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 25
[Sorry if the timeline appears a little twisty here… Chapter 24 was taking place on Monday night. This chapter starts earlier that same day, before jumping to Tuesday morning.
Emma Peel would gladly have let Steed lounge around at her flat or take her out to lunch that Monday morning, but the ingrained discipline of returning early to Westminster Mews for a change of clothes paid an unexpected dividend. A message slipped through the mail slot informed him that a telegram from Expefarmax was waiting to be collected. The short errand completed, he was left shaking his head at the timing of the terse content: here was in extremis an invitation to attend the next day's investors' meeting.
As much as the prospect of being closer to Mrs. Peel appealed, it was one more thing to keep under his hat. For one thing, he definitely had to plan for the grim possibility that one or both of them might not be allowed to walk awway from the grounds of Expefarmax the next day. A brief call to Rhonda was in order. She made note of the development and confirmed that his requests of the night before had been put into operation. Potter was running around at the head of a posse of MI5 watchers and helicopters were fanning across counties from the Channel to the North Sea. Mother might be acting like a two-timing fiend these days but he could still make a suprising number of people's lives a misery on his senior agent's behalf. It counted for something.
-o0o-
Plenty of ups and down make up the life of a Secret Service agent. Picking up some professional for a technical consultation at her Majesty's expense is considered menial chauffeur duty, ranking unloved below baby-sitting a dignitary at some function. But Potter saw no reason to complain on this bright Tuesday morning. He purposefully parked his anonymous ministry car tightly ahead of the sensible Escort waiting at the curb, and sauntered up the paved path to the door of the MacKay home. He spared a thankful thought for colleagues assigned to surveillance in the area: they had charted the MacKay household routine and shared some useful tips. As it was, Alison MacKay had her keys in hand and was ready to leave when Potter rang her doorbell.
"May I offer you a ride to work?" offered the young agent. "Steed has asked me to look you up. Something unexpected came up, and he is convinced that you can help us make sense of it."
"Don't you people ever use the phone?" said the young woman, rather more sharply than she intended. Recovering rapidly from her surprise, she pointed to her watch. "Well, I suppose that I can fit you in my schedule but I must first make a meeting at nine… You are welcome to follow me to the office."
Potter's neck flushed but he lengthened his stride to be the first to reach his car, and opened the door on the passenger side in an eloquent gesture. He was acutely aware that this was a delicate moment. "No need to worry about your schedule, Miss. Your business appointments are cancelled for the day. I apologised personally to each one of your customers."
He had not expected his efficiency to be particularly well received. Speechless and wide-eyed, Miss MacKay just stood by his car, rooted to the curb by the realization that her Escort was neatly boxed in. Potter elaborated bravely. "I called your office myself yesterday. You were out for the afternoon. Your assistant was kind enough to fill me in on your schedule and the particulars."
His words were finally sinking in, if the exasperated shake of her head was anything to go by. Potter waved vaguely towards the car door, not sure at all that he had struck the right tone. He kept on chatting, anxious to re-establish some rapport. "Their concern for you is quite impressive. Nearly every one hoped that nothing bad had happened. It took a little longer, but it seemed more proper than snatching you right from the office, don't you agree?"
He could have invoked MI5 or "Steed's wish" at any point during his little speech, but some stubborn instinct held him back. If she took offence, he was quite willing to face fully the brunt of her ire.
"Looking after me, then, are you?" There was more surprise than sarcasm to her question.
"Well, for a bit, I hope."
MacKay's expression softened. And she entered the car. Thanking his lucky star for her equanimity, Potter swiftly strode round the bonnet to claim the driver's seat.
-o0o-
At the ministry, John Steed introduced Emma Peel to Alison MacKay while Potter prepared the equipment. As soon as he flicked on the projector, Steed let out a low whistle: the ministry had come up trumps. "Make sure to get the address of the photographer and his pilot, Potter. This is the team you want Mother to assign to your wedding."
MacKay concentrated on the images projected ahead, tongue licking at her lower lip in what was, in Potter's judgment, an unconscious but an extremely cute little gesture. After a few slides, the young woman glanced at Emma meaningfully. "The crops are quite different from field to field. Certainly not what you would expect if these were trials designed to test hybrids under different micro-climates."
"We agree, then." Emma's relief was quite perceptible, a bridge thrown between them.
She was, thought MacKay, barely bigger than herself, all litheness and fluid motion, with the same graceful assurance that so marked her partner in action. But MacKay decided at once that Emma's hazel gaze shone with a tamed fierceness that had little in common with the outward serenity of Steed.
"I see something else, though," added the agronomer, her attention drawn back to the screen. "The galls on so many stems? A common enough bacterial infection. Still, it's a rather incongruous feature to see on test subjects…"
"Pseudomonas fluorescens" answered Emma with unaffected precision. "A bacterial vector for the transfer of genetic material that Expefarmax is working on customizing in order to deliver desirable traits to specific strains of crops."
"Experiments that might be run without the knowledge of the owners," interjected Steed.
"There is no legislation governing this type of research," pointed out MacKay automatically. Her gaze had wandered over to Emma's papers where some heading instantly captured her attention. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "Does Expefarmax still work on apomictic corn?"
As she nodded, Emma caught Steed's quizzical glance. "Self-cloning corn", she said helpfully.
"A dream to which no sober agronomer will admit," added MacKay with a shrug and a small smile, secretly relieved that her curiosity had not been rebuffed. "This would truly revolutionize the production of hybrid varieties of corn and barley. The Russians have championed the idea for years."
Steed glanced up. The reference to Petrov's work in Expefarmax' research proposal had aroused the curiosity of the Whitehall fact checkers. Their consensus, so far, was that it was just another a red herring, no connection having surfaced between Expefarmax' staff and any one Iron Curtain country or known agent.
"Corn is one of those most promiscuous of plants, Mr. Steed" continued MacKay enthusiastically. "It does not self-pollinate. As a result, re-using a crop's own seeds is a game of genetic roulette where the traits of the parents are quickly diluted in the next generation. To maintain high yields, each generation of seed must be produced at considerable expense by cross-pollination under carefully controlled conditions. Cloning would altogether eliminate this burden."
"And no Western country has picked up the gauntlet?" wondered Potter.
"Well, for one thing," answered MacKay, "the United States derive important revenues from exporting corn, especially major American companies which produce most of each year's worldwide seed supply. NATO members will think twice about alienating the American government and setting the stage for costly trade disputes."
"And there is also the more fundamental issue of a biological barrier. Apomixis is a trait observed only in certain plants and it rarely reappears in conventional hybrids. The latest developments in gene manipulation, of course, might be the first steps around this barrier."
But Emma Peel was already picking up her notebook, folder and pen. "I'm very grateful for your time this morning, Miss MacKay," she extended her hand spontaneously to the younger woman, "and I am sorry to leave you so quickly but I am expected elsewhere. May I call on you if I have more questions?"
"I don't see why not." A meaningful glance cast at Steed and Potter. "Your colleagues don't seem to much trust the telephone, but they definitely know how to reach me."
Potter was now fussing over the slide projector, removing the slide tray and returning it to an indexed cabinet, fully aware of the gaze of Alison MacKay. The agronomer, still faintly wondering if she had somehow blundered and brought the meeting to its abrupt end, started as Steed advanced on her. "Miss MacKay, may I make one more request on your time today?"
The corners of her mouth turned slightly upward. "Mr. Potter informed me this morning that he cleared my agenda for the day. What did you have in mind?"
"Your opinion on the potential value of a crop that Expefarmax plans to offer this afternoon to a group of investors. They might be flogging a breakthrough, a realistic gamble or an outright fraud. I need technical expertise."
"Do you have some prospectus, technical data?"
"There won't be anything on paper, I'm afraid. In fact, I expect that note-taking or recording any part of their presentation would be frowned upon. What I am offering is an invitation to join me for lunch at their expense, listen carefully to their announcement and share with us your professional opinion."
Some sixth sense now on alert, MacKay turned frankly skeptical. "What about Emma Peel? She strikes me as being very well informed."
"Trust me, Mrs. Peel will be there. But she will be working undercover on the villain's team. I need someone on my side to even the scales."
Her eyes were glinting now, her mind just made up. "Well, you do owe me lunch. And networking can't hurt the family business. I'm yours."
Steed smiled benevolently. There was no point in pricking such youthful optimism. He only had to make sure that Miss MacKay was seen home safely.
"Potter?" The senior agent knew full well that his colleague hadn't missed a word. "May we have a word, in my office?"
-o0o-