That evening Diana found herself in one of the seedier sections of what was called London’s East End. Steve had led her off the main thoroughfare of Commercial Road, down narrow streets poorly lit or not lit at all, past brick tenements and living spaces that could barely be called hovels. A maze of ramshackle, interconnected cottages. It was a wet night and the air smelled foul from the breeze off the river and the privies in the back yards. There were people staggering about, men and women. Some asked for money, dirty hands extended. There were no beggars on Themyscira.
Steve moved with confidence, comfortable in these circumstances. They exited a narrow alleyway and came out facing a weakly lit set of windows and a sign on a hinge over the doorway. Steve had already explained that their rendezvous with colleagues would take place in a public house, a shop that sold liquid refreshments and bites to eat. Looking at the Hangman’s Arms, she couldn’t imagine a reason that anyone would want to cross the threshold to do either.
But Steve opened the door and ushered her in.
It smelled like a stable and the clientele were all rough types: merchant sailors, dock workers, ex-Army. Scarred. Dirty. Brutal. And they were inebriated. Some were singing loudly and unintelligibly. Others were arguing.
“These are the reinforcements?” Diana said in disbelief.
“Yup,” Steve said affectionately.
“Are these even good men?”
“Relatively,” Steve replied.
“Relative to what?”
They moved towards a group of khaki-uniformed Army officers who seemed out of place in the shabby pub. One of them, an exotic, dashing man with brown skin, large eyes and heavy, dark eyebrows, was holding court.
“In Africa, gentlemen,” he said, “we had no such luxuries…”
The officers laughed and nodded their agreement as Steve and Diana approached.
“But the luxuries we have now,” the speaker continued, “it’s like we can’t stop making money. My uncle the prince and I would keep it all, but we want to extend the opportunity to a few good soldiers…”
“Which prince was that?” Steve said as he grabbed the man’s arm. “I need to talk to you, Prince Madras Angora Cashmere…”
The man grimaced at Steve, but turned and smiled at the men around him, as if to say forgive my rude friend. He excused himself with a nod to the others.
“You bugger,” he said to Steve when they were out of earshot. “I’ve been greasing those peacocks all night…” He noticed Diana, who had followed after them. “My goodness gracious,” he said, brows raised as he gazed at her. “That’s a work of art.”
“Sameer,” Steve said, “this is Diana.”
The man smiled broadly at Diana. “Diana, call me ‘Sammy,’ please.”
“Sammy.” Amused, she quirked a grin. First Etta Candy and now this man. Steve Trevor kept colorful company.
Shouts and curses made them turn their heads. On the other side of the pub, two men were having an argument that was threatening to boil over.
Steve waved Diana closer, then said, “Sammy’s a top undercover man. Can talk the skin off a cat in as many languages as you.”
Diana decided to put that claim to the test. She said in Spanish, “He doesn’t look that impressive to me.”
Sammy replied, also in Spanish, “You do to me. Your eyes, as soft as your smile…”
One for one, then. Diana moved on to Chinese. “And your eyes look like they want something.”
“I know Chinese, too, tricky girl,” he answered in the same language.
Then in Ancient Greek she said, “But can you recite Socrates in Ancient Greek?”
Sammy looked at her blankly. He had no idea what she’d said. Diana shrugged as if unimpressed. Score three for the Amazon. Sammy was very gracious as he dipped his head, declaring her the victor.
“Oh, you’re done,” Steve quipped. That settled, he looked around at the raucous crowd. “Where’s Charlie?”
Sammy pointed at the two men who had been arguing and who were now fighting with bare knuckles in a corner of the pub. A huge bruiser was beating the stuffing out of a smaller, younger man.
Diana smiled at the bruiser. “At least this Charlie is good with his fists.”
“That’s not Charlie,” Steve said.
The bigger man landed a blow so powerful that it knocked the small fellow off his feet and sent him crashing to the floor. He groaned.
Steve winced and nodded at the man flat on his back. “That’s Charlie.”
The fighters snarled at one another in a variant of English, but Diana could not decipher the slang. When Steve and Sammy started across the room towards the bruiser, the man realized that Charlie had friends and beat a hasty exit.
Charlie nimbly jumped to his feet, surprisingly cheerful after the punishment he’d absorbed. He plopped down at a table, and Diana, Steve, and Sammy joined him. In a matter of seconds, Charlie had full glasses of whiskey in both fists.
“All right, Charlie?” Steve said.
Charlie looked at him adoringly. “Steve, may God put a flower on your head. Good to see you.” Then he downed both glasses of whiskey without taking a breath.
“What were you fighting about?” Diana asked.
“I mistook his drink for mine.” He grinned and shrugged. “It happens.”
Diana looked at Steve and frowned. She was concerned about his choice of reinforcements. A smooth-talking linguist and a brawler?
“This man is no fighter,” she said.
“Charlie here’s an expert marksman. It means he shoots people,” Steve replied.
“From very far away,” Sammy drawled.
Charlie reached out and grabbed a drink from the man seated at the table behind them. “They never know what hit ’em,” he said merrily.
But Diana saw a darkness behind his polite smile. He was troubled, or was trouble; either way, she didn’t like the idea of an undeclared attack upon an enemy.
“How do you know who you kill if you can’t see their face?” Diana said.
“I don’t. Trust me. It’s better that way.”
“My aunt warned me about men like you,” she said, and thought of Antiope’s reminders that battles were rarely waged fairly.
He leered at her. “Ain’t the first time I heard that, lassie.”
She went on. “You fight without honor.”
His smile didn’t flicker, but again, she a cloudy expression move across his face. “Don’t get paid for honor.”
“What’s the job, boss?” Sammy said.
Diana kept her counsel, waiting to see how the rest of this meeting played out. Steve took over.
“Two days tops,” Steve said. “We need supplies and passage to Belgium…”
“What’s the going rate?” Charlie cut in.
“Better be good pay,” Sammy teased.
Steve regarded them. “Well, here’s the thing. Uh, I told you it’s going to be quick. And there’s a lot to be gained by this. It’s for a great cause. Freedom. Friendship.”
“Okay, you have no money,” Sammy said.
“No,” Steve admitted.
Sammy gazed at Diana and said in French, “All I want right now is a picture of your lovely face.”
Diana smiled at him and replied, “You won’t need a picture. I’m coming with you.”
Sammy’s smile faded. “What is this?” he asked Steve.
Steve nodded. “We’re dropping her off at the Front.”
“Dropping her off?” Sammy echoed.
Charlie looked at Diana. “No offense, chérie, but I don’t wanna get killed helping a wee lassie out of a ditch, you know what I mean?”
Diana let it go. If Charlie was still there when she challenged Ares, he would learn what an Amazon could do.
The door to the pub banged open and the bruiser re-entered, this time with a pistol. The man leaned in to shoot but Diana coolly grabbed his hand and disarmed him. He grunted; holding him by the waist, she flipped him and sent him flying across the pub. He crashed into scattering of empty chairs and tables. His so-called mates abandoned him, rushing out of the pub.
Astonished, Sammy bent down to help Charlie up. He nodded towards Diana and said, “I am both frightened and aroused.”
“When aren’t you?” Charlie shot back, rubbing his head. He nodded his bemused thanks at Diana as Steve took the gun from her and put it under his messenger bag. The reinforcements regarded her with newfound respect.
The pub door opened again and a flustered Etta rushed in. “There they are,” she said, a forced smile on her face.
A familiar-looking man walked in after her.
“Sir Patrick!” Diana exclaimed.
“That’s what I was going to mention,” Etta said.
Steve, Sammy, and Charlie stood to attention out of respect. Steve seemed put out with Etta, who must have told Sir Patrick where Steve had planned to meet up with Charlie and Sammy. Etta shrugged apologetically and made a calming be patient gesture with her hand.
“Sit, gentlemen,” Sir Patrick said. “Please sit.”
He pulled up a chair as the others got comfortable. “I assume you’re here planning something that’s either going to get you court-martialed or killed.”
“I assume you’re here to stop us,” Steve said.
The elderly man shook his head as he took his ease. “No. Not at all. In fact, I was a younger man once and had I been in better health, I’d like to think I would do the same. I think it’s a very honorable thing to do. Therefore, I am here to help. Unofficially, of course.’”
Diana smiled. It seemed there were more good men in this world than she had given credit for.
“What’s your plan?” Sir Patrick asked.
“If there is another weapons facility, find it and destroy it. Along with Ludendorff and Maru,” Steve said.
Sir Patrick nodded solemnly. “The charming Etta will run the mission out of my office to allay suspicion,” he said.
“Run the mission, sir?” Etta said, wide-eyed, a little faint.
Sir Patrick slid a fat envelope across the table to Steve. “It’s enough for a few days,” he told him.
Steve took the envelope. “Thank you, sir.”
Sir Patrick waved off Steve’s expression of gratitude. “You’re very welcome. Take great care, all of you. And good luck.”
We may need to make our own luck, Steve thought. Then he caught the pleased expression on Diana’s face. And I think we’re up to the task.