The Howliween

I.

‘’This is living,’’ Mrs. Peel, ‘’said John Steed, lounging back in the first class seat of the Boeing 747. ‘’This is style.’’

‘’This is elegance, mile by mile,’’ agreed Emma Peel, lounging beside him.

‘’Have some more champagne, Mrs. Peel.’’

‘’I don’t mind if I do.’’

It was not thanks to the munificence of the Ministry that Agent Steed and Special Agent Peel were flying first class to the United States of America, (they’d have been in the baggage compartment if the Ministry had had to pay for it) nor was it the munificence of Emma Peel, (though she certainly would have seen her way clear to spending the money had it proved necessary). Rather, the United States government had invited two top agents to their shores to address a Security Conference on the necessity of cooperation between the forces of England and the United States, and had provided the first class tickets as the opening gambit to an all-expenses-paid trip. Steed and Mrs. Peel, who had had an exceptionally trying, but triumphant, month of action against the forces of the Other Side, had been selected as the Ministry’s representatives.

A stewardess came by with a tray of canapes, which she placed on the table before them. They were seated not in their chairs, which were spacious enough, but in the first class lounge at the very top of the plane. They were flying in the brand new Boeing 747, just unveiled that year. There were no other passengers in the area - indeed the first class compartment was sparsely filled. Mrs. Peel helped herself to a canape.

‘’Do you have your speech written?’’ she asked Steed, after having finished that canape and a second one.

‘’Speech?’’ asked Steed, absently, addressing himself to the lighting of a cigar.

‘’Speech,’’ Mrs. Peel repeated.

‘’I never write speeches, Mrs. Peel,’’ Steed said, amused. ‘’I don’t have to. I shall be witty and extemporaneous and riveting.’’

Mrs. Peel nodded, a slight smile on her lips. She reached into the inside pocket of the leather blazer she was wearing against the chill of the plane and pulled out a sheaf of paper. ‘’Here.’’

‘’What’s this?’’

‘’Your speech.’’

‘’Thank you, Mrs. Peel. I knew I could count on you.’’

Steed placed the papers in his own inner pocket.

‘’You are going to study it a bit before the conference, Steed.’’ Mrs. Peel said. It was more an order than a question.

‘’Of course, Mrs. Peel. Time enough for that when we reach solid ground.’’ He looked at his watch. ‘’I think the movie is just about to start. Fancy - watching a motion picture while we’re flying 45,000 miles up in the sky. We can’t miss it.’’

Mrs. Peel finished the rest of the canapes, took her champagne glass and followed Steed down the circular staircase to their seats in the first class section. She smiled fondly at the back of his head. His enthusiasm - for the most sophisticated plane yet constructed, for the opulence of the first class section, for such luxuries as watching movies on a plane, was genuine and youthful and very endearing. And as she sat with the headphones pinching her ears, he held her hand in his, while he watched Hot Millions with utter concentration. Emma Peel found herself longing for popcorn!

The plane began its descent toward La Guardia Airport. Steed and Mrs. Peel had just woken up, had breakfast, and rubbed their faces with the warm towels provided by the stewardesses. Emma had appropriated the window seat the last time Steed had visited the restroom, and pressed her nose close to the glass to look at the skyline of New York far below. Steed’s chest pressed against her shoulder as he craned his neck beside her.

They didnt sit back in their seats until the plane’s wheels had touched ground, and yet they still had a half hour while the plane taxied around the airport toward the appropriate arrival gate. ‘’October in New York City,’’ Mrs. Peel mused. ‘’I’m surprised at these Americans. I would have thought the CIA would be holding this convention in Florida, or even Hawaii.’’

‘’Just goes to show that this is actually going to be a working convention, Mrs. Peel,’’ Steed said reprovingly.

‘’Good thing you wrote that speech, then,’’ Mrs. Peel agreed.

‘’Touche, my dear.’’

‘’Had you never wanted to travel to the United States before, Steed?’’

‘’Oh, yes, I’ve often wanted to come here. Just never had the time. Life’s been a bit busy these last few years.’’

‘’Mmm.” Mrs. Peel agreed. ‘’Well, after the convention we should stick around for a while. Take in some of the sights.’’

‘’I’d love to see some plays on Broadway,’’ Steed said.

‘’Me, too. There’s also a couple of avant garde art museums I’ve heard about and would love to see.’’

‘’Oh, yes, that will be fun.’’

Emma elbowed him in the ribs.

‘’What about the Smithsonian Institution, in Washington, DC?’’ Steed suggested. ‘’I’d love to see the exhibits they have there.’’

‘’Now that’s a wonderful idea, Steed. Washington isn’t very far away, I believe.’’

Steed nodded, thoughtfully. ‘’Not too far,’’ he murmured. ‘’Depending on how you go.’’

II.

The first class section disembarked first. Steed placed bowler on head, retrieved his umbrella from the tiny storage closet, straightened his jacket, lowered Mrs. Peel’s travel bag down from the storage compartment, and allowed her to precede him down the stairway to the concrete below. As she appeared in the gangway of the plane she placed dark glasses over her eyes to protect them from the sun, and brushed a strand of hair back to its proper place behind her ear.

A man driving a small truck pulling a long line of empty carts (each one with an orange-clad man standing in it) pulled up in front of the plane. The orange-clad men jumped off and swarmed into the luggage compartments. Soon suitcases began raining down onto the tarmac.

The man in the dark glasses waited as Steed and Mrs. Peel walked up to him.

‘’How do you do,’’ said Steed, extending his hand. ‘’My name is John Steed, this is Mrs. Emma Peel.’’

The American had ran his eyes up and down Steed - from the top of his bowler to his patent leather shoes - but he shook hands without hesitation. Then he looked Mrs. Peel up and down through his black sunglasses. ‘’I thought there were supposed to be two agents from England,’’ he said.

‘’There are,’’ said Emma Peel. ‘’I’m a special agent.’’

‘’Yeah, right.’’ He turned and opened the door of the car for them. ‘’In you get.’’

‘’What about our luggage?’’ Steed asked.

‘’There’s a man inside. He knows what to look for. Names Steed and Peel.’’ He took another glance at Mrs. Peel. ‘’We don’t want you to have to wait for that. We’re going all the way out into Westchester.’’

He closed the door after Steed clambered in, got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and soon they were speeding down the tarmac as if he thought he could get the car to get off the ground.

Steed took a glance at Mrs. Peel. She looked amused. Ah oh. That amusement did not mean that she had appreciated their chauffeur’s remark, nor his attitude afterward. She returned his glance and Steed grimaced at her sympathetically. It wouldn’t take Mrs. Peel long at all to establish her credentials, and woe to the American who chose to make her prove herself. Mrs. Peel knew what he was thinking. She nodded at him.

The chauffeur did not speak with them on the long trip into Westchester, through the snarls of traffic, nor did they to him. Steed experimented with all of the knobs and switches in the rear compartment and soon they were drinking champagne, eating chocolates, and listening to Rachmaninoff.

The sky had been a cool grey when they’d debarked from the plane, now in Westchester, snow began to fall. Just single flakes - but large ones, falling down slowly and glistening in the car headlights. ‘’It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas,’’ Mrs. Peel hummed. Steed smiled at her. For various and sundry reasons Christmas was always a special time for them.

‘’Wow,’’ said Steed, as the limousine took the exit off the highway and drove into a long sweeping drive, up to a manson which would have done any of the stately homes of England proud. It was practically as big as Windsor Castle, but without the battlements.

‘’Wow?’’ Mrs. Peel repeated, looking at him.

‘’I’ve been practicing my Americanisms, Mrs. Peel’’

‘’Just don’t get too American, Steed.’’

‘’Perish the thought, Mrs. Peel.’’

Their driver held the limousine door open for them, then walked in front of them up to the door of the mansion and knocked on the door in a peculiar rhythm. ‘’They already know we’re here,’’ he explained. ‘’Cameras at the gate. But we like the knock, too.’’ The door was opened by a butler. Steed and Mrs. Peel exchanged amused glances, quickly, as he stepped back, and Steed allowed Mrs. Peel to enter the hallway in front of him. Their driver sketched a salute at the butler and turned away.

‘’My name is Munsey,’’ said the butler. He was youngish, in his thirties, with golden hair close cropped, the fringe brushed forward in the fashion made stylish by the Romans. His eyes were a bright blue, his lips thin and mobile, his face square. He filled the tuxedo quite nicely, Emm noted appreciatively. He must ‘’work out’’ as the Americans said. ‘’You are Steed and....Peel?’’ He looked at Mrs. Peel, and smiled showing exceedingly white teeth.

‘’I’m Mrs. Emma Peel,’’ Emma said, extending her hand. He took it with alacrity.

‘’Delighted to meet you,’’ said Munsey.

‘’And I’m John Steed,’’ said Steed, extending his hand. Munsey took his eyes away from Emma Peel and, reluctantly, disengaged her hand. He took Steed’s.

‘’Well,’’ said Munsey, releasing Steed’s hand and smiling at Emma, ‘’nice to meet you both. Agents Alex Ramsay and David DeLancie are in charge of the conference. They’re in the main conference room right now. They wanted to meet you when you arrived. Just for a few minutes - then they’ll let you get settled in.’’

‘’Certainly,’’ said Steed.

‘’This way.’’ As they walked along, Munsey commented, ‘’We use this place just for meetings like this. Suites for all the big names, visitors like you guys. All the regular agents have to stay in hotels.’’

‘’We’re honored,’’ Steed said.

Munsey grinned at him. ‘’Nothing but the best for visitors to our shores. Here’s Conference Room Alpha.’’

He knocked on the door, with the same rhythm as their driver had displayed. Then he opened the door and preceded Steed and Emma into the room. David DeLancie was a tall man, a couple of inches taller thn Steed, with black hair growing in a widow’s peak down his forehead and full lips. Alex Ramsay was Steed’s height, balding, portly, but with clear, steady brown eyes and a sense of power exuding from him. They shook hands. Ramsay spoke in a slow southern drawl as he gestured for Steed and Emma to take seats while Munsey took up his position by the door. ‘’Delighted to meet you both,’’ Ramsay said. ‘’Your Ministry sent us along your files.’’ He flourished a couple of manila envelopes. ‘’One significant omission, though.’’ He smiled at Mrs. Peel. ‘’Referred to you as E. Peel. Not Mrs. Peel. We weren’t expecting a woman. But your list of skills is certainly impressive. Quite impressive.’’ ‘’Thank you.’’ Emma said, calmly. ‘’Some of our best cryptographers are women,’’ Ramsay continued, thoughtfully. ‘’Our data analysts. Our backroom people. But...a field agent. That’s....different. The rest of the guys are going to get a treat when they meet you.’’ ‘’’I can hardly wait.’’ Adam Ramsay smiled at her absently, then turned to Steed. ‘’I see you were in the war, Mr. Steed. Did some work in France - now, I was there too.’’ And soon Steed and Ramsay were in deep conversation about the Maquis. Emma smiled faintly. She too knew all about the Maquis - all about World War II, in fact. But she hadn’t experienced it, in the trenches, like these men had. She wouldn’t try to interject her comments. Let them reminisce. But she’d been in many a dark and dangerous trench in the secret war that followed, and in any conversation on that she could - and would - hold her own.

‘’Well,’’ said Ramsay, at last. ‘’It’s been a pleasure. We’re looking forward to your talks tonight. But I suppose we’ve kept you a little longer than we should - you must want to freshen up, unpack, things like that.’’

Steed and Emma rose.

Munsey opened the door for them, and preceded them into the hallway. ‘’Right.’’ he said. ‘’I’ll take you up to your rooms. As you can see I’m the butler for this little shindig. We’re going to do you Brits up proud. Talks tonight - you two are giving yours. Then tomorrow more talks. Social evening tomorrow night. You’ll meet the rest of our top guys. They’ll be bringing dates as well - it’s Hallowe’en. Costume party.’’ He glanced at Steed who was holding his bowler in one hand. ‘’You guys have Hallowe’en in England?’’

‘’No,’’ said Steed.

‘’But you were told about the party, weren’t you? Brought your costumes, I see.’’

‘’Our costumes are in our luggage,’’ Mrs. Peel said with a smile at Steed.

‘’Oh,’’ said Munsey, with another glance at Steed. ‘’Well...’’ He handed a small booklet to Steed, and one to Mrs. Peel. ‘’This tells you what’s going to be covered. What times your talks are tonight. So, up these stairs here. Flight was okay?’’ he asked Mrs. Peel.

‘’Wonderful, thank you.’’

‘’No jetlag, I hope.’’

‘’None at all. Steed and I are first class travellers.’’ said Mrs. Peel. ‘’We just want to wash the travel dust off.’’

‘’Right. Well, this is your room, Mrs. Peel, and that’s your room on this side, Mr...uh, Steed.’’

‘’Thank you.’’

Munsey appeared to want to say something else, perhaps something humorous about it being a lucky thing they hadn’t intended to have ‘Steed and Peel’ room together, Steed thought savagely. Or maybe he’d wanted to say that it had been a pity. Which it had been, Steed thought tangentially. But Munsey only coughed and then said, ‘’Stay up here as long as you like, get refreshed. Your luggage already arrived - you’ll find it inside. When you’re ready, come back down, and I’ll give you a tour of the place. We’ve got some pretty nice stuff in here.’’

He headed back down the stairs. Steed and Mrs. Peel looked at each other, then Mrs. Peel opened the door to her room and they went inside.

Go to Howlieween Part Two