NOTE: This is a fourth in my series of Avengers stories that I've written. If you are a new Avengers fan and haven't read any of my other stories, I suggest you read them first, for this story will be a spoiler. So read The Avengers: Mother Knows Best, followed by Inferno Island and Waiting for a Killer. Then In Enemy Hands will make more sense. Thank you, and enjoy!
ANOTHER NOTE: I do not own ANY of these characters except Baxley and Evian. This is a crossover with a crossover. I feature characters from James Bond and Get Smart, a 60's sitcom. If you haven't ever seen Get Smart, don't worry; I explain who the characters are as the story goes on.
YET ANOTHER NOTE: Conrad von Siegfried and Starker are two men who appeared in Get Smart. They are Germans who speak with exaggerated accents. I know that most Germans do not speak such poor English. I can say this with utmost certainty, since Verena Gruen is a German and she has excellent English skills. I don't know how she talks, but I'm sure she's much better than the characters in my story. And now with all that off my back, I present to you . . .
The AVENGERS
A sandy brown haired man with a foreboding scar on his face and a deprecating gaze in his eyes motioned for his brainless minions to be seated. The man was standing authoritatively on a podium, ready to make an important speech. His men were busily speaking in their native tongue, German. They seemed to be discussing the inclement weather that they were suffering in Germany at the moment, a subject trained assassins did not usually engage themselves in.
The threatening man on the platform cleared his throat several times before he declared in a guttural voice, "Men, one of you vill shteal the secret dossier concerning Great Britain's new defense veapon. John and Emma Shteed are keeping zis document at zeir flat until it can be given to Parliament tomorrow at two o'clock to approve of. However, due to security reasons, zey may give the portfolio to one of zeir friends, Tara King and Mrs. Cazerine Gale. If you cannot find the dossier at Shteed's flat, you MUST visit the other apartments to get ze documents. If zese agents get in ze vay, kill zem immediately!
"Ze addresses to Shteed and friend's flats are vritten on ze bulletin board over zere." The man pointed in the right direction. "Whoever copies the addresses first vill get the assignment. Do you all undershtand?"
After several nods of the heads or acclamations of assurance, the minions began scribbling on scraps of paper that had been provided for them. One particular goon by the name of Starker, eager to please the boss, quickly copied the addresses onto his paper. Though short on intelligence, Starker was a giant in proportion with brawny shoulders and triceps. He worshipped his leader, Conrad von Siegfried, and was quite unaware that the Conrad's feelings were far from mutual.
Starker slowly rose to his large feet and advanced toward the podium. "Siegfried, I have finished my vork!" he crowed triumphantly, showing off the paper with the addresses sprawled across it like he was a child presenting his artwork to his parents.
Siegfried resisted the impulse to roll his eyes at the proud Starker. Of all the stupid men in the ministry, why did Starker have to finish first? "Very vell, you vill leave on the five p.m. plane to London, England vith me."
"Vy are you going, O Mighty Siegfried?"
"I'm going to make sure you do not mess up ze assignment!" Conrad barked in aggravation, as if it was completely obvious why he would accompany one of his men. He announced to the rest of the assemblage, "Gentlemen, Herr Gunter is in control of our organisation until my return, undershtood?" With that remark the two Germans exited the building, ready to wreak havoc in Great Britain.
In Enemy Hands
Tara Visits Germany
Steed Speaks American
Emma Remains English
Cathy Fancies Africa
First Day
Grousing and arguing, Herr Starker and Conrad von Siegfried shortly arrived in gloomy London. The weather did nothing to lighten their downcast spirits, but then, nothing seemed to put Siegfried in a jolly mood unless he was succeeding in conquering the world. Of course, his joviality was always short-lived due to the fact that he had never accomplished taking over the world. Some noble secret agent eventually stopped his crazed plans.
"Now, Shtarker," Conrad began complacently as they treaded down the sidewalk, "I vill be at our abandoned English headquarters, vaiting for you to finish ze job. If you botch up zis shcheme, I vill have to come to your rescue, and then I vill kill you." He said it in such a nonchalant tone that Mr. Starker almost didn't comprehend what his superior was telling him.
Once he realised the magnitude of this proclamation, Starker trembled with fright. "I vill do my best, Siegried, but-"
"Zere is no room for feeble excuses, Shtarker!" shouted the imperious German. With this last remark, Conrad von Siegfried hopped into a taxicab and ordered the driver to take him to their headquarters.
The bumbling idiot named Starker glanced nervously at the addresses he had written down, 9 Primrose Crescent and 3 Stable Mews. He also had an address that led to the apartment of Mrs. Gale, formally Mrs. Peel's flat. One of the two afore mentioned addresses belonged to John Steed, while the other to Tara King. He had inverted the names and numbers though, and now he didn't remember which flat belonged to whom.
The man recalled his boss's hostile threat before gulping at the prospect of being gunned down or stabbed in the back, or-he shuddered at the gruesome thoughts. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth working for the enemy agency. Still not certain which flat was John Steed 's, he randomly pointed to one of the addresses. Sighing deeply, he turned his footsteps in the direction of 9 Primrose Crescent.
**********
Miss Tara King, agent 69, was seated at her pink clothed table, busily writing a letter to her former boss. She finished the last sentence, sighed in satisfaction, and read the letter out loud, which went as follows:
Dear Mother,
We're are all having a splendid time at our new ministry, but I must admit our chief and fellow spies don't act quite as intimate with each other. Furthermore, this agency has so many strange gizmos and secret weapons, I can hardly keep count! I know how much you despise such high-tech equipment.
Anyway, Steed, Mrs. Peel, and I just finished a course on the "Non-violent Way to Subdue Your Enemies." Steed and I knew most of the approaches, which included driving your enemies insane, talking them out of whatever their doing, or tickling them until they relent. However, Emma was not acquainted with those techniques. She always was one to punch, kick, and chop her way out of things. Nevertheless, we each learned some valuable lessons that hopefully we can put to good use in the future. Cathy is preparing to move to Africa with her fiancé, Dr. Martin King, so she was not able to attend the meetings.
I hope you write a reply very soon.
Sincerely,
Agent Tara King
As she was finishing the note, Herr Starker slipped into her room via the bottom entrance. He took one look at the pink carpet, purple paneling, floral furniture, and many miscellaneous artworks, and realised with chagrin that he was in the wrong apartment. He turned to make his leave but caught his feet on a bright blue pedestal where an equally as blue vase was perched.
At the noise, Tara whirled around in her chair, her brunette ear length wig brushing her cheeks. She spotted the astounded Starker and serenely rose to her feet. "What are you doing here?" she asked, the inflection in her voice steady and commanding.
"Vell, it appears I have the vrong flat, so I vill just be moving along," Starker tried to inch out the door, but the woman cornered him.
Miss King shut the back door, locking it with an ominous click! "Now why don't you tell me your name and what business brings you to Great Britain?"
"How did you know I vas a foreigner?" Mr. Starker cried in obvious incredulity.
"Your thick German accent gave you away," was the only reply. Tara King placed her hands on her tight, purple pants made out of denim. Her sweater, which was two sizes too small for her voluptuous chest, was a darker shade of purple than her slacks.
Herr Starker resisted the impulse to ogle her as he returned, "I told you I vent to ze wrong flat! I von't tell you any more zan zat!"
"If you won't talk now, perhaps you will be more agreeable once you are seated in the ministry's office!"
The strange alien fell down onto his knees, hands folded as if ready for prayer. "I beg of you, do not take me zere! It is a degradation to be taken to ze enemy's headquarters."
"So you admit that you are the opposition," Tara said. "Now I have something I can tell my chief when he asks about you."
"Have some compassion, lady. I don't vant to go zere!"
"Do you think I'd just let you go free?" Miss Tara scoffed.
"If you let me go Siegfried vill find out zat I failed ze mission, and I vill be killed!"
"Either way you end up losing, so you might as well make no complaints and come with me." Tara stifled a smile as she stared coldly at the intruder. She always had a certain amount of satisfaction when she was in control of the situation. Too often she was drugged or rendered unconscious some other way before she ever had a chance to show the villains her fighting techniques.
"Vy don't you just dispatch of me now, so I von't have to face Conrad von Siegfried's uncontrollable wrath?" Starker suggested optimistically.
"You're boss is THE Conrad von Siegfried, international diabolical mastermind, the man who has escaped from every penitentiary he was ever sent to?" Tara King gaped at the burly figure before her, fear striking into her heart for the first time.
There wasn't one agency that hadn't heard of Siegfried's seemingly unstoppable ways. It appeared his one purpose in life was to create chaos, and he did it so effectively, criminals everywhere either secretly or openly admired him. Far too often Siegfried tried to take over the world with one of his depraved, yet at the same time, ingenious plans only to fall short when a lawful agent stopped him.
Thus the reason why Tara King felt for a brief moment a feeling of utmost dread. The emotion quickly subsided as she gazed into the ignorant eyes of her adversary. Once again she was her unflappable self, much to the disappointment of Starker, who had thought he had the advantage.
"I'm sorry, Mr. German, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you o my workplace. Let me get my coat, and then will head over there." Swinging her hips sexily, Tara composedly wandered over to her brown leather chair by her white-bricked fireplace.
Starker was too intent watching her walk to think of escaping. Miss King took this opportune time to "accidentally" knock her jacket off the coffee table near the hearth. "Do be a dear and pick that up for me," she cooed sweetly to the clearly smitten German.
As Herr Starker was bent over her coat, Tara grabbed a coloured bust of a man off of her mantel. Without any hesitation, she brought the piece down on the stranger's head. With an audible groan, the bulky German slumped to the floor out cold.
Tara gazed at the shattered pieces of her statue as she remarked, "You really are going to pay for this, whoever you are. I do so adore my busts."
It took some effort to drag the heavy Starker out to her car, but finally Tara King managed. Swiftly she drove to her ministry's headquarters, hoping her nemesis did not revive on the journey. After what seemed interminable minutes, Miss King arrived at her destination. She stepped inside for a few minutes to tell any bystanders that she needed assistance in dragging somebody inside, and then she and two men ventured outside. In no time the three agents had carried the still inert body of Starker into their chief's office. The two men spies bid their adieus to the grateful Tara King.
Their boss, a man known by the name H, was yelling into the phone. "I don't care what Bond is doing right now! You tell him to get down here this instant, or he is going to be discharged!" H hung up the phone in disgust and turned to Tara. "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss King?"
"I found this man sneaking into my flat, who claims he works for Conrad von Siegfried."
"Great Scot, we, with the help of America, have been trying to track Siegfried for months!" H peered down at the man before declaring, "This is undoubtedly Herr Starker, Siegfried's right-hand man!"
"I think it's time for Conrad to find a new goon," Tara announced dryly. "He is as slow, big, and ugly as an ox."
Her employer agreed before he informed her, "No one calls von Siegfried by his first name, except his wife."
"I'm surprised such an evil and busy man as Siegfried found time to get married."
"Nobody quite understands that part about Siegfried, probably not even himself." H pressed a button on his intercom as he said, "I'll have one of my men interrogate him immediately."
"Would you mind if I went with him?" Tara inquired. "He's taken a fancy to me and he may not cooperate unless I'm present."
"You think he'll like you even after you've knocked him unconscious?"
"With a brain like Starker's, anything is possible."
************
John Wickham Gascoyne Beresford Steed drove down the road in his green 1929 Bentley at a frightening speed. White with tension, his hands gripped the steering wheel, while his mouth formed a grim line across his face. Mr. Steed pulled into his usual spot outside his apartment complex, hopped out, and entered the building. He dashed into his flat, panting and demanding, "What's the matter, Mrs. Peel? Why did you call me from my old RAF friend's house?"
Mrs. Emma Steed, nicknamed Mrs. Peel by her husband, lifted a slender finger to her lips. "Be quiet, or you'll disturb Katie." She used the same finger to point at the small child that was crawling across the wood floor. "She learned to crawl today," she gushed tearfully.
"She's only four months old and she's crawling?" Steed asked in incredulity.
Emma tried not to give her ignorant husband a withering look. "Four or five months is the normal time babies start crawling." She swooped down on the child, who had a purple bow in her mass of dark hair. "Mummy and Daddy are proud of their baby," Emma Steed informed her daughter in a saccharine voice.
"What I don't understand is why Katie can't just start walking," Steed complained. He tossed his grey wool overcoat onto his red leather chair.
"Did you learn anything at those parenting classes we took?" Emma asked.
"I learned that babies take a long time to grow."
"When Katie is in her teens, you won't think the same," Mrs. Peel warned her husband. "I guess nothing can turn you into a good father."
Steed found it in his best interest to ignore that comment. "I hope this little farewell party we're throwing today for Mrs. Gale and Dr. King isn't putting too much pressure on you." Steed gingerly strolled over to Katie and lovingly picked her up. "I know taking care of this little bundle can be quite strenuous."
"Ah yes, you can just relate, can't you?" Emma Steed gently took the baby from her adoring husband. Whether he was admiring her or Katie was an enigma. "It's funny, but I don't recall you ever getting up in the middle of the night to feed Katie, or change her diapers, or-"
"Isn't it amazing how well we agree on subjects?" John interrupted.
"I can scarcely believe it myself," Emma murmured sarcastically.
John Steed glanced at his watch and exclaimed. "I'll call Tara in an hour's time to remind her of the party! She's been ever so flighty lately, almost as if she wasn't content with being a spy."
"Would you be satisfied if you couldn't have the one you loved?" Mrs. Peel asked, referring to the fact that Tara King was still getting over Steed.
John sunk into a meditative silence, but it was short-lived. Quickly he entered his cramped kitchen and opened the icebox. "This is just the worst of luck!"
Mrs. Steed hurried into the kitchen to see what her husband was becoming so animate about. She bounced Katherine on her left hip, not minding the crease she was making in her black hipster pants. "What seems to be the problem, Steed?" Katie gurgled before spitting on Emma's black, tight turtleneck.
"I was going to bring the four remaining bottles of blanc de blancs from the north of De Grand Cru to the party, but it turns out I only have two bottles left! How could I have miscounted?"
"Don't you remember you had one bottle when Katie was first born and finished off the second bottle when Katie was a month old?" Emma dabbed in the drool off her shoulder in semi-disgust.
"We'll just have to buy two more bottles of bubbly before the party tonight." Steed started roaming around the flat in search of his misplaced coat. He finally discovered it draped across the chair.
"This may seem like a trivial point to you, but we purchased that champagne in Paris, France." Still managing to balance the baby on her hip, Emma deftly closed the icebox door that her husband had carelessly left ajar.
"That is a minor detail since I happen to know a wine shop that specialises in French liquor, particularly wine from De Grand Cru vineyard."
"Aah!" Mrs. Steed exclaimed in understanding. "I'll just change my clothes and we'll set off." She pointed to the spit stain on her shirt before climbing the winding staircase to the bedroom.
Steed willingly took Katie so his wife could dress in more suitable apparel. Mrs. Steed soon appeared, attired in a white silk blouse covered by a linen oatmeal coloured jacket with two frogs on the left side, and linen slacks of the same colour as the coat. White boots with heels finished the outfit, accentuating Emma's five foot eight and a half inch frame.
The couple exchanged one of their famous mutual glances before quitting the room. Katherine Steed giggled happily at her two loving parents, as if she, too, could comprehend their gaze.
***********
Tara King tapped her manicured fingernails on the table in front of her. It seemed she and two scientists had been waiting for Herr Starker to revive indefinitely. Finally the three agents spotted movement from the brawny fellow. After letting him revive, the trio began the serious interrogation.
"Whom do you work for?" asked the first agent named Baxley.
"I am not going to tell you zat," Starker bravely, if not stupidly, replied.
"Maybe you will be more agreeable when we give you the truth serum," threatened the second spy and one of the agency's scientists, Dr. Evian.
"I vork for Conrad von Siegfried, KAOS agent and lifelong enemy of Maxvell Shmart."
"I'm glad you decided to be cooperative," Tara quipped. "Why were you at my flat-you don't have to tell me it was a mistake; I already know that."
"I vas sent to shteal important documents about . . . I don't remember zat far back. You must have hit me very hard, Fraulein King."
"So do you anything else about your assignment other than your stealing something?" Mr. Baxley enquired.
"If I said yes would you let me go?" Starker asked hopefully.
"No!" the three agents cried in unison.
"I am totally clueless about everyzing else."
"This interrogation is obviously futile, so I'll just return to my flat." Tara King arched her back and yawned as she added, "The first thing I do when I get home is to take a long bubble bath."
Mr. Starker's head snapped back at the last sentence, his mind thinking only lustful ideas. The Dr. Evian and Mr. Baxley both rolled their eyes at the enemy agent's lewd behaviour. Once Miss King was out of sight, Dr. Evian questioned, "Are you certain that's all you know?"
"Vell, I did have a slip of paper vith some addresses on zem in my pocket." Mr. Starker rummaged through his pockets in search of the vital piece of paper. After a thorough search conducted by the scientists, the trio shook their heads in dismay. "I don't know vere it could have gone!" Starker wailed.
"Could you have lost it at Miss King's apartment?" Baxley demanded.
"Zat is a very likely possibility," admitted the bumbling German.
"We'll take you over there, so you can look for that important clue! This may be the only lead we have on what exactly Mr. Siegfried wants from us!" Evian grabbed onto Starker's arm, motioning for his friend to grab the other limb.
To Be Continued!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: In case you're waiting for updates on Last Resort, I have some bad news for you. I'm suffering from an extreme case of writer's block in that story. I'm sorry, and I'll try to write more soon. Please be patient. :(
ANOTHER NOTE: I do not own ANY of these characters except Baxley and Evian. This is a crossover with a crossover. I feature characters from James Bond and Get Smart, a 60's sitcom. If you haven't ever seen Get Smart, don't worry; I explain who the characters are as the story goes on.
YET ANOTHER NOTE: Conrad von Siegfried and Starker are two men who appeared in Get Smart. They are Germans who speak with exaggerated accents. I know that most Germans do not speak such poor English. I can say this with utmost certainty, since Verena Gruen is a German and she has excellent English skills. I don't know how she talks, but I'm sure she's much better than the characters in my story. And now with all that off my back, I present to you . . .
The AVENGERS
A sandy brown haired man with a foreboding scar on his face and a deprecating gaze in his eyes motioned for his brainless minions to be seated. The man was standing authoritatively on a podium, ready to make an important speech. His men were busily speaking in their native tongue, German. They seemed to be discussing the inclement weather that they were suffering in Germany at the moment, a subject trained assassins did not usually engage themselves in.
The threatening man on the platform cleared his throat several times before he declared in a guttural voice, "Men, one of you vill shteal the secret dossier concerning Great Britain's new defense veapon. John and Emma Shteed are keeping zis document at zeir flat until it can be given to Parliament tomorrow at two o'clock to approve of. However, due to security reasons, zey may give the portfolio to one of zeir friends, Tara King and Mrs. Cazerine Gale. If you cannot find the dossier at Shteed's flat, you MUST visit the other apartments to get ze documents. If zese agents get in ze vay, kill zem immediately!
"Ze addresses to Shteed and friend's flats are vritten on ze bulletin board over zere." The man pointed in the right direction. "Whoever copies the addresses first vill get the assignment. Do you all undershtand?"
After several nods of the heads or acclamations of assurance, the minions began scribbling on scraps of paper that had been provided for them. One particular goon by the name of Starker, eager to please the boss, quickly copied the addresses onto his paper. Though short on intelligence, Starker was a giant in proportion with brawny shoulders and triceps. He worshipped his leader, Conrad von Siegfried, and was quite unaware that the Conrad's feelings were far from mutual.
Starker slowly rose to his large feet and advanced toward the podium. "Siegfried, I have finished my vork!" he crowed triumphantly, showing off the paper with the addresses sprawled across it like he was a child presenting his artwork to his parents.
Siegfried resisted the impulse to roll his eyes at the proud Starker. Of all the stupid men in the ministry, why did Starker have to finish first? "Very vell, you vill leave on the five p.m. plane to London, England vith me."
"Vy are you going, O Mighty Siegfried?"
"I'm going to make sure you do not mess up ze assignment!" Conrad barked in aggravation, as if it was completely obvious why he would accompany one of his men. He announced to the rest of the assemblage, "Gentlemen, Herr Gunter is in control of our organisation until my return, undershtood?" With that remark the two Germans exited the building, ready to wreak havoc in Great Britain.
In Enemy Hands
Tara Visits Germany
Steed Speaks American
Emma Remains English
Cathy Fancies Africa
First Day
Grousing and arguing, Herr Starker and Conrad von Siegfried shortly arrived in gloomy London. The weather did nothing to lighten their downcast spirits, but then, nothing seemed to put Siegfried in a jolly mood unless he was succeeding in conquering the world. Of course, his joviality was always short-lived due to the fact that he had never accomplished taking over the world. Some noble secret agent eventually stopped his crazed plans.
"Now, Shtarker," Conrad began complacently as they treaded down the sidewalk, "I vill be at our abandoned English headquarters, vaiting for you to finish ze job. If you botch up zis shcheme, I vill have to come to your rescue, and then I vill kill you." He said it in such a nonchalant tone that Mr. Starker almost didn't comprehend what his superior was telling him.
Once he realised the magnitude of this proclamation, Starker trembled with fright. "I vill do my best, Siegried, but-"
"Zere is no room for feeble excuses, Shtarker!" shouted the imperious German. With this last remark, Conrad von Siegfried hopped into a taxicab and ordered the driver to take him to their headquarters.
The bumbling idiot named Starker glanced nervously at the addresses he had written down, 9 Primrose Crescent and 3 Stable Mews. He also had an address that led to the apartment of Mrs. Gale, formally Mrs. Peel's flat. One of the two afore mentioned addresses belonged to John Steed, while the other to Tara King. He had inverted the names and numbers though, and now he didn't remember which flat belonged to whom.
The man recalled his boss's hostile threat before gulping at the prospect of being gunned down or stabbed in the back, or-he shuddered at the gruesome thoughts. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth working for the enemy agency. Still not certain which flat was John Steed 's, he randomly pointed to one of the addresses. Sighing deeply, he turned his footsteps in the direction of 9 Primrose Crescent.
**********
Miss Tara King, agent 69, was seated at her pink clothed table, busily writing a letter to her former boss. She finished the last sentence, sighed in satisfaction, and read the letter out loud, which went as follows:
Dear Mother,
We're are all having a splendid time at our new ministry, but I must admit our chief and fellow spies don't act quite as intimate with each other. Furthermore, this agency has so many strange gizmos and secret weapons, I can hardly keep count! I know how much you despise such high-tech equipment.
Anyway, Steed, Mrs. Peel, and I just finished a course on the "Non-violent Way to Subdue Your Enemies." Steed and I knew most of the approaches, which included driving your enemies insane, talking them out of whatever their doing, or tickling them until they relent. However, Emma was not acquainted with those techniques. She always was one to punch, kick, and chop her way out of things. Nevertheless, we each learned some valuable lessons that hopefully we can put to good use in the future. Cathy is preparing to move to Africa with her fiancé, Dr. Martin King, so she was not able to attend the meetings.
I hope you write a reply very soon.
Sincerely,
Agent Tara King
As she was finishing the note, Herr Starker slipped into her room via the bottom entrance. He took one look at the pink carpet, purple paneling, floral furniture, and many miscellaneous artworks, and realised with chagrin that he was in the wrong apartment. He turned to make his leave but caught his feet on a bright blue pedestal where an equally as blue vase was perched.
At the noise, Tara whirled around in her chair, her brunette ear length wig brushing her cheeks. She spotted the astounded Starker and serenely rose to her feet. "What are you doing here?" she asked, the inflection in her voice steady and commanding.
"Vell, it appears I have the vrong flat, so I vill just be moving along," Starker tried to inch out the door, but the woman cornered him.
Miss King shut the back door, locking it with an ominous click! "Now why don't you tell me your name and what business brings you to Great Britain?"
"How did you know I vas a foreigner?" Mr. Starker cried in obvious incredulity.
"Your thick German accent gave you away," was the only reply. Tara King placed her hands on her tight, purple pants made out of denim. Her sweater, which was two sizes too small for her voluptuous chest, was a darker shade of purple than her slacks.
Herr Starker resisted the impulse to ogle her as he returned, "I told you I vent to ze wrong flat! I von't tell you any more zan zat!"
"If you won't talk now, perhaps you will be more agreeable once you are seated in the ministry's office!"
The strange alien fell down onto his knees, hands folded as if ready for prayer. "I beg of you, do not take me zere! It is a degradation to be taken to ze enemy's headquarters."
"So you admit that you are the opposition," Tara said. "Now I have something I can tell my chief when he asks about you."
"Have some compassion, lady. I don't vant to go zere!"
"Do you think I'd just let you go free?" Miss Tara scoffed.
"If you let me go Siegfried vill find out zat I failed ze mission, and I vill be killed!"
"Either way you end up losing, so you might as well make no complaints and come with me." Tara stifled a smile as she stared coldly at the intruder. She always had a certain amount of satisfaction when she was in control of the situation. Too often she was drugged or rendered unconscious some other way before she ever had a chance to show the villains her fighting techniques.
"Vy don't you just dispatch of me now, so I von't have to face Conrad von Siegfried's uncontrollable wrath?" Starker suggested optimistically.
"You're boss is THE Conrad von Siegfried, international diabolical mastermind, the man who has escaped from every penitentiary he was ever sent to?" Tara King gaped at the burly figure before her, fear striking into her heart for the first time.
There wasn't one agency that hadn't heard of Siegfried's seemingly unstoppable ways. It appeared his one purpose in life was to create chaos, and he did it so effectively, criminals everywhere either secretly or openly admired him. Far too often Siegfried tried to take over the world with one of his depraved, yet at the same time, ingenious plans only to fall short when a lawful agent stopped him.
Thus the reason why Tara King felt for a brief moment a feeling of utmost dread. The emotion quickly subsided as she gazed into the ignorant eyes of her adversary. Once again she was her unflappable self, much to the disappointment of Starker, who had thought he had the advantage.
"I'm sorry, Mr. German, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you o my workplace. Let me get my coat, and then will head over there." Swinging her hips sexily, Tara composedly wandered over to her brown leather chair by her white-bricked fireplace.
Starker was too intent watching her walk to think of escaping. Miss King took this opportune time to "accidentally" knock her jacket off the coffee table near the hearth. "Do be a dear and pick that up for me," she cooed sweetly to the clearly smitten German.
As Herr Starker was bent over her coat, Tara grabbed a coloured bust of a man off of her mantel. Without any hesitation, she brought the piece down on the stranger's head. With an audible groan, the bulky German slumped to the floor out cold.
Tara gazed at the shattered pieces of her statue as she remarked, "You really are going to pay for this, whoever you are. I do so adore my busts."
It took some effort to drag the heavy Starker out to her car, but finally Tara King managed. Swiftly she drove to her ministry's headquarters, hoping her nemesis did not revive on the journey. After what seemed interminable minutes, Miss King arrived at her destination. She stepped inside for a few minutes to tell any bystanders that she needed assistance in dragging somebody inside, and then she and two men ventured outside. In no time the three agents had carried the still inert body of Starker into their chief's office. The two men spies bid their adieus to the grateful Tara King.
Their boss, a man known by the name H, was yelling into the phone. "I don't care what Bond is doing right now! You tell him to get down here this instant, or he is going to be discharged!" H hung up the phone in disgust and turned to Tara. "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss King?"
"I found this man sneaking into my flat, who claims he works for Conrad von Siegfried."
"Great Scot, we, with the help of America, have been trying to track Siegfried for months!" H peered down at the man before declaring, "This is undoubtedly Herr Starker, Siegfried's right-hand man!"
"I think it's time for Conrad to find a new goon," Tara announced dryly. "He is as slow, big, and ugly as an ox."
Her employer agreed before he informed her, "No one calls von Siegfried by his first name, except his wife."
"I'm surprised such an evil and busy man as Siegfried found time to get married."
"Nobody quite understands that part about Siegfried, probably not even himself." H pressed a button on his intercom as he said, "I'll have one of my men interrogate him immediately."
"Would you mind if I went with him?" Tara inquired. "He's taken a fancy to me and he may not cooperate unless I'm present."
"You think he'll like you even after you've knocked him unconscious?"
"With a brain like Starker's, anything is possible."
************
John Wickham Gascoyne Beresford Steed drove down the road in his green 1929 Bentley at a frightening speed. White with tension, his hands gripped the steering wheel, while his mouth formed a grim line across his face. Mr. Steed pulled into his usual spot outside his apartment complex, hopped out, and entered the building. He dashed into his flat, panting and demanding, "What's the matter, Mrs. Peel? Why did you call me from my old RAF friend's house?"
Mrs. Emma Steed, nicknamed Mrs. Peel by her husband, lifted a slender finger to her lips. "Be quiet, or you'll disturb Katie." She used the same finger to point at the small child that was crawling across the wood floor. "She learned to crawl today," she gushed tearfully.
"She's only four months old and she's crawling?" Steed asked in incredulity.
Emma tried not to give her ignorant husband a withering look. "Four or five months is the normal time babies start crawling." She swooped down on the child, who had a purple bow in her mass of dark hair. "Mummy and Daddy are proud of their baby," Emma Steed informed her daughter in a saccharine voice.
"What I don't understand is why Katie can't just start walking," Steed complained. He tossed his grey wool overcoat onto his red leather chair.
"Did you learn anything at those parenting classes we took?" Emma asked.
"I learned that babies take a long time to grow."
"When Katie is in her teens, you won't think the same," Mrs. Peel warned her husband. "I guess nothing can turn you into a good father."
Steed found it in his best interest to ignore that comment. "I hope this little farewell party we're throwing today for Mrs. Gale and Dr. King isn't putting too much pressure on you." Steed gingerly strolled over to Katie and lovingly picked her up. "I know taking care of this little bundle can be quite strenuous."
"Ah yes, you can just relate, can't you?" Emma Steed gently took the baby from her adoring husband. Whether he was admiring her or Katie was an enigma. "It's funny, but I don't recall you ever getting up in the middle of the night to feed Katie, or change her diapers, or-"
"Isn't it amazing how well we agree on subjects?" John interrupted.
"I can scarcely believe it myself," Emma murmured sarcastically.
John Steed glanced at his watch and exclaimed. "I'll call Tara in an hour's time to remind her of the party! She's been ever so flighty lately, almost as if she wasn't content with being a spy."
"Would you be satisfied if you couldn't have the one you loved?" Mrs. Peel asked, referring to the fact that Tara King was still getting over Steed.
John sunk into a meditative silence, but it was short-lived. Quickly he entered his cramped kitchen and opened the icebox. "This is just the worst of luck!"
Mrs. Steed hurried into the kitchen to see what her husband was becoming so animate about. She bounced Katherine on her left hip, not minding the crease she was making in her black hipster pants. "What seems to be the problem, Steed?" Katie gurgled before spitting on Emma's black, tight turtleneck.
"I was going to bring the four remaining bottles of blanc de blancs from the north of De Grand Cru to the party, but it turns out I only have two bottles left! How could I have miscounted?"
"Don't you remember you had one bottle when Katie was first born and finished off the second bottle when Katie was a month old?" Emma dabbed in the drool off her shoulder in semi-disgust.
"We'll just have to buy two more bottles of bubbly before the party tonight." Steed started roaming around the flat in search of his misplaced coat. He finally discovered it draped across the chair.
"This may seem like a trivial point to you, but we purchased that champagne in Paris, France." Still managing to balance the baby on her hip, Emma deftly closed the icebox door that her husband had carelessly left ajar.
"That is a minor detail since I happen to know a wine shop that specialises in French liquor, particularly wine from De Grand Cru vineyard."
"Aah!" Mrs. Steed exclaimed in understanding. "I'll just change my clothes and we'll set off." She pointed to the spit stain on her shirt before climbing the winding staircase to the bedroom.
Steed willingly took Katie so his wife could dress in more suitable apparel. Mrs. Steed soon appeared, attired in a white silk blouse covered by a linen oatmeal coloured jacket with two frogs on the left side, and linen slacks of the same colour as the coat. White boots with heels finished the outfit, accentuating Emma's five foot eight and a half inch frame.
The couple exchanged one of their famous mutual glances before quitting the room. Katherine Steed giggled happily at her two loving parents, as if she, too, could comprehend their gaze.
***********
Tara King tapped her manicured fingernails on the table in front of her. It seemed she and two scientists had been waiting for Herr Starker to revive indefinitely. Finally the three agents spotted movement from the brawny fellow. After letting him revive, the trio began the serious interrogation.
"Whom do you work for?" asked the first agent named Baxley.
"I am not going to tell you zat," Starker bravely, if not stupidly, replied.
"Maybe you will be more agreeable when we give you the truth serum," threatened the second spy and one of the agency's scientists, Dr. Evian.
"I vork for Conrad von Siegfried, KAOS agent and lifelong enemy of Maxvell Shmart."
"I'm glad you decided to be cooperative," Tara quipped. "Why were you at my flat-you don't have to tell me it was a mistake; I already know that."
"I vas sent to shteal important documents about . . . I don't remember zat far back. You must have hit me very hard, Fraulein King."
"So do you anything else about your assignment other than your stealing something?" Mr. Baxley enquired.
"If I said yes would you let me go?" Starker asked hopefully.
"No!" the three agents cried in unison.
"I am totally clueless about everyzing else."
"This interrogation is obviously futile, so I'll just return to my flat." Tara King arched her back and yawned as she added, "The first thing I do when I get home is to take a long bubble bath."
Mr. Starker's head snapped back at the last sentence, his mind thinking only lustful ideas. The Dr. Evian and Mr. Baxley both rolled their eyes at the enemy agent's lewd behaviour. Once Miss King was out of sight, Dr. Evian questioned, "Are you certain that's all you know?"
"Vell, I did have a slip of paper vith some addresses on zem in my pocket." Mr. Starker rummaged through his pockets in search of the vital piece of paper. After a thorough search conducted by the scientists, the trio shook their heads in dismay. "I don't know vere it could have gone!" Starker wailed.
"Could you have lost it at Miss King's apartment?" Baxley demanded.
"Zat is a very likely possibility," admitted the bumbling German.
"We'll take you over there, so you can look for that important clue! This may be the only lead we have on what exactly Mr. Siegfried wants from us!" Evian grabbed onto Starker's arm, motioning for his friend to grab the other limb.
To Be Continued!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: In case you're waiting for updates on Last Resort, I have some bad news for you. I'm suffering from an extreme case of writer's block in that story. I'm sorry, and I'll try to write more soon. Please be patient. :(