A/N: This story is a sequel to "On a Sting and a Prayer" but stands more or less alone. It's based on The Fiction-Makers, which is a lot of tropey, spoofy fun (you really should watch it, especially if you're a James Bond fan) but also somewhat frustrating in the second half because of the way the plot has to operate. The other frustrating thing is trying to fit it into the overall timeline of the color seasons of The Saint—it was filmed in the summer of 1966 but not released/aired until 1968, but using airdates to date the action is useless because 5.11 "Paper Chase" aired in December of 1966 but is set during Wimbledon in June of 1967. So I've somewhat arbitrarily stuck The Fiction-Makers in a period that works best for this AU. This story stays mainly with Britt's POV because nothing much changes from canon for Simon for the first couple of chapters; I've borrowed some dialogue but tried to keep it to a minimum.

Also, if you're keeping score at home, the apartment I describe is the one where Simon lives in Season 6. Season 5 is weird in that regard—IIRC, we don't see Simon's apartment until "The Persistent Patriots," but while the exterior (especially in "When Spring Is Sprung") looks pretty much the same as 53 Grosvenor Mews, the interior sets are so radically different that it can't be the same apartment. The interior set for the S6 apartment is similar enough to the one in S5 to be a theoretical remodel, but the exterior is completely different.

This story is complete in six parts; I'll post a chapter a day.

The Pen Is Mightier than the SWORD
By San Antonio Rose

Chapter 1
Bee on the Wall

June 1968
Century City, USA

Britt Reid looked up as Lenore Case walked into his office at the Daily Sentinel. "Yes, Casey?"

"Call for you on Line 3," Casey reported. "It's Simon Templar."

"Thanks," said Britt and picked up Line 3 as Casey left again. "Simon! Good to hear from you!"

"Hullo, Britt," Simon returned. "How's life on your side of the Pond?"

"Settling down for a change. We just wrapped up another racket-busting series—two dozen arrests, several tons of narcotics and weapons intercepted, five kidnapping victims rescued, and the Green Hornet barely had to make an appearance."

"Good. Are you free this week-end, then?"

"Probably. Why?"

"World premiere of Sunburst Five at the Odeon Leicester Square. Carol Henley's invited me, and I'm inviting you—and Casey if she's interested."

Britt frowned. "Sunburst Five? The Amos Klein novel?"

"The same. Have you read it?"

"No, but Casey has. All I remember is her ranting about what a featherbrain the love interest is."

"Yes, well, dear Carol is eminently suitable for the role."

"There was a 'bless her heart' in there, wasn't there?"

"I do believe there was," Simon agreed in his best attempt at a Southern drawl.

Britt laughed.

"I've moved since you were here last," Simon continued in his normal RP accent. "I've space enough to put you and Casey up here if you like."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"So will you come?"

"I think I could stand to get out of Dodge for a few days, anyway. I'll ask Casey and call you back."

"Excellent. I'll be here."

"All right. Thanks, Simon. Talk to you soon." Britt hung up and went out to the outer office.

Casey looked up from her typing as he approached her desk. "Is Simon all right?"

Britt nodded. "Yes, he was just calling to invite the two of us to his place for the weekend, specifically to attend the world premiere of Sunburst Five."

Her nose wrinkled. "Sunburst Five?!"

"Simon said Carol Henley invited him, and I get the impression he can't turn her down but doesn't want to face the movie alone."

She huffed in amusement. "I can see why. I think I'd have enjoyed Amos Klein's books a lot better if I weren't your secretary."

He smiled. Casey was one of only five people in the world who knew that Britt was the Green Hornet, and she'd seen her share of real action when a few of the Hornet's adversaries had targeted her. If Klein's action scenes were formulaic or unrealistic, Britt could understand her frustration with them—and Simon's, for that matter.

"Do you mind if I decline?" she continued.

Britt shook his head. "No, not at all. Do you mind if I go? Even if the movie is bad, it'd be nice to see Simon again."

"What about Miss Henley?"

"You don't have to worry about her. From what Simon said, she makes Vanessa Vane look like an intellectual." Britt and Vanessa had been friends for a long time, but contrary to what Casey had once thought, they'd never moved beyond his occasionally taking her out for lunch or giving her a ride home. She was capable of the odd flash of insight, but even at his most charitable, he wouldn't class her among the most intelligent socialites he knew. (Admittedly, Elaine Carey and Claudia Bromley set that bar pretty high; if he included all the women he knew, Casey herself would set it even higher.) Casey was still prone to jealousy despite their having been together for a year now, but surely she knew he had no interest in someone who wasn't even in Vanessa's league.

She looked skeptical, though. "Is she pretty?"

"Not as pretty as you are."

That got her smiling again. "All right. Just as long as you don't forget that."

He smiled back at her. "I'll bring you a souvenir."

Her smile brightened, and he returned to his desk to call Simon back.

The premiere was Friday evening, so Britt took the first part of the week to get work squared away enough that Casey and Mike Axford could hold down the fort while he was gone, left for London late Thursday evening, and arrived early enough Friday morning to meet Simon for breakfast. From the restaurant, Simon took Britt to his new apartment—a townhouse instead of a flat, with a Georgian façade but a thoroughly mod interior, which Simon admitted he'd just had redecorated the month before. After showing Britt around, Simon ushered him upstairs to the guest bedroom, then handed him a spare key to the apartment.

"Just in case we get separated this evening," Simon explained.

Britt nodded and put the key in his pocket. "Thanks. Oh, and that reminds me—Dad always said a good guest never arrives empty-handed." He opened his suitcase, handed Simon the box of locally-made candy Casey had picked up from a Century City candy shop for a host gift, then dug into a secret compartment and pulled out a small, round, flat item that looked a bit like a bug's face.

"What's this, a radio?" Simon asked when Britt handed it to him.

"Sort of," Britt replied. "It's a new and improved Hornet Signal."

Simon's eyebrows shot up. "New and improved, eh?"

"The last time Casey got kidnapped, her captors were almost to the state line before Kato and I caught up enough for the oscilloscope in the Black Beauty to pick up the transmission from the Signal she had. When the case was over, we redesigned it to boost the transmitter's range as much as possible. It's still only fifty miles, so it may not be much use unless you come visit or we happen to be in Gotham at the same time, but still… I thought you should have one."

"Thanks." Simon turned it over in his hand. "How does it work?"

Britt pointed to the two antennae on the top. "Twist and extend—this one first, then this one. Once it's activated, it broadcasts a tracking signal continuously, powered by a piezoelectric battery that charges with movement. To turn it off, you just push the antennae back in."

Simon nodded thoughtfully, then said, "You know what I'm going to do with this? Hide it in the heel of my shoe."

Now it was Britt's turn to be surprised. "Really?"

"Last place anyone would look for it. And although I may not need to have it on me constantly, I can carry it as a sort of good luck charm."

Britt grinned, and Simon went to follow through on his promise while Britt got settled.

After further catching up, lunch, and several social calls on Fleet Street, Britt and Simon changed clothes and headed to Leicester Square for the premiere. The security people seemed unsure whether to send them down the red carpet, but Simon assured them he didn't particularly want the publicity, and they soon found themselves ushered through a side entrance and into the lobby. While they were waiting for Miss Henley, a short man with thinning curly brown hair and beard came over to them, beaming.

"Well!" he said. "If it isn't just the man I was looking for: Simon Templar!"

Simon grinned and showed his halo. "How are you, Finlay?"

"I'm well, thank you. I'd heard you were going to be here, but I thought you were coming with Carol Henley." The newcomer looked curiously at Britt.

"Let me introduce you," said Simon. "Britt, this is Finlay Hugoson, Amos Klein's publisher and an old friend of mine. Finlay, this is a newer friend of mine, Britt Reid."

"Mr. Hugoson," Britt said with a nod and offered his hand.

"Mr. Reid," Hugoson returned and shook hands.

"Britt owns the Century City Daily Sentinel," Simon added.

"Ah," said Hugoson, and while his polite smile never wavered, Britt thought he saw a flash of panic in Hugoson's eyes. "Here to review the movie, I take it?"

"Well, I might file a review, if I find enough things to say," said Britt, "but mostly I'm just here visiting Simon for a few days' vacation. If nothing else, it'll give me an idea of which of our entertainment columnists to send to Gotham for the US premiere."

Hugoson's smile brightened some, as if that answer had relieved some of his anxiety, but he still seemed uneasy as he turned back to Simon. "I had hoped I could have a word with you in private…."

Simon's eyebrows shot up. "Britt's good at keeping confidences. If the conversation needs to be off the record, it will be."

"Scout's honor," Britt agreed.

Before Hugoson could say anything else, however, a female voice cried, "SIMON!"

"We'll talk later," Hugoson told Simon quietly and slipped away into the crowd.

Britt looked at Simon, confused. Simon shrugged, then plastered on a smile as a beaming blonde in a silver brocade gown and white fur wrap brushed past the wall of reporters and photographers to descend on him.

"Simon, darling!" she squealed.

"Hullo, Carol," said Simon, and they greeted each other with French-style air kisses.

"I was so sad not to have you on the red carpet with me," she went on. "I was afraid for a minute you weren't coming at all!"

"Perish the thought," Simon assured her.

"Where's your American friend?"

"Right here." Simon turned to Britt. "Britt Reid, Carol Henley."

Britt bowed slightly. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Henley."

"Oh, how divine!" Miss Henley gushed, grabbing Simon and Britt each by an arm, and spun them around to take them to their seats, keeping up a steady stream of vapid chatter until seconds before the screening began. Even having been forewarned, Britt found himself having trouble keeping up the appearance of polite interest and wishing Casey were there to give him an excuse for not listening to Miss Henley.

The movie itself wasn't bad. Britt had read the book on the plane, which had successfully killed an hour, and the film was a surprisingly faithful adaptation, even if the fight choreography was a little too formulaic for someone who'd been in more than his fair share of fights to find it thrilling. Rip Savage made a convincing Charles Lake, the hero of all Klein's novels, and the other actors were well cast as the members of the Secret World Organization for Retribution and Destruction (SWORD), especially the actor playing Lake's cackling nemesis Warlock. The main drawback of the screening was sitting next to Miss Henley, who tended to squeak excitedly at her own performance. Britt wasn't sure why, since she couldn't be that much of a newcomer to costar in a major summer blockbuster; but then again, he didn't know many film actresses, so maybe this was normal behavior. Still, Britt made a mental outline of a review but wasn't sure whether he should give it three stars for being predictable or four for having high-end production values and a script that followed the book. By the time the credits rolled, he'd decided to leave the task of reviewing the film for publication to the Sentinel's entertainment staff but pursue broadcast rights for DSTV when the film was released for television distribution.

After the screening, when reporters pulled Miss Henley away from Britt and Simon for more pictures and interviews, Hugoson caught up to them again. "Enjoy it, Simon?" he asked.

"Divine," Simon replied with a look that said it was sarcasm.

"Shall we avoid the party?"

"Like the plague. Britt?"

"Gladly," Britt agreed.

Simon began to usher both Britt and Hugoson toward the exit, but several reporters pounced on Hugoson to ask oddly pointed questions about Amos Klein, even shoving Simon into Britt to get him out of the way so they could pigeonhole Hugoson. (Britt privately wished Mike were there to put those reporters in their place—as the Sentinel's ace crime reporter who'd gotten his start in the Prohibition era, Mike could be brash, but he never got physical with bystanders.) Hugoson gave "No comment" as his answer to all of their questions and then grabbed Simon's elbow and hustled him away… leaving Britt behind. Simon shot Britt an apologetic grimace and mouthed See you at home before Hugoson pulled him outside. Frowning in confusion, Britt tried to follow, but before he could find a gap in the crowd to push through, Miss Henley hurried over to him.

"Where's Simon?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Oh, he just left with Finlay Hugoson," Britt replied. "I gather Hugoson wanted to talk to him in private."

"Oh," said Miss Henley with a hint of a pout, then grabbed his arm again just as several photographers converged on them for more photos. Britt managed to smile until they moved on, leaving him with the afterimage of flash bulbs burning his retinas. "Well, you'll come to the party with me, won't you?" she asked then, as if they hadn't been interrupted.

For this, Britt had a ready excuse. "I'm afraid I can't. I have to get back to Simon's place and call my office. The newspaper business never stops, even when I'm on vacation."

"Oh," Miss Henley said, more disappointed. "Well, maybe we'll see each other again before you leave London?"

"We'll see," Britt answered with a polite smile and took his leave. By that time, of course, Simon and Hugoson were long gone, and there was nothing for Britt to do but flag down a cab for a ride back to Simon's apartment. When he arrived, he started a fire—the evening was chilly by Century City standards—and fixed himself a drink, then called his office on the private line.

"Mr. Reid's office," Casey answered when the call finally went through.

"Hi, Casey, it's me," Britt said.

"Britt!" she replied with an audible smile. "How's London?"

"Busy, and lonely. Finlay Hugoson dragged Simon off for a private conversation, so I had to come back by myself. Sure wish you were here."

"Aww, I miss you, too. How was the movie?"

"Pretty close to the book. You'd have hated it."

"And Miss Henley?"

He sighed. "Bless her heart. A reporter asked if she felt she was being stereotyped in the Lake pictures, and her answer was 'Thank you very much.'"

She laughed, and he turned the conversation to newspaper business. There wasn't much happening back home that needed Britt's personal input, but it was a pleasant way to pass the time.

The conversation was just winding down when Britt heard a key in the lock. "Oh, here's Simon," he said, but before he could hang up, Simon let himself in.

"Sorry about Finlay," Simon said, walking over. "He's a bit paranoid about the press just now."

Britt smiled. "That's all right. I got back just fine."

Simon nodded toward the phone. "Is that Casey?"

"Yes, we're just about done."

"Let me talk to her—Hornet business."

Britt's smile faded. "Turn the scrambler on, Casey," he ordered.

"All right," Casey replied, confused, and Britt heard a faint click followed by a background whine that hadn't been there before. "What's wrong?"

"I'll let Simon explain," Britt said and handed Simon the phone.

"Hullo, Casey, it's Simon," said Simon. "We missed you this evening, but at the moment, I'm glad you're not here. Some things are better not handled through separate transatlantic calls."

"Why?" Casey asked loudly enough that Britt could hear her.

"I'd like you to call Kato and have him call my friend Hoppy in Gotham." Simon rattled off the phone number. "Hoppy has ties to the mafia, and he'll know how to get Kato here with the Black Beauty, without going through Customs. And tell Kato to call tonight—I may need backup on very short notice, but crossing the Pond isn't as quick as all that, especially when one is transporting a car."

Britt frowned, and Casey asked something Britt didn't quite catch.

Simon looked at Britt as he answered Casey, clearly intending this part of the conversation for both of them. "Two men broke into Finlay Hugoson's apartment this evening and stole Amos Klein's address. Finlay's asked me to go down to Klein's cottage in Surrey to serve as a sort of bodyguard. He says he's worried about protecting Klein's identity from the press, as the next book comes out in two weeks, but… I think there's more to it than that. He wasn't leveling with me, I know that much. But I won't know the whole story until I go down to Surrey and meet Klein."

"All right," said Casey. "I'll let Kato know."

"Thank you. Here's Britt." And Simon handed the phone back.

"Go ahead and tell Kato to bring everything, Casey," Britt ordered.

"Everything?" Casey echoed.

"Well, until we know the exact nature of the threat, we won't know what equipment we'll need, and it's not like we'll be able to run home for anything he forgot."

"Hm, true. What do you want me to tell Mr. Scanlon?"

"I don't think Frank needs to know, at least not yet. It'll be easiest for me to tell him the whole story after I get back."

"All right. I miss you."

"I miss you, too, darlin'. Take care of yourself, an' I'll call you tomorrow sometime."

"Until tomorrow, then," she said, clearly smiling, and hung up.

Simon sighed as Britt hung up. "I'd best be going. Here's the address," he added, handing Britt a slip of paper. "I do hate to run out on you this way, but there we are."

Britt glanced at it and slipped it into his own pocket. "You want me to come with you?"

"No, Klein might refuse to see you as Britt Reid and wouldn't know to trust you as the Green Hornet. You didn't even bring your Hornet kit, did you?"

Britt grimaced. "No, I didn't."

"Besides, it's best for one of us to be on the outside in case anything happens. And I've a funny feeling something will."

"Something like what?"

Simon shook his head. "I don't know. Finlay was being awfully evasive, and he even admitted as much—but I'm not sure he knows what he's afraid of, at least not completely." Then he sighed. "Well. Make yourself at home; I'll call in the morning, probably around 9. If you haven't heard from me by 10, assume the worst and call in dear old Claude Eustace Teal."

Britt nodded. "All right, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. Good night." And before Britt could protest again, Simon left.

Britt sighed heavily and switched on the TV in hopes of catching the news or a late movie. He caught both, but neither was quite enough to distract him from what might be happening in… Hascombe, Surrey, the address paper said. In the end, he switched off the TV and the fire, changed for bed, prowled around the apartment a little longer, and finally went to bed and attempted to sleep.

He woke with the sun in his face and was surprised to discover that it was only 6:00. He didn't think he could go back to sleep, though, so he took his time getting ready for the day and making and eating breakfast. He also read through the morning papers to which Simon subscribed; most of them had stories about the Sunburst Five premiere, but none had pictures of himself or Simon with Miss Henley, which was something of a relief.

When the phone rang precisely at 8, Britt almost fell over his own feet rushing to answer it. "Hello, Simon Templar's residence," he said as he picked up.

"Hello, boss? It's me," said Kato. "I just arrived in Gotham."

"Good. Any problems?"

"Not so far. I'll call again when I get to the garage."

"Same one as last time?"

"Yes."

Britt nodded. "Fine. I'll talk to you in a few hours."

"All right. Goodbye."

Britt hung up, blew the air out of his cheeks, and tried to remember the exact address of the warehouse in Hackney where they'd stored a fake Black Beauty the last time they'd come to England. Even looking at a city map didn't jog his memory quite enough, so he concluded that if Simon wasn't back by the time Kato arrived, his best bet was to take a bus to Hackney and walk the rest of the way. Then he hunted down a bus schedule to try to figure out which bus to take, whether he'd need to change lines somewhere, and so on.

Nine o'clock came and went. Ten o'clock came and went. The phone never rang.

At 10:15, Britt called Scotland Yard to make an appointment with Chief Inspector Teal. Simon's apartment would be out of Teal's way, so he agreed to meet Britt at the Yard at 11—where they proceeded to have a five-minute shouting match because Teal didn't see any reason to get involved.

"There's an offense in this country called 'wasting police time'!" Teal finally raged.

"Chief Inspector," Britt raged back, "I am not trying to waste your time! Simon said that if he hadn't called me by 10, I should assume the worst and call you. That's exactly what I've done."

"Templar's got a wild imagination, and so have you!"

"Give me one good reason why he hasn't called, then."

"Maybe he's out with a girl."

"Why would that stop him from calling by mid-morning?"

Teal faltered. "I don't know! But in any case, it doesn't matter. Surrey's out of my jurisdiction, and even if it weren't, I can't take action until the person's been missing for three days. Now get out of my office!"

Britt fought the urge to snarl and turned to go.

"Mr. Reid," Teal said more quietly and calmly. "Just a moment."

Britt paused with his hand on the doorknob but didn't turn around.

"As a matter of policy, we don't recommend that private citizens take the law into their own hands. However, as I say, Hascombe is out of my jurisdiction." Teal lowered his voice further. "So should you or… a certain third party… choose to investigate this matter on your own… I shan't stop you."

Britt wasn't sure whether that was tacit permission to act as the Green Hornet or not. He didn't want to acknowledge it as such just in case. "Thanks," he murmured and left without turning around.