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 20
The sun was setting as Emma Peel steered her Elan back onto the country road. Phermagott, she was beginning to think, might be a dangerously intelligent man. His dangling of a business partnership was nothing unexpected after Mother's warning. But if he had intended to throw her off-balance, the sly suggestions that he knew more about her or Knight Industries than he wished to let on couldn't have been better delivered.
Irritation didn't stop her from noticing that she was being shadowed on her way back. Friend or foe, there was no way to tell, at least not without letting on that she was aware of the attention. Automatically, she pressed her watch's tiny knob and realized with a tingle who must be nearby. There was no Bentley in sight, however, and the vehicle trailing hers vanished from sight as soon as they reached the outskirts of London.
She listened to the message on her answering machine: Steed's apology for having made early dinner plans echoed in the room, concluding with a promise to call on her later. She found time for a light meal and a relaxing bath before the doorbell finally chimed.
"Busy day," she offered in greeting.
"You could say that", conceded Steed. Emma immediately sensed the barrier and opted to respect it, a decision far easier on a mind that was still brimming from the day's events.
He put down his briefcase, kissed her lightly and led her gently to sit on the sofa. Sitting across from her, he smiled encouragingly. Debriefing time. Her account was methodical, his attention complete, yet Emma was aware of the tension draining as she laid out the facts and impressions of her visit.
"A whole week-end in that den of murderers, Mrs. Peel?" sighed Steed, after her account of Phermagott's latest invitation.
She nodded, deliberately making light of it. "It sounds rather like the brainstorming session of an advertising agency team. Planning a promotional pitch, guessing what the customers want to hear, and giving away just enough to keep them salivating…"
"Let's hope then that it won't be catered by that dreadful eatery", muttered Steed as he unrolled the aerial photomosaic of Expefarmax's grounds. "How much of their facilities were you shown?"
Emma leaned over as her finger lightly traced a path across the large map. "Every above-ground structure and the pilot outdoor plots." She shrugged her disappointment. "Phermagott's descriptions matched the proposals described in Expefarmax' grant application. Their research on livestock feed, primarily corn and barley, is highly topical, but if I understand anything of the discipline, all of it is years away from commercial applications…"
"… making it crucial to find out what he pretends to offer to these private investors," completed Steed automatically. There was little doubt in his mind of where this was going. His distrust of Warner nothwithstanding, the invitation could not be rejected out of hand. How else would they form an idea of where things were headed?
His pensive gaze swept the map and rose again to meet hers. "The background checks on his investors have been trickling in, Mrs. Peel. It is not a crowd known for philanthropy or a fondness of long-term investments."
"Well, then, you never stood a chance," said Emma, mildly.
"Please, Mrs. Peel?"
She elaborated with gentle irony. "You made yourself too respectable by half when we visited Expefarmax. What were your odds of being drafted into a seedy investors' club?"
They stared at each other, wincing in accord and ironically unaware of sharing the same thought: Mother, the bloody old fox, would be pleased as punch.
"What should I keep an eye out for," asked Emma, "over the week-end?"
Steed went to the liqueur cabinet. He had spent the last hour with a team of watchers from the ministry. Their observations had spurred him to sketch out a plan which addressed Emma's very question.
"Our mobile monitoring station registered a noticeable weakening of the signal once you entered Expefarmax' grounds," he informed her, "but our watcher spent most of his time at the limit of the system's range. I need to get a more precise fix on the source of the interference and assess its strength.Our bugs will be next to useless on their grounds if we can't neutralize it."
"So we're looking for a powerful emitter of shortwave frequencies," observed Emma. "How close will you need to get? The headquarters are well within 300 meters from the main road, and I rather got the impression that the staff is security conscious."
Steed reached for his briefcase and pulled out a transparent overlay which he unfolded out over the aerial view of Expefarmax' grounds. "Our team tracked you without any problem while you were in that building.These red lines chart your path. The signal faded each time you left that main building, regardless of the position of our watchers. They drove past the main gate twice, at 12:30 and 15:35 while the signal was at its weakest, without noticing any improvement. Distance was not a factor."
Emma considered this briefly and pointed out two spots on the overlay. "I would have been inside this greenhouse the first time, and out to the pilot plots during their second pass."
He rolled back the documents, put them back in the briefcase and snapped it shut. "I plan to nose around during your visit, check their outdoor security for myself and get a feel for the grounds. You need only play their game. All being well, you'll never know I was there."
"I would rather know you were," she said honestly.
"The idea," Steed reminded her gently, "is to leave it to Mother's crew to keep track of us."
Emma eyed him curiously. Pawns in a game, they were. Mother had admitted as much. But how close to the flame was Steed expected to get in order to draw out Warner and his associates? Irrepressibly and incongruously, she yawned, a reminder that the day's excitement had drained from her like an ebbing tide. "Are you staying tonight?"
Steed felt himself relax in sympathy. "Am I invited?"
The question was uncalculated, no more really than his typical courtesy, yet Emma found it somewhere in her to answer pointedly. "I didn't want to presume," she said acidly. "You left this morning as if you had more on your hands than you had let on."
And what a morning it had turned out to be, Steed reflected wrily. Potter's wide-eyed keenness towards the young lady who had joined him at the ministry had been an unexpected blessing. By comparison, his own demeanor could not have been interpreted as anything else than courteous professionalism. Confident of his ability at keeping personal matters separate from work, he still didn't intend to reveal anything more than what Emma might have guessed.
"I hated it, frankly", he answered easily, "but that's what spies do." As soon as the words were out, he realized that they were flashing their own subtle warning He watched her over the rim of his glass, unconsciously steeling himself for a dignified retreat. Nothing to do now, he thought, determined not to be put on the defensive. Nothing to do, indeed, but let Emma draw her own conclusions.
But unexpectedly, just when she might well have rebelled in exasperation at his evasion, Emma Peel felt all her doubts scatter. That meeting with Mother must have unsettled her more than she cared to admit. What devil had just compelled her to question Steed's loyalties?
Going along with the director's main request and accepting Expefarmax's offer was a calculated risk, but one that had appealed immediately to her taste for action. And though he had made his initial reluctance clear, Steed had not only respected her decision, but was making plans to stay as close to her as possible.
He must be seen taking risks for your sake, the director had told her, making it clear that he wished his senior agent to appear vulnerable to some form of entrapment. If this was the real motive behind Warner's approach, Mother simply didn't want to miss the chance to expose a double agent and turn a suspected security risk to an advantage. Emma's instincts had first risen in revolt at his suggestion. Deception, after all, was their department, not hers. She realized now that they could not have found a better way to force Steed's hand.
The ease with which the director had outmaneuvered him was apparently of no concern to her partner. If Steed could take this in stride, shouldn't she have the honesty to admit which side she really wanted to be on? In volunteering to work again with him, hadn't she put her tacit trust in the man? Now, she could admit, was the time to keep her peace and move their partnership forward, towards safer waters.
Emma raised her chin, her expression softening as she closed the gap between them. "Well, if it suits a certain spy," she offered, "I'd like him very much to stay."
-o0o-
A truce could be as uncomplicated as the parties willed it to be, mused Emma, drowsy and grateful for the solid warmth of her partner along her own body. A few hours earlier, a dream had drawn her from deeper sleep to dark, labyrinthine visions. No more than a dim recollection now, danger had then seemed to close in, oppressive and shapeless. Her eyes opening wide, staring into the darkness, she had been momentarily disoriented by the suddenness of her own reaction. No stranger to nightmares, Steed had reached for her, his embrace automatically drawing her closer.
Emma smiled at the instinctive gesture, protective even now in the haze of their half-sleep. Thinking of the hours ahead, she needed to believe that they would somehow be aware of each other's presence: him, probing the security system for flaws, while she felt her way through the shadows of Experfarmax's business dealings. When the alarm rang off, uncanningly aware of her longing to stretch the moment, Steed leaned across her and shut it off.
Over breakfast, Emma finally mentioned Phermagott's allusion to her company's research. "Blast Warner and his plan", growled Steed. "I trust that you didn't rise to the bait?"
She stirred her coffee, distinctly aware that she had confirmed his hunch, but intent on keeping her own cool. "I ignored it, really. He didn't press the issue, just switched the topic to this week-end retreat."
"Playing mind games, then, was our doctor?" He drained his cup and rose abruptly, reached for his bowler and waved it emphatically. "Remember, Mrs. Peel, that someone high up chose to leave Warner in place for years. Shaking down the tree for one rotten apple is simply not worth blotting your company's reputation or your own."
His warning delivered, Steed smiled back automatically as he started checking his appearance in the reflection of the window behind her chair. She wasn't fooled by his seamless reversal to the routine of taking leave, looking for all the world as if nothing more lay ahead than a routine day's work at his desk. The deliberate lightness of their parting kiss was quite in keeping with their unspoken pact. When Emma gently closed the door on him, a vision of Mother's wolfish grin, doubtlessly floating miles beyond, fired her resolve. It wasn't for Whitehall that she would force herself to review her copious notes before setting out to meet again the dubious Phermagott.
-o0o-