Listening intently, Ray Doyle opened his eyes slowly. Nothing -- no other living thing stirred. It was still black -- possibly a half hour before the dawn, he reckoned. He couldn't tell for sure; they'd taken his watch from him when he first came here and there was no clock in the room. What use would he have for one?

He rolled cautiously onto his side and blinked in the darkness, glancing up at the corner. A tiny red dot glowing there -- the all-seeing eye focused on the centre of his room. That would have to be dealt with first...

With infinite patience, Doyle reached for his clothes, drawing his jeans under the covers to dress. He spared the camera another look and sat up slowly. The night staff usually monitored his wing care- fully; maximum risk warranted maximum security at all times...

He snaked to the door, standing below the silent spy. He could disconnect it, or smash it -- but that would bring the guards faster than anything, and they would punish him severely...

Doyle was not one of George Cowley's finest for nothing. He had been planning this operation for ages. He had lulled them into thinking he was a broken man, his mind locked away from reality behind an impenetrable barrier. And all the while, he had watched, listened, waited -- preparing his escape.

He liked pictures -- let him draw, they said, and paint -- therapy for a mind they had destroyed. Ha! Doyle drew and painted all right: trees, and the flowers outside his window, and people -- his fellow inmates. They didn't deprive him of company...He painted animals from memory but they didn't look right because of his perspective...that mistake gave him an idea. He set to work with a new will, hiding his masterpiece from prying eyes. It didn't take long -- the miniature -- view of (the) room as seen from the camera -- was the best thing he'd ever done, born of desperation and the deep desire to go home. It wouldn't fool them forever -- just long enough for him to get clear of the grounds. After that...

He would have to steal, lie low and keep heading westward until he got to the Wall. Then he would have to find a way to get into either the British or the American Sector and demand to be repatriated... He longed to go back -- to England, to London, to...

Silently lifting the chair over, he stood on the seat and positioned the painting. He had taped a ruler to the bottom of the board as a support, and he stuck the free end to the body of the camera. Instant deceit -- just add masking tape, crafty artwork, and a liberal dose of homesickness...

Now they couldn't see him, he could begin properly and set to work on the window. There was a drainpipe that ran down to the ground -- he used it quickly and made for the shrubbery at the back. The high wall surrounding the institute proved no problem -- he had been taught to climb by an expert, a panther of a man who...

He dropped noiselessly to the ground, ears alert for any sound of pursuit. The breeze swept through the trees overhead -- the road was empty. He straightened, his knees trembling -- then instinct took over and he turned to take his first steps to freedom...

---

Rayner was on his way to a meeting with the Foreign Minister when the call came through from the senior psychiatrist. Cursing fluently, he ordered an all-agent alert: Raymond Doyle, sometime operative with CI5 was on the loose, and potentially dangerous. He issued terse instructions to his marksmen. Nobody could afford to take chances with a man like Doyle...

---

He found a car, a BMW, parked outside the first group of houses he came across. He toyed briefly with the idea of breaking in and stealing money or food, but changed his mind, anxious to be on his way. He had opened the door and was reaching to hot-wire the vehicle before he realised and was pleased that he'd lost none of his old skill. Next stop, if he was lucky, would be the border...

---

The first of the marksmen licked his lips nervously. He was crouched behind a low wall that offered little in the way of real protection. A stone's throw away, the abandoned BMW stood cooling at the kerb side...Christ, the man could be anywhere -- a former agent, trained to kill...every operative's nightmare. He ducked his head further behind the brickwork, to catch his breath. The radio crackled.

"1.8.9 -- state your position."

The senior instructor: this was serious.

"Front of the house, sir, using the wall for cover..."

"Stay there," the older man ordered. "2.5.1 and 1.7.7 have the eastern end of the street and I'm coming up to join them."

"Sir?" Stevens knew that someone had to ask the question. Like all agents, he risked his life every day on this job; he felt he had the right to the truth. "Sir, how good is this bloke, Doyle?"

"He's the best," replied the instructor reverently.

---

He knew he was trapped. The car had run out of fuel as he headed towards the river. He had left it and struck out on foot. The wail of a siren had panicked him and he made a dash for the nearest cover...

Of course it hadn't taken them long. The sirens had multiplied and were converging on his sanc- tuary. German efficiency, he told himself. He had hoped to make it further than this, give the bastards a run for their money...Now all he could do was wait until they came for him...

They were cunning, crafty, knew all the tricks -- but Doyle was a professional and he was wise to them. A brief glance through the window and he noticed the dark head ducking below the level of the wall. Sniper? He brightened at the thought. Maybe he wouldn't go back after all...

---

Everyone knew him and respected him. He was the uncrowned head of the Squad. Rayner held the position on paper, but everybody knew that the P.T.I. had years more practical experience and that the former controller, Cowley, had wanted him in a position of power before he retired.

A polite refusal with a wistful smile -- Cowley understood the reasons behind the operative's declin- ing the offer. Instead, he had opted for a place at the personnel selection centre, training the new recruits, teaching them how to stay alive...

This morning's call to arms was his worst nightmare -- an agent on the run, possibly armed, certain- ly dangerous now that he was cornered. Rayner had all the riflemen of the outfit ready -- and as he was still a Class A marksman with all weapons, he had included himself in the team that was closing in on Doyle.

How many times had he done this in his active service days -- fist with the Paras, then the Specials, and with Cowley's own mob -- he ran his hand through his -- still -- regulation-cropped hair and noted the deployment of his men. There was enough firepower here to blast half of London away...All this for one man...Ray Doyle, whose qualifications he could list as well as his own...a two-legged lethal weapon loose on the streets that HE had sworn to keep safe. However, it ended today, there would be blood...

He made his decision and called all his units. "Hold your fire. I'm going to try and talk him down." He took the megaphone from the front seat of his car and stepped forward, past the vehicles that cordoned off the road. He walked slowly, trembling deep inside. Not from fear, he knew, though at any moment Doyle might choose to end it for him, but a strange thrill in his belly -- excitement, appre- hension, expectation...

He stopped when he reached the centre of the street below the target house. "Doyle, this is CI5. Surrender your weapons and come out with your hands up."

Inside the building, Doyle frowned. CI5 -- in a Berlin strasse? Come ON, he wasn't that far gone -- yet -- There was something familiar about the voice. It caught his memory, made his stomach muscles tighten...

No reply. Bodie lowered the megaphone and in the silence, he could hear the safety catches being released. He gazed up at the window that Doyle would not be stupid enough to show himself at -- and suddenly, he felt angry.

He was angry at Doyle for getting into this situation in the first place, and at himself for being unable to prevent it. Impatient at the best of times with Rayner, Bodie was furious with the orders that kept their top agents away from their current duties.

He placed the loud-hailer on the ground and peeled off his jacket. These days, it was rare for him to wear the shoulder holster and he took it off, relieved to lose the weight under his left arm. He dropped it on top of his coat, then slid the knife out of his belt, tossing that down too, his eyes still on the window.

Doyle would be scared, he knew. "Doyle, come on, stop playing games..." Then, "Ray, it's Bodie

-- I'm coming in."

Doyle was confused: Bodie -- no, couldn't be -- Bodie was --

"STAY BACK!" he bawled. "Stay where you are!"

Bodie started to walk towards the house. "I'm alone, I'm unarmed, and I'm coming in, Ray."

The other operatives stared in horror as he moved closer.

"STAY BACK!" Doyle yelled.

You can't be Bodie -- QUISLING -- everyone knew the Russians and the East Germans were always looking for ways to infiltrate western security. This was just another one of their tricks...

The front door creaked slightly as it opened, then came the heavy tread of the intruder on the stairs.

Doyle cast about frantically for something he could use as a weapon, but rejected everything in sight. It was down to his bare hands and his reflexes. He waited, cornered like a rat in a trap. The other man was outside the bedroom now, in the passageway -- halted outside the door...

"Ray?" The low voice was hoarse, as if -- he -- had a cold. He -- stepped into view, moistening his lips with a tantalising tongue-tip...Even that most unconscious of gestures, Doyle thought in despair -- these Soviets were bloody clever..."Can I come in?"

"Stay where you are," Doyle ordered tersely. He eyed the -- stranger -- coldly. Height was right, but he was different somehow -- heavier, OLDER than he thought of Bodie...Because it WASN'T Bodie, his logic told him: it couldn't be Bodie...

"Ray, I know you're frightened -- let me help you..." He took one step into the room.

Doyle went into a defensive crouch. "Stay BACK!" he hissed, "whoever you are."

The expression of hurt in -- his -- eyes was masterfully done -- it registered deep in Doyle's sub- conscious.

"Ray?" It IS me -- Bodie..." He stood still anyway, and reached to Doyle with his heart, desper- ately willing him to believe...

"Ask me something -- anything you like, Ray..." Anything that would prove his identity to the man before him.

"Bodie died in Berlin. He was killed by the Russians," snapped Doyle. "I suppose they got rid of the body and sent you over instead..."

He went paler. Bodie used to blanche when he was upset -- then he'd hit you. Even the autonomic reflexes were perfect...

"They shot me -- but an American agent got me out...Ray -- sunshine -- " Bodie used the nickname unconsciously, "tell me what I can do to prove who I am to you..."

Doyle's eyes narrowed, never leaving his antagonist, as he racked his brain for some way to trip this -- imposter.

Bodie sighed. "I AM BODIE -- my full name is William Andrew Philip Bodie -- I work -- worked for CI5. We were partners. You were 4.5, my call-sign was 3.7 -- "

"You could pick that up from any file on me," Doyle snorted disparagingly. "Tell me about Marikka."

The Bodie-clone swallowed. "She was the only woman I ever trusted..." That memory hurt, but there was an even greater pain in his heart... "She died."

Give him his due, thought Doyle savagely, he's a better actor than Bodie.

"MI6 was responsible for that. Willis didn't last long afterwards, the Old Man saw to that..."

"That's common knowledge -- " Doyle countered. "Try again."

Inside, Bodie despaired; anything he said would be twisted, explained away in the same fashion

-- there seemed to be no way to reach his former partner, nothing to tell him that hadn't been documented somewhere...

"Take your shirt off," Doyle demanded suddenly.

Bodie's hands went to his cuffs, which he unfastened quickly, then he undid the buttons down the front before slowly peeling off the white cotton to reveal himself. There was a faint scar on his right shoulder.

"Turn around."

Bodie did as he was told, moving slowly, wondering what would happen next. Doyle may once have been his best mate, but this man, here and now, was an escapee from a psychiatric clinic. Poten- tailly dangerous -- NO! Ray wouldn't hurt me...

Doyle raked the body before him critically. Yes, there was the scar, behind the left shoulder-blade, and there were other marks, too, where -- Bodie -- had been knifed by those two blacks that time...

"Tell me how you got those -- "

"The ones on my ribs? I was stabbed by a pair of spades -- happened at the Cockpit -- I went down to find some kid -- " what was the boy's name? Doyle and Jax had taken him off to a match, but Bodie hadn't gone..."Tommy was our only lead..."

Doyle remembered Tommy: it was almost three years after that particular case when the kid had sought him out with a shy confession that he was interested in becoming a policeman 'like you and your partner, Mr. Doyle'. His name was probably on the records somewhere...

"What about the one on your shoulder?"

"That was from a long time ago," Bodie replied shortly. Funny that he'd never told Doyle how he'd acquired THAT particular souvenir. The incident still made him wince inside.

He won't talk about it -- Bodie used to clam up about it, too -- half of Doyle expected some sort of explanation: the other, he found, was praying desperately that this man could make him believe that he was Bodie...

"Can I put my shirt back on now?" Bodie glanced over his shoulder at his ex-partner.

Doyle nodded curtly and he slithered back into the warm cotton, fastening it half way, regarding the other man all the while.

"You still don't believe me." Bodie sighed. "I don't know (what) else I can say or do to convince you, Ray." He met the intense green gaze. "There are half a dozen agents out there, all Class A marksmen, with weapons trained on this building. Special Branch is sending another half dozen crack shots as back-up."

"So why did you risk your neck to come in here to talk to me?"

"Because," Bodie held his eyes, "because you are my partner, Ray, and that would've counted even without what we had going -- " It was Doyle's turn to flinch. "I'm not going to let them hurt you..."

"You're pretty certain that I won't kill you -- "

"If you'd wanted to, you could've done it by now," Bodie observed quietly. "We're still well-matched -- your speed against my weight..." He was pleading at a subconscious level, if not to believe then at least to trust him enough to get them out of here. "Come on, Angelfish..."

Doyle's heart stopped for a second, and (then) he took the quantum leap into faith. Only one person used that name for him -- in those quiet times when he and Bodie lazed around in each other's arms in the after-glow of loving...Publicly, his partner would call him a number of things, usually mildly insulting -- but when they were alone and Bodie dropped the hard-man image...

"Bodie -- " He could hardly speak for the lump in his throat and tears were burning in his eyes. "Help -- me -- " He could sense strong arms reaching out, and he stumbled forward into the embrace, to be crushed against warm pale flesh and held, and kissed and assured that he was loved, and was safe and would never be left alone again...

---

It was too quiet. In direct contravention of everything he'd been taught, Stevens poked his head up to peer over the top of the wall. The radio at his side crackled into life.

"This is Alpha One to all units. Request a situation report."

Stevens thumbed the transmit button. "Bodie's gone in, sir. He's making an attempt to talk Doyle down. There's still no sign of him."

"I'll be with you in five minutes," Rayner stated tersely. "Be ready to move in on my command."

Stevens acknowledged and clipped the radio back onto his belt, wondering what the hell had happened to the chief instructor...

---

"You came back for me?" Doyle raised his head from Bodie's shoulder to gaze into his lover's eyes.

Bodie kissed the pale forehead softly. "Of course I did. I wasn't about to let you go without a fight..."

"I can't remember -- something went wrong..." Doyle frowned, groping for the fleeting memory.

"The exchange was a farce -- the Germans had no intention of letting Davies go. We were caught in the crossfire..." Bodie murmured into his hair.

There was something familiar about the scene his partner was evoking, like a half-remembered film from a long time ago. "Did Cowley get me out?" Doyle tucked his head under Bodie's chin.

"He did -- after they found out you couldn't tell them anything useful." Bodie shivered as he recalled those awful months of waiting while the negotiations went on for his companion's release.

"Checkpoint Charlie..." Doyle whispered, turning his face into the lee of Bodie's chest. "Oh, God..."

"Charlie's seen the last of THAT kind of business," Bodie growled with a degree of satisfaction.

"Eh?"

"Checkpoint Charlie -- it's over, Ray." Bodie slid his hand under the beard-shadowed chin and tilted Doyle's face upward. "It's over. The Wall isn't there any more -- the people took it down with their bare hands..." While Doyle had been in Repton, recovering from what the Easter Bloc had done to his mind...

Doyle blinked hard, but the tears would not be stopped, and Bodie, understanding, pulled him back against his shoulder and held him while he cried...

---

The black Ford Granada appeared at the end of the street and stopped well away from the cordon. The controller stepped out of the car and was briefed by Andrews, who with 1.7.7 was watching the eastern side of the road. The agent confirmed that Bodie had indeed, gone into the house after Doyle, and that nobody had heard anything since. Appropriating the operative's handset, Rayner issued his instructions to the waiting marksmen.

"Stevens -- get Doyle out of there, dead or alive. Go in -- the others will give the necessary cover."

"What about Bodie, sir?"

"If he hasn't been in contact by now, I think we can assume that he was unsuccessful in his attempt. Move!"

Stevens took a deep breath and vaulted the wall. He sprinted to the doorway unchallenged and paused briefly, uttering a silent prayer for luck. Nerves, he berated himself. I'm getting too old for this game...

He made his way up the stairs slowly, listening intently for any tell-tale signs of his quarry's where- abouts, and state of readiness. There was someone in the first of the bedrooms -- Stevens held his breath and flattened himself against the wall, gathering himself for the final rush...

"Stevens -- " Bodie's voice was so unexpected that the younger man jumped. "It's all right. Every- thing's under control now. Put the cannon away..."

The operative obeyed without question and sidled round the door to peer into the room.

Bodie was sitting in the corner, uninjured, as far as he could tell, with his arms full of denim. As the marksman stepped forward, he could see that Doyle's hand was twisted in Bodie's shirt front.

"Sir, is he -- "

"He's sleeping. He's perfectly safe." Bodie tightened his hold on the ragged bundle. "Call in, will you. Tell the others to stand down."

With a smile, Stevens did as he was told. "All units -- situation secure, stand down..."

Almost immediately, Rayner was on the air, countermanding the instruction.

"Where is he?" Bodie sounded exasperated.

"End of the street, sir." Stevens knew, as did most of the agents, what the instructor thought of the new controller. "He's a little bit upset..."

"I can imagine," Bodie remarked drily, burying his nose in the jumble of curls. "But I wasn't going to let this escalate into a massacre. Someone's got to look after you, haven't they?"

Stevens wasn't sure whether Bodie was addressing him or the man in his arms, but he was saved from the possible embarrassment by the sound of footfalls on the stairs. He swung the rifle up and stepped towards the landing.

Rayner's expression was as dark as thunder. "Where's Bodie?" he barked.

The agent jerked his head indicating the room and the controller virtually barged past to stop just inside the door. "What the hell were you thinking of, coming up here like an idiot? Have you gone completely mad?"

"You would've had the men shoot him, without giving him the chance to surrender. Doyle is unarmed."

"We can't afford to take any chances with a man like that," snapped Rayner. "Why isn't he cuffed?"

Bodie cuddled his mate unashamedly. "I didn't bring any."

"Stevens, have you got your handcuffs with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Give them to Bodie."

Stevens met the instructor's cool gaze and was reassured by the faint nod. The jingle of metal as they were handed across caused Doyle to stir. Bodie soothed him with a soft word as he pocketed the cuffs.

Rayner was furious. "I'm ordering you to put those on Doyle now."

"He doesn't need them -- he's not going anywhere," Bodie replied.

"The doctors from the clinic will insist on his being properly restrained."

The blue eyes turned cold. "Ray isn't going anywhere with anyone, except me. He's my partner, and I am prepared to accept full responsibility for him. When he's ready to move, I am going to take him home with me. He is not going back to Repton, or any other clinic, not today, not ever."

Doyle raised his head, blinking owlishly. "What's happening?" His hand twisted even tighter in the cotton of Bodie's shirt, unwilling to release his anchor in reality.

"Shh, s'all right, Ray..." His tone was at variance with his expression. "I'm going to take you home in a minute -- "

Doyle eyed Rayner distrustfully. "Who's this?" he demanded.

Bodie told him. "The other one," his voice lost its edge, "is Stevens..." Who, when everything was said and done, was only following orders, after all -- just as he and Doyle used to...

Doyle smiled faintly at the younger man before laying his head back on his lover's shoulder. "When can we go home?"

"Whenever you're ready," Bodie answered. He glanced up at Rayner. "Are you going to tell the lads to stand down?"

With obvious reluctance, Rayner took Stevens' radio and repeated Bodie's original orders.

"I'll see you in my office tomorrow morning about this, Bodie," he warned. He spun on his heel and strode out of the bedroom to storm off down the stairs. The agent hovered by the doorway, hesitantly. "Sir, do you need any help?"

Bodie shook his head. "Although," he reconsidered, "you could do me a favour and bring my car down..."

Stevens slung the rifle over his shoulder and hurried off to fetch the old Capri...

Doyle pushed himself upright and regarded his other half steadily. "Did you mean what you said -- about my not going back to Repton?"

Bodie hauled him in close. "Course I did, sunshine, unless you want to..."

"No, I don't." Doyle snuffled into Bodie's neck and closed his eyes for a moment. A minute later he was dozing and Bodie smiled broadly, tempted to copy him. He resisted -- it was enough for now just to hold his lover, secure in the knowledge that he was safe, and that they would be together again...As for tomorrow -- sod it, he thought wryly, he would cross THAT bridge when he came to it...

-- THE END --

For 'Milney' and John. "Vielen danke"