Chapter 2
The sound of industrial machinery made a mind-numbing roar, eclipsing the noise of the Triumph as Emma Peel arrived at the address in London-Over-The-Border. Canary Roe was no better or worse than the rest of the marginally-maintained factories along the road that paralleled the Thames. The parking lot was a small patch of macadam with weeds growing through the cracks; she avoided the obvious entryway and instead shut off her motor and wheeled the bike silently towards a side entrance, hoping to sneak in unnoticed for a reconnoiter.
Emma was once again dressed in her full-body leathers. She would rather have changed into leather slacks and a sweater, or even a knit jumpsuit; but she had to preserve the image that she was nearly penniless and would do anything for cash. So her only choice was the same outfit that Leov had seen her wearing yesterday at the Petrushka.
The side door was suspiciously unlocked; but perhaps some workers had left it that way to sneak out for a smoke, away from the flammable chemicals. Emma stepped inside to find an enormous space with a dirty cement floor lit by harsh fluorescent light. The smell of fish was overpowering and unpleasant.
Almost too late she saw the cargo nets suspended from the steel crossbeams overhead. At the same instant that one was falling from above, another was hurtling towards her, tossed by one of several people who had emerged from behind crates that dotted the floor. Emma's vision darted from side to side in the fraction of a second before the nets arrived, quickly discerning the only maneuver that would allow her to avoid capture.
Her movement was a ballet as she pranced and spun to dodge even more nets that were being hurled in her direction. The only safe route led down a narrow strip to the center of the room, where another menace awaited. A handful of men in overalls stood in a loose semicircle, brandishing a variety of sharp-pronged implements. With a running leap, Emma cartwheeled towards the workers, grabbing the edge of one of the nets that had landed nearby. She cast it directly back at them, entangling their weapons in true gladiator fashion.
Emma sprinted past the confused attackers towards a wheeled door on the opposite side, open just wide enough for her to slip through. On the other side was an enclosed corridor where a third ambush had been set.
Two men and two women wearing martial arts gis formed a single-file line down the center of the hallway. Mistress Leov stood at the far end, shouting clipped instructions in Russian.
There was no path around the fighters; Emma's only option was to go through them. The first man advanced with his hands held high in a defensive stance. She faked a kick at his groin; when he lowered his arms to block, she easily closed in and chopped at his neck with the sharp edge of her hand. He was stunned, but still staggered forward, intent on a stranglehold. Emma grabbed his wrist and gave him a quick judo toss to the floor.
The next man had carefully watched her combat strategy against the first, so he approached with his defensive posture low, guarding his beltline. His fists flew at her in quick alternation, smacking painfully into her kidneys. Emma aimed a strike at the bridge of his nose; when he reflexively put his hands up as a shield, she drove a lightning jab into his solar plexus. He fell to his knees with a gasp, struggling for breath, and she knocked him aside with a boot to the side of his head.
The two women remained; it was obvious Mistress Leov considered them the more dangerous of the species. A short-haired blond launched herself directly at Emma with a high roundhouse kick. Emma dived into a roll, allowing the woman's thigh to pass over her head. She sprang up behind her attacker and slammed her foot into the woman's backside, sending her sprawling headfirst onto the floor.
The final remaining woman grabbed Emma from behind and locked her arms across Emma's chest and squeezed. Emma quickly fired a mule-kick backwards into the woman's shin; it was enough to make her attacker groan and release the hold. Emma spun around and put the woman in a headlock, then gave her a simple punch to the stomach to drive the air out of her. Emma released the hold, allowing the woman to slump to the floor.
Mistress Leov smirked as she clicked the button on the stopwatch that she held. "Twenty-seven seconds," she announced. "Not bad."
Emma feigned indignation. "Just what kind of job am I interviewing for?"
"The interview was yesterday," Leov said smugly. "Today, I was just making sure that the abilities you exhibited weren't a fluke."
The two men had recovered from Emma's attack and walked reluctantly over to the Mistress, heads hung in shame. Leov looked at them with contempt.
"You men," she spat. "To be so easily fooled." Her hand shot out like a striking cobra, viciously punching once high and once low. Emma watched wide-eyed as one of the men doubled over with a whimper, then sank to one knee. Leov turned to Emma.
"You seem skilled and resourceful, Mrs. Herrington. And you don't scare easily. I think you're someone who won't run when the going gets tough."
"Please," Emma said measuredly. "Call me Linda."
"I'm convinced you're the perfect woman for a special project I've been commissioned to perform, Linda." Leov patted the two female attackers on the backside, dismissing them. "If all goes as planned, there will be no need for physical action." The Mistress gave a wicked grin, then added, "But things never go as planned, do they?"
Leov motioned for Emma to follow her into a spartan office at the end of the corridor. "The pay will be generous," she continued.
"I'm interested," Emma said, trying not to sound too interested.
The Mistress pulled a folder from a drawer and laid it on the desk surface. "Could you pretend to be in love with a man?" she asked. "Only temporarily, of course. I know how you feel about men."
"Depends on the man," Emma offered casually.
Leov nodded as if the answer satisfied her. She slid a photograph over to Emma.
"This is your objective. He's infuriatingly smug. A ladies' man. You should enjoy the opportunity to debase someone who uses women so."
Emma let her mouth curl into a smile. Her suspicions about Mistress Leov had been correct. This was the mother lode—there was no doubt now that her superior was The Ladja. She pretended to study the photograph.
"When I'm finished with him," Emma boasted, "he'll be afraid to crawl in bed with another woman ever again."
The Mistress picked up the picture and placed it back in the folder. "Your cover name will be Paulina," she announced. "Get used to it. There's a suite of rooms upstairs. You will be living here, at Canary Roe, until the operation is complete."
-oOo-
Steed opened an envelope that contained a sealed brown folder. Stenciled across the front were the words 'TOP SECRET - EYES ONLY'.
The sound of the courier's auto faded in the distance as Steed sat down at the small writing desk near the kitchen. He broke the seal on the folder and started browsing through the stack of photographs inside.
The pictures were clearly of the Russian Zagadka decoding machine. It was the size of a typewriter, built within a small leather case. The photographer had graciously provided zoom shots of the cipher keys, as well as the code wheels in the interior, just in case there would be any doubt.
Steed smiled. "Well, let's see this KGB agent who's been selected to play our poor, smitten cipher clerk." He shuffled through the stack of photos until he came to a full-color picture of a woman.
He felt a cold chill, like an icy hand gripping at his heart. The winsome smile and pert auburn curl insinuated themselves onto his retina, even after he shut his eyes.
Suddenly, the dying words of Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe echoed in his ears: Peel... is... a traitor.
Mrs. Peel, working for the enemy?
No; it was impossible. He had personally witnessed her attacking KGB agents on several occasions; he even had to stop her from gunning down The Ladja in the heat of battle in Paris.
Still... there was that incident at the airfield near Prague, where The Ladja had a clear and easy shot at Mrs. Peel, but instead had concentrated his fire on the cockpit where Steed was. A fellow agent might behave that way to protect a mole.
Steed shook his head. This was nonsense; he trusted Mrs. Peel. She must have a good reason for getting involved with the KGB. He instinctively picked up the phone and dialed her number. There was no answer.
Could she really have fooled him?
The phone rang almost immediately when he set it back on its cradle. Steed picked it up hopefully. It was Charles, the Head of Operations.
"I told our courier to deliver the packet on the Zagadka directly to you the instant our contact made it available," he said. "Has it arrived yet?"
"Just a few minutes ago," Steed replied absently.
"Have they selected a KGB agent to play Paulina Porzhisni?"
"Yes."
"Is she attractive?"
"Decidedly so."
"Come down here and we'll see if you can pick her out of our files."
"I can stop by tomorrow morning," Steed responded glibly.
Charles was quiet at the other end. There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence.
Steed's voice was toneless. "They sent you the same packet, didn't they?"
Charles was emphatic. "I know you didn't have time to get Mrs. Peel in undercover. So perhaps you better explain to me why you failed to mention that she is somehow a KGB agent assigned to play Paulina."
"I'm unflappable?" Steed ventured.
"Where Mrs. Peel is concerned, you're very flappable."
"It must be a set-up; a frame, to cast suspicion on her," Steed offered.
The Head of Operations sounded unconvinced. "What makes you think that?"
"They may have been planning this for some time. A few weeks ago, I obtained some uncorroborated intelligence that Mrs. Peel might be a traitor."
Charles snorted, "Well, it's corroborated now!"
"Not necessarily," Steed reasoned. "Maybe she's under some sort of duress. Perhaps they're holding a relative hostage."
"Do you know of anyone who's closer to her than you?" Charles fired back.
Steed remained firm. "I trust her. She's probably just showing some independent initiative, working an operation on her own."
"But you can't be sure of that," Charles argued. "She could have been setting you up ever since the Amazon."
Steed was exasperated. "Look, the KGB certainly must know that I've worked with Mrs. Peel in the past, and that there's no way I could be fooled into thinking she's this Paulina Porzhisni, or whoever."
"All part of the subtlety of their trap," Charles said smugly. "Knowing that it's Mrs. Peel, could you possibly resist now?"
"No," Steed admitted.
"Or perhaps it's just an administrative oversight on the part of the Russians, assigning her to this mission. What do you think about the Zagadka?"
"The pictures look authentic," Steed declared. "If only Mrs. Peel has access to the actual device, this could be a real coup for our side."
"If she lures you into a trap, and they torture you for all the information in your head, it could be a real coup for their side."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," Steed said levelly.
"It's not your risk to judge," the Head of Operations said acidly. "Report to the Ministry tomorrow morning at nine," he ordered. "I've set up an appointment for you with Suicide Training."
"That can't be a popular class."
"People are dying to take it," Charles said dryly.
"And as for the rest?" Steed prompted. "What about Mrs. Peel?"
"We'll get to the bottom of things. Let's wait and see if she shows up with the Zagadka. If she manages to convince you she's not KGB, you must bring her to us in chains—bound, gagged, subdued, and ready for interrogation," Charles pronounced.
"Knowing Mrs. Peel, that would be a most difficult feat to accomplish," Steed countered wryly. "And if it turns out that she is working for the KGB?
The Head of Operation's answer was emotionless.
"Then you must kill Emma Peel."
-oOo-