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"The Canine Conundrum"

An Avengers Fanfiction

Disclaimer: Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

Steed puts on the dog. Emma struts her stuff.

Puddles leftover from the recent rain reflected the moonlight as two figures strolled down the darkened street. One, walking dignified as he swung his umbrella; the other, swaying as she clung to his arm.

Emma playfully removed the bowler from his head and put it on hers.

"Mmm," she said. "I might be a little tipsy."

Steed smiled. He knew it took a significant amount of alcohol to take even the smallest edge off her graceful coordination. But once Mrs. Peel reached that point, her voice took on a musical quality, and she definitely enjoyed physical contact more. There was no telling what she might do next.

"I fancy a trip to your place," Emma announced.

"Oh?"

"I need some of that Hawaiian gourmet coffee you received for Christmas."

"Oh." Steed managed a wry grin. "You certainly are in high spirits tonight, Mrs. Peel."

"More like the high spirits are in me. I think the ambassadors were mixing my drinks a bit too strong." She tossed her head regally, even as she splashed along in the calf boots that she had swapped for her heels.

Steed was once again taken in by the irresistible combination, the dichotomy that was Emma Peel. Always surrounded by an air of elegance, but with a subtle hint of decadence. She was a lady and a warrior, a princess and a paladin, a goddess and a demon, if crossed. One never knew which side was about to surface.

"I feel safe in boots," she said breezily. "Empowered, even."

"I've always admired you in them."

Steed took full appreciation of her outfit. The white minidress she wore tonight was stylish yet daring—a flirty cocktail number, backless, stunningly short and thigh-revealing. He had caught enough glimpses during the evening to know that her lingerie was shiny orange and delightfully clingy. A very mod look indeed. Even better, he suspected the quick hemline views that Mrs. Peel had provided him weren't entirely accidental.

He touched his head to hers. "You spent most of the night locked in impassioned conversation with that fellow from The Times."

"I sent you several messages to come to my rescue."

"I may have received them, if they were tangerine. But you seemed to be enjoying the discussion so much, I didn't dare interrupt."

"An excellent act on my part," Emma said. "What about yourself? You were talking at length to that willowy young blonde."

"She works at the Ministry," Steed protested innocently. "I was merely extending a professional courtesy."

"Oh, is that what you call it...," she teased.

Steed had a hard time keeping his eyes off Emma's legs. While many young women in the 60's went for a brazen appearance, Mrs. Peel always revealed just enough to be at the same time enticing and maddening. Her hip casually brushed against his as they walked. He felt an instinctive stirring, and he tried to imagine her in something proper and Victorian to counteract the effect. For some reason, his vision kept changing back to sexy curves in taut black leather.

"So what did she say?" Emma asked.

"Who?"

"The willowy blonde."

Steed grinned. "Apparently, I've become a celebrity down at Whitehall these days."

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Oh, really?"

"Not that you should be jealous; you've got quite a following there yourself. The secretaries have set up an informal fan club that worships you."

"Perhaps I should get them a gift subscription to the Oxford Journal. I'm in next month's issue."

He had been told that Mrs. Peel boasted an IQ several dozen points higher than his own, and after their short time working together, he had no reason to doubt it. Her articles regularly showed up in scholarly publications, with fields of expertise ranging from psychiatry to ballistics, from pathology to Hatha yoga.

Steed continued, "Actually, the women were far more interested in your physical skills. There are even calls for you to teach a self-defense course."

"Happily. That way they can keep those stuffed-shirt male bureaucrats in line."

He tugged on his collar. "Hey, that's me you're talking about."

"Especially you," Emma teased liltingly.

Steed smiled. Emma Peel was not a woman to be trifled with. There were her signature karate chops and lightning kicks, of course, that could leave a strong man helpless and groaning no matter where they made contact, though they usually struck a key nerve plexus in the neck or torso. And in the heat of battle against diabolical masterminds, she had become particularly skilled at delivering incapacitating strikes with her knee.

"Mmm," she said. "You're very warm."

Mrs. Peel was pressing her soft breasts against his arm. The fine liquor served at the party had made her unusually aggressive. He didn't want to take advantage of her in this state, but if she really started asserting herself, well, a man could only resist so much.

He straightened the bowler on her head. "I also saw you with the Ambassador from the Emirate of Munkiz."

Emma nodded. "He was quite handsy."

"Attempting to negotiate a treaty for the southern border, I think," Steed said. "It's remarkable how when you went to freshen your drink, the ice cube flew clear across the room and smacked him in the nose."

"The tongs slipped. Purely an accident."

"A prodigious flight, nonetheless," Steed mused. "A slip of the tong, you say? Ten feet at least."

"Well below my lethal range," she said smugly.

An unmarked van was parked at the far end of the street. Steed drifted towards the opposite curb to get a better look. Emma followed, still clinging to him amorously. She reached across his chest.

"I distinctly saw the willowy blonde slip something into your pocket," she said.

Steed flinched as she dipped her hand into his jacket. He was still sporting a few sore ribs from where Mrs. Peel had accidentally kicked him during sparring practice the day before. To his way of thinking, the injury had been worth it just to see her bare midriff between the form-fitting nylon gym briefs and crop top. Emma opened the paper with a dramatic rustle.

"A sequence of numbers," she teased. "Must be some sort of code."

He feigned seriousness. "I'll have to get Bletchley to work on it right away."

Emma said nothing, just smiled enigmatically as she tore the note into little pieces.

Steed's mouth opened. "What was that for?"

"Eliminating the competition."

As Emma put the scraps back into his pocket and patted it, she noticed his pained wince. "Doesn't hurt too much, does it?"

"I'll be all right, but the willowy blonde will be devastated."

"I meant your ribs."

"Your instep packs a mean wallop."

She smirked wickedly. "You have no one to blame but yourself, for dropping your guard."

"I was distracted by your navel."

"You could easily be attacked by women wearing far less than me."

He grinned. "It staggers the imagination."

The sound of a muffled explosion echoed just around the corner. Within seconds, several small shapes very low to the ground could be seen moving in the darkness towards the van. A distant jangling of an alarm was carried on the breeze.

Steed blinked. "What in the world is that?"

"Don't ask silly questions, Steed. It's obviously a pack of Welsh Corgi dogs with sacks of loot in their mouths." Emma watched quizzically as they trotted past in the illumination of the streetlight. "Have I been drinking?"

"No more than I have. Perhaps the Queen's nearby and needs some mad money."

Emma pointed. "They're heading for that van."

The van door slid open and a large dog could be seen jumping into the interior, followed by the acrobatic small dogs. Emma released Steed's arm with the idea to sprint after them, only to grab it back when she realized her lack of equilibrium. While she was debating pursuit, Steed noticed one of the dogs lagging behind. Even as he watched, it rolled over on its back, its feet perfectly stiff as fire shot outwards from its belly.

"Good heavens!" Steed remarked. "That one's gone down in flames!"

Emma was focused on the van as it drove off in a cloud of exhaust. By the time she turned back to see where Steed was pointing, the bright flash had subsided.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"I just witnessed a canine conflagration. Sparks and detonation."

"That's ridiculous. Dogs don't explode." She examined the area he had indicated. "Are you sure you didn't imagine it? There's no sign of anything there now."

"Probably nothing left but Corgi smithereens."

"You said you saw sparks shooting out of it?" she asked. "Maybe it was one of the explosive devices used for the robbery, rather than a dog."

"For its sake, I sincerely hope so." Steed retrieved his bowler from Emma's head and pressed the brim against his lips in thought. "This isn't the first time this has happened," he mused. "Last week, there was an incident of obvious arson at a government warehouse. No one was hurt, but several hundred gallons of experimental rocket fuel was destroyed."

"And what does that have to do with this?"

"A Corgi was spotted fleeing the scene with a lit match in his mouth."

Emma snorted. "He probably saw the real arsonist discard it and went off to fetch it, like a stick."

"Flaming stick retrieval?" Steed teased. "That must take some obedience training."

"Are you telling me that random acts of sabotage and theft are being carried out by roving packs of pet dogs?"

"Mostly minor capers with no casualties, but I'm convinced they're training for something big."

Emma snatched back the bowler and put it on her head.

"We definitely need coffee," she announced.

-oOo-

Ambassador Sergei Brodny studied the piece of paper in the early morning air, then checked the address on the warehouse in front of him. More crazy orders from the KGB. Why were they always sending him to these forsaken places? It wasn't right to force him to engage in such skullduggery; he belonged at cocktail parties rubbing elbows with the other ambassadors, not doing cloak-and-dagger work.

Now last night, that was a party! Middle Eastern ambassadors. Expensive liquor. Emma Peel wearing a minidress. Of course, she had probably chosen it just to flirt with John Steed; likewise with the seductive lingerie that occasionally peeked out. Still, the assembled crowd was most appreciative of her beauty regardless of who it was aimed at, himself included.

He finally found a matching number next to an open garage with a van parked inside. A small Corgi trotted out to meet him.

"Ah!" Brodny grinned as he leaned over to pat the dog. "Such a cute little sobaka!"

The dog suddenly looked at him with glowing red eyes. Furry panels flipped open on its shoulders and electric motors whirred as tiny weapons were deployed.

Brodny continued, "And such cute little doors and missiles... Wait! Doors and missiles?"

A man dressed in coveralls appeared from behind the van. "Don't make any sudden moves, Ambassador," he cautioned. "Zeus, come over here and take control of your charges. Ambassador Brodny is a friend."

A large German Shepherd galloped over and barked at the robotic dog. The weapons retracted.

"They call me The Handler," the man said as he led Brodny towards a small office. "This way, Ambassador."

Brodny delicately eased past a muscular blond-haired man who was obviously providing security for the operation. The Handler seated himself at a desk and held up the morning newspaper.

"You read about the bank robbery last night?" he began. "It was the dog pack you see here." He gestured to a row of Corgis lined up along the far wall, plugged into outlets, recharging.

Brodny arched his brow. "They are all machines?"

"All except Zeus." The Handler poured a cup of coffee for himself, then offered one to Brodny. "The Corgi mechanoids were originally designed for use by the KGB to perform infiltration and sabotage."

"So why rob banks?"

"We need funds to make our new project self-sustaining."

I see, Brodny smirked to himself. Moscow doesn't believe in it enough to send money. "What is this new project?" he asked.

"We're trying to create a special collar that will translate human brainwaves into canine brainwaves. This will allow us to control actual dogs."

Brodny finally sipped the coffee. "Why do you need to do that, if you have the little sobaki?"

"The mechanoids are fine, but they have no intelligence or decision-making ability," said the Handler. "They require a live dog to lead them on their missions."

"You mean—?" Brodny pointed to the German Shepherd that had stretched out on the floor next to him.

The Handler nodded. "It took years to train Zeus, and there's only one of him. But imagine if we could take a dog with no training, and use him for sabotage."

"You can do such a thing?"

"We have a prototype. It doesn't fit in a collar; it requires a headband to project the behavioral impulses into the dog's mind. With more development, we believe we can miniaturize the electronics."

"It sounds very expensive."

The Handler nodded. "That's where you come in."

Brodny smiled nervously and began patting his pockets. "I-I don't carry sums of large money on my person."

The muscular blond-haired man stepped into the room and crossed his arms as he blocked the exit. The Handler smiled evilly.

"That is Helmut," the Handler announced. "It's not your money we need. You're familiar with the Prince of Munkiz?"

Brodny answered warily, "His delegation was at the party last night."

"Robbing banks isn't an efficient way to fund our work," the Handler explained. "We lose too many Corgis, and they don't have the cargo capacity to get away with very much money. That's why it would be more effective to go for a single item that has a value of more than a million pounds."

"Oh?" The Russian ambassador set down his coffee.

"The Prince of Munkiz has a precious gemstone that he has brought with him here to England."

Brodny fidgeted, unhappy with where the conversation was heading. "But... where is it kept?"

Helmut finally spoke up. "At their Embassy."

"You're an ambassador," the Handler said. "You can visit the compound where the Prince of Munkiz is staying, can't you?"

"W-why would I want to do that?"

The Handler smiled. "We can smuggle the mechanoids inside the day before, packed in boxes. But we need you to get the live dog in to lead the mission."

"Him?" Brodny pointed to Zeus. "Walking in with a dangerous-looking dog like that would be very suspicious! The guard would never let me through the gate."

"What if I told you I had control of an animal that could pass through the embassy gates unquestioned, a dog that is known by most of the Ministry's personnel on sight?"

"What do you mean?"

The Handler whisked the cover off a small kennel in the corner of the room. "I present to you—Controlled Agent K-9!"

Inside the cage was a scruffy wire-haired fox terrier. A shiny metal circlet was perched on his head. He barked a greeting.

"I've seen Steed with that dog!" Brodny gasped.

-oOo-