The Professionals Circuit Archive - Closely Watched Trains	   Closely
Watched Trains

 

by Susan Douglass

  
 Rage was babbling up inside Doyle. A lengthy goods train rumbled through
the level-crossing gate, blocking his view. He wiped summer's perspiration
off his brow as the last car zipped by. Now he could see the knot of
pistol-wielding men, bunched together in the railway yard, beside the
tracks. Another man, dressed in a familiar black turtleneck, stood in the
middle of them, hands tethered tightly behind him. He was gagged; a
blindfold had been tied around the wavy dark hair. 

"Yes, Doyle," a familiar voice boomed out. "I've got him, your partner."
John Coogan stepped toward the bound figure. He lightly caressed the pale
cheek with the muzzle of his pistol. "Big, tough man," he crooned. 

Doyle pushed down his anger. He was unarmed for this operation; it was
required for the part he was to play. Murphy and Susan Fischer were
covering him from hidden sites. Each held a high-power rifle as well as
their standard Browning pistols. Doyle was to negotiate with Coogan,
pretend to comply with the demands he had phoned into the Controller. It
was their only chance to grab Bodie away from the madman who held him as
hostage.

*It's more than that,* Doyle thought. John Coogan's fanatic drive for
revenge had consumed his whole life. He had frittered away his whole
business to pursue the man he saw as his brother's killer. 

The memory opened before Doyle. *His taunt... Paul Coogan whirling around,
a fist sinking into flesh. Paul Coogan clutching his stomach in pain... *

Paul Coogan had been found dead. Doyle had been cleared in the inquiry.
Doyle clenched his teeth. Bodie had discussed the whole affair with him.
Had enveloped him in his arms in bed, after they had become lovers. Doyle
had never quite been able to exonerate himself for the death. It had been
something he had simply been forced to live with. 

*Why did he have to bring Bodie into it? * Doyle's desperate thoughts
lanced through him. Did John Coogan know of the depth of their
involvement? Doyle had kept close wraps on his relationship with Bodie for
security's sake. As for himself, Doyle would be willing to let John Coogan
have him, to do what he wished as expiation for the death. *If it would
save Bodie, * his thoughts ached. His eyes brushed the still, fettered
form of his partner. 

An ironic laugh escaped him. Of course Bodie had to be brought into it.
Coogan and his men had waited, plotted and planned for years. The chance
had come three days ago, when Bodie had gone alone on his way to an
undercover assignment. Bodie had been abducted, a helpless pawn in
Coogan's chess game. It was much the best way to get back at Raymond
Doyle. 

Coogan jabbed the gun into Bodie's face. Bodie flinched, then stumbled as
sightless eyes failed to note Coogan's booted foot. "Come out, Doyle!" he
shouted, seizing a shock of dark hair to pull Bodie upright. "Let's talk.
That is, if you want your pretty boy here in one piece." 

Doyle swallowed down the bile in his throat. Bodie's body was ramrod
straight, the skin paling between twin strips of cloth. It was the
powerlessness which would tear his lover apart. The image flashed across
him, of the *other* time Bodie had been held hostage. A bomb strapped to
him, Bodie had escaped from his captors, charged down the airport runway.
Doyle had grabbed him, ripped the bomb from his body -- just in time. 

Doyle walked forward, holding his hands up. He stopped about fifteen feet
away from the crowd of men. All held pistols, .44 Magnums, aimed at his
partner. There were two of them beside Coogan and Bodie, Doyle calculated.
Murphy could take one, Susan would take the other. Then one of them would
corral Coogan. But in order to do that, Coogan would have to be
distracted, lulled into cocksuredness. One false step on any of the
agents' parts would lead most certainly to a fatal bullet bursting into
Bodie's body.

of them would corral Coogan. But in order to do that, Coogan would have to
be distracted, lulled into cocksuredness. One false step on any of the
agents' parts would lead most certainly to a fatal bullet bursting into
Bodie's body. 

Doyle pulled out his I.D. "'Agent Doyle, for C15," he made the official
announcement. "As you requested to the Controller over the phone. I am
unarmed, but I have my R/T. There are two agents covering me, the number
we agreed to. We are prepared to discuss fulfilling your demands."
*Prepared to give him the world, * Doyle thought, gazing at his partner.
*If it would free vou. *

A twinge of shame ran through him. Bodie knew as well as he did -- C15
agents were trained to sacrifice their lives without second thought if it
meant stopping a criminal or terrorist. These "negotiations" were merely a
sham, a delaying tactic. 

Coogan's eyes glittered. "Welcome, Ray Doyle," he said. He indicated his
two bodyguards. "Randall," he nodded to the huge blond, "and Fergeson,"
the gawky flame-haired man. "Actually," Coogan began, "I have no demands
right now. Instead, we are going to have afternoon tea. While we wait for
the train. Hold them," he indicated to his two guards. The guns remained
in position. Coogan walked over to a telephone pole. He picked up a canvas
bag and four folding chairs which had been leaning on the pole. He
arranged the chairs in a semi-circle, facing one of the train tracks. 

Doyle stared at Coogan. *He's a right nutter, *Doyle realized grimly.
There was a glow on Coogan, s face, of triumph, of long-awaited
retribution. This was more than an ordinary hostage situation. 

"Sit down, Doyle," Coogan invited, indicating with his gun. Doyle
carefully moved himself into an end chair. Coogan sat down, along with
Randall. He took a thermos flask and cups from the canvas pack. "Have some
Earl Grey." He handed a cup to Doyle and poured. 

Fergeson guided Bodie toward the chairs. "My heavens," Coogan exclaimed.
"I didn't bring enough chairs. Pretty boy here can stand. I have other
plans for him, anyway." 

Doyle rose from his chair. He stepped toward his partner. Coogan moved his
gun. "No, no. Hands off him, and sit down." Gray eyes glared harshly while
Doyle slowly lowered himself into his chair. "Any moves on your part," he
aimed the gun toward Bodie's groin. "And your mate loses his..." His eyes
drifted upward. "One of my birds once took me to the Royal Opera. It was
'Madame Butterfly,' if I remember correctly." He laughed loudly, touching
Bodie's pants-crotch with the muzzle. "He can play the part of Madame
Butterfly!" 

Doyle balled his fists. Bodie stood, his face paling. His jaw moved to
clench itself against the gag. 

Paul Coogan's image floated again into Doyle's mind. *It's my fault, * a
voice repeated to him. He longed to take Bodie's gaze, to reassure him.
But the blindfold formed its unyielding barrier. *I'll get you out of
here, mate, * Doyle vowed to himself. Somehow... 

Doyle forced himself to concentrate. 6.2 and 2.9 were hidden in vantage
points among the flats ranged along the railway yard. If he could distract
Coogan. Perhaps ... 

He thrust his cup forward. Hot tea shot toward Coogan. Something moved, up
by the flats -- a gunshot flare. Randall spun around. The .44 Magnum
emitted two shots. A groan emitted.. from the flats. *Murphy, * Doyle
realized. He stared at the barrel which aimed straight between his eyes.

"I told you, no funny stuff," Coogan enunciated. "Now we've gotten one of
your men."

*Only one, * Doyle told himself. Susan Fischer was still situated. Maybe
Murphy was only wounded, perhaps he could radio for help. 

*Or he's dead, * the cold thought ripped into Doyle. *My fault... * He had
to push the thoughts aside. 

"Sit down," said Coogan. "We're going to relax for the rest of the
afternoon. We're going to wait for the next train." He glanced at his
wristwatch. "I believe it arrives at 5:00. Four hours from now. Just a
goods train." 

A shiver ran up Doyle. What was Coogan talking about now? Coogan stood up
and walked toward Bodie. He extended his leg, tripping the blinded agent.
Bodie fell heavily onto the ground. 

Coogan pulled out a length of white nylon rope from the canvas bag. Bodie
lashed out with his feet as Coogan and Fergeson grabbed his arms and legs.
Bodie struggled against the grasping hands. A pistol whipped him against
the ribs, then across his head. Bodie's body spasmed, then lay still. 

"You bastards!" Doyle shouted. He started toward Bodie -- then was stopped
in his tracks. 

"Shoot our pretty boy. You know where..." Coogan instructed Randall. "..If
his partner makes any funny moves. Remember ... Madame Butterfly." 

His whole body shaking, Doyle sank back into the chair. He raged against
his impotency; he could do nothing to extricate his lover from this
nightmare. * Later, * he told himself. Look for a chance. *Susan's still
up there. *

Coogan and Fergeson knelt by Bodie's unconscious form while Randall held
his gun. A length of rope was wrapped, again and again -- around Bodie's
shoulders, his waist, his legs. His ankles were bound, then pulled back
and tied to his wrists. Bodie lay on his side, his body arched backward,
bow-like. 

Coogan tore the blindfold off. "Let our man see where he is," he muttered.
He pulled the gag tighter around his mouth. Bodie awoke with a start,
gasping for breath. Long lashes blinked widely. Doyle leaped from his
chair. A .44 aimed at Bodie's groin and Doyle sat down again. 

Blue eyes filled with rage. Bodie writhed and wriggled against the bonds
-- then went limp as exhaustion tore at his. The ropes had held, the
nooses only pulling tighter around his wrists and ankles. A brief terror
scuttled across his eyes, then was masked. 

Doyle's head pounded. He strived to hold his composure, to give Susan a
chance. *Coogan's hurting Bodie, to get back at me. * The thoughts coursed
through him yet again. *It's my fault, Bodie. My fault. *

"Help me lift him," Coogan directed Fergeson. Two sets of sinewy arms
reached under Bodie's shoulders and hips. Doyle could only watch in grim
horror as his lover was carried away from the semi-circle of chairs. The
trussed form was laid on its side -- across the train track. More rope was
looped from the chafed wrists into the cross-ties. 

Coogan and Fergeson stepped back into their chairs. Coogan glanced again
at his watch, then glared at Doyle. The gray eyes shined with infinite
contentment. "I told you, Ray Doyle," he said. "We're going to wait for
the 5:00 train." 

Doyle's stomach reeled. He swallowed again and again -- he was going to
vomit. Bodie lay on the track, right in the path of the scheduled train.
Smothered, pale lips moaned, the dark head swayed to and fro. The lean
body thrust and jerked against the cramping bonds. 

"Such a tough man. So helpless, tied up there. Just like the old motion
pictures," Coogan laughed, his eyes resting on Bodie's thrashing form.
"Where's the shining hero to rescue him?" He pointed the .44 toward
Bodie's straining hips. "Remember, don't try anything rash." 

A muffled yelp penetrated Doyle's consciousness. Bodie was whipping his
head. The gag was beginning to fall from his mouth. 

Ray shot up. Coogan gestured with his pistol-hand, then dashed over toward
Bodie's prone form. "Belt up!" Coogan's hand cuffed Bodie across the lips.
He took out the blindfold cloth, balled it and stuffed it into Bodie's
mouth. He wrapped the gag cloth around the dark head. Doyle could hear the
involuntary gasp as Coogan tied the knot tighter than ever. 

Doyle raised his hand. He would give the signal to Susan. He was
expendable, for C15. Even Bodie was expendable. 

"Don't signal your man," Coogan warned. "And don't try the R/T either. Oh,
perhaps you'll get the quick death you long for. But your boy here ... I
can shoot him in the knees, then in the hands, then ... By that time, the
5:00 goods train will arrive." 

Doyle jerked his hand back to his side. *No! I can't let Bodie die like
that. I can't leave him. * His legs were leaden as he lowered himself,
aga3.n. into the chair. Between now and 5:00 he would have to watch and
carefully plan. Let Coogan believe that he would get his revenge. His eyes
fell once more on his partner. The cloth-bound head hung at an angle over
the track rail. At least he had ceased his struggling.

******

Minutes and hours crept by in their sluggish course. Coogan crossed his
legs, sipping his tea. The .44 rested in his grip, still aimed point-blank
at the supine form on the tracks. 

The ordeal of waiting, of complete inaction, cut into Ray Doyle. He had
ceased his verbal jabs, his attempts to reason. His hope now rested in
lulling his adversary into a bored tedium and thus into inattentiveness. 

Bodie lay motionless, in his crosswise position. One rail dug into wide,
muscular shoulders, the other into trim hips. His neck formed an angle as
his head rested over the rail, on a pebbled cross-tie. Eyes were shut,
sweat beaded the pale cream skin. Lips trembled involuntarily against the
harsh white cloth jammed into the mouth. Dark strands of hair clung wetly
to the forehead. 

The body suddenly heaved. Lines of pain formed creases across the face. A
leg curled backward, its muscles cramped in rebellion against the
confinement. A low whine escaped from beneath the binding cloth. 

Doyle arose. He would go to his lover, knead the muscles, end the agony.
Coogan's gun shifted. "Sit down," his voice snapped out. "Leave sleeping
beauty alone." 

Doyle's temper triggered. "Big man, Coogan!" he growled. "Lording it over
someone tied up." Another grunt emanated from the twisting lips. "Let me
go to him," Doyle demanded "Can't you feel for him?" 

"Did you feel anything for my brother?" Coogan retorted. "While he bent
over in agony from your blow? While he lay in that cold cell, bleeding to
death?" 

"I'll kill you for this," Doyle sputtered. 

"Just as you killed Paul," Coogan said flatly. "Face it, Doyle, you're a
murderer, you killed an innocent man with your fist." 

Doyle's anger deflated. The old guilt washed over him. The stricken face
of Paul Coogan danced before his eyes. 

John Coogan's voice taunted. "Come here, C15 man. Think you can murder me
as well?" He shifted the .44 into his other hand. "Of course, there are
Fergeson and Randall to contend with." He indicated the sitting
bodyguards. "And my finger might twitch. Your partner..." Coogan's lips
curled. "Who had nothing to do with my brother's murder." 

Ray glanced toward the train track. The dark head lifted upward. Blue eyes
peered at Ray -- haunting in their total dependence on his next actions.
Ray sank back into the chair. He *had* to wait, be patient, bear Coogan's
taunts. His temper had gotten him into trouble before. 

Bodie's body had stilled. The muscle cramp had released, Ray was relieved.
Bodie's head lolled slackly on the ground; the blue eyes shut. His
excruciating pain was over, at least for now. * Hold on, * Doyle pleaded
inwardly. He gritted his teeth, prepared to wait, to plan for the right
opportunity 

******

His body was numb. He struggled to breathe through his nose. Saliva soaked
the cloth jammed down his mouth while ropes cut into his wrists and ankles
like white-hot knives. A haze swirled in his head; he let it lean back
over the track rail. How many hours had he lain there? 

Voices echoed. Smug, caustic mutters. Another, more familiar voice which
tried to speak reasonably. Shadows kept trailing across his mind, webs
striving to take him into darkness. *Where am I? * Three days he had been
hauled here and there, never allowed to sleep. He had to keep questioning,
until he could make it clear to himself. 

He stared up toward a raging blue sky. He was thoroughly trussed, lying
across a railway track. More questions wobbled within. *The next train...
When does it arrive? Who will take me from here... ? Who... ? *

A memory streaked across his. * Thrust into a van, then pulled out.
Dragged behind, a helpless hostage, hands tied behind his back. A bomb
strapped to him... * No bomb was strapped to him now. Nothing except a
nutter who had tied him up and laid him across a track. *And trains... *

His panic exploded across him. He fought it. *C15, * his thoughts gasped.
*This is 3.7. Protecting Queen and country from our enemies... * The dread
of powerlessness, his helpless state poured through him. He struggled
against his ropes, pulling, thrashing. His body rocked against steel-like
tendrils which wrapped around him. Somehow, if he tried, if he fought hard
enough... 

His body arched against knife-ropes which held it in place. He still lay
across the track, he had not moved an inch. He was trapped. Wetness flowed
on his checks. * Tears? My partner is the one to cry, not me. * His
struggles were weakening... * No! * The panic slammed into him again. His
body thrashed anew. The ropes held him, just as tightly as they had before
... 

Doyle stared at Bodie's writhing form. It was near to 5:00, the rumbling
of the goods-train would soon be resounding in his ears. Several times he
had tried to distract Coogan, get an advantage for Susan. But the guns
retained their aim toward his partner. It would be hard for just one
sharp-shooter. Perhaps Cowley had succeeded in stationing others around
the yard, without Coogan's knowledge. 

Bodie had stood it well for the past hours, lying half-conscious on his
side for the most part. But now his body jerked and yawed against the
ropes. The dark head twisted from side to side as strangled moans' crawled
out from the cruelly muffled throat. The long lashes fluttered. Rage
streaked across blue eyes, then was eclipsed by sheer terror. 

Coogan leaned back in his chair, cradling his gun. His eyes raked over
Bodie's arching and heaving body. Despair welled up inside Ray. * It's my
fault, * he told himself for the thousandth time. * Bodie is innocent --
not me. * 

A muffled whimper crawled inside him. Fragile control shattered into tiny
shards. "Coogan!" his tears threaded through his voice. He could play the
grotesque drama no longer, he could only plead for mercy. "Coogan, I
killed your brother. I'm the guilty one." He held his arms out toward the
tall ex-boxer. "Take me, do ;what you want." He pointed at his mate -- his
lover. "Let him go." His gaze fell at Coogan's feet. "Let me take his
place. Please..." 

He swallowed hard. He was craven, begging the way he was. His servility
had no place within C15. He would resign, if he ever got out of this
alive. And he would let Bodie go out of his life. Bodie would never be
able to stand his snivelings. 

Laughter washed against him. "Don't you see, Doyle?" Coogan sneered. "I
already have you -- and I *am* doing as I want." He pointed at Bodie's
flopping form, a light illuminating his eyes. "He's more than your
partner," the voice whispered, laced with new discovery. "He's your lover,
isn't he? Look at him. How poignant. How beautiful -- his useless
struggles against the fate which awaits him. Then look at yourself --
weeping over him! You two are a pair of pansies." The laughter burst out
anew. "CI5 hires pansies, not men!" 

The taunts dug into Doyle, clawing into him. His eyes swept the ground,
catching the end of a muzzle in their glance. 

*The muzzle of a gun, pointed downward... * Coogan's .44 had swung down by
his side. Fergeson and Randall were snickering at their bass's jokes. 

Doyle's mind emptied itself. He slammed into Coogan, knocking him to the
ground. Two shots rang out on target, taking the two bodyguards. Doyle
slung his body on top of Coogan, scrabbling for his gun. He seized the
ex-boxer's thick wrist, the one grasping the weapon. A fist darted toward
him. Doyle ducked, digging his fingers against the pressure-point on the
gun hand. 

The .44 skittered out from Coogan's open grip. Doyle scooped the gun up,
cocking it, aiming it toward Coogan's head. Fury spun within him; he could
settle matters once and for all. "I killed the wrong brother, didn't I?"
he snarled. "Maybe I can correct that." 

Doyle shook his head. C15 was not in the business of shooting unarmed men,
even scum such as this. "Hands up," he barked. "You'll get a fair trial.
Then we'll see you put away for quite a long rest holiday. Let's see --
kidnapping, assault..." He patted Coogan down, pulled handcuffs from his
pocket. He directed Coogan toward the telephone pole and cuffed him to it.
From a distance, he could see Susan Fischer striding towards him; through
her R/T she told him that Murphy was wounded, but would recover. Doyle let
his breath go. 

A rumbling rattled into Doyle's consciousness -- bell ringings, a trailing
whistle. * The train... * Bodie lay on the track. His cheeks were flushed,
his bound form frozen into stillness. Doyle tore toward his lover.
Reaching him, he grasped him by the shoulders. The blue eyes stared
blankly. * Roll him right off the track, * Doyle snapped instructions to
himself. 

But Bodie's body wouldn't budge. Doyle glanced up. The ponderous diesel
engine was about fifty feet away. Empty eyes filled with a weary
resignation. Something was still holding Bodie to the track. Doyle would
have to work fast. 

"Bloody hell!" Doyle exclaimed. Ropes had been looped through Bodie's
bound wrists and knotted underneath the cross-ties. Furiously, working on
sheer instinct, Doyle began to unknot the ropes. 

The train was ten feet away when Doyle flung off the last of the cross-tie
ropes. He lunged,. pushing his' lover off the tracks. He looked up. The
engine's huge face loomed above him. Clanging bells burst in his ears.
Perhaps it was his fate to take Bodie's place after all? He pulled himself
into a tight ball and hurled himself aside. 

The train rattled by. Train-crew members glanced questioningly at the
pair. Cowley could explain to them ... * Later, * Doyle told himself. 

He grasped Bodie into his arms. His hands fumbled, hurrying to undo the
choking gag, the ropes which out into his lover's skin. Unashamed tears
flowed down his cheeks. Bodie's eyes also erupted as he pressed his face
into the curve of Doyle's shoulder. Bodie's arms were clamped tightly
around him. Perhaps people world look at them and wonder. *Let them! *
Doyle asserted. 

Bodie trembled, his shivers running through him in waves. Doyle stroked
him, continuing to hold him; he was not in much better shape, himself.
Hospital for Bodie, a few days off, some sessions with Dr. Ross for both
of them, probably Brian Macklin's refresher course as well -- they would
be almost as good as new.

Or would they? Doyle wondered. Next week, probably, Bodie's smirk would be
back in place. Taller, with a broader build, he would probably sweep Ray
into his arms, enfolding him. Ray had never minded that; he had always
been grateful for Bodie's protectiveness. It had never made him feel less
than equal with his lover. 

But Bodie would have nightmares -- shadows of the fears which had clutched
around him, revealed to him that he was as vulnerable as anyone else.
Doyle had his own fears, his own feelings of responsibility as well. Bodie
was still shaking like a leaf, clinging to him. Doyle held him -- then
released him as ambulance men appeared, aiding his mate into their
vehicle. He clambered inside, beside his lover. 

-- THE END --

*October 1990 *

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