The Rather Less than Secret Agent's Ball (Part 1)
Dangerfield Loveridge sped up to the entrance of Ma's Georgian country manor house, a domicile not dissimilar to his own, and leapt out of the Morgan convertible. He couldn't remember the last time he'd opened a car door for himself. He leapt up the stone stairs three at a time throwing the Morgan's keys to the waiting butler.
"Be careful with her Angelo, she's saved my life more times than anyone." he said as he swept past the butler through the main doorway and into the entrance hall.
Angelo realised that any sarcastic comment at this point would be wasted as Dangerfield was already out of hearing. He would just have to remember to make the next sardonic remark twice as satisfying. Angelo went on to park the Morgan carefully in the converted stables between a racing green Bentley and a metallic silver Aston Martin.
Dangerfield followed the sound of laughter and general chatter into the library.
Not much had changed in the library since his days there as a student in the rather esoteric arts taught within the mansion's labyrinthine array of rooms.
"Hello Ma, how are you doing.", Dangerfield asked the older portly man in a slightly crumpled suit.
"Oh fine, dear boy, fine. Here have a drink.", the older man thrust a glass of wine into Dangerfield's hand, "It's rather a fine Chablis, I managed to pick up a few bottles on my way out of France in Forty-two, bloody good year that."
Ma's escape from France in 1942 in a stolen Luftwaffe bomber was now legendary and everyone in the room knew the tale word for word, but Dangerfield let Ma continue with the story, though all the bottles of wine stolen from the occupied chateaux must have being consumed many years ago.
Dangerfield scanned the room as Ma continued recounting his escape. It wasn't difficult to spot the familiar and famous. James had entrapped Cathy Gale in a corner but it was obvious to everyone that his charms weren't working. Steed was desperately trying to involve Kuryakin in a conversation about the wine, but old habits die hard and Ilya kept glancing nervously at the curtains. Napoleon, Emma, Simon, Tara were embroiled in conversation with Jason King, probably about Warhol, as Jason knew this was the easiest way to wind up Napoleon. John Drake sat alone at the bar, his glass undoubtedly containing orange juice without a hint of vodka.
"... and then I had to remove my Union Jack underpants, and wave them out the pilot's side window so that I wouldn't be shot down by a hurricane from F squadron.".
Dangerfield chuckled politely at the traditional end to the tale.
"... out of Chablis, old boy, back in a tick.", said Ma as he wandered off toward the cellar door.
Dangerfield decided to join those enjoying the now rather animated discussion between Solo and King.
"... Hey man, it was peace and love we were defending when we did the stuff we used to do, the essential freedoms, man", as always King was totally laid back, taking occasional sips from a glass of champagne and fingering his slightly greying moustache.
"If it hadn't been for your deadbeat peace and love hippie pals, we'd have some order in this world and decent people would be able to enjoy the freedom to live in a society free from chaos!" Solo was getting hot under the collar, although the calm monotone voice remained.
"Same old arguments, eh? You'd think you'd have both got over this one a long time ago?" interjected Dangerfield in a bid to cool things down.
"Ah, Dangerfield, how's tricks?" said King, "Still got that old Morgan of yours? You really should trade it in for something a bit more up to date."
"We've all got our nostalgic side, Jason," replied Dangerfield, "otherwise we wouldn't be at this reunion."
"Ah yes, Her Majesty's awfully super school for spies, class of sixty nine. What a glorious bunch we all turned out to be. Napoleon, as one of our foreign exchange students, how did it compare with the Uncle Sam academy of agents?"
"I think the one thing we all learnt, in our campaign years, is that it doesn't matter what country you're from or even what side you're on, an agent is an agent.", responded Solo, having regained his composure.
"I suppose this is why it's so easy to play the double game, we just end up saying the same things to different bosses.", added Simon Templar with an air of nostalgic melancholy. "That was the one thing, that I never had to teach any of you, masters of duplicity to a man... or woman, Emma."
"Oh dear, are all the old boys hankering after their lost youth again. Nevermore the danger, the excitement, the fast cars, all those wonderful gadgets, don't worry I'll get you all a Meccano set for Christmas you can let your imagination run wild" interjected Emma, contemptuously flinging her arm into the air for added effect.
Dangerfield chortled at the thought of Solo, frustratingly trying to piece together a complex Meccano model. Now that the idea had entered Emma's head there was always the possibility that it would happen. Everyone would get a surprise Christmas gift containing various struts and screws, together with encoded instructions and a series of riddles leading to a secret location where the use of the completed structure would become apparent. Emma liked teasing her old classmates with such games, just as much as everyone liked playing them.
"Oh come on Emma, with your work at CERN, you've got the biggest toy in the world to play with.", said Tara.
"Now, now Tara darling, you know as well as everyone that my scientific career was always my foremost and most serious concern, what we did was just a little bit of fun, a bit over the top for a hobby, but a hobby never the less."
"Some of us would put the security of the nation and saving the world as something more important than a bit of fun.", the final words had an acid bite to them; everyone knew that Tara had lost more than most in the cause of duty.
The return of bitter memories drew a reflective lull in the conversation.
"Lucky old me, I found another bottle of the old vino, anyone care for a drop?", Ma held the bottle at a steep angle poised for any proffered glasses, "Jolly good stuff you know, nearly as good as my war souvenir stock." Ma took a swallow of the deep red liquid and suddenly fell backwards with a deep thud.
Tara was the quickest to react and immediately bent to the prone figure.
"Mother, Mother!", said Tara as she lifted up the head of Ma and felt his neck for a pulse.
Everyone in the library had gathered, hearing the urgency in her shouts, but all was silent as Tara uttered in a calm voice, "Mother's dead."
King picked the near-empty wine glass from the floor and sniffed the dregs lightly.
"Ah yes, poison, Curare if I'm not mistaken, with possibly a tinge of arsenic for good measure." even Jason's usual confident tones sounded shaken.
"But who, and why? 'M' hasn't had any real enemies for years.", James was half staring into his near empty glass of Martini and half at the corpse of the elderly man.
"Now Mr Bond," John Drake spoke in his monotone voice, which even under the circumstances betrayed no emotion, "we all know that ours is a grudge-ridden business, full of those that are sometimes known to stray from the road of rationality."
"Hadn't we better call the police?" Tara managed to speak between her sobs as she was comforted by Emma Peel on a nearby chaise-longue.
"Ha, I think international espionage involvement over the past forty years is a bit beyond our local bumbling Berkshire bobbies." the edge of frustration in Kuryakin's voice was readily apparent.
"I'll get some of the ministry's men sent out." Dangerfield's cautionary tone indicated that even he didn't expect too much effort expended on the murder of an old man by the modern day ministry.
"Well I'm not going to let it happen." Templar's voice contained a hint of the emotions felt by them all, "I'm willing to pursue the people that did this to the ends of the earth, it's the least I can do after what he did for me."
"You're right, Simon, but you're not doing it alone. Mother made all of us what we were, what we are, and together we can make whoever did this pay the price.", Steed's words garnered nods and murmurs of approval from all those now gathered around the corpse on the hearthrug.
"Right, everyone into the old briefing room. This will take some planning if it's going to work.", Steed's commanding voice captured everyones' attention as he strode towards the rear oak panelled wall. The depression of two gilt studs on the frame of a portrait of Nelson produced a quiet whirring sound followed by the sliding of two of the oak panels to reveal a doorway into a corridor, its brightly lit metallic walls gleaming against the relative dimness of the library.
Steed walked into the corridor and the others followed, all seemed to hesitate at the doorway, a remembrance of days long gone, a return to a life of extraordinary elements. The boundary was clearly defined between the warm tones of the hardwood walls of the library and the smooth harsh metallic walls of the training complex. John Drake was the last through the doorway and turned to stare back into the library for a few seconds before the steel door closed shut with a monotone hum and a solid click.
The briefing room was quite different to the one used during the operational years of Steed, Napoleon, King and company. The white board and PC linked OHP facilities were a far cry from the squeaky blackboard and slide projector that were used to teach Emma Peel and John Drake. The feel of the room was the same though, the functional semi-circular arrangement of the chairs and desks, the slightly claustrophobic feel of a room with no windows was still there.
"Right," said Steed, "let's get started shall we. Firstly let's have a list of the available clues and any other sources of information."
"Well there's the wine.", King nearly raised his hand in the air before speaking, but stopped before nostalgic influences got the better of him.
"The wine could have been poisoned while it was still in the cellar, we'd have to check for any unusual comings or goings over the past few months." Tara's voice quietly broke through her own sobbing, as Steed began writing with a large blue marker on the pristine whiteboard.
"I couldn't help but notice a heavy increase in the use of security cameras," commented Ilya, "anyone who got in would sure to be captured on video tape at some point."
"Yes, we'll have to ask Angelo, about the current security arrangements."
"The old boy was also rather thorough in keeping files, there's probably some information in there, which could indicate a direction to proceed.", Napoleon Solo's comments were added to the list before the room fell silent for a few moments.
"There is one piece of evidence that has yet to be mentioned", John Drake's voice broke the silence with a calm tone, "and it's still lying in the library."
John Steed wrote "body" as the final item on the list. There was another pause before the assured voice of Steed took command, "Right, I suggest that we split into the following groups. Dangerfield and Templar concentrate on the wine bottle. I'll go through the files with Cathy, Emma and Tara while King, Bond and Drake tackle Angelo and the last few weeks' camera surveillance records. That leaves Napoleon and Ilya to handle the final item. Any questions ?"
The group was starting to break up as the voice of John Drake came from the back of the room, "I see you've taken charge yet again, Steed, how is it you always end up as number one?"
The atmosphere in the room tensed, as people remembered the strained relationship that had always existed between the flamboyant Steed and the straight laced Drake.
Steed smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry if I seem to have taken the lead in a rather presumptive fashion, if anyone has any better plans on how to proceed, I'm quite open to suggestions, Johnny?"
Drake was silent. Everyone in the room knew that the division of forces was perfect for the task at hand, from Dangerfield's links to the chemical industry to Napoleon and Ilya being chosen to handle the corpse, knowing M the least well.
Steed's voice continued after the silence, "Well, let's get started then."
As people were leaving they fell into the groups outlined in the plan, discussing strategies.
Copyright © 2000-2002 Chris Cowan