Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and have just borrowed them for my
- and your - pleasure.
FATAL HARVEST
Steed shows off his roots. Emma does some weeding.
Chapter 9
Steed had suggested that Warner meet them in the lobby of his club in mid- afternoon. Emma strolled in a few minutes early and found her partner enjoying a cigar and leafing idly through the newspaper. He lifted his head.
"May I borrow your new pen, Mrs. Peel?"
"Your latest weapon for tackling erudite crossword puzzles, Steed?" she asked. Well, that explained this morning's delivery, hidden in a box of Swiss chocolates. She had guessed the identity of the sender but not its purpose. "Reminds me of the one adorning Warner's shirt pocket," she ventured.
"Coincidences," said Steed mildly, "are overrated." He raised his eyebrows appreciatively as he examined its gleaming, slender shape. "In the two weeks to come, Warner will seek, at our request and Mother's, a number of documents, including some which should carry official signatures. I hear that forgery is one of his minor talents. A special ink will let us detect any handwriting or postdating done with this pen."
Emma pocketed back the object. "He will notice the substitution if he is attached to it."
Steed shrugged slightly. "An honest mistake, Mrs. Peel, in which case you gladly return the original. Equipped with a new ink cartridge, of course."
-o0o-
Warner had hurried up the last steps of the stairs. He glanced at his watch and surveyed the lobby. His expectant expression lit up with relief as he spotted them.
Steed whispered as he got up, "Time to put your hands-on skills in practice, Mrs. Peel. I shall trust your green thumb for this bit of planting."
Most of Steed's club was open strictly to gentlemen, but he had reserved a small, private salon for their meeting. They walked together to the cosy room and sat down around a low table where a bottle of single-malt scotch and glasses had already been set. Belying the small pudgy hands sagely clasped in his lap, Warner's tone held a note of controlled excitement.
"Getting the feel of the case, colleagues?"
"Giving it our full attention, dear chap", Steed assured him. He summarized their activities of the last two weeks with a commendable luxury of details, omitting only the ministry's tracking system and Mrs. Peel's discovery of bogus credentials among the Expefarmax staff. He concluded by announcing that they had given more thought to the best way of approaching the firm.
"Very simply, we are convinced that we must offer something valuable to Expefarmax, or risk getting nothing more than a polite rebuff."
Warner's expression turned from his usual blandness to mild amusement. "Really, Steed? You said earlier that we had our plan backwards. Just what would you offer them in order to find out what they are looking for?"
Steed leaned forward slightly. "Surely, you have noticed that their top brass never enters a deal with anyone making them an unsolicited offer. Their modus operandus, so far, is invariably to find and contact landowners."
"I am aware", Warner nodded cautiously, "that this appears to have been the case."
Steed sat back and sipped his scotch in a deliberate pause before continuing.
"This suggests that the owners or the properties are quite carefully screened. Regrettably, the file is a little thin on their topic. Has anyone seriously pondered why these specific properties were selected for conducting their trials?"
Warner assumed a convincingly naïve look. Emma Peel's gaze locked onto him as she joined the conversation.
"While researching my role, I came across a marvellously sharp fellow at the Royal Agricultural College. He could help us select a site that should appeal to Expefarmax . Assuming, naturally, that they care about their reputation or their cover as serious agronomers."
"How much information would you need?" The words were muttered with some effort as Warner struggled slightly under the spell of her lovely brown eyes.
"Addresses of the sites, preferably with a map outlining the extent of the properties" answered Emma Peel, brightly. "Those I can check them against RAG maps of British micro-climates."
". copies of property deeds, and background checks of property owners" added Steed. "Something in their personal or financial situation must have made them attractive targets, possibly vulnerable to blackmail."
"And could you possibly identify for us the sites where the dead agronomers had worked for Expefarmax? There might be something unusual about them," added Emma.
Warner's eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "You don't intend to call on the owners yourself, do you?"
Steed raised an eyebrow in a candid display of surprise. "And risk alerting our prey? Not on your life! In any case, our director, the last man I wish to cross, is adamant: no field work without ministerial approval."
Mindful of the civil servant's dejected expression, the senior agent slapped his back lightly and added on a soothing tone, "Patterns, Warner, are all we wish to look for."
"Assuming I can gather it all by the end of the week, will you need long to sift through this information?"
Steed looked at Mrs. Peel. "How about setting our next meeting a week following reception of the documents?" She nodded gravely.
'Sounds reasonable", sighed Warner with perceptible relief.
"May I borrow your pen and draft you a quick list?" said Emma graciously. Defeated, Warner raised his hand to his pocket. While she dashed notes on a pad, Steed unrolled his newspaper and jabbed at an inside page. "Fancy crossword puzzles, Warner? Mrs. Peel and I were arguing over this clue here, 2 down, just as you arrived..."
-o0o-
Steed glanced back at his car in the parking lot. For once, he reflected, his venerable Bentley didn't look out of place. He had arrived in Hurley shortly before lunch and stopped at The Old Bell, whose claim to fame as England's oldest inn would have earned his interest even without its comforting menu of hearty traditional fare and local ales. Pity, he thought, that Mrs. Peel had remembered an earlier commitment when he had mentioned his plan to visit Miss MacKay's place of business.
The family firm was housed a few blocks further, in its own quaint building. Inside, the staff was handling customers and phoned-in orders in a buzz of activity worthy of a beehive. Farmers had taken delivery of their supplies months ago but early May was clearly a busy month for amateur gardeners.
Steed looked around and noted the older prints of harvesting scenes that were gracing the walls. Wondering why he had, after all, chosen not to call ahead, he cast a wary glance at the line of anxious customers stretching between him and the receptionist.
He was still musing over the best way to get quickly to Miss MacKay when she strode out of an office behind the counter, a folder in hand.
Apologizing profusely to the other customers, Steed cut across the line and leaned over the counter. "Miss MacKay" he called out, waving his bowler. "Would it be possible at all to see you for a moment?"
She cast a surprised glance which, to his bafflement, turned almost instantaneously to outright hostility. Nevertheless, her slim hand signalled that he should come round and join her into her office. Stiffly, she closed the door behind them. He stood up, waiting politely for an invitation to take a seat. Surprisingly, even that small gesture was witheld. Miss MacKay sat down and, plainly, scowled back at him.
"Why should I listen to you, Mr. Steed", she said warningly, "when you are not what you seem?"
His pale gray eyes, unperturbed, appraised her. She appeared in control of her emotions but definitely defiant. Deliciously so, to his mind. A touch of fear, perhaps? Steed did not wish her to be afraid and, without hesitation, he decided to speak as candidly as he could afford.
"You are right, Ms. MacKay. I work for a security service within the British government. At times, this means approaching people under false pretenses in order to get them to reveal things."
"An investigator", she said softly. A weight seemed to lift from her slim shoulders as she contemplated the simplicity of his explanation.
"Miss MacKay, I recall distinctly the delightful evening where you mentioned having been approached about running field tests for experimental trials."
"So do I" she conceded, guardedly.
"You are very well versed in state-of-the-art monitoring agrotechnology. Could I seek your opinion on the purpose of the equipment set up for one of these trials?"
"I will not engage in any disloyal action towards my competitors."
"And I shall ask for nothing of the sort. I am looking after the interests of a nation, not working for any commercial firm, Miss MacKay. This is a strictly a security issue, and possibly a very serious one."
"National security?" Her tone was still skeptical but her mind was visibly racing behind her alert features. Steed pulled out his emblazoned service card as he kept talking.
"I have good reasons to suspect that some landowners are being misled about the use of their fields. I plan to bring back pictures of their monitoring equipment." Steed raised his eyebrows encouragingly. Her gaze was pensive but he could sense that her defenses had been breached.
"You need never find out where these sites were located" he concluded. "But In order to collect evidence, I need indications about what to look for. Need I say more to convince you that this is a little out of my field?"
Even as he waited for an answer, his natural curiosity about her reasserted itself. Not only was she definitely lovely and knowledgeable, but she had quickly seen through him. Had it been luck or intuition?
"Ms. MacKay, you clearly took some interest in my person following our last meeting. May I ask you if, or how I gave you cause for alarm?"
Her pixyish face shone with pride. "It was not something you did, Mr. Steed. You are a landowner but you aren't exactly living off it. Simply put, you do not exist, at least in the world I live in. I check the background of all my potential customers. Farming is a terribly cyclical business, and one's credit worthiness is measured as much by one's standing within the farming community as by one's line of credit with the bank."
He tipped his bowler with a rueful smile. "My compliments to your professionalism, Miss MacKay."
He had already decided that her immediate interest in him as a potential customer was a promising sign. Engagingly hopeful, he pressed on. "How about lunch, then, as a modest apology for my deception?"
Retreating carefully to a businesslike neutrality, she briefly pondered his suggestion. "Well, my schedule today is definitely too full to see you at any other time. How much can you take about crop monitoring over a soup and a sandwich?"
Steed fingered the small tape recorder in his inside pocket and smiled angelically. "Miss MacKay, I think that you will find me an uncommonly good listener."
-o0o-
The satisfied expression on Steed's face was echoed by Emma's sigh. Huddled on her sofa, they had been listening to the recording of his lunch conversation.
"Young and impressionable, isn't she?" she said.
Steed's hand stroked the small of her back. "Do not judge in haste, Mrs. Peel. She saw right through my gentleman farmer's act. From one shrewd businesswoman to another, you two might have quite a bit in common."
Emma conceded the point. "She packed quite a bit of useful information into that half-hour."
"And she sent me back with these, from their documentation room."
They sifted through and pulled from a folder the documents describing the equipment mentioned specifically by Miss McKay. Emma leaned over to pull the tape recorder a little closer and, pen in hand, prepared to listen to the recorded conversation once again.
"You realize that there is no way to check on the details she mentions without getting up close to the sensors", she finally announced after putting down her notepad and turning off the recorder.
"My thoughts exactly", said Steed, finally getting up. "Does this mean I can count on you as my get-away driver, Mrs. Peel?"
"And incur Mother's wrath for abetting unauthorized field work?" She knew even as she spoke that her sarcasm would go unheeded. Steed's swift motions as he retrieved his coat and umbrella spoke of an irrepressible energy, restrained by discipline, but ready now to be cast into imminent action.
"As you said recently, one must keep in mind the big picture, Mrs. Peel" he said, tipping his bowler before stepping sprightly out of the room. He was safely out of reach when she caught the last words uttered over his shoulder "Besides, I might not get a better chance of earning back Miss MacKay's respect."
As the sound of his steps receded, Emma wondered idly how coolly the business-minded Miss MacKay would weather the wait for the return of this charming rogue.
-o0o-
FATAL HARVEST
Steed shows off his roots. Emma does some weeding.
Chapter 9
Steed had suggested that Warner meet them in the lobby of his club in mid- afternoon. Emma strolled in a few minutes early and found her partner enjoying a cigar and leafing idly through the newspaper. He lifted his head.
"May I borrow your new pen, Mrs. Peel?"
"Your latest weapon for tackling erudite crossword puzzles, Steed?" she asked. Well, that explained this morning's delivery, hidden in a box of Swiss chocolates. She had guessed the identity of the sender but not its purpose. "Reminds me of the one adorning Warner's shirt pocket," she ventured.
"Coincidences," said Steed mildly, "are overrated." He raised his eyebrows appreciatively as he examined its gleaming, slender shape. "In the two weeks to come, Warner will seek, at our request and Mother's, a number of documents, including some which should carry official signatures. I hear that forgery is one of his minor talents. A special ink will let us detect any handwriting or postdating done with this pen."
Emma pocketed back the object. "He will notice the substitution if he is attached to it."
Steed shrugged slightly. "An honest mistake, Mrs. Peel, in which case you gladly return the original. Equipped with a new ink cartridge, of course."
-o0o-
Warner had hurried up the last steps of the stairs. He glanced at his watch and surveyed the lobby. His expectant expression lit up with relief as he spotted them.
Steed whispered as he got up, "Time to put your hands-on skills in practice, Mrs. Peel. I shall trust your green thumb for this bit of planting."
Most of Steed's club was open strictly to gentlemen, but he had reserved a small, private salon for their meeting. They walked together to the cosy room and sat down around a low table where a bottle of single-malt scotch and glasses had already been set. Belying the small pudgy hands sagely clasped in his lap, Warner's tone held a note of controlled excitement.
"Getting the feel of the case, colleagues?"
"Giving it our full attention, dear chap", Steed assured him. He summarized their activities of the last two weeks with a commendable luxury of details, omitting only the ministry's tracking system and Mrs. Peel's discovery of bogus credentials among the Expefarmax staff. He concluded by announcing that they had given more thought to the best way of approaching the firm.
"Very simply, we are convinced that we must offer something valuable to Expefarmax, or risk getting nothing more than a polite rebuff."
Warner's expression turned from his usual blandness to mild amusement. "Really, Steed? You said earlier that we had our plan backwards. Just what would you offer them in order to find out what they are looking for?"
Steed leaned forward slightly. "Surely, you have noticed that their top brass never enters a deal with anyone making them an unsolicited offer. Their modus operandus, so far, is invariably to find and contact landowners."
"I am aware", Warner nodded cautiously, "that this appears to have been the case."
Steed sat back and sipped his scotch in a deliberate pause before continuing.
"This suggests that the owners or the properties are quite carefully screened. Regrettably, the file is a little thin on their topic. Has anyone seriously pondered why these specific properties were selected for conducting their trials?"
Warner assumed a convincingly naïve look. Emma Peel's gaze locked onto him as she joined the conversation.
"While researching my role, I came across a marvellously sharp fellow at the Royal Agricultural College. He could help us select a site that should appeal to Expefarmax . Assuming, naturally, that they care about their reputation or their cover as serious agronomers."
"How much information would you need?" The words were muttered with some effort as Warner struggled slightly under the spell of her lovely brown eyes.
"Addresses of the sites, preferably with a map outlining the extent of the properties" answered Emma Peel, brightly. "Those I can check them against RAG maps of British micro-climates."
". copies of property deeds, and background checks of property owners" added Steed. "Something in their personal or financial situation must have made them attractive targets, possibly vulnerable to blackmail."
"And could you possibly identify for us the sites where the dead agronomers had worked for Expefarmax? There might be something unusual about them," added Emma.
Warner's eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "You don't intend to call on the owners yourself, do you?"
Steed raised an eyebrow in a candid display of surprise. "And risk alerting our prey? Not on your life! In any case, our director, the last man I wish to cross, is adamant: no field work without ministerial approval."
Mindful of the civil servant's dejected expression, the senior agent slapped his back lightly and added on a soothing tone, "Patterns, Warner, are all we wish to look for."
"Assuming I can gather it all by the end of the week, will you need long to sift through this information?"
Steed looked at Mrs. Peel. "How about setting our next meeting a week following reception of the documents?" She nodded gravely.
'Sounds reasonable", sighed Warner with perceptible relief.
"May I borrow your pen and draft you a quick list?" said Emma graciously. Defeated, Warner raised his hand to his pocket. While she dashed notes on a pad, Steed unrolled his newspaper and jabbed at an inside page. "Fancy crossword puzzles, Warner? Mrs. Peel and I were arguing over this clue here, 2 down, just as you arrived..."
-o0o-
Steed glanced back at his car in the parking lot. For once, he reflected, his venerable Bentley didn't look out of place. He had arrived in Hurley shortly before lunch and stopped at The Old Bell, whose claim to fame as England's oldest inn would have earned his interest even without its comforting menu of hearty traditional fare and local ales. Pity, he thought, that Mrs. Peel had remembered an earlier commitment when he had mentioned his plan to visit Miss MacKay's place of business.
The family firm was housed a few blocks further, in its own quaint building. Inside, the staff was handling customers and phoned-in orders in a buzz of activity worthy of a beehive. Farmers had taken delivery of their supplies months ago but early May was clearly a busy month for amateur gardeners.
Steed looked around and noted the older prints of harvesting scenes that were gracing the walls. Wondering why he had, after all, chosen not to call ahead, he cast a wary glance at the line of anxious customers stretching between him and the receptionist.
He was still musing over the best way to get quickly to Miss MacKay when she strode out of an office behind the counter, a folder in hand.
Apologizing profusely to the other customers, Steed cut across the line and leaned over the counter. "Miss MacKay" he called out, waving his bowler. "Would it be possible at all to see you for a moment?"
She cast a surprised glance which, to his bafflement, turned almost instantaneously to outright hostility. Nevertheless, her slim hand signalled that he should come round and join her into her office. Stiffly, she closed the door behind them. He stood up, waiting politely for an invitation to take a seat. Surprisingly, even that small gesture was witheld. Miss MacKay sat down and, plainly, scowled back at him.
"Why should I listen to you, Mr. Steed", she said warningly, "when you are not what you seem?"
His pale gray eyes, unperturbed, appraised her. She appeared in control of her emotions but definitely defiant. Deliciously so, to his mind. A touch of fear, perhaps? Steed did not wish her to be afraid and, without hesitation, he decided to speak as candidly as he could afford.
"You are right, Ms. MacKay. I work for a security service within the British government. At times, this means approaching people under false pretenses in order to get them to reveal things."
"An investigator", she said softly. A weight seemed to lift from her slim shoulders as she contemplated the simplicity of his explanation.
"Miss MacKay, I recall distinctly the delightful evening where you mentioned having been approached about running field tests for experimental trials."
"So do I" she conceded, guardedly.
"You are very well versed in state-of-the-art monitoring agrotechnology. Could I seek your opinion on the purpose of the equipment set up for one of these trials?"
"I will not engage in any disloyal action towards my competitors."
"And I shall ask for nothing of the sort. I am looking after the interests of a nation, not working for any commercial firm, Miss MacKay. This is a strictly a security issue, and possibly a very serious one."
"National security?" Her tone was still skeptical but her mind was visibly racing behind her alert features. Steed pulled out his emblazoned service card as he kept talking.
"I have good reasons to suspect that some landowners are being misled about the use of their fields. I plan to bring back pictures of their monitoring equipment." Steed raised his eyebrows encouragingly. Her gaze was pensive but he could sense that her defenses had been breached.
"You need never find out where these sites were located" he concluded. "But In order to collect evidence, I need indications about what to look for. Need I say more to convince you that this is a little out of my field?"
Even as he waited for an answer, his natural curiosity about her reasserted itself. Not only was she definitely lovely and knowledgeable, but she had quickly seen through him. Had it been luck or intuition?
"Ms. MacKay, you clearly took some interest in my person following our last meeting. May I ask you if, or how I gave you cause for alarm?"
Her pixyish face shone with pride. "It was not something you did, Mr. Steed. You are a landowner but you aren't exactly living off it. Simply put, you do not exist, at least in the world I live in. I check the background of all my potential customers. Farming is a terribly cyclical business, and one's credit worthiness is measured as much by one's standing within the farming community as by one's line of credit with the bank."
He tipped his bowler with a rueful smile. "My compliments to your professionalism, Miss MacKay."
He had already decided that her immediate interest in him as a potential customer was a promising sign. Engagingly hopeful, he pressed on. "How about lunch, then, as a modest apology for my deception?"
Retreating carefully to a businesslike neutrality, she briefly pondered his suggestion. "Well, my schedule today is definitely too full to see you at any other time. How much can you take about crop monitoring over a soup and a sandwich?"
Steed fingered the small tape recorder in his inside pocket and smiled angelically. "Miss MacKay, I think that you will find me an uncommonly good listener."
-o0o-
The satisfied expression on Steed's face was echoed by Emma's sigh. Huddled on her sofa, they had been listening to the recording of his lunch conversation.
"Young and impressionable, isn't she?" she said.
Steed's hand stroked the small of her back. "Do not judge in haste, Mrs. Peel. She saw right through my gentleman farmer's act. From one shrewd businesswoman to another, you two might have quite a bit in common."
Emma conceded the point. "She packed quite a bit of useful information into that half-hour."
"And she sent me back with these, from their documentation room."
They sifted through and pulled from a folder the documents describing the equipment mentioned specifically by Miss McKay. Emma leaned over to pull the tape recorder a little closer and, pen in hand, prepared to listen to the recorded conversation once again.
"You realize that there is no way to check on the details she mentions without getting up close to the sensors", she finally announced after putting down her notepad and turning off the recorder.
"My thoughts exactly", said Steed, finally getting up. "Does this mean I can count on you as my get-away driver, Mrs. Peel?"
"And incur Mother's wrath for abetting unauthorized field work?" She knew even as she spoke that her sarcasm would go unheeded. Steed's swift motions as he retrieved his coat and umbrella spoke of an irrepressible energy, restrained by discipline, but ready now to be cast into imminent action.
"As you said recently, one must keep in mind the big picture, Mrs. Peel" he said, tipping his bowler before stepping sprightly out of the room. He was safely out of reach when she caught the last words uttered over his shoulder "Besides, I might not get a better chance of earning back Miss MacKay's respect."
As the sound of his steps receded, Emma wondered idly how coolly the business-minded Miss MacKay would weather the wait for the return of this charming rogue.
-o0o-