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"The Zed Files"
An Avengers Fanfiction
Disclaimer: Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed
June 1965
Steed uses his brain. Emma becomes an alien.
The tunnel was long, damp, and completely dark. A man moved stealthily against one wall, blindly feeling his way until his eyes detected a green glow coming from the end of the stone passage. He continued to cling to the shadows as he approached the entrance to a massive chamber.
The glow was coming from tinted lamps suspended high overhead, shining down into a room filled with row upon row of reclining leather couches. Each one was occupied by a motionless figure wearing a helmet connected by a hose to a nearby canister. The exposed skin at the neck and hands shimmered fluorescent green under the lights.
The man carefully raised a pair of field glasses that hung from a strap around his neck. Focusing on the nearest couch, he pressed a secret detent on the side of the binoculars. The whir and click of a high-speed reflex camera echoed through the cavern, automatically adjusting for longer exposure due to the dim light.
The sound energized all of the figures, who turned their heads in frighteningly synchronized unison to look at the intruder. The being on the nearest couch suddenly rose, the hose from his helmet disconnecting with a hiss. He was humanoid, with two arms and two legs. The spy lowered the field glasses from his face and ran back down the tunnel. The alien figure followed close behind, moving quickly in spite of the bulky helmet.
The man reached the grass-covered trapdoor that led to the field outside. He exhaled with relief as he pushed through and sprinted out into the starlit night. Ahead of him was the forest edge, and safety. His pursuer would not be able to catch him in time.
Without warning, an eerie sphere pulsating with light descended towards the meadow in front of him, blocking his escape route. The silhouettes of two more figures were visible against the glow where it landed. The fleeing man hurriedly removed the field glasses from around his neck as he veered at an angle to avoid capture. The sudden movement caused him to trip on a stone, and the secret camera flew far from his grip.
The alien figure in the helmet loomed over him as the trapped man attempted to scramble across the grass. The other two enemies closed in, and the cornered spy watched in horror as one of them produced a glowing vial from the pocket of his jumpsuit. All three men held the intruder captive as they forced the luminescent green liquid down his throat.
In a flash of insight, everything became clear to him.
-oOo-
Emma was on her knees in the center of Steed's living room. She was dressed stylishly, clad in a curve-hugging black knit catsuit with leather accents that set off the highlights in her auburn hair.
"Spumante," she called. "Come here."
The wire-haired fox terrier turned its head contrarily, ignoring her summons. Emma sternly shook her finger at him.
"Not Asti," she scolded. "Spumi."
Steed poked his head in from the kitchen. "Still trying to teach an old dog a new nick?" he said.
"This dog is absolutely impossible," Emma responded. "Completely undisciplined. He's worse than you."
"My, that is bad," Steed grinned as he walked to the sideboard. "Here, boy."
The dog trotted over and jumped onto the back of the sofa. He stood shoulder high to Steed and wagged his tail.
Emma smirked, "He always did like you best."
"I thought you sent him away to Swansea with Rita," Steed smiled as he patted the dog's head.
"He's back on holiday," she said curtly.
Steed ruffled the fur on the terrier's neck and chucked him on the chin. "Having a good holiday, are we?"
The dog barked joyously. Then, as if feeling contrite for deserting Emma, the terrier hopped back onto the floor and sat at her feet. She absently stroked the dog's side, causing him to roll over on his back.
"Why did you ask me—er, I mean us," she said, acknowledging the dog's snort, "to come over?"
Steed walked up behind her and knelt down so that his cheek was pressed against hers. "There are, shall we say, certain types of security incidents which cannot be explained with currently-known science," he began.
Emma arched her eyebrows with interest. "Go on."
He stood up again as he moved over to the liquor cart. "The clerks file them at the very back of the cabinet, behind everything else. That's why they call them 'The Zed Files', because they wind up right after the last folder."
"Plenty of other things begin with zed," Emma countered. "Like The Zanzibar Rebellion, The Zoetrope Murders, zoological attacks... and don't forget the Zagadka decoder."
"Are you questioning the Ministry's filing system?"
"I'm just saying they could have filed them under a letter that never has any action, like 'X'."
Steed smiled. "The Xylophone Caper, The X Creature, Professor Xerxes...," he offered.
"Still, fewer than zed." Emma suddenly wrinkled her mouth. "The Xylophone Caper?"
"Actually, they were really after the mallets," Steed deadpanned. He poured a small amount of brandy into two snifters. "The Ministry wanted me to thank you personally for your role in acquiring the top secret Zagadka decoder machine."
Emma stood up next to him, crossing her arms in an expression of defiance. "Does that mean they've rescinded the 'kill-on-sight' order they issued for me as a KGB spy?" she asked pointedly.
Steed grinned as he bowed slightly and spread his hands in an expansive gesture. "It would seem ungallant not to." He handed her one of the drinks. "The boys at Bletchley Park were particularly pleased."
"Bletchley?"
"The headquarters of our codebreakers during the War, ostensibly shut down in the late forties, but now gone underground. Highly secret. I could be hung just for mentioning the name to you," Steed said glibly. "If anyone asks, I'll pretend it was a sneeze." He covered his mouth and sneezed out, "Bletchley!"
"Gesundheit. So they've decoded some KGB messages?"
"They figure they probably have a window of ten days before the Russians realize it's missing and change the code wheels." He raised the snifter and took a sip. "Unfortunately, the first thing they deciphered was that the Supreme Soviet knows our Hazard Codes."
Emma snapped to attention, and even the dog on the floor perked up his ears. "Hazard codes?" she asked.
"Nuclear activation sequences, used to arm the atomic weapons on an RAF jet," Steed explained. "Distributed daily using an advanced logarithmic cipher."
"I've never heard of such a system."
He nodded. "Very hush-hush. No one's even published a paper about it yet." He refilled his glass, noting she hadn't taken a sip from hers. "It's a formula we got from the Yanks—nearly impossible to calculate for decoding unless you have the secret key."
"Sounds like the key is not so secret," Emma observed.
"Indeed. So the Ministry did a test—they used a random secret key and sent out bogus codes that no RAF station could descramble, just to see what would happen. A few hours later, they used the Zagadka to decrypt a message. Sure enough, the Russians knew the phony Hazard Codes."
"A leak?"
"Not unless the Prime Minister himself handed out the key."
"So you bring me an unsolvable riddle." She finally sipped at her brandy.
"Not unsolvable," Steed reminded her. "There is an explanation." He leaned in close to her ear. "Notice I said nearly impossible to decode. Given a big enough computer, the secret key could theoretically be calculated."
A smirk tugged at Emma's mouth. "I would focus your search on someone who owns a very large slide rule."
"The most powerful computer we have in the United Kingdom is the Colossus Mark VII at Bletchley," he continued. "It uses transistors instead of vacuum tubes. Can perform complex calculations in seconds."
Emma extended her glass to him and jiggled it, demanding a refill. "So you think someone here in England has got hold of one of these... Colossi?"
"There's only one," Steed said. "And even so, it would need to be several hundred times faster to perform the calculations in our lifetime."
"Perhaps some group has built their own computer, a faster one," she offered.
"Building a computer of that size would leave some sort of traces—electronics purchases or out-of-the-ordinary power consumption." Steed handed her a generous second-helping of brandy, clearly signaling the start of his sales pitch to enlist her aid in another one of his adventures. "The descrambled Hazard Codes were coming out of a backwater place in Suffolk called Brindleshire."
Emma looked at him cautiously, alert to his tricks. "And why is this a—what did you call it—a 'Zed File'?"
He grinned and let a moment of silence pass before delivering his hook.
"Last week, there was a report from Suffolk of an unidentified glowing craft that landed near a bog just outside of Rendlesham Forest."
Emma looked as if she was resisting a magnetic field as she turned away from him, feigning disinterest. "I didn't read anything in the papers."
"It's been hushed up," he replied. "RAF's Bentwaters and Woodbridge are calling it a hoax, though they both reported radar contacts."
Emma turned to stand directly in front of Steed and folded her arms. She tilted her head as she looked into his eyes.
"Are you suggesting that someone's got hold of a computer from outer space?"
"That's one possibility," Steed said with exaggerated seriousness.
"Or maybe it's just a time-traveler from the future?" she chided.
"Now you're getting into the spirit of it!" he cheered jovially.
Emma snorted in skepticism. "Looks like Spumi's going to get to visit Suffolk," she announced.
Steed pressed close to her. "We're taking the dog?"
"Remember?" Emma teased. "He was struck by lightning. You're the one who referred to him as a 'paranormal dowsing rod'."
"Did I?" Steed grinned. "Then by all means, you'll need his help."
-oOo-
The terrier's back paws were shuffling for purchase on the front seat of the Bentley as he leaned against the center of the windscreen. Steed was guiding the car back to Mrs. Peel's apartment so she could pack for the trip. All three were silent for a moment; then Steed glanced sideways at Emma and cleared his throat uncertainly. Emma, attuned to his manners, turned to face him.
"Go ahead," she prompted. "Have out with it."
Steed smiled. "Before you leave, they want to meet you at Bletchley Park."
"I knew you would trick me into doing some legwork for you," Emma accused. She sighed in acceptance. "Where is it located?"
Steed shook his head. "Even I don't know where it is. You have to meet a secret contact. He'll take you there."
"Who is this contact?"
"No one knows."
"Then how will I recognize him?"
"He's always chewing gum."
"Gum?"
"Second-flush Darjeeling-flavored," Steed offered blithely. "Specially imported."
Emma gave him a confused look. "The significance?"
"He was a special agent for twenty years in Bombay, and grew addicted to the tea there," Steed said matter-of-factly. "The gum provides a constant stream of chemicals that simulates a 24-hour-a-day tea-time."
Emma frowned. "And you don't know his name?"
"We just call him the 'Gum-Chewing Man'."
"I see," she said, giving him a measured stare. "So this is how your 'Zed Files' work."
Steed smiled again to ease the tension.
"I'll keep Spumi with me," he declared. "No dogs allowed in the Scramble Van."
-oOo-
Emma swung the Lotus Elan into the covered car park and winked her headlights twice, just as Steed had instructed her. This whole adventure was already turning into something bizarre, and it wasn't even three hours old. But that was the way things went with Steed; one had to be ready for anything, at any time. Besides, her scientific curiosity was such that she couldn't resist the opportunity to meet a think tank full of codebreakers.
She set the parking brake as a solemn man emerged from the shadows. His face was like carved stone. His jaw moved slowly, deliberately. As he neared, Emma detected the faint odor of tea.
"Mrs. Peel?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered. "And you are—?"
"Here to take you underground," he said tonelessly. "You work with Steed?"
"I do what I please; it just happens that sometimes it coincides with his plans."
The man bristled imperceptibly at her assertion of independence. Emma locked up her car and boldly reached for the handle on the passenger side of the van.
"Oh, no," he said with a charmless smile, blocking the door with his arm. "You ride in the back. In the scramble seat."
He led Emma to the rear of the van and opened the double doors. In the center of the deck was a rotating captain's chair, surrounded by windowless walls. The only illumination was a single overhead lamp with a blood-red lens. The Gum-Chewing Man motioned her inside.
"Just so you don't try to memorize the turns," he said as he buckled her into the seat, restraining her wrists and ankles, "the chair is motorized and rotates at random intervals." He stepped back outside and closed the doors; the overhead lamp instantly switched off, plunging the interior into darkness.
Emma thought she could probably work her way free of the straps in less than a minute, but she had no reason to distrust her guide, so she just sat still and concentrated on the challenge of memorizing the route. She could hear the engine start and recognized a right-hand turn as they left the car park. Then she felt the chair slowly turning beneath her.
The precautions were simple, but effective. At first, Emma could tell the difference between the van turning and the chair rotating; but after a while, the cumulative effect became disorienting, and she gave up her attempts at calculation. For all she knew, the van had just circled the block for ten minutes.
They came to a sudden stop, and Emma felt her stomach do a flip-flop as she sensed the floor moving downward. Apparently the secret facility being "underground" wasn't just a figure of speech. The red overhead light switched back on, and she was facing the rear door, just as she had been when they left. The Gum-Chewing Man momentarily blocked her view of the outside as he unbuckled her from the seat.
Emma stepped off the rear bumper and squinted from the glare. Everything she could see was white, from the smooth cement walls to the shoes and lab coats worn by the assembled staff. Emma's black knit jumpsuit made her look as out-of-place as a panther in a snowdrift. The van was parked on an elevator platform at the end of a corridor that stretched off into the distance until its white walls merged into a dull gray.
A young man with short blond hair was holding a clipboard as he stepped from the behind wheel of a motorized cart. He carefully straightened his glasses as he sized up the visitor.
"Welcome to the new Bletchley Park."
-oOo-
The door was plain and utilitarian, just like all of the other doors at RAF Bentwaters. Steed had been assured that it was the office of the Wing Commander—the head of Operations at the base, and his Ministry contact. The adjutant pushed the door open ahead of him and snapped to attention.
"Major Steed to see you, sir."
The man at the desk resembled a classic-era aviator, with sideburns and a thick moustache that curled at the ends. The only things missing were a leather flying helmet and bomber jacket. Steed stepped forward and offered his hand. "Wing Commander," he said warmly.
The Commander shook Steed's hand while avoiding the tangle of leash wrapped around Steed's wrist.
"Well, Major, I see you've brought your own ground crew today." He reached down and scratched the terrier's ears.
Steed looped the leash over the arm of a chair. The dog immediately used the seat as a springboard to hop onto the desk so he could look out the window. A dry scratching swirl of sand against the glass drew the officers over as well. A plane was visible less than a hundred yards away.
"What's that?" Steed asked with interest.
"One of those VTOL evaluation planes, a Kestrel, down from West Raynham." The Commander opened the shade wider as they watched.
The jet prepared for vertical takeoff, the thrust blasting debris from the tarmac as it angled its nozzles downward. The terrier trembled with excitement and gave a triumphant bark as the plane lifted skyward.
"Spumante!" Steed scolded gently as he restrained the animal, "Down, boy!"
"That's all right, Major; just shows he a good bird dog," the Commander said jovially. "Probably wishes he could fly." He motioned Steed to the seat opposite the desk. "Speaking of dogs, we had ours searching Brindleshire last week."
"Did they find anything?"
"Our man was missing, but at least we found his field glasses," the Commander said with obvious relief.
"A bit callous to be worrying about lost equipment under the circumstances," Steed teased.
The Wing Commander feigned a scowl. "There was a secret camera inside," he explained.
"I see." Steed accepted the photograph the Commander handed him.
The image was blurred, but identifiable. A humanoid figure, skin lit with a greenish glow, its facial features distorted through a helmet trailing a respirator hose from the bottom. Steed tapped it with his finger.
"This could just be someone wearing one of our flight masks, sitting under a lamp covered with green cellophane," he offered.
"Oh, of course; I agree—it's probably fake," the Commander said. "Still, someone went to the trouble of making it, so it's possible that something important landed in that bog. Maybe a Red satellite with sensitive pictures on board, eh? Then their agents try to convince the Ministry it's just a bunch of farmers seeing swamp gas, and drop us a few prank photographs, so we look the other way while they smuggle it out."
"What about the UFO?" Steed asked. "Do you have anything?"
The Wing Commander shook his head. "RAF Woodbridge can tell you more than I can; they were closer." He reached over to give the terrier a final ruffle. "If they were bringing down a satellite, it's not the best place for a controlled landing. Nothing out that way but Rendlesham Forest."
Steed pocketed the photograph. "This was no downed satellite," he remarked as he collected the dog's leash and headed for the door.
"There's an intelligence at work in Brindleshire," he said wryly. "One that's out of this world."
-oOo-