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"Alpine Ice"
An Avengers Fanfiction
The tenth in a series of adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)
Disclaimer: Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed
A quick recap of the saga so far. Hotshot pilot Squadron Leader Peter Peel is an undercover operative for the British Ministry of Defence when an experimental Russian prototype plane he is stealing goes down in the Amazon. In actuality, Peel is deep-cover KGB agent Pyotr Pehlovich, brought up in England from an early age, and instructed to marry Emma Knight, daughter of the wealthy industrialist. His wife knows nothing of his secret life as an agent for either government; she thinks he is merely a test pilot for the RAF. When Pehlovich learns that the higher-ups in the Ministry have discovered that he is a double agent, he stages the crash in the Amazon to fake his own death. He then assumes the identity of 'The Ladja' ('The Rook') and begins operating directly for the KGB.
The Ministry quickly learns of Pehlovich's defection and comes up with the idea of manipulating their top troubleshooter, John Steed, to take on Emma Peel as his new partner. After luring away Steed's current assistant, librarian Rita Fox, the Ministry arranges for Steed to work with Emma in direct opposition to The Ladja. This serves a two-fold purpose: Emma's presence makes it difficult for Pehlovich to counter Steed, since he is afraid of hurting his wife; and it also plays upon his jealousy, tempting him to return to the Ministry to resume his life as Peter Peel—as a double agent for Britain, of course.
Neither Steed nor Emma suspect the true identity of the Ladja, and Pehlovich decides to keep it a secret in the hope of eventually reuniting with his wife.
December 1964
Steed flies high. Emma gives and receives.
"When I asked you over, Mrs. Peel, I didn't mean at eight A.M. on a Saturday." Steed pulled his navy silk dressing gown tighter around him as he looked into the radiant face at his front door.
"Happy holidays, Steed," she said cheerfully, planting a faux kiss on the tip of his nose.
"Happy holidays, Mrs. Peel." He leaned in and his lips delicately brushed hers. Emma's heart stopped beating for a moment and her eyes expressed her surprise. Steed merely grinned and pointed his index finger upward; she followed it to the sprig of mistletoe hanging overhead.
"Bad luck to break tradition," he explained levelly.
"Indeed." She gave him a winsome smile. "I'm feeling luckier already."
Steed took her long wool coat and the fur stole he had given her in Paris and draped them over the railing. Emma loitered in the living room as he retreated to his bedroom for more clothes. She idly examined his model of the H.M.S. Victory as she waited.
"The message you left with my service yesterday made it sound urgent," she called to him.
"Nothing so sinister," Steed answered back from the other room. "Just a target of opportunity presenting itself."
"Well, it will have to wait until the New Year," Emma chided. She gravitated towards the large telescope near the window as Steed re-entered the room. She peered through the eyepiece.
"Spying on the neighbors? Naughty, Steed."
He ambled over beside her. "Scientific research only," he explained. "Used for studying heavenly bodies."
Emma focused it on a window across the way where a young blonde could be seen taking a shower. "I see what kind of heavenly bodies you're interested in." She moved her head aside so Steed could take a peep through the objective.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed in astonishment.
"A-ha," Emma teased. "Just as I thought."
"I hope she remembers to scrub her back."
"You are not permitted to volunteer assistance. Where's Miss Irinova?"
"Our Russian racer is off to Swansea."
"Why do all the women in your life seem to disappear into Wales?"
"Just call me Ahab," he grinned.
"Is there some sort of Welsh National Swim Team?"
"You mean something like 'The Stroking Corgis'?" Steed said wryly. "Not quite. She's working with Miss Fox on some Ministry thing," he explained as he walked into the kitchen. "So now I'm out a breakfast cook."
"Do I detect a plea for domestic assistance?"
Steed gave her a dazzling smile. "If you would be so kind..."
"Only because it's the Christmas season," she scolded. "Think of it as a stocking-stuffer."
"You're my favorite stocking-stuffer, Mrs. Peel," he said cheerily.
Emma wrinkled her delightfully upturned nose. "I'll fill you up while you fill me in." She started a kettle of water on the stove before pulling an iron skillet from a wall hook. A quick trip to the refrigerator, and she returned with her arms full of ingredients. The skillet was sizzling hot before she started heaping in their breakfast fare.
Steed stepped up behind her and put an arm delicately around her waist. She didn't move away. He leaned in over her shoulder.
"What are you making?"
"A little something I like to call a 'hamlet'—a ham and egg omelet."
"...And flights of cholesterol sing thee to thy rest," Steed quipped.
"All it needs now is some cheese..."
Emma turned away to rummage through the refrigerator again. "You're a bit short-stocked," she commented. "All you have is Swiss."
"Speaking of Swiss," Steed said smoothly, "how would you like a holiday in Geneva?"
"Ah, now your sneaky plan reveals itself. It's only two days until Christmas," she pointed out.
"Hence, the holiday."
"More disappearing file clerks?"
Steed shook his head. "Danse Macabre," he said mysteriously.
Emma picked up on the reference. "The phony Swiss bank notes The Ladja printed."
Steed nodded. "The file clerks want to know where the pipeline leads."
Emma jauntily flipped an omelet into the air and caught it with the spatula before easing it back down to the pan. Steed inclined his head in approval as she sketched a quick curtsy.
"I thought we agreed it led into a numbered account in Zurich," she continued.
"Our guess was wrong," Steed said evenly. "The Swiss authorities claim they can detect no unusual cash deposits that could devalue their currency. So the money must be used to buy something—something which is passed on through the Iron Curtain."
Emma slid the two flawless omelets onto a plate and set them down on the table in front of Steed. She took the chair opposite him and handed him one of the two forks she held.
"Your weapon, sir." She waited until he had finished the first bite, anticipating his verdict.
"Delicious, Mrs. Peel." He smacked his lips appreciatively. "Ham, egg, and cheese, living together in harmony."
She smiled in return and dug into the other omelet. "If the money's not landing directly in Switzerland, it must wind up in a nearby country," she offered.
Steed nodded in agreement. "The number one candidate is Belgium," he said. "There's been a sharp increase in currency conversion in the past month."
Emma was intrigued, but wasn't going to be talked into anything that easily. "So what makes you think I'd be interested in a trip to Switzerland?"
"It would give you another chance to foil your arch-nemesis, The Ladja."
Her face indicated that Steed had touched a nerve. "Something about his manner gets under my skin," she explained. "The treason, the betrayal—I don't know why, but I seem to take it all personally. And I don't even work for the Ministry." She waved a forkful of omelet at him for emphasis. "Your poorly-veiled attempts to dragoon me notwithstanding," she added with a wink.
Steed sipped delicately at his tea. "I thought maybe you'd like another shot at our double agent," he continued. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."
Emma remembered how in the heat of battle in Paris, she had been fully prepared to shoot down her foe. "It's my fault," she said forcefully. "I should have been aiming at his leg, or shoulder, not his head. I let him get away scot-free."
"He wasn't entirely unscathed. I made sure that he was seeing red after our little encounter."
Emma smiled, recalling the staining ink that Steed had used to cover The Ladja. "And I managed to give him a good, firm knee directly in the spot that Marina would call his 'henhouse'."
Steed smiled. "So it's entirely possible that The Ladja will be lying low for a while. In more ways than one."
"Perhaps. But he seems to enjoy taking a personal interest in his projects. I wouldn't be surprised if he was waiting nearby, in the wings." Emma looked deep into Steed's twinkling gray eyes. He grinned back at her.
"Free fare, free food, free room," he teased.
Emma sighed. "Steed, Knight Industries makes more money in one hour than this trip would cost for both of us." She gazed distantly as she stirred her tea. "But your offer is accepted."
-oOo-
Vasily frowned as he trudged beside his superior through the snow in Antwerp. "This is the last of the counterfeit notes," he cautioned. "Gogol will not be pleased."
The Ladja pulled his coat tighter around him. "The KGB knew that it was only a matter of time before the Paris operation was discovered." He turned towards a nearby doorway, indicating they had arrived at their destination. "All Steed did was accelerate the timetable. An unfortunate occurrence for us, and one we should make him pay for."
Vasily nodded. "I put a bomb in his apartment. Perhaps he is dead already."
Pehlovich shook his head. "The intelligence from Moscow says otherwise. And the KGB would be the first to know."
"Gogol must like you a great deal, Pyotr. Otherwise, you would have been sent to the zona long ago. If I were you, I'd get used to this snow."
"I'm no good to him in a gulag, and he knows this," Pehlovich answered evenly. His ice-blue eyes flashed briefly.
Vasily looked into The Ladja's face, noting that it was much redder than could be accounted for by the cold. "When is that ink going to fade away?" he asked.
Pehlovich bristled at what was obviously a sore subject. "Bring the money upstairs," he ordered, indicating the case that Vasily held. "There we will turn it into something that will make even Gogol happy."
-oOo-
Emma threw open the sliding glass doors of her hotel room and stepped out onto the balcony. Steed's room was next to hers and shared the same balcony; he was already dressed and seated at a small table drinking tea. She ignored him and pranced out to the railing. The morning sun was shining through her thin nightgown, offering an enticing view of her curvy silhouette. She marveled at the crystal reflections coming off the surface of Lake Geneva.
"Isn't it breathtaking, Steed?" she said excitedly.
He took in her revealing outline. "Sheer perfection, Mrs. Peel," he offered wryly.
The cold finally hit her, and she ducked back inside to throw on a thick terrycloth robe before taking the seat opposite him. He poured her a cup of tea; she took it with both hands, savoring its warmth.
"Mmm. Just the way I like it. So, what's on the agenda for today?"
"I could always use a new clock for my sideboard," he said casually. "The old one has been running a bit slow of late."
She helped herself to a biscuit and gestured at him pointedly. "We're here to try to stop a potential smuggling operation, and you want to buy a clock?"
Steed shot her a meaningful glance.
"I see," she said. "Must be another one of those sneaky file clerks stationed out here."
Steed nodded. "They all report to Z Branch in Zurich, our principal operation here in Switzerland."
Emma wagged the lapel of her robe at him. "I'll need time to get ready," she said.
"We can meet downstairs in an hour," Steed smiled. "I'll have a car brought round."
An hour later, Emma strolled into the hotel lobby. She was immaculate in brown leather pants and a cream-colored sweater. On her feet were the white ankle boots she favored. Her auburn hair swished lightly from side to side as she walked.
Steed held the glass door open for her. As she passed through, he gave her an appreciative glance. The leather pants were lustrous and tight across her backside and thighs. Steed focused his attention on them, checking out both front and rear. When he looked up, her eyes were locked on his. The look of amusement on her face indicated that she knew he had been staring at her.
"See anything interesting?"
"No room for the Beretta down there," Steed said levelly. "Must be somewhere on your torso."
Emma shook her head. "I've sworn off guns for this trip. If we meet The Ladja, you'll have to settle it with fisticuffs."
"You will be in my corner, won't you Mrs. Peel?"
She smiled dazzlingly. "You can count on it."
A black Porsche 356C was parked by the curb. Emma looked it over with admiration. "That's no rental," she observed. "Do you have a car stowed in every city around the world?"
"Only the ones with roads," he said. "Ox-carts everywhere else." He put the car into gear as they drove off.
"Any particular shop in mind?" she asked.
Steed grinned as he executed a flawless racing change.
"The smart money says, 'Buy a clock from Ezekial Toch.'"
-oOo-