Good morning, Constable.
Well done, Steed.
My pleasure.
But the nuns were a surprise.
We try.
You never can tell...
When the enemy will strike.
If we still have an enemy.
There's always an enemy, Steed.
You just have to know where to look.
Something's up at The Ministry.
They want you to meet somebody.
Well, they know where to find me.
Macaroons...
...for Mother.
Good morning, Prime Minister.
Yes, Prime Minister.
The Prospero Program weather shield
is down.
Yes, all of it.
The entire grid.
Yes, it's bad.
Right away.
Dr. Peel?
"Please answer the telephone."
Good morning, Dr. Peel.
We've scheduled an appointment for you.
John Steed. Boodle's Gentlemen's Club.
One hour. Thank you.
May I help you, madam?
For Mr. John Steed, I'm Dr. Peel.
I'm afraid that's impossible.
- You are female.
- As you see.
Then you can't come in.
I have an appointment.
No women.
- Not in Boodle's. Not since 1762.
- Really?
Dr. Peel, I presume.
And you must be Steed.
- Please don't get up.
- And I was about to throw in the towel.
Spot of bother at the door.
Well, I shouldn't wonder.
Not a woman inside Boodle's since...
So what was all this? Some sort of test?
Congratulations. You've entered
a bastion of male privilege.
You're not someone
who plays by the rules.
Rules are made to be broken.
Not by me.
Play by the rules, Doctor,
or the game is nothing.
And just what is the game?
This is all terribly formal.
Must I go on calling you Dr. Peel?
No, no.
Under the circumstances,
you may call me Mrs. Peel.
Much better.
Now that we've settled
the matter of titles...
...will you kindly explain
why you wished to meet me?
I didn't. Mother did.
"Mother?"
Mother.
Four o'clock. Mustn't be late.
Time for tea?
Word of warning: Don't take
the macaroon. Mother's favorite.
You are now entering a restricted area.
I always prefer a room with a view,
don't you? Tea?
I know about the Prospero incident.
Sugar, one lump.
- Is that why I'm here?
- You're here for tea, Mrs. Peel.
Welcome to The Ministry. Macaroon?
Prospero. Prospero.
Shakespeare's magician.
Do explain.
Top-secret research.
A government project I was working on
to create a weather shield.
A defensive umbrella.
I get it.
Someone attacks, we put up this...
...umbrella...
...everyone goes home for tea. Marvelous.
Until someone blows up the research lab.
But did they just walk in?
- How did they get past security?
- That's what's interesting.
Security cameras at the Prospero lab
picked up a picture during the attack.
Something I'd like you to see,
if you have a moment.
After tea.
Of course.
Well, she looks terribly familiar.
You're our chief suspect.
I'm innocent, of course.
Or guilty until proven innocent.
- Why would I sabotage my own project?
- You tell us.
Looks like me.
But it isn't.
You will be allowed the privilege
to prove your innocence.
If you didn't blow up Prospero,
find out who did.
Mother would like me
to show you the ropes.
He'd like us to work as a team.
You mean I have to trust you?
Absolutely, Mrs. Peel.
Shall we?
Do you think Mrs. Peel is dangerous,
Father?
All in my report, Mother.
Why haven't I read it?
Because I haven't given it to you.
My theory goes: Mrs. Peel may be ill.
Amnesia?
Possibly a split personality.
Maybe trauma. There was a husband.
Test pilot.
Missing over the Amazon. Presumed dead.
He was one of ours.
Revenge is a possible motive.
She certainly fits our profile.
- How could you have released her?
- Mrs. Peel is our only lead.
Either she'll lead us to the real enemy...
...or they'll find her.
We were bombarding protons and ions
to make antimatter.
I shall have to start calling you
"Doctor" again.
Artificially creating new weather systems.
You're a lady of hidden talents, Mrs. Peel.
A little more flexibility in the wrist.
Scientist...
...swordsman.
To what do you attribute
your overachievements?
- My father always wanted a boy.
- Oh, really?
I fail to see the connection.
I had a feeling you would. So did he.
Touch.
The ebony handles are a touch heavy,
Trubshaw.
I'll stick to the rosewood.
Excellent, sir. If you'd step this way...
Now my knight has chosen his armor.
Shouldn't we be on our way?
Well, Trubshaw's a man worth meeting.
No point in setting out half-shod.
That's why I ordered you a pair
of boots, Mrs. Peel.
Thank you.
I hope your shoes and waistcoat
please you, sir.
- Impeccable.
- Quite.
Your items will be delivered
to the usual address.
Mrs. Peel's boots?
- Send them on.
- Of course.
Mother suggested we go for a spin.
- Do you always listen to Mother?
- That depends.
Marvelous weather.
Not the sort of day to be stuck in town.
- I think we ought to get away.
- "We?"
Yes, just the two of us.
A weekend in the country,
long walks, the wind in your hair.
- How about it?
- Depends what you have in mind.
I'm a nature lover,
so whatever comes naturally.
Should we take my car?
That's odd.
Rusty, perhaps?
I hope I haven't lost the knack.
Is the pot warm?
Always.
- Milk?
- Lemon, just a twist.
No cakes, I'm afraid.
You don't mind roughing it, do you?
On the contrary.
- Should we be making plans for tonight?
- We are.
I thought we'd have time to pay a
social visit, since we happen to be passing.
I thought as much.
- Anyone in particular?
- Sir August de Wynter.
Former Ministry man,
head of Special Projects.
Ran our Strategic Deception Initiative.
He's retired now.
Very rich.
Very odd.
Intriguing.
- A wealthy recluse.
- More interesting than that.
Sir August's a fanatical meteorologist.
It runs in the family.
Mother called April, sisters: May, June...
July, August.
The family does have weather on the brain.
Any other vices?
All of a piece, really.
Sir August's chairman of BROLLY:
British Royal Organization
for Lasting Liquid Years.
It's a private group
recruiting top scientists.
He thinks British weather has been
tampered with by aliens.
They're not too keen on him
at The Ministry.
- Mother tells me he left under...
- A cloud?
Naturally.
If it wouldn't be too much bother,
could you charm him a little?
I'll see what I can do.
More tea?
No, thanks.
I meant me.
I'll snoop around.
You distract him.
How?
Try...
...small talk.
The weather?
Maybe something more feminine.
A woman's touch.
- That should do it.
- Think so?
Your confidence is overwhelming.
Such modesty.
A minor talent. Or hadn't you noticed?
Curious.
- Miss?
- Mrs.
Mrs.
- Thank you.
- Ma'am.
Hello?
Hello?
Hello?
Hello?
Peel.
Emma Peel.
You're all wet.
Have we met, or is it just the rain
that's familiar?
We share a passion, I believe.
I have always admired a woman who is...
...meteorologically inclined.
Mutual, I'm sure.
The thrill of the monsoon?
Ah, yes, the monsoons.
Even as a boy, when Nana taught me
the naming of the clouds...
- Cumulus.
- Yes.
- Stratocumulus.
- Oh, yes.
Nimbus.
I discovered then,
nothing beats a good lashing.
Mind your head.
Take India.
You can have a good ten inches
overnight there.
You know...
...one should never fear...
...being wet.
Come this way.
Allow me.
These rapid climate changes.
- The Ministry needs some answers.
- Oh, that Ministry!
Dry enough, don't you think?
Do you mind?
Very well.
I need a specialist's opinion.
Theoretically speaking,
if I wanted to alter cloud patterns...
...how would I power it?
By microtransmission?
Yes, by microtransmission.
The military applications were never
looked into after the Cold War.
The hot and the cold war.
Hot and cold war?
An outdated theory.
Intriguing, but impossible.
Nothing is impossible!
Only mathematically improbable.
My dear Dr. Peel, look here.
The twisted labellum.
Note the upturned apiculus
on the dorsal sepal.
A genetic impossibility.
That flower should not exist...
...yet there she is.
I did it.
Beautiful, no?
Touch it, Dr. Peel.
I feel I'm wasting my time.
No, please touch it.
I'm sorry to trouble you.
It's obvious you know nothing.
I know nothing?
I have forgotten more than those fools
at The Ministry ever knew!
The ratio of protons to ions...
...me!
The entire Microtransmission Theory...
...me!
I did it all!
Tea?
Hello?
Hello?
Private property. No trespassing.
Sorry! I can't hear you!
Private property. No trespassing.
I say, this is a bit much!
Perhaps your friend would like to join us.
My friend?
Some rather nasty weather out there.
Perhaps he's lost.
I don't think so.
We don't get many trespassers up here.
Really?
Why not?
We shoot them.
Sugar?
Is that you, Mrs. Peel?
Manners, Mrs. Peel.
Steed?
Steed?
There you are.
Tea?
With lemon.
Grape? I bought them specially.
I hope you don't mind me taking liberties.
I had to tuck you up in bed.
You didn't seem in good shape
when I found you.
I was frozen stiff.
Now I feel much revived.
Not me you should thank for that.
Actually, I wasn't about to.
I recall a very strange thing.
You tried to shoot me, didn't you?
I would never shoot you.
- Not without my reasons.
- I remember it clearly.
One shot to the heart.
But, luckily, my...
...Trubshaw waistcoat was bulletproof.
Silly me, I thought you were
just overdressed.
"Be prepared." Is that your motto?
I thought it best to take precautions.
One never knows.
I suppose Mother warned you
about women like me.
Until now, I didn't know
there were women like you.
Obviously, I'm the sort
that doesn't take "no" for an answer.
I think that would depend entirely
on the question, Mrs. Peel.
I say, you definitely are Mrs. Peel,
aren't you?
You're delirious.
I should've abandoned you.
Nursing an invalid isn't my idea of fun,
after all.
I could've taken up any amount of offers.
And?
I did find a clue at Sir August's.
You see, Steed...
...a woman's touch...
"Wonderland Weather."
Hello.
Wonderland Weather?
Yes.
You've been recommended by a friend who
said you'd know all about our problem.
We're awfully worried about our roses.
I don't understand.
My colleague and I represent...
...a very influential group
of flower growers...
...working under
tremendously adverse conditions.
For some years,
we've been breeding a special rose...
...the Crimson Monk...
...until in the past week
we've been plagued by...
...ladybirds.
I thought ladybirds loved roses.
A little too much, apparently.
Now our flower show's coming up.
We need a few more warm summer days
very quickly.
Yes.
Have you seen the seven-spotted ladybird
in the mating season?
Speckled grey larvae?
A month to...
...pupate, then...
...no more roses.
Voracious.
I hope I haven't come to the wrong place.
I was recommended
by a member of BROLLY.
BROLLY?
Don't say you haven't heard of it.
I was speaking to my colleague,
Sir August.
You do know Sir August de Wynter?
Of course.
Welcome to Wonderland Weather,
here in our London headquarters.
Now, allied with our colleagues
from BROLLY...
...together we will make history.
You all know who I am...
...and I know all of you...
...but you cannot know one another.
Security...
...is still paramount.
Our organization now faces...
...its greatest test.
Therefore...
...I demand absolute loyalty...
...absolute obedience.
But if anybody wishes to resign...
...he must do so now.
And in recognition of your work...
...a generous offer of $1 million awaits you.
Now...
...does anybody wish...
...to resign?
Please don't be shy.
Well.
Well, now.
We owe so much to both of you.
Without your work,
my humble project would perish.
How can I show my appreciation?
Any other business?
- You actually sell weather here?
- Yes.
Our newest line: Summer or winter.
Tuscany or Gstaad. Natural weather
delivered down your phone line.
All you'll need is a radio transmitter.
How real...
...will it feel?
Very.
A whole new line
in personalized meteorology.
Imagine... an autumn mist, dappled
sunshine through an autumn glade.
Temperature...
Around 65?
Whatever you fancy, sir.
Marvelous.
A solution to matters meteorological
and horticultural...
...and to my roses.
Excuse me.
Hurry back.
Babbington, head of Prospero Research.
And?
Morton...
...his assistant.
I'll take the high road.
And I'll take the low road.
Good morning.
That was a very silly thing to do.
Mrs. Peel?
- Just in time to save me from myself.
- Are you all right?
I thought I was seeing double.
That makes two of us.
So now you're saying
there are two Mrs. Peels?
- Preposterous!
- Let me handle this. I'm in charge.
We both know who's responsible.
This story is a complete red herring.
It's quite impossible.
Nothing is impossible. I often think
of six impossible things before breakfast.
Thank you for your contribution.
And now will you kindly allow me
to continue?
Steed, you were saying?
I was saying someone's recruiting
your Prospero scientists...
...under a cover organization.
But it's not Mrs. Peel.
If you're so sure of her innocence,
do you have another suspect?
I may.
What makes you so sure of an attack?
The World Council of Ministers is meeting
on St. Swithin's Day...
...the patron saint of weather...
You see?
I do see. That's what I've been trying
to tell you.
I saw both Mrs. Peels, with my own eyes.
We can't waste any more time.
He has his orders.
I'm counting on you, Steed.
The clock is ticking.
A perfect dress rehearsal.
Mother and Father are convinced
an attack will take place.
Could someone like Sir August
really target a kind of weather bomb?
Queen to rook five.
If they knew what they were doing.
It's all a question of protons and ions.
Do explain.
Left on their own, they repel each other.
Very unstable.
Knight to knight four.
To achieve fusion,
they require a little extra oomph.
A gentle embrace, as opposed to a clinch.
Low excitation energy,
technically speaking.
Then, boom.
Exactly.
The pawn to knight four.
Look, I've been charting
these weather outbreaks.
Pawn to queen's knight three.
- Are you paying attention?
- Absolutely.
A believer in firm discipline.
Do you always obey orders?
Always.
Except when I don't.
Knight to queen five.
For example, if I were, perish the thought,
under orders to kill you...
- Pity you never told me.
- You never asked.
I can't mention everything.
Besides, we were getting along so well.
You didn't want to spoil the fun.
It would've put a damper on things,
don't you agree?
I'm intrigued.
Pawn to queen's bishop three.
What did you have in mind?
Nothing too messy, I hope.
No need to dwell on the unsavory aspects.
After all, according to your file,
you're a psychopathic personality...
...with schizophrenic delusions,
suffering from recurring amnesia...
...based on traumatic repression...
...leading to outbursts
of antisocial and violent behavior.
Knight to king seven.
Check.
Is that really what you think of me?
Well...
...just my type, Mrs. Peel.
Good, because I think I found something.
You never fail to surprise me.
On this map...
...here...
...a cluster of microclimates
around a single area.
Very, very strange.
Time to pay Sir August another visit.
Your move.
Queen takes knight.
Checkmate.
It's just a game.
I can't hold off The Ministry much longer.
This Mrs. Peel, I'm warning you,
don't let her get too close.
Good shot.
Don't worry. I'll take care of Mrs. Peel.
You're playing rather well today, Father.
- Shall we double the bet?
- Yes.
I've never been able
to refuse you anything.
Pity.
Just missed.
I win again.
I thought you lived on the edge, Mrs. Peel.
Is this as fast as you can go?
Have I trespassed on a male prerogative?
We're being followed.
What's that noise?
Insects.
Bigger every year.
Sir August thinks of everything.
Hold on.
Let's go!
Head down.
Would you please be so kind
as to hit the ground...
...if it's not too much trouble?
I hope he was a baddy.
My name's Alice.
Mother said you'd be on your way.
- John Steed.
- And this must be Mrs. Peel.
Mrs. Peel, Alice.
How do you do?
Cocky little bastard.
Indeed.
- Are you with Mother or Father?
- Both, actually.
I'm glad to hear they're together at last.
They don't get along.
Promotion, top job, most unfair.
- Quite a fuss at The Ministry.
- You don't say.
I think we should be on our way.
Someone didn't want you
to get to the party.
I expect we'll have to gatecrash.
This way. I know a back way in.
Excuse me.
You are a Gemini, Mrs. Peel?
How did you guess?
Let's take separate paths.
We'll meet in the middle.
Perfect.
Ah, yes, it's clear now.
A love maze in a trapezoid shape.
A love maze.
Originally late-17th-century design,
then copied.
Over here, by your side.
I was worried.
- How touching. Afraid you'd lost me?
- No, that you might escape.
Still suspicious?
Just wondering if you'd brought me here
under false pretenses.
Frankly, I'm amazed.
Perhaps I should run away.
I'll have to give chase.
I'll hide.
How romantic.
Do try.
Sir August de Wynter.
John Steed.
An old trick I learned
from a dervish in Istanbul.
Turkish rules.
- Lf you insist.
- Then try this.
A man with an umbrella...
...is a man praying for rain.
And a man without one is a fool.
Never trust the weather, Sir August.
Rain or shine...
...all is mine.
So glad you could come.
I thought I'd drop in.
Comfortable?
How cozy.
Just the two of us?
Yes, like spoons in a drawer.
Perhaps I could help you,
if I knew what you wanted.
The only thing I want...
...is you.
How touching.
Join me, Emma...
...and we have the world.
You would have to say "please."
But of course.
If you insist.
Please.
When you awaken...
...you will remember nothing.
Remember nothing.
Steed? Steed, are you all right?
I thought I was seeing double again.
You were.
A Gemini, definitely.
No time to lose. Here's the plan.
Raffle tickets? Church fete.
Could I possibly winkle a cake out of you?
Or perhaps a small donation?
Not today, thank you.
Do come. Tombola, Lucky Dip,
Pin the Tail on the Donkey...
Nor any other day!
If you're going to be difficult,
I'm afraid I'll have to insist.
Where's Mrs. Peel?
Mrs. Peel?
Don't worry, you're in my flat.
Quite safe.
What am I doing here?
Having tea.
Is that all?
After a manner of speaking.
Your boots...
...from Trubshaw.
They might be useful.
Allow me.
I was worried.
What happened to you?
I remember the maze, a house...
...some music.
- Then nothing.
- Try to remember.
It's very important.
I believe you're in extreme danger.
You'd better stay here with me.
Is that wise?
You'll be safer here.
We can talk things through.
An official debriefing.
No interruptions.
You live alone? No Mrs. Steed?
Well, since you ask...
Mrs. Steed lives in Wiltshire.
My mother.
I had you down as a creature of habit.
A bachelor's life.
It's worked quite well, until now.
Don't tell me you never met the right girl.
There's always the exception.
That proves the rule?
Quite. You're exceptional in many things.
But duty...
...comes first.
Shall we make a start?
A time and place for everything.
Now...
...is definitely the time.
And the place.
Too tight.
Push.
Do come in.
I didn't hear you knock.
We can dispense with formalities.
I want Mrs. Peel. Interrogation.
Nothing I could do about it.
Security restrictions, Steed, applied to you.
Mrs. Peel is under arrest.
In you go.
Sorry, Steed.
Father's taken control.
She always wanted Mother off the case.
There's only one place to go,
but I'll need clearance.
I'll fix it.
Hello?
Hello.
Brenda told me to expect you, Steed.
Hello?
Talk to the pipe.
That usually helps.
Colonel Jones?
Don't worry about me being invisible.
Other than that, I'm perfectly normal.
I see.
Or rather, you don't.
Learnt the trick in camouflage, till
the accident made rather a mess of things.
Now I'm stuck away in the basement.
Lucky if I even get the tea trolley.
I'm afraid I don't have much time.
I'd like you to take a look at this map.
I want to know something more about...
...the Prospero Program.
Where'd you find this?
Wonderland Weather.
Retail meteorology.
I believe you've jogged my memory, Steed.
I may have to dig a little deeper, though.
Shall I?
Follow me.
Hello, Mrs. Peel.
Welcome back to The Ministry.
Now, we're going to have a talk.
About the weather? How topical.
It'll help pass the time.
Time would pass anyway,
if you think about it logically.
But so few do think logically
or even anti-logically.
Clockwise or anti-clockwise. Tick-tock,
tock-tick. Seesaw, Margery Daw.
It amounts to the same thing. After all,
how do you know I'm the real Mrs. Peel?
How real do you feel, Mrs. Peel?
I'll repeat the question...
...bypassing the weather, which,
being British, we'll return to in a moment.
Do I walk like Mrs. Peel?
Talk like Mrs. Peel?
Am I witty, wise, wonderful to know?
Or do I go around shooting
Ministry agents...
...attempting to rule the world
on my days off?
Now you're just playing games.
Of course! The Ministry cloning program.
Sir August ran it,
but it appears he went too far.
Some of his more advanced experiments...
...are not too pleasant.
So they pulled him off it.
Anything else?
As I recall, there was some
former Ministry land used...
...as a secret military installation
and sold by us to Sir August years ago.
And authorized by Father.
Eeny-meeny-miny-mole.
And this is the site.
But where is it?
According to your map, it's an island
right here in the middle of London.
It must be where he's controlling
the weather.
Why did you never tell anyone?
Nobody ever asked.
These changes in weather are controlled
and aggressive.
Yes, Prime Minister.
We're monitoring the situation.
The Council of Ministers is now
in emergency session.
The weather is getting worse
by the minute.
Now...
...is the winter of your discontent.
Above you...
...the weather is changing.
The temperature is dropping.
Soon it will be freezing.
Why?
Because the weather is no longer
in God's hands, but in mine.
Those clouds...
...all controlled by me...
...are recreating the weather.
I have set off...
...a chain reaction...
...that will paralyze
and ultimately destroy the city.
The countdown...
...has already begun.
And this is merely the beginning!
This is outrageous! It's blackmail!
Do shut up!
Hundreds of millions will die.
They'll drown...
...burn...
...freeze.
You...
...and your governments...
...have no choice.
You will buy your weather from me...
...and, by God, you'll pay for it.
Unacceptable!
Any attempt at interference will
only lead to automatic annihilation.
And, by the way...
...you have until midnight...
...tonight!
Alice, are you all right?
Sir August's demands.
He wants them delivered
directly to the Prime Minister.
"Ten percent of our gross national product
annually." That's preposterous.
There will be no negotiation.
His words exactly.
He says unless we accept his demands,
the weather will get colder and colder...
...until we'll all have to go to hell
just to warm up.
Did Sir August torture you, Alice?
No, he didn't have to.
Knows everything already.
Breach of security, top level.
Father.
Alert security.
Sorry, Father.
The game's up.
Careful, it might go off.
We don't want another accident.
Half-working, as you are.
Poor Mother, finally figured it out.
But too late.
Nonsense. Mother knows best.
I want you to release Mrs. Peel.
Certainly.
But which one?
It really isn't Mother's day.
On course to base.
Seven degrees east, north by northwest.
Navigation control.
Anti-cyclone. Pull the right.
I have Mrs. Peel on board...
...and heading back to base.
We'll keep you informed of our progress.
Message end.
The balloon, Steed. The balloon.
Don't mind me.
You're drifting.
You're drifting off course.
You're losing altitude.
You've drifted off course!
Prince Charming, I presume?
Hardly, I'm afraid.
A micro-tag concealed in your boots.
Thank you...
Trubshaw.
Are you all right?
And the other Mrs. Peel?
Dispatched, I think.
Sad, in a way.
Here, let me help you.
I wonder...
Unless I'm very much mistaken...
...that was a kiss, Steed.
Yes.
Technically.
"Technically?"
Well, I would never presume.
It was more in the spirit of...
...scientific inquiry.
Hard evidence, you might say.
I realized that immediately.
Of course you did.
I needed proof that you were...
...definitely Mrs. Peel.
I see.
And...
...convinced?
Well, I'm...
...still thinking.
Dense cloud formations
moving northeast, sir.
Some sort of radio transmitter.
Of course we have it under control, sir.
Not quite under control, but...
Yes, sir.
I understand, sir.
Our agents are on the case right now, sir.
Two of them, sir.
A man...
...and a woman, sir.
According to Colonel Jones...
...this is the site of a Ministry installation
sold off years ago to...
- Wonderland Weather, I bet.
- Quite.
Something up ahead.
Alas, poor Teddy...
I knew him, Steed.
Penrose...
...head of Antimatter Fission...
...at Prospero.
The teddy bears are having a picnic.
We're getting warm.
Seems familiar.
Mrs. Peel, you're needed.
Excuse me.
Equipment needs adjusting.
Nothing broken, I hope.
My umbrella.
Tight fit in here.
Allow me.
How now, brown cow?
Welcome.
There must be a hatch somewhere.
I need to locate the circuits,
break the codes and disconnect the wires.
How will you know if it works?
I won't, until I make the right connection.
So much for science.
I'll stick to swordplay.
This must be it.
Don't wait for me.
Perish the thought.
Just one thing.
Good luck?
Something like that.
Not that you need it, of course.
Bailey...
...take her.
I'll attend to Steed.
Oh, fuck!
Weather system...
...level one and rising.
Weather system...
...level two...
...and rising.
Storm system activated.
Weather system, level six...
...and rising.
John Steed. What a horse's arse
of a name.
Clearly, you're not a racing man,
Sir August.
Anyway, I have no time for pleasantries.
We have a score to settle.
Are you sure you're up for this, dear boy?
Absolutely, old chap.
You'll pay for that.
Target locked.
Warning.
Weather silo activated.
Not bad for an amateur.
I'm not one to boast.
Modest. And much to be modest about.
Unauthorized entry.
Time to die.
Not just yet.
Was it red...
...or was it black?
Here it goes.
Eeny-meeny-miny...
Shutdown.
Shutdown.
Here...
...Mrs. Peel.
What kept you?
The weather.
Auto destruct...
...three, two, one...
You must be joking.
And I thought you had it all under control.
Here. Into the pod.
There must be a way out.
Seal the hatch.
Yes, sir. Confirm reports
the storm is dropping.
A spot of internal trouble.
I took a firm grip.
One or two casualties.
No word yet from our people.
Thank you, sir.
Pity about Steed and Mrs. Peel.
Missing in action?
Better send out a search party.
You never can tell.
"The owl and the pussycat went to sea."
"In a beautiful pea-green boat."
A perfect morning.
Bit chilly.
I think we deserve some champagne.
A toast...
...to a job well done.
To a narrow escape.
Macaroon?
Thank you, Steed.
No, no.
Thank you, Mrs. Peel.