This story copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Mia McCroskey
The characters from The Avengers and Scarecrow and Mrs. King are the property of those television series' respective owners.
[an error occurred while processing this directive] people have read this story since April 2004
Emma follows her heart
Steed goes for speed
Chapter 4
Lee realized he was conscious when he recognized the pain in his head. He shifted his legs, and the sound of crunching gravel echoed softly, as if in a big, empty room. He opened his eyes to darkness. As if vision aided his other senses, he now noticed that he was chilly. He was lying on the gravel-strewn floor of a large room -- maybe an empty garage, although if there were doors or windows they were shut tight. He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to the back of his head. He didn't feel any moisture, or stickiness, but there was a big lump.
Gradually his eyes adjusted to the dim room. He realized that there were three windows set high in the walls. Moonlight filtered in, revealing the details of the room. Another man lay face down a few feet away. Lee crawled to him and felt for a pulse. He found it, along with a deep gash on the man's temple. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his own head, he rolled the man over.
He did not recognize the man. Slowly, Lee eased back into a sitting position. He'd been dreaming about a pub. Amanda had been there, and the British agents -- no, agent. Mrs. Peel isn't an agent. Or is she? But it hadn't been a dream. He and Amanda had met their contact in the pub. It was real. Lee closed his eyes and allowed the dream to replay in his mind. He'd gone down the hall following the mechanic, and woke up here. Must be a concussion, he thought. My brain's scrambled.
The other man groaned and started to raise a hand to the gash in his temple. As he moved his arm he yelped in pain and grabbed his arm with the other hand. His eyes opened as he cradled his arm close to his stomach.
"Where are we?" he hissed through clenched teeth. Lee rose to his knees and looked at the arm he was cradling. There was no blood on his shirt, but he could have a broken bone.
"It looks like a garage," Lee replied. "You're Steed's man?"
"Smythe. Ellis Smythe. You're Scarecrow?"
"Yeah," Lee nodded, taking another look around the dim garage for something that might help secure Smythe's arm.
"You're pretty well known at the ministry," Smythe said, using his good arm to push himself into a sitting position. "One of the ten best and all that."
"Do you think your arm is broken?" Lee asked.
"Yes, it feels that way."
Lee climbed to his feet and made a circuit of the room. He realized that his head was clearing. Events leading up to the blow on his head were becoming clearer.
"What happened to you?" he asked from across the room.
"Back at the inn? I was watching the back door. Wentworth's mechanic came out and looked around, then went back in. Then he came out carrying your shoulders. Another man had your legs. I got out of my car and went for them, but the other man dropped your legs and came at me. He was strong and vicious. He got the better of me."
"So how did we get here?" Lee wondered, bending to pick up a length of branch -- bark and all -- from the floor. His head swam.
"Wherever here is." Smythe added.
Lee did his best to make Smythe comfortable, then positioned himself on the floor against the wall behind the door, in case someone opened it. Light was starting to grey the windows when he finally heard voices outside. He climbed stiffly to his feet, listening carefully. They were speaking Portuguese, discussing their captives. Although he didn't speak the language, he was able to understand enough to grasp that someone was angry about a botched exchange. He suspected, knowing her, that Amanda had something to do with it. The speaker told the other man, probably a guard, that the prisoners were to be kept longer until someone -- Lee could not tell who -- decided what to do.
Crunching footsteps faded away, then the door opened. Lee waited until the man holding the tray had stepped inside, then stepped forward and struck him on the back of the neck with joined fists. The tray went flying as the man collapsed forward.
"Hold it!" an accented voice spoke from behind Lee. He straightened and turned around. A second guard had entered holding a gun. Lee smirked at his own foolishness for assuming there had only been two and one walked away. The armed man stepped closer to Lee. Out of the darkness on the other side of the door Smythe launched himself at the man. They went down in a pile of arms and legs, a moan probably coming from Smythe as they rolled.
Lee had lost track of the gun, but he had to take the risk. He waded into the fray, grabbing for an arm that he was pretty sure was the guard's and hauling him off of Smythe. He had gotten it right, and the guard had lost the gun. Lee swung him around by the arm, bowling him into the other guard, who had started to get up on his hands and knees.
"Okay, I'll cover them," Smythe said from near the ground. Lee glanced back and saw him holding the gun on the two guards. Lee smiled and bent to the guard on top. He unbuckled and pulled off the man's belt, then rolled him over and used it to bind the man's hands. After binding the other man the same way he turned back to Smythe.
"I thought you were asleep," he said. "Thanks.
"Don't mention it," Smythe awkwardly stuck the handgun in his own belt and went to examine the spilled contents of the tray.
Lee edged over to the door and peeked outside. The pale light of the English dawn frosted the lawn and the big house. There were no lights visible in any of the windows.
"Here," Smythe came up beside him and pressed a glass bottle into his hand. Lee opened the bottle of water and gulped it down. Seeing he had finished it, Smythe took the bottle back and pressed something else into Lee's hand -- a gun. "The guy with the tray had it in his pocket," he explained. Lee stared at the small handgun for a moment and shook his head.
"They must have hit me a lot harder than I thought," he said.
"Come on, let's get this case closed."
Lee nodded, pocketing the gun, and lead the way out the door and toward the house at a crouched trot.
Steed awakened to the sound of running water and warm sun in his eyes. Emma was in the shower, the bathroom door closed. He sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He checked his watch -- seven a.m. There was time to make a plan for the day. He picked up the telephone receiver and placed an order for coffee and croissants for three, then called Mrs. King. She answered on the first ring, agreeing to meet him in Mrs. Peel's room in ten minutes. Steed tried to give the impression that he'd just arrived. He wasn't sure who he was trying to fool.
Next he called the ministry for the report from the team he'd sent to the house. They had identified four guards around the estate, which was owned by a reclusive Brazilian who was not currently in residence. The outbuilding was guarded all night, but there had not been any lights on in the main house. Finally Steed checked in by radio with Polk, who was back out front. Wentworth must still be in the inn, Polk had not seen him leave.
While Steed was talking the water turned off. Mrs. Peel opened the bathroom door, letting clouds of steam out into the cooler room. She was wrapped in a hotel towel, her hair bundled up in a second one. She approached Steed, who smiled warmly and reached out to her. But she slipped around him, moving on over to the window.
"You checked in?" she asked, glancing over her bare shoulder at him. He nodded, standing with his arms at his sides, unsure what to do. "What did they learn about the house?"
"It belongs to a Brazilian with no criminal record. There are guards, but it doesn't look like anyone's inside the main house. Stetson and Smythe have not been moved. And Sir Roald is still here," he summarized. Then he stopped up behind her, close enough to smell the warm, fresh scent of her skin.
"Mrs. Peel. Emma. Something is wrong. Please tell me what to do."
She shook her head and the towel wobbled. She reached up to steady it, turning to face him. Her large, brown eyes looked into his, revealing pain and passion.
"Allow me to prove that you can trust me," she said. "I would prefer to keep things on a professional level for the time being."
"Our usual professional level?" he asked, a smile crinkling his eyes.
"No, a normal, professional level," she replied.
He sighed sadly. As he turned toward the bathroom he paused.
"Breakfast and Mrs. King are on their way. I implied to her that I only just arrived."
"Then it will be difficult for you to explain why you're using my shower," Mrs. Peel replied.
Defeated, Steed picked up the clothes he'd removed late in the night and retreated with them into the bathroom.
"Steed," Mrs. Peel called out, unwrapping her hair. He opened the door and peered out. She tossed the damp towel at him. "You'll need this," she said.
Mrs. Peel had just finished dressing when breakfast arrived, followed shortly by Amanda.
"Good morning," Mrs. Peel said, gesturing her into the room. "How did you sleep?"
Amanda shook her head, "not well. But Lee always lectures me about being rested before an important mission, so I did try."
Mrs. Peel nodded, guiding her guest to a seat at the small table where the waiter had placed the breakfast tray. "Coffee?" she asked, seating herself in the other chair.
"Please."
The bathroom door opened and Steed emerged fully dressed and well groomed. It was not at all obvious that he was wearing the same shirt as the day before under his suit coat.
"Good morning, Mrs. King," he said cheerfully, then noticed that there was no chair for him at the small table. He took the cup and saucer that Mrs. Peel had poured for him and was holding out, glanced around, and finally went and sat on the corner of the bed. Emma had a decidedly satisfied expression on her face as she poured her own coffee and leaned back comfortably with it.
"I was thinking," Mrs. King said, glancing from Steed to Mrs. Peel. "The meeting behind the garage may have been so that Wentworth could show them what he has to offer."
"A sample," Mrs. Peel said thoughtfully.
"Right. And his contact liked what he saw, so they arranged the second meeting."
"I agree, Mrs. King," Steed said. We have identified the man he met," he glanced at Mrs. Peel, "We're checking up on him now."
"He's not a known criminal?" Amanda asked.
"No. But we have some information on him," Steed replied.