Steed took off his bowler and brushed off imaginary dust with studied calm. ��Charming fellow, that Mr. Munsey,�� he said lightly.

Emma laughed. ��That driver wasn�t. I wonder who is more representative of the agents we�re going to meet here this weekend.��

��I don�t think I care for either kind,�� Steed said.

Emma caressed his arm. ��Don�t sulk, Steed. I�m the one who�s going to have to prove myself to these people. Mr. Ramsay made that quite clear.��

��Nonsense, Mrs. Peel. Meeting you is going to be a treat for them.��

Emma gave him a dirty look, to which he responded with a cheeky grin. ��Well, I�m going to go take a shower.�� he said. ��Shall I call for you in about half an hour?��

��Lovely.��

Emma Peel opened her suitcase, laid out a new outfit to change into, and placed the rest of her clothing in the appropriate places in the chest of drawers and closet. She paused and smiled as she picked up her costume for that night - a scarlet cloak and an over-the-knee-length dress. She was going as Little Red Riding Hood. Steed, of course, was going as The Wolf.

She took a long shower, enjoying the feeling of the hot needles against her smooth skin. The flight had been long, but First Class had certainly made it comfortable. Steed, of course, could fall asleep anywhere in any condition. She�d slept well in her first class seat, but it certainly felt good to get that airplane smell out of her body.

A few minutes later Steed knocked on her door.

��Come,�� she called.

Her room was just like his, a veritable suite, with a king-sized bed faced by a large television, a couch and two chairs. He entered, dressed in the tan slacks and a black turtleneck sweater, to see her seated on the bed, leafing through the booklet for the weekend�s activities. Emma always loved him in that turtleneck. It did show off his own musculature so well.

He sat down beside him. ��Anything interesting?��

��A few things. There�s some cryptography that�ll interest you. There�s going to be a talk on recruiting. They want to get more African-Americans into the program.��

��But no women, hm?�� said Steed.

��Precisely.�� Emma nodded. Something was going to be done about that this weekend.

Steed twitched the pamphlet out of her hands and took a glance at it, then put it down, rubbing his hands together, smiling cheerfully. ��And our talks are in here for tonight. We�re the only two speakers. �Interservice cooperation between the CIA and MI5.� That�s me. And your �Devising a cover for the undercover agent� will certainly knock them dead.��

��Let�s hope so,�� said Emma Peel.

��Well, shall we go on the Grand Tour?��

Emma nodded.

Munsey escorted them around with enthusiasm, ushering them into each room and explaining about the sophisticated equipment within. And, indeed, they could not be helped but be fascinated by the technology displayed. Both Steed and Emma showed such interest and asked such intelligent questions that Munsey was soon deferring to Steed quite as much as Emma. Though he did seem to be striving to curb the tendency to take her by the arm as they walked through the endless corridors.

That night, after a delicious meal which Steed and Emma shared in the main dining room with Ramsay, DeLancie, Munsey, and a couple of other administrative agents, they gave their talks. Steed�s went over quite well. He had read the paper Mrs. Peel prepared for him thoroughly, and interpolated some of his own WWII experiences into it, and his audience of some thirty big, burly men in black business suits listened avidly.

Then it was Emma Peel�s turn. Steed introduced her as his partner, with whom he�d worked for several years. There was quite a stir when she went to the podium. Many a glance was exchanged. Emma was no stranger to speaking in front of a room of men - having done so in the Knight Industries Board Room on more than one occasion. And she knew whereof she spoke, so soon most of her audience had �bought into� her presentation.

But there always had to be a troublemaker, and, really, Emma was quite relieved when he raised his hand. ��What if things go wrong?�� he demanded. ��Good as a cover is, sometimes things go wrong that can�t be foreseen, and then we have to get out of there quickly.��

��Then you do so,�� Mrs. Peel told him. ��You should always have not one, but two escape routes prepared, so that if something does go wrong, you can get out in a hurry.��

��That�s easy for you to say,�� the American said. ��That�s easy to say. But when you�re actually out in the field....�� he looked around at his fellow agents, ��We should be hearing from someone who actually has experience in this type of thing.��

��I do have experience,�� Mrs. Peel said calmly.

��Oh, sure. And I suppose it�s easy for a woman. All you�ve got to do is seduce the men who capture you, so they�ll do anything you want, but for us guys...��

Emma Peel�s eyes narrowed, even as John Steed lowered his head into his hand.

His point had been a valid one - training for secret service work was not a question of �those who can, do; those who can�t, teach.� and these men had a right to know that the people giving them their training actually knew what they were talking about. And Mrs. Peel had anticipated that she would have to show these men --- physically. They all paid respect to strength, not to wisdom, to paraphrase C. S. Lewis, she thought. But this American had gone just a wee bit too far and so the demonstration she was about to give was going to be a bit more brutal than she had originally intended.

��Will you come up here, please,�� she said, extending a hand and gesturing for him to come forward. He looked at her. ��Please,�� she repeated. ��You raise a valid point. You�ve just been captured by the villains and you�re not a woman. How are you going to escape? Come up here, please, and help me to demonstrate.��

He set his jaw, rose, settled his tie, and came forward. There was a murmuring in the room.

��What�s your name?�� Emma asked him.

��Gary Fessler.��

��Okay, Gary.�� Mrs. Peel pushed the podium to one side, and then she faced him, legs spread slightly so that she was balanced on the balls of her feet, arms at her sides. ��You�ve just caught me. Take me to your leader.��

��What?��

��Come on, Gary. You don�t believe I belong on this stage. Throw me off of it. If you can.��

He darted a look out to his audience - clearly uncomfortable to be seen bullying a woman, then he reached forward and took hold of her arm. Instantly Emma�s other hand flashed across, grabbed his and her fingers settled into the pressure points. Fessler winced and dropped to his knees as she twisted his wrist and then his arm into a very painful position. ��This is called Chin-Na,�� Emma said loudly, to the multitude. ��The art of pressure points. A woman such as myself can hold a man helpless merely by applying force to a nerve endings.��

She released her grip and stepped back. Holding his hand, Fessler got to his feet. There was an ugly look on his face. He was angry now.

Emma crooked her fingers in a �come on� gesture again. He did so. This time he actually swung a punch. Quickly, very quickly, very powerfully, at her head. If it had connected she would probably have been knocked unconscious. But Emma ducked underneath it, slid behind his torso which was still twisting due to the power of the punch, stuck one leg in between both of his and shoved. He went flying forward. ��That�s judo,�� Emma called out. ��Using your opponent�s own speed and weight against him.��

Fessler regained his feet. This time he roared and came towards her in a rush, both arms spread out to grab and crush her. Emma timed it perfectly, putting her arms on his biceps, a foot in his belly, and falling backward, carrying him with her. He cartwheeled over her and landed on his back with a crash. He stayed down this time. ��That was tomoenage,�� announced Mrs. Peel, settling a lock of hair back into place as she rose. ��The Circle Throw. Also judo.�� The entire room erupted into enthusiastic applause.

Emma smiled, then turned and helped the stunned Fessler to his feet. ��Let�s give a big hand to Gary, for helping me give this demonstration. When the agent - man or woman - is properly trained, this kind of thing is possible. But everyone, you must always remember that violence of this sort is the last resort. Cunning over strength, every time.��

Well, that had sealed Mrs. Peel�s popularity, Steed thought, relaxing in a corner while he watched the scrum of agents around Mrs. Peel, eager to talk about how to devise a cover and how to design escape routes. She�d won them over, all right. A little wham, bam, thank you ma�am and she had them all eating out of her hand. Except, perhaps, for Agent Fessler. He hadn�t stayed around very long after Mrs. Peel had finished her talk.

��That was so impressive.�� Agent Munsey was at his side, but his eyes were on the scrum which concealed Mrs. Peel.

��Mrs. Peel is a remarkable woman,�� Steed said.

Munsey nodded. ��Mrs...she�s married, eh?��

��Widowed.��

Munsey nodded again, his blue eyes gleaming. ��And you two are...��

��Partners,�� Steed said, with emphasis.

Munsey looked at him appraisingly. ��Right, right. Well, you guys were great tonight. �Jolly good show,� as you Brits say.��

��Thank you.��

Mrs. Peel appeared through the scrum, apparently having made her excuses, and while the agents remained to be talked to by Munsey - who had acted as moderator for the occasion, she and Steed made their way up to their rooms.

��You were marvelous, Mrs. Peel,�� Steed commented.

��Thank you, Steed.��

They stopped in front of her room. ��Care for a little champagne?�� Emma queried. ��Need you ask?�� said Steed. Emma grinned.

Emma handed him a glass and then reclined next to him on the bed while they sipped. They stared at the huge black box of the television set in front of them. ��Shall I turn it on?�� Emma asked. ��Take a look at American television?��

��I had it on briefly this afternoon,�� Steed commented. ��They certainly have a lot of channels. More so than us. But those commericals....every fifteen minutes they�re stopping the story to sell you something.��

Emma tsk, tsked.

��And the radio,�� Steed said, pained. ��No soap operas, no dramas, no dramatic readings. Just a lot of music of the strangest kind. And traffic reports.��

��We�re reduced to books then,�� Emma said. ��Any books of interest in your room?��

��I wouldn�t say that�s all we�re reduced to,�� Steed said impishly.

��Books?�� Emma repeated, giving him her patented look.

��No books.�� Steed answered, sadly.

��Hmm, none in mine, either. And I don�t recall Munsey showing us a library here - yet there must be one. I�ll ask him about it tomorrow.��

She finished her champagne, and taking Steed�s empty glass as well rinsed them out in the kitchenette sink. When she turned around Steed was right behind her, preventing her from moving.

��Seems to me I�ve captured you, Mrs. Peel. Would you like to seduce me to allow you to escape?��

Emma grinned. She kissed him on the cheek. ��Good night, Steed.��

Steed sighed. He knew what that meant. They were �on business� and Mrs. Peel didn�t like to mix business with pleasure. An unfortunate principle of hers. That was the best time for it.

��Good night, Mrs. Peel.��

IV.

As Emma Peel had expected, Munsey�s costume was that of a Roman Centurion. His sleeveless tunic, with its short skirt, displayed arms and legs possessing a deep tan, and the smooth musculature of a David. He threaded his way through the brightly-and-exotically dressed throng and greeted her and Steed as they entered the ballroom.

Steed�s tuxedo fit him like a glove. Above the tuxedo he wore a papier-mache mask of a wolf. His eyes lit up as they surveyed the room. As had been promised, there were plenty of women in tonight. Wives, or girlfriends? And how many of them could he charm from under the noses of their dates in the few hours he had available? ��I�ll see you later, Mrs. Peel,�� he murmured, and slid into the throng with a loping gait.

��Ahooooo,�� Emma murmured after him.

��I beg your pardon?�� said Munsey.

��Nothing.�� Emma took Munsey�s arm, smiling at him dazzyingly. ��Shall we dance?��

As the room swirled around in a kaleidoscope of color, there were two unmoving dark spots. A man in one corner, almost invisible in the shadows, wearing the costume of an executioner. A man in another corner, even more invisible in the shadows, clad in a tuxedo, wearing a papier-mache mask of a wolf, not quite the quality of the one worn by John Steed, waited, eyes on the scarlet cloak of Emma Peel. He was stalking his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. How many glasses of champagne had she drunk so far? he wondered. Had he missed any? Stupid woman, to allow hereself to get inebriated at a function like this. Not that they all didn�t do it. Everyone �let their hair down� at parties...and the Brits were nototorious for the amount of liquor they could go through.

Not that it seemed to be affecting her at all, he thought. Two hours and she was on her sixth glass of champagne...was she drinking them all or setting them down half full....with someone at her side immediately to press another one onto her...she�d certainly made a lot of friends in her brief time in the States, the wolf-man thought as he watched the movement of men around her. Except that poor schmuck Fessler, of course.

He couldn�t wait much longer.... Should he make his move? It didn�t look like her friend Steed was paying her any attention at all. He�d got quite a crowd around him as well. Telling old war stories to the ladies, no doubt. Everybody was probably half-soused, and in this light the woman wouldn�t notice that his mask wasn�t quite the same as her friend�s. Ger her out into the hallway, give her the snow job, and he�d have her out in his car and speeding towards the airport in no time at all.

The wolf-man raised his hands and adjusted the fit of his gloves, and then he moved out into the room, threading his way towards his prey. She was standing right next to the doors leading out into the hallway, the perfect situation.

He came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. ��Emma,�� he whispered, knowing that his whisper would disguise the sound of his voice to some degree and mask any accent that he failed to possess. ��I need to talk to you outside.��

She turned and looked at him strangely, but he merely increased the pressure on her arm and pulled her towards the door.

Once out in the hallway, he said, still whispering, ��We need to leave, now. I just got a call. Come on.��

Before anything more could be said, the door opened again, and the man in the executioner outfit slipped into the hallway. ��Hold it, you two.��

� The wolf-man swore under his breath. He recognized the voice. It was Fessler. What did the fool think he was doing?

Fessler was holding an executioner�s axe. Its blade gleamed, sharply. Emma Peel turned to look at the wolf-man. ��Steed, I think that he thinks....�� she did not finish her sentence, but continued turning, simultaneously driving a stiffened, spade like hand into the wolf-man�s belly, and as he bent forward gasping for breath she brought her knife-hand down on the back of his neck, sending him flat out on the polished floor.

��What the hell...?�� demanded Gary Fessler.

��That was karate, Mr. Fessler.�� Emma reached down and pulled off the papier-mache mask, revealing the face of a man unknown to her. ��Do you know who this is?��

The man behind the executioner�s mask stared. ��No. But it�s not your Steed, that�s for sure.��

��Another lesson for you, Mr. Fessler. Never try to fool an agent�s partner by dressing up in borrowed fur. Especially if you can�t manage the accent and don�t know how the two people address each other.��

��I�ll remember that,�� Fessler said, ��but...but what..?��

��I think he was trying to kidnap me. Now, there�s no point in ruining the party. I�m going back in. Do you want to take care of this for me?��

Fessler stared at her for long seconds, then he nodded. ��Right, ma�am. Leave him to me.�� He leaned his axe against the doorjamb, took off mask and costume in one swoop to reveal the sober black business suit underneath. He reached underneath the back of his jacket to pull out a set of handcuffs, and applied them securely to the ex-wolf-man�s wrists. Then he hauled the still-unconscious man to his feet and hefted him effortlessly over one shoulder. ��We�ll be in the Interrogation Room,�� Fessler said. ��Once he wakes up, I�ll make him sing like a canary.��

��Thank you, Fessler.��

Emma re-entered the ballroom, and as she did so a man in a wolf-mask and tuxedo appeared by her side. ��Mrs. Peel,�� came Steed�s unmistakeable voice. ��I was beginning to wonder where you�d got to.��

��Just dispensing another lesson in undercover work,�� Emma replied, taking his arm. ��It worked out quite remarkably well. And on that note, shall we dance?��

��With pleasure, Mrs. Peel.��

V.

By the time Steed and Emma were ready to travel toward Washington, DC, all had been explained. Fessler had indeed managed to get the truth out of the wolf-man, whom, it turned out, had been the agent who collected their luggage from the airport. He�d been instructed by his real masters, behind the Iron Curtain, to kidnap one of the two British agents, in order to disrupt the conference, and had elected to take Mrs. Peel as the easiest target. He regretted that now, of course.

��Quite a weekend,�� Emma Peel said, adjusting her leather flying cap over her coiffure and pulling large goggles down over her eyes.

��Mmm,�� murmured Steed, in the seat in front of her, his eyes intent on the millions of little dials in front of him as he gripped the pilot�s wheel. ��Shall we take the scenic route, Mrs. Peel?�� he queried, pulling back on the throttle. ��I think a straight line is always the best in these types of situations, Steed.��

��Right you are, Mrs. Peel.��

The biplane soared into the air, banked steeply, and headed out over the ocean towards their next destination.