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.
Chapter 35
If he had kept her by his side, she might have played along. But the vision of Steed, unconscious and on his way to an uncertain fate, was roiling in her mind, more vivid with each step as she was marched downstairs. As the door opened, a deeper instinct prevailed. A swift roundhouse kick and pressure judiciously applied to the carotid neutralized her escort almost before she could consider the consequences of her actions.
She had retreated to a far corner of the subterranean warren of rooms, easily escaping detection and scouting potential escape routes. She was suddenly aware of the walls vibrating with a mournful, syncopated hum, a signal clearly intended to be heard or felt from every corner of the premises. Emma's pulse picked up. Under the circumstances, the reasons for such an alarm did not require elaboration. All the doors she could find were locked but she had run into similar situations before with Steed. There were ventilation ducts around that should nicely lead out of the basement and directly to the outdoors. It was simply a question of thinking logically and not wasting time.
Unexpectedly, the duct ended in a glass-panelled greenhouse. The door to the outside world, shockingly sunny and tantalizing close, was stubbornly locked. She grabbed and swung a chair which bounced harmlessly against a glass panel. Willing herself to remain cool, she looked around for something, anything, heavier.
-o0o-
Phermagott reached the top of the stairs, fished inside his suit for a small key ring that he handed to the guard carrying his colleague behind him. "You don't have the luxury of waiting for an ambulance. Have someone check that the lady's Elan is well fueled, and get him to the hospital. I will drive myself to town." He went to the lobby and watched his personnel board the flottila of Experfarmax cars. Before heading out himself, he took the time to congratulate his security coordinator on a job well done, and reminded him to leave without fail in the next ten minutes. "All the ground floor doors are programmed to be locked at that time. You won't be able to override the system after the scheduled shutdown."
-o0o-
Restored by the improvised breakfast, Steed stared grimly at the road ahead. On the radio-telephone, the chatter of two radio operators in the helicopters hovering overhead was describing for his benefit the flow of vehicles leaving Expefarmax. A dozen identical company cars had arrived that morning, they explained, and was now leaving the parking lot in two opposite directions, like a choreographed procession. Steed bit down an oath. The head of Expefarmax could teach some generals one thing or two.
Mother, listening on, was all scowl. Why did that girl have to rid herself of the bug?
"And now the Lotus Elan is on the move," reported a watcher resignedly. "Which vehicle do we follow, sir?"
Mother's answers had fallen like a verdict without appeal. "Roadblocks are out of the question. If Mrs. Peel is accompanying Phermagott of her own will, we can't stop them. I have a SAS helicopter team moving towards you, Steed. It's up to you to spot the right car."
"Permission to intercept?"
Mother snorted. Once chance in two, unarmed... As plans went, this one was the worst –unless you considered the alternatives. "Be my guest. If we spoil this, Willis will throw the book at us all."
-o0o-
Steed turned to the driver. "I see only one way to do this properly. Run us into the ditch at your earliest convenience."
Obediently, the ministry van drifted across the he lane and slowed to a stop in a position suggesting the utter ineptness of its driver. With a wince, Steed extricated himself from the listing vehicle and patted down his soiled clothes. "As luck would have it, I am rather dressed for this part."
A car was approaching. He moved resolutely into its path.
The driver, and the one after him, never slowed down, nearly clipping him in their determination to follow orders to the letter. Steed spun back, standing his ground, clinging to the faint hope that Phermagott and Mrs. Peel hadn't been aboard, meekly crouched against the floor. Nursing dark visions of Willis in the gallows, he spotted the third car.
-o0o-
This was plainly and utterly preposterous. Phermagott watched incredulously as the lone figure, rumpled and absurdly waving across the road, grew into the very man he had sent away as the price of his freedom.
Far above, the drone of a helicoper hinted omninously that this might not be a coincidence. Turning around wasn't an option, the scientist decided at once. It could only draw attention to his vehicle among the others. Run down the fool? Shoot him? The result would be the same. Once Steed identified him, there would be no escape.
-o0o-
Motionless, Steed stared down the slowing vehicle, the look on his face saying he might tear someone limb from limb. Probably calculated but Phermagott, at once fascinated and wary, wasn't taking any chance. His Walther swung up as he came to a full stop.
"One gesture, Major," he spoke warningly over the partly lowered door window, "one misguided move, and you will bury her."
Steed gave a dismissive shrug but stopped at once, hands and arms opening wide to show that he was weaponless. "Where is she?" Despite the conciliatory body language, his tone held no hint of panic, only an unshakable, steely determination. Another vehicle whizzed past them, barely slowing down.
Head tilted, Phermagott answered evenly. "I went to fetch her before leaving. She had knocked out her bodyguard and gone into hiding." The scientist paused and raised a small metallic box to his chest. "We signalled a general evacuation. She might have left in time. Or not. Are you a betting man, Major?"
His fingers moved teasingly, stroking a button on the small device, the bargain made sickeningly clear. Rooted to the ground, Steed felt the blood drain from his face. Without the means to locate her whereabouts, Mrs. Peel was a hostage as surely as if the Walther had been held to her temple.
The scientist, watching him, read instant understanding, then surrender, in the clench and release of the jaw muscles. The divided loyalties of his opponent were his best chance of slipping out of the country.
Steed retreated and called out to the van, infusing his words with all the authority he could summon. "Tell the helicopter to back off. Let all cars go on and stand down all aerial surveillance." He turned around, raised a hand and waved on the scientist. Phermagott's company car purred contentedly into acceleration.
Mother met Steed's request, duly repeated by the technician, with an eloquent expression of distate. Across from her superior and the Napoleonic desk, Rhonda raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Had their best agent taken leave of his senses? They needed to get their claws into Phermagott as badly as Willis. One without the other might not yield an inch under interrogation.
Back to the van, Steed had taken the microphone himself, his tone brisk. "The fugitive is armed, travels alone and carries a detonator. Send a bomb squad to Expefarmax. We will be going back there, to warn off anyone from wandering in harm's way."
"Proceed as you see best, Steed," answered Mother smoothly, apparently satisfied both with the terse report and what was left unsaid. His chair swivelled with majestic determination. "Get me the airborne SAS team on the other frequency. It's about time we collect this vermin, armed or not."
-o0o-
Oblivious to the caravan of identical company vehicles now streaming past them, Steed stared straight ahead, harboring no illusion about Mother's next move, while his team pushed and hauled the van back to the road. They boarded it in unbroken silence. Years of discipline and diplomacy had conditioned him to deal with the subordination of his associate's fate to the ministry's objectives: one might as well ask the sun to reverse course.
To his relief, the aerial pursuit unfolded far enough behind them that they weren't aware of any of it. Like a deafening, bulbous raptor, the helicopter overtook his quarry and hovered low above the road just ahead of Phermagott's vehicle. The Walther rose again, a futile gesture. A front tyre blew out and the windshield cracked as the car swerved off the road and came to a drunken halt. Several shots rang out nearly simultaneously, drowning the shock of being hit. The scientist fell sideways, writhing on his seat, an elbow coming down hard on the device laid down by his side.
-o0o-
Hundreds of meters ahead of the Ministry vehicle, a plume of dust rose in the air, smudging their view of the fields. The driver's grip tightened on the wheel. "What the devil...?"
Steed's fists clenched, involuntarily. "Faster," was all he said.
-o0o-
An agent in his Majesty's Service isn't, as a rule, given to introspection. Situations are to be analyzed and their risks anticipated, but the consequences of following orders must be dealt with ruthlessly. The mind may deal with this in unexpected ways. At debriefing, Steed admitted having no recollection whatsoever of their van swinging to the gate, of his first glimpse of the tarmacked drive and the empty parking lot littered with debris from the former state-of-the-art facilities. Surely someone said something about the risk of noxious fumes, probably even pressed a mask into his hand. Truthfully, not much of it mattered once he uncoiled like a spring from his seat. His colleagues described to the rest of the ministry the burst of speed and the jump that launched him irresistibly over the gate. Ordered to stay put by Mother, their last sight of Steed was of him running at full speed for the shattered structures.
For the most part the sprawling buildings had neatly collapsed, a devastating testimony to the meticulous planning of their designer. The doors of the main lobby were now utterly inaccessible under the twisted frame of the structure. Steed realized at once the futility of looking for a way inside, spun on his heels and changed direction, arcing widely around and behind the complex and sprinting along yards of neatly fenced fields. His lungs were starting to burn when he spotted Emma Peel, well ahead of him, rising to her knees from the ground. Behind her, the glittering, glass-strewn remains of a greenhouse annex were falling down in a cascade of tinkling and creaking sounds.
Cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open, she stood by herself, dusty and ghost-like, and for all that, a heartstoppingly beautiful sight. He barely slowed as he shortened his stride, ignoring a chorus of protesting muscles and the aching feeling of having risked something he didn't want to lose. There was still a hint of wildness in her eyes, a half-stunned stare that went through him like a knife as he moved to close the gap between them.
He gathered her to himself, felt their hearts pounding as one. There was nothing to say, really, because nothing mattered at the moment that she didn't already know. There was still Mother to face. And Willis, who might take them all down.
"We could both use freshening up, Mrs. Peel," said Steed gently, releasing her with reluctance. He cast an arm around her shoulders and turned her around gently for the walk back towards the deserted parking lot. "That lovely little Elan of yours, I am sorry to say, appears to be missing. But if you will come this way, I have transportation waiting for us."
"And you?"
"We are leaving together," he answered, intentionnally misunderstanding her. Aware that she was automatically taking inventory, he pressed the pace to show his good form and raised a bandaged wrist as further evidence that he had been looked after.
"Nothing but the best care. Potter really rates better as a field nurse than as a secretary."
She knew better than trust him on the subject. But nothing seemed seriously amiss about him, beyond a blatant collection of bruises and contusions and clothes that clearly would never be worn again.
"Warner's pen?..." she ventured.
"Bagged by forensics, thanks to you, and well before Warner or I reached Willis."
She could tell that he wasn't going to elaborate even if she pressed on. "I thought it was worth saving." The words were too smug to be an apology.
Steed shook his head in mock surrender. "I don't know which terrifies me more, Mrs. Peel, your intuition or your logic."
His tone was faintly amused, the concealed depths intact. They finally reached the gate, where he gallantly offered her a hand hold. "Nobody left us a key, I am afraid."
Beyond the gate, the ministry van was waiting for them, his occupants keeping an ear on the radio traffic directed by Mother. Steed opened the back door. A crew member jumped out and informed them that he was staying behind, to lead around the bomb squad and any other specialists the ministry might care to send. He offered his seat to Emma Peel, apologizing for an unforeseen shortage of tea and sandwiches.