling the last few days. She was loath to admit it, but as she looked at him there could be no denying the heat between them; the flame of emotion that they'd long suppressed.

"Let's live in the moment, Clarissa," Gary whispered. "Tomorrow there's danger, but tonight there's only us. I want to kiss you senseless. Carry you off to my bed and make love to you until the first rays of sunlight fall across us."

She snuggled closer against him. As much as she hated to admit it, that was what she wanted too. But was it only because of the danger she faced, or because she had real feelings for him?

Gary grasped her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips. Their warmth set her fingers tingling and she tried to gently extricate her hand from his grasp but without success. "Gary. I think you should go," she whispered.

"You don't mean that Clarissa?" he murmured against her hand. "I know that you're not going anywhere right now."

She gave her hand another unsuccessful tug. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"What you're doing with my hand. It bothers me." She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but the motion only made him tighten his arms about her.

"Why does it bother you, Clarissa? Because you like it and you don't want to admit it? You don't want to like me, do you? But you already do."

"You are conceited. I can't imagine what Harry ever saw in you--in us as a couple."

"Maybe he saw this."

Before Clarissa knew it, he pulled her against his chest and brought his lips down to hers in a crushing kiss. Her breath caught in her throat, making her feel light-headed. Her arms twined about Gary's neck, and her mouth opened wide beneath the demanding pressure of his lips.

What am I doing? her mind screamed. I don't even like this man! But her body was telling her a different story. She could feel his arousal and that pleased her. As the kiss deepened, she was aware of his fingers trying to slip the bathrobe from her shoulders. Suddenly she drew back.

His eyes were heavy-lidded with passion. "Shall I stop? I will, if that's what you truly want, Clarissa?"

She looked into his eyes and made up her mind. "I want this, Gary."

She dropped the robe. Her breasts glowed invitingly in the pale moonlight.

"Oh, Clarissa," he moaned as he reached for her again. "So do I, my darling. So do I."

***

Clarissa awoke to bright streaming sunlight. She glanced at the bedside clock. Six a.m.! She didn't have much time to get ready, Keating and Reynolds would be here soon. She glanced quickly around the room and wondered where Gary was.

She felt her cheeks flame as she remembered what had happened the previous evening, recalling some of the things they'd done. Her thirst for Gary had seemed unquenchable, and he'd seemed insatiable. Pull yourself together, she told herself. It had only been the moment. She'd been scared, and he'd been there. The thought of anything more between her and Gary Preston was absolutely ridiculous!

The connecting door opened and Gary entered, bearing a tray laden with food. He smiled at her. "You're up. Good. I didn't want to wake you, but I thought you could use a good meal before our adventure begins." He set the tray down in front of her. "I didn't know what you preferred, so I got everything, eggs, pancakes, waffles. Just eat what you want and don't worry about the rest, I'll take care of all the leftovers." He grinned boyishly.

Clarissa was suddenly ravenous. She filled her plate and ate hungrily. Her mouth full of sausage, she cocked an eyebrow at him and said, "Our adventure? What do you mean, our adventure. I'm in this one solo, or haven't you heard?"

"Now Clarissa. You don't think I'm going to let anything happen to you, do you? Especially after last night. No, I'm going along."

"I don't need a bodyguard," she said shortly. "That's Keating and Reynolds' job. And I don't need to be worrying that you might be getting yourself killed on account of me. You'd come back and haunt me if that happened, I know you would."

He looked at her sharply. "What's wrong?" he asked abruptly. "You certainly don't seem to be the same tigress that I made love to last night."

She crammed another sausage into her mouth. "Gary, about last night--"

"Yes? What about it?"

"I … I want you to know that I'm grateful to you."

He looked at her, an amused expression on his face. "Women have said many things to me after a night of passion but grateful was never one of them."

"Oh, stop it. I just want you to know … I don't want you to think last night was special."

"It certainly was."

"I don't mean special that way. I mean, it was special because, well, it may have been my last night, who knows?"

He looked at her for a moment, and his eyes hardened. "Oh, I get it. You think I made love to you as a farewell performance? In case something should happen to you today?"

She took a sip of juice. "Well, didn't you?"

He rose, his face granite-hard. "Is that what you think, Clarissa? That I would have no more regard for you than I would one of those paintings on the wall? That I would use your situation as a way of getting some pleasure out of it for myself?" At her silence, he shook his head. "You know, I never realized before just how little you think of me. I thought there was a heart under there and that last night had been a breakthrough and I'd had melted down the ice. I see you're just as frozen as ever." He turned and stalked back through the door to his own suite, slamming it loudly behind him.

"Oh, God! Gary--" Clarissa cried. She started to go after him then thought better of it. Last night had been an unusual circumstance, a departure from their norm. It was best to just forget it and move on. It wouldn't work between us anyway, Gary, she thought, as she stared at the closed door. We're just too different; we get on each other's nerves too much. Last night was ... was what? Wonderful, magical? Pity sex? Or all of them?

And then a light bulb went on in her brain. Something Gary had just said was ringing a warning bell. Suddenly she raced to the door and banged loudly on it.

"Gary. Gary open up, please. Please. This is important."

At length the door opened. Gary, with only his pants on, stood there. "What?"

"What was that remark you made to me before?"

"Which one? I made a few." He thought for a moment. "What, the one about the painting?"

"Yes! That's it! The painting," she said excitedly. "The last time I saw Harry, he showed me a painting of Abe Lincoln."

"So?"

"He said a friend of his had done it for him, and he'd brought it with him. He'd only just gotten it. I'd forgotten all about it, but tonight, when you mentioned painting on the wall, something clicked. Of course!" She slapped her head with the palm of her hand. "The answer's been staring me in the face right along, and I almost overlooked it.

"Overlooked what? What are you talking about?"

"It's so obvious now. He'd only just unwrapped the painting."

Gary rolled his eyes. "You're talking in riddles again."

"No, not this time," she said firmly. "It's suddenly quite clear to me. Hurry up and get dressed." She fairly pushed him back in his room. "I have to make a quick call to Keating and Reynolds before this meeting. I think I've just figured out who the snitch is from the Mr. and Mrs. Spy show."

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was nine a.m. The dew was still on the grass and the sun hadn't yet made its appearance. As a consequence, it was cold and damp in the park where Clarissa stood, looking very exotic in the dark blue suit and black wig, her arms wrapped around her to give her extra warmth.

Gingerly she felt her inside breast pocket where the wire and tracking device were attached. "Hello, can you guys hear me?" she whispered.

"Sure can. No sign of anyone yet at our end." Keating's voice, filled with static, floated back to her.

"Well, at least I have a good idea of who I'm watching for," Clarissa said. "I just hope I'm right."

"So do we," Keating chuckled.

Clarissa tensed. "Wait. I see someone coming through the trees."

"Is it who you thought it would be?"

"I can't tell yet."

"Okay, stay alert, Clarissa. You're doing fine. Over and out."

Clarissa winced against the grating static that threatened to completely drown out the agent's words. "You know, maybe you should check these wires," she said. "I can barely hear you."

"What did you say? You're fading, Clarissa."

"Shit," Clarissa grumbled, as the sound of static became unbearable. She quickly took out the ear device and frowned. Oh great, she thought, the equipment must be faulty. Yet it had operated just fine when they'd tested it. She looked around her, wondering if there was something near that was causing the interference. That's all she needed! Glancing at her watch, she observed that it was a few minutes past nine a.m. Perhaps there would be time to make her way back to the van where the agents were stationed so that they could check it out.

She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder and spun around to gaze into icy blue eyes beneath wavy blonde hair. The tall man standing before her seemed vaguely familiar. Oh yes. Now she placed him. He'd been Toni Watson's mysterious escort on the night of Adamo's party.

"Nadia." His voice was soft, and held just the slightest trace of accent.

"Yes," Clarissa responded, affecting a Russian accent. "I am Nadia. Please to tell me, who are you?"

The man chuckled softly. "I'm a friend. Here to give you instructions as to your real destination."

She paused. "My real destination? But note said I was to come--"

"Ah, as a trained agent you should know as well as I that the first destination is never the final one. I don't mean to seem a doubting Thomas, but you do have I.D.? May I see it?"

Wordlessly Clarissa reached into her purse and took out a leather holder. He scrutinized the phony I.D. that Keating and Reynolds had prepared.

"Looks fine to me," he said at last. "Okay, here's the deal. Sonia--"

"Nadia." She interrupted. "My name is Nadia."

"Whatever. Okay, now, just go over that hill and down that back trail. About a quarter of the way down you'll come to a clearing. Go stand in the middle."

"And then what?" she began, before realizing she was talking to air. The man had vanished as quickly as he'd appeared.

"You agents have a habit of popping in and out, don't you," she grumbled into the wire, but upon replacing the piece in her ear, she was forced to remove it because of the static. I hope that this thing is working she prayed, as she set off down the trail the man had indicated, or I'm in a helluva lot of trouble.

***

In the van, Keating and Reynolds were exasperated.

Gary, seated in the back of the van, noticed. "Something wrong?" he inquired, leaning forward anxiously.

Keating shook his head. "This wire must be faulty," he growled. "All I get is static. Clarissa?" he called anxiously. "Clarissa are you there?" He turned to Reynolds. "Nothing. I believe we've lost sound."

Gary leaned back. "Great."

"The tracker seems to be ok, though. Oh-oh, they've got her walking through the park to another destination."

Gary leaned forward. "Shouldn't we start this thing up then, and follow her?"

"Patience, Mr. Preston. We have to see just where she's going. Don't worry, the tracking device seems to be fine. At least we have contact that way."

"For now," Reynolds interposed. "I think that tracking signal seems to be getting weaker too. Something around here seems to be giving us interference."

"Swell," Gary grumbled. He was worried about Clarissa, more so than even he cared to admit. Absently he picked up a pen and twirled it around in his fingers.

Suddenly the sound of an ambulance siren rent the air. Gary dropped the pen. "Jesus, what's that?" he cried.

"Oh, sorry." Keating smiled sheepishly. "Forgot. That's my kid's toy pen you've got there. Makes all kind of weird noises if you press those little buttons on top."

"The only buttons I'm interested in pressing now are that guy Adamo's," Gary said with feeling. And whether Keating or Reynolds liked it or not, he was going to do something about it.

***

Clarissa reached the clearing and looked around her. As far as the eye could see the tiny meadow appeared to be deserted. She replaced the earplug but immediately took it out. The static was stronger than ever. She only prayed the tracking device was working properly.

A voice, rough and metallic, as if coming through one of those sound scramblers came from directly behind her.

"Don't move. Hand me your credentials."

Clarissa slowly handed over her phony I.D. A moment later, a strong hand spun her roughly around. The person who stood in front of her was covered head to toe in a thick black cloak and hood that totally obscured the face.

"So, Nadia," the metallic voice spoke again. "You have been chosen to be our emissary from Russia to deliver the advanced, improved prototype nerve gas back to their scientists."

"Yes. That is correct. You are Adamo's assistant?"

The figure hesitated, then nodded.

Damn! Clarissa had been hoping for a spoken admission. But the way that wire was working she doubted it would matter anyway. She felt an impulse to reach out and snatch the hood from the figure, but resisted the urge to do so. More would be gained by acting out her part.

In the next instant, Clarissa's heart sank. The figure barked out some sentences in what must surely be fluent Russian! She could effect a decent accent, but the actual language eluded her. She decided to try something. "Please to speak English," she said. "While I am in America I speak this fine language." The words sounded trite and ineffectual, even to her ears.

Her worst fears were realized as the person standing opposite her suddenly reached out and snatched the wig from her head.

"Clarissa McMillan," it intoned. "I thought it was you. What happened to Nadia?"

Clarissa swallowed. At this point she had nothing to lose. Praying at least the tracking device was working, her arm shot out, knocking the hood from the other's head.

Clarissa nodded. "Barbara Power! I suspected it was you."

The black woman regarded Clarissa with a cold gleam in her eyes. "You suspected it was me? How very clever of you, Clarissa. I hadn't realized that you'd added amateur detective to your résumé. I repeat, what have you done with Nadia?"

"Nadia, I'm afraid, won't be engaging in spy work ever again." Clarissa said boldly. "So you were the mole on the Mr. and Mrs. Spy set who Harry was certain sabotaged many of his missions."

Barbara's lips curved upward in a sneer. "Indeed, Harry was clever, but there were many times when I got the better of him. Harry was an excellent agent, and I often thought he suspected me, but of course he could never prove anything. Poor Harry. He had much the same look on his face as you do now, Clarissa, when I surprised him in his hotel room that night and pulled the trigger."

"Was it necessary to kill him?"

"Absolutely. He refused to hand over the formula. I'd grown tired of matching wits with him over the years. He wanted to retire anyway. I just helped him do it permanently." She cocked her head to one side. "What did happen to Nadia? Surely you didn't--?"

"No," Clarissa said shortly. "She killed an American agent, and another agent shot her as she was trying to escape."

"Ah." Barbara looked at her with a measure of suspicion. "You said you thought I was the informant? Whatever made you reach that conclusion?"

"Something you said at the Washington reunion. I guess it was just one of those things that stick in your mind for no good reason then suddenly pops out. You mentioned the painting of Abe Lincoln in Harry's suite. But later on I remembered Harry telling me that he'd only just received and unwrapped it before I came in. The only way you could have seen that painting was if you'd been in Harry's suite yourself."

"How clever," Barbara murmured.

"Plus, when we were at the Alamo Club, someone mentioned Adamo coming there with a black chick. Once I remembered your remark about the painting, it just logically followed that you might have been she. And if you were connected with Adamo, it was a good bet you were the mysterious mole on the Mr. and Mrs. Spy set."

"I'm impressed. Obviously those years doing the show taught you a few things. Such a shame it'll all go to waste." She reached into her cape and Clarissa stiffened. Barbara drew out a snub-nosed .45 and pointed it right at her heart.

"Your style is a bullet through the brain, though, isn't it, Barbara?" Clarissa whispered.

Barbara laughed. "Yes, that's my mark. And my real name isn't Barbara Power either, as you may have guessed. It's actually Romana Slovoski. I lost my Russian accent years ago, but not my loyalty. In my native country, before I came here and took on the guise of an actress, I had quite a reputation as a hit man."

"Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck. You see, I don't have the formula on me," Clarissa began.

But Barbara cut her off. "Of course you don't. However, now we have you, we'll bargain for it. You, in return for the formula. I hope that those American agents feel your life is worth it. It's a pity I had to kill Harry, he would have bartered for you in an instant. The old fool loved you, you know."

"So everyone seems to think," Clarissa said, her attention momentarily distracted by a movement behind Barbara. She blinked. Were her eyes deceiving her, or was that Gary amongst those bushes?

Her staring attracted Barbara's attention, and she turned suddenly. "What's the matter? What do you see? " She uttered a low oath as Gary jumped suddenly from behind the bush, a .45 of his own pointed directly at her. With a swift movement, he knocked the gun from her hand and it sailed into the bushes.

"Well, well," he chuckled. "How've you been, Babs? And to think I was wondering how you were taking the news of Harry's death. Obviously, it came as no surprise to you."

"So, I see that you're acting out your role in real life too, Gary. Have the two of you been enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, sure. Well, you know. It's just a job. Clarissa seems to be into it a little more than I am, but--"

"Well, may I say the two of you should stick to the small screen. You've obviously forgotten the first rule of spying, fictional or otherwise--always watch your back."

"Pretty cocky, aren't you, considering you played the secretary on the show. I think you're a little confused. I've got the gun trained on you, remember?"

"Yes, but I'm the one who brought the reinforcements. Look behind you."

Gary and Clarissa slowly turned. Behind them stood the blond agent, as well as six other nasty-looking men, all with guns leveled right at them. Barbara laughed harshly, and throwing down her cape, snatched the gun from a surprised Gary.

"Obviously, your reinforcements aren't as efficient. Or am I mistaken in thinking that those two federal agents are somewhere on the scene?"

"Gary," Clarissa hissed. "What are you doing here? And where's Keating and Reynolds?"

Gary looked at her. "I got worried about you, when your wire went out. Then the tracker started to fade and I beat a hasty retreat out of the van and headed in this direction. I was lucky enough to spot you. I don't know what happened to Keating and Reynolds. I'm sure they're as pissed as hell at me, though."

"That's nothing compared to how I feel at this moment," Clarissa snapped. "Of all the stupid, egotistical--"

"Hey, nice way to show your appreciation."

"And I should appreciate--what? The fact that your carelessness has now endangered both our lives?"

"Seems to me you've done a nice job of that without any help from me."

"I was doing fine before you showed up!" she spat.

"Yes, I could see that."

"And I'm certain that informing me at this particular moment about the tracking device is another brilliant move on your part." She glanced pointedly at Barbara.

Gary had the grace to look mollified. "Shit."

"I see some things never change," Barbara said. "You two are still as stuck on each other as ever."

"Bite your tongue, Babs. The only thing that's stuck around here is Clarissa on her own ego," Gary barked. "And I never said the device went completely out. They may be on their way here even as we speak."

"That's true. They're not totally inept. Let's get a move on, kiddies, before your two bumbling friends do track you down." Barbara brandished her gun. "Now, with two lives to barter instead of one, we may actually get somewhere."

"Where are you taking us?" Gary asked, as the blond agent shoved his gun into his ribs. "Hey, easy on the jacket there, pal. Designer threads. Five hundred bucks."

"Where you're going dress is informal," the blond man growled. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blindfolded Gary. Barbara did the same to Clarissa.

"Just where would that be, exactly?" Gary said.

Barbara grinned. "Oh, just on a little adventure. I think since you were so interested in Mr. Adamo, it would be only fitting if you explain things to him face to face don't you? Now move it! Our boss is a very impatient man."

Chapter Twenty-Three

"We're here," Barbara said, as she removed Gary and Clarissa's blindfolds.

They blinked and looked around. They were in what appeared to be an office. Bookshelves lined one wall, and in one corner was a massive redwood desk. Clarissa had the oddest feeling that she'd seen these surroundings before.

A voice, deep and resonant, came from behind them. "So, Barbara. What have we here?"

Adamo's cold eyes surveyed the little group before him.

Barbara pressed her gun deeper into Clarissa's ribs, pushing her forward. "A slight change in plans, Mr. Adamo. I'm afraid Nadia will not be joining us. Our two guests thought they'd make better substitutes. Surely you remember my former co-workers, Clarissa McMillan and Gary Preston?"

The man's features softened into a cunning leer. "Ah yes. The stars of Mr. and Mrs. Spy I believe. I do remember you." He turned to Clarissa. "At our last meeting you requested a shooting schedule, as I recall. To work around your oh-so-busy schedule."

"Which I don't imagine we'll be getting, since there was never really a reunion movie planned, was there?" Clarissa said.

Adamo chuckled. "Oh, but my dear Ms. McMillan. There was indeed a Mr. and Mrs. Spy reunion movie. I was fully prepared to back it. Harry originated the idea, and I was more than happy to go along with it. You see, I am a legitimate producer, and have been for years. And I happened to enjoy your show." He paused. "Although, I must confess, I found many of the plot lines unrealistic. Amusing, but unrealistic."

"Then the offer was on the up and up?" Gary said. "I had the impression it was all a front."

"On the contrary, it was quite legit. Now of course, it has become quite impossible."

"So, tell us, Mr. Adamo, which came first? Your production company, or being a fence for stolen government secrets?"

"How exactly do you think I bankrolled my business? I must say I've done much better at my second profession than you have at yours. The two of you are far better actors than you are spies."

"Well, we're still spies in training," Gary said roguishly. "And we've learned a lot this past week."

"Really! How so?"

"Well, for one thing, we've learned the importance of backup. And always to have an alternate plan."

Adamo chuckled. "Very good, very good. It remains to be seen whether you'll ever get another chance to put into practice what you've learned." He turned to Barbara and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "I take it that they didn't have the formula on them?" "No," Barbara said. "We'll have to bargain with those American agents, Keating and Reynolds. Surely they will want to save their lives."

"I doubt it. No matter what the price, they won't be anxious to give up the formula."

"Hey. You said that once you had the formula you'd let us go!" Gary cried.

"I don't believe I ever said any such thing," Adamo said mockingly. "My protégée made that statement, and rather rashly I might add. I can only assume that her long, personal association with the two of you caused her feelings to cloud her judgment."

"But is it really necessary to kill them, Charles?" Barbara said.

"Am I hearing correctly?" Adamo said. "One of the most skilled hit men in the world actually considering sparing a life? You must be getting soft, my dear."

Barbara shrugged. "Not soft, practical. After all, they are relatively famous. There might be an inquiry. We don't want to do anything that could be traced back to you."

"Then we'll just have to make sure that nothing is," he snapped. "Anyway, to quote you, they are only relatively famous. By that I mean only popular to the legion of people who still follow that idiotic show. It's not as if we were killing off major stars after all."

"Well, I like your nerve--" Clarissa began.

Barbara interrupted her. "I still don't want to run the risk," she said. "Why not simply erase their memories? It's been done before, and with much success."

Adamo shook his head. "I think not. To do that a subject must be willing, and I fear these two do not fall into that category. After all, we couldn't do it with their friend Harry."

"But they're actors, not agents," Barbara said impatiently. "What's the point of killing them? It's not like they were expertly trained and could do us harm as Harry could."

"Yes," Adamo murmured. "But thankfully he got careless in his old age and let his guard down. That's the only reason we were able to get to him."

"Hey wait a minute," Clarissa said defensively. "Harry wasn't that careless. He told me he suspected one of the Mr. and Mrs. Spy troupe of being a traitor."

Adamo nodded. "True enough. However, I doubt Barbara was high on his list of suspects. She, like you, was one of the few he trusted. He even succumbed to her charms on a few occasions, making it simple for her to undermine several of his missions."

At this revelation, a stab of jealousy went through Clarissa, but she shook it off. What difference did Harry's having an affair with Barbara make now?

Gary stared at Barbara. "I knew there had to be another reason for him to keep you on the show," he said. "Personally, I never thought you were that good an actress."

"I was good enough to fool Harry, and all of you," she retorted with a curl of her lip.

Adamo noticed Clarissa's change of expression and laughed. "See! Your face gives you away, Ms. McMillan. You cared for your friend Harry, and perhaps even now are jealous of Barbara having that sort of relationship with him. Oh, I don't mean that you were in love with him. Yours was probably more like a daughter-father relationship. You want desperately to avenge his death, whether you realize it or not. You wouldn't hesitate to find a way to turn us in."

"If Harry wasn't dead right now I'd kill him myself," Clarissa said through clenched teeth. "If for no other reason then for letting his libido put us in a spot like this."

"Pardon my saying so, Ms. McMillan, but Harry has nothing to do with the spot you and your friend Preston are in now. Your own ineptitude is responsible for that."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Gary cut in. "In order to be inept, you have to be skilled at something. And spying is definitely not Clarissa's forte."

"It's yours, I suppose," she snapped.

"Well, I could have done a lot better job than you could have!" he retorted.

"Good Lord! Do they always go at each other like that?" Adamo said. "Your banter may have been amusing in Mr. and Mrs. Spy, but it's definitely déclassé here. I doubt greatly that Doug and Julie Samson would find anything amusing in the predicament you now find yourselves in."

"That's true," Gary said slowly. "But Doug and Julie Samson would probably not be in a situation like this to begin with."

"Or if they were they'd know how to extricate themselves," Clarissa added.

"Very true. But Clarissa McMillan and Gary Preston will have absolutely no clue as to how to go about rescuing themselves from this situation, now will they?" Adamo laughed hollowly and turned to Barbara. "All this is moot now, anyway. You see, my dear, while you were out meeting our guests, I received word of an important breakthrough."

"Breakthrough?" Barbara asked, clearly puzzled. "What breakthrough?"

Adamo smiled. "It's quite simple you see. And it all goes back to what Mr. Preston said before."

"Oh," Gary looked startled. "What was that?"

"About having a contingency plan. As it stands now, it appears I no longer need the revised formula Harry was so desperate to keep from me."

"You don't need it?" Barbara gasped. "How is that possible?"

He held up a vial. "My own team of scientists, working day and night, have managed to develop a more powerful strain. This little serum is even more deadly than the original." He smiled benignly at the two actors. "So, you see, my friends, your services are most definitely no longer required."

"Wh-what do you intend to do with us?" Clarissa whispered.

"Why, you two will be doing me and our respective countries a great service."

"A service?"

"Yes. As I said before, the serum has just now been fully developed. It has not been tested on humans. I find it quite fitting that you two shall be my guinea pigs."

Clarissa's face blanched. "You can't be serious?"

"Ah, but I am. I must find out if this serum is as or more effective than the original. How better than to test it on you to see if more work has to be done, or if it is acceptable as is. Don't worry," he grinned evilly at her. "Death comes fairly swiftly I am told. Perhaps you will not meet your end as quickly as your friend Harry, but you will not suffer long."

"Let's talk about this," Gary began, but stopped as one of Adamo's men pressed his gun deeper into his ribcage.

"I think not, Mr. Preston," Adamo said slowly. "It would seem that we have nothing further to talk about. Take them to the cellar storeroom," he barked, turning to Barbara. "It is certainly confining and will serve our purposes admirably. Tie them up and then come back here." He handed the vial to one of the other men. "Take this down to the lab. I believe that even as we speak, another more powerful strain is being readied. Barbara, you will take care of them and then come back and get the serum to test on our guests. Oh, and you will let me know what the end result is, won't you my dear?"

Barbara glanced over at Gary and Clarissa. Clarissa thought she saw some flicker of emotion in Barbara's eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

Barbara nodded. "Of course, Charles."

"Good." He looked at his watch. "I've arranged for another Russian courier to be here tonight. That gives us at least twelve hours to test the serum and hopefully correct any imperfections that may remain." He bowed slightly to Gary and Clarissa. "I am truly sorry that you won't be able to see the ending to this particular script." He chuckled. "As actors, you are par excellence. But as spies ..."

"You won't get away with this," Clarissa hissed as they were led away.

Adamo smiled mockingly. "Sorry, my dear. But it would seem I already have."

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Can't you chew any faster?" Clarissa said to Gary, who nibbled away at the thick hemp rope.

"What do you think I am, a beaver?" He snapped back at her. "I told you, I'm working as fast as I can."

"I just hope it's fast enough," Clarissa said, apprehensively looking up at the air vent. Any moment now, the toxic serum would start filtering in, and all would be lost. She sighed.

"Gary?"

"What?" he mumbled without looking up.

She swallowed. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

He paused. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet hers. "What did you say? Did I hear correctly, or has all this tension affected my senses? Did you actually say you were sorry?"

"Yes. Yes, Gary, I did."

"Really. May I ask what exactly you're sorry for, Clarissa? Could it be for the mess we're in?"

"No, well, yes, I am for that, too, but it wasn't what I meant," she mumbled.

His voice grew soft. "What did you mean, then?"

She squirmed, trying to get a more comfortable position. "I guess what I wanted to say … what I'm trying to say is, well, that I'm sorry for the way I've treated you during the course of our relationship."

He sat back on his haunches and regarded her, a quizzical look on his face. He shook his head. "Just when I think I know you, you do an about face. You never cease to amaze me. What brought all this on?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because these might be our last few moments on earth together."

"Oh … remorse for past deeds, as you assumed last night was pity sex. Is that it?"

"No."

"Well let me tell you something. Despite all our banter back and forth, the constant sniping at each other over the years, I have to admit one thing, I've always cared for you."

Her eyes shone with sudden tears. "You have?"

"Yes, I have," he said solemnly. In case you haven't noticed, you're not a bad looker. And as much as I rag on you, you really do have a sweet personality when you let it come through that protective wall you have around you." He paused. "Were you hurt in love once, Clarissa? Is that why you never let that guard down?"

She hesitated, unsure just how much of herself to reveal to him. At last she nodded. "It was a long time ago," she said. "And it's a long story."

"I'm a good listener."

Again she hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Maybe some other time."

"We may not have the luxury of some other time."

"My point exactly. You should be concentrating on loosening these ropes instead of letting me harangue about my dismal love life."

"Surely you exaggerate," he said archly. "I can't picture you having had a dismal love life."

"Okay, then. Unsuccessful? Unfulfilling?"

"Your romances didn't turn out to be all that you've dreamed, eh? Well, join the club. I can't say as I've had much luck in that department either."

She chuckled. "Oh, come now. Gary Preston, L.A.'s number one playboy? The man voted one of Hollywood's most eligible bachelors three years in a row? I find that a little hard to swallow."

"It may be hard to believe, but it's true nonetheless. I haven't yet met the woman I'd like to share my life with, unless--"

"Unless?" she prompted.

"Unless I count you," he said at last.

"Why, Gary. I … I don't know what to say," she stammered.

"Now there's a first."

"No, I mean it. I'm really touched."

"I'm flattered." He turned his face up to hers. She could feel his breath, hot on her cheek and the hypnotic pull of his eyes as he stared into hers. Drawing a ragged breath, she turned away. "But I really feel that perhaps we should devote ourselves to possibly getting out of here--or at least, freeing ourselves."

"That's true," he said simply. "At least if we can move around, our last few moments on earth have the possibility of becoming immensely more pleasurable."

Clarissa envisioned herself entwined in Gary's arms, and the mental picture brought a sigh to her lips.

He grinned wickedly. "Ah, I see you get the picture, don't you, Ms. Shakespeare."

"And what a picture it is. Come on, Gary. We've just got to get loose and find a way out of here. I refuse to believe it's all going to end like this."

"Oh?" He jerked his head back, giving a sharp tug on Clarissa's ropes. "You may be right. Suddenly I have the distinct feeling that I may have a great deal to live for."

"Gary, I think the ropes are loosening."

"Good. Hang on. One more pull. You'll either be free or my dentist is going to be able to buy a new Mercedes."

He gave another sharp tug on Clarissa's ropes causing her to lose her balance and topple over on her side. He groaned. "Please tell me that wasn't in vain," he gasped. "I fear I may have done serious damage to my set of caps."

"They're loose," Clarissa exclaimed exultantly, as she pulled the rope from her wrists. "Thank God. What strong teeth you have, grandpa!"

"Get your feet free and then get me loose. We'll get out of here yet," he said.

Obediently, Clarissa worked at the ropes that bound her ankles. "Gary, how in the world did you ever do this? These are tied really tight!"

"Oh, Lord." He rolled his eyes. "Never ask a woman to do a man's job."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind. We don't have time for the witty repartee now. Roll over to me."

"My hands are free. I can crawl."

"Does it matter?"

"Crawling is faster don't you think? Besides, if I roll all over this floor my suit will be positively filthy."

"I don't believe you! Moments from possible death and you're worried about your damn clothes? "Clarissa, do whatever pleases you, only make it snappy," he growled.

Accordingly she half crawled, half rolled over to him.

"Thank the Lord I have strong incisors," he said, bending his head once again.

A few minutes later, Clarissa was able to free her feet. Slowly she stood up. "Yow," she said. "I'm stiff."

"Well, stretch your muscles and then help me," Gary said quickly. "We still have to find a way out of this box."

She did a few quick limbering exercises, then squatted next to Gary and began fumbling with his ropes. "They're too tight for me," she murmured frantically. "I can't seem to get anywhere with these knots."

"Look around," Gary muttered impatiently. "Do you see anything, anything at all, that might be used as a cutting tool?"

Clarissa's eyes darted around the tiny cubbyhole. "In a word, no."

Gary rolled his eyes. "Swell."

"This room is cleaner than a whistle."

"There's a novel cliché if ever I heard one," Gary said dryly.

"Well, it's true. No broken glass lying anywhere, no knives, nothing at all useful."

"They probably cleaned it out of all such helpful implements when they realized they were going to imprison us here," Gary said. "Well, you're going to have to concentrate on these knots. Don't worry about breaking those precious nails of yours. Just start hacking away at this rope."

She started to bend over him when suddenly an object lying in a far corner caught her eye. Uttering an excited cry, she pounced upon it.

"What is it?" Gary asked quickly, noting her jubilance. "What did you find?"

She held the object up for his inspection. "Here it is," she cried gleefully. "Our ticket to freedom."

"A pack of matches?"

"Hey, fire burns through rope. We used that little device in episode seventy-two, remember? When we were imprisoned in the faux Nazi prison camp by the crazed scientist?"

"And over a vat of boiling acid. I do remember, but Adamo had his men use the heavy-duty type rope. It'll take more than a pack of matches to burn through this stuff, and I hate to break it to you but you don't have a blowtorch there."

"Don't be such a pessimist. Think positively. Oh no!"

"Don't tell me, it's empty."

"It may just as well be," she said ruefully. "There are only two matches left."

"I hate to say I told you so. Well then, my darling, I guess you'll just have to start one hell of a fire. Maybe we can burn our way out."

She stared at him. "You know, sometimes you come out with the most brilliant ideas."

"I do?"

"Yep." She looked around. "Now let's see. What can we use to start a fire?"

"Are you serious?" Gary licked his lips. "I was being sarcastic, Clarissa."

"I'm sure you were. But if I can get a flame high enough, it'll burn right through those ropes."

"And take my hands with it. Are you nuts?"

"Have a little faith, Gary. This'll work, I know it will."

"Are you sure? We have no test barometer for this you know. I don't believe this particular rescue method was ever used on the show."

Ignoring him, Clarissa started poking around in the corners of the room. "There must be something here we can use. Ha!" She darted forward and snatched up a trashcan. Crammed in the bottom were several pieces of newspaper. "Looks like one of these goons reads the financial section," she muttered. "Not much paper here, but it should do the trick." She brandished the pack of matches. "Okay, stay still. Hold your wrists out as far as they'll go. And pray."

Gary groaned. "That goes without saying." But he held out his wrists, and Clarissa positioned them over the pail. She struck one of the matches and small flames shot up from the basket.

"Hopefully this will generate enough heat to loosen these ropes," she murmured.

"Well, hurry up about it. I feel like a marshmallow about to be toasted."

"Patience is a virtue, Gary. Oh, good. They're loosening, and just in time, too. Yikes!"

One of the flames shot up but Gary jerked his hands away, narrowly escaping getting burned. He flexed his wrists, and fortunately this time the weakened hemp gave way and he slipped his wrists easily out of the knot.

"That was close," he said, bending to undo the rope around his legs. He glanced over at Clarissa, who was trying to extinguish the fire. "But effective. Not bad thinking, Sherlock, and you did it all on your own. You didn't even have to steal the method from a former storyline."

"Whatever works," she said demurely. She'd found a rag in a drawer and was beating out the remaining flames. "And with a match to spare!"

"Are you sure you weren't a Girl Scout? Always prepared, aren't they?"

"For future reference, that's the Boy Scouts' motto, and no, I was not, thank you very much." She finished beating out the last of the flames. "It's still smoky in here," she grumbled.

"Now all we have to do is find a secret panel, and we're in business," Gary said, glancing up at the ceiling. "Not even a skylight. If there had been, maybe we could have climbed up." He put a finger to his lips. Outside, they could hear the distinct murmur of voices.

"I tell you, I smelled smoke," someone said. "And I'm sure it was coming from the storeroom."

"That's impossible, Stan," another answered.

Gary mouthed, "Adamo's goons."

Clarissa nodded.

The voices grew more distinct as the men approached the room. "It don't look like there's a fire here to me," one grumbled.

"I smelled smoke I tell you."

"So what? They're going to die anyway, what's the difference if they burn to death."

"That's not the way the boss wants it. He wants to test out the serum before he completes the deal with the Ruskies." A sigh. "I guess we'd better check it out. Make sure they're okay."

Gary gave Clarissa a little shove. "Get over there," he hissed. "Put your hands behind your back and act like you're still tied up."

"What?"

"Just do it Episode one-hundred, remember?"

"Gotcha," she whispered, remembering, and quickly scurried into position.

Gary's eyes darted around the room. Seeing an old dilapidated chair in one corner, he moved swiftly toward it. He broke off a rung and positioned himself behind the door just as it swung open.

The two men entered the room with guns in their hands. They stopped short when they saw Clarissa lying on the floor.

"We smelled smoke," one of them said. "But I don't see no fire."

The other's eyes darted suspiciously about the room. "Say, look over there," he said suddenly. "That wastebasket. Don't those papers look charred? And where's the other prisoner? The guy--"

His sentence was cut off in mid-stream as Gary brought the piece of chair leg down squarely in the middle of his back. The man pitched forward, striking his head on the edge of the desk, and rendering himself unconscious. The gun flew out of his hand. Clarissa grabbed it, and pointed it at his startled companion.

"What in hell--" the man murmured, but Gary caught him in a hammerlock from behind.

"Now drop your weapon, please, or else I'm going to have to apply pressure. I hate breaking necks so early in one's acquaintance, you know?"

"Shit," the squat man grumbled. "How in hell did you two get free? We tied those knots extra tight."

"Never underestimate Mr. and Mrs. Spy, friend. Or the element of surprise." Gary motioned to Clarissa. "Get me that rope, Clarissa. We're going to tie our friends up and give them a taste of what we've been experiencing."

"You can't do that," protested the man. "They'll be ready soon. Any minute now this room will fill with the toxic gas. You can't kill us."

"But you were willing to kill us," Gary said smoothly. "Tell you what, tell me just exactly where they're preparing this toxic gas and maybe, just maybe, Clarissa and I will give you a break and leave you tied up outside of this room."

The little man nodded. "Okay. Okay, I'll tell you."

Gary looked at Clarissa over the top of his head and winked. "You know, I could learn to enjoy all this," he said.

Chapter Twenty-Five

"And you thought secret tunnels only existed in Nancy Drew mysteries," Gary called over his shoulder to Clarissa, who was following close behind him.

After tying up Adamo's men and depositing them outside of the storeroom, they'd followed their directions and now found themselves going through a secret passageway underneath the house which led to Adamo's laboratory.

"Lately I believe anything's possible," Clarissa said. "But tell me, Gary, just exactly what we do when we finally reach our destination? Any bright ideas?"

He shrugged. "Something'll turn up."

"You sound awfully confident."

"Power of positive thinking, my dear." He stopped abruptly. "Uh-oh. Our friends back there didn't tell us we'd have three doors in this tunnel to choose from. Now which one do we pick?"

"Kind of like that old tale, the Lady or the Tiger, right?"

"Oh, well. Pay your money and take your choice. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. This one." Gary went to the center door and flung it wide. Yawning blackness greeted them.

"Good choice," Clarissa said dryly. "This looks like an even blacker tunnel than the one we just went through."

"Okay. How about door number two?" He went to the one on the right and yanked it open. They found themselves staring into a broom closet.

"That was a no-brainer," Clarissa said, as she cautiously opened the one remaining door. Another long corridor stretched in front of them, but this time they could see a faint light in the distance.

"And we have a winner," Gary said softly. "Okay, stay close behind me."

"Yes, Mr. Bond," Clarissa said stiffly. "I hadn't realized you'd appointed yourself in charge of this investigation."

"Would you like to take over? Feel free."

"No, no. I defer to your masculine observations. Besides, later on when you screw up it'll make it a lot easier for me to say I told you so."

"Very funny."

They proceeded slowly down this corridor. Midway, Gary put a finger to his lips. A faint murmur of voices could be heard in the distance.

"Ah, Sherlock," he whispered. "Methinks we've hit pay dirt."

They realized, as they crept towards it that the sound of voices were coming through a grating in the floor. Looking through it they observed what appeared to be a laboratory filled with test tubes and assorted equipment. Two men in white jackets were hunched over a set of vials in one corner. Standing off to their right was the blond-haired man they'd seen before, and next to him, Barbara and Adamo himself!

One of the lab technicians turned around and said to the blond man. "Hans, please hand me the other vial. I have just finished perfecting the serum in liquid form. I do not wish anything to happen to it."

"Sure," Hans said. He handed him a slender tube. "Now just exactly what can we do with this gas again?"

"In its current form the toxic nerve serum can adapt to many uses. We can dissolve it and filter it through the air vents of the storeroom to those American actors, or we could also inject it directly into the body."

Adamo smiled. "I am very pleased, gentlemen. You have made far more improvements in this serum than I would have ever thought possible. It rather makes me wonder about just how I shall test it out now."

Barbara frowned. "What do you mean, Charles?"

"Isn't it obvious, my dear? We have more than one way to make use of it. I rather fear that perhaps we should separate our actor friends and test them separately." At Barbara's stricken look, his eyes narrowed. "Unless, of course, you have another idea. Perhaps you yourself would like to volunteer your services?"

"That isn't funny, Charles."

"It wasn't meant to be, my dear."

"I don't see how you can even joke about it. Haven't I been loyal to you all these years? And what would you do without my expert abilities. Yes, I have served you well."

"Too well I think, at times," Adamo said softly. "However, that is not a topic I wish to discuss now. Hans," he said sharply. "Go and fetch Ms. McMillan. I would like to have the honor of plunging the test needle into her soft flesh myself. Her smart-mouthed friend can stay in the storeroom and breathe the toxic fumes until he chokes."

Gary poked Clarissa in the ribs. "Looks like Adamo likes you better than he does me."

"I didn't realize we were in a popularity contest," she shot back then added grimly, "But this is one time I wouldn't mind letting you win."

"We need a diversion before they find out we're not where they think we are," he said quietly. "Any bright ideas?"

Clarissa started to shake her head, then her eyes widened. She pointed to a spot just above her head. The sprinkler system nozzle was positioned right outside the grating where they crouched. She felt in her pocket. Yes, it was still there! In response to Gary's puzzled look she took out the packet containing the one remaining match. Praying that no sudden breezes would spring up, she quickly lit the match and thrust her arm through the grate opening. "Oh, please work," she whispered. "Just like it did in episode thirty-five."

Suddenly there was a loud ringing noise and water began spraying in all directions. Clarissa pulled her arm back just as Adamo looked toward the ceiling.

"What the--?" he began.

Water sprayed all over. "There must be a malfunction," Hans got out.

"Then go and fix it, you fool. Be quick about it," Adamo hissed.

Hans moved swiftly toward the door but in his haste, carelessly brushed against some of the vials on a nearby table sending several of them crashing to the floor. Immediately a thick cloud of smoke began to rise.

"Tear gas," Adamo hissed. "You idiot! Quick! Everyone out!"

They practically fell over each other as they crammed toward the doorway. So eager were they to get out of the smoke-filled room, the vial of serum was left on the table.

"A good thing Adamo's men aren't graceful. Hans's clumsiness may have provided us with just the break we need," Gary said. He felt in his pocket and pulled out two handkerchiefs. "See. I'm always prepared too. Now put this over your nose and try not to breathe in too much of that gas. The point is to knock them out, not us." He pulled on the grating, and after a few tugs it came loose. He slipped through the opening and lowered himself into the lab, then helped Clarissa down.

"Try not to inhale," he hissed. Turning toward the table he found the test tube. "Thank God." He snatched it up and quickly put it into his pocket. "Come on." He grabbed Clarissa's hand. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"With pleasure."

"Oh, and nice work by the way. I'll never look at a pack of matches again without remembering you."

He peered outside. The corridor appeared to be deserted. Quickly they exited, pulling the door shut so the fumes would not escape into the hallway. Coughing slightly, they made their way down to the end of the hall then leaned weakly against the wall.

"Boy, that was close," Gary said, gulping deeply. "You okay?"

Clarissa nodded. "I'm fine. A little weak, but fine."

"Good. Then let's get out of here and notify Reynolds and Keating."

"What happened to them?" Clarissa asked. "I thought you were all together in the van."

Gary smiled, "Well, now that's a funny story," he began then suddenly stopped, the smile frozen on his face.

"What's wrong?" asked Clarissa, but suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Don't look now, but we've got company," Gary said grimly. Clarissa turned and stared directly into the muzzle of Barbara's .45.

***

"Well, well. Who have we here?" Adamo said. "Obviously, my dear Barbara, your co-stars are more talented than I gave them credit for."

"High praise indeed, coming from such a master," Clarissa said.

Adamo held out his hand. "I believe that you have something that belongs to me."

"I may have something, but it belongs to our country; to the cause of justice, not to you," she replied.

"Oh, my dear, such brave words. Shall I have them engraved on your epitaph?"

"A moot point because I certainly don't have anything that I would care to give you."

"Indeed. I doubt that you would display such ingenuity in escaping from your prison and setting off my sprinkler system to emerge empty handed. Not even you two could be that stupid. My dear?"

He inclined his head toward Barbara, who grabbed Clarissa in one swift motion. Clarissa flinched. She'd never realized how strong Barbara was!

With the gun still trained on her, Barbara's hands roved quickly over Clarissa's person. She smiled in satisfaction as she touched the bulge in her jacket pocket, and removed the vial of toxic fluid. She held it up then passed it over to Adamo.

He looked at the liquid almost reverently.

"Fools!" he spat out at last. He turned to Barbara. "Take them to my private office. I grow tired of all this. I'm putting an end to it. Now!"

Chapter Twenty-Six

Gary and Clarissa sat next to each other on straight-backed chairs in Adamo's book-lined office. Across from them stood Barbara, her gun pointed levelly at them. Adamo sat behind his massive desk, one hand lightly drumming on the polished top, the other holding the small vial that was the object of so many people's attention.

"I should have liked to dissolve some of this into gas," he rasped. "But, thanks to your little display with my sprinklers, it will be impossible to do for at least several hours until we get the lab cleaned up."

"Hey, go for it," Gary said earnestly. "We're not going anywhere."

"Quite true," Adamo said easily. "But I'm afraid that you have both sorely tried my patience. I do not wish to wait any longer to observe the drug's effects."

"And what would that mean to us, exactly?" Gary asked.

Adamo cocked an eyebrow. "It would mean, Mr. Preston, that your time has run out. I'll have to forget about liquefying the serum, and just inject you with it. Observe how effective the toxin is that way. Not quite what I had envisioned, but you are giving me little choice."

"Well now, hold on there," Gary said quickly. "You seem a reasonable man. Surely we can come to some agreement?"

"Yes, Mr. Preston, I usually am a reasonable man, except when I am crossed. And you and Ms. McMillan have far exceeded those boundaries today." He looked at Barbara. "Watch them closely while I prepare the needles," he hissed, and turned and disappeared into a backroom.

Clarissa looked expectantly at Barbara. "Barbara," she said imploringly. "You can't tell me that our friendship over the years has meant absolutely nothing to you."

Barbara said nothing, just cocked the gun and stared straight ahead.

"Barbara," Clarissa continued. "All the camaraderie we shared … we had some good times. Surely that must be worth something at this moment?"

Barbara stared at her intently. "Yes, Clarissa. I am sorry for the suffering you and Gary will have to endure. You should have stayed out of matters that were none of your concern. The two of you are in over your heads, you're not trained in espionage."

"Why, what do you mean? Clarissa and I have done this for years," Gary boasted.

"Yes, on a TV show. Quite a bit different in real life, or haven't you noticed?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well, for one thing, on the set the guns weren't loaded with real bullets that could kill you," Barbara said, smiling thinly. "Really, Gary, at times you are such an ass."

"Hey, thanks for the compliment. I'll take it to my grave."

"Gary, what is wrong with you?" Clarissa hissed at him. "Are you crazy? We're in real trouble here. They're going to kill us."

"Are they?"

"In only a matter of moments," Barbara said. "I am curious, though. Why do you seem so unconcerned, Gary? Does your life hold such little value for you?"

"Hey, I wasn't born yesterday, Babs. I didn't want to break it to you like this, but the place is surrounded."

"Surrounded?"

"Yep. Crawling with feds. Remember what I said about backup? Even as we speak, the feds are marching through Adamo's little set-up here. You're right about it being only a matter of moments--that is, moments before you get exactly what you have coming to you for killing Harry, and betraying our country and all that."

"Really?" Barbara turned toward Adamo, who had come silently back into the room. "Did you hear that, Charles? Gary here tells me that the building is surrounded."

"Nice bluff, Preston, but I'm afraid that you are way too late." He held up two needles, one dripping fluid. "Would you like to take a moment to say goodbye to Ms. McMillan? I'll allow it, seeing as you've been so close. Believe it or not, I'm an old softy for such things."

Gary made a sound of mock disdain. "Why, Mr. Adamo, you don't believe me, do you?"

Adamo looked at Gary in exasperation. "Now what do you think?"

Gary shook his head. "You'd be wise to listen to me. I'm telling you the truth."

"Preston, I would be a fool if I believed you. Now, if you don't wish to say a proper goodbye to Ms. McMillan, I believe I'll inject you first. Your smart mouth is beginning to really annoy me." He came closer and turned to Clarissa. "Perhaps, my dear, I shall say a proper goodbye to you in Mr. Preston's place. I imagine that your ruby lips would taste sweet no matter what the circumstances."

"No thanks. I'd rather kiss a rattlesnake ... or Gary."

"Feisty, aren't we? Well, say adieu to your co-star, Ms. McMillan. He's about to get a shot of toxic nerve gas."

Adamo held the dripping needle aloft. Suddenly the air was rent with the piercing wail of a police siren.

"What the--?" Adamo cried, startled.

Clarissa took advantage of the momentary confusion to draw her arm back right into Barbara's ribs, knocking the weapon from her hand.

Gary, for his part, rose swiftly from his seat and raised his clenched fist, catching Adamo on the edge of his jaw. The man staggered backward, dropping the needle. Gary brought his arm down full force on the back of Adamo's neck, smiling in satisfaction when the man lay still. Glancing up, he saw Barbara reaching out for the fallen gun. Clarissa, however, moved swiftly. Sticking out one dainty foot, she sent Barbara sprawling across the floor. The woman's head made contact with the large desk at the other end, stunning her.

The door burst open and Keating and Reynolds leapt in, weapons drawn. They surveyed the scene before them.

"Well, what do you know," Keating laughed.

"Looks as if Mr. and Mrs. Spy have beaten us to the punch. Nice work," Reynolds said admiringly.

"It's about time," Gary growled. "What the hell took you two so long?"

Clarissa stared at them. "What do you mean?" Her eyes widened, as she comprehended the situation. "Gary! You weren't bluffing were you, when you told Adamo the place was surrounded!"

Gary grinned and pulled open his jacket, exposing a neat wire. "I was hoping that they were having more luck with my wire than they did with yours and were able to track my whereabouts. I wasn't one hundred percent sure that it would work, but I was hopeful."

"Where did that police siren come from? That was what startled them so. If it hadn't been for that--" she gave a little shudder. "Adamo, that madman, was prepared to use us as guinea pigs for that awful drug."

"We know, Ms. McMillan, and thanks to Gary, we've finally got all that on tape. In addition to the tracking device, Gary wore a recorder as well. So Mr. Adamo will be spending a lot of time in prison from the looks of things. As well as Ms. Power."

"But that still doesn't explain the siren. Where did it come from, if you didn't use it as a diversion?"

Gary reached into his pants pocket. "Oh, you mean this. Sound familiar?" he asked, as the shrill blast of a siren reached their ears.

Clarissa jumped. "That's it! That's it exactly. Where in the world did that come from?"

"From this." Gary grinned sheepishly and held up a tiny pen.

Keating burst out laughing. "My kid's toy pen. I wondered what had happened to it. I thought maybe I'd dropped it somewhere. I forgot that you had been playing with it in the van."

Gary chuckled. "I thought it might come in handy, and it did." He grinned. "I decided to take it along with me just in case. So you see, Clarissa, you are really indebted to me. I saved your life."

Keating smiled. "I have to say you both did amazingly well, considering what you were up against. You were in a pretty tight spot but managed to extricate yourselves beautifully. We're impressed."

"A child's pen. A toy saved us," Clarissa murmured. "We came that close to having our lives snuffed out."

"But we didn't," Gary said. "All's well that ends well, right, Ms. Shakespeare? Or, after all this, would you rather be Mrs. Spy?"

Clarissa didn't hear him. She'd already slipped to the floor in a dead faint.

Epilogue

"Ladies and Gentlemen, get ready. They'll be out any moment now, America's favorite couple--the king and queen of espionage--Mr. and Mrs. Spy!"

It was six months later, backstage at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan. Gary and Clarissa looked at each other, smiling broadly.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it, that six months ago we were locked in a storeroom, fearing that at any moment toxic nerve gas would snuff out our lives," Clarissa murmured, peeping through the curtain at the crowd out in front.

Gary chuckled. "Sure is, and look at us now. The resultant publicity from Adamo and Barbara's arrest and the restoration of that toxic nerve gas has only served to regenerate interest in Mr. and Mrs. Spy."

Clarissa had to admit it was true. Although the late Harry Slominski's role in these events had been omitted, Barbara's treachery and Gary and Clarissa's part in recovering the formula had played out better than any movie script ever could have, drawing much media attention to the former stars of Mr. and Mrs. Spy! Harry's will had been read, and as expected, he'd left his fortune and controlling interest in the Mr. and Mrs. Spy franchise to his nephew, Max. Realizing a good thing when he saw it, Max had jumped right on the bandwagon, cashing in on the renewed interest in the former show. As a result here they were, playing to their biggest crowd ever at Madison Square Garden.

Fritz, who now found his own popularity boosted as well, bustled in to inform them that every seat in the 30,000 plus arena had been filled.

"You're kidding," Clarissa said. "I never had stage fright before, but I think I'm getting it now."

"Ah, you'll be fine," Gary said easily. "Just imagine yourself playing Lady Macbeth to the largest audience you'll ever see in your lifetime."

Clarissa sighed. It did seem, however, as if she could kiss her Shakespearean aspirations goodbye, for now at least. Max's eager-beaver enthusiasm for regenerating Mr. and Mrs. Spy had led to his finding several other backers, all expressing a desire to fund the reunion movie, and he'd hired some of Hollywood's top writers to craft a script based on what had actually happened. After much urging from Gary, Clarissa had finally agreed to do it, and shooting would start in the Big Apple itself in just a few weeks.

"But no script can adequately portray what actually happened," she told Gary who agreed with her.

"It was kind of fun, at that," he said suddenly, looking at her.

She knew what he meant and nodded. "Yes, it really was." She smiled, knowing full well what he was referring to. Since the incident she and Gary had been very close. Neither of them knew where the relationship might eventually lead, but for now they were satisfied with the way things were.

"I must confess, though, I find myself missing those snappy putdowns." Gary chuckled. "It's odd to be on the same side for a change."

"Hey, anytime you want me to insult you, I'm glad to oblige. I'm sure I haven't lost my touch."

He grinned at her, lightly touching her cheek with his forefinger. "No, you haven't." He smiled. "I can attest to that. As a matter of fact, last night--"

Clarissa blushed and punched him playfully in the arm. "Okay, okay. We don't have to let the whole world know our business, do we?"

He grinned. "Depends on what our business happens to be,"

Fritz hurried up behind them. "Hey Gary, Clarissa," he called. "You've got visitors,"

"Visitors? Who might that be?"

"Another producer, wanting to offer us two million apiece to star in his next film, I hope," Gary said, turning around.

Agents Keating and Reynolds stood there. "We meet again," Reynolds said with a grin, holding out his hand. "How've you been?"

"Just fine." Gary beamed and slipped his arm about Clarissa's shoulders. "So, what brings you two here? Don't tell me there's another international incident and you need our help. What is it this time, a lost nuclear submarine?" he said jokingly.

"Nothing at the moment," Reynolds smiled. "We happened to be in New York on business and read about the reunion here at the Garden."

"Yes, these reunions have come a long way, owing in part to you," Clarissa said.

Keating chuckled. "Well, Ms. McMillan, your attitude certainly seems to have changed. You actually sound as if you're enjoying yourself."

"When in Rome …" She laughed lightly.

Keating shook his head. "Well, we just thought we'd drop by and keep you abreast of current happenings. Adamo and Barbara were sentenced yesterday. Looks like they'll be doing a nice long stretch in a maximum security prison."

"Adamo's going to have his battery of lawyers appeal, of course, but even at that it should be years before he ever sees the light of day again," Reynolds said with feeling.

"Yes, and our scientists were extremely happy to get their hands on Adamo's version of the toxic gas. They've been working on improving it still further. Due mostly to your efforts, it will become a valuable secret weapon for our government."

"In the words of Doug and Julie Samson, shucks, 'tweren't nothin'," Gary said modestly.

The agents looked around them. "It seems as if your old show has been given a second wind," Keating observed.

"Yes, it appears that the fateful reunion movie is to become a reality. Harry's nephew is even entertaining the thought of bringing back the TV series. It's amazing how much interest has been regenerated since this whole episode." Clarissa paused thoughtfully. "And Max seems more than capable of capitalizing on it. Harry must have taught him well."

"Perhaps it's in the genes." Reynolds smiled. "Well, we're very happy for the both of you. You know, the agency was very impressed with your work. You showed a real flair for espionage."

Clarissa chuckled. "That's not what Adamo told us. We did have some pretty tight moments, and some pretty close calls."

"But you kept your heads. Your clear thinking saw you through, and that's the main thing. Actually, we did have an ulterior motive in coming here today. You see, the agency does use civilians from time to time on select assignments. We wanted to let you know that if you chose to assist us, we'd be very pleased to work with the two of you again."

Gary looked at Clarissa and closed one eye in a broad wink. "Well, pal, we'll kind of have to let you know on that one. Things got a bit sticky towards the end. It would have to be a really important assignment to get us to dust off the cloak and dagger and play Mr. and Mrs. Spy again. Unless it's for the big screen, of course."

"Of course, of course," Keating murmured. "We just wanted you to know, the offer stands if you're ever interested." He chuckled. "Or even if you're not, Uncle Sam just may call on the two of you again someday."

Gary grinned at him. "Tell him not to rush on our account."

The announcer's voice blared out again over the deafening roar of the crowd. "Okay, folks. You've waited long enough. America's favorite espionage duo …"

"We won't keep you." The agents turned to leave. "We just wanted to say hi, and that we'll stay in touch."

"Fresh from their real-life triumph in California, helping to capture a traitor to our country …" the announcer droned on.

"Do that," Gary urged. He smiled at Clarissa and moved closer to her, turning her face up to his. "As a matter of fact, I'm still trying to convince Clarissa that since we make such a good team, we should become Mr. and Mrs. Spy for real."

Clarissa lowered her lashes demurely. "Well, you never know," she said throatily, lifting her lips for Gary's kiss. "Stranger things can--and have--happened. Who knows what the future holds for us?"

"Who indeed?"

Outside the crowd's cheering reached a roaring crescendo.

"And here they are …that secret agent duo ... Gary Preston and Clarissa McMillan. Better known as Mr. and Mrs. Spy."

The End

About the Author

Toni LoTempio

Toni Lo Tempio is a native New Yorker, transplanted to New Jersey, who's been reading and writing since she was a young girl. Taught by her mother to read when she was three, Toni's reading tastes vary widely: anything from a Nancy Drew Mystery to the latest Stephen King thriller! Toni enjoys supernatural suspense, as well as romantic mystery. MR. AND MRS. SPY is her third published e-novel. Her first novel, 93 CRANE STREET, is a paranormal thriller, and her second, CHOCOLATE AND VINEGAR, is a romantic comedy.

Toni has also been a staff writer for SUSABELLA PASSENGERS AND FRIENDS, a pulp magazine designed for collectors of children's antique literature for the last six years. In addition to writing, her hobbies include reading, collecting series books, and playing with her three cats, Phyllis, Misty, and Trixie!

Toni is currently at work on two more novels. Readers can contact the author at TLotempio@aol.com