Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I have just borrowed them for my
- and your - pleasure.
FATAL HARVEST
Steed shows off his roots. Emma does some weeding.
Prologue
The microfilms Steed had been sent to collect would soon be safely tucked in a safe at the ministry's lab, ready to be scrutinized and archived. Their transfer, a mundane courrier job on the surface, had hidden the real purpose of his trip. The ministry was anxious to confirm rumours that an East German officer had active in post-war intelligence since defected and reappeared in Zurich to leak classified documents and help colleagues defect to the highest-bidding foreign intelligence agencies.
Steed remembered clearly meeting the edgy young man, two decades earlier. He was one of a few who, for reasons of their own, had played cat and mouse with their Allied counterparts, willing pawns in the hands of generals and politicans who were rushing to build a wall around their nation. These days the Cold War was not over, by a long shot, but old allegiances were shifting. A former agent bold enough to convert his experience into hard cash could threaten intelligence networks high and low across Europe.
During the interminable train ride, Steed's subconscious mind had wandered whimsically, summoning faces and conversations from a distant past. He had tolerated the memories, even sifted through them warily in anticipation of the debriefing that would conclude his mission. All things considered, warding off sleep was infinitely preferable to sinking into the familiar maelstrom of nightmares that were easily triggered by dwelling on his shadowy post-war years.
The flight across the channel had been uneventful. Inwardly cursing the cramped coach-class seat booked in order to avoid attracting attention, he allowed wrily that the discomfort would at least keep him awake. Thankfully, in the soft morning light of London the starkest memories lost their capacity to torment. His thoughts drifted effortlessly to Emma Peel, the lovely creature who had come to share his unconventional life over the last two years. Sadly, this had not been their kind of mission. Determined to let her know as soon as possible that he was safely back in town, Steed put in a call to Whitehall moments after clearing customs.
"Good morning, Margaret. I'll be there in twenty minutes, give or take a few red lights. Tell Mother that I am bringing back family pictures, and let the kids know that I have a story for them."
At Whitehall, the debriefing team greeted him almost on arrival. They ushered him into a small room, microphone and tape recorder ready, notebook in hand, eager to pick his brain for the smallest details surrounding the meeting. Steed closed his eyes briefly as he sat down to face the interrogation and mentally shrugged away the lingering ghosts. The cup of hot tea cradled in his strong, impeccably manicured hands felt oddly comforting. He raised it to his lips and, between sips, started answering streams of questions with a deliberate economy of words and feelings.
FATAL HARVEST
Steed shows off his roots. Emma does some weeding.
Prologue
The microfilms Steed had been sent to collect would soon be safely tucked in a safe at the ministry's lab, ready to be scrutinized and archived. Their transfer, a mundane courrier job on the surface, had hidden the real purpose of his trip. The ministry was anxious to confirm rumours that an East German officer had active in post-war intelligence since defected and reappeared in Zurich to leak classified documents and help colleagues defect to the highest-bidding foreign intelligence agencies.
Steed remembered clearly meeting the edgy young man, two decades earlier. He was one of a few who, for reasons of their own, had played cat and mouse with their Allied counterparts, willing pawns in the hands of generals and politicans who were rushing to build a wall around their nation. These days the Cold War was not over, by a long shot, but old allegiances were shifting. A former agent bold enough to convert his experience into hard cash could threaten intelligence networks high and low across Europe.
During the interminable train ride, Steed's subconscious mind had wandered whimsically, summoning faces and conversations from a distant past. He had tolerated the memories, even sifted through them warily in anticipation of the debriefing that would conclude his mission. All things considered, warding off sleep was infinitely preferable to sinking into the familiar maelstrom of nightmares that were easily triggered by dwelling on his shadowy post-war years.
The flight across the channel had been uneventful. Inwardly cursing the cramped coach-class seat booked in order to avoid attracting attention, he allowed wrily that the discomfort would at least keep him awake. Thankfully, in the soft morning light of London the starkest memories lost their capacity to torment. His thoughts drifted effortlessly to Emma Peel, the lovely creature who had come to share his unconventional life over the last two years. Sadly, this had not been their kind of mission. Determined to let her know as soon as possible that he was safely back in town, Steed put in a call to Whitehall moments after clearing customs.
"Good morning, Margaret. I'll be there in twenty minutes, give or take a few red lights. Tell Mother that I am bringing back family pictures, and let the kids know that I have a story for them."
At Whitehall, the debriefing team greeted him almost on arrival. They ushered him into a small room, microphone and tape recorder ready, notebook in hand, eager to pick his brain for the smallest details surrounding the meeting. Steed closed his eyes briefly as he sat down to face the interrogation and mentally shrugged away the lingering ghosts. The cup of hot tea cradled in his strong, impeccably manicured hands felt oddly comforting. He raised it to his lips and, between sips, started answering streams of questions with a deliberate economy of words and feelings.