This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed keeps a low profile
Emma finds her way home
Chapter 2
The mid-winter dawn's first light greyed the bedroom window. Emma lay dozing in Steed's arms recovering from their delicious pre-dawn exertions. She'd remembered the condoms at the last moment, hearing the distant echo of her doctor's warning years ago about how easy it was to forget as she forced herself, and Steed, to pause and get one. She'd not liked it; it hadn't felt the same. Steed had chuckled at her complaint and said it was a lesson to her to be a good girl and remember her pills. She'd dozed off contemplating the supposed benefits of birth control pills -- they allowed women more sexual freedom, but they put the burden squarely in her hands, too.
"I need to get to Liverpool by mid afternoon," Steed whispered in her ear. She opened her eyes and rolled onto her back so that she could look up at him. The sun, although hidden behind clouds, had suffused the room with watery light. She reached up and traced a faint semi-circular indentation on his left shoulder, smiling slightly. "Still shows?" he asked.
She nodded. She'd bitten him last night, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark. "Just a reminder of me," she said, "while you're concentrating on your dignitary."
"I don't need to be reminded of you," he said, touching her lips with his index finger. "You haunt me. When I look at another woman, I compare her to you. It's perfectly hopeless."
"Perfectly," she said, smiling with satisfaction at his surprising admission.
"What will you be doing for the next few days?" he asked.
"Having my things moved to my flat, calling on Weems and Plath at the ministry, and visiting certain board members."
"Please be careful," she started to open her mouth to protest his warning and he put his finger back on her lips, shaking his head, "I know you can take care of yourself, but I think those men will go to great lengths to protect themselves. Treat them as you would any suspect we've ever dealt with. And remember, I won't be nearby to rescue you."
"I was going to bring Sally. They'd be less likely to try something when there are two of us," she said.
"Perhaps," he nodded, not completely agreeing. "But if you're going to start dragging that girl into dangerous situations, you should supply her with some self-defense training." He smiled, but he wasn't entirely joking.
"Yes, you're right. I think I shall," she said thoughtfully, wondering how Sally would like the idea. She reached up and slid her hand over the side of his face and into his hair, pulling him to her for a long, languorous kiss. He joined in willingly, but neither of them allowed it to become more demanding. She sighed as they parted, pressing him away so that she could sit up. "I'll shower first," she said.
Steed watched her close the bathroom door and waited until he heard water running. Then he sat up and reached for the telephone by the bed.
"Bond? Steed here. If you're not busy the next few days, I wonder if you can do me a favor?"
"Good afternoon, Miss Knight -- that is correct now, isn't it?" agent Stanley Weems greeted Emma as she entered the office he shared with his partner Edgar Plath.
"Yes, it's official," she replied, taking the seat he indicated.
"Heard you had some success on the Elder 6 project," he said, returning to his chair behind his desk. "A couple good firefights, too."
"Yes, it got a bit thick. But the climate made up for it."
"Yes, well, Steed does get the good assignments."
"He's in Liverpool now."
"Maybe not all the good ones then, eh?"
Emma forced the expected smile and looked pointedly around the office. "Is Plath around?"
"He'll be along. Went down to records to find something. You said you wanted to talk about your ex-husband's case."
"Yes. His lawyers called me asking to meet. I would like all the information I can get before I agree."
"I see," Weems drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at a pile of files there. She wondered if they were related to Peter's case or just conveniently located within his range of vision.
"I do have ministry clearances," she pointed out.
"Yes, of course. But it is highly irregular. You are considered a witness in the investigation."
"And you have my statement. Think of me now as a colleague about to interact with individuals related to your case. What should I know before I meet with them?"
Weems nodded, lifting the top folder from the pile and opening it. "Since you put it that way," he said. Just then the door opened and Plath came in with another bundle of folders under his arm.
"Miss Knight!" he greeted her cheerfully. "So good to see you. Has Weems here started briefing you?"
"I was just beginning. Miss Knight makes a good argument for hearing where we are in the Peel case."
"Of course she does," Plath said, moving behind his desk, which sat at an angle to Weems's. Seated in the angle between them, Emma felt just a bit like she was on trial. She decided to turn the tables.
"Have you reviewed all of Sir Peter's papers from the estate?" she asked.
"Yes. We've added all the data from them to the cross index on the case. Here," Weems patted a particularly thick file. Emma cringed. She did not have a high opinion of the ministry's new computerized cross-indexing techniques.
"To review," Plath said, "Sir Peter was originally apprehended, by you, Miss Knight, in the act of purchasing top secret information from Sir Roald Wentworth. What he was attempting to purchase was the networking software for a short-range missile system. The software is only useful if you have the controllers for the missile launching devices."
Emma nodded, an alarming thought coming to her. "Who makes the launching devices?"
Weems frowned at her, but Plath smiled and nodded. "Yes, very good question, Miss Knight," he chuckled. "As a matter of fact, the launching devices are manufactured for the Ministry of Defense by Knight Weaponry."
Emma took a deep breath and held it, thinking through the implications. Plath interrupted her thoughts. "Naturally we're concerned about whether Sir Peter -- or rather the organization he represented, Camino Victorioso -- already have the devices. And if so, how they got them."
"They could have acquired them directly from someone within Knight, or they could have purchased them from some other source. We're trying to find the security breach," Weems added.
Emma pushed aside, for the moment, the unpleasant notion that someone at Knight had betrayed the company. "Tell me about Camino Victorioso. It's a South American terrorist group, isn't it?" This was the first time that she had heard a name attached to the group that Peter had been working with in the Amazon. She was really very uninformed about what he had been doing, both during his ëlost' years and after his return -- mostly because she had avoided finding out. But the time had come to face, and be done with, Peter's history.
"When Sir Peter joined El Camino, they were a terrorist group. Now they are a military regime that controls half a dozen large provinces in Bolivia. He won't say anything, but we believe that the leaders of the regime looked upon Sir Peter very favorably. As a reward for his services in the Amazon they sent him back to Britain to act as their agent. These were in his safe," Plath opened a file and removed four passports from various nations.
"He had false identification for five aliases as well as his own name," Weems explained.
"This was also in the safe," Plath held up another passport, British. He opened it to reveal a photograph of her.
"That's not mine," she said, momentarily confused. "I took mine to the Caribbean a week and a half ago. It was destroyed and the ministry replaced it."
"No, this isn't yours. This is a counterfeit in the name of Lisa White. It goes with his false one in the name of James White," Plath said.
Emma was shocked. She stared at the false passport, watching it as Plath closed it and replaced it in his file.
"I had no idea," she whispered.
"No. So we've been assured," Weems said. Emma's gaze snapped to him, and he shifted uncomfortably under her stare.
"We've got Sir Roald for offering to sell the software and Sir Peter for trying to buy it," Plath said. "If one of them would talk -- tell us the names of their contacts, for example -- we'd make a deal with him. But they're both completely mute. So we have to go about it the hard way."
"Which is?"
"Research, surveillance --."
"Standard procedures," Weems interrupted Plath with a sharp look and tone. "You know the drill, Miss Knight."
"Yes," Emma replied, seeing that Weems was not going to allow his partner to provide any more details. That Weems refused to trust her was troubling, but she could deal with it. She was hardly surprised that the investigation was ongoing. Clearly Peter had many contacts that they would want to identify. What troubled her was how many of them might be inside Knight Industries.
"Thank you, gentlemen," She rose. "I think that gives me enough to feel comfortable talking to Sir Peter's lawyers. I'll let you know if anything important transpires."
Emma felt decidedly shaken by the false passport, as much by it's very existence as by the fact that it had been in the ministry's possession for so long without her knowing. Was that what Steed had wanted her to find out? Although it was worrisome, it hardly seemed likely to have concerned him that much.
She strode through the ministry corridors half lost in thought, acknowledging greetings from various agents and staff members without stopping to talk. She was oblivious to how she was reinforcing her aloof image, and to the occasional look cast her way by people who tried to engage her in conversation.
Passing by a partially open door she heard grunts and thumps. She paused to glance inside.
"Right! That's it ladies, left foot in front," a familiar cockney accented voice rang out. Emma pushed the door open and leaned on the doorframe. Hemming, the ministry self defense trainer, was drilling a group of female agents -- trainees by the look of them, which was uniformly young, fit, and determined. A few glanced her way and Hemming followed their gaze.
"Emma Peel!" he cried out, striding toward her with a pleased grin. She stepped into the room, returning his smile. "Or is it Knight, now?" he added as he folded her into a quick hug and released her, stepping back to study her. Such scrutiny by most men would be considered quite rude. But she knew that Hemming was assessing her physical condition for an entirely professional reason.
"Yes, it's Knight. Hemming, it's wonderful to see you," she said.
"I heard ye were about. And in the nick of time. Ye've been living the high life, ëaven't ye? Lettin' Steed be take you out for nice dinners every night!"
Emma smiled and shook her head, "Not every night, Hemming," she said.
"Still, ye're in danger of going soft, girl. Ye should come train wi' me."
"I just might, Hemming," she replied, meaning it.
"Ladies!" Hemming swung around to his class, his shout jerking the trainees back into ordered lines. Emma realized that they had been inching closer, watching her curiously. Hemming glanced back at her. "Emma, would you be willing to help me with a small demonstration?"
Emma gestured at her skirt and jacket, "Not exactly ëworking' clothes," she said skeptically.
"If you have to stop a criminal, you don't have time to change your clothes!" Hemming barked, directing it at the trainees. To Emma he added, "this won' even be a challenge for ye."
Shrugging, she followed him to the head of the class where he had her demonstrate how to throw him when he grabbed her from behind. He was right, she didn't even lose her balance in her mid-height heels. Hemming lay on the floor in front of her, grinning happily. The trainees whispered among themselves, and she was sure she heard "Weepd" a few times. Heigh-ho, she thought, wouldn't want to disappoint them.