The Professionals Circuit Archive - The Devil and George Cowley      
The Devil and George Cowley

 

by Anne Carr

  
 Dark water lapped at the pier, sucking at rotting wood with patient
slurps. The wood creaked uneasily in the night stillness, encouraged by
the sharp breeze that ruffled the lake, as if aware that in the long run
nature would always be the victor over man-made intruders.

Bodie shivered. The draft had discovered him and was snaking up his legs,
playing patterns across his back. He didn't know about his arms--they had
numbed long ago as the ropes held them high and still.

His mouth was taped shut but no one had thought to blindfold him. Not that
there was anything to see. A few stars and the black forest, palely
outlined by the weak light of a new moon. Behind him, lost in the depths
of the heavy woods, there was a fire. Fire and warmth and food and Doyle.
And the entire Cassidy mob. Of course Doyle might not be there anymore. If
he was lucky he was already dead. Dead like the feeling in his own arms.

There was a rustling at his feet and he managed to twist his head enough
to look. Narrowed red eyes stared back at him from a vague furry shape. He
moved convulsively and the rat scurried away. But not far--only to the
opposite edge of the dock. It was a sleek creature, crafty and fat. It
could wait.

Bodie shivered again, not entirely from cold this time and wished he had
Cassidy in front of him right now. He'd give anything to get his hands
round that bastard's throat and squeeze....

"Anything?"

He looked up sharply. But he was alone, aware that he'd been here too
long, that his mind was beginning to play tricks on him and that only the
wind could speak in that low, seductive tone.

He leaned his head back against the iron girder to which he was bound and
waited. The breeze swirled around him and teased, "Anything?" but he
ignored it and closed his eyes, thinking of better days and warmer winds.
After a bit the breeze retreated. Like the rat, it too could wait.

******

Doyle tried once more to pull away but the man holding him merely laughed
and jerked the thong at his throat tighter.

"Come on, Prettyboy. You wanted to find your partner. Let's go see if he's
still alive enough to know you're around."

Doyle growled but quieted, stumbling along the twisting path. John Harker
held a torch to light his own way and he pulled Doyle like a dog on a
leash, letting branches snap back with conscious malicious pleasure. With
his hands tied behind his back Doyle could only twist and duck out of the
way, he was too tired to be very successful. 

They had left the rest of Cassidy's band by the fire, the big man himself
snoring off his drunken stupor in a tent to one side.

"Get rid of 'em," had been Cassidy's last order before staggering away to
collapse. But he hasn't said how or who was to do it...or when.

Doyle hesitated at an unexpected turn in the path and the thong jerked him
forward full against John Harker's body.

"Wassamatter, Prettyboy? Can't you wait?"

A hand slid round his back under the waist of his jeans and pinched his
buttock. Instinctively Ray arched away from the pain, a move that only
brought him closer to Harker.

"Eager, eager...." Harker laughed and bent his head.

There was a gagging smell, the rasp of unshaven beard against his cheek,
and the sour taste of stale liquor and smoke. Doyle forced himself still
and remained passive, encouraging the man to be careless, to relax for
just an instant...but the moment never came. Frustrated and angry, Doyle
abruptly bit down hard and John Harker howled, jerking back, his hand to
his mouth.

"You *bastard*!" He slapped Doyle and the smaller man fell. "You'll pay
for that."

"Go fuck yourself," Doyle suggested and grunted when Harker pulled at the
thong.

"Get up you."

He struggled to his feet, endured the heavy-handed pat on his groin
without really feeling it, his eyes on the gun in Harker's free hand.

"You like it rough, eh? Well, I'll be happy to oblige. But first, let's go
see that partner of yours," Harker laughed. "Say goodbye and all."

Doyle didn't think he'd ever hated anyone quite as much as John Harker at
that moment.

It wasn't much farther to the shore, a short walk over a stoney beach, and
Harker pushed Doyle ahead onto the rickety pier. "Here's your mate,
*mate*. All safe and sound."

The torch touched briefly over the strained figure tied and hanging by his
arms to an iron rail. Even in that second Doyle could see his partner's
white face lined with exhaustion, with pain.

"*Bodie*!"

He wrenched forward and Harker let go the thong, but his hands were still
tied behind his back and he couldn't feel his partner like he needed to.

"Ray? Y'll right?"

Bodie's voice was weak, almost a whisper. Doyle leaned against him,
offering the only comfort he could, and pressed his cheek to his
partner's. "Bodie! You're as cold as ice!"

He nuzzled Bodie's face, heard the faint sigh in his ear and turned back
to Harker. "Let him down, damn you."

"All right." Harker's smile was pure evil. "You come here."

Doyle hesitated, looking form one pale blur of face to the other.
"Bodie--listen mate--he's going to let you down. D'you hear? Bodie? It's
going to be all right."

"Ray...yeh, I hear."

"Come on, Prettyboy, or I may change my mind."

Obediently Ray crossed to Harker and watched as the thong was tied to a
second rail, effectively immobilizing him. A light cool breeze ruffled his
hair. "Do it Harker!"

There was a rattle and clank and the iron rail was released with Bodie
still tied to the bar. It fell forward, dragging him along, and he bit off
a cry as his arms went into immediate and unrelenting cramp. He crouched
beside the rail and forced himself to be silent, refusing to give his
captor any more satisfaction.

"You know," Harker said conversationally, as he stood over the hunched
figure, "it's really too bad. You're just as pretty as the boy here in
your own way. Yes, a real pity...."

He casually placed a booted foot square between Bodie's shoulders and
pushed. The agent flew face first over the edge of the rotting pier and as
Doyle heard him hit the water he screamed, "*No*!"

He threw himself futilely after his partner, remembering the iron bar
Bodie was still tied to, picturing the rail dragging him to the bottom of
the black water. The thong brought him up short. Half-choking he yelled,
"He'll drown damn it! Let me go!"

"Why? Harker glanced over his shoulder. "I'm only obeying orders."

"Harker! I'll do anything, do you hear me? Anything!"

"Anything?" The question was soft in his ear. Across the dock Harker was
speaking but somehow the words were lost as the wind picked up momentum.

"Anything! Just don't let Bodie die--not like this!"

"What exactly would you do?"

Why did it seem that Harker's mouth and the words didn't match? As if the
man moved in slow motion, coming towards him through liquid air? What did
it matter? In another minute it would be too late.... "Damn you! I'd sell
my soul to the devil! Just let me save Bodie! Let me loose!"

"Done."

The wind gusted once and died, and suddenly his hands were free, the thong
loose. Doyle didn't stop to question. One solid, very satisfying punch and
Harker was down, sprawled in an unconscious heap at his feet.

Doyle groped for the torch and the knife at the man's belt, then leapt
over him, shining the single beam into the water as he kicked off his
shoes.

There was a splash, a seal-dark head bobbed to the surface, and Bodie said
calmly, "Don't bother mate, the water is definitely *not* fine. Give us a
hand, will you? The rope may have slipped free but the arms are not quite
up to it."

Doyle reached, clasped his partner's arms firmly, and hauled him onto the
pier. For a long moment they lay in a tangled mass, just glad to be alive.
Bodie finally sat up, shook some of the drops of water free and looked
around ruefully. "Just a bit too close for comfort there."

"Yeh," Doyle glanced at his hands. "How'd you get loose?"

"I told you. The rope got wet and loosened. Here, you take that bastard's
shooter, I still can't feel much."

"In a minute." Doyle began to rub Bodie's right arm vigorously, working at
the knotted muscles until they relaxed. He switched to the left arm.

Bodie leaned against him, drawing strength from the warmth of Doyle's
body. "Hey, Sunshine?"

"Yeh?"

"Thanks."

Doyle looked at him and smiled faintly. "Sure, mate. Anytime."

The breeze swirled over the lake in a victory dance, but nobody heard
except the rat who scurried away to find better pickings.

******

George Cowley left the small churchyard, his shoulders held straight
inside his coat in an unconscious defiance against the winter wind and the
loss of yet another friend. The funeral had been simple and he had
lingered longer than the rest of the few attendants, saying goodbye,
putting it once again behind him.

"Mr. Cowley?"

Where the bloody hell had the man come from? He could have sworn there was
no one in the bleak afternoon light but himself and the dirty laborer
single-mindedly piling dirt on the coffin.

The man was slight of build with an unremarkable face and dark hair and
eyes. It was the eyes that held Cowley's attention. They were cold,
relentless, and flat. Cowley waited for him to speak.

The man pulled out a small notebook from his black velvet jacket and
consulted, "Major George Cowley? Formerly of MI5, now Controller of CI5?"

"Yes."

The man's voice was faintly accented, soft and deep. Cowley glanced around
and noticed that his own car was the only one visible. He wondered again
where the man had sprung from and was suddenly impatient. "Come on man, I
haven't got all day. Who are you, what do you want?"

The man smiled, a task that merely lifted the corners of his thin lips and
never changed the expression in his eyes. "I have gone by many names, Mr.
Cowley, but I suppose you may call me...er...Samael. If you look hard
enough I believe you'll recognize me--we've had dealings in the past, you
and I."

Cowley looked and saw. "Why are you here?" He indicated the churchyard.
"It seems a rather odd place...."

"I rather thought you'd want our conversation to be private." They began
to stroll towards Cowley's car.

George looked around and sighed. "Well, I suppose this is as good a place
as any...."

"Oh no, Mr. Cowley. I've not come for you." Again the corners of Samael's
mouth rose in the travesty of a smile, "As much as I'd like to...your name
is not on our...list."

"You surprise me," Cowley said coolly.

"No, it's one of your men. A certain Raymond Doyle."

Cowley stopped walking then began again, "As I said, you surprise me."

"According to our records Mr. Doyle has signed a contract giving
his...life to you. This is merely a courtesy call to let you know the
contract has been superceded."

"No," Cowley said mildly.

"Mr. Cowley, you really have no say...."

"Show me where Doyle has signed a contract with you."

Samael waved a narrow-fingered pale hand. "The agreement was verbal..."

"Aha!"

"...but nonetheless, binding."

They had reached the car. Cowley thought for a moment. "When were you
planning to take my man?"

"Midnight tonight. Something simple that would not reflect on your
organization."

"I won't give him up without a fight."

"That, of course, is your privilege."

Cowley nodded and climbed in the car. "Until just before midnight then."

"I shall look forward to it." Samael bowed and stepped away.

Cowley looked back once as he drove away, but the velvet-clad figure was
gone, only a swirl of dead leaves marking the spot where he had stood.

******

"What's this all about anyway?"

"Y'got me, sunshine, all I know is Cowley told me to find you and bring
you over to his place right now."

Doyle frowned, "Of all the nights...."

"Hot date?"

"No, good book and a better night's sleep."

"Well, you never know with the Old Man. Maybe we'll be out in plenty of
time for both." Bodie spied a parking space and maneuvered his car into
line.

"Fat chance."

"Oh, I don't know. Our luck's been pretty good lately. Look at it this
way, no one serves up better liquid refreshments than our fearless
leader."

"So?"

"So, I could use a drink. Come on."

Cowley answered the door and waved them in with a preoccupied air. "Have a
seat, I'll be done soon."

The bottle and glasses stood ready. Bodie poured himself a double, gave
another to his partner and sat heavily in the comfortable armchair.

Cowley returned to his desk. He was half-hidden behind stacks of files and
as they watched he made a note, closed one of the folders and reached for
the next. This process continued for the next half hour and the men sat
silently, absorbing the tense atmosphere in the room. Bodie quirked an
eyebrow at Doyle. Something definitely was *up*.

At last Cowley made a triumphant noise and rose, carrying one of the
files. He looked at Bodie who obediently poured him a drink and went to
sit on the sofa next to his partner. Cowley joined them, taking the place
on Doyle's other side.

"I've been going over your files of the last six months," he began.

Doyle glanced at Bodie and shrugged.

"You've been remarkably lucky," Cowley sipped at his neat Scotch. "All
starting from this."

Doyle read the name on the file. CASSIDY. "Yeh," he agreed. "So?"

"Tell me about it."

"I did. It's all there. In triplicate."

"I can read, man!" Cowley glanced at his watch. "There's not much time.
Think back. I want every word, every thought. Start from when you and
Bodie were first separated."

There was an urgency in their boss's voice that made Doyle try.

"Well, they took me to a tent...."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Christ! I don't remember!"

"Bodie. Help him."

Bodie glanced at his partner and thought back. "It was not quite dark yet.
I could barely see you, but you were mad, mate. And that mad bastard
Harker had his hands all over you...."

"Yeh, I remember thinking I'd look forward to bashing his face in...."

They drew it out of him slowly; the long hours of questioning, the pain
when he refused to answer, his growing concern and demands to see his
partner. He hesitated over the scene on the path, his face flushed at the
memory.

"Go on, man," Cowley encouraged.

Ray didn't look at him as he continued. "Bodie was on the pier, tied like
this," he demonstrated. "He looked terrible...."

"Not one of my better moments," Bodie agreed dryly.

Doyle described the scene, his shock and horror at Harker's unexpected
action, the sound of Bodie, tied and helpless as he splashed into the
water. "He didn't deserve to die like that. Not without a fighting chance.
There was no *reason*...." He took a long breath. "I told...yelled at
Harker to let me go."

"Your exact words," Cowley reminded.

"I said 'I'll do anything'."

Bodie was impressed. "I never knew you cared."

"Give over, mate, you're too expensive to lose. Besides I'd just have to
train somebody else all over again."

Cowley cut them off. "What was Harker's answer to that?"

"He said 'Anything?' and 'What would you do?' I remember, his voice was
weird, all soft, which was funny 'cause the wind was blowing. It was cold
coming over the water."

"And what did you do?"

"Told him I'd do anything if he'd let me save Bodie."

"Think man! *Exact words*!"

"I don't know! Some cliché or other. Something silly about selling my soul
to the devil...anyway, the ropes came loose then and I decked Harker and
started after Bodie...."

Cowley was sitting up, his expression intent. "4.5, this is important. Did
*Harker* release you?"

"No, I told you...."

"Did you actually say 'I'll sell my soul to the devil'?"

"I suppose so. What's all this about?"

Cowley stood up, glanced again at his watch, and went to stand by his
drinks cabinet. "I won't bother to give you the standard lecture about the
expendability of operatives. I believe I gave that one to you less than a
month ago."

Doyle nodded and ignored Bodie's silent laughter.

Cowley went on, "I'm afraid, Doyle, that the...er...devil is about to
collect."

Doyle looked at him blankly, then at Bodie. Had the old man finally gone
round the loop?

Bodie grinned. "Come on, Sir. That's a saying--he didn't mean it."

"At the time, 3.7, from the sound of it, he *did*."

"That's just stupid." Doyle was beginning to feel distinctly nervous.
Something about his boss's manner, the way he kept looking at his
watch.... "There's no such thing as the devil!" As Cowley gazed at him he
faltered, "I...is there?"

The doorbell rang.

In a fair fight Bodie figured he could take the feller. In a fair fight.
He stood aside and allowed the man to enter.

Samael looked from one person to the next and smiled when his flat eyes
rested on Doyle. "I see you are already here. Good."

Cowley stepped forward. "This is...Samael. Bodie--Doyle."

"Funny," Bodie commented, "you don't *look* Jewish."

"Bodie," Cowley warned.

"It is quite all right." Samael seated himself neatly in one of the
armchairs. "I am quite used to Mr. Bodie's attempts at levity. Now, may we
proceed?"

Doyle had tried to sit still, he really had. But this was too much. He
bounced off the sofa and glared from the stranger whose voice was
hauntingly familiar, to his boss. "You can't be serious! This is
ridiculous!"

"I am quite serious," Samael stared at him, expressionless. "You offered a
trade, I accepted. That's all there is to it."

"Not quite." Cowley motioned Ray back to his seat beside Bodie. "As you
said earlier, Samael, *I* hold the contract on Doyle's life. I do not
choose to release it--not to you or anyone else."

"You don't have a choice. It has been superceded."

Cowley was not visibly moved. "I think a little careful sifting of the
facts will change the situation."

"This is *crazy*!" Doyle muttered.

"I'll give you odds on Cowley," Bodie answered and smiled when Doyle gave
him a startled look. "If you give in, you're lost."

Cowley consulted his notes, his eye unreadable behind dark-rimmed glasses.
"There are several points...Bodie, get Samael a drink."

"Just water, if you please. One gets...thirsty."

Bodie complied slowly, giving Cowley the time he needed to marshal his
thoughts. By the time he sat down again, the Controller was ready.

"Let's be sure," Cowley began, "that we agree on the matter." He gave a
concise replay and Samael nodded.

"You are saying then, that Doyle's words, uttered foolishly in a time of
crisis, are enough?"

"Of course. He offered, I took him up on it." Samael's cold eyes went to
Ray.

"Bugger off," Doyle said and Bodie gripped his knee in support.

Cowley went on, "You have no proof."

"I don't need it," Samael answered. "I have Doyle's word."

"Not binding," Cowley waved a hand. "*I* have a signed document."

"My dear Cowley, we've been through this before."

"I should like to point out," Cowley went on smoothly, "that Doyle is
worth much more to you here, with me."

"Oh?"

"Surely he sends you a lot of...business."

"True enough. However, the capacity in which I intend to employ him will
also bring me business."

"Just what capacity is that?" Doyle wondered.

"Temptation. With your persuasive talents you'll be a great asset to me."

Bodie laughed. "He's too moral."

Samael agreed. "Yes. Now."

"I can't believe this is happening." Doyle turned wide green eyes to
Cowley. "Sir?"

"I thought," Cowley mused, "that you had to be called for. Doyle did not
call for you."

"You mustn't believe everything you read. A wayward thought is often
enough evocation. A mind's picture...."

"I don't even *believe* in the devil!" Doyle's voice began to rise.
"You're standing right here and I don't believe in you!"

Bodie patted his arm and looked thoughtful.

"If I don't believe, how could I call him...it...you?" Doyle continued.

Samael's voice was silky. "In a case such as this, when I have been evoked
by the soul offering anything for personal gain or an act of violence...."

"What?" Bodie lifted his hand.

"I repeat...."

"I heard you."

"So did I." Doyle was on his feet again. "Personal gain? What personal
gain? I did it for *him*!"

"It's because I'm so expensive," Bodie explained.

"No it's not!" Doyle swung on him fiercely. "It's because I care about
you!"

Bodie nodded. "I know." He looked at Samael. "No personal gain. He didn't
even evoke you, did he? It was me. 'An act of violence' I think you said?
When I was alone out on the dock I thought I'd do anything to get my hands
on Cassidy. And I heard your voice then. Didn't I?"

For the first time Samael looked a trifle uncomfortable.

"Only I didn't make a deal. Ray couldn't have called you, but I could,
because I believe in you, you bloody bastard, so you leave him *alone*!"

Samael turned to Cowley. "Would you kindly restrain your men?"

"I think he's doing very well."

Bodie had risen and now he moved smoothly around his astonished partner to
stand in front of the velvet-clad devil. "If you have to take someone,
take me."

"*No*!" Doyle pulled him back.

"Don't worry, lad. He can't--can you?" Cowley joined his men. "Bodie
didn't take you up on your offer, did he? It's after midnight, Samael, and
you lose."

The dark stranger templed his fingers for a moment, then smiled his dead
smile and rose. "Mr. Cowley. Gentlemen." He went to the door and opened
it. "Perhaps Raymond, you should be a bit more careful--or perhaps not. I
really had some fascinating plans...."

The door closed behind him and the three men left standing in Cowley's
living room stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

Finally, Doyle said, "I'm dreaming, right?"

"Shall I pinch you?" Bodie offered with evil innocence.

"No," Ray moved away. "But a drink...?"

"Get everyone a drink," Cowley ordered. He looked well-pleased with the
night's work. "We deserve it. Then the two of you get out of here. It's
after midnight and we've got a busy day ahead with the Flaherty case."

Doyle looked across the room at his partner and grinned.

-- THE END --

*Originally published in Impact 2, Blue Jay Press, 1984*   Archive Home