Death of an Adept

He settled the account and slipped the ring box into his coat pocket. They lingered a few minutes to admire some of the sculpture on display in the gallery itself before taking their leave. The number of people in the street had dwindled and the streetlights had come on, prompted by the gathering gloom of the January dusk. Ximena checked her watch and clucked her tongue.

"I still can't get over how early it gets dark in Scotland in the wintertime," she said with a sigh. "It's only half past four, but it looks more like half past eight."

"It's these northerly latitudes - too near the Arctic Circle,"

Adam said with a grin. "If it's any consolation, just remember how long the days are in the summertime."

Ximena turned up her collar with an exaggerated shiver.

"Now I know why groundhogs hibernate! Sometimes I wonder if maybe we shouldn't think about deferring the wedding till June, when we can celebrate with an all-night garden party."

Adam maintained a straight face. "If that's what you really want. But I think it only fair to warn you that we shall be a scandal to polite society in the meantime."

"Perish the thought!" Ximena said with a roll of her eyes. "No, we've done enough shilly-shallying already - and I don't think I could keep up this pretext of only being engaged for much longer. Like the U.S. Postal Service, we must keep to our existing schedule, come rain, snow, sleet, hail, or any other adverse weather condition!"

"Far be it from me to contradict!" Adam retorted with a chuckle.

They carried on downhill past an array of parked cars. A stepped close opened up to their right, its cobbles overshadowed by the buildings flanking it on either hand. Several yards further on, Ximena paused to admire a Victorian doll house on display in the cluttered window of an antique shop. Adam was about to suggest that they should be moving on, blowing on gloved hands and shifting from foot to foot against the cold, when the street reflections on the glass in front of him registered a flash of movement rushing up on him from behind.

Before he could turn or cry out, his masked attacker rammed him hard in the back. His forehead hit the plate-glass window with stunning force, and a muscular arm simultaneously caught him round the neck in a throttling choke-hold, jerking him backward.

Ducking and throwing himself forward, Adam tried to buck his assailant over his head, but only succeeded in tightening the stranglehold. Still struggling, he managed to gasp out, "Run, Ximena!"

It had all happened in the space of a few heartbeats. Even as Ximena was drawing breath to scream, drawing back her arm to clout Adam's attacker with her shoulder bag, two more masked figures darted forward from between two parked cars.

One of them made a lunge for Ximena; the other flung himself at Adam. As the combined weight of his two assailants crowded him against the wall, a gloved hand clapped a damp pad of cloth over his mouth and nose.

Adam recoiled, but not before he had inadvertently taken in a gulping lungful of chloroform. His stomach lurched and his eyes swam. He tried to hold his breath, making a sickly, frantic attempt to twist away, but powerful hands were locked around his wrists, and he could feel the first effects of the chloroform already eroding his coordination.

A sharp blow to his solar plexus drove the air from his lungs in a sharp whoof! Reflex made him draw another gasping breath, despite his determination not to, and further resistance began to drain away like water from a sieve as his captors began hustling him toward the curb.

Meanwhile, Ximena's attacker had one arm twisted behind her and was attempting the same procedure that had felled Adam. Squealing and twisting, she jammed a high heel into her adversary's instep with all the force and weight she could muster. His grip loosened and he reared back with a pungent curse. Before he could regain control of her, she wriggled loose and screamed for help, for Adam was sagging limply between his two assailants, being dragged into the street.

Her cry raised shouts of alarm from farther down the block, but her attacker lunged after her, catching her by the sleeve and whirling her around, dealing her a backhand blow to the side of the head. The force of it, plus her own efforts to escape, knocked her spinning into a puddle on the pavement and left her assailant with only a handful of overcoat to show for his labors. Even as she scrambled backwards out of reach, frantic over what was happening to Adam, an anonymous black Edinburgh taxi came swooping down on them and screeched to a halt at the curb.