The Transformed Man
2. After
Introduction:
The story arc is as follows:
1) Chase Me Faster prelude (in which Cathy Gale takes a holiday in Bermuda),
2) Every Steed Needs A Knight, in which Steed meets Emma Peel,
3) The Transformed Man: Before, in which Steed and Cathy Gale go on their final adventure together,
4) Berlin, Not Long Ago in which Emma Peel meets Max Prendergast and Steed learns more of her abilities, and finally
5) The Transformed Man, After. In which John Steed and Emma Peel become The Avengers.
I.
Emma Peel sat in her office at Knight Industries, a stack of papers before her, but her mind was not on work.
''I'm bored,'' she thought to herself. ''This work is too easy. All routine. The cut-throat world of industrial competition...''
She sighed, rose from her desk and took a trip or two around the room. Knight Industries had been her father's business, and he had always intended her to take over.
Well, she had taken over, five years ago, and she didn't like it.
Emma paused in front of the plate glass window and gazed out art the citiscape below. Just two months since her husband Peter had died. They'd had such good times together - Peter had been a bit of a daredevil and complimented her perfectly. Their five years together had been bliss. After a weekend going hang-gliding or scuba diving or even mountain-climbing with him she'd been able to face the rest of the work week with a passion. And then coming home to him at night - when he'd been at home on rare occasions - more often he'd be off somewhere flying planes. And now he was gone forever, and nothing but dull days stretched before her.
But somehow...they were even more boring now.
That's because she'd had a taste of a different life. A knife-edged life. A life in which the throats that got cut...really bled. A life in which one could feel really alive not by cheating death, but actually by defeating the death dealers.
Saving the world? Emma thought with a smile. Is that what she'd been doing?
That man...with the microfilm. That man John Steed had never really told her what that had been all about...but presumably it had been something important.
Then, on her pilgrimage to Berlin, she had helped to catch Max Prendergast, a ruthless individual who had betrayed hundreds of men, women and their children to their deaths. That had felt like a real accomplishment.
She'd like to do more of it. But how? that man Steed was the key.
Emma returned to her desk, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle, a glass, and a newspaper.
He'd given her his card, a few weeks ago, when she'd driven into the back of his car - but she'd thrown it away after it had turned out he'd merely been investigating her. So, how to find him, short of going down to MI5...or was it 6?, and asking for a man in a bowler hat and an umbrella?
As she sipped her wine, Emma found the page she was looking for - a half-column advertisement for a Bentley car rally taking place on the grounds of Longleath House, over the week end.
That would be the place.
II.
John Steed's sartorial elegance, if any upon this occasion, was concealed beneath a pair of greasy coveralls, and instead of a brolly he wielded a wrench. It was shockingly early in the morning - but while Steed hated to rise before eight o'clock for anything else, when it came to ensuring that his Bentley was in tip top condition prior to the annual Longleath Run For the Roses he was Johnny-on-the-spot.
He rolled underneath the Bentley to double check various seals and things. As his eagle-eyed gazed searched diligently for anything amiss, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a pair of shapely ankles, and feet encased in a pair of black pumps.
Steed rolled himself from beneath the Bentley with alacrity, and then stopped short with a small frisson of surprise. The woman was tall, with auburn hair that fell in a wave to her shoulders, broad forehead, smiling brown eyes, straight nose...impish grin...still dressed in widow's black...it was Mrs. Emma Peel.
''Mrs. Peel,'' he scrambled to his feet. ''What a pleasure it is to see you again.''
She smiled at him. ''Mr. Steed. I was hoping to find you here.''
''You were?'' Steed smiled his most charming smile. ''I'm delighted to hear it. There's a little canteen set up over there,'' he indicated a direction, ''Let's go get a coffee.''
They settled down at a picnic table and each busied themselves preparing their coffee to their satisfaction.
''It's a glorious sight, isn't it,'' Steed said, indicating the two dozen Bentleys parked on the vast grounds of Longleath House. ''One of the best automobiles ever made.''
''Oh, I don't know,'' Emma said thoughtfully. ''I've rather liked the Rolls Royce Silver Ghost.''
Steed beamed delightedly. ''Are you interested in antique cars, Mrs. Peel?''
''Oh, I'm interested in practically everything, Mr. Steed.''
Steed raised an eyebrow archly. ''In that case, you mustn't call me Mister.''
Mrs. Peel raised an eyebrow at him in return. ''Alright...Steed.''
Steed sat back and sipped his coffee. ''Well...yes...''
It was Emma's turn to lean forward. ''Steed...do you remember Berlin?''
''Vividly.''
''I helped you capture Max Prendergast. And you mentioned the future. You wanted there to be a future.''
Steed leaned forward again, his eyes alight. ''Indeed I did.''
''Well, so do I. Just exactly what organization do you belong to? MI5? MI6?''
Steed's chin slipped off his hand. ''I beg your pardon?''
''Catching crooks. Dealing with diabolical masterminds. That sort of thing. You aren't Special Branch?''
Steed's mouth opened and closed. Several times.
''Are you practicing your fish imitations?'' Mrs. Peel asked somewhat acerbically.
''No, not at all. It's just...''
Steed ran his fingers through his hair. He had received a bit of a shock. At first sight of Mrs. Peel he had assumed that she'd come to visit him for himself alone. And instead she was volunteering...actually volunteering...to engage in that business which his previous partner Cathy Gale had had to be so cajolingly urged.
''Frankly I'm delighted, Mrs. Peel.'' he said with a smile. ''When I first met you I thought you'd be an excellent associate. I do not belong to MI5 or MI6, however, but rather an offshoot. Let's call it... Department S.''
''S for secret?''
''Exactly.''
Emma Peel nodded. ''Good. Well, Steed, thank you. When does my training start?''
''Training?''
''Of course. I may be an expert martial artist - even if I do say so myself, and I'm pretty good at quite a lot of things, but certainly I'd have to have some training. Learn codes and things?''
Steed felt like giving an imitation of a fish again, but controlled his jaw muscles. What a professionally-minded woman. He had certainly made a good choice.
''I shall give you all your training, Mrs. Peel. An amateur such as yourself brings a certain ... je ne c'est quoi ...to the job that I don't want drilled out of you by ham-handed trainers.''
''I see.''
Steed checked his watch. ''One thing that is important in a partnership is that the partners get to know each other very well. The tendencies, the habits, the way you react to certain stimuli. The rally is about to start...will you act as my navigator?''
''I'll be delighted,'' said Emma sincerely.
Steed stood up, unzipped his coveralls and stepped out of them to reveal slacks and a black turtleneck, and he and Emma Peel walked to his Bentley. Steed started the car with a flourish and drove towards the starting line.
III.
Catherine Gale finished writing in her notebook, closed it, closed the book she had been referencing, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She glanced at the clock. Five o'clock. How nice. She'd finished right on the stroke of quitting time.
Cathy walked out of her office at the British Museum, nodding at the guards cheerfully, and walked down a couple of blocks to her favorite pub, The Three Vikings, where she'd treat herself to a beer and a shepherd's pie. She was going to see a play later that evening in the West End, with a couple of friends visiting from America who wanted to see that quaint period piece of Agatha Christie's called The Mousetrap, which had made its debut in 1958 and was now in its eighth year - the longest running play in the world.
Cathy walked into the Three Vikings and waved at the publican. She was well-known there - the man gave an answering nod. Cathy found a corner booth, deep in the rear of the pub. She pulled a paperback novel from her purse and began to read. Within minutes a mug of beer and a shepherd's pie were placed in front of her. Then another mug was placed across from her. Her server sat down opposite her and Cathy looked up into the eyes of John Steed.
Very slowly, she closed her book.
''Hello, Steed.''
''Mrs. Gale.''
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Steed watched Cathy take a couple of bites of shepherd's pie, while he himself savored a bit of beer.
''Been enjoyin' yourself?'' Steed asked.
''Very much. I've been able to get quite a bit of work done lately.''
''Jolly good.''
''So whatever you have to say, the answer's no.''
''Don't say that before you hear what it is. I just want to ask a favor.''
''A favor?'' Cathy looked at Steed, a bit puzzled and a bit wary. ''What do you mean?'' He seemed very odd. A bit embarrassed, a bit unsure of how to proceed.
''I'd like you to meet someone. Give me an evaluation of her.''
Cathy arced an eyebrow. ''Her?''
''Yes...my new partner, you see.''
Cathy stared at John Steed for several long seconds, and then she started to laugh.
''What's so funny?'' he demanded.
''I'm sorry, Steed. I...'' she looked down at her beer. ''I need something stronger than this. Get me a scotch, would you?''
''Certainly.'' Steed returned within seconds with a couple of drinks.
''Well?'' he said.
Cathy had fitted a cigarette into her cigarette holder and puffed meditatively. ''Human beings are wonderful, Steed. I fully expected you to look me up, try to talk me back into the fold. I was going to take great pleasure in squelching you as you deserve. And instead I find that not only am I not wanted, but I've already been replaced! It was a bit of a blow to my ego and I don't mind admitting it.''
''No one could ever replace you, Mrs. Gale.'' Steed said seriously. ''But I needed a new partner and fate, or kismet, led me to her. How else could you explain the fact that a girl with her qualities - strength, martial arts skills, was in exactly the right place at the right time.''
''What's her name?''
''Peel. Mrs. Emma Peel.''
''That name sounds familiar...Steed! The woman whose husband, the test pilot, was killed a couple of months ago?''
''Yes.''
''And you've recruited her to play your deadly games?'' There was an edge in Cathy's voice.
''Not at all,'' Steed snapped. Then he relaxed. ''That's the thing of it. She volunteered.''
Cathy puffed at her cigarette.
''It was a couple of months ago, while you were off in Bermuda. One of One-Ten's schemes went wrong and one of Theirs made off with some microfilm. Ran with it down the streets of London. He made the mistake of running right past Mrs. Peel with a knife in his hand. She swung him into the side of the building and then kicked him where it hurt.''
''Oh, good for her.''
''Yes. Then a few weeks later she was in Berlin. She happened to attract the interest of Max Prendergast - a rather nasty bit of goods, and helped Us get him. I thought at the time she would be ideal for the work, but I didn't want to press her. I held off for a month.''
Cathy's eyes narrowed. ''Alright. Who are you and what have you done with the real John Steed?''
Steed gave Cathy one of his patented looks. ''That's not funny. The point is, she came to me. Said she wanted to play the game.''
''She sounds like your kind of woman, Steed.''
''Yes...yes, she is.'' There was a far away look in Steed's eyes, unlike the lascivious ones she usually saw at times like this, that made Cathy stare at the man whom she had known and worked closely beside for two years.
''It seems you already know her qualities. Why do you want me to evaluate her for you?''
''Well...not evaluate, really. I just said that because I didn't know quite how to broach the subject. She said she wanted a bit of training. Codes and things. I don't want her going through normal channels. I can teach her a great deal...but so can you.''
''How you like your tea stirred, that sort of thing?''
''Well, that, certainly.'' Steed gave her one of his lascivious looks. ''But, I was thinking more along the lines of... I don't know...fashion for the female secret agent. Where you keep your guns and picklocks. How to knock out a gang of men without getting your hair mussed, and still get home in time for dinner. How to stare death in the face and not panic.''
Cathy finished her scotch.
''Have you considered that that's why she may be doing this?''
''Do I think she wants to stare death in the face? And meet it?'' Steed nodded slowly, his face grim. ''I...I'm not sure. I don't think so. But I want to be sure.''
Cathy returned his nod. So that was the reason he'd come to her. ''Survivor guilt. Or a death wish. Two reasons why she shouldn't be your partner. You don't think you can judge that?''
''No. I know you can.''
Cathy nodded. Steed was well aware of her interest and expertise in psychology and psychoanalysis.
''All right, Steed. I'll meet her....does she know how to fence?''
''I think she knows how to do everything.''
''There's no better way to evaluate someone than over a nice bout of fencing. One's whole personality comes to the fore. You have her phone number?''
''Yes.''
''Well, ask her to meet me....tomorrow's not good....see if she can't meet me this Wednesday, at Tonetti's Fencing Salon. Noon.''
''Noon.'' Steed nodded. ''Thank you, Mrs. Gale.''
''Don't tell her who I am, Steed. Or who I was,'' she amended with a grin. ''Inform her that I'm merely a physical fitness instructor.''
''Well, that might be difficult, Mrs. Gale. You have a reputation in academic circles and Mrs. Peel is quite at home there. She might not know what you did in your spare time, but unless I'm very much mistaken she'll certainly recognize your name.''
''A good point. Alright, I'm not Mrs. Gale, then. Tell her I'm Mrs.....Austin.''
''Austin. Right.''
Steed finished his own drink. ''I'll telephone you. Confirm she's coming.''
''Right, Steed.''
Steed rose to his feet. ''Can I escort you anywhere?''
''No, thanks. I'm going to the theatre with friends. I thought I'd spend a bit of time shopping beforehand.''
''If you're hunting for clothes I'd be quite happy to come along, give you my opinion on any outfits you'd like to try on.''
Cathy laughed. ''I was thinking more along the lines of Portobello Road. I should make you come along and carry my parcels, but I won't. It's all right, Steed, I'll let you know about things on Thursday.''
Steed was strangely reluctant to go. He liked Cathy Gale...liked her very much in fact...in fact he quite fancied her. Despite the unaccustomed emotions he was feeling over Emma Peel...she was a newly made widow, and out of bounds...for a while at any rate. But he knew Cathy - she'd put him out of her life already, he had no doubt. Moved onward and upward. She was doing him this one favor..or perhaps she was doing the favor for Mrs. Peel.
Steed sighed, tipped his bowler to Mrs. Gale and left the pub. Cathy looked after him for a few seconds, then returned her attention to her shepherd's pie.
IV.
''Mrs. Austin?''
''Mrs.Peel. Nice to meet you. Please, call me Emma.''
''Certainly. And I'm Cathy.''
Catherine Gale and Emma Peel stood just within the doors of Tonetti's Fencing Salon. Mrs. Gale was already in her sparkling, crisp white outfit. She had recognized Emma Peel immediately - she had done some quick background research on her. Emma Peel carried a fencing bag. ''Ladies changing room over there, Emma,'' Cathy told her. Emma nodded, smiled, and disappeared, to return only a few minutes later. She too wore white, but with a red heart embroidered over her left breast. She carried a foil, and Cathy noted that the bell-guard was scarred from much use.
''Shall we warm up, first,'' Cathy suggested. ''There are some mats over here.'' The two women were soon on the mats, performing various stretching and limbering up exercises.
''How long have you been fencing?'' Cathy asked, reaching out to touch her toes and place her forehead on her knee.
''Began taking lessons when I was fifteen. For a time I considered entering competition, but then other things intervened. I just do it recreationally, now.''
''As they have a habit of doing,'' Cathy agreed.
''My club is Corday's.''
''Ah, yes. Corday has turned out quite a few good fencers.''
Their warm ups finished, the two women proceeded onto the floor. It was a vast, polished hardwood floor, surrounded by mirrored walls so that the fencers could check their form at any moment. Red lines set into the floor at intervals designated each 'piste,' or fencing area. There were only a couple of other fencers in the salon, off in one corner practicing lunging through rings suspended from the ceiling.
The two women saluted with their foils, donned their masks, and crouched into en garde position, the tips of their foils six feet away from each other.
''A la,'' murmured Cathy, and advanced cautiously. Emma retreated the same number of steps, keeping the distance the same between them. Cathy noted that her form was very classic; while she herself let her left arm dangle behind her casually, Emma kept hers high in the air, hand curved.
Cathy beat her foil against Emma's, bouncing it out of line, and lunged. Emma brought her own foil back and parried with ease.
And so it went on, the two women advancing and retreating down the piste. Cathy was always on the offensive, probing her opponent's every guard...forcing her to do every riposte and parry in the book, and always Emma showed an excellent grasp of technique. And her speed was tremendous. But she seemed to be content to be on the defensive...or perhaps she too is just feeling me out, Cathy mused. And indeed all of a sudden Emma Peel performed a ballestra - a sudden stamp of her foot and a jump forward, and all of a sudden she was attacking furiously and Cathy was back-peddling furiously as she defended herself, then suddenly caught Emma's blade in prise, bounced off it and hit Emma's red heart.
Emma lowered her blade immediately. ''Hit,'' she called out cheerfully.
They resumed their fencing distance and began again.
Two hours later they were showered, changed, and in the Charing Cross Tea Room sipping tea and eating cucumber sandwiches. Emma had 'won' the match, by a couple of hits. ''I'm quite impressed,'' Cathy told her. ''If you'd kept up with your fencing you could have done great things on the competitive stage.''
''Thank you. You're not so bad yourself.''
Cathy smiled. She glanced around. They were in a corner booth, no one within earshot. She spoke in a low voice.
''So,'' she said, ''the thought of pitting your wits against diabolical masterminds intrigues you?''
Emma nodded. ''Yes. I think I'd be rather good at it.''
Cathy debated all the things she could say. It was dangerous work. Well, of course it was. Emma would know that. Steed would put her life at hazard again and again. But he'd always be there to pull the chestnuts out of the fire as well. And this girl definitely would be able to pull her own chestnuts out of the fire. Steed had certainly chosen a winner.
''Tell me about your background,'' Cathy invited. ''You run Knight Industries, don't you?''
''That's right.'' Emma went on to explain how her father had groomed her for the role of his successor. Her achievements at school. The death of her mother and her father's subsequent remarriage to a Japanese woman whom he'd met on a business trip to Japan. A woman who might have been the spiritual descendant of Tomoe Gozen, one of the great Samurai women of Japan. Her marriage to Peter Peel. Their five years of marriage. His death.
''Only two months ago,'' Cathy murmured.
Emma nodded, sipping her tea. ''When one is married to a test pilot, one gets used to the idea of death,'' she said. ''It was an utter shock when I heard it, don't mistake me, and I mourned him and am still in mourning. Not a day goes by when I don't see something he bought me, or remember something he said...and feel a flash of sadness that he's no longer here to share my life.''
Cathy nodded. Emma Peel had had an easier time of it - if one could put it like that - then she'd had, with her husband killed right beside her by Mau Mau terrorists. Well, she'd had the satisfaction of killing some of them in return.
''Can you kill?'' she asked abruptly.
''I beg your pardon?''
''You are up against a couple of villains - who will have no scruple in killing you. You've got a gun in your hand. Would you shoot them?''
''I don't know if I'd shoot to kill,'' Emma said thoughtfully. ''I'd certainly incapacitate them.''
Cathy nodded. She believed Emma.
''Alright, Emma,'' she said. ''As I believe Steed told you, he's going to be doing any training you might require, in this business, this Circus, as some call it. But I think you've got the right stuff.''
''Thank you, Cathy. Tell me about Steed.''
Cathy arced an eyebrow. ''John Steed? He's quite a man. Dedicated to his country. He's educated, charming, intelligent. A real ladies' man.''
Emma raised her own eyebrow. ''Somehow I gathered that,'' she commented with an impish smile.
Cathy leaned forward. ''He also has all the qualities needed of an expert secret agent. Ruthlessness. Nerves of steel. An inventive mind. You could have no better tutor.''
Emma nodded.
''And if you're going to work with Steed, you're going to need some additions to your wardrobe. Let's go shopping.''
V.
''You've got an eye for quality, Steed. I'll give you that.''
Cathy Gale and John Steed stood in the Dinosaur room of the British Museum Department of Natural History. It was where they had first met, when Steed had come to ask an expert's opinion on the uses of black magic.
''She'll do, then?''
Cathy nodded. ''She'll do.''
Steed sighed. ''Good.''
They walked about in silence, looking at the exhibits. ''It was a good run, wasn't it, Mrs. Gale?'' Steed said at last.
''Yes. A good run. But the curtain comes down on every run, sooner or later. The actors switch over, and a new play starts.''
They stopped near the entrance. It was John Steed's exit cue. He looked at Cathy Gale, his face serious. ''I always did fancy you, you know,'' he told her.
Cathy nodded, but forbore to smile. ''I know. And if you hadn't been such a cad I might have allowed myself to fancy you, as well. Remember that, Steed, in your dealings with Emma Peel.''
She offered her hand to Steed. He took it in the tips of his fingers and raised his hand to her lips. ''I'll remember, Mrs. Gale. Always.''
VI.
The telephone rang. John Steed reached out a hand and grabbed the receiver in a strangulation grip. ''Yes?''
''We've got trouble. Sir Clive Todd has just been found...stealing top secret documents.''
Steed sat up, wide awake.
''Sir Clive Todd?''
''That's right. He was shot - by one of his own men, apparently. He's been taken to his own house to convalesce. Get down there, Steed. Now.''
''I'm on my way.''
Steed hung up the phone, then picked it up again and immediately redialed.
A sleepy voice answered him.
''Mrs. Peel. Steed here. You said you wanted in on the game. Well, get dressed. Something's afoot. I'll be over to pick you up in half an hour.''
Steed slid out of bed, showered, dressed, ran down to his Bentley and drove towards Mrs. Peel's flat. She was waiting outside the door of the building, dressed in a toasty fur coat and muff and looking like she was asleep standing up.
''The middle of the night,'' she mumbled at Steed.
''In you get, Mrs. Peel, you can sleep on the way.''
He helped Mrs. Peel into the passenger seat, where she immediately fell asleep. Steed pointed his Bentley toward Sir Clive Todd's house...and drove into history.
THE REST OF THIS STORY MAY BE VIEWED IN The Masterminds.
