---

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Shifting uncomfortably for the umpteenth time on the squeaky vinyl chair, Bodie yawned and stretched, trying to ease the crick in his neck and the stiffness in his muscles and meeting with little success. The doors at the end of the corridor crashed open as Cowley arrived.

"A complete write-off!" Cowley said immediately. "You're supposed to have lightning-fast reflexes, man," he sniped. "'A little accident' is how you reported it. Bodie, I've just seen the car--it looks as though you drove it into a brick wall!"

"Sir..."

"A complete write-off! Do you think cars grow on trees, 3.7? It'll come out of the department's budget--as if it wasn't tight enough already. You've no respect for property, any of you."

The Scotsman was well known for his shrewdness: his attention even to minor items on expense chits was famous and Bodie could only imagine the pain and outrage he was feeling at losing what had been an almost brand new vehicle.

"Sorry about the car, sir," he grated, "but at least no one got killed," he pointed out when Cowley finally paused to draw breath.

"Aye." Cowley clicked his tongue with irritation. "How is Doyle?" The question, casually delivered, could almost have been an afterthought.

"Managed to avoid killing 'im as well as writing the car off, sir."

"Don't get smart with me, Bodie," Cowley scolded and Bodie bit down on his smouldering anger. "Mild concussion and small contusions, or so I was informed."

Well, Bodie conceded, at least the Old Man had been concerned enough to enquire.

"Yes, sir, Doc's just stitching him up now."

Just then the door to the treatment room opened and a very pale Doyle, propped up by two tiny nurses, entered the room.

"You can take him home now, Mr Bodie," the sister informed him. "But Doctor says to have someone keep an eye on him for tonight at least."

"Bloody hell, mate--you look even worse than when you went in there!" Bodie exclaimed. "You sure he's fit to go home?"

"He's just a bit shaken up, he'll be all right in a few hours, but call your doctor or bring him back if there are any problems."

"Doyle?" Even Cowley looked at his battered agent and wondered whether he had the strength to walk as far as the car park.

Concentrating on fastening his jacket one-handedly, Doyle noticed Cowley for the first time.

"Sir," he acknowledged with a start; then: "Sorry about the car, sir."

"Aye...sorry indeed. Still...cars cost about as much as it would to retrain another agent--except new cars are easier to come by."

Having reassured himself that Doyle was not seriously hurt, he turned to go but stopped at the door. "Your young lady, Doyle--I believe she's abroad at the moment?"

Not bothering to ask how Cowley knew he was even seeing Ann, let alone her whereabouts, Doyle gave an affirmative nod of his head--then wished he hadn't as the pounding at his temples increased.

"In that case, Bodie," Cowley turned to address the other man, "take him home and look after him. I don't want to see either of you until Monday morning. Goodnight."

"Wha'? Hey! My old son," Bodie cheered once he had gone, "we've cracked it--a long weekend! The Old Man's going soft."

Following Bodie along the corridor at a more sedate pace, Doyle couldn't see what there was to be cheerful about and said so.

"Come on, Doyle, a whole weekend--when did we last get a whole weekend off?"

"And unless you plan to wrap your car around another flamin' brick wall it'll be the last one too. Christ almighty, you could 'ave killed me!"

"It was an accident, no one's fault. It's a bloody good job I was driving--anyone else would have written the car and themselves off!"

"So you made do with the car and only half killing me!" His head was aching abominably, bruised muscles were beginning to make themselves felt and the cold, unpleasant numbness of his injured arm began to wear off.

Realising that as well as feeling as bad as he looked, Doyle was still suffering from shock and in no mood for joking around, Bodie dampened his relief that they had escaped so lightly and got a free weekend into the bargain, and escorted his friend home.

Only taking an interest in the proceedings when they reached the front door, Doyle found the energy to protest.

"Bodie, I want to go home. Mine, not yours."

"Just belt up and go in," Bodie ordered. Doyle did, but with little grace and complaining all the way. "Why did you want to go home, any special reason?"

"No," Doyle sighed. "I just feel...I wanted to go home, Bodie. I feel bloody 'orrible."

"Precisely...so you can stay here and have a good, long soak in a bath, can't you!"

The logic behind his partner's plans finally filtered through to Doyle's tired brain. Home was nice, home was home, but his home only had a nice modern shower stall, and right now his aching body needed a hot bath.

"Right," Doyle smiled, feeling a bit more cheerful.

When it became obvious that Doyle wasn't going to move without help, Bodie led the way to the bathroom which was soon hot and steamy, helping him to strip and lower himself into the bath.

Watching the tension lines ease imperceptibly, Bodie smiled as Doyle leant back, his eyes closing.

"Just keep that arm on the edge, out of the water."

"Yes, Mum," Doyle said dutifully.

"Don't go to sleep there."

"No, Mum."

"I'll 'Mum' you in a minute, Doyle," Bodie laughed. "Now, is there anything you want before I go and start dinner?"

"Well..." Doyle said dutifully.

"What?" Bodie asked warily.

"Me hair." Doyle tweaked at a limp curl with his good hand. "It's all matted with blood...it'll itch like hell if I don't rinse it out."

"Blood in your hair!" Bodie bent down to inspect Doyle's scalp. "What was that stupid doctor doing leaving you--"

"It's only from scratches, Bodie. Just pinpricks really, from the windscreen--my arm got the worst of it."

"Well, it'll teach you to wear a seat belt in future," Bodie said once he'd confirmed Doyle was telling the truth. "Okay, bend your knees."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Knees," Bodie repeated. "Bend them--so you can tip your head back."

"Phew! You had me worried for a minute. Thought you were turning kinky on me. Hang on, I think we've got a problem."

"What's up?"

Doyle's injured arm was the problem. The bandage extended from knuckles to elbow, the whole of which had to be kept out of the water, which was extremely difficult when tipping his head far enough back to wet it without losing his balance. They eventually found a way, though. Bodie held Doyle's head steady, cupping it in one hand in the water and washing the bloodied curls with the other.

Taking care not to splash any of the soap into his partner's eyes, Bodie gently stroked the waterlogged curls, rinsing them clean, all the while holding Doyle's head securely in his hand, stopping him from going completely under the water. He couldn't remember whether he had ever washed someone else's hair and found himself enjoying the sensations, fascinated by the way it floated around Doyle's face in the water and clung to his own fingers as he combed through it.

"Mmm! That's nice," Doyle murmured, totally relaxed and more than half asleep. "Beautiful!"

The dreamy voice jolted Bodie back to the present.

"Come on, sunshine, can't fall asleep in the bath."

Helping Doyle to sit upright, Bodie yanked out the plug and held out a towel.

"I can't stand up...give us a hand, Bodie." Unable to gain a purchase on the steamy damp bathroom tiles without soaking his bad arm, Doyle needed to be half lifted out of the bath. "Ow! Ouch! Watch it! That hurt," he complained as his various bumps and bruises made themselves known.

Wrapping a bath towel around Doyle's shoulders, Bodie gave a heavy sigh.

"I suppose you need another towel for your bloody hair!" Nodding mutely, Doyle agreed, and Bodie fetched another towel. "You can dry yourself?" he asked.

Even through the sarcasm, though, Doyle guessed that if he said he couldn't Bodie would even do that for him too.

"Could do with a hand with my hair," he admitted half truthfully. "It's a bit difficult with one hand."

It was a matter of minutes before he was comfortably seated on the rug by the armchair clad in Bodie's bathrobe--he had declined the candy striped hospital pyjamas--wedged between his partner's knees as his head was patted dry by surprisingly gentle hands.

Bodie even combed it too, and took great care not to pull or drag on the hair where his scalp was tender.

By the time they got to bed Doyle was feeling so much better that he was able to really enjoy being so thoroughly pampered. All the worries caused by Day and Internal Security, the tiredness from nights when Ann's presence or bad dreams had kept him awake and the tension that had followed him and Bodie around over the past few weeks seemed very far away; he was content to lie back and let Bodie do all the fussing and worrying for him. He slept better and more soundly than he had for months.

---

Bodie woke up slowly; he could feel himself climbing through the muzzy layers from sleep to consciousness and was aware enough to know that something wasn't quite right. He didn't want to wake up. He was quite sure about that. It was nice here: warm and cosy and safe; lovely; it was really lovely; lovely and warm; cuddled up; cuddling someone lovely and warm. He snuggled closer to the warmth, loving it. So right. So very, very right. It was getting hotter. He was getting hot and the lovely warm feeling was growing too. He pulled the warmth closer, easing his heat on the sweet softness. It wasn't enough, though, and he moved, trying to hold more, trying to grasp even more of that lovely, loving warmth to him. Touch was not enough. He needed...more. Taste! A lick of moisture on his tongue, salt-sweet, raw and smooth. His hands moved, marking territory, laying claim to what he wanted. It still wasn't enough. He needed...more... He opened his eyes.

The shock was as effective as a bucket of iced water and Bodie withdrew even as his tongue flicked out to steal another taste of Doyle's flesh.

Recognising the withdrawal, Doyle muttered a sleepy protest and inched backwards until he came up against Bodie's chest, whereupon he sighed and settled back to sleep.

While his brain told him to move away from Doyle--quickly--his body and other ideas and he was horrified to feel himself curl closer to the sleepy warmth, appalled at the way he tucked his knees up tight against the back of Doyle's legs, even pushing the relaxed legs apart to trap himself more securely between the sleep-heavy limbs and tugging Doyle's hips backwards to press the bare buttocks against his own pulsing maleness.

Unable to stop himself, Bodie began undulating gently against Doyle, easing and inflaming the rising need that was growing more urgent with each movement.

Doyle's sleepy grunt of protest at the tight band around his waist was all that stopped Bodie's headlong fall into what was promising to be a beautiful, exhilarating climax.

Breathing heavily, sweat breaking out over his body which made both men slippery and sticky, only increasing the delicious feel of flesh on flesh, Bodie forced himself to break away, rolling to the far side of the bed, freezing when he thought the abrupt movement had awoken Doyle and not relaxing until he was sure he had settled back into a deeper sleep.

Dragging his hands over his face, Bodie tried to pull together shattered nerves as his heart and respiration slowed and the burning urgency lessened to uncomfortable, aching frustration.

Slightly calmer, he shifted slightly to sit up, moving with great care so as not to disturb the sleeper. Thankful for once for the light that streamed through the uncurtained window, Bodie stared for long minutes at Doyle's face. It was some considerable time before he could make any sense of the thoughts that swirled around his head.

Once the first shock began to fade Bodie found himself questioning why. Why Doyle? Why now? Why anyone come to that but especially why Doyle?

Moving stealthily, Bodie slid out of the bed and padded along the hallway to living room, scooping his bathrobe up as he went. Three o'clock in the morning was probably too late--or too early--to start a serious drinking bout, but he felt he needed one. The first couple of inches of golden warmth slid down his throat with little noticeable effect. The refill took a little longer to disappear and by the third round he was actually sipping at the whisky, taking time to savour the taste, rolling it around in his mouth as the confusion in his mind slowed its whirling, frantic panic.

Ray? he thought in amazement. Never in his whole life had he ever felt so much as a flicker of sexual interest in another man. Especially not since... With the ease of long practice, Bodie's conscious mind pushed hidden subconscious thoughts back behind the wall. Why Ray? Why not? Bodie tried to picture waking up in a similar position with any of this other colleagues--Murphy, Jax, Puddle-- and found his only reaction to be amusement. Thank god! he thought fervently. He couldn't imagine ever sleeping with any of that lot--so how come he was so keen to sleep with Ray then? How many times had they shared a bed over their year together when either one of then could easily have driven home or slept on a couch. Ah! Bodie reasoned to himself, Ray's couch was bloody uncomfortable and his own was a good nine inches too short. But, his conscience argued, why bring him home tonight. Admittedly Doyle had enjoyed the bath but it would have been easier to wash his hair in a shower but... But, Bodie finally admitted, he'd wanted to look after him, he'd wanted to care for him and make sure he was comfortable...and happy...just as he had for nearly a year now. He wanted to care for his partner.

And he did.

Care!

Doyle was his partner. Cowley had given him to him.

Doyle was his!

The anger that welled up inside was as big a shock as the sensations that had initially woken him. Bodie slammed the tumbler down on the table and swore, quietly but vehemently. Damn Cowley! he thought bitterly. Damn the man with his intricate, devious schemes. Cowley's Grand Plan had worked all right, had worked better than Cowley would ever know. Would never know! Never! All the scheming to bind him to a partner, to snare him with bonds of loyalty had backfired. Cowley had chosen well. Too damned well!

The anger was easier to handle, the emotion more familiar. Bodie knew how to make anger work for him.

He didn't return to bed until after dawn with his plan of action already firmly mapped out, the battle lines drawn up. The solution had been ridiculously easy. All Bodie had to do now was make sure Ray got what he thought he wanted. Marriage and CI5 made poor bedmates and Doyle would leave the squad--if not the department completely.

Once Doyle was no longer his partner, Bodie could resign, and to hell with George Cowley and his damned loyalties.

By the time Mr and Mrs Doyle realised their mistake it would be too late.

Lying in the bed alongside his oblivious, gently snoring partner, Bodie felt his resolve falter. But when he reached out to touch a bared shoulder, Doyle flinched and moved restlessly, hammering home a reminder of why Doyle disliked being touched.

Ruthlessly Bodie forced the longing inside him away, refusing to allow himself the luxury of even daydreaming about the remote possibility that just maybe...

From the other side of the bed Bodie watched Doyle sleep.

It was considerable time before he put a name to the dampness on his face.

---

From the observation room Cowley watched the events happening down on the warehouse floor grimly, his mind analysing the scene in a completely different way from the woman beside him but arriving, regretfully, at the same answer.

To one side of them Macklin groaned in amazement and wrung his hands through his hair.

"What the hell happened there?" he asked of no one in particular.

"Bodie let him fall," Ross answered clearly, her normally emotionless voice tinged with disappointment.

"Only a few weeks ago--a month ago--Bodie would have been there," said Cowley worriedly.

"A few months ago Doyle wouldn't have needed any help. He's way below par," Macklin added.

"They're not communicating," Ross said thoughtfully.

"How do you mean?"

"Almost from the beginning--well," Ross added not unfairly, "since Bodie accepted him as partner, I've noticed that in tight, fast-response situations, they only need the barest minimum of verbal communication to agree on a course of action."

The three watched the men being put through their paces. Macklin had noticed the uncanny way the two operated, he'd noticed something else, too.

"Do you ever hear them when they're fooling around, either before a job or just after when the tension's easing off? Bodie'll start to tell a joke--"

"--and Doyle will finish it for him. Aye," Cowley said, smiling. He had noticed that; most people had.

"Look at them!" Ross gestured to where the two agents were huddled together. "They're planning their attack on Towser, and they're having to use speech to do it. Something is very wrong down there.

"I'm open to suggestions as to what exactly is wrong, doctor," Cowley said briskly. "How far below par is Doyle?" This was addressed to Macklin.

"Well," the fair-haired man spoke slowly, choosing his words with care, "physically, he's fit--fit enough by my standards anyway. Dr Willis is of the opposite opinion."

"Why?"

"The usual story, Doyle's weight is down again and Willis feels that the weight loss is a reflection of Doyle's emotional state."

"It most probably is," Ross added.

"And if he's emotionally...unbalanced at the moment, his whole biological make-up is likely to be equally unbalanced--"

"Just hold it there," Cowley ordered. "One psychiatrist in the department is quite sufficient," he said, glaring from Macklin to Ross. "I was under the impression that Willis had passed Doyle as fit. Is that right?"

"That's correct," Macklin agreed.

"And you say he is below par. Are you refusing to pass him as fit?"

"No."

"Dr Ross?"

"No."

"So everyone is prepared to allow 4.5 to continue on duty?"

"Yes, sir--but with grave reservations." Ross and Macklin nodded in agreement with each other. "It's quite obvious that something is happening within the pairing, something is causing friction. But even allowing for the loss of effectiveness they are still a formidable team."

Cowley watched the two men as they finally out-manoeuvred Towser and succeeded in pinning him down to the dusty floor.

"I agree that they're good," he said as the two men let out banshee victory cries when Towser admitted defeat, "but I'm not happy with the way things are. This 'something' that's causing friction--could it be the girlfriend?"

"Ann Holly?" asked Ross. "Very likely. In fact, almost certainly. It seems wedding bells could be looming up sometime in the near future."

"Marriage?" Cowley asked in amazement; he hadn't thought things were that serious.

"From what Bodie was saying last week it seems probable," said Kate Ross smoothly.

"Bodie said that?" Macklin said in surprise. "I've not heard Doyle mention anything."

"And he's not thought to mention it to me either," said Cowley, "and he knows the procedure. The girl will have to be vetted."

"Well," Ross said, slightly defensive in the face of such open-mouthed amazement, "the way Bodie was speaking I took it as a foregone conclusion. He seemed quite positive about it. Made some joke about having to drag Doyle to his tailor to stop him arriving at the altar in jeans, if I remember right."

"Hmm," Cowley thought for a minute before voicing his suspicion. "Will Doyle want to continue in the department once he's married the girl?"

"Marriage and CI5 don't fit together too well," said Macklin.

"Form the little 4.5 has told me about Miss Holly I don't think she would be content to take the back seat to her husband's career. I got the impression that Doyle was under some pressure from her to resign from the police when they were nearly married before."

"But Doyle enjoys being on the squad," Macklin protested. "I don't think he's even thought about turning his back on Bodie."

"Maybe Bodie's turning away from him." As soon as the words left his mouth Cowley knew he was right. So did Macklin and Ross.

"What was it you said all those months ago, doctor?" Cowley said quietly. "Bodie always shuns personal involvement. Well, this time he made a mistake--and he knows it."

Macklin finished off Cowley's line of reasoning.

"Somehow, Doyle's got under Bodie's skin and now Bodie is trying to pull away before he gets hurt. He knows if Doyle marries the girl he'll leave the squad--"

"So he's building up the wall between them, he's pulling away first, before Doyle does."

Problem understood.

It might be understood but it was still unsolved, and it would have to be faced.

Standing alone in the observation room Cowley watched the two men gather their equipment together and help Macklin and Towser put the mats and training gear away. Each taking one end of a mattress, they dragged and carried it over to the storeroom. The job finished, they did not immediately return to the centre of the room but stayed leaning against the wall and door talking earnestly and deeply for several long minutes. Cowley continued to watch as Bodie shook his head in a very definite manner before turning his back on his partner and walking away. Doyle called after him, once, twice, before turning his own back to the room and punching his fist into the mattress with a force that rocked his body.

It was just possible, Cowley mused consideringly, that Bodie had met his match. Doyle quite clearly did not want his partner to walk away from him.

Leaving the building and walking towards his care, he decided not to start the vetting procedures until Doyle formally declared his intent. For some inexplicable reason Cowley found he was quite unwilling to accept Bodie's declaration of his partner's intent.

---

Determined to find the reason behind Bodie's persistent bloody-mindedness, Doyle was in no mood to linger in the draughty shower room. Cleaner though still unrefreshed, he threw on his clothes and followed Bodie out of the training complex at a brisk trot. Just lately he was always following Bodie, always a couple of steps behind, and only ever catching up when it was obvious Bodie had no option but to allow it. Reaching HQ only seconds behind him, though, he found Bodie was nowhere in sight. The deceptive tattiness of the reception area, deserted except for the electronic, computerised wizardry that allowed the ever-present security man to look like the lethargic, innocuous person he most definitely was not, offered him no clue.

"Where did he go?"

"Who?"

"3.7."

"Lost him have you?"

"Oh...fuck off!" Doyle said sourly, the man's sarcasm only serving to irritate him further.

"You blokes," the security man called after, "think you're so bloody wonderful, but you can't even keep tabs on each other!" The man's voice followed him up the stairwell.

Their office was empty, only Bodie's jacket draped over a desk indicating that once again, Doyle was just a few steps behind his partner. The sound of raucous hilarity rumbled its way along the corridor form the operations room. Doyle opened the door and walked through.

Carter noticed him first. As soon as he saw the double-take in the man's eyes he knew it was too late to retreat and he steeled himself to carry on. Carter nudged the man next to him, who was crowing like a constipated chicken; following Carter's nervous glance, the man choked down his mirth and kicked the chair leg of the man next to him.

That he, Doyle, had been the source of everyone's amusement was blatantly apparent. The laughter stopped within seconds of people becoming aware exactly who had entered the room, everyone's embarrassment too great even to attempt an effort of normality.

"Must 'ave bin one hell of a joke," Doyle said quietly. "Anyone care to share it?"

No one spoke and in a moment of icy, insane clarity, Doyle wondered why everyone had stopped breathing.

"Isn't anyone going to tell me the joke then?"

"You intending to add it to your repertoire?"

This, from Day--who else, Doyle thought--brought more than one nervous snigger.

"You going to tell me or what?" Doyle turned to face the agent, realising that this moment had been a long time coming. He was aware of people moving about, leaving the room. There were no cowards in CI5 but no one deliberately got caught in the fallout. From down the corridor he could hear raised voices, he thought he could hear someone calling his partner's name.

"Keen on sharing things, are you, Doyle?" said Day as he eased himself to his feet and stepped away from the table. "I mean, I've heard that you are...generous, that is."

"And what else have you...heard?"

Someone touched his arm and he flung them off without taking his eyes from Day.

"I've heard a lot about you, sunshine!" Coming from Day's lips the nickname sounded warped, twisted. "Very keen on sharing...things!" Day's eyes roamed insolently over Doyle's body, a small, almost imperceptible flicker of tongue showing through the smiling mouth. "a little bit here...little bit there...sharing...things." Day saved the best until last, enjoying the moment and uncaring of Cowley's orders. "Met an old friend of yours the other day. Got to talking about you. He said next time I saw you I was to give you his...regards!"

From behind, Doyle heard another snigger.

"This 'old friend,'" Doyle asked, "got a name, has he?"

"Said how much he missed you," Day said casually as he measured how much further he could risk pushing Doyle. "You cheered his days up no end, he said--poor old Bert--bet you cheered his nights up too."

It was so fast he didn't see it coming. Doyle was pumping his fist into his abdomen for the third time before the pain from the first one registered.

Day was fighting him off, pushing and punching at Doyle while someone was trying to grab his arms from behind. Doyle fought them both, fought them all.

A riot in the operations room was not the best way to keep their Controller in the right frame of mind and so everyone piled back into the melee, trying to break it up before the disturbance reached the office at the far end of the corridor.

Pinned to the floor by half a dozen of Cowley's finest, Doyle was still fighting them, struggling against he weights that secured his arms and legs, bucking against the weight that settled heavily on his back.

"Doyle! Doyle!" Somebody was touching his face, trying to turn it; he bit the fingers hard. "Ouch! Jesus, Ray! Pack it in, mate. Ray, pack it in before someone gets hurt!"

It was Bodie. Doyle turned to look at the owner of the bitten fingers. Bodie was there on his knees looking worried--frightened even--and he wondered why. He saw Bodie nod to someone behind him, above him, and felt the weight on his back lift off a few inches; the body hesitated before shifting any further but Bodie made an impatient movement with his head and all the restraining hands left him.

"Get him out of here before Cowley starts sniffing around," a voice barked roughly. Doyle tensed again, but it was Day who was jerked to his feet and hustled out of the door. "Everyone else can get out too--go on! The fun's all over now. Sod off!" Bodie dismissed everyone else and helped Doyle to his feet.

Stunned by both his temper and a blow to his head, Doyle just stood there, rocking slightly, as first Bodie and then Lake tried to disguise the evidence. Pulling a hanky from his pocket, Lake pressed it into Doyle's hand and then pressed the hanky and hand over a nose which was bleeding slightly.

There was a slight commotion at the door.

"Cowley's on his way down to see the rota boards. Quick!" an urgent voice announced. For a moment the men, with the exception of the cause of it all, panicked.

"Into the side room, then we can get him out through the rest room when Cowley's not looking," Lake said.

They only just made it. To avoid being seen they had to get down on their hands and knees and crawl below the half-glass partition to reach the door that led back into the corridor.

Totally unaware of the goings on only a few feet behind his back, Cowley gave his attention to the rota boards.

Waiting until Cowley moved over to the duty operatives desk, the three men scurried across the few feet of exposed floor to escape into the corridor. They were out of the building and halfway across the car park before they began to believe that they had got away with it.

Lake turned and gave Bodie a meaningful look; he didn't have to say anything.

"Thanks, Puddle. He owes you one!"

"Forget it. Just take him home and keep him out of trouble, Bodie, for all our sakes!" Lake said quietly before squeezing Bodie's shoulder and moving away. He didn't really want to get involved; he knew all about dealing with a partner's problems and he didn't want to know--not any more.

"Come on, Ray," Bodie said gruffly as he unlocked the car door. "Get in and I'll take you home."

"Oh, you are talking to me then!"

Bodie ignored him and waited for Doyle to get in the car. "Do you need a doctor?" he thought to enquire. Doyle had after all very nearly single-handedly fought off a small army

"No."

"Are you all right now?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, christ!" Bodie drew in a deep breath and tried to gather the threads of his patience. "Are you going to have a fight with me now?"

"If you want one, why not?" Doyle demanded to know. "Might clear the air a bit. Who knows, you might even stand still long enough for me to hit you!"

Driving down the street, Bodie had to negotiate between some buses before he could answer. He hoped the delay would help him think of something to say.

"Tell you what," Doyle said in a brittle voice, "how about a compromise? Instead of a fight let's 'ave an argument."

Bodie could feel the tension in the man next to him and realised that Day had been the final straw and the things they had avoided talking about all summer had finally bubbled to the surface.

"Hell," Doyle went on in his partner's continued silence, "even an argument would be a novelty. How long is it since we last talked?"

"What are you on about? Never stop talking, you don't!" Bodie joked lamely.

"Oh yeah! We talk about the job, we talk about Cowley, we even talk about Anson's fuckin' cigars but when do we ever really talk?"

The silence continued as the car moved along the streets, Bodie desperately trying to think of a way to turn the conversation and Doyle mopping the remaining blood spots on his face and wondering where the hell everything had started to go wrong.

"How long has he been spreading it around?" Doyle finally asked, sounding much calmer.

"Has who been spreading what around?" Bodie asked, still trying to stall.

"How long," Doyle said with care, "has Day been telling everyone about Kingsley and me?"

"Oh, that!"

"Yeah, oh that!" Doyle said bitterly.

"Since you joined the squad."

"Shit!" Doyle swore without any real heat. "Was half hoping it was only recent. When did you first hear it?"

"Not long after you'd told me what had really happened. And as far as I can tell he's only talked to the squad; he's got more sense than to spread it any further."

"Does Cowley know?"

"What do you think?"

"He knows." Doyle thought for a few minutes. "Do you think he already knew or would the rumours going round have been the first he knew about it?"

"I don't know for sure but I'd say he knew about Kingsley before you left Maidstone," Bodie said quietly. "You said to yourself that everyone on the wing thought Kingsley was screwing you. Stands to reason that the story would get about--nice juicy bit of gossip...plus..." Bodie stumbled again, "well...you've never...denied it--except to me, of course...you let them believe it, and since you left Maidstone you've never talked about it to anyone apart from me."

"That fuckin' pervert!" Doyle hissed. "I bet he'd just love to know how he's still mucking my life up."

They arrived at Doyle's flat and although he didn't really want to stay while his partner was in such an odd mood, Bodie felt reluctant to leave him. Doyle's mood kept swinging back and forth between anger and depression and although Bodie knew the depression was not deep enough to be dangerous, he knew that the anger was.

Deciding that alcohol would be easier and less painful to administer than a thump on the head, Bodie poured them both a drink, but when he turned with the glasses the room was empty. He found Doyle in the hallway staring at his mirror image.

"What do they see?" Doyle asked aloud. "What do I do that makes them look at me?"

It took Bodie a second or two to realise that Doyle wasn't really talking to him, that he was asking himself the question as he stared at his image, trying to see what they saw.

"It keeps on happening...even before I went inside...just didn't understand what they wanted before...too naive, I suppose. Do you think I look queer?"

The question took Bodie completely by surprise, and he took too long to answer for a denial to sound believable.

"What does 'queer' look like?" Bodie finally managed to say, his heart pounding as he realised how horrified Doyle would be if he ever guessed how his partner felt about him. He stared into the mirror straight into the reflection of Doyle's eyes. Beautiful was a word which sprang into Bodie's mind. He tried to turn the word into handsome, but beautiful was better.

"You're...good-looking," Bodie said carefully. "Slim--fit--an attractive man. I suppose if a...man was...that way inclined...he might think you worth...approaching."

"Good looking!" Doyle mimicked him, "with this!"

Bodie touched a finger to the damaged cheek, shocked at his daring and recklessly giving in to his need to reach out and touch.

"Makes you look...different; exotic."

"Exotic!"

"Special, then," Bodie said, relaxing slightly as Doyle permitted the touch and even turned his head to allow to allow Bodie's fingers to trace the scarred tissue as it disappeared into his hairline.

Unconscious of what he was doing, Doyle closed his eyes and moved his head slightly, encouraging Bodie's fingers to linger in their fleeting caress of his skin. Bodie was forced to apply more pressure with his hand to prevent Doyle from noticing how much he was trembling. He slipped his hand along the curve of Doyle's skull and down the tense column of his neck, turning the action into a firm, relaxing and, Bodie hoped, an asexual massage--asexual, that was, from Doyle's point of view; certain not from his. Totally oblivious to the storm Bodie was encountering, Doyle relaxed into the massage, encouraging him to continue with soft moans of contentment as the tension was eased away.

His eyes open again, Doyle saw only his own reflection looking back at him, imperfection and disappointment seemingly etched onto his face.

"Nah," he said softly, "how could anyone call that exotic?" He touched the cheekbone with a finger and pulled the skin taut in an attempt to even it out. "Ann says that a good plastic surgeon should be able to do something with it."

"What?" Bodie was astonished to discover that the scar caused his partner so much anguish that he would consider such drastic action. "What on earth do you want to go mucking around with that sort of thing for?"

"It does make me look a bit odd. Ann says it makes me look..."

Doyle's voice trailed away as he was suddenly overtaken by a burst of self-consciousness.

"She said it made you look odd?" Bodie asked, more than prepared to make her a present of her own damaged cheekbone if she so wished.

"Not in so many words," Doyle admitted. "She does have tact--sometimes." He laughed softly, wistfully. "She keeps looking at it, but she's never touched it. Not once."

Bodie laid a finger across the mark again, a thrill of unexpected pleasure surging through his nerve endings at the knowledge that he was doing something for Doyle that Ann couldn't or wouldn't do. And Ray was letting him, encouraging him even.

"What do I do about Day?" Doyle asked later that evening. "If Cowley gets to hear about this afternoon's debacle we'll both be on the carpet."

"Day's hardly likely to tell him--from what I heard he was asking for it, deliberately provoking you."

"He asked for it all right."

"Most of the squad don't share his opinion of you--"

"Most?" Doyle picked up on the word.

"You've still got to charm a few of 'em, sunshine--but no one listens to him and more--"

"The whole bloody room was listening when I walked in on him!" protested Doyle.

"Come on, Doyle!" They'd all been stuck up there on standby all day. They'd've listened to Percy Edward's bird impressions if he'd been there."

It had a ring of truth; Doyle had to admit as much. After a few hours you'd find yourself listening to anything to keep yourself awake, and a nice piece of spiced up gossip, however untrue, was as good a way as any of passing the time.

As Bodie got ready to go home for the night Doyle asked him about his plans for the next evening.

"Why? I thought Ann was coming home tonight."

"Well, yes, I think she is but--"

"By tomorrow night she'll be over her jet-lag and all ready to tell you what she's been up to in all those foreign parts, won't she. It's been a few weeks--I expect you'll both have a lot to talk about," Bodie said brightly.

"I suppose so. But I thought..."

"Well, I must go. Want to get me eight hours in. See you tomorrow. Goodnight."

"But, Bodie...'night," Doyle called out lamely as the door slammed shut behind the swiftly retreating figure.

Wandering through the flat, locking up and turning the lights off, Doyle thought about Ann, wondering when she would arrive at Heathrow. If her flight didn't get in until very early in the morning she might still be too tired to want company tomorrow evening.

He didn't once question the reasons why Ann's imminent return did not fill him with happy anticipation. Neither did he think it strange that he wanted to spend tomorrow evening relaxing and unwinding in his partner's company.

---

As he had known it would be, the conversation was soon steered back towards the coming festivities. He didn't want to discuss it, Ann knew it and so did Bodie, and he was beginning to feel picked on.

"For the last time," he raged quietly, "I don't think going to visit Constance is a good idea."

"You'll have to go and see her sometime, Doyle," Bodie said politely.

"Why?"

"Oh, Ray, really!" Ann exclaimed.

"Because you have to," Bodie insisted. "Stands to reason, you can't hide away forever. You'll have to see her and explain everything. She'll have to know eventually."

"Why?"

"Because!" Bodie said meaningly as he winked across the small table at Ann, who blushed prettily and smiled back at him. "My round, isn't it--same again?" He picked up the empty glasses and moved towards the bar, leaving Doyle tracing the circles of liquid on the table top and scowling fiercely.

"Darling, please!" Ann begged sweetly. She knew her mother was expecting her to go home for Christmas and after Bodie had told her how Ray had spent his first Christmas out of prison she felt obliged to do something to make this year happier for him. "Bodie's right, darling. Once we tell her the truth about those dreadful things that happened everything will be just fine. Just like before. Oh, please, Ray! Please say you'll come. You know that you'll be welcome, Mummy and Harry will just love to see you again."

Doyle didn't particularly feel like placing a bet on that. Dear Connie and Happy Harry would do all they could to make him feel about as welcome as a fertile flea, only Ann couldn't see that. Had never been able to see that.

"So, when are you off then?" Bodie asked as he plonked their drinks down on the table. "Don't forget to get your good suit pressed; got to make a good impression on your future in-laws, haven't you!"

Ann simpered and took a delicate sip of her drink and didn't notice the filthy look her intended gave his partner.

---

Life was very hectic in the weeks leading up to Christmas. The Christian sprit of goodwill towards all men seemed to affect all the heads of state, and military leaders of all denominations at the same time. They all converged on London--it seemed to share their goodwill--before vanishing back to their respective homes, castles, places and fortresses prior to the Christian world closing down for Christmas.

---

Deliberately, and very purposefully, Bodie did not allow his partner a moment in which he could really talk to him about anything outside their work.

In fact, it wasn't until the squad's party was almost half over that he sought his friend out. Doyle was talking to Puddle with no sign anywhere of Ann when Bodie found him.

"Where is she then--where's my lovely lady?" Bodie asked.

"Gone to--powder her nose," Lake answered discreetly.

"That's all right then. For a nasty moment there I thought you'd let one of this lot of rabble walk off with her."

"She's got too much taste to do a daft thing like that, haven't you, love?" Doyle slipped his arm around Ann's waist and pecked her cheek as she returned.

"To do what?" she asked.

"Run off to my love-nest for a night of unbridled passion with me, my dear," Bodie said in his best Rudolph Valentino style.

"Don't listen to him, beautiful!" Lake added. "You'd end up washing his socks and making him bacon butties all night."

"Give over, Puddle," Bodie laughed and thumped his friend o the back. "Anyway, Doyle, when are you two off to see the in-laws then?"

"In-laws! You've not said anything about getting married!"

"Well, we've not actually--" said Doyle.

"He, listen everybody, listen!" Lake raised his voice to be heard above the noise of the party. "Shut up and listen--I've got an announcement to make."

"Puddle!" Doyle failed to stop him.

"Everybody listening? Right. Got an important announcement to make. Doyle's getting married!"

From then on it was pure bedlam, congratulations rained down on the 'happy couple' from every direction. They were parted from each other by sheer force of numbers; Doyle was borne to the bar to be given celebratory drinks and Ann was swept around the dance floor by a succession of men keen to dance with the newest squad 'wife.'

By the time the party came to an end they were officially engaged.

---

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The phone rang at odd intervals throughout the whole of Christmas Day. Bodie stopped what he was doing each time it rang out to look at it...and waited for it to stop. He didn't feel like talking to anyone and he most definitely did not feel up to coping with joyous greetings and seasonal salutations. He half wished that the red phone, the direct line to HQ, would ring, but if it did it would probably cancel Doyle's leave too--and he didn't really want that either.

The phone shrilled again, longer this time as though the caller knew someone was there. The ringing went on and on. Bodie just glared at it as it continued.

"Fuck off, Doyle!" Bodie shouted at it. "Jus' fuck off an' leave me alone!" The phone was suddenly silent. Bodie stared at it for a few more seconds before slumping back into his chair and topping his glass up. "Tha's right...you jus' fuck off an' leave me alone, see if I care. You see if I..."

It took a lot to make Bodie drunk. It was an expensive habit that he didn't pursue very often, but then it was Christmas after all. He didn't usually pay much attention to Christmas and, since freeing himself from his own family ties had single-mindedly refused to get drawn into anyone else's. Except for the last year, of course. To fend off the feelings the memory initiated, Bodie took another long swallow before allowing the thoughts to solidify into the chain of events. It had all been Cowley's fault. And Puddle's--not forgetting Murphy...good old Murphy!

"Bet Doyle's looking forward to next week, eh?" Murphy had said. Bodie hadn't understood and said so. "Christmas," Murph had said, waving his arms around like some demented windmill and smiling broadly. The one-word explanation had still not made all that much sense to Bodie, who was prepared to conclude that Murphy had already been afflicted with the seasonal insanity.

"Good of the Old Man to give you two the holiday off--not even on standby, you lucky sods! Must be the Christmas spirit--probably opened the bottle a bit early, eh!" Murphy had chortled. "It's only fair, I suppose, even the other lads reckon Cowley's being pretty decent letting Doyle off this Christmas--Christ, I don't suppose he's had much to celebrate the past few years!"

It was only then Bodie realised that it was going to be Doyle's first 'free' Christmas for four years--and everyone, it seemed, was expecting him to do something about it. Uncertain of what to do and resenting the widely held belief that he should be the one to do it, Bodie had eventually gone around to visit Doyle at his new flat.

For one reason or another they didn't get round to discussing Christmas until much later that evening. Helping his partner to 'rearrange a few bits of furniture' had turned into a mammoth task, the whole house being shifted around until Bodie was quite certain that some bits had ended up exactly where they had started from.

"All you need now is a tree and some tinsel," Bodie had ventured as an opener.

"Nah," Doyle dismissed the suggestion casually and sent to get them something to drink."

"No."

"Christmas is for families." Bodie recited the phrase people often quoted at him and did at least try to sound as if he meant it.

"You going to see yours?" Doyle asked.

"No."

Doyle just shrugged at his answer and changed the subject.

"What are you going to do?" Bodie asked him again a little later on. Doyle sighed before answering.

"Hadn't given it that much thought--how long did you say we have off?"

"Three days."

"Three days--what can you do in three days for heaven's sake?"

"Celebrate Christmas," Bodie said recklessly.

"How?"

"Same way as everyone else, I suppose. Eating, drinking and...watching the telly! How did you want to spend it?"

Doyle went very quiet for a few minutes before replying and at first Bodie didn't want to listen too closely, but it soon became apparent that Doyle was quite lost in his memories as he relived past Christmases. Childhood tales and reflections of a family life that was quite unknown to Bodie were slowly revealed; simple, touching tales that were sometimes bittersweet and occasionally, childishly magical. Of the Christmases spent in prison there was no mention and Doyle refused to be drawn. The shutters on that part of his life were, as always, well and truly closed.

It took Bodie a few days to work out his plan and it went off beautifully. The wonderful 'Family Sized Christmas Hamper' that he 'won' in some unspecified lottery cost him a considerable portion of his monthly salary and the invitation to spend Christmas in decadent comfort and willing arms, but it had been worth it. Doyle had responded to his partner's cry for help and unearthed a recipe from somewhere to cope with the turkey, Christmas pudding and all the other trimmings it took them the three days to eat and drink.

They had stayed at Doyle's new flat the whole time, not straying outside the front door once, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, and enjoying themselves. It had been the closest Bodie had come to a 'family' Christmas for many years. The last too, he thought bitterly.

The phone rang once more during the evening and started again about mid-morning on Boxing Day. Bodie continued to ignore it. Eventually he covered the phone with a pile of pillows and took himself off to bed to sleep away his overdose of Christmas.

The dream was so familiar that he already knew the ending. He followed the set pattern easily, remembering with boring ease each turn of conversation, shift of tension, but this time the analytical part of his mind rebelled against the routine and forced a few changes, subtle changes that were, at first, barely noticeable.

"What are you in for?" he asked his cell mate.

"Nothing--I'm innocent," Doyle answered quietly.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Bodie spat out as he pulled at the other man's shirt, forcing him to look up.

"It's true," Doyle insisted.

"Don't make me laugh."

"It's all lies, I didn't do anything!"

"I suppose it's all lies about you and Bert Kingsley too?"

Doyle paled and tried to pull away but Bodie held on to him.

"Don't..."

"Don't what?" Bodie demanded of his prisoner. His own prison garb was gone, replaced by the trim, serviceable serge of an officer.

The change of clothing changed the rules.

The power of his new position ran through Bodie like an electrical charge, adding fuel to his growing anticipation and increased awareness of the man he held so closely.

"You're a bent copper, Doyle," Bodie sneered. He gripped Doyle's chin, forcing it up. "And you know what we do to bent coppers, don't you?" He jerked Doyle forward, bringing him into hard contact with his own body. He could feel Doyle's trembling body down the whole, hot, aching length of himself.

"Did you say 'don't' to Kingsley when he did this?" Bodie rubbed his groin against Doyle's. "And what about when he did this?" Bodie slid his hands about the taut body to cup Doyle's buttocks, pulling him forward to increase the sensation centring nicely in his own body but before he could force it through to completion Doyle was snatched away from his arms.

"Ray!" he cried out, protesting his loss.

"He's not yours," the man snarled. "He's mine, aren't you, Ray?" The man had his arm resting loosely across Doyle's shoulders. Doyle smiled at Bodie before answering:

"That's right," as he turned into the larger man's embrace. Stunned, Bodie watched as the stranger pulled the unresisting Doyle to him and repeated the coarse movements he had made himself only seconds earlier--the only difference being that Doyle was not passive this time and he watched helplessly as his Ray responded to the rough handling. Held captive by the spectacle, Bodie looked on as Doyle's body was bared by knowing hands, the sight of his obvious arousal adding more fire to Bodie's own lust. Unable to bear the lack of physical stimulation a second longer, Bodie loosened his own clothing, freeing himself, his hand starting a fast and furious beat immediately. He closed his eyes at the moment of climax and fancied that he heard a cry from Doyle. He couldn't help himself responding to the sound and he opened his mouth to call his partner's name as he came. He was still pulsing stickily into his hand with Ray's name on his lips when he woke up, every ugly second clear in his mind.

"Bodie!"

He shook his head to clear it but Doyle's voice could still be heard--although edged with irritation rather than passion--but just as clearly as in his dream.

"Bodie! I know you're in there, if you don't come and let this chain off I'm going to kick the bloody door down!"

Bodie froze. He couldn't possibly face him now; not after...

"Bodie. You've got until I count to three to convince me you've got a good reason why I can't come in!"

Shakily clambering out of bed and shrugging into a bathrobe, Bodie moved towards the hallway, his brain going into overdrive. Inspiration hit as he opened the bedroom door. He stepped into the hallway and continued an imaginary conversation with no one in a voice calculated as being just loud enough to carry to the cracked open front door.

"...okay, I'll just get rid of him, just wait a bit...no, there's no need for you to get up--I'll just get rid of him." Reaching the door, Bodie slammed it shut, careless of Doyle's nose or fingers, released the safety chain and opened it again with a belligerent expression firmly fixed on his face.

"What the bloody hell do you want? Who the fuck do you think you are knocking on my door at this time of night?"

"Bodie, it's four-thirty in the afternoon," Doyle said sweetly.

"So?" Bodie demanded. "What do you want? Make it snappy--there's a mate." Bodie softened his voice a little and nodded towards his closed bedroom door.

"You've got company?" Doyle asked, feeling rather foolish now that he was here.

His voice heavy with irony, Bodie simply said, "You noticed! Someone gave you a brain for Christmas!"

"Sorry. Interrupt something did I?" Only now did Doyle realise why his partner had taken so long to answer the door; the smell of sex still strong enough to carry across the draughty hallway.

"We've established that I've got company and that you did interrupt something," Bodie said patiently. "But I still don't know why you were intent on doing a shoulder charge on my front door."

Intent now only on getting away, Doyle began to back towards the stairs.

"Just wanted to tell you that your phone's not working--I've been ringing and ringing you, yesterday and today; knew you were in so I reported the fault," he added generously.

"What did you want that was so important?"

"Oh...nothing." Doyle had reached the beginning of the stairwell. "Just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas, that's all and to invite you over for dinner tomorrow."

"Dinner? I thought you were staying with Ann's family?"

Doyle wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, well...had enough of them. Came home this morning."

"I dunno about tomorrow--"

"Ann's staying on for a few more days, won't come back to town till Thursday at the earliest," Doyle added, realising unconsciously that his partner wouldn't come if he thought Ann was going to be there.

"What time?" Bodie asked.

---

Bodie arrived half an hour early--and was let in by Ann.

"Hello, Bodie," she said in the moment of surprised silence. "Ray had a phone call from someone about twenty minutes ago and had to go out."

"From HQ?" Bodie asked.

"No, I don't think so. It was a Bob someone. I think Ray said he was with the Home Office."

"Bob Craig?"

"Yes, I think that was it," she replied as she led Bodie into the living room. "Here, let me take your jacket. Would you like a drink?"

Bodie let her take his jacket and moved towards the small drinks cabinet to help himself.

"Glasses are in the middle cupboard and I think you'll find some mixers in the cupboard underneath," Ann called out from the hallway. Bodie already had a glass in his hand and had not needed to be told where anything was, being as he was as comfortable in Doyle's home as he was in his own--something his hostess noticed as soon as she came back into the room.

"I'd forgotten, you're probably quite familiar with Ray's flat, aren't you," she said, accepting a glass of dry martini. The flash of colour on his hand drew Bodie's attention to the new jewellery adorning the manicured finger.

"All formal now, is it?" he asked as he held her hand to look closer at the ring.

"Yes." Ann twisted it on her finger. "Ray wanted to buy me another ring, a new one, but I told him that I still wanted to wear this one." She moved away to rest her glass down before going out into the kitchen.

Bodie followed her. "Another ring?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. This one was my first engagement ring, the one Ray bought me the last time...I could never bear to get rid of it."

"Surprised you kept it all this time," Bodie said unthinkingly.

"Why shouldn't I?" Ann spun on her heel.

"Well..." Bodie groped frantically for an agreeable answer, he could hardly say what he really thought she should have done. "I thought you girls were supposed to chuck it in the river or pawn it when love's dream goes sour," he said with a disarming smile.

Saved by the bell, he thought with relief as the phone rang. They both reached to answer it, Ann's hand closing on the receiver first. Bodie acknowledged she could answer it with a brief nod and stood back. Had it been the red phone, of course, there was no way she would have been allowed to answer it.

"Hello. Yes, he arrived about ten minutes ago. All right. Bodie--it's Ray." She held out the phone for him to take.

"Hello, mate," Bodie said.

"Sorry about this, Bodie, but I'm not going to get back for another few hours." He sounded tired and irritable.

"What's up, Ann said that Bob Craig had called?"

"Yeah, the whole compensation business comes up before the board in a few days and he needed to get some papers prepared--and some berk has gone and lost half the bloody file so I've got to go over everything again!"

"Need any help?"

"Nothing you can help with, mate. I've just got to plough through a mountain of papers to check what's missing. Sorry about this," Doyle apologised again. "Mucked my plans right up it has, especially with Ann suddenly flying off to America tomorrow. Look, why don't you two go ahead and have dinner, I'll try and get back as soon as I can--" Doyle's voice became distant and voices could be heard in the background, then the mouthpiece was muffled as he spoke to someone in the room with him. It was only a moment before he was talking down the phone again. "Bodie, I've got to go, sorry about this evening. Tell Ann I'll see her tonight when I've finished here, bye." The line went dead and Bodie replaced the receiver.

"He had to go, said he'll see you tonight," he said awkwardly. Wonderful, he thought, a perfect evening--just Ann and him--recipe for disaster.

"Did he say anything about dinner?"

He could lie, of course. The thought was very tempting.

"Yes, said we were to go ahead without him."

"Well, if you came for dinner the least I can do is feed you," Ann said lightly.

Bodie suddenly recalled the few things Ray had ever said about his fiancee's cooking and tried to withdraw from the predicament he found himself in.

"It's okay, love. I don't want to put you out."

"Really, Bodie. It's no bother, besides, it'll make a pleasant change to have a chance to cook something without Ray fussing around in the kitchen." The sarcastic tone Ann used took Bodie aback and it obviously showed because she laughed, a genuine laugh this time. Not a genteel giggle, but a warm rich sound that Bodie couldn't help but respond to.

"Honestly, Bodie," said Ann as she went back into the kitchen and started rummaging through the vegetable racks and fridge. "The way Ray goes on you would think he was the only person in the world able to cook a decent meal!"

"He is a good cook--miles better than me," Bodie defended.

"He told me you were lousy in the kitchen."

Had he, indeed, Bodie thought, surprised to realise that the pair must have talked about him. "I think lousy is a bit strong!" he said, slightly wounded.

"Oh, don't worry, Bodie. I always take everything Ray says about other people's cooking with a big pinch of salt--no one ever matches his standards. Have you honestly never noticed how fussy he is with his food?" she asked. Bodie had to admit that apart from thinking that Ray never ate enough, he hadn't. Ann wasn't surprised. "It took me ages to work it out--and even then it was Helen, his mother, who told me. You'll never get him to admit it, but he's got a real 'thing' about eating food prepared by other people. If he cooks for himself he'll usually eat the pattern off the plate but give him a meal prepared by someone else and he'll eat enough to be polite or to stop himself from feeling hungry."

"I've seen him eating out--and he eats at my place," Bodie continued to defend Ray although he knew that what Ann was saying had more than a grain of truth in it.

"But what does he eat? In a canteen or restaurant he will opt for a salad or something really basic like an omelette, rolls or sandwiches. Things which take relatively little cooking. And, at your home, when you do the cooking, I'll bet that Ray is in the kitchen with you, watching, helping to get it ready?"

"Well...now that you mention it," Ray admitted. "Can't say that I'd really noticed before but yes--he's always under my feet--I usually just back out and leave him to get on with it." The told-you-so expression on Ann's face gave Bodie food for thought. He considered he knew his partner well and had got to know all about his moods and peculiarities and it was a shock to find that he didn't. What else was there that Ann knew and he didn't?

When Doyle finally arrived home several hours later he was greeted by the unexpected sight of his fiancee and partner deep in conversation seated at the dining table with the remnants of dinner still around them.

"Hello, love." Ray leant down and give Ann a peck on her cheek. "Sorry I was so long--had a nice meal?" Testing the atmosphere, he was doubly amazed to discover how relaxed they both were--a total contrast to their usual encounters.

"Lovely," said Bodie. "We even left some for you. It's in the hot plate keeping warm--shouldn't be too dried up; we only ate about an hour ago. Sit yourself down and I'll get you a plate." Bodie busied himself in the kitchen serving up his partner's portion of the scrumptious meal Ann had prepared. "Careful, it's hot," he added as he put the plate in front of Doyle.

"It looks interesting--who cooked?" Doyle asked innocently and looked up to find two pairs of inscrutable eyes looking at him.

"Ann," Bodie said finally. "With a little help from me--it's delicious. Almost ate your bit as well, didn't we?" This last, addressed to Ann who agreed, caused the pair of them to smile broadly.

"I'm not really very hungry--you can have it if you want and I'll just have a sandwich." Doyle was very bemused. He knew that he was missing out on whatever was amusing his friends--but something inside stopped him from asking them to explain the joke.

Guessing that Doyle was picking up the undercurrent of their amusement, Bodie decided that tactical withdrawal was the best course of action and said his goodbyes, arranging to meet his partner at the morning briefing.

After Bodie's departure, Doyle ate his supper in silence, puzzling over the strangely warm atmosphere between Ann and his somewhat moody partner. He had fully expected to arrive home to find Bodie already gone or the two protagonists fighting for points.

"Bodie was in a strange mood," he said finally as he helped Ann to tidy the kitchen.

"Was he?"

"Didn't you think so? I'd got the impression that you two didn't really get on too well." He was probing carefully but Ann understood the reason behind the casual question.

"Whatever made you think that? Bodie's a charming man." Ann smiled and kissed her fiancee on the corner of his downturned mouth.

Charming was not a word he would have expected to hear Ann use with reference to Bodie. On the few occasions they had met, Doyle had always felt like a representative of the United Nations Peacekeeping Force--and just about as unwanted and ineffective! Suspicion, unwanted and ugly, reared its head. "Trying to chat you up, was he?" he asked with a nonchalance he didn't feel.

"Ray!"

It wouldn't be the first time, love," Doyle defended himself. "Leave him alone for five minutes with any of my girlfriends and he'd always start with his charm--trying to convince them to ditch me for him."

"He was trying nothing of the sort! Honestly, Ray. I'm surprised at you. How could you accuse a friend of doing such a terrible thing?" Ann was really upset at his accusation and moved around the flat in a cloud of pique. Doyle tried to patch things up but only succeeded in making it worse. "Of course we looked as if we were having a good time!" Ann raged. "What on earth were you expecting--steak knives at twenty paces? What's got into you--I really don't understand why you're so upset that Bodie and I were actually enjoying each other's company for once...wasn't that what you wanted? Do you really think so little of him that you believe he would seriously try to make a pass at me--"

"Of course I know he wouldn't--"

"Maybe you think I made a pass at him--" Ann shouted.

"Ann--"

"Is that it. don't you trust me not to get too friendly with your friends?"

"Ann--"

"That is it, isn't it. You don't trust me!"

"Of course I--" Doyle tried to patch things up but it was too late.

"No!" Ann's voice cracked out, cutting his denial off. "You don't trust me. You really can't bring yourself to believe that I won't let you down again. Like last time..."

"Ann, please...I didn't mean anything by what I said. I'm really pleased that you two are getting on better--" But Ann wasn't listening.

"I know that I hurt you badly," she went on. "But I'll never do anything like that again. You can't really believe that I could. Do you?"

Doyle pulled her into his arms and cradled her gently as he soothed her.

"Oh, love...sshh...come on, there's no need to get so upset. I know you wouldn't hurt me again. It wasn't your fault last time... And I'm really pleased that you and Bodie are getting on better now... Come on," he coaxed, brushing away her tears with a gentle finger. "Dry your eyes. Can't spoil what's left of tonight, can we? I can't have you flying off to the other side of the world with a box of damp tissues now, can I?"

"New York is hardly the other side of the world," Ann said quietly as she slowly responded to the gentle teasing.

"Come on, then let's finish up here and go to bed. We can talk in a bit more comfort there."

"Talk?" Ann queried as her body began to respond to the way Ray was caressing her.

"Of course," he said once he'd finished a very thorough kiss. "You've still got to tell me what Dear, Sweet Constance said about our engagement once I'd left the house."

---

"Get your fucking head down!" Bodie hissed angrily, causing Doyle to withdraw from his exposed vantage point. "Get back here."

"But I can see better from up there."

"So can they!"

"I can't see anything from here!"

"Neither can they," Bodie added dryly.

"Shift over," Doyle urged. "Let's 'ave a look."

"Shut up and stay put--we can't both see!"

"Bodie!"

"Doyle, shut up. They're not going anywhere and neither are we until Cowley arrives with the back-up."

"Are you sure they're all in there?"

"I'm sure--oh, go on--take a flamin' look for yourself." Bodie gave in and rolled away from the slit in the masonry. "You can just make them out--third window from the left. I counted four heads."

"Yeah," Doyle agreed eventually. "I count four too. How much longer before back-up gets here? They look pretty restless to me."

Shifting himself to peer across the wasteland between themselves and the holed up gang, Bodie carefully considered the gang's options. "It'll be suicide if they try to break and they know it."

"Oof...Bodie, do you mind?" Crushed beneath his partner's not inconsiderable weight, Doyle could barely find the breath to complain. Satisfied that the men in the opposite building had no way out, Bodie took the time to enjoy the feel of Doyle pinned, squirming and helpless beneath him.

"I did say there wasn't room for both of us to look," Bodie said smugly.

"I...believe...you...now get...off me...you weigh a bleedin' ton!"

"There's no need to get personal," Bodie said in an offended tone.

"I'll get...more than...bleedin' personal if...you don't shift yourself!" Doyle's wriggles sent a delicious shuddering through his partner's entire body that almost took his breath away. Though sorely tempted to give in and enjoy the sensation, common sense prevailed and Bodie regretfully slid off Doyle's back. "Thank God!" Doyle sighed in relief. "I had a bloody great rock digging in my side." He extricated the small stone and balanced it on Bodie's nose.

Removing the offending object before it could damage his eye, Bodie settled himself down, preparing himself for long wait. It was going to take their back-up a good forty minutes to arrive.

"Ann get off all right, did she?"

"What?"

"She said she was flying to America this morning?"

"Oh that. Yes, she left this morning, she's probably half way there by now," Doyle answered abstractedly, his attention wholly on the nervous bunch across the way.

"Bit of a surprise."

"Huh?" Doyle grunted once Bodie repeated the question for the third time... "Oh yes, it was a bit sudden," he agreed.

"Not her flying off somewhere; she's always packing her bags to fly somewhere. No, what I meant was I was surprised to see her at your place last night--particularly when you'd said that she wasn't going to be there." Bodie wasn't too happy with the way that had sounded but Doyle was so distracted that he needn't have worried.

"Like I said--a bit sudden." Doyle's response was vague and careless but something in Bodie's manner caught his attention and he realised that things weren't quite right. "I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to warn you. I did try phoning but there was no answer," Doyle's tone became accusing. "I did consider asking HQ to put me through on the hot phone but I thought that might be going over the top a bit." Bodie had the grace to look shamefaced. "It's a bad habit to get into," Doyle continued, "not answering your phone--could get a bloke into all sorts of trouble."

"I did hear it ring a couple of times," Bodie admitted, "but I was in bed and just couldn't be bothered to wake myself up enough to get to the other room." After his little confession it was quiet until, "How did Christmas go? You haven't said anything about it."

"Well..." Doyle said slowly. "It could have been a lot worse--not much, but it could have been worse."

"How much do they know?"

"Everything. I did consider not telling them but Cowley gave the okay. It made things a bit easier, for Ann, but not that much."

"What do you mean?" Bodie asked.

"We explained to Constance and Harry, Ann's parents, about the need for secrecy because of CI5. She was more than a little chuffed at the thought of having a son-in-law who's something-we-don't-speak-about-for-the-Home-Office, but none too keen on the posh friends and neighbours finding out that the same son-in-law is an ex-convict with a criminal record for doing nasty deeds!"

"She won't do anything stupid, will she?"

"No. Connie may be a class one snob, but she's no fool. Besides, Cowley gave me some Official Secrets Act forms for them to sign."

"You threw the Official Secrets Act at them!" Bodie said in amazement.

"It was Cowley's idea," Doyle defended.

"Bloody hell!"

"Yeah," Doyle laughed. "The old snob nearly busted something when I told her she had to sign."

"What did Ann say about it?"

"Not much," Doyle conceded, the humour gone. "I don't think she liked it, but there's not a whole lot she could do about it. It was the Official Secrets Act or letting her mother believe that I really had been guilty as charged all along."

"So," Bodie said eventually, breaking into the silence that fell between them. "Everything's settled now then, is it?"

"All what's settled?"

"The wedding...and everything," Bodie said lamely.

"There's no rush."

"What are you waiting for?"

"I'm not waiting for anything--I just can't see the point of rushing around."

"Well, yes...I can see that, but you have made some plans?"

"What sort of plans?" Doyle asked.

"About...well, about where, when, that sort of thing."

"What is this? Have you got a burning ambition to be a bridesmaid or something?" Doyle asked nastily.

"You are going to marry her?" Bodie asked, suddenly wondering if his carefully orchestrated plan had gone wrong.

"Why, what's it to you?"

"Just interested, that's all," Bodie said brightly, "want to know how long I've got to save my spare pennies to buy you a pressie."

"Don't kid me, Bodie. You just want to know so's you can save up the petrol stamps to get me a set of those free glasses." Doyle laughed easily.

"So," Bodie pushed again. "When's it to be?"

"Oh for--I don't know. We haven't talked about it. Sometime. Is that all right with you?" Irritated now, Doyle couldn't help but wonder at his partner's probing. "What's up? Scared I won't invite you or something?"

Thankfully, at that moment the back-up squad arrived and their thoughts and energies turned towards the serious matter of winkling the four men out of the building without causing any unnecessary bloodshed.

---

Doyle replaced the phone on its rest and took a sip of his long-cold coffee. Pulling a face at the taste, he went through into the kitchen to make himself a fresh cup. Already feeling ill at ease, Ann's phone call had done little to dispel his ever present sense of impending doom. After nearly a week's absence the sound of her voice had raised his spirits a little; and after a succession of boring, fruitless days at work as well as the tension between himself and Bodie, the sound of her voice had been a much needed balm on ragged nerves. But, by the end of the transatlantic call, depression was overtaking him again.

Get a grip on yourself, he told himself sternly. Stop moping about, get out and go somewhere; do something! He considered his options: he could visit the Brewers Arms--or, he could call Bodie. Neither choice attracted him very much. Bodie had been behaving very strangely of late, one minute friendly and chatty and the next, snapping his head off. Today had been the worst ever, Bodie's mood chopping and changing so rapidly that Doyle was almost spinning in confusion by the time he had been dropped, without so much as a 'goodnight,' outside his block of flats.

That left him with The Brewers Arms: Doyle shook his head; that was out, too. Tommy and Ivy were a nice couple--in small doses; the perfect landlord and his lady. Only problem was, Ivy was clearly enjoying the role of surrogate mother whilst Tommy was trying to inveigle his way into his confidence, thereby gaining even more access to the criminal underworld than he already had. Thomas Mahone, Doyle had realised glumly, was too much of a coward to become a real true-to-life villain and so did the next best thing--he encouraged the criminal fraternity to use his 'facilities' to arrange their jobs, thus experiencing the thrill of the crime at a safely legal distance.

On his infrequent visits to the pub, Doyle knew that Tommy pointed him out as a Category 1 man, a 'hard man' to other lesser mortals in the pub. So far no-one had confronted him--but then who in their right mind would pick a fight with a known ex-maximum security prisoner?

No. He wasn't in the mood to parry words with Tommy tonight; the way he was feeling he just might give in to the impulse to do something unpleasant--and permanent--to Tommy.

So much for his social life, Doyle thought bitterly. Rather than spend another evening sitting in feeling sorry for himself, he decided that he might as well go over to Ann's flat and see if that letter she was asking about had arrived. Afterwards he might drive on over to Bodie's place...

It was dark when he let himself into the flat, so he switched the lights on as he scooped up the letters on the mat. One from the bank, and several other businessy looking ones, but no sign of the letter she said she was waiting for. Putting them neatly on the table, he moved through the flat, checking that everything was secure. Alone there for the first time, Doyle found himself examining each room in detail. Nearly four years had passed since he had last been completely alone in there and it came as a surprise to realise that little in the flat, or even Ann's life come to that, had changed very much. New curtains throughout and a new shower unit in the bathroom were the only immediately visible changes. The arrest and imprisonment of her fiancee had barely caused a ripple in her elegant lifestyle. Had Ann been torn so abruptly from his life four years ago, Doyle thought soberly, he thought that it would have devastated him. How, he asked himself, had she found it so easy to cast him aside as soon as the allegations started flying? He had offered to move out of the flat to save her from being exposed to the unavoidable press coverage of the sorry affair--but he hadn't really expected her to agree quite so readily.

What would she do now, he wondered as he switched all the lights off and locked up, if she knew Internal Security was watching him again? Walking out into the street, he flicked an uninterested gaze over the building opposite. Even though Bodie persisted in denying it, he knew they were there. If he really made the effort, he could even work out which flat they were using--there were only so many possibilities. But he wouldn't give them the pleasure of acknowledging their presence. He didn't even discuss it with Bodie any more, there didn't seem to be much point.

A sharp blast on a car horn made him look up to find Bodie parked alongside where he was standing; lost in his thoughts, he hadn't seen him arrive.

"'lo, mate," he said, his greeting sounding as lifeless and cheerless as he felt even to his own ears.

"What's up--you look like you lost a fiver and found a penny!" Bodie asked carefully, ready to back off should Doyle respond with another acid riposte.

"Ah...nothing, just...nothing," Doyle finished lamely. "Coming round to see me, were you?" He smiled, a genuine smile that transformed his features.

"Yes. Thought maybe we could go out for a drink or something."

"Don't fancy a night boozing--what sort of 'or something' did you have in mind?"

"Dunno, nothing in particular. What do you fancy doing? Ann isn't back yet, is she?"

"No, just checking the place out--picking up some mail. You going to drive on to my place then?"

"Okay, want a lift?"

"My car's over there," he pointed to a row of cars and groaned in dismay as he saw how neatly he had been boxed in by a flashy red sports number and a mud-spattered old style jeep.

"Oh, nicely done!" Bodie applauded. "You don't seriously think that you're going to be able to get out of that, do you?" He sat back and watched as his partner crossed over to the cars and examined the situation from all angles. "Serves you right for being an untidy parker," Bodie shouted through his window.

The whole operation took a lot of manoeuvring back and forth but, eventually, Doyle cleared his car from the space with only the tiniest crack on his rear offside light. Needless to say there wasn't a mark on the bumper of the dirty jeep. In a perverse way, Bodie was grateful to the jeep's driver; his partner's moans about 'inconsiderate road-users' broke the ice on what was their first purely social evening together in almost a month.

Sitting comfortably in an armchair and nursing a drink, Doyle milked the situation for all the sympathy he could get. "...I wouldn't mind, but it's only the dirt on that thing that's keeping it together! That and the rust, of course."

"Give over, Doyle. It's only a few years old, they're meant to look like that. It's a working vehicle--not a 'Sunday Car.'"

"Bloody thing's always parked out there. Flamin' driver never parks the damned thing properly."

"Give over," Bodie said a little more forcefully, his patience with the subject almost gone. "Anyway, about coming over here tonight--"

Doyle looked at him sharply.

"I thought," Bodie said firmly, refusing to let his partner's warning look put him off. "I thought it was time to talk about some things."

"What sort of things?" Doyle asked. He had a good idea but didn't want to face them unless he was forced to.

"You. Me. Us. The department." Bodie waved a hand around trying to cover everything."

"Couldn't be a little more specific, could you?" Doyle asked with icy politeness and Bodie's patience finally broke.

"Look, Doyle, you're not blind, and you're not thick either. You know that things aren't going right in this partnership as well as I do."

"I wasn't aware that we weren't working properly," Doyle said defensively.

"Oh, we're working all right," Bodie agreed. "We're just not working as a team anymore."

"You reckon?"

"Yes, I do. You know it's true, Doyle." Doyle was the first to back down from the eye-to-eye confrontation.

"And you think that it's all my fault?" he asked as he paced jerkily up and down the living room. "Of course, you wouldn't admit that some of it just might be your fault!"

"Look, Doyle. I didn't come here to argue--"

"Well, that's nice to hear!"

"--but we've got to talk this out before--"

"Before you go running off to Cowley?"

"Before one of us gets killed. It's going to happen, Ray. Sooner or later, it's going to happen."

"Why?" Doyle demanded defiantly, refusing to admit that Bodie just might be right.

"Because--oh, for crying out loud--stop prancing up and down and park your arse on the chair. Just listen to me, for once just listen will you?" Exasperated, Bodie appealed for his partner to sit down. With poor grace and a scowl that would in all probability sour cream, Doyle did. "Have you given any thought about what you're going to do once you're married?"

"Yes," Doyle answered seriously. "We had a long talk. Didn't rush anything and I think we covered just about everything. Mind you--I couldn't just turn around and tell him he was a good few years too late, could I?" Doyle flashed a cheeky grin that failed, just, to reach his eyes.

"Eh?"

"Me dad. Not that long before he died he gave me the 'What mummies and daddies do on Saturday night' talk."

"Can't you be serious for once," Bodie snapped impatiently.

"Oh I am, Bodie. Believe me, I am."

"You want me to spell it out for you?" Bodie said, mustering his patience. "It's a rule, an unwritten rule, that in CI5 no married men are operative on the active squad. Once married you'll be shifted onto the B squad."

"Downgraded."

"No. Not downgraded. The B squad works just as hard as we do but in a different way--you know that."

"Bit unfair, innit?"

"On who? You, your partner or your wife? If you stay in this squad, Ann will always be wondering when--if--she'll ever see you again. I'll be wondering whether you're more anxious to get home to her rather than covering my back and you'll be stuck in the middle making no-one happy."

"It doesn't have to be like that. Callahan's married and he's still on the squad."

"He works solo."

"Once things settle down it'll be okay."

"Always providing neither of us gets killed while things are 'settling down,'" Bodie pointed out bluntly. Doyle slumped back into the armchair, looking thoroughly dejected. Having succeeded in knocking Doyle down as far as he dared, Bodie began phase two of his plan. "It's inevitable that things will change for you. Look how far you've come since that day I picked you up from Maidstone. It's only been what, eighteen, nineteen months? You're not the same man any more. You've rebuilt just about everything you had before. Friends, good job, bit of money, you've even got the woman you loved and wanted to marry back. You've achieved everything you set out to. Ann loves you--you love her; it's only natural that you want to think about her and be with her more. It's no small wonder that you've not concentrating so well on work; I understand, so does Cowley; the only person who thought that everything would carry on smoothly was you. But, now you've just got to admit to yourself that things just can't."

"It was you that collected me from Maidstone?"

"What?"

"It was you. Yeah, I remember now."

"You'd forgotten?"

"No... Well, yes. The first few days are a bit hazy but I'd forgotten it was you."

"Doyle..."

"Yeah, I know," Doyle said warily. "I'm evading the issue again. Look, I know I'm not thinking too clearly at the moment but, as you've pointed out, I do have a lot on my mind. I don't want to...break off this partnership. To hell with Cowley's unwritten rules. There's no reason why I can't go on working with you after I'm married."

"You weren't listening, Doyle. If we're having trouble working and communicating now, do you really think it's going to get better once you've got the little wife waiting at home with your supper?"

"You're asking me to choose between having you as a partner or Ann as a wife?"

"Of course I'm not asking you to choose," Bodie said at once, horrified at the way Doyle had interpreted what he was saying; he hadn't allowed himself to say that, had he? Sick to his heart, he pushed on. "What sort of choice would that be? Ann would win hands down, I know that."

Bodie was so adamant, so earnest, that Doyle couldn't help but wonder if perhaps it was all true. He seemed to have wanted Ann for so long that he had forgotten how things had been before she entered his life. A nice home, pretty wife, promising career--what more could he want—what else could he want? If only he could be as sure as Bodie was about his career maybe he would feel more settled. But for the time being anyway, it was easier to accept Bodie's reassurances than face his own anxieties.

Bodie declined Doyle's invitation to sleep over and drove himself home. Mentally exhausted from an evening of manipulating his partner's consciousness, he stripped off and stepped into a hot shower as soon as he got home, falling into bed where he was too tense to relax. His whole body ached with tiredness and his mind continued racing on with images of what had happened, what was going to happen and, briefly before he could force the thought away, what might happen. It was done, for better or worse, it was done. Doyle was going to leave. Falling asleep, Bodie's thoughts drifted along what path his own future was going to take once he left CI5 and England.

---

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Over the next few weeks, Bodie observed several things which suggested that Doyle had understood the point of that particular conversation. Although he acted as if nothing had been said between them and refused even to discuss the subject any further with him, Doyle had been checking on the work details and manpower of the B squad. On two occasions recently Bodie had seen his partner conversing with the other squads' members; he was especially pleased when he saw him with Mark Greenwood, recently married and just as recently transferred from the A squad.

He would not have been so happy, however, if he had been able to hear the conversation.

"It's all right," Mark had said quietly in response to Doyle's carefully worded enquiry. Everyone knew Doyle was planning to marry and, as the recently 'hitched' CI5 employee he had been waiting for Doyle to 'have a quiet word' with him. "It's still not a nine to five job--the wife gets plenty of opportunity to moan about being abandoned--but it's...safer," he said honestly.

"Safer?"

"Safer," Mark agreed. "Life still has its moments, of course, but the jobs, our assignments are inclined to be less...hazardous. You've still got to be on your toes," Mark added quickly. "Slow reflexes can still get you killed--a low security risk uses the same calibre and velocity as your high security risk...but..."

"But what?" Doyle prompted.

"But...nothing. It's the same job; the same department; the same procedures; same people--even the same lousy restroom and friggin' coffee--but it's not the same!" he ended angrily, crumpling the plastic coffee beaker and tossing it away in disgust.

"What were you expecting? You were on the A squad for how long--two years, wasn't it? Surely you knew what you were letting yourself in for?"

"It was my choice," Mark agreed. "But it wasn't a proper choice--more like an ultimatum." At Doyle's prompting he agreed to explain what he meant. "'Bout four months before I married, me and Kevin--he was my partner--had a spot of trouble. Kev was badly shot up and I got a flesh wound--nothing serious, but painful and messy for all that. Anyway we both survived, although Kev's injuries were such that he lost about three inches of bone in his left thigh and was invalided out of the department. It could have been worse, he could have been crippled--paralysed even, the fact that he wasn't was the beginning of the end as far as my Bev was concerned. Started dishing out ultimatums. In the end it came down to me leaving CI5 or losing her."

"You're still here though--and you're married, so what happened?"

"We compromised!" Mark said with a wry smile. "After a month of watching me job hunting she finally accepted that while I'm bloody good at doing this type of work there's precious little else--that's legal--that I can do!"

"So you agreed to accept the lower risks of the B squad?"

"Eventually, yes. I wanted Bev and I couldn't think what else to do so I stayed with the department."

"You don't sound too happy about it."

"Oh! It's okay mostly. The work's not bad, the adrenaline's not there so often but, every now and then the advantages of being in the back line really hit home," he said heavily. "Every time one of you lot, one of the front line boys get shot--or even killed--I go home to Bev and give her a long, hard hug and tell her how much I love her. And," he added in a much softer voice, "every time the boredom gets to me, or the job I'm on falls to pieces because it was never there in the first place, I remember those hugs...and what they usually lead to and...I still moan and swear at Cowley and whoever else I can think of but, I know that deep down I don't really mean it." Mark smiled and laughed softly. "You know, I'm really pleased you asked me about it, Doyle," he added after a moment's quiet reflection. "I think that I've only just realised how much I don't mind missing out on all of the adrenaline highs; I thought that I did but talking to you has made me realise that Bev means a whole lot more. I think I could manage without CI5--but I want Bev for always." Mark became conscious of the fact that he was sounding very wistful and romantic--hardly the sort of image expected of a CI5 man, and looked at Doyle warily, waiting for some kind of sarcastic remark. Doyle noticed the change in atmosphere and managed to pull himself together to say the right things. Afterwards he couldn't remember what he had said but it must have been what Mark had wanted to hear because the man had been friendly enough when they parted company. Watching his retreating back, Doyle felt depression wash over him anew. Far from dispelling his doubts, Greenwood's rose-tinted view of love, marriage and CI5 had only accentuated them. He suddenly felt very envious of Mark and Beverly Greenwood; it all seemed so easy for them.

---

Ann's return home from America was not the exciting romantic reunion she had been looking forward to. At first she had been too tired from the frantic schedule she'd been keeping and jet lag to notice how quiet Ray had been. Slipping a robe around herself and knotting it securely, she padded into the kitchen where he was already up and making breakfast.

"Morning--sorry if I woke you up," he apologised. "Go on back to bed, you don't have to get up for another hour or so yet."

Ann just shook her head and sat down at the breakfast bar, only just managing to muffle a yawn with her hand.

"Coffee?" Doyle asked.

"Mmm, yes please," she answered automatically. It wasn't until the first sip passed her lips that she realised how much she didn't want the hot, strong-smelling brew. She pushed it away. The kitchen was illuminated by a strip light that was merciless--the best light in the flat for applying make-up, but the worst for exposing how rough you really felt. She thought Ray looked terrible. "Did you sleep much last night?" she asked him. "You were even more restless than usual; what's wrong, Ray?" she added quietly.

"I slept okay," Ray said defensively.

"Oh, Ray!" Ann swept her hair away from her face. "I woke up several times. Maybe you were asleep but you were so restless, so tense: even asleep you're uptight. Fidgeting and talking in your--"

"Talking?" he demanded urgently.

"Talking...mumbling," Ann amended hastily. "I couldn't understand anything, just mumbles really--but you can't possibly feel refreshed or rested after such a night. You look as if you haven't slept a wink!"

"I'm all right, Ann," he snapped tiredly.

"Well you don't look it!"

"You don't look so hot yourself," Ray said in a different tone of voice, puzzled by the sudden change of colour in Ann's face. "Are you feeling okay?"

About to reply that she felt absolutely fine, Ann suddenly decided that she didn't. She reached the bathroom just in time. He settled her back into bed once the nausea had passed and helped her to get comfortable.

"Are you sure you're all right, I've got to leave in a few minutes but I could call the doctor for you before I go?"

"I feel better already--and I've already got an appointment with the doctor for this afternoon."

"Why--what's up--you never said you weren't well?"

"Don't worry," Ann scolded him lightly. "I've just been feeling a bit low lately. I'm probably a little anaemic or something and Dr Thomas will take great delight in prescribing a course of those revolting iron tablets he saves especially for me."

"You've been working too hard."

"It's my job--and I like it."

"You still push yourself too hard--"

"Don't nag, Raymond Doyle!"

"I'm not nagging!"

"Take it from me, my love, you are nagging! Now, off with you or else we'll have Bodie pounding on the front door again waking my neighbours up," she scolded gently.

Remembering the last time he'd overslept and Bodie'd had to hammer on the door, he moved. "I'll try to call you tonight to find out what the doctor said but--"

"But you can't promise," Ann finished the familiar chant. "Don't worry, darling," she called out as he headed for the door. "I'll try to save you some of my iron tablets."

---

The job they were on for the next few days allowed them no time for socialising or the making of private telephone calls. The rota they fixed allowed them to snatch a few hours sleep now and then but, conscious of being on the job and shuffling of bodies in a cramped space, no-one could snatch more than a brief respite from the tedious observation.

Unable to sleep, Doyle still took his turn on the lumpy mattress in an attempt to relax his tense muscles and force his mind away from the dangerous tedium of the venture. Since his talk with Bodie he had been going over and over the paths available to him. Several times he'd decided on a course of action only to change his mind as another direction became possible. He was getting more and more confused and disturbed at the way things were happening and the feeling that he was losing control over events was getting stronger. Everything was happening too fast.

Lying in the gloom on the far side of the room, Doyle cracked open his eyes and surreptitiously watched Bodie as he talked to the other men or took his turn on the headphones or binoculars. Even Bodie was looking a little frazzled around the edges. Over the last few months Bodie's moods had been as unpredictable and swift to change as his own; one day bright and breezy, calm, smug and self-assured; and the next, sharp bitter and arrogantly independent. There were times when they worked well together but equally there were times when Bodie became the hard, unyielding loner of their first few weeks.

Turning over, trying to get a bit more comfortable, Doyle sighed. If it wasn't already bad enough that Bodie and he were swinging up and down with their moods, Ann too was suffering a few highs and lows of her own. Trying to get time together to talk things over was almost impossible. He had been working long and irregular hours for months now and a day off always seemed to happen at Ann's busiest time. Her work load had doubled since their engagement and, if the office rumours proved true, was likely to increase even more once the boardroom changes were announced. Christ! he thought tiredly, the way things were going he would have to make an appointment to see his own wife soon!

Across the room, Bodie lowered the binoculars and handed them to Lake before tiptoeing through the equipment-strewn floor to pour himself a coffee. He took the last half inch of lukewarm liquid without complaint and sat down on the wooden bench. Another sigh from Doyle drew his attention; he continued to watch him, safe in the knowledge that Lake was watching the building across the carpark and Henderson was captivated by the pornographic magazine the last watch had left behind. He relaxed as he saw the moment Ray finally slid into sleep, and saw his clenched hands fall open, curly slightly, the tension draining from the taut body. God knew how much he needed the rest--Bodie thought. All of them did, but it was clear to Bodie that on top of all the problems the job was causing, Doyle was wrestling with his own very personal troubles.

Checking that Lake and Henderson were still giving their attention to the surveillance, Bodie allowed himself to relax against the wall. He'd been watching Doyle closely since that talk they'd had; he'd observed carefully each time Doyle had made enquiries about the B squad and watched him watching them as the went about their lower-graded security tasks. He knew Doyle was having trouble seeing himself in such a role--even Bodie had to admit he couldn't see his partner happy with such work. But what was the alternative?

"Bodie," Lake called softly. "Take over for me--I need to take a leak."

Bodie took up position at the window. Staring over at the deserted looking building, he noticed for the first time how the whole room was reflected in the dirty, cracked panes of glass; to look at the building he had to stare through the reflection of his sleeping partner. Whilst his eyes watched the building for the slightest sign of movement, another part of Bodie's mind was enjoying being able to watch his unknowing friend.

The alternative? Bodie wondered again, the problem never far from his thoughts. Did he really want to force Doyle into taking a course of action that he knew was wrong? Doyle wouldn't enjoy working on the B squad, he was too good at the work he was doing now, he realised grimly. And Ann, Bodie considered her; over the meal they'd shared just after Christmas they'd talked quite a lot about things that Bodie in particular had wanted to hear, Ann not realising how the conversation had been carefully guided. He'd learnt a lot about Ann that evening, in some ways more than he'd wanted to because, by the time he'd left her he'd known, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that however much Doyle loved, or thought he loved Ann, she came nowhere close to equalling his feelings. They had been close once, years ago. Maybe close enough to have made a successful marriage, but quietly Bodie doubted even that. Subsequently he had suffered more than one twinge of guilt since that evening: left to their own devices Bodie guessed that the couple wouldn't have made it together as far as Christmas, let alone got themselves engaged. And, left to themselves, Bodie knew they still wouldn't get to the altar. Neither of them seemed in any hurry to get the arrangements going and Bodie suspected that unless someone stepped in and booked the church and honeymoon neither Ann nor Ray would.

A door opened behind him; in the room's reflection, Bodie saw Lake coming back in. Not knowing they were being observed, Lake and Henderson exchanged a look which told Bodie that their moody behaviour wasn't going unnoticed. Lake bent over Doyle, checking that he was asleep, his shadow falling over the sleeper's face. Bodie tensed and prepared to act when Doyle, sensing the nearness of someone, curled in tighter on himself. Lake stepped back hurriedly--he hadn't meant to disturb Doyle--and pulled another face at Henderson, who could only shake his head before sighing heavily and returning to the simpler pleasures of the centrefold in his hands.

The door opened again; this time it was Murphy, closely followed by two other men. None of them looked very pleased at being there and they all slouched into the room with poor grace.

"Your prayers have been answered, you lucky buggers--the experts have arrived to take over the highly skilled, incredibly demanding task of watching over the inhabitants of Unit 24A of the Barkingside Industrial Estate. While you go trotting off home to your orthopaedic, silk sheeted, sweet scented, dorma-downed-duvet covered bed--"

"Somebody shut him up, for Christ's sake!"

"We, the Saviours of CI5--otherwise known as the Knights of St. George--" Murphy droned on.

"Please," Henderson begged, "hit 'im before I kill 'im." He threw the magazine and scored a direct hit dead centre on Murphy's nose.

"Ouch...we the Knights of St. George will continue--ouch, that bloody well hurt!" Murphy chucked the holdall back across the room where it was neatly fielded by Lake. "...will continue to fight for honesty, peace, prosperity and the American Way!" Murphy finished gamely.

"That last bit was a bit off, wasn't it?"

"Is this your way of telling us we can sod off 'ome?" Lake asked.

"Yes...and no," Murphy said. "You...and you," he pointed at Lake and Henderson. "You can both go straight-to-HQ-do-not-pass-go-and-do-not-pick-up-£200. You and..." Murphy looked around to find Doyle still fast asleep in the corner of the room, "...him can go home to your comfy beds--"

"Jesus!" Lake swore. "Some people have all the luck."

"Some of us have it, Puddle," Bodie crowed.

"And then," Murphy continued, "at the appointed hour of noon tomorrow you will both present yourselves at the establishment known as Death Row for a meeting with your Maker!"

"What!" Bodie exclaimed in dismay.

"Luck like that you can keep, Bodie," Puddle shouted gleefully.

"Macklin?" Bodie asked, needing to hear the worst.

"None other," Murphy confirmed. "And rather you than me, mate. Don't be late--he said to tell you how much he's looking forward to seeing you two again."

"Fucking hell!" Bodie groaned.

"Couldn't 'appen to a nicer couple of fellas--shall I wake Sleeping Beauty and tell 'im the good news?" Lake started to bend over to shake Doyle awake.

"Leave him!" The command froze everyone and they all turned startled faces towards Bodie. "I'll wake him, okay? Just leave him!" Bodie said smoothly.

"Anything you say, Bodie." Lake backed off.

The new watch busied themselves taking over the observation as Lake and Henderson collected their things together. Bodie waited until everyone was busy before bending down to wake Doyle.

Watching the building across the car park, Murphy could see everything going on in the room behind him. He saw how Bodie held tightly onto Doyle's arm as he took a grasp of his shoulder to shake him awake; he saw clearly how the muscles in Bodie's arms and back tensed as they held the sudden, almost violent jerk of Doyle's body as he woke up. After a few seconds both men relaxed, Bodie stroking Doyle's arm before releasing it and stepping back.

"Right, we're off--"

"Wondered what the smell was!" said Murphy.

"Don't fall asleep on the job," Puddle advised as a parting shot.

"I'm sure the excitement of it all will keep us awake," said one of the men who had just found Henderson's pile of magazines.

"Give my love to Macklin," Murphy called out.

"Macklin?" Doyle asked sleepily.

"Pick your feet up, Doyle," Bodie said as his partner tripped up a step.

"Why did he say that?" Doyle was waking up now. "Why does he think--"

"Wake up, 4.5. Why else would he ask us to pass on his regards?"

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes!"

---

Driving around the one-way system leading to his road, Doyle saw Ann's car only a few hundred yards ahead of his. By the time he drew close, she had parked and was unloading some shopping bags; she saw him and waved.

"Are you coming up?" she asked as he drew level with her. He hadn't intended to, was in fact looking forward to a good eight hours sleep before bracing himself to face Macklin tomorrow. He parked behind her car and helped her in with the shopping. Maybe he could get away early if he pleaded tiredness; he knew that they desperately needed to talk but was just too tired even to think straight. How could they begin to talk things out if he was still so undecided about what he wanted to do?

"Just jump the bags in the kitchen, I'll be with you in a minute," Ann called out as she vanished into the bathroom.

In the kitchen Doyle shrugged off his jacket and began unpacking the bags, shoving things into the freezer or fridge and putting the items he couldn't find homes for on the breakfast bar for Ann to sort out. That done, he plugged in the kettle and got the coffee underway. One of the packages on the breakfast bar drew his attention. It was not something he'd ever bought but he certainly knew what it was. The coffee forgotten, he picked up the small box. Ann came in at that moment: he stared at her in disbelief.

"Ann...?"

"I just remembered it was in there," she said softly. "I didn't mean for you to find it."

"You didn't mean for me to find it! Ann..." He couldn't find the right words. "Ann, do you...do you really think that... You really think that maybe you're..." He was unable to say it, shock and a surge of emotion causing a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him.

"I might be. I took a specimen to the hospital this afternoon. They say the result won't be through for about a week--I couldn't wait that long so I bought that."

"Is it...I mean... How reliable is it? Do you really think... Oh, Christ, Ann!" Ray dropped the pregnancy test onto the table and took Ann in his arms. "I'm sorry...I can't believe it...it's...it's... Does the doctor think that you really are? How long before we'll know for sure?" Tiredness forgotten, Doyle cradled her gently, kissing her softly. "I just don't...can't quite take it in... How come you're so calm?" he demanded to know, softening the question with another tender kiss.

"I've had two days to get over the shock--you should have seen me when I left the surgery--"

"You had no idea?"

"Well, maybe it was in the back of my mind, especially after I was sick the other morning, but it was still a shock." They laughed together and hugged again.

A meal, which neither touched, was prepared and then thrown away and the rest of the evening spent curled up together on the couch engaged in long dreamy conversations about their own childhood and what they wanted for their child. Before going to bed Ray retrieved the box from the kitchen and put it in the bathroom ready for the morning.

"I suppose it makes a change from reading a bedtime book," Ann teased as they snuggled close under the covers to read the explanatory leaflet that come with the kit. It was quiet while they read it.

"Mmm, well, it seems reliable enough. They certainly cover themselves against any mistakes," Doyle said dubiously.

"It is straightforward," Ann said. "If the result shows I'm pregnant than it's 99.9% certain that I am, but, if it comes out negative it doesn't mean that I'm not--"

"Just that you're not far enough advanced for the test to work."

"Thank you, Doctor Doyle," Ann teased. "And then I'll just have to wait for the hospital result--"

"Or buy another pregnancy testing kit--"

"Or buy another pregnancy testing kit," Ann agreed.

"They must make a fortune out of people who can't wait for the hospital results!" Doyle complained.

"They very probably do," Ann agreed and plucked the leaflet out of Doyle's fingers with one hand as she switched the light off with the other.

"What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly a few moments later.

"If you really have to be told that, my love, then that box in the bathroom is a complete waste of money!"

---

Bodie was more than a little surprised to find Doyle on his doorstep, almost bursting with energy and enthusiasm a little after eight thirty the next morning.

"A jog! Now?" he asked, wondering if his partner had gone mad.

"Yes. Cummon, loosen up those muscles, flex your joints--" Doyle answered.

"I'll loosen up your bloody joints--" he threatened as he let Doyle into the flat.

"A nice 10-mile run and then we'll come back here and I'll cook us both some breakfast."

"You cook some breakfast and then I'll wave you off on your run."

Doyle ignored that aside with ease and took himself into Bodie's bedroom where he promptly began opening drawers and cupboards until he found what he was looking for.

"Get dressed. London is waiting to greet you," he said brightly as he threw underpants, T-shirt and track suit at his partner.

"Doyle!" Bodie followed him into the hall in time to see him pulling a pair of trainers out of the cupboard. "You haven't forgotten where we're going this afternoon, have you?"

"Macklin." Doyle smiled. "Hadn't forgotten."

"Then why the hell do you want to go and knacker yourself--and me--before we even start with Macklin?"

"Where have we been for the past two and half days?" Doyle said patiently. "When was the last time you did anything more energetic than fiddle your expenses?"

"Doyle!" Bodie held up a hand in surrender. "Point taken." He grumbled as he dragged the T-shirt over his head: "But you've still got to explain why you're bouncing up and down on my carpet with more life in you than you've shown for the past six months?"

"Virtuous living and a clear conscience," Doyle replied cheerfully. "Plus, of course, a good night's sleep; half the morning is nearly gone already and I've been up for hours."

"Bully for you!" Bodie mumbled as he was pushed towards the front door and out onto the street. "Where are we going?"

"Up to the common, round it, down to the embankment and back, okay?"

"No, it's not okay," Bodie grumbled--more because he knew it was expected rather than because he meant it.

They ran easily, side by side, in a companionable silence, their efforts becoming more relaxed as the cobwebs blew away and they eased into a comfortable rhythm.

Back at the flat Doyle collected a change of clothes from his car then followed Bodie in to take his turn in the shower.

Keeping his promise, Doyle made breakfast for them both, a pleasantly informal affair which happened with a minimum of fuss, newspapers and radio three. All too often breakfast was a hurried piece of cold toast and indigestion and both men really enjoyed the quiet luxury of a proper meal.

Engrossed in an article in his paper, Bodie got himself in a mess with the marmalade from which he extricated himself by dint of wiping his fingers on the editorial, something about which Doyle complained mightily when they swapped papers.

By the time they finished clearing away they still had another hour to kill before Macklin would start trying to kill them.

"The condemned men ate a hearty breakfast," Doyle said bleakly, the afternoon's prospects only just beginning to dent his happy glow.

"Huh--and this from the idiot who once said that he thought Macklin was a nice bloke!"

"Are you ever going to let me live that down?"

"Nope. Going to remind you every time you get too cocky."

Walking down the steps of the building towards their parked cars, Doyle mumbled something not quite audible about unforgiving elephants.

"Whose car?" Bodie asked.

"Yours."

"That's what I like about you, Doyle. Democratic to the end--why mine?"

"Because we know that Macklin is going to try and make mincemeat out of you and will make mincemeat out of me. You're going to be a damn sight more mobile than me at the end of this little caper!"

Bodie was forced to agree. Macklin never exactly went easy on him but the man did seem to enjoy pushing Doyle to his limits and beyond.

"You're your own worst enemy," Bodie said as they climbed into the car and set off towards the pub near the training shed. "You're too defensive with him. The reason he pushes you is because he's trying to make you more aggressive, more of an offensive fighter."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'm naturally offensive," Bodie quipped with a grin. "No, physically me and Macklin are about equal; he's got a longer reach but I can fight dirty and he knows it. I've also got about the same staying power so it makes a bloody hard job for him to wear me down without knackering himself. Now you--well, different story, isn't it," he said. "You puzzle him. He can't understand how you've managed to survive eighteen months without getting mangled by some of the big 'uns we've had to put down. Come to that," Bodie added, "I think you've surprised just about everyone--even me on occasions!"

"How come?" Doyle asked curiously.

"Look at yourself," was all Bodie said. Doyle did briefly in the car mirror before repeating his question again a little more forcefully. "Well, not what you'd call 'powerfully built' are you?" Bodie said a little reluctantly, not too sure how Doyle would like hearing the truth. "You're easily the smallest bloke on the squad."

"I'm only an inch shorter than you!" Doyle protested.

"And about three stone lighter. You've got about as much fat on you as a whippet!"

"Don't you bloody well start on about my weight--"

"Willis is another one who can't understand how you've survived. Why the hell do you think he's always moaning about your weight? Like a lot of people he believes that you need muscle and body weight to back up physical skills."

"Cobblers!"

"I agree," Bodie said mildly, "but then you don't often let people see how you actually work on the street, do you? Macklin, Willis, Cowley, the other lads, they see you in the gym. How many have seen you in action? Me, Puddle and Murphy--that's all. We're the only ones who've seen how you do it."

"And what's my secret then?" Doyle asked, no really expecting a sensible answer.

"You go straight for their balls and throat and get the upper hand in the first minute. If it's not over in two or three minutes you lose."

Doyle opened his mouth to laugh--but closed it again in surprise. That was what he did. His opponents were rarely his size or smaller and instinct and training had taught him to attack hard and fast to gain the upper hand. The only times he came off worst were when he failed to gain the first all-important advantage.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged it off, "Macklin just doesn't bring out my aggressive instincts."

"Yet," Bodie said meaningly. He had known Macklin--and others like him, for years and yew that the instructor was there specifically to drag out those aggressive instincts. He'd find Doyle's Achilles heel one day. Bodie only hoped that he'd be there to see it.

By the time they reached the pub Doyle's high spirits had returned and even the run-down, dilapidated aura of the empty roads didn't dampen them. By comparison Bodie felt old and tired, though he did manage a moment of well co-ordinated macho lechery when the amply proportioned barmaid leant down in front of him. High on his own little cloud, Doyle missed it but Bodie shared the moment with a friendly stranger.

Slowly, but all too fast for both of them, the minutes ticked by until they had to leave to reach the sheds in time. They were just going when a bunch of rowdy bikers arrived.

"Will you look at that!" Doyle exclaimed and went into positive ecstasies over the merits of the shiny machine propped on its stand.

Behind them in the pub Bodie could hear the bikers being told to get out; the venom of the leader's reply didn't bode well.

"Come on, mate. Let's shift before war breaks out." Bodie pushed his partner towards the car.

"I used to have one just like that," Doyle said, still looking back over his shoulder at the bike as they drove off. "Beautiful, isn't it. Ann hated mine, wouldn't even try riding on it," he continued longingly even when the bike was out of sight. "Would cost me a small fortune to buy another one but I wouldn't mind--can't see Ann agreeing to it though. Sold my old one for peanuts! I asked my brother to sell it for me after I was sent down and bastard all but gave it away." Even after all this time Doyle was still indignant about the way his brother had treated him.

"Why don't you get one if you want it so much?" Bodie asked. Doyle thought about it for a moment then dismissed the suggestion.

"Nah. A car's much better, more comfortable. Besides, I'm getting too old to keep mucking about with bikes." The words were harsh and bitter and didn't sound a bit like Doyle. Bodie wondered whose words they were.

They arrived at the sheds.

---

By mid-afternoon Doyle's high spirit was all that was keeping him on his feet. He was simply in too good a mood to allow anything Macklin or that Neanderthal Towser did to get to him. It was Bodie's turn now and Doyle watched, only partially interested in the proceedings. It was some time before he raised himself from his rose-tinted daydreams to begin to wonder what Macklin was up to. The grunts and 'whooshes' coming from his partner were beginning to sound laboured and pained. From the corner of his vision the instructor saw Doyle's interest sharpen and he began a new tactic. His altered style had already taken the edge off Bodie's attack and Macklin knew the man was tiring and hurting. Holding nothing back, the instructor swept Bodie back across the hard concrete floor away from the padded mats. By the time Bodie picked himself up, Doyle was standing alongside him, daring Macklin to stop him from defending his partner.

"That was a quick rest, Doyle," Macklin said harshly. "You surprise me, I'd thought you were out for the rest of the afternoon."

"Thought wrong, didn't you," Doyle answered as he stepped in to tackle the older man again.

Aware only that the rules had somehow been changed, Bodie fought his body's demand that he sink back onto the floor.

Then Towser joined in too.

The afternoon dragged on, Macklin alternating the combat sessions with gruelling exercises and lengthy runs around the streets. When the light faded he took them into the gallery where they had an interminable session on the ranges which, even with the protection of ear defenders, left their ears ringing and heads pounding. Eventually they were allowed to sleep. They woke some time after dawn to the assurance that they had slept for eight hours, although neither man believed it, preferring instead to believe that Macklin had somehow managed to move the hands on their wristwatches forward.

Towards the end of the second afternoon Macklin took them back into the shed for another bout of hand to hand fighting. Halfway through the session Macklin decided to take a few more risks--if he got the reaction he expected it would be worth it--whatever the outcome. He concentrated his energies on Bodie, pushing and provoking him until only the knowledge that the instructor wasn't really trying to kill him was all that stopped Bodie from retaliating with all his deadly skills.

Exhausted and sore, Doyle fixed his thoughts on the fact that the ordeal would be over in only a few more hours. He'd overheard the telephone call Towser had related to Macklin; Cowley was coming to brief them in another few hours. All he had to do was hang on--just a bit longer.

Over on the mats Macklin could see that Doyle had lost interest in what was happening and wondered whether he could have made a mistake. He decided on a drastic last ditch attempt to prove his suspicion.

Bodie reared back in surprise as the blade whipped across his chest. In amazement he looked down at the slashed shirt and small nicks where the point had cut him.

"What the--" Bodie gasped.

"What are you up to?" Doyle demanded. "You're not supposed to kill us, you fucking idiot! Cowley wants us alive and kicking, not maimed and bleeding!"

"Recovered, have you?" Macklin sneered. "Got your second wind?" he asked as he lunged again at Bodie, who barely danced away in time.

"Give over, Mac!" gasped Bodie breathlessly. "Knives aren't exactly playthings, you know. You cut me with that thing and I'm liable to bleed all over you," he said," he said warily, uneasy about the way the instructor was behaving.

"Cowley'll be none too happy if he finds you've gone overboard and killed us before he gets here, will he?" Doyle said angrily.

So, thought Macklin. Somehow Doyle had known that the session was due to finish soon, that probably explained his lack of interest. "If I've managed to hurt either of you it's because you're not fit to be sent out on assignment anyway--Cowley will probably thank me for not letting you balls the job up! Come on, Doyle," Macklin goaded. "Stop letting your partner do all the work. You can't expect to get away with letting him carry you for much longer!"

Distracted by the tangled undercurrents of emotions and lethal knife, Bodie saw the swinging belly-blow too late to avoid it. As his partner folded painfully around Macklin's fist, Doyle was there easing him down onto the floor and inserting his own body between the instructor and his victim.

As the pain receded to a manageable level and his lungs began working effectively, the logic and reasoning of Macklin's strategy became clearer to Bodie. Too groggy to do anything and uncertain of who needed his help more, Bodie pulled himself to a safer seat and watched the instructor reap the reward for his efforts.

Even though he had been expecting it, the viciousness of Doyle's unrestrained attack almost caught him off balance. The outcome was inevitable. In total control of his emotions, taller, heavier and far more refreshed than the exhausted agent, Macklin let the fight continue until it was obvious Doyle couldn't hope to win before he twisted him around and held him hopelessly off balance; forcing him to concede defeat verbally.

"You can both rest up now. Cowley is coming here in a while to brief you both." Macklin's voice was level and impersonal with all trace of the biting sarcasm and sneering taunts of the past two days gone as if they had never been.

Still slightly breathless himself, Bodie helped his partner move over to the corner of the shed where a mattress lay invitingly. Conscious of aching bodies, they eased themselves down, their need to rest in peace and quiet more urgent than their need for hot food or drinks.

"Ray," Bodie asked softly. "You okay?"

"He's a bastard!" Doyle hissed venomously. "A lousy stinking bastard!"

"Seconded," Bodie agreed. "But I actually asked if you were okay?"

"I'll live--you?" Doyle replied after taking a moment to consider his bruised and aching bones.

"I've survived worse; nothing a hot bath and a piece of elastoplast can't put right."

Doyle turned towards his partner and examined the slashed shirt with its dark spots of dried blood. "Jesus--he's fuckin' mad! He could have seriously hurt you."

"He knew exactly what he was doing," Bodie said wryly. "And he's a bloody expert when it comes to handling knives; believe me, if he'd wanted to hurt me he would've done."

"What the hell did he think he was going to achieve by cutting you up?" Anger surfacing again at the stupidity of what Macklin had tried to do, Doyle was shaking as his fingers gently traced the red weal on Bodie's chest.

"Exactly what he got," Bodie said tightly and moved away from the searing heat of those nimble fingers. Lying back on the mattress, Bodie closed his eyes and tried to make his tense muscles relax.

"And what was that?" Doyle asked curiously, his fingers following Doyle down, checking that the cuts were only surface scratches.

Bodie shifted onto his side--effectively dislodging the unwanted hand. "You, of course. He wanted to make you mad enough to let go."

"So he went for you with a bloody knife!" Doyle said disbelievingly. "Why the hell should he do that, why not just go for me with the damn thing? Makes more sense than trying to stick it in you!"

"It worked, didn't it," Bodie said abruptly.

Doyle thought about it for a minute. "Suppose so--but I still can't understand why he thought going for you would make me so mad. Christ, but it's cold in 'ere--where's that bloody draught coming from?"

Lacking the energy to try and find the source, Doyle settled for the next best thing. Resigned to his fate, Bodie allowed his partner to use him as a draught excluder and let his tired body fall into an exhausted sleep.

---

Macklin was running through some gentle exercises, flexing sore muscles and easing the tension from others. Cowley waited patiently for the routine to finish before walking up to him. He handed over the tracksuit top and a towel.

"Well?" he asked, coming straight to the point. "How are they?"

"They'll do," Macklin answered as he finished dressing.

"I need better than that," Cowley snapped irritably.

"They'll do," the instructor repeated. "They're the best you've got--though I don't advise you to let them know it."

"You've changed your tune. Two months ago you were recommending standing Doyle down and terminating the pairing."

"I was wrong."

"Wrong?" Cowley asked. It wasn't often Macklin admitted such a thing.

"I know. It's not like me to change my mind so completely but," he said smoothly, "we were looking in the wrong place. There's nothing wrong with Doyle. He's quite able to hold his own with anybody--given the right motivation, of course," he added.

"And what might that be?" Cowley asked.

"Bodie," the instructor said crisply. "Though it's not as simple as that," he added in fairness. Give him a good enough reason or something he truly believes in and he'll fight with everything he's got. There's a lot more to Raymond Doyle than meets the eye. Bodie knows that; and so, I suspect, do a few other people. Those that really know him seem to either respect him or keep their distance."

"And Bodie?"

"He believes in himself. And Doyle."

"And you think they're the best the squad can offer?"

"Bodie always was good. Now...he's better--and Doyle's just as good."

"Where are they?" Macklin pointed the older man towards the shed. Walking quietly through the gloomy interior, his approach didn't disturb the sleeping men. Drawing back his foot to kick the mattress, Cowley paused, had second thoughts and aborted the movement. Sound asleep, the men were defenceless, their faces were totally relaxed and unguarded. Lying on their sides, spoon fashion, with Bodie's arm draped loosely of Doyle's waist, they looked very comfortable. Moving around the mattress, Cowley saw that the hand draped over Doyle was being held. His movements unsettled one of the sleepers; Doyle fidgeted a little, settling down only when Bodie inched closer and snuggled up along his back. Already fighting with disbelief at the way they were cuddled together and the implication of their actions, Cowley was even more astounded when Bodie nuzzled the back of his partner's neck, kissing him briefly before settling into a deeper sleep.

Treading carefully, Cowley retraced his steps and left the shed. They would be busy enough over the next few days, he reasoned; let them sleep while they could.

---

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Unable to concentrate on the wad of reports scattered across his desk, Doyle looked over at his partner who, to all intents and purposes was totally engrossed in his reading. Doyle forced his attention back to his own reports and tried to memorise the vital information; the list of President Parsali's enemies was endless. Two pages later, he gave up and checked on the time again.

Hearing the door click shut, Bodie looked up to find the room empty. Surely, he thought incredulously, he can't have to go again! What on earth was Doyle up to? he wondered. All of a sudden the memory of the licking Doyle had taken from Macklin earlier that afternoon returned. Maybe he was hurting too much to sit still. The fool, Bodie cursed silently. How did he think he was going to be able to concentrate on the job if he was hurt so badly he couldn't sit still in a chair for more than twenty minutes! Leaving the office to find his partner and drag him bodily along to the doctor if he had to, Bodie went searching. Drawing a blank in every room, he finally returned to their office.

"I thought you'd got lost!" Doyle said sourly in greeting as Bodie opened the door. Speechless, Bodie sat down at his desk and picked up the next report. He tried to give the history of political discontent his full attention but he had barely settled down to it when the door clicked shut behind his partner yet again. Bodie checked his watch--only thirteen minutes this time. What was he up to? Overtaken by curiosity and just a little worried, Bodie followed him. He needn't have bothered being so cautious, though; totally unaware that he might be being watched, Doyle made straight for the public payphone booth in the main reception hall.

Wondering why on earth Doyle had chosen not to make use of the perfectly good phone sitting on his desk in the office, Bodie managed to get closer.

In the closed-in booth Doyle counted the rings. He was just about to hang up when it was answered. He pushed his coin home.

"Ann, it's me."

"Ray--just a second...let me put this down, I've only just come through the door... Hello, have you been trying to get hold of me?" she asked.

"Only this evening. I missed you at your office--you'd just left."

"Are you coming over?"

"Can't," Doyle said wryly. "I'm working. Probably won't be able to get away until late sometime Friday."

"Oh, Ray!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, love, but there's nothing I can do about it. How are you anyway...anything?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm fine, really and no," she laughed. "Nothing!"

"Oh." Doyle let out the breath he was holding and leant his head back against the glass pane. "I don't about you but this waiting is killing me," he complained.

"Patience, darling, have some patience. We should know by Monday--"

"Monday!" Doyle said in despair. "You said a week--"

"I only took the sample to the laboratory on Monday afternoon, they probably didn't touch it until Tuesday, then someone's got to type the report and post it to the doctor's surgery--"

"That won't take till Monday, surely?"

"Well, perhaps not. The doctor said I could ring on Friday after the second post--but he couldn't promise the result will be in by then."

"But Monday," Doyle groaned.

"Well, I've got plenty to keep me occupied until then, there is just so much happening at the office at the moment--"

"Could you get away this weekend?" Doyle cut in, not really wanting to hear Ann's office gossip.

"I suppose so...why?"

"It's just... Well, if we've got to wait until Monday I'm going to go mad sitting at home and I thought maybe we could go away somewhere."

"You're sure you'll get the time off?" asked Ann doubtfully.

"Yes. Par--" Doyle checked himself. "The job should finish some time Friday afternoon." He knew exactly what time: Parsali's jet was due to leave Heathrow at 3.45 p.m.

"Where shall we go? A hotel?"

"No," Doyle said thoughtfully. "Somewhere quiet, just us."

"There's the cottage," Ann suggested. "Since they finished building the motorway the drive only takes a few hours. I could give Mrs Walker a ring and ask her to air it for us for Friday night--I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Sounds nice," Doyle agreed. "We could drive down to the beach on Saturday."

"For a paddle! It's much too cold for that," said Ann.

"Build some sandcastles then," Doyle laughed.

"Sandcastles? Have you forgotten, Ray? It's only stones at Eastbourne."

"There is some sand--when the tide goes out," Doyle said cheerfully. "Sandcastles, Lego houses, model aeroplanes--"

"What are you on about?" Ann asked.

"The baby of course," Doyle explained patiently. "A father does have his responsibilities, you know."

"Oh, Ray," Ann laughed helplessly. "It'll be years before it'll be old enough for half those things--and why are you so sure it'll be a boy?"

"Don't be so sexist!" Doyle said in mock outrage. "It's not fashionable to be sexist. Girls can build aeroplanes and build Lego houses if they want to."

"All right, but before you start planning our child's life let's get this weekend out of the way. Will you pick me up in your car when you finish work?"

Doyle thought about everything that could conspire to delay his departure from London. "No. I think it would be easier if I meet you down there. That way I won't keep you hanging around if I get held up."

"You're sure you remember the way?"

"I haven't forgotten..." the pips went. "That was my last ten pence, I'll try and call you before Friday if I can. See you at the cottage."

Creeping back into the office, he saw that Bodie was still engrossed in his reports. Sighing heavily, he resigned himself to ploughing through his share of the research material.

Across the room, Bodie read the words in front of him, automatically taking in the relevant points. He had stayed watching only long enough to realise who Doyle was talking to, but he was still curious as to why Doyle had needed the privacy of the booth to talk to Ann--he wasn't usually so coy.

---

When they found the man's cruelly tortured body, Doyle's first thought was that his peaceful weekend might now not happen; but at least they knew they were up against a very real threat instead of some undefined, possibly hostile protesters: Someone else knew that Parsali was coming to England. Quite apart from the fact that the murdered man had not know the location of the alternative venue it was also approximately an hour's journey nearer to Heathrow. If all went well, Parsali should still leave their jurisdiction and protection in good time.

Bodie drove the car out to the conference venue early on the Thursday morning. Doyle was quiet for the whole journey, all Bodie's attempts at conversation either falling on deaf ears or gaining only a very limited and subdued response.

Several times during the journey, Doyle wanted to tell Bodie about the baby but, each time he opened his mouth to say something the words just vanished, leaving him floundering. Somehow he just knew that Bodie wouldn't exactly welcome the news--however hard he must try to give the impression that he was pleased. Troubled by his own problems and feeling guilty that he couldn't share them with his partner, Doyle did not notice the puzzled looks his partner was giving him or the effort Bodie made to try and cheer him up.

After they arrived at the venue they spent the rest of the day checking it over, going through the house and grounds and watching the security systems being installed. The security boffins decided that all the windows had to be locked shut--something which the untypical spell of warm weather they were enjoying made very uncomfortable and everyone became hot and irritable.

Already restless and edgy, Doyle was not best pleased with his partner's choice for their sleeping quarters. The panelled corridor was stuffy, gloomy and dark, the part he had chosen being windowless.

Bodie had selected the corridor for its privacy more than any other consideration. Upstairs the rooms were bare with no carpets or curtains and downstairs was taken up by the surveillance men--two of whom Bodie knew from past experience smoked constantly and snored extremely loudly. By the time Doyle's discomfort and nervousness seeped into his consciousness he was already comfortably settled and, being thoroughly fed up with his partner's moody abstraction, not inclined to put himself out and move.

"How much longer are you going to fiddle around?" Bodie asked gruffly through a layer of sleeping bag.

"You going to sleep?"

"That's the general idea," replied Bodie, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Oh," said Doyle, surprised. "It's not that late--you tired?"

"I've set the alarm for 5.30, Doyle," Bodie said patiently. "So, I'd like to get some sleep--if that's okay with you?" he added caustically.

"I'll turn the main light off--this little one won't bother you, will it?"

"No." The little flashlamp cast a warm glow over Doyle's part of the corridor. Tired enough to leave Doyle to sort out his own worries, Bodie made himself comfortable and settled down for the night.

"How do you think tomorrow will go?"

The question brought him back from the very brink of sleep.

"Tomorrow," Doyle repeated in response to his surprised grunt. "What do you think."

"Bloody nearly today!" Bodie grumbled, but still he rolled over and peered out from his sleeping bag. "What's bothering you about tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "You seem very...edgy."

"I'm not edgy," Doyle said in surprise. "I was just wondering...about the set-up...security...and everything," he finished lamely.

"The place is secure. Nothing can pass through the cordon now without tripping any one of half a dozen alarms. The army boys are bringing him in, we will listen to his boring speech, then escort him back to his little helicopter and it will all be over. Nothing to it." Bodie spoke in a low monotone. He'd said the same thing several times already and was getting irritated at Doyle's persistence.

"Nothing to it," Doyle repeated. "If that's so, why are we here?"

"To make sure there's nothing to it. We are the final check, the fail safe if you like. Because, in the unlikely event of someone managing to penetrate the road blocks, bypass the security gates and fences, slip unnoticed past the exterior guards, gain entry to the building without alerting all the other alarms and interior guards, successfully getting past Jax and Kennedy on the door and manage to bust into the conference hall with his gun, knife, machete, grenade or whatever, we'll be there to stop him! Won't we!" Bodie finished on a rising note and then drew a calming breath before lying back down and covering his eyes with his arm.

"A kamikaze kill, one or two nutters prepared to die for their belief might risk it. God knows there are people out there with reason to hate Parsali enough."

"Kamikaze or not," Bodie said quietly, "we're here and we'll stop him, stop them. It's what we're trained for--what we're paid for."

"Paid--to kill?"

"Paid to protect. If that means we have to kill, we kill. It's all part of the job."

"Do you really want to waste your life trying to protect someone like Parsali?"

Bodie sat up and turned angrily on his partner. "I'm paid to do a job. A job I've been trained for--a job I've chosen to do. I'm here because I choose to be here. I don't know Parsali. I don't want to know the man. I'm here to protect him, to protect what he stands for and if someone tries to kill him I'll do what I'm trained to do and I'll protect him to the best of my ability. And if you don't feel the same way you can pack up and get out now--right now!"

The harshness of Bodie's response pulled Doyle up sharply. In the stillness that followed Doyle finally understood why the married agents were removed from exactly this situation. All day his mind had been full of 'what ifs.' What if he should be killed in the morning? Ann would be alone, pregnant; his child would grow up fatherless, a bastard. What if he were maimed in some way; how would Ann cope with that and a baby?

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "Just ignore me. I'm getting twitchy in my old age," Doyle joked feebly.

"It's not like you to be so wound up," Bodie said when he realised that Doyle was only suffering from an attack of nerves. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing...and everything," Doyle said tiredly. I just feel...something's wrong. Dunno what...there's just something that doesn't feel right. It's making me feel...nervous, I suppose." Doyle knew that now was not the right time to tell Bodie about the baby. It was bad enough with himself getting uptight over it--and he knew that if Bodie had any suspicions that his mind wasn't on the job he would be pulled off the operation--and he didn't want that. Not yet.

The alarm woke Bodie at 5.30. Doyle was already gone, his sleeping bag neatly rolled away and the clothes-hanger his suit had been on swinging free on the picture rail. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bodie tidied his own things away and went in search of breakfast and his partner. He found Kennedy nursing a mug of steaming tea in the kitchen.

"Your partner," Kennedy informed Bodie," is not the most popular person here this morning."

"What's he been up to now?" Bodie groaned. Having sat up talking until gone two with Doyle, he was in no mood to face any more aggravation.

"What hasn't he been doing! He woke me up about two hours ago trying to give me a bleedin' heart attack. The sod was outside testing the locks on the bloody windows--damn near took his eye out with a bullet before I got the sleep out of my eyes. Then, not satisfied with waking me and Jax, he goes and tests the electronic sensors and wakes up everyone in the lower hall."

The kitchen door swung open to admit a couple more men, neither of whom looked awake or happy.

"Bodie, can't you keep that partner of yours under better control! The way he's getting up everyone's nose he won't survive until Parsali's chopper arrives!"

Everyone, it seemed, had a complaint about 4.5. Bodie listened to a seemingly endless stream of them before escaping into the grounds. He finally found Doyle walking along the perimeter fence.

"You were up bright and early."

"Someone had to be," Doyle said sourly. "Did you realise that there were only six people on watch last night? A place this size! The house was full of sleeping men, anyone could've--"

"All the electronic surveillance stuff was on. There were enough guards about and you know it," interrupted Bodie. "I hope you realise," he went on, "that you've managed to get up everyone's nose this morning."

"So?" Doyle shrugged it off. "At least everyone's awake."

"Parsali doesn't arrive until midday, for Christ's sake. It's only just gone six now! What's with all the panic?"

"There's no harm in being cautious," Doyle said defensively, knowing full well that he was over-reacting but powerless to stop himself.

"Agreed," said Bodie. "But what can go wrong?"

---

Watching the helicopter leaving the field with Parsali safely inside it, Bode remembered his words, spoken almost in jest, earlier that day. He shrugged his shoulders; it had after all been okay in the end, no-one was killed. Watching the ambulance move off away from the house he amended his thought. None of them had been killed. None of the 'good guys,' anyway, and when he thought about it that was all that really mattered, to him.

The panic over, the speeches had been hurriedly finished off, and now, with Parsali on his way home the other delegates were being ferried to less grand modes of transport. Between the hovering chauffeurs, ministers and bodyguards, Bodie could see Cowley holding a terse conversation with Kennedy and the chief electronics man and he took care to keep out of their way. Moving slowly through the house, he eventually saw Doyle enter the hall through the French windows. Amid the chaos and confusion he looked relaxed and surprisingly cheerful.

"I knew it wasn't just nerves," he said to Bodie and they drifted through the rooms trying to keep ahead of Cowley and his wrath. "Last night and then again this morning, ever since we arrived yesterday afternoon, I knew something was wrong. They were here all the time."

Pleased that Doyle's mood had improved, Bodie let him prattle on, knowing that it was Doyle's way of relieving his tension. Maybe some of his partner's edginess had rubbed off on him, though, Bodie thought quietly. Already keyed up because of Doyle's behaviour, his own senses had been doubly heightened and so, when he made eye contact with the familiar man descending the stairs he had been alerted the second the smiling recognition turned to surprise and then alarm. That split second had saved Parsali's life--and very probably his own too.

"I was beginning to think I was cracking up," Doyle was saying, obviously relieved to have found a reason for his behaviour. "Do you think the lads will ever forgive me for messing 'em around this morning?"

"I doubt it," said Bodie dryly.

"Well." Doyle shrugged. "Expect I'll survive without 'em. Managed all right so far." The last came out with more bitterness than he meant and he continued quickly before Bodie could pick up on it. "What are you going to do now?" he asked Bodie.

"What?"

"Two weeks' leave, Cowley said, remember? Starting when Parsali's plane leaves Heathrow."

"You reckon we're still going to get leave after this mess?"

"He's still alive isn't he!" said Doyle indignantly. "Anyway, I've made plans. So," he asked again. "What are you going to do with yourself?"

"Don't know," Bodie said thoughtfully. There were a lot of things he could do in the next two weeks--only he had a hunch that the person he'd most like to do them with had plans which didn't include him. "What about you?"

The happy spark went out like a light from Doyle's eyes as he thought about the coming weeks. "Get away for a bit. Spend some time with Ann, sort a few things out..." Untypically, his voice faded away as his thoughts overtook him.

"What's up?" Bodie asked, concerned to see Doyle looking so unhappy. "Got some problems?" he asked quietly. All the funny moods of the past few days and the secretive trips to the phone box suddenly added up to major problems for the engaged couple.

"Nothing I can't handle," Doyle snapped back defensively; too defensively, Bodie thought.

"Not about to call everything off are you?" Bodie asked. He'd meant to sound surprised and amused at the lovers' tiff but the question seemed, to Bodie's ears anyway, to be slightly desperate.

"No," said Doyle quietly as he examined the barrel of his gun before slipping the safety catch on and securing it in his shoulder holster. "Got to marry her now, haven't I."

It could have been a joke, Bodie told himself as he watched his partner vanish up the stairs to reclaim their bags from the upper corridor--but he didn't think so somehow. It was late afternoon as they drove back to headquarters to make their reports before Bodie had a chance to ask him about it.

"Did you mean that?" he asked carefully. "What you said about...you know, having to..."

"Having to marry Ann?" Doyle asked when Bodie trailed off into an embarrassed silence. "No, not really. I suppose we would have got married sooner or later anyway--it's just brought things forward, that's all." He shrugged.

"You mean that you're...that Ann's...expecting a baby?"

"That's right," Doyle laughed. He'd never seen Bodie look so uncomfortable before, he was almost blushing. "Ann and me--unless, of course, you know something I don't," he joked.

"How the hell did you manage that?" Bodie asked.

"Bodie!"

"No, you great berk!" Bodie answered, rolling his eyes heavenwards. "I know how, what I meant was how?"

"Mistakes do happen, you know."

"I know that but--oh, for crying out loud--" Bodie laughed with Doyle and the awkwardness between them vanished. "Haven't either of you heard of family planning clinics?"

"'Course we have," Doyle said scornfully. "Ann's on some pill or other: Her doctor seems to think that her flying between the States and Australia has mucked her cycle up...plus she wasn't well just after Christmas--it can all affect a woman inside, you know."

Bodie was suspicious of Doyle's superior tone; he thought that perhaps he wasn't the only person in the car that had had blind faith in letting the girl take all the precautions. "So she's pregnant then," he said after a moment's quiet thought on the near misses he might have had himself.

"More than likely," Doyle agreed.

"You're not sure?"

"Ann's pretty sure. She's as regular as clockwork usually, she's been feeling a bit off colour and all that. We're waiting to get a result from the hospital."

"Should've tried one of those home testing kits," Bodie said with the easy conviction of one who reads all the literature at the chemist's whilst waiting for his prescriptions.

"We did," Doyle said. "Only it gave a negative result."

"So she's not pregnant then."

"Blimey," Doyle said. "Can tell you've never had to use one. It's all there in the small print," he said knowledgeably. "They are supposed to be pretty reliable but the packet does warn you that all a negative result means is that perhaps you're not pregnant, the pregnancy isn't far enough along to give a positive result."

"Oh," Bodie said. He'd never had cause to be that interested to read all the advertising splurge. "When do you--does Ann--get the hospital result?"

"Today, I hope. Maybe tomorrow morning and then again we may have to wait until Monday!"

"Nerve-racking, eh?" Bodie asked as his partner ran his hands through his already tousled and tangled hair. "So you're going away for a quiet weekend to talk babies and weddings then?"

"Yeah." Doyle sounded less than delighted at the prospect. "Ann's family has a small house down near Eastbourne they use some weekends. It's a nice place, miles from anywhere, quiet, just what we need. We used to spend a lot of time there before--" As always when his thoughts turned towards that dark period, Doyle cut them off abruptly in mid-sentence. "Haven't been there for a while, though. It'll be nice to see the place again."

---

Pulling up outside the compact little house later that evening, Doyle wondered whether coming had been such a good idea. In the past he had some good times here with Ann, happy times. Curled up together on the enormous bed that almost filled the attic room, they'd spent long hours talking, planning and loving. It was in this house, after one such weekend, that he had proposed to Ann all those years ago. It was also returning from a few peaceful days away from the frantic wedding preparations happening in London that he had been arrested and all their dreams had been shattered. No, he thought, maybe coming back here wasn't such a good omen after all.

He was surprised to find the house empty although it was prepared for its weekend visitors. Picking up the key from its usual hiding place, he let himself in; the place was warm and the smell of something delicious was wafting through from the kitchen. There was a note from the ever-reliable Mrs Walker addressed to 'Miss Ann,' telling her about the casserole. Doyle gave the bubbling pot a stir and then turned the oven down low; there was no telling what time Ann would arrive.

In the bedroom he unpacked the few things he'd brought down and took a quick shower. Time dragged slowly and still Ann didn't arrive; he tried ringing her office and flat without success and could only guess that she was on her way. Tense and unable to settle he decided to drive down into the village to the little off-licence and buy some drink--the way he was feeling he knew he was going to need a drink before the weekend was over.

Returning from the shops a little later with enough alcohol to both drown his sorrows and, if need be, wet the baby's head, he was totally unprepared for the sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw Ann's car just ahead of his. He pulled in behind her as they stopped in the narrow driveway. Feeling like a condemned man being led to the gallows, Doyle picked up the bottles and went to greet his fiancée.

"Was beginning to think you weren't coming," he said tautly as he opened the front door for her.

"I'm sorry. Something...unexpected came up this afternoon and it was late before I could get away. Where have you been then?"

"Off licence--I'm glad you're here though, was just trying to figure how long I should wait before calling the hospitals!" he said sarcastically, his mood and temper worsening by the second.

"It'll be months before I need a hospital, Ray," she said quietly as they entered the house.

"You've got the result then?" Doyle said, hear in mouth.

"Result?" Ann puzzled. "Oh, I see what you mean--no, not yet. We'll have to call tomorrow morning," she said, then, "What's that smell?"

"One of Mrs Walker's casseroles. I think she's still trying to fatten us both up." Leaving Ann to unpack and freshen up, Doyle sorted the dinner out and laid the table up. The meal was a quiet affair, both of them seeming to have decided that eating was preferable to talking but, eventually, neither of them could eat any more and they knew they had to talk.

"So," said Doyle carefully, choosing a safe topic--or so he hoped. "What was it that kept you so late? Finally decided to make you Chairman of the Board, have they?" he joked, taking the sting out of his words by smiling gently.

An was quiet for a moment and she took her time folding her serviette and pushing her plate to one side before answering. "Not exactly," she said, obviously having arranged her thoughts to her satisfaction. "They have asked me to take over as Head of the American operation next year when George Hollis resigns." Having delivered her quiet bombshell, Ann sat back.

"American operations!" Doyle was amazed. "You were expecting something like this?"

"I've been hoping for it for the last few years. George did tell me some time ago he wants to retire when he's 65 but I wasn't certain that he would be able to persuade the Board to elect a woman to the post."

"And he has...persuaded them?"

"It would appear so."

"But..." Doyle foundered helplessly. "You can't accept it."

"Why?" Ann challenged coolly. "Because I'm a woman?"

"Because you're pregnant!"

"We don't know that for certain."

"Agreed--but just assuming you are--what then?"

"I don't have to take up the position until January next year. If I am pregnant the baby will have been born by then."

"But you'll have to go to the States. You can't just...up and leave the baby...and you can't start flying all over the world with it either!"

"I don't even know if there is a baby yet! Perhaps it's just a false alarm, besides--anything can still happen...and if I do have a baby I'll engage a nanny."

"A nanny!"

"Oh, Ray, please!" Ann closed her eyes and rubbed her temples to ease her tension. "Let's wait until we know for sure one way or another. We can't decide anything until then."

Having brought the conversation to an end, Ann started clearing away the dinner things, making it quite clear that she needed no help. Too angry and confused to even want to clear the air between them, Doyle left her to get on with it and adjourned to the lounge to watch the television.

---

"Thought you'd be long gone, mate," Jax said cheerfully as Bodie walked into the rest room. "Saw Doyle vanish out the door a couple of hours ago like a bat out of hell. I advise you to do likewise, mate, otherwise the Cow might decide to cancel your leave along with everyone else's."

"What? Something on, is there?" Bodie asked, only just noticing that the building was nearly buzzing with operatives from both the squads.

"The joint op," said Jax, pulling a sour face. "Day's jumping around even more than usual, seems he's been tipped off about some big drop that the top bloke's going to be involved with."

"So, Cowley's getting ready for the kill. An 'all hands' job, is it?" Bodie asked casually, but Jax knew him too well.

"Not exactly," he said carefully, "everyone already seconded on to the joint op, all the drugs squad boys and just one or two of us lot, unlucky imbeciles that Cowley found hanging around the place.

One or two more 'unlucky imbeciles' walked in to the rest room at that point and they greeted Bodie enthusiastically.

"Where's Doyle?" Murphy asked straightaway, failing to catch Jax's hurried semaphore.

"Eastbourne," Bodie said after a quick look at his watch.

"How the fuck did he manage that--I thought the Cow had everyone on a fifteen minute standby!"

"No," Bodie said stiffly, "not everyone."

"Ah, well..." Murphy said, having finally understood why Jax was making weird gestures behind Bodie's back. "Just as well I suppose. There's no reason why Doyle would want to get mixed up with this...drugs case."

"No," Bodie agreed. "No reason at all."

No-one moved until after the door to the rest room had slammed shut with Bodie safely on the other side of it.

---

Lying curled on his side, Doyle knew they should talk but couldn't think how, or where, to start. On the other side of the bed, Ann shifted and he knew that she was awake.

"Ann?" he whispered. There was a long pause during which he guessed she was trying to decide whether to feign sleep or admit that she too was awake.

"What do you want?"

"You really want that job, don't you?" Doyle said softly.

"Yes. I've wanted it for a long time."

"Even though it means spending so much time in America?"

"Yes," was her unhesitating reply.

"Being pregnant'll really muck things up for you then?"

"It won't make it very easy," she agreed softly.

Doyle turned over and put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her round to face him. She resisted for a moment but then moved to lie on her back, staring up at the moonlit ceiling.

"Couldn't you...stay as you are...for a few more years, at least?" Doyle asked.

"Ray," Ann said firmly. "This is my career you're talking about. I worked very hard for a very long time to get to this position. I can't tell them to wait for a few years! The job is there now, it's mine now. It won't be there in a few years. I can't turn it down, Ray, I just can't."

"Not even for the baby?"

"Stop it, stop it!" Ann cried out. She sat up, snatched up her dressing gown and began fighting with the sleeves as she left the bed.

"I just don't understand how you can even think about swanning off to the States!" Doyle raged at her. "How can they expect you to agree to go? Okay," he said angrily, "they don't know about the baby yet, but they know you're getting married. What on earth do they think I'm going to be doing while you are--" Doyle stopped in amazement. "What was that?" he asked as Ann's angry words sunk in.

"I said," she repeated icily, "that I haven't told anyone at the office about the engagement."

"Why not?"

"Because...because there seemed to be no reason why I should. Our relationship has nothing to do with my professional career."

"Just when did you intend telling them?" Doyle asked mildly.

"Oh, Ray...please! I'm so tired, I can't really think straight any more."

But Doyle was beyond being 'reasonable.' "And what do you expect me to do while you're pursuing your 'career'?" He spat out the word contemptuously. "You haven't given one second's thought as to how our 'relationship,' as you put it, is going to affect my career. You've not even asked me what I intend doing. You don't give a damn about the fact that I'm going to be pushed off the squad to work with the other married off 'has-beens,' that I'll probably be assigned to a new partner because Bodie won't want to join the baby-sitters and bodywatchers brigade. You really don't give a fuck about me, do you! All you care about is your own precious fucking career and to hell with anyone else!"

Faced with the angry tirade, Ann collapsed in tears back onto the bed, her whole body shaking as she broke down, crying and sobbing. Shocked by Ann's reaction to his temper, Doyle tried to calm her down. The words of comfort, however, just wouldn't come to him and all he could do was pat her shoulder and make soothing noises. Eventually she let him remove the towelling robe and pull her back into the bed but, pulling away from him she positioned herself on her side of the bed as far away from him as possible.

"We're both tired," Doyle said softly as he retreated to his side. "It'll look better in the morning," he promised with little faith and even less conviction.

---

The woke early the next morning, the argument still very much on their minds making them both tense and irritable. Worse still, they found they were both clock-watching.

"What time does your doctor's surgery open?" Dole asked quietly.

"About now, I think. The receptionist should be there anyway. Should I ring now?" she asked.

"No reason why not?" Doyle answered. They had to ring and find out sooner or later. He prayed that the result would be in--the way they were going the tension would have them murdering each other if they were forced to wait until Monday!

There was a delay while Ann hunted for her pocketbook to get the surgery number and a further delay as the line was repeatedly engaged. When she finally got through to the receptionist, though, Doyle found he was unable to sit and listen to the conversation and he retreated into the kitchen where he could hear her talking but not make out the words. He opened the back door and stepped outside to gaze out over the fields. Behind him he heard footsteps as Ann, her call over, came out to him. He turned to face her but found her expression unreadable. "Well?" he asked nervously.

"Well, what?" Ann asked, clearly in the mood to tease.

"Well--yes or bloody no!" Doyle's patience snapped and he shouted at her.

"Bloody no!" Ann shouted back at him and promptly burst out laughing.

"No?" Doyle could hardly believe it.

"Yes." Almost hysterical with the relief from tension, Ann was incapable of being coherent.

"Yes?" Doyle was totally bewildered by her answers. He grabbed hold of her and pulled her close, cupping a hand behind her head and forcing her to look at him.

"Yes," she repeated between tearful gulps. "Yes, the answer's no. I'm not having a baby. I'm not pregnant. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not..." The tears finally won out over the laughter and she clung tightly to him. Fighting conflicting emotions of relief and disappointment, Doyle held her as they rode out the storm.

So engrossed were they in their relief that it was all over, neither of them saw the man watching them from the other side of the far field.

---

By the time he arrived at HQ, Bodie was more than ready for Cowley. Peremptorily summoned, with no apology for the suddenly cancelled leave, and ordered to present himself for a meeting with no hint of what it was about, he was feeling very uneasy. It was obvious that the recall hadn't affected Doyle; that alone was enough to set the warning-bells going and so he was not surprised to see Day or the drug squad officer waiting outside Cowley's office. Inspector Mellish refused to catch his eye as he walked in--but Day smiled.

---

"So," Ann said cheerfully, "what do you want to do now?"

"Sleep!" Doyle said and collapsed forward to rest his head on his folded arms on the table top. "I'm so tired I could sleep for a week," he mumbled.

"You poor darling--I think you've been suffering more than I have," she said solicitously as she rubbed a gentle hand over the top of his head, ruffling his hair. "You didn't sleep much last night, did you?"

"Last night," he agreed. "And the night before that, and not that much the night before that either. God, I'm really kna--tired," he amended at the last minute.

"Lord, but you can look pathetic when you want to," Ann said and kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Go on, go back to bed. I want to pop into town and get some things I promised for my mother. You might as well catch up your sleep--you hate shopping with me."

"No, better not. We really need to talk, Ann--"

"Yes, I know," she agreed. "But there's no hurry and besides, you're so tired I could talk you into doing just about anything now," she said briskly. "Off to bed with you."

"God, you're bossy!" Doyle said as he allowed her to push him towards the stairs.

"Well come on, move a bit faster."

"And you nag," he protested.

"Bed!"

"I love strong women," he joked and stole a kiss. "All right, all right, there's no need to push, I'm going. They're going to love you in America, the place is full of bossy women," he said, thinking he was far enough away to be safe. Ann's hand flashed out and caught his rump. "Ouch!" Rubbing a hand over his stinging buttock, Doyle vanished speedily into the bedroom.

Ready to leave to go shopping, Ann noticed at the last minute that the morning's fine drizzle had turned into a downpour. Reluctant to go into the bedroom and risk disturbing Ray, who had settled down to sleep, she picked up the jacket he had left over the chair the previous evening and slipped it on over her slacks and jumper; the hood would at least help to keep her hair dry until she got into the car. Opening the front door, she released an exasperated groan. Ray had boxed her car in last night. She was about to yell for him to wake up and come play musical cars when she felt his keys nestling in the pocket of her borrowed jacket and decided, at the last minute, to use his car.

Driving an unfamiliar car and peering through a rain-lashed windscreen, she did not see the man on the other side of the orchard as he moved his own vehicle out onto the road and followed her along the empty roads into town.

Keeping a cautious distance, the man could hardly believe his luck. As his excitement grew he could feel his heart beating faster, sending extra energy and vitality around his cold, weary body. At first he'd waited for the girl to emerge from the cottage to join Doyle but, when he set off without her the man knew that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Leaning over to the passenger seat he tugged at a battered case and released the catch. He checked the contents; yes, everything was there--all he needed now was five minutes alone with Doyle's car. Laughter bubbled up inside him and he had to let it out: Giggling and smiling, he followed the white Capri through the lanes. It was perfect, everything was going so well, even the awful weather was on his side, the wintry rain and chilling wind keeping people home in the warmth.

He followed the Capri into a small carpark behind a shopping centre. Parking on the opposite side of the parking area, he watched as the Capri's driver got out and hurried towards the centre.

As soon as the coast was clear, the man left his vehicle and crossed over to the white car with his box of tricks held firmly under his arm. Working fast, the man told himself that nothing could go wrong this time: this time he would do the job himself--just to make sure. Finishing off, he stepped back from the car, examining it carefully; where his hands had touched the bodywork there were grimy finger prints and using his sleeve, he wiped the marks off. He couldn't risk Doyle noticing anything suspicious.

Pleased with his efforts, he hurried back to his own car and waited for Doyle to return. He spent a patient, happy hour thinking of how life was about to change for the better, how everything would be different once Doyle was out of the way for good and once Ann was free to be with him--as she should have always been. His train of thought was interrupted as he saw the familiar hooded figure moving quickly across the road back to the Capri. He watched Doyle as he unlocked the car and put some shopping not the back seat. The man's excitement died suddenly, horribly, as he saw Doyle look up at the sky and notice that the rain had actually eased off a little. As Doyle took off his jacket and threw it into the car the man shook his head in disbelief.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head in denial. "No, nononono--" Fumbling with the door catch, he finally managed to push it open and he almost fell from the car. His legs were numb and he had to force himself to move across the car park. In desperate, panicked slow-motion he saw her get into her car, key the ignition and start to move away. As the engine started he managed to cry out to her. "Ann! Ann!"

Pushing her hair from her eyes and searching for the way out of the car park, Ann was only barely aware of the man running towards her. Her last thought when she finally saw him was that he looked frightened.

Charles Holly's frantic bellow of "Ann!" was all but drowned out by the thunderclap explosion that tore the car apart. Knocked down onto the gravel by the shockwave, he crawled on his belly towards the inferno, rising to his knees with his hands stretched out helplessly towards the flames when it became too hot to move any closer. No, he told himself over and over. It wasn't true, it just couldn't be true. He'd seen the bastard getting into his car; it wasn't Ann in there, it just couldn't be. It was a mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake; his eyes must have been playing tricks on him, he decided finally, too numb to think any more. He'd go to the cottage, he thought tiredly: He'd go there now and get Ann; he knew she would be waiting for him. He climbed to his feet and walked away from the flames.

As shoppers and shopkeepers poured into the car park to investigate the explosion, no-one paid any attention to the old man getting into his battered Land Rover.

---

As tired as he was, Doyle awoke after barely an hour and found himself wide awake, restless and unable to get back to sleep. The knowledge that there was no baby on the horizon was such an overwhelming relief that his mind was too busy thinking ahead, unmaking all the plans he'd made when he thought family life and its attendant responsibilities had caught up with him to even think about lying idle in his bed a moment longer. Hungry also for the first time in well over a week, he went downstairs and attacked the disappointingly small larder for anything edible.

Seated at the breakfast table and munching his way through a mountain of hot toast, he wondered how he would break the news to Bodie. He was very aware that Bodie, for all that he'd said at the time, was not looking forward to the dissolving of their partnership. Yes, he thought happily; Bodie would be pleased, Ann's mother, Dear Constance, would be pleased, her stepfather, Harry, would be happy because Constance was happy and, best of all, Ann could depart with no regrets to America to start organising harried executives--unable to contain his joy, Doyle laughed out loud--everybody was going to be happy!

Thinking of his immediate plans, and the rest of the weekend, Doyle knew that they still had to talk, but they both knew what they wanted; Ann would go to America and he would stay with Bodie. Tonight, he decided they would go out for a meal where they could plan things, talk and warp up the engagement for once and for all in a civilised and amicable manner; then, tomorrow, they could go home, Ann to her mother to break the good news and he to Bodie's flat. He didn't even think that Bodie might have gone away somewhere to spend his own leave relaxing, he knew Bodie would be there.

Pleased with life, the world and his own good fortune, Doyle finished the toast and put the kettle on for some fresh coffee. Just as the kettle came to the boil he heard a car turn into the drive and, smiling, he put another cup on the tray for Ann.

---

Pulling up outside the cottage, Holly saw his daughter's car. It's all right, he told himself, she's there, she's got to be there! Even so, he felt his heart begin to race and his mouth go dry. "No," he said sharply, "she's all right...I wouldn't hurt my baby...not my baby..." He lifted the heavy brass knocker and knocked loudly. Inside the cottage he heard the door bang and then footsteps coming towards him. He held his breath.

The laughing voice and smiling face that greeted him cheerfully hit him like a blow and he could only stand and stare, helpless, as Doyle opened the door wide.

"Lost your key, did you? Lose your head if it wasn't screw-- Oh, sorry," said Doyle. "Thought you were someone else..." Expecting to see Ann, he was taken completely by surprise to find a stranger on the doorstep.

"Ann..." the stranger croaked.

"Ann?" Doyle asked, wondering if he'd heard right. "Ann Holly? She's out right now...shopping in town," he explained as the man just stood there looking at him. "She'll be back any time now--" Holly tried to push past Doyle. "Hang about," Doyle said warily, holding him back. "I just said she isn't here. Who are you? What do you--"

In the same fraction of a second he realised that the stranger was not rational, Doyle tried to push him back out the door and understood far, far too late that the man wouldn't, couldn't be stopped. Already off balance, Doyle tumbled backwards with Holly on top of him, his arm twisted painfully beneath him; he felt the bone crack and knew that the stranger was going to kill him.

Blind rage and utter despair made Holly blind to everything; his only contact with reality was the warm softness under his hands and he held on tight.

"Ann... Ann," he shouted into Doyle's face. "My Ann...where's my Ann, you bastard...where's my Ann?" When Doyle didn't answer Holly's fury grew and his grip on Doyle's throat became tighter still, making any response impossible. "Answer me," he screamed, lifting Doyle and shaking him like a doll. "Tell me, where is she...what have you done to my Ann...tell me...tell me...tell me."

Unable to breathe, Doyle only knew he was fighting a madman for his life and he was losing. Desperate for air, his ears ringing and his vision dimming, he fought weakly. An abrupt flash of pain and a brilliant white light tumbled him into a safe darkness and he went willingly.

The sudden limpness of Doyle's body beneath him only enraged Holly further.

"No!" he screamed. "No...not like that...not that easy, not for you...you can't get away that easy!" he raved, shaking the limp body. "My Ann, she's mine, do you hear me, mine! You can't have her, she's mine!"

Doyle's head rolled limply back and Holly threw him onto the floor. He knelt there, staring first at Doyle and then beyond him into the rooms of the cottage. He could hear voices.

"Ann?" he whispered hopefully. Crying, he shuffled to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. It was empty; one hand swept everything off the dresser top crashing onto the floor and he kicked at the table, sending it flying. From a rack he grabbed a large-bladed knife and turned into the small sitting room towards the voices. He found the radio and threw it across the room, smashing it against a mirror which shattered, showering the room with glittering fragments.

"ANN!" he screamed desperately, over and over and over again, slashing at fabric and woodwork in time with his cries.

Moving towards the stairs, he kicked Doyle's body out of his way. Ornaments and pictures were knocked awry or slashed as he made his way through the upstairs rooms. Using the knife, he hacked his way through the wardrobe and cupboards as if to reassure himself that no-one was hiding in there. With no other room to turn to, Holly collapsed face down onto the double bed, his hand still stabbing blindly, ripping pillows, mattress and linen. "Ann... Ann..." His cries grew weaker and the knife which had become wedged in the twisted bedsprings was released. As his rage ebbed, though, so too did his strength and Holly fell into an exhausted sleep there on the bed in the devastated cottage.

---

Cowley's face was grim as he passed the photographs across the desk.

"The second picture is dated on the reverse, three months before Doyle's arrest."

"Who is this Conroy? What's his connection with this 'Christmas Man'?"

"Conroy," Inspector Mellish informed Bodie before Day could open his mouth, "is a private pilot. Belongs to a small outfit that puts on aerial displays, trick flying, that sort of thing."

"As a sideline, of course, to his main job," added Day, "which is to import or export whatever people will pay him to import or export--legal or otherwise."

"And Conroy is connected to this operation in some way?" Bodie said. "If Conroy is mixed up in it and you think these photos implicate Doyle, why weren't they produced at Doyle's trial?"

"Because," Day informed him icily, "we only found them last night. We finally pulled in Albert Winterton and, to save his own skin, he put the finger on Conroy. Then," Day explained, "last night, two of our blokes did a little reconnoitring of Conroy's flat and turned up these little beauties, pictures of your mate, Doyle, being very chummy with Conroy."

"All these pictures prove is that Doyle was at a party nearly five years ago and that Conroy was there too!" Bodie said with little real belief that his comments would shake Day's conviction.

"Just one more piece of 'circumstantial evidence,' Bodie," Day said snidely. "To go with all the other 'circumstantial evidence'--"

"That's quite enough," Cowley reprimanded him. "I must admit that this evidence, in light of everything else, is very damning for Doyle; just another coincidence perhaps," he added as Bodie made to interrupt. "But, nevertheless we must investigate it fully and see if there is any real link between Conroy and Doyle."

"Where is Doyle now?" Mellish asked.

"With his girlfriend, Ann Holly, somewhere in Sussex. Control has the details," Bodie said vaguely.

"Holly?" Mellish said thoughtfully; he raised a bushy eyebrow and looked askance at Day. "Ann Holly," he said again. "Bit of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"What's a coincidence," asked Day, puzzled.

"Holly," said Mellish slowly. "Just hearing it like that... Holly, The Christmas Man...struck me as a bit odd...maybe some sort of link there..."

Day lit up as he realised where Mellish's train of thought was leading. "Yes," he said. "Wasn't Doyle involved with this Holly woman at the time of his arrest?" he asked Bodie urgently.

His heart sinking, Bodie had to admit that things were beginning to look very black for his partner. The coincidence was acceptable but the number of coincidences linking Doyle with the drugs case was getting unbelievable. It couldn't be true, though, he thought numbly; he was prepared to stake his own reputation on Doyle being innocent--surely he wasn't being fooled along with everyone else. The momentary doubt surfaced for a few ugly seconds, causing him to lose track of the conversation buzzing Cowley's office.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't take much notice of the incoming telephone call at first...

"...ambulance on the way there now? To which hospital?" he heard Cowley saying. "You're sure...what time did this happen? ...The local police...yes--one moment." Cowley put the call on hold. "Bodie get on to control, I want Doyle's address in Sussex immediately." He returned to the call. "Keep the press away. We'll be there directly. Control will radio you the address as soon as we are under way." Disconnecting the call, Cowley took over the call Bodie was making to control and ordered the helicopter be readied for immediate takeoff.

"Gentlemen," Cowley said, reaching for his coat. "We may well have our answers sooner than we expected; a car has just been blown to pieces in a shopper's carpark in Eastbourne--Doyle's car." Not giving anyone a moment to recover, Cowley went on. "Inspector, I'll be in touch with you. Day, come with me. Bodie, you can stay--" he didn't get any further.

"I'm coming with you. Sir," he added as a deliberate afterthought. Cowley hesitated for a second, wondering whether he ought to make a stand and then decided he would lose anyway and so conceded with poor grace, unwilling to waste time arguing.

---

Holly woke up suddenly; for a second or so he was completely disoriented but then the memories came crashing back in on him. This time, though, there were no tears and his grief seemed older and more bearable, shock having numbed his senses to a more tolerable level. He clambered up from the bed and staggered shakily into the bathroom where he put his head under a running tap; shaking the water from his eyes, he grabbed a towel and moved back into the bedroom.

The devastation shook him. The ruined bed and pillows had spilled out, covering the room with feathers and stuffing; torn clothes littered the floor. As he leant against the wardrobe, something slithered out onto the floor, catching his attention and he snatched it up and flicked through the pages. The first thing he saw was a sketch of Ann. He smiled at the simple drawing and touched the faint lines of her hair with a gentle finger. He rolled the sketch pad up and stuffed it into an inside pocket.

He moved around the bedroom touching things, picking up bits and pieces he knew were his daughter's running his fingers over the small make-up case and jewellery box, sniffing at her perfume bottles, feeling the silk of her blouse between his fingers. Her presence in the bedroom calmed him, soothed away the grief and covered over the painful memories. Here, in the bedroom he could almost feel her, see her and, bit by bit, his mind locked away the hurtful thoughts until he couldn't remember exactly what had happened--except that it was bad, very bad...he'd got Doyle, though. He remembered that clear enough, remembered the way his body had suddenly gone limp beneath his hands. He laughed out loud; yes, he thought, he'd got that bastard, all right. Doyle had paid for daring to mess around with his daughter!

Thinking of Doyle made him think about other things, practical things, and he started planning again. Doyle's body was lying at the bottom of the stairs; he couldn't leave it there for Ann to find--and he didn't want her upset. He knew that she must never find out how hard he worked to keep her safe. He had to hide the body before she came home.

Holly hurried back down the stairs; his mind whirring into action again, he only saw what he expected to see--Doyle lying dead at his feet. He didn't notice the gentle rise and fall of his victim's chest. Staring blindly at Doyle, Holly wondered how long he had been asleep upstairs...wondered how long he had before Ann came home...he had no time to waste.

Stepping over Doyle, he went outside and reversed the Land Rover up to the front door. Coming back inside, he tugged the rug away from the walls and rolled it around Doyle who, out cold, didn't even murmur, and then he dragged it outside and heaved it into the back of the vehicle. Without a backward glance at the cottage Holly drove out onto the road.

He drove mechanically, unthinking. He wasn't panicked or nervous and no one seeing him would have thought he had a care in the world. Even getting caught in a minor traffic hold-up only ten minutes form his home and safety didn't faze him. A helicopter clattered noisily into sight and landed only a few fields away. After a short additional delay there was a wail of police sirens and a small convoy of cars headed down the road towards him and back along the road he had just come from. No one in the convoy paid the slightest attention to the battered Land Rover with the carpet-roll bundled in the back.

The hold-up over, the policeman waved the cars on again and, with a polite nod of thanks, Charles Holly continued on his way home.

Pulling up outside his house, Holly quickly checked to see if anyone was about. The house was empty but he could hear the clatter of machinery and voices coming from the farm side. He knew he had to hide the body quickly and decided to put it temporarily inside the house. He pulled the rug, with Doyle still hidden inside, and dragged it over his shoulder to carry it through into the privacy of his home. Once indoors, Holly knew the best place to hide it. He had only ever used it in emergencies once or twice over the past twenty years; it was small but it would be ideal. Since his parents' death several years ago no one else in the family knew of its existence.

He carried his heavy load through to the library and dropped it onto the floor: the layers of thick carpet blanketed any sound Doyle might have made. Working fast, Holly's fingers found the right point in the panel and slid it back, then he dealt with the mock inner wall.

Intended as a hidey-hole for contraband in centuries past, it was too small to take the body wrapped in the rug and so Holly unravelled it, grunting and labouring over the dead weight. So sure that he was handling a dead body, Holly was never aware of the fact that Doyle was still breathing, still warm; all he knew was what his memory told him--that Doyle was dead and he'd felt him die under his own hands. Pushing a final leg into the space, Holly grunted in relief and slid the wall into place, then the wooden panel.

He stepped back to admire his work and noticed the scratches on the woodwork where it slid behind the other panels. Frowning, he searched the room for something to cover it. The bureau was ideal. He set the decorative flower arrangement sitting on top of it to one side of the floor and then, pushing and sweating, managed to move it up a few feet to cover the worst of the marks. Breathless by the time he'd finished, he rearranged the flower vase on the bureau again and slightly reorganised the rest of the furniture to make the room look right. Pleased with his efforts, he picked up the rug and left the room.

In the kitchen he calmly set about making himself a cup of tea. He thought about eating something but decided against it and chewed on some indigestion tablets instead in the hope they would relieve the pain in his side. Sitting in his kitchen supping his tea, Charles Holly felt oddly at peace with the world. Looking through the window, he saw that the rain had finally stopped and the late-afternoon sunshine was warming everything up nicely. For a moment he forgot all about an, and Ray Doyle, his efforts of the afternoon, and he walked out into the sunshine to enjoy the fresh air.

With no direction in mind he wandered aimlessly until, at the end of a tree-lined lane, he leant against a gate and stared out into the sunny paddock, enjoying the sight of the horses playing, running about. As he watched, a young girl wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt, her ginger hair caught up in a tight pony tail, ran into the field with a handful of grass for the horse.

He laughed out loud at the way the little girl kept encouraging her horse to 'eat it all up so you can grow big and tall.' She was totally unafraid of the huge animal and, when the grass was all gone she looked round for more.

"'s all gone, daddy," she said, looking straight at him. "It's all gone, daddy." The words echoed around the empty field, leaving Holly blinking in surprise.

"Ann!" he called out. "Where are you, poppet?" He climbed over the gate to look for her. "Don't hide, poppet," he said worriedly. "Don't hide from daddy...Ann...come back here...Ann," he called. "Ann...don't hide from daddy...please, Ann...come back..."

Holly sank to his knees, groaning aloud as the pain in his chest suddenly expanded, flaring hotly outwards, engulfing him. Hugging himself to ease the pain, he felt the forgotten sketch pad in his pocket and he drew it out, leafing through the pages with numb fingers. He found the sketch of Ann again and, for a moment, forgot his pain as he smiled at it, caressing her face with his fingers. Then the pain gripped him again and he clenched the pad with whitened fingers. As the wave ebbed slightly his gaze fell on the page just visible underneath...another picture of Ann, a larger one this time taking the whole page up. His fingers moved over the ripples in the sheet that covered her slightly, coming to a halt as they traced over bare skin. As he stared at the picture, seeing it properly, he felt the pain inside tear him in two and his cry of agony was mixed with his scream of rage.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Holly fell face down into the grass, the pad falling and landing under his face. Paralysed, his eyes wide and desperate, Holly lay staring at the picture of Ann, eyes soft and sensual, lying naked for the eyes of the world to see her... "No," he sobbed, "not my Ann...not...my...Ann..."

Struggling, Holly managed to wrench the pad away from his face and he pushed it way where the wind whipped at the pages, tearing them free from the binding and scattering them around the field. As the first sketch of his daughter flapped past his face he tried to reach for it but the wind tugged it just out of reach; he was trying to crawl for it when the final burst of agony seared through him and his hand fell, lifeless, onto the grass.

---

Their helicopter landed on a school playing-field and they were greeted by a group of excited-looking uniformed policemen. A chubby-faced superintendent detached himself from the throng and introduced himself. To Bodie's immense relief, he got straight to the matter in hand and gave them all the information as their cars sped away towards the cottage.

"There was only one body removed from the car," the superintendent said. "So far, two witnesses have said they saw a young woman, early thirties, auburn hair, fair skinned, about five foot tall get into the car. The vehicle blew up approximately thirty seconds after it started moving.

"And the house?" Cowley asked.

"We're nearly there, it's just around the next corner...here it is, we get out here and it's about one hundred yards further up the lane." Superintendent Fox signalled the driver to pull over and they all got out, Day soon joining them from the second car. "My men have surrounded the house as per your order, Major Cowley," said the superintendent. "No one's approached it at all and it looks peaceful enough. There's one car parked in the driveway and the front door is slightly open."

"Thank you," Cowley said, then turned to Day. "I want you to approach the house with caution--if Doyle is in there I want him out in one piece!"

"Sir," objected Bodie. "You can't seriously think Ray had anything to do with the car--and even if he had, do you really think he's going to be sitting in there waiting for us!"

"Day will enter first, Bodie. Those are my orders!" Cowley barked and his expression gave no room for discussion. Simmering, Bodie forced himself to calm down and moved into position, ready to follow the moment Day signalled.

After checking the exterior, Day gingerly approached the open front door. He beckoned Bodie closer to give him cover as he went in. Cautiously they entered the house. Somewhere to the right of the hallway a badly tuned radio was playing, static whistling and distorting the sound. Broken china strewn across the floor crunched beneath their feet; as they moved through the small house, they was the destruction but, for the moment ignored it--they were looking for something more important than broken ornaments. Only when they had checked the house out thoroughly did they relax fractionally and give the all clear for Cowley to enter.

"Looks like everything that could be broken has been, sir," Day said quietly, shaking his head in answer to the unspoken question.

"I don't understand this, at all," Cowley said as he viewed the destruction. "None of this makes any sense," he waved his hand around the room. "If Doyle is involved with Conroy--"

"He isn't!" Bodie growled menacingly.

"If he is involved," Cowley repeated, "and he knew we were on to him he could possibly try to run out, break away somehow, but this...this doesn't add up," Cowley puzzled aloud. "Why kill the girl in his own car? Why smash this place up? There are far easier ways to cover your tracks than this."

Bodie had no answers for him and if Day had any he was wise enough not to voice them in Bodie's presence.

The forensic team were there in double quick time and both the burnt-out car and the house were given a meticulous examination.

Returning to the cottage after viewing the remains of the car, Cowley, Day and Bodie--who was still tagging along, refusing to be left behind--the Met Superintendent Fox and Mrs Walker, the woman who 'looked after' the cottage for Ann's family.

Although very distressed at the terrible accident that had befallen 'Miss Ann," Mrs Walker was able to give them one more piece of information to puzzle over. She'd gone through the smashed rooms carefully and had announced that nothing had been stolen...except for one loose rug which went in the entrance hall.

"A rug?" Bodie asked, wondering if he'd heard right.

"A rug," Mrs Walker repeated. "A beautiful one it is too. Mrs Harrison bought it when she lived in India with her first husband--although she was Mrs Holly then, of course--it came from one of the northern provinces where Mr Holly was--"

"You're sure it's missing?" Bodie interrupted. "It's not just been moved to one of the other rooms?"

"It's missing, I tell you. I remember it being there on Friday and it's not there now," the old lady insisted. "Why on earth should Miss Ann move it--it's been lying on that floor near on forty years!"

"How big is it, Mrs Walker?" Cowley asked quietly.

"Oh my...I don't know..." Mrs Walker became flustered, fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she sniffed. Cowley handed her a clean, neatly pressed handkerchief. "It stretched from just past the door mat to about...there...a foot from this door, and it must be a few inches less than the width of the hall...look, you can see where the edge tiles are more polished--that's how big it is."

Cowley made soothing noises to calm the woman as he gestured for a policewoman to come and take care of her.

"Just a rug missing," Saunders, one of the department's forensic men, said thoughtfully. "By the size of it--big enough to wrap a body in," he ventured.

"What would he need the rug for if he intended blowing her up in the car?" Day mused thoughtfully--forgetting for the moment that Bodie was still glowering beside him--and staring at the empty space the rug had once occupied. "All seems a bit pointless--why'd he need a rug?"

"To wrap a body in?" Cowley said grimly.

"But the girl was killed away from the house--"

"Another body," Cowley said.

"Doyle?" Bodie asked, a deep fear finally finding voice.

"Someone blows up Doyle's car and kills the girlfriend by mistake. When he, whoever he is, realises his mistake, he comes here to the cottage and kills Doyle, wraps the body in the rug and takes him off." Day laughed, a sour laugh that grated on Bodie's nerves. "Oh, very nice and tidy. Agatha Christie would have had fun inventing a plot like that."

"I think it's a bit early to start jumping to conclusions," Bodie forced himself to say with more calmness than he felt. One step slightly off line and he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that Cowley would have him packed off to London and away from all the investigations.

"Do you have a better explanation?" Day sneered.

"Back off," Bodie snapped. "We don't know what happened and we won't until we find Doyle--"

"Presuming he's hanging around somewhere waiting to be found--"

"That's enough!" Cowley hissed. "It's bad enough that one of our men is missing in suspicious circumstances without the sight of two more involved in a slanging match! You, get down to the town, check out the shops Miss Holly visited; find out what she bought, who she talked to, whether anyone was with her at all." Dismissing Day, Cowley turned to Bodie. "You, stay here until the forensic team have finished and then return with them to London and take them into Doyle's flat. I want it searched thoroughly--do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Bodie snapped back. A thorough search, he thought, the bile rising in his throat. It would mean ripping the flat, Doyle's home, to pieces. Nothing would be left untouched. Everything that Doyle had would be revealed to almost public viewing--nothing would be left untouched. Doyle, Bodie knew, would hate it.

---

Bodie arrived, with the team, shortly after midnight to find Cowley and Day waiting for him. Using the spare key that Doyle had given him for emergencies, he opened the door and let everyone in.

Cowley indicated that the team should wait outside until he called them and then closed the front door.

"You're familiar with his things," Cowley said to Bodie. "Before the team come in and start stripping the place I want you to look through and see if there's anything out of place...anything missing."

"You mean South American travel brochures, bank statements, missing suitcases, that sort of thing?" Bodie said tiredly.

"Don't be facetious, Bodie," Cowley said sharply. "You won't help Doyle with that attitude."

As Bodie reluctantly checked through each room Cowley followed closely; Day kept his distance but stayed within earshot as Bodie was questioned on his partner's behaviour over the past few weeks.

"Hmmm..." Cowley said thoughtfully as Bodie's report ended. "I've heard that he seemed edgy from other sources too. Have you any idea as to the cause...Bodie," Cowley warned as he saw the younger man's expression change. "Don't even think about holding anything back. What is it--come on, man, out with it!"

Deciding he might be about to hear something interesting, Day came closer.

"Doyle..." Bodie began awkwardly. "He...he and Ann... I don't think things were working out quite as they had planned..." His voice tailed off as he guiltily realised that neither Ray nor Ann had actually planned anything. "I think...they think--thought that she was...pregnant. It wasn't planned and I'm not sure Ray was all that happy about it." Bodie finished and slumped down into one of the armchairs and stared belligerently at Cowley and then at Day, daring them to come to the wrong conclusion. Surprisingly enough, though, Day's only comment was not what Bodie had expected.

"I can't see Doyle blowing up his car just to get rid of a baby and a girlfriend. He must 'ave heard of abortions even if he hasn't heard of family planning!"

"You could argue that she refused an abortion and was insisting he marry her," Cowley suggested.

"Nah," Day dismissed the suggestion. "Not in this day and age. Ten or twenty years ago perhaps, but not now. She was old enough to know her own mind and Doyle...well, presuming she wanted to name his as the father and sting him for child support, it wouldn't cripple him financially." Day sat himself down in the chair opposite Bodie--Doyle's favourite chair--and looked Bodie square in the face before continuing. "No, I think what's happened is that Doyle got wind of the fact that the Joint Op was moving onto some big names and started getting nervous. Why kill the girl?" he asked. "Maybe he wanted to start running and she refused to go with him. Maybe he couldn't trust her with the truth about his involvement...who knows--except, of course, Doyle himself."

"You've forgotten something," Bodie said, too weary and worried now to get angry. "What about the rug? If Ray killed her--whose body is wrapped in the rug? What about the stains the forensic boys found in the hallway?"

"An unidentified stain that could be human blood," Day said patiently. "My money's still on Doyle fixing the girl and trying to confuse things by ransacking the place and fooling us into thinking something happened to him."

"Until the lab results come through we'll still concentrate on Doyle--there's precious little else to go on," Cowley said. "Bodie, you stay here and supervise the search. Keep me informed...Day," he turned to the other man. "You've still got Conroy's home and office under surveillance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just supposing, for argument's sake, Doyle and Conroy are connected. Conroy's aircraft would be an ideal vehicle for a man on the run to leave the country in. Double the surveillance and keep me posted as to developments."

As Cowley and Day left the flat they let the forensic team in. Grim-faced, Bodie watched as the men set about their task. They all knew Bodie; knew it was his partner's flat they were taking apart, 'carefully, and mind the furnishings!' Cowley had ordered before leaving--but it made little difference to the way they did their job.

Helpless to prevent any of it, Bodie paced restlessly from room to room, his brooding stare burning into the men's backs. There was little conversation, none of the jokey back-chat they usually indulged in; no-one made lewd comments about the contents of the bedside cabinet or joked about the more personal possessions Doyle had put away in cupboards and drawers. Even the discovery of a dog-eared instruction sheet for a home pregnancy test-kit didn't raise the titter it normally would have done, it was simply bagged and tagged and put onto the ever-growing pile of 'suspicious evidence' on the living room floor.

For the best part of an hour Bodie held his tongue and his patience but he was unable to restrain himself when one of the men pulled out a large suitcase--one Bodie had last seen in the corner of his spare bedroom when Doyle had been his 'house guest.' "Leave that!" he barked, causing the man to jump in surprise.

"Fuck off, Bodie." Flushed and sweating from effort and tension, Kelly just snarled at him. "Just keep out of it," he warned.

"Don't do that," Bodie said in a deceptively soft voice. "You don't have to rip it apart--there's no need to gut everything."

"Just trip the locks, Kel," said one of the other men in an effort to defuse the situation. "They're only cheap cases, shouldn't be difficult." Taking hold of Kelly's knife, the younger man worked at the locks and soon had them open.

"Okay, Bodie," Kelly said placatingly, "let's see what he wanted to lock away in here...strange place to put this stuff," he said with disappointment. Sickened, Bodie watched the contents of the case being tipped out and sifted through by Kelly. There was nothing special in there--nothing special or important to anyone but Doyle.

As Kelly pored over the contents his colleague delved into the back of the cupboard and pulled out a second case. This one was not locked, merely strapped shut, and Bodie recognised it as the other case Doyle had dragged back from his brother's house the day of his release form prison. He recalled seeing this suitcase the day Doyle moved into this flat and had offered to unpack it for him. 'Leave it,' Doyle had said. 'I'll do it later, there's nothing important in it.' Nothing important? Bodie knew otherwise. The two cases were all that Doyle had left of his previous life, all that he'd wanted to save when he lost everything else. They were important. "There's no need to read them!" Bodie snarled as he noticed Kelly sorting through a pile of letters."

"They're bleeding love letters!" Kelly crowed delightedly. "No romance though, done up with an elastic band, should have been a pink ribbon at least..." he laughed unkindly.

"Look at these," the other man said as he sorted through the second case. "Certificates, master marksman and everything...didn't realise he was such a good shot," he said, admiring Doyle's skill.

"Yeah, she reckons he was a good shot, too," Kelly snorted crudely as he sorted through Ann's letters.

"Good lord...he even kept his school reports...hey, listen to this one--"

The tension of the past hour found an outlet as the innocent keepsakes and mementoes were pulled from the cases.

"...must learn to curb his temper and channel his thoughts more effectively..."

"Kids' books!" Kelly said in disgust. "Why keep a bunch of kids' books?"

"...Raymond must learn to apply himself and concentrate on academic subjects..."

"...Hendon Police Training College, Passing Out Parade, March 1968--looks like the whole bloody lot of 'em are about to pass out! That looks like him, there, third from left in the middle--not smiling is he!"

"Listen to this...Mr and Mrs Henry Harrison request blah-blah to the marriage of Ann blah-blah to Mr Raymond Doyle...St. Barnabas Church, September 10th 1972--when was he first arrested?"

"Hmm..." Kelly answered, looking up from the pile of documents from the Police Training College, "Oh, sometime in August...yes, August '72 I think. Look at this one...she sent it to him while he was being held on remand. 'Darling Ray,'" Kelly read out. "'I really can't believe that this is happen--'"

"That's enough!" Bodie shouted as he snatched the invitation cards and letters out of their hands. "There's nothing of interest to you here and you bloody well know it!"

"Back off, Bodie," warned Kelly, rising to his feet.

"You've done your job and you've found nothing so get the fuck out of here!"

"I said back off and I meant it," Kelly said. "You're only here to observe so bloody well OBSERVE and keep out of our way!"

"I'm all for job satisfaction," Bodie said, "but I think you are enjoying poking your nose into Doyle's things, you've had the time of your fucking life pulling this place apart--"

"Pulling it apart?" Kelly countered. "We've hardly touched the place. I'll show you 'pulled apart' if you want me to. Start with the mattress shall we? Cut that up and see what's inside? Take the wallpaper off the walls to see what's hidden underneath, tip the flour and sugar and cornflakes into a pile on the living room floor shall we? I'll fucking well give you pulled apart if that's what you want!"

"Keep it down, Kel," the other man urged softly to his partner before turning to Bodie. "I appreciate that it's hard for you to watch us do this but it's got to be done."

"Oh yes," Kelly laughed bitterly. "We've got to see what the rat left behind before he jumped ship--they always leave something--"

"Kelly!" entreated his partner. "It's finished. Let's close up--"

"Finished! We haven't even started yet. I'll show Mr-Bloody-Wonderful here how we do a real search!" Kelly lifted the photograph frame and smashed it against the wall without dropping his eyes from Bodie's. "Might have something hidden under that picture." The glass shattered and, free from the frame, the photograph of Doyle's passing out class fluttered to the floor by Kelly's feet. Stepping forward, he ground his heel into it and the sound of crunching glass seemed very loud in the quiet room.

Kelly fully expected Bodie to take a swing at him and he wasn't disappointed. The fight caused more damage to the flat than the search had.


...Continued in Chapter 18...

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