"The Missing Aviator"

An Avengers Fanfiction

The seventh of a series of adventures designed to bridge between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel). After checking the dialog in episode 5.26, "The Forget-Me-Knot", I thought that perhaps this story, and the ones that follow, could exist within canon. Nothing is as it seems...

Disclaimer: Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

September 1964

Steed bags the big one. Emma saves a Fox.

An incessant beeping filled the cockpit of the fighter jet. The pilot had watched dispassionately as the row of red lights spread across the instrument panel like a creeping plague. Now there was no fuel left. The flight plan had called for him to make a series of aerial refueling hookups to reach an airbase on the Falkland Islands; but evasive action against the Russian interceptors from Havana had caused him to miss his checkpoint long ago.

He had been skimming over the treetops of the forest canopy for thirty minutes now, below any possibility of radar contact. Most pilots wouldn't have possessed the skill to keep a plane down on the deck for so long in unfamiliar territory, but this was no ordinary pilot. His hand barely moved on the control stick as he guided the aircraft effortlessly across the changing terrain.

The pilot would have to decide to either land the plane or eject within the next sixty seconds. After that, the decision would be made for him; the jet would auger into the ground like the twenty-ton projectile that it was.

As the last few seconds ticked by, the fearless aviator pulled out a gold pocket watch from a compartment on his flight suit. He flipped it open, and read the inscription.

From Emma, with love.

-oOo-

"One of our agents is missing. A pilot."

Charles motioned Steed into his office, indicating the chair opposite him.

"I used to be in the RAF," Steed offered. "Perhaps I knew him."

"Hot-shot test pilot name Peter Peel. He was a Squadron Leader. Probably traveled in different circles than you."

Steed didn't recognize the name. "Where was he last seen?"

"He had stolen a prototype Russian jet fighter, NATO codename 'Foxbat', from an air base in Cuba. His mission was to refuel inflight to deliver it to our experts at a secret base in the Falklands. The Reds gave chase, and we believe an air-to-air missile may have been fired. Our last contact with him was over the Amazon. No word yet as to the disposition of the plane, or whether Peel ejected successfully. The density of the rain forest is hampering our search-and-rescue efforts. That, plus the fact that Peel was flying below radar altitude, and he could be anywhere in a four hundred square mile area—that is, assuming he managed to land the plane or survive a low-altitude ejection."

"Sounds like a standard job for the Royal Marines," Steed commented. "Why does the Ministry need to send anyone down there?"

"There's a spanner in the works," Charles explained. "It turns out he's married, and his wife has traveled to South America to look for him. She's quite a spitfire."

"What explanation did Peel give his wife before he left?"

"He told her he's jaunting across the globe in a single-engine plane for a couple of days, an adventurous lark. She probably expects to find The Spirit Of St. Louis parked in a glade somewhere, not a one-mile swath cut by a supersonic interceptor."

"Have you sent an agent to keep on top of her?" Steed asked.

"Agents. Several. Thing is, his wife keeps making problems for the people we've sent. So much so, we're seriously thinking of getting her to work for the Ministry in some capacity. But of course, if she finds out her husband worked here, it might bollix the whole deal, particularly if it turns out he's dead. It's vitally important that she never find out that her husband was working for us."

"Hasn't she started to suspect, with all of the agents following her?"

Charles shook his head. "Her Majesty's government has offered a generous reward for finding Squadron Leader Peel. The wife thinks they're just bounty hunters."

"Is she really that good?"

"We can't seem to keep a tail on her," Charles said. "She even left one of our agents in Rio tied up in his underwear atop Sugarloaf Mountain."

Steed grinned. "She sounds fairly spry for the wife of an RAF Squadron Leader."

"He married younger. She's in her mid-twenties."

"Is she attractive?"

"She is immaculate."

"Why send me?" Steed asked. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Women seem to fall prey to your manner, heaven knows what they see in you." Charles shook his head. "We thought that a bit of charm and trickery might work where field expertise had failed. We need you to put the clamps on this Peel woman, bring her back to London, and for heaven's sake, make sure she doesn't find out anything about her husband."

"I'll need someone who speaks Portuguese."

"We can send a translator to assist you."

"Miss Fox speaks fluent Portuguese," Steed suggested.

"Miss Fox is a librarian. Why do you insist on dragging her around with you?"

"She has saved my life on occasion."

"Your lack of competence which puts you in need of saving is hardly a recommendation," Charles answered tersely. "But you can take her—if she agrees."

Steed wondered at the odd wording of that last sentence. He grabbed his bowler and umbrella and headed towards the door. Before leaving, he tossed a final question at the Head of Operations.

"Do you think Squadron Leader Peel is still alive?"

"Just between you and me?" Charles arched an eyebrow. "There isn't a chance."

-oOo-

Rita Fox was seated on the couch in Steed's apartment, her right leg dangling over the side. She had stopped by on her way home from the Ministry Library, so she was still dressed in a plaid flannel skirt and white blouse. A delicate green ribbon was tied around her neck, and her red-auburn hair was perfectly held in place by two enamel cloisonné hair clips. Steed was standing by the sideboard, mixing himself a drink.

"I know that you've wanted to restrict your activities to the library," he said candidly. "And I realize books aren't the first thing that come to mind when you hear the word 'Amazon'. But there is a lost agent, and possibly a frantic wife. Your help as a translator and researcher would be valuable."

"Is it okay with the Head of Operations?" she asked.

"He gave his blessing, as long as you agree."

"Since this is a search-and-rescue mission, I can hardly object," Rita smiled. "It doesn't sound like I'll be in harm's way. Anything special I'll need?"

"It's the Southern Hemisphere. Water drains anti-clockwise, that sort of thing. Best to be prepared. BOAC flight to Rio, leaving Heathrow tomorrow morning. You could sleep over here, if you'd rather," Steed offered with a grin. Rita stood up and walked over to where he was standing.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she said, giving him a tender kiss. "I have lots of things to pack."

Rita walked back to her Mini in silence. She actually had nothing to pack. Everything she owned had been packed already, in preparation for her move to Swansea.

She knew it had been arranged by Charles, the Head of Operations, to drive a wedge between her and Steed. Both Charles and One-Ten had made it clear that they wanted Steed working with someone else. They had watched during the past three months as Steed had grown closer and closer to her. When he dropped everything to rush to Madrid to "rescue" her from Simon Templar, that had confirmed their suspicions. Even though she hadn't become intimate with Steed until six weeks ago, the Ministry probably assumed that their relationship had been physical from the very beginning.

And now they dangled this fellowship in front of her, at the tender age of twenty-eight. She would be set for life. The Research Chair at the University of Wales in Swansea.

And there was something else waiting for her in Swansea: Dr. Herbert Fredrickson. The shy and awkward research chemist had a crush on her ever since he had seen her in the scandalous bikini at Brighton. Last week, when she had taken the train to Wales for an interview with the University Provost, Freddie had been there to meet her at the station with flowers. Freddie was attractive, intelligent, interesting—and safe. And thanks to Steed, she had so much she could teach him about the ways of love.

At least her final outing with Steed would be a milk run. Other than insect bites, there should be no threats. Cathy had made an important point to her in Essex. It had become clear that the only way to have a relationship with Steed was to work with him on a regular basis. His life revolved so much around his work, around the excitement and danger of each operation. It was a life that Rita knew she could never embrace. And it wouldn't be fair to ask Steed to give it up.

When Steed had opened himself up to her, he had revealed so much passion—and vulnerability. She wondered if their relationship would have ever happened at all without the drugs and hypnotic suggestions that Gallion had employed to get her to seduce Steed. Regardless of what had brought them together, her life was so much better for knowing John Steed.

So how in the world could she tell him that she had decided to leave him?

One thing was certain, Rita thought fondly. She would always remember the Summer of '64.

-oOo-