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 15
Emma relaxed in her chair listening to Alex Harper outline his plan for moving Knight's encryption department to the software division. Angus Benson, also seated across the desk from her, was listening intently. She had to hand it to the ministry: they'd devised an extremely viable plan. I wonder if I should pay them a consulting fee.
Her intercom buzzed and Harper paused while she answered it.
"Miss Knight, Sally Howard is here -- she's finished and would like to speak to you before she leaves."
"Send her in, Mrs. Emerson," Emma rose and stepped out from behind the desk, "Go on, Mr. Harper. This won't take a moment. Miss Howard is my personal assistant."
Benson took the opportunity to ask Harper to clarify some of his points as the door opened and Sally came in.
"How did it go?" Emma asked, gesturing Sally to follow her to the sofa near the fireplace. Sally grinned broadly, which was answer enough.
"I've seen where I'll be working, and met the people. A Mr., um," she paused to look through a collection of business cards in her hand, "Griffith reviewed the health plan and savings and retirement," she giggled at the notion, which made Emma smile at her youth.
"Good. You'll start on Monday. We can be flexible about your hours until you move closer to the city -- I know it's a long commute. Have you talked to the Peels about this?"
"Yes, a little," she sounded unsure. Emma nodded, understanding that Sally might find it awkward.
"I'll call them."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Sally had left the door open a crack. They heard Mrs. Emerson's voice outside raised in a firm tone. "Sir, Miss Knight is in a meeting."
"It's over," Evan Birch replied icily, shoving the door open and stepping a few feet into the office. Behind him, Mrs. Emerson hovered in the doorway. She was outwardly calm but her eyes were flashing with anger. Emma stood up, putting a hand on Sally's shoulder to keep her down. She caught Mrs. Emerson's eye and rolled her eyes in the direction of the secretary's desk. Call for help, Emma silently urged the woman.
Time seemed to slow down as Emma watched Birch reach inside his jacket and bring out a large handgun. Emma's eyes flicked to Harper, wondering if he was armed. He and Benson were standing in front of her desk, Benson closer to Birch. Sally gasped and Emma squeezed her shoulder, silencing her. When she looked back at Birch, the gun was pointed at her.
"You were warned, Miss Knight," Birch said. "You had every chance to back off, move to San Tropez, play gay divorcee, write your little articles about bridge and chess. Every opportunity. But you just couldn't let it go."
"No, Mr. Birch, I could not let Knight go," Emma agreed coolly. She realized that Mrs. Emerson was no longer in the doorway.
"Well neither will I. Neither will the Peel organization."
Emma's brows rose in feigned confusion. Come on Harper, give me a sign. "Peter's in jail, Mr. Birch, I don't think his guards will let him direct his organization via telephone on Saturday mornings."
"Aren't you clever, Miss Knight?" Birch growled, "Everyone says it. Brilliant Emma Knight, her father's daughter to the last. Well this is the last, my dear. You're right. Peter Peel can no longer manage his organization. But I can. And I can find far more clients than his uncouth band of South Americans. But first you will have to go."
He raised the gun for a better aim, and as he did Benson shouted and lunged awkwardly at him. Birch redirected his aim toward Benson, who was close enough to press his arm downward as he fired. Benson staggered back into Harper, red stains erupting on the front and back of his left thigh.
Emma sprang across the coffee table toward Birch before he could swing the gun back at her. She tackled him, but he kept his feet, hurling her against one of the armchairs. She rolled aside as he aimed and fired at her. Sally screamed as Emma recovered her balance and faced Birch, bracing herself to kick at his gun hand.
The radio crackled as the ministry operator called. In the driver's seat, agent Plath picked up the microphone to respond.
"This is an a-list notification. Inform Steed that an intruder with a gun has entered the executive offices at Knight Industries," the operator said blandly. In the back seat, Steed and Peter Peel both jerked to attention.
"Go there. Now," Steed said.
"Acknowledged. En route now," Plath replaced the microphone and pressed the accelerator, weaving expertly through the heavy city traffic.
Patrolman Green came around the corner of the Knight building just in time to see a black sedan screech to a stop in the no parking zone in front. He raised his hand and started to trot toward the car as the doors were flung open. The driver got out, then helped a passenger out of the back, while another man got out of the other side and sprinted toward the building. The sight of this third man stopped Green in his tracks. He watched the driver and the other passenger, who was wearing handcuffs, follow the ministry agent inside. Then he walked over to the car and closed the doors.
The lift crept at a snail's pace to the top of the Knight building. When the floor bell chimed Steed pried the doors open and plunged out, charging across the reception area as the sound of a gun firing echoed from Emma's office. He peripherally noticed Mrs. Emerson standing beside her desk. Plath followed, dragging Peter Peel along by the handcuffs.
Emma kicked at Birch's gun hand, connecting as he fired again. She was flung backwards, falling winded on her back between the coffee table and the armchairs. Air rushed past her ears as she tried to catch her breath. She could hear sobbing -- Sally must be terrified. There was shouting, and she saw Birch fall beyond her feet. She tried to sit up but a strange burning had begun in her chest. The armchairs were pulled away and Steed was there. She smiled up at him. Everything's fine. Steed's here.
Coming through the door Steed saw Emma's kick and started to smile at her reliable fighting skill. Then the gun went off and the shot, while not aimed quite where Birch intended, hit Emma in the chest. Sally leapt up from the sofa, tossing a handful of business cards at Birch's face as she screamed in outrage. Steed crossed the room in two long strides and swung a rock hard fist into the side of Birch's head. He crashed to the floor.
Steed glanced around, saw that Harper had disentangled himself from under Benson. He was using his jacket to put pressure on a wound in Benson's leg. Plath came in with Peter Peel and moved toward Birch, kicking the gun away from his inert hand. Almost afraid to look, Steed turned to Emma. Sally had grabbed a pillow from the sofa, but was having trouble reaching Emma across the coffee table. Steed heaved away the armchairs and dropped to his knees beside her.
"Give me the pillow," he said, grabbing it from Sally and pressing it against the horrible, horrible stain on Emma's chest.
"Steed," Emma sighed, smiling at him.
"Hold on, darling," Steed crooned, then glanced over his shoulder, "Plath, get a unit here."
"Everything's fine," Emma whispered.
"Of course it is, Emma. You just lie still."
"Steed?"
"Shhhh. Hold on, Emma."
"But Steed, why was Peter here? And where is he going?"
Steed frowned and looked over his shoulder toward where Peter Peel was standing by the desk. He wasn't there. Steed looked back at Emma. Somehow she managed her innocent, rueful little smile. He closed his eyes tight against a rush of emotion, then opened them and bent down to kiss her very gently.
"Stay with me, darling, I'll be back," he said.
"Ummm," she sighed, closing her eyes. Steed looked at Sally.
"Come around here. Keep pressure on the pillow until they get here. Don't let go." His voice was filled with desperation.
"Yes sir. I won't," she assured him, scrambling around the table to take his place.
Steed stood up, gesturing to Plath, who was just hanging up the telephone next to the sofa.
"Peel's gone," he said.
Plath looked around in surprise. "He can't go far, he's handcuffed," he said. Steed stepped over to the desk and shook his head. He reached down and picked up the handcuffs.
"No he isn't."
Emma felt Steed leave, knew that Sally was there. She turned her head to watch Steed go out the door, then her eyes fell on the starter's canon on the hearth. That helped her recognize the sound in her ears -- the rushing of wind and water. She closed her eyes to enjoy it. She was sailing the Soling with her father. He sat behind the long tiller with his booted feet braced on the opposite bench. He grinned at her, making her feel warm and happy.
"Prepare to tack, Em," he ordered her. She looked ahead at the sun glinting on the bright blue sea. Prismatic sparks shot off of whitecaps to create glorious rainbows. It was beautiful.
"Why, father?" she asked. She wanted to feel the rainbows brush against her skin.
"There's rough water ahead, Em. I want to steer clear of it."
Emma looked back out across the glistening waves. She wished she could point the fast little boat right into them, to slice through them and enjoy the ride.
"Ready about, Em," Skipper John Knight repeated. Emma reluctantly prepared the jib sheets for the tack.
"Ready," she said sadly.
"Helm's alee," her father said, pressing the tiller across the boat and switching sides as the boat turned and Emma tacked the jib. Emma cleated the lines and stared wistfully ahead at dull, calm seas.
"Well done, Em," John Knight said from behind her, "You have to learn to chose the safe course, when the risks are too great."
"Which way did he go, Mrs. Emerson?" Steed asked as he came out of Emma's office. Plath was right behind him.
"He took the stairs," the secretary replied, pointing at a double door under a lighted Way Out sign.
Steed could hear footsteps a few flights down as he and Plath clattered down the steps. An occasional indignant shout from Knight employees who Peel shoved out of the way punctuated his progress. Steed thought the man might divert onto a floor and try to lose them in a maze of offices, but he did not. They were on the third floor when they heard him slam through the exit door at the bottom.
This was when Steed's midnight runs in the gym paid off. He wasn't even breathing hard as he dashed through the exit door and sprinted across the lobby toward the doors to the street.
Patrolman Green stood by the ministry car hoping to give the agents a piece of his mind at least. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the importance of their work, but there was a perfectly legal parking space just half a block down. He also intended, should the need arise, to wave off any parking enforcement officer who came along. No need to create paperwork by issuing a parking ticket that would be dismissed.
The man who'd been in handcuffs plunged out of the building, charging right at the car. Seeing that the handcuffs were gone Green moved to intercept him. He doubted that he'd been released and was running for joy.
Adrenaline surging through his veins, Peter Peel shoved the patrolman aside and turned left toward the nearest tube station. Green, who was not especially athletic, which was why he liked his quiet beat populated by workers going about their business, lost his balance and wound up sitting on the sidewalk. He was just recovering his pride when the two agents dashed out of the building. The one he recognized ran up to him and offered him a hand. He took it and stood up.
"Which way did he go?" the man asked, his voice remarkably even for someone who'd been giving chase to a runaway prisoner.
"That way," Green pointed up the street where Peter Peel's recent passage was marked by a businessman gathering up scattered sections of a newspaper. The streets were filling with late afternoon traffic, both automobile and foot. Steed and Plath took off after Peel.
"I'll just keep an eye on your car," Green called after them, moving to lean against it.
Steed wove through the pedestrians easily following Peter Peel based on the disruption he caused, but, to his surprise, unable to catch up with him. He was vaguely aware of Plath keeping up with him, and of the complaints from civilians who he inadvertently jostled. He tried not to -- it grieved him to act so callously, particularly when he bumped a lady -- but stopping Peter Peel was one of the few actions in his life for which it was worth discarding his gentlemanly veneer.
"He's gone down," Plath panted indicating the steps down into the Underground. Steed followed, pressing between business people -- some of them probably Knight employees -- to reach the bottom. There were turnstiles to two different lines. Their only clue was the retreating backs of two policemen, obviously after someone who'd jumped the fare. They followed suit, vaulting over the turnstiles.
Steed and Plath soon passed the policemen, who were more accustomed to nabbing prankster teenagers than chasing desperate men. They shouted at the agents to stop. Steed tipped his bowler and kept running down the corridor leading to the westbound platform. They shot out of the passage, across the platform, and slammed into the closed doors of a train. Steed pounded on the doors as the train started to move. He stepped back, finally panting, and watched Peter Peel pushing through the crowd inside the train, clearly uncertain whether his pursuers had gotten on with him.
Plath, panting heavily, went to a nearby telephone. Steed walked over and leaned against the wall beside the device to catch his breath. Plath reported the escape and hung up just as the two policemen reached the platform.
"All right, gents, what's going on?" one of them asked. Steed reached into his breast pocket and removed his billfold.
"Escaped prisoner, I'm afraid," he said, a touch of embarrassment in his tone. He displayed his red identification card. The policemen took a step back, one of them bumping into a woman with several shopping bags who snapped at him as he tried to apologize. Steed glanced at Plath and they slipped back up the passage before the officers noticed.
Steed sprinted the last yards back to the Knight building, reaching the rear of the ambulance just as the gurney bearing Emma was about to be loaded into it.
"Emma!" his cry made the medics stop.
"She's unconscious, sir," one of them said as he leaned over her. They had put an oxygen mask over her face and covered her with a sheet. There was nothing he could do for her. As often as he had been in the same situation, resigned to the care of the ministry doctors, trusting in their experience and skill, he suddenly had to exercise great willpower to believe that they would save Emma. He'd tried his best, but he knew he was going to lose her anyway -- not the way he'd expected, to the failure of Knight -- but in a way he should have prevented. He could have done more to protect her. He hadn't. He'd let her pride rule him, allowed her to refuse more watchful guards. And now she was going to die.
As they loaded her into the ambulance he caught sight of Sally and Mrs. Emerson standing on the sidewalk. Sally's peaches and cream complexion was grey under streaks of makeup. She dabbed at her eyes with a sodden tissue. Steed summoned the strength to offer comfort because he knew Emma would have wanted him to. He found a clean handkerchief in his pocket and stepped over to Sally, offering it.
"Thank you sir," she said, using it on her ruined face. Behind him the ambulance bearing Emma pulled away, sirens wailing a pitiful cry that matched that in his heart.
"They said that it was good sign, that she's still holding on," Mrs. Emerson said dully. Steed stared at her, realizing that this was her way of offering comfort. He nodded. Then he looked back at Sally. Why is she here? I can't put her on a train home, and I'm not going to drive her right now, not with Emma in surgery. He reached into his trouser pocket and found his keys.
Searching for one on the ring and beginning to work it off, he said, "Sally, go to Mrs. Peel's apartment. Wait there and I'll call you."
"I want to go to the hospital, Mr. Steed," she said.
"I'm afraid you can't, Sally. She's been taken someplace special. I'll go there and call you when there's news." He handed her the key and she took it, wrapping her fist around it tightly.
"I'll see that you're kept informed as well, Mrs. Emerson. For now I suggest you get your publicity department to work on a press release. A board member shooting the CEO will be difficult to explain in positive terms, but you know it will be important to her not to let this damage Knight."
"Yes, Mr. Steed. I understand."
Plath came up, having conferred with the ministry team that had arrived with the ambulances.
"Birch is going mad, ranting on about his rights," he said. "Benson's been taken to the hospital. His leg will mend, they think. Harper's all right -- feeling guilty for not being more help, I suspect. They're watching all the tube exits, and they searched that train at its next stop," he shook his head and Steed understood. Sir Peter had eluded them.
"Plath, will you drive Sally to Mrs. Peel's apartment? I have to go to the clinic."
"Of course. Come on Miss Howard."
Sally squinted at the agent for a moment and looked questioningly at Steed. Plath had interrogated her rather unkindly just a week and a half ago. Steed could see that she was a little frightened.
"Do you trust me, Sally?" he asked. She nodded. "I promise he'll just drop you off. No more questions." This last was directed at Plath, who nodded solemnly. Sally allowed him to escort her to the ministry car. Officer Green stepped away from it, watching Steed walk to the curb scanning the traffic.
"Need a taxi, sir?" he asked. Steed looked at him blankly, then recognized him and nodded. Green plunged out into traffic, whistling loudly. A black cab materialized as if by magic and stopped. He gestured to Steed to get in.
"Thank you, officer," Steed said, slumping back in the cushioned seat.