The Professionals Circuit Archive - Dust and Secrets	     Dust and
Secrets

 

by PJ 

 
 "The Cotswolds?" Doyle looked from the sheet of paper in his hands to his
Controller in bewilderment. "You're sending us to the Cotswolds?!"

 "Winchcombe, to be precise." The Scot's voice was ultra-dry. "I trust
that is not a problem, 4.5?"

 "But Conroy's mob... You can't..." stammered the agent. He glanced to his
right for support. Bodie had not said a word since Cowley had dropped his
bombshell, but the fierce scowl twisting the handsome face was proof
enough of his feelings. Heartened by this show of solidarity, Doyle hotly
protested, "You can't take us off Conroy now---we're just closing in on
that drug-dealing bastard!"

 "I can, and I am doing so," Cowley announced flatly. "Johnson and Elliott
will be taking over; you can brief them before you leave London."

 Bodie deemed it was time he entered the verbal fray.

 "What's in Winchcombe?" No happier than his partner about the situation,
the dark-haired man still had no wish to spend the rest of his life in
Records. Considering the words that were obviously trembling on Doyle's
full lips, Bodie reckoned that would be the least of their punishment.
Ignoring the green-eyed glare scorching him, the younger agent focused on
their boss.

 "Carlisle Castle," replied Cowley. "You will be met there by the SAS.
Your assignment will be to ensure the security of the castle and its
environs for the next fortnight."

 "Carlisle?" Temper somewhat diverted, Doyle frowned. "Isn't that in
private hands now? Why do they need us?"

 "Because we've been asked by the Foreign Office to render any aid
possible." Cowley leant back in his chair, taking off his glasses and
swinging them by one horn. "You are correct in that Carlisle is in the
private sector, Doyle. The current mistress is Lady Judith Wenham-Davies.
She is an American who inherited the estate when her husband died five
years ago. CI5's assistance had been requested because, on Monday, Lady
Wenham-Davies is expecting a visit from an old school chum."

 The two top operatives exchanged a puzzled look. 

 "So who's the chum, then?" Bodie asked. "Must be someone fairly important
if the Foreign Office is getting all twitchy about it."

 "You may be correct, Bodie." 

 Both agents tensed. When Cowley got that plummy tone, an unpleasant
secret was about to be revealed.

 "I understand from Lady Wenham-Davies that she is quite looking forward
to the visit from her old friend, Barbara Nash."

 "Barbara Nash? Who the ruddy hell...?"

 Continuing on as though Doyle had not spoken, the Scot ordered, "You two,
however, will address the lady by her proper title should you have a need
to speak with her: Her Majesty, Queen Yazeia."

 There was several seconds of silence, then a mumbled, "Oh, bloody hell,"
came from Doyle. A look of intense disgust was on his face. He subsided
once more under a piercing glare.

 Again in total agreement with his partner, Bodie nonetheless bit his
tongue. King Khalil of Mustar was not popular with his Arab neighbours. A
strong advocate of the Middle Eastern peace process, the potentate was
scheduled to take part in a meeting of Israeli and Egyptian leaders in
Cheltenham starting the coming Monday. When they'd heard of the
conference, Bodie and Doyle had been grateful--for once--to be stuck on
surveillance.

 "Ruddy perfect," sighed the ex-merc. "Now, not only will we have half the
fanatics in the world trying to blow up London; we'll have the other half
trying to turn Gloucestershire into a battle zone."

 "That is precisely what we're trying to avoid, 3.7!" snapped Cowley.
"King Khalil is well aware of the potential for violence during his visit.
Consequently, he has encouraged his wife to visit her friend while they're
in Great Britain. He believes any assassination attempt will be aimed at
him, but to cover all bases, has asked for added protection for his wife.
The Foreign Office thought that wise and, frankly, so do I."

 "I can see his point," Doyle agreed reluctantly. "That explains the SAS.
Where does CI5 fit in?"

 "Because the king specifically asked for our involvement. It appears
Sheikh Achmeia of Murani has given us a glowing recommendation."

 The agents shared another glance then, giving a half-shrug, Doyle turned
back to Cowley. "Our fame if spreading," he said resignedly. "What time do
you want us down there?"

 "By 0900 tomorrow. That will give you all of Friday and the weekend to
set up the necessary arrangements. You will have two full SAS squads to
assist you; the sergeant major in charge has been instructed to take his
orders from you. I know it will be impossible to secure the entire
estate--the parkland sprawls for miles and is unfenced--but you should be
able to provide competent protection for the immediate grounds.

 "For the remainder of the afternoon," Cowley glanced at his watch, "you
can usefully employ yourselves in getting your reports completed, briefing
Johnson and Elliott on the Conroy operation and familiarising yourselves
with the layout of Carlisle Castle." He handed a thick file to Bodie.

 "Equipment?" asked Doyle, looking over Bodie's shoulders as the younger
man flipped through the file.

 "Draw what you will need from the Armoury. Any other questions?"

 Taking the tart query in the spirit intended, Bodie said crisply, "No,
sir." Closing the file, he ushered his scowling partner from the office.

 ******

The silver Capri ladened with enough firepower--they hoped--to repel a
small army, the two agents were on the road before dawn the following
morning. Peering at the grey and lowering sky, Bodie irritably predicted
that it would probably rain the entire trip down. Lounging in the
passenger seat, his white knitted jacket open despite the coolness of the
early April morning, Doyle let the stream of complaints wash over him.
During the seven years of their partnership, he could never remember a
time when Bodie had been happy about being rousted out of his bed before
the sun was up. Thoughts meandering, it was some time before he realised
that his partner had stopped grumbling and was glaring at him.

 "Eh?"

 Bodie's look of exasperation increased. "Don't you think you should do up
your jacket?" he repeated with heavy patience. "It's bloody cool out and
you know the heater doesn't work all that well."

 "It's not that cold out," argued Doyle.

 "Cold enough we have to use the de-misters! What're you trying to do,
Ray--catch pneumonia? Didn't know you liked being in hospital that much."

 Temper rising, Doyle said evenly, "I hate being in hospital, as well you
know. I'm fine; don't fuss."

 Bodie ignored the warning signals. "You ought to at least cover your
chest. Remember what the doctor said..."

 "I said, pack it in!" snapped the curly-haired man. "You're not my mum,
and you're not my keeper!"

 Several minutes into the icy silence, Doyle heaved a sigh and faced his
partner once more. "Look, mate; I'm sorry..." he began.

 "No need to apologise, Doyle," responded Bodie levelly. "Was my fault;
shouldn't have nagged at you. None of my business, is it."

 Stealing another look at the set face, Doyle sighed once more. Some of
the partners' most spectacular fights had been over what Doyle felt was an
excess of coddling on the part of the dark-haired man. Unable to do much
about the pampering and fussing during his recent convalescence from
MayLi's bullets, Doyle had only hoped that his partner would ease off upon
his return to the Squad. To his intense annoyance, the older agent had
discovered that Bodie was showing little inclination to reduce the
cosseting in the six weeks since Doyle's re-qualification. That he
actually quite enjoyed it was something the ex-copper refused to admit,
even to himself. Seeking to ease the tension, Doyle reached into the back
seat of the Capri and retrieved the flask of the tea he had prepared
earlier. He poured out a cup and handed it to the other man, inwardly
relieved when Bodie took it with a small nod of thanks.

 "Looks like the clouds might be breaking up," the slender agent
announced, peering up through the windscreen. "Maybe we won't be slogging
through the mud with the SAS, after all."

 "Thank Christ for that!" agreed Bodie. "Was never my favourite thing to
do even while I was in that Mob. Have absolutely no intention of ever
taking up that pastime again if I can help it."

 "Might have to," warned his partner. In response to the perplexed look he
received, Doyle cautioned, "Who knows if that sergeant major can tell his
head from his arse? We might end up doing his job, and ours, too."

 Grimacing, Bodie handed back his empty tea cup. "Be just perfect, that."
Voice gloomy, he asked, "We have any idea who it is?"

 "Yeah, just a tick." Quickly finishing his own tea, Doyle screwed the lid
back onto the flask before replacing it in the back seat. He then pulled a
piece of paper out of his jacket and scanned through the list. This
information had been included in the file Cowley had given them the
previous afternoon, but the partners had decided the list of personnel
could wait until they got to the castle so they could put faces with
names. "All right, what have we got here," muttered Doyle. "Caretaker,
butler, housekeeper, indoor staff, outdoor staff...ahh, here goes--SAS.
Sergeant Major Eric Lindstone; know anything about him?"

 The car swerved slightly.

 "I'll take that a yes," Doyle said wryly. Eyeing his partner
speculatively, he queried, "How much trouble are we going to have?" After
several minutes, of silence, he prompted, "Bodie?"

 Cursing his momentary lapse, Bodie said curtly, "We aren't going to have
any trouble."

 Having heard the faint emphasis on the first word, Doyle just waited
expectantly.

 It was Bodie's turn to sigh. "I mean it, mate. There's nothing for you to
worry your head about."

 "Nothing for me to worry about, eh? Guess that means you'll be the one
doing the worrying, then."

 "Look, Doyle; just drop it, okay? 'S not important--just that Lindstone
and I have never gotten along all that well. But he's a good enough bloke
and he knows his business."

 When Bodie got that mulish look on his face, Doyle knew it would be
useless to push any further at this point. Mentally resolving to keep a
close watch on Sergeant Major Lindstone, he gave a nod of acceptance.
"Hope those blueprints of the castle are correct. If not, this whole thing
could fall apart before we ever get started."

 Grateful for the change in subject, Bodie shrugged. "The date on 'em was
fairly recent. Should be able to cover everything if we just follow the
plan."

 The two men had spent five hours the previous night at Doyle's flat,
mapping out the best positions to set up the portable outdoor lights,
debating effective placement of the SAS contingent and counting the number
of motion detectors, cameras and alarms they were going to need. The
figure they'd arrived at was dauntingly high. Reaching for the phone,
Doyle had then spent the next ten minutes arranging for a team of six
electronics experts to follow them down the following day to install the
devices. Upon being informed that all electronics needed to be in place
and working before nightfall Friday, Malcolm had balked. He'd insisted it
was impossible; his team was busy with other matters and could not even
leave for Gloucestershire until late Friday afternoon. Doyle had invoked
Cowley's name without a qualm and bluntly threatened dire circumstances.
Giving in ungraciously, Malcolm had agreed the team would be at Carlisle
by 1000 the following morning.

 Bringing his mind back to the present, Bodie said, "Could be worse, mate.
At least there are very few outbuildings. Just the castle itself, the
chapel and Banquet Hall ruins in the back."

 "Yeah," agreed Doyle tartly. "Wonder whose bright idea it was to schedule
the visit down there? Lady Wenham-Davies is sure to have a place in Town;
would've thought that be easier to secure."

 "Maybe it's a case of one-upmanship."

 "Eh?"

 "On Lady W-D's part," Bodie elaborated. "Y'know, telling her old
schoolmate: 'You might've married a king, but look what I've got' sort of
thing."

 Doyle snorted, shaking his head. "You're probably right; more's the pity.
God, who'd want to live in a bloody castle, anyway? Huge, drafty buggers,
impossible to heat, expensive to keep up..."

 "Dust and secrets," Bodie declared disgustedly. "'S all they're good for
anymore."

 "You said it, mate."

 ******

By that Sunday evening, both CI5 men, for vastly differing reasons, were
more than willing to brave Cowley's wrath and request a return to London.
Within five minutes of meeting Sergeant Major Lindstone, Doyle had come to
the conclusion that, if he and Lindstone were to survive this op, they
both could not be in the same place at the same time. From Bodie's
attitude in the car, he had been braced for open warfare between the two
men. He was quickly disabused of that notion.

 Climbing out of the Capri upon their arrival at Carlisle, the lithe agent
had watched with narrowed eyes the stocky, khaki-clad figure hurrying
toward them. Short, brown-eyed, with sandy hair cut in a military burr,
the welcoming smile on the unprepossessing face did little to improve
Doyle's initial impression. His opinion took a further downward turn when
Lindstone rushed past him as though he were invisible.

 "Bodie-boy!" the sergeant cried delightedly. "You look terrific, mate.
God, it's good to see you again!"

 Out of the corner of his eye, Doyle saw Bodie wince, then pin on an
affable expression. "Good to see you, too, mate." Doyle wondered if the
other man had heard the sarcastic undertone. Judging by his continued
beam, either Lindstone hadn't, or had chosen to ignore it.

 "When old Murtaugh told me you were going to handle this operation, I had
to volunteer," Lindstone stated, giving his ex-colleague a hearty slap on
the back. "Rounded up some of the best lads I could find. Only the best
for you, eh, mate?" He gave Bodie a confiding wink that sent Doyle's teeth
on edge.

 Almost hearing the grinding teeth, Bodie said smoothly, "Too right, and
my taste has only improved. My partner, Ray Doyle." With a nod, Bodie drew
the sergeant's attention to the tense figure on the other side of the car.
"The Foreign Office wanted CI5's best on this, and we're it." Emphasising
the collective, he went on carelessly, "Ray and I have handled more ops
like this than you can count, Lindstone. Just leave it to us and don't
worry about a thing."

 Inwardly wincing, Bodie saw suddenly wary amber eyes study Doyle's rangy
form as his partner strolled over to stand casually at his shoulder.
Hoping against hope that Doyle hadn't seen the fleeting look in
Lindstone's eyes or had misinterpreted it, Bodie made a belated
introduction, "Ray, this is Sergeant Major Eric Lindstone. We were on the
same simulation team before I joined CI5."

 "Hmm." 

 The noncommittal tone made Bodie give a mental groan. He should've known
better--those sharp jade eyes missed nothing. Calling down numerous curses
on Cowley and the Fates, he listened with a sinking feeling as Doyle
acknowledged the other man.

 "Sergeant Major. Bodie mentioned that he knew you; I can see he didn't
tell me the half of it."

 "Well, that's Bodie, isn't it?" Lindstone replied with a tight smile. "He
prefers to keep his private life...private."

 "Really?" There was a faint surprise on the exotic face that didn't reach
the hard eyes. "Funny, I've noticed it's only the bad times he doesn't
like to talk about."

 *Gauntlet thrown, challenge accepted,* Bodie thought wearily. He affected
not to notice the quick anger which flashed across Lindstone's face.
Instead, he turned to his partner and said calmly, "Well, sunshine, being
as it's only 0815, how about a quick tour of the grounds, see if we need
to make any changes in our plans? Malcolm and the lads won't be here for
almost another two hours."

 "Good idea. Annoy him no end, it will, if he shows up to find us sitting
back and having a cuppa." The hardness in the emerald eyes eased slightly.
"Start outside?"

 As Bodie waved him ahead with a familiar courtesy, Doyle gave a small
grin and started off. Waiting until Bodie was in his usual position--just
slightly behind and off to one side--Doyle called sweetly, "Aren't you
coming, Sergeant Major? We'd be lost without you." His grin widened at the
sigh from behind him.

 Not surprisingly, the weekend had gone downhill from that promising
beginning. By the time the CI5 electronics team had arrived--thirty
minutes late--Doyle and Bodie had managed a superficial recce of the
castle's immediate grounds and interior. True to Doyle's prediction,
Malcolm had been less than pleased to find the two agents having tea with
the caretaker, Peter Connors, in one of the staff drawing rooms.

 Irritated, the electronics expert had then insisted that Doyle accompany
him while the motion detectors, cameras and alarms were being installed. A
sinking feeling in his stomach, Bodie had watched them leave the room. He
didn't have to be a psychic to know the reason for Doyle's rigid back and
stiff stride. Since the older agent would be busy for an unknown length of
time with Malcolm, that left it to Bodie to ensure placement of the
outside lights and SAS contingent. By necessity, Bodie would be working
very closely with Lindstone and Doyle's views on that situation were
obvious, even though no words had been spoken.

 Tired after a long day of fending off the sergeant major's less than
subtle advances, Bodie had greeted with relief the departure of the CI5
team. Even the sight of his partner's set face with its poorly concealed
suspicions had had little effect on his sudden good humour. Winking one
cobalt eye, he proposed testing the new security system using the off-duty
SAS troops as terrorists. Quickly mapping out a dozen different scenarios,
Bodie dispatched a grumbling Lindstone with his orders. Once the soldier
was out of the room, Bodie had then gleefully sent for a maid.

 For the next three hours, as daylight faded and a steady rain began, the
SAS troops slipped in the increasing mud, fought prickly bushes in
attempts to enter through windows and in one poor soldier's case, fell
several feet into a cold puddle as the trellis he was climbing gave way
under his weight. Throughout the exercise, the two CI5 agents had murmured
encouragement over the R/T, reset alarms as they had gone off and made
minor changes in their plans. Bodie wasn't sure that the best part of the
day wasn't when a dripping-wet Lindstone staggered into the room they'd
designated as security headquarters to find Doyle and himself relaxing
amongst the wreckage of a five-course meal sent up the cook, a cheery fire
dancing in the huge fireplace. The wide smile on Doyle's face as they'd
parted outside their respective bedrooms Friday night stayed with Bodie as
he settled for sleep.

 That bit of by-play turned out to be the only bright spot in an otherwise
dismal weekend.

 The rain which had begun on Friday evening showed no signs of letting up
as the weekend went on. Consequently, except for brief checks on his men,
Lindstone had spent an inordinate amount of time in the castle proper,
almost taking up permanent residence in the security room during Bodie's
shifts at the monitors. Drawing a chair up close to the ex-SAS sergeant,
he would sit chattering for hours, endlessly encouraging Bodie to remember
the 'good times'. While Bodie freely admitted there had been some, he had
been unable to find as many as Lindstone seemed to think existed and the
dark-haired man had said as much. Oblivious to all such hints, Lindstone
had just smiled and continued on.

 Alternating between amusement and annoyance at Lindstone's heavy-handed
seduction technique, Bodie was rapidly becoming just plain narked at his
partner. While he hadn't expected Doyle to just laugh off Lindstone's
clumsy attempts, neither had he anticipated Doyle's manifest resentment.
Since walking into the security room Saturday morning to find Bodie and
Lindstone, heads close, in apparent intimate conversation, Doyle had
retreated behind a punctilious professional mask. Run to ground later that
day in the castle's library, Doyle had calmly listened to Bodie's
exasperated explanation that he and the sergeant had merely been examining
the same monitor, both having thought they'd detected a blind spot in
camera placement. When Bodie had finished, Doyle's only comment had been
to ask if the blind spot had been corrected.

 Thus the tone had been set for all further dealings between the two CI5
agents. Punctual whenever it was his shift at the security monitors or for
checking the outdoor placement of guards and cameras, Doyle was otherwise
conspicuous by his absence. Irritation growing hourly, Bodie had, by
Saturday evening, ceased trying to placate his sullen partner. Sunday
mid-morning found Bodie at the monitors, listening to Lindstone's
ramblings with steadily-decreasing patience. The call from the guards at
the front gate was received with sincere thankfulness from the dark-haired
man. He could easily imagine Cowley's reaction if he'd given in to impulse
and removed the SAS sergeant's head from his shoulders. According to the
guards, a Major Abdullah Khafi was at the gate, requesting entrance.
Recognising the name of the head of palace security for King Khalil, Bodie
had quickly granted permission. With Lady Wenham-Davies and Queen Yazeia
due to arrive the next morning, he had been expecting something like this.

 Somewhat to his surprise, he'd discovered Doyle already outside, greeting
the tall, lean Arab and filling him in on the security arrangements. After
introducing his partner, Doyle had then volunteered to show the major
around. Hanging back just long enough to rake Bodie with scornful eyes,
the older agent had then hurried to catch Khafi up. Wondering just what
the hell he'd done now, Bodie had turned to head back to the security
room, only to practically trip over a closely-hovering Lindstone. The smug
smile on the craggy face was the last straw. Brusquely, Bodie had
suggested the man find somewhere else to be for the remainder of the day.
He had then strode off down the back hallway, leaving Lindstone to stare,
slack-jawed, after him.

 Several hours later, Doyle had appeared in the security room to inform
Bodie that Khafi was satisfied. The major would stay at Carlisle that
night in order to greet his queen upon her arrival, and then he would
return to London. Greeting this information with a grunt of total
indifference, Bodie had continued to watch the monitors. Strangely, in
view of his behaviour for the past two days, Doyle had seemed in no hurry
to leave once he'd imparted his news. Turning toward him suddenly, Bodie
had caught his partner staring at him with an unreadable look in his
darkened eyes. He'd thought the slighter man had been about to speak when
the maid, bustling in with tea, seemed to startle him. Doyle had simply
stepped around the girl and vanished.

 Undressing that night in preparation for bed, Bodie was uncertain which
man he most wanted to thump: Lindstone or Doyle. He could think of several
excellent reasons for both, and had just about decided to make it a
double-bill when a knock came on his door. Sighing heavily, he reached for
his robe and shrugged it on, wondering what so-called emergency had sprung
up now.

 ******

Yawning widely, Doyle gratefully relinquished his spot in front of the
security monitors to the fresh-faced SAS corporal. Boot heels noisy on the
uncarpeted wood floor, he set off down the corridor to the back staircase.
Shoulders hunched against the chill, he deliberately did not hurry his
pace and forbade himself to even consider turning back to look behind him
for, by this time, he knew there would be nothing there. Nothing but
shadows and the pale light of the waxing moon shining through the high-set
windows. Pausing momentarily at the foot of the stairs, he resisted the
almost-overwhelming urge to turn. Then, giving a snort of self-disgust, he
started up the stairs.

 God, but he hated this place! Huge, and drafty as only a Tenth Century
castle could be, it was too full of dim corners for Doyle's peace of mind.
He had only been in Carlisle for a few hours before he'd become aware of
the strange tingle in the air, the all-pervasive feeling of being
constantly watched. Not that he could ever catch anyone at it and Bodie
obviously did not feel the same strangeness. *Not that he would,* Doyle
thought in abrupt vindictiveness, rounding the landing. *Too busy playing
goo-goo eyes with Lindstone, isn't he!*

 Reaching the first floor, Doyle turned in the direction of his room. All
weekend, he'd been conscious of how near to the surface his temper lay.
Battered by the roiling of emotions he was reluctant to put a name to,
Doyle had spent hours trying to analyse his confusing feelings. Distracted
by the quick anger which came over him whenever he caught Bodie and
Lindstone together, unsettled by the brooding atmosphere in the castle, he
had made little headway.

 Lost within his thoughts, the CI5 agent was almost at his door before he
realised that the door opposite his, Bodie's, stood open a crack, letting
light stream out into the dim hallway. Coming up quietly, he had just put
a hand on the doorknob when he recognised Lindstone's clipped tones.
Breathing heavily from the swift rush of annoyance and something else he
didn't take the time to identify, Doyle pushed wide the door. What he saw
did little to restore his equanimity. A bare-footed, bare-chested
Lindstone, back to the door, stood less than a foot in front of his
partner.

 Under his terry-cloth robe, it was obvious Bodie was naked.

 Attention caught by the sudden draught of cool air, Bodie glanced up to
see Doyle apparently frozen in the doorway. Shock, disbelief and anger all
fought for supremacy on his partner's face. *Fucking great,* Bodie moaned
mentally. *Just what I need now!*

 Lindstone recalled his attention with a plaintive call of his name.
Temper perilously close to snapping, the dark-haired man regarded the SAS
sergeant through narrowed eyes. Lindstone seemed not to have noticed they
were no longer alone, and Bodie gave no indication of this as he said
coldly, "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Lindstone. What I said
eight years ago still stands."

 "But, Bodie, why?" The burly man appeared unable to leave the subject
alone. "I know you; we were close once..."

 "Close!" Bodie gave a harsh laugh totally devoid of humour. "Only in your
own mind, you bastard. Get this through your thick skull--I didn't want to
sleep with you eight years ago, and I for sure don't want to sleep with
you now. In fact, I would have a hard time making it with you if you were
the last warm body on the bloody planet. Now, get the fuck out of here. I
don't want to see you again unless it has something to do with the job."

 Trembling, face scarlet with rage and humiliation, Lindstone swung
around. Freezing momentarily at sight of Doyle, he recovered quickly,
brushing past the CI5 agent so ruthlessly that Doyle staggered. Regaining
his balance, he took a couple of steps into the room, regarding the bigger
man with unfriendly eyes.

 "Sorry, mate." Sarcasm fairly dripped from the husky voice. "If I had
known you were entertaining, I would've knocked."

 "Leave off, Doyle," Bodie said wearily.

 "Luckily, it was only me. Someone else might've jumped to the wrong
conclusion."

 As Bodie turned his back to pull back the duvet on his bed, Doyle
snapped. Temper flaring hotly, he stalked over to the rigid figure,
grabbed the wide shoulders and forced his partner around to face him.

 "You crazy bastard!" he yelled. "What the hell d'you think you were
doing? What if I had been Khafi or one of the troops? Have you lost all
sense in that pea-brain of yours?"

 Mouth set grimly, it was clear Bodie was only just holding on to his own
temper. "It wouldn't have made any difference," he stated evenly, "as
there wasn't anything to see. You know that, Doyle."

 "Do I?"

 "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

 "Just that I don't know what I'm supposed to think when I find a
half-naked bloke in my partner's bedroom!"

 Lapis eyes gave off sparks. "I'll say this only once: There is not now,
never has been, nor ever will be, anything between Eric Lindstone and
myself. Now, will you kindly leave so I can get some sleep? It's going to
be a long day tomorrow."

 Confused by the unfamiliar emotion still raging in him, Doyle now wanted
only to escape to the privacy of his own room. He needed to think on this
incident, needed to figure out just why it had disturbed him so.

 "Sure thing, mate. See you in the morning, eh?" Hand on the doorknob, he
said lamely, "Sorry, Bodie; didn't mean to go off like that. Don't know
why I did, even."

 "Good night, Doyle." Back turned to him once again, Bodie meticulously
fluffed the pillows.

 Stung, Doyle bit his lip and nodded. "Good night, Bodie." Halfway through
the door, the lingering remnants of chaotic feelings gave voice to
intemperate words. "Best lock this after me if you don't want to wake up
with an uninvited bed-mate."

 A bitten-off expletive, then the older agent found himself jerked back
into the room, face to face with a coldly furious partner. Shutting the
door by the simple means of leaning against it, Doyle studied the ex-merc
through wary eyes.

 "I have had enough of your sly cracks and innuendo," hissed Bodie.
"You're not leaving here until you tell me what worm has taken root in
your twisted brain!"

 Doyle welcomed the familiar surge of anger. "Don't threaten me, Bodie,"
he said coolly. "You know damn well what the problem is."

 Bodie's rejoinder was succinct and crude.

 "It's the truth, damn it! If you started thinking with your brains
instead of with your cock, you'd see it, too. Ever since we got here, that
little prick has been fawning all over you, kowtowing and simpering,
practically begging to be fucked every time he looks at you." Doyle was
completely unaware he was shivering, his voice low and intense. "And
you...you're eating it up! Little pats on the shoulder, spending all your
time with him... God, Bodie, it's disgusting!"

 For a few minutes, there was a deadly silence, then, "You sanctimonious
bastard," breathed Bodie between clenched teeth. "I haven't spent one
second more with Lindstone than the job requires, and that only because
you've been doing your famous disappearing act."

 "So you're telling me you haven't enjoyed all those little tête-à-têtes?"

 "Yes!"

 "Balls!"

 Bodie drew himself up to his full height. "What's the matter, Doyle," he
sneered. "Don't like somebody else muscling in, eh?"

 Doyle could feel himself trembling, feel the fury building. "Shut up,
Bodie," he warned shakily. "Just shut up."

 Blind with rage, Bodie failed to see how tenuous a grip his partner had
on his temper. "Didn't know your ego was so fragile..."

 "Bodie..."

 "What's the matter, mate--jealous?"

 It was with a sense of the inevitable that Doyle felt his right arm draw
back, felt a dislocated thud as his fist impacted with Bodie's jaw.
Curiously divorced from the proceedings, he watched his partner fall hard
against the heavy bedside table, knocking it askew and bringing several
knickknacks crashing to the floor with him. Breathing ragged, Doyle stood
there for several seconds, staring at the immobile form before turning and
leaving, slamming the door after him.

 ******

Several hours later, Doyle gave up even the pretense of sleeping. Punching
up his pillows, he settled heavily against them. While he'd not done much
sleeping the last few hours, he had done a great deal of thinking and,
like it or not, knew he must face the conclusions reached. It was not so
much those conclusions that kept him still dithering in bed, as his
partner's possible reactions to them. Considering the way Doyle had ended
their earlier confrontation, Bodie would most likely be highly suspicious
of any overtures. Sighing, Doyle threw back the duvet and rose from the
bed in one, smooth movement. Lying there, worrying, accomplished nothing;
he had to see Bodie. Had to apologise and, if need be, beg for a chance to
explain. He tightened the belt of his robe about him, then slipped from
his room.

 Four quick steps took him across the hall to Bodie's door. Not giving
himself time to hesitate, he slowly pushed the door open, calling out
softly, "Bodie? 'S me, mate; we need to talk." When there was no reply, he
peered across the room, trying to make out the bed in the dim moonlight
coming in the window. The moon gave off little light, throwing the bed,
and most of the room, into deep shadow.

 "Bodie, c'mon, mate," cajoled the ex-copper, moving away from the door
toward the bed. "Know you're mad, but we need to...oof!" This last came as
he tripped over something on the floor and fell heavily against the bed.
*Boy, Bodie must've been really narked; he went to bed without picking up
the stuff from the table.* Gathering his courage in both hands, Doyle
reached for the light above the bed, saying, "We are going to talk, Bodie.
Watch your eyes."

 He flicked on the light. Blinking in the sudden brilliance, it was some
moments before he realised what his eyes were telling him. The bed lay
undisturbed, pillows and linens smooth and pristine. *What the hell?*
Initial surprise gave way to abrupt rage. *If I find that bastard with
Lindstone, I'm going to have his balls!* Swinging away from the bed, his
foot again stumbled over the debris on the floor. Swearing, he glanced
irritably downward and stiffened, heart freezing in his chest.

 Lying amongst the cracked and broken porcelain were two blanched, muscled
legs. Bodie lay where he'd fallen, his toweling robe rucked about bony
knees. *But it's been hours,* Doyle thought numbly. *He shouldn't still be
out; I didn't hit him that hard.*

 Trying to swallow through a throat swollen tight with fear, Doyle sank to
his knees. "Bodie?" His voice small and uncertain, he reached out a
tremulous hand, hesitating for a moment before lightly setting shaky
fingertips on the half-averted face. The skin was as cold as the marble it
resembled. "No..." he mumbled, fighting the growing realisation, the
mounting sickness. "This isn't real...'s not happening..."

 Sliding his other hand under the stubborn jaw, he gently turned Bodie's
face to him. Two glassy sapphire eyes stared unseeingly past him. "No,
Bodie, no." Hands tightening on the dark head, distraught malachite eyes
unwillingly took in the bloody hole where a fragile temple had met
unyielding wood. A wave of nausea and terror crashed over him, knocking
him into a bottomless well of grief.

 Eyes squeezed shut in agony, he screamed out, "Bodie...Bodie...!"

 "Oi, take it easy." The deep voice was achingly gentle. "C'mon, sunshine;
I'm right here."

 Doyle gave a convulsive shudder and forced his eyes open. Glancing wildly
about, he barely took in his night-darkened room, focusing instead on the
solid figure perched on the side of his bed. He reached for the shadowed
form, then halted.

 "Bodie?" he whispered harshly, throat raw.

 "Yeah, 's me. You were really making a meal of it, mate. Could hear you
clear across the hall."

 "God!" Throwing himself forward, Doyle wrapped both arms around the
familiar warmth, pulling it fiercely to him. Uncaring of the tears pouring
from his eyes, or that his partner could feel how badly he was shaking,
Doyle tightened his grip and sank his head onto a broad shoulder.

 Considerably startled, but not protesting, Bodie returned the fervent
embrace, murmuring soothingly into the nearest curl-covered ear. He
unconsciously rocked the smaller form as though he were a child. It took
several long minutes before the shudders racking the thin frame ceased.

 When Doyle showed no sign of raising his head from its hiding place,
Bodie asked softly, "That same dream again? The shooting?"

 A few quivering breaths, then, "N-No, wasn't 'bout that." Doyle's voice
was thick and slurred. "Dreamt..." Bodie heard him swallow. "After I
thumped you--you fell against the table, hit your head wrong..."

 Unseen in the darkness, Bodie gave a small, tender smile. "Well, that
didn't happen, now did it," he remarked quietly.

 "No." Embarrassment scalding through him, Doyle pulled away. Unsettled,
he tried to explain. "Didn't even realise I'd gone to sleep. Thought I'd
been awake the whole time, thinking." Surreptitiously attempting to wipe
away the remaining moisture on his cheeks, he found a large, capable hand
already there.

 "Reach any earth-shattering conclusions?"

 Grateful for Bodie's matter-of-fact attitude and the continuing darkness,
Doyle admitted, "One or two." He sniffed, then fell silent.

 Prepared to wait until his partner felt ready to speak, Bodie settled
himself more comfortably. While he sternly counseled himself to be
sensible, he couldn't quite suppress the small flare of hope. Needing to
see Doyle's face, he turned on the bedside light.

 Carefully not looking at his partner, Doyle began tentatively, "Bodie,
don't get mad or anything, but I've got to know..."

 "What, Ray?"

 Doyle still would not look at him. "When you said you weren't interested
in sleeping with Lindstone...was that the truth, or only 'cause I was
standing there?"

 *Patience,* Bodie lectured firmly. Unclenching his back teeth, he said
mildly, "Truth. Would've said the same even if I hadn't seen you in the
doorway."

 The curly head finally swung around to face him, jade eyes questioning.
When Doyle spoke, however, all he said was, "Okay."

 "Ray, why does the thought of Lindstone fancying me bother you so badly?"
Bodie studied the quickly averted face with its downcast eyes. "You know
I'm bi; you've known that almost from the day we were partnered. You told
me once it wasn't important. Have you changed your mind?"

 "Haven't!" Doyle denied vehemently. "Isn't important, Bodie. Really."
Staring down at his white-knuckled hands clasped in his lap, he said
obscurely, "Didn't have to have it, y'see, and when I copped this..." He
fingered the battered right cheekbone. "...decided that was it. No more."

 "Again--in English!" demanded a confused Bodie.

 Glancing up, Doyle gave a brief smile. "Sorry, guess I was thinking
aloud. Forgot I never said: You being bi isn't important, Bodie...'cause I
am, too."

 Thoroughly flabbergasted, it was some minutes before the ex-merc could
get his mouth to work. "What?! When?"

 Doyle had gone back to considering his hands. "Always knew I liked it
both ways; fooled around enough with me mates, didn't I. Nothing too
heavy, though. Then, in art school, it was pretty much expected of you.
Swapped back and forth between the male and female models so often that I
sometimes forgot who I was with. Didn't matter; as long as it felt good, I
did it."

 Very much aware of his keenly-listening audience, he gave a half-shrug.
"Then, one of the younger instructors propositioned me. He was big and
good-looking--a bit like you--and I was flattered. Some of the other
blokes whispered he liked to play a little rough, but I wasn't worried.
Could take care of myself, couldn't I. And I did...up till the night he
demanded more than I was willing to give him."

 Jaw tightening, Bodie reached over and laid a palm over both of Doyle's
cold hands. "Don't, Ray."

 Tossing his head dismissively, Doyle stated, "Was a long time ago, mate.
Everything's scarred over now."

 "So what happened?"

 "I fought him, of course. Didn't make much difference in the long run.
After he'd gotten his rocks off, he took a good look at me and panicked.
Thought he'd killed me 'cause there was so much blood. So he threw on some
clothes, hauled me down to his car and drove the pair of us to hospital.
He spun everyone there a story of how a group of wild kids jumped us on
our way out of a pub--he had a fair number of bruises of his own, I tell
you! The sod gets his ribs taped and a few stitches put in, and I spend
the next three months in bloody hospital recovering from him and the four
surgeries it took to put my face back together. And, no, I never denied
what he'd said had happened; not to the doctors, not to the police."

 Becoming aware of the quality of the silence, Doyle glanced up. Seeing
the steely glint in the midnight dark eyes, he declared with his usual
asperity, "You can get that look off your face right now, mate. Took me a
bit after I got out, but I finally tracked him down. He'd left the school,
y'see. But I found him and when I'd finished, he wasn't quite the man he
used to be."

 His smile pure malice, Bodie said, "Good."

 Shaking his head over him, Doyle continued, "Joined the Met soon after so
it was no hardship giving up the fellas. You know gay sex has never made a
difference to me. I just wasn't...interested...anymore, that's all."

 "Can see why."

 Hearing the imperfectly concealed pain, Doyle rushed on. "You were right,
y'know."

 "Hmm?" Jarred out of his dreary thoughts, Bodie asked, "What are you on
about, Ray?"

 "Earlier tonight." It took a visible effort of will, but Doyle met the
bewildered eyes. "Was jealous of Lindstone...bloody jealous. Don't like
you spending so much time and attention on someone else. Haven't for a
good bit."

 For the second time in less than ten minutes, Bodie was reduced to
speechlessness. Finally regaining his normal aplomb, he regarded the other
man with abruptly suspicious eyes.

 Shivering, Doyle realised it was now or never. "Love you, Bodie."

 When that declaration was met with a stoney silence, his heart sank.
Still, he'd gone too far already and his partner was entitled to know the
whole story. "D'you remember what I said to you that day outside the
bailey?"

 Flustered by the quick change in topic, heart and mind racing madly from
the other man's prosaic announcement, Bodie was slow in following the
conversational twist. "What day? Oh."

 Face tightening, he gave an abbreviated nod. The image of Doyle striding
away through the fallen leaves was engraved in his memory. Unbidden,
another vision floated before his mind's eye: Blood pooled everywhere; the
lithe form sprawled limply on the carpet; precious, life-sustaining fluid
welling out with each tortured rasp of air... Drawing a deep breath, he
forcibly shook off the memories.

 Watching with rounded eyes as the handsome face blanched, the cobalt eyes
going black and unseeing, Doyle realised with a shock that MayLi Kuolo's
bullets had almost claimed two victims that traumatic day. Hurriedly
reaching out, he gently stroked one finger along the tensely-working
jawline.

 "'S all right, sunshine--all over now." When Bodie blinked at him, he
said quietly, "I needed some time to myself, mate, to do some heavy
thinking. Been dreaming about you for a good while by then, and it
confused me. Hadn't thought I'd ever be able to fancy another fella again,
but I guess you sneaked up on me." Almost dizzy with relief at the small
smile lighting the intent eyes, Doyle gave a wry grimace. "Was a bit
scared, too. Knew you cared about me, just wasn't sure in what way. By the
time I'd dropped off the laundry, I'd made up my mind. That's why I had
those groceries--was going to fix you a home-cooked and then seduce you."

 Bodie stood up, untied his toweling robe, dropped it, then crawled in
beside his partner. Casually bringing the smaller man into a firm embrace,
he planted a tender kiss between the wide eyes before asking, "Why haven't
you said anything before now?"

 Snuggling closer, Doyle threw a possessive arm and leg over the sturdy
body. Pausing to kiss the strong shoulder under his head, he confessed,
"The shooting changed things, Bodie. I had to wait."

 "Eh?"

 "Afterward," explained Doyle, "seems all I could do was concentrate on
getting better quickly so I could return to the Squad and watch your back
again. Was worried sick the whole time I was off; never knowing if, one
day, I'd find Cowley on me doorstep..." Voice going hoarse, he didn't
complete the sentence. After several minutes of a large hand rubbing
soothingly up and down his spine, he went on.

 "Promised myself I was only postponing things, that after I got back,
we'd have that meal." With a lightning change of mood, he propped himself
up on one elbow and glared at his partner. "So what does Cowley do? Right
off, he sends you up to Leeds undercover and dumps me in Kent baby-sitting
some brain-dead politico! Wanted to wring his scrawny neck more times than
I can count. Then," he grumbled, "we get stuck on bloody twenty-four hours
obbos..." 

 Chuckling, Bodie drew the irate man down again, re-settling the mahogany
curls onto his shoulder. Stretching out a long arm, he turned off the
light. "You're still going to fix me that home-cooked." A non-committal
grunt was his answer. Feeling the body in his arms growing heavier with
encroaching sleep, he whispered, "Love you, too, Ray."

 Delivering a soul-deep sigh, Doyle inched impossibly closer and went
limp.

 ******

From their perch, high in Carlisle's central tower, Doyle and Bodie
watched through powerful binoculars as the small motorcade made its way
along the winding drive. Lifting his R/T, Doyle pressed the transmit key.
"Doyle to Lindstone."

 The response was prompt. "Lindstone."

 "Motorcade consists of three cars; ETA three minutes. Parkland clear.
Maintain status."

 "Message understood." Faultlessly correct, the SAS sergeant's voice was
also frigidly cold. "All teams report situation normal."

 "Acknowledged." Lowering the R/T, Doyle grinned at his partner, saying,
"Does the sergeant major sound a bit tetchy to you this morning?"

 "Yeah; he does, at that," answered Bodie, continuing to observe the
approaching cars. The sarcastic banter was familiar and easy. "Wonder
what's gotten into him?"

 "More like what hasn't," returned the other man just as the cars came to
a smooth stop in front of the waiting reception committee. Grin broadening
at Bodie's choke of amusement, Doyle used his binoculars to peruse the two
passengers being assisted by Major Khafi from the silver Rolls Royce. He
gave a small whistle. "Not bad for the over-fifty bunch."

 "Been telling you for years, my son--breeding always shows."

 Glancing downward himself, Bodie silently admitted that Doyle's
assessment had been more than fair. Diametrically opposite in physical
appearance--one tall, blonde and voluptuous; the other much shorter,
brunette and petite--both women had, whether by surgery, cosmetics or
sheer good luck, managed to hang onto much of their youthful beauty. As
Khafi smilingly handed the ladies over to Peter Connors and retreated to
speak with the men from the lead car, Bodie raised his glasses to again
check the surrounding countryside. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful.
His sense of danger was not yet aroused; however, the ex-merc acknowledged
a surge of tension. Now that their royal visitor had arrived, there was
all the reason in the world to expect things to get out of hand fairly
rapidly. Glancing over, he saw Doyle was also feeling the heightened
awareness. Not readily apparent to the casual observer, there was a sense
of increased alertness about him, an extra brightness to the eyes.
Although...

 Giving an inward chortle, Bodie smugly took credit for a portion of the
extra bounce in Doyle. Awakening slowly that morning to the feel of soft
kisses drifting over his swollen jaw, Bodie had stretched thoroughly
before opening his eyes and smiling at the attentive face so close to his.
Without a word being spoken, he had gathered the lanky form to him,
initiating a kiss so deep that both men were gasping and lightheaded when
it broke. Moaning softly, Doyle had then started a comprehensive oral
exploration of the pale body, from the oddly-shaped eyebrows to the
arching tumescence and heavy testicles. Bodie withstood the exquisite
torture of tantalising, open-mouthed kisses and light licks interspersed
with nips from strong teeth for as long as he could. Then, abruptly
surging upward, he'd flipped the other man onto his back and staged his
own assault. Homing in on the beacon of velvet-smooth hardness, he tried
to swallow his partner whole, attempting to assuage a hunger that was
years old. Biting off a cry, Doyle had frantically reached for his lover
and manhandled him into position, fervently repaying the favour.

 Eons later, both men had gradually become aware that the ringing in their
ears was not only the result of intense orgasms, but also Doyle's travel
alarm making its presence known. Reaching out, Doyle had sedately turned
it off before returning to bestow another lingering kiss on his partner's
sensuous lips. One thing led to another, and so it was two rather
breathless agents who had come down to breakfast in the staff's dining
room just as the maids were beginning to clear the buffet. Effortlessly
exerting his formidable charm, Bodie had managed to wrangle a hot
breakfast for them both from the slightly exasperated cook.

 Chuckling, Doyle was pouring them both a cup of the excellent coffee when
movement caught his eye. He glanced up to find himself impaled on a
poisonous brown-eyed glare. Maintaining a bland face, he nonchalantly
stared back at Lindstone in the doorway until the other man had whirled
and left. Busy chatting with the cook, Bodie had not noticed the silent
exchange and Doyle did not bring it to his attention.

 The slamming of car doors announced the departure of the security escort.
Glancing downward once more, Doyle saw the two women had already gone into
the castle and the staff were starting to disperse back to their usual
duties.

 "That's that," proclaimed Bodie, lowering his binoculars. He rubbed a
slightly sore jaw. "Want to make a quick check of everything?"

 "Sure," Doyle replied absently.

 Hearing the other man's abstraction, Bodie looked over. "Something
wrong?"

 Flushing slightly, Doyle shook his head. "Nah." He turned toward the
stair door. "Let's go."

 Inspiration struck. Shaking his own head, Bodie said, "Ray." He waited
until Doyle had stopped, then he walked over to him. "Look at me."

 Reluctantly, Doyle pivoted to face him. The open love in the sparkling
cobalt eyes took his breath away. "Bodie?"

 "Stop it, Ray." The order was soft and filled with affection. "Stop
feeling guilty about thumping me. We both acted like berks last night."

 "Know-it-all," Doyle countered weakly. He finally managed to drag his
gaze away from those incredible eyes. Sighing heavily, he glanced upward
into the bare beams before shaking his head again. He gave a wry grin.
"You can't say it didn't bruise beautifully." A genuine chuckle escaped.
"You and your tender, white skin."

 "Tender!" snorted Bodie in mock-outrage. "Says who?"

 "Says me," asserted Doyle, heading for the door again. Graciously, he
gestured his partner through, following close behind. "Don't argue with
your lover." He punctuated his point with a deft grope of the firm arse.

 "Doyle!" yelped the dark-haired man, voice higher than normal. He shot a
glare over his shoulder as he came to the bottom of the winding stone
staircase.

 Laughing quietly as they turned the corner toward the servant's stairs,
Doyle said, "At least we'll never have to explain it to Cowley. Who's
going to tell him...the servants?"

 "Thank god!" agreed Bodie gratefully, clattering down the stairs beside
him.

 Upon reaching the ground floor, they were met by Carlisle's caretaker.
"Ah, there you are, gentlemen."

 "Is there a problem, Mr. Connors?" queried Doyle.

 "Oh, no; everything is entirely in order," reassured Connors. His greying
blond hair glistening in the sun coming through the high windows, he
beamed at the CI5 agents. "I've been asked to enquire if you have the time
to meet with Lady Wenham-Davies and Her Majesty."

 "Meet with....?" echoed Doyle, horrified eyes on his partner's bruised
jaw. 

 For his part, Bodie looked none too sanguine at the idea.

 "If you have the time." A small frown appeared in the older man's hazel
eyes. "Good heavens, Mr. Bodie; what's happened to you?"

 Bodie gathered his scattered wits. "Fell over a chair, didn't I." He
managed a respectable smile. "You have quite a few dark corners in your
humble establishment." As Connors smiled back, the agent went on, "We
mustn't keep the ladies waiting. Lead on, Mr. Connors."

 "I'm glad you weren't seriously injured in your fall, Mr. Bodie." Guiding
them to one of the formal parlours, Connors stopped before a set of wide
oak doors. "I do hope Katie hasn't been mucking about with the furniture
again." With that, he flung open the doors, announcing, "The gentlemen
from CI5, Your Ladyship."

 Concealing their puzzlement at the cryptic remark, both men hurriedly
pinned on their best professional faces as they entered the massive
drawing room.

 Connors was speaking again. "Gentlemen, may I present Lady
Wenham-Davies," indicating the brunette, "and her most-honoured guest, Her
Majesty, Queen Yazeia of Mustar," nodding at the blonde. Both women were
seated on a long, plush settee. "Mr. William Bodie and Mr. Raymond Doyle."

 Bodie hid the wince at the use of his given name.

 Smiling, Lady Wenham-Davies rose, extending her hand. "Which is which?" A
trace of southern American accent coloured the amused voice.

 Bowing over her hand, Doyle grinned. "I'm Doyle; he's Bodie, Your
Ladyship." Straightening, he turned to bow to the queen. Bodie followed
suit.

 "I wanted to thank you gentlemen for being so discreet with your
precautions," said Lady Wenham-Davies. "While I completely agree with the
necessity for increased security, I'm quite relieved to find it
so...unobtrusive."

 "We do our best," replied Bodie, smiling. "We'll be there if one should
have need of us, but Her Ladyship and Her Majesty should never be aware of
their guards."

 "Thank goodness for that!" The twang was still strong. A decidedly
non-royal wink took the sting out of the words. "I get enough of that at
home!" Pausing, the blonde then eyed both men intently, eyebrows rising.
"Although," she continued thoughtfully, "I can't say I wouldn't mind
tripping over one or both of you. What do you think, Jude?"

 Chuckling, Lady Wenham-Davies took pity on the flustered agents. "You'll
have to forgive Babs," she consoled them. "Thirty-five years of Mustar
haven't been able to rub out twenty-one years of Texas. I doubt anything
ever will." She stopped and considered the younger agent gravely. "You
seem to have been doing a fair bit of tripping on your own, Mr. Bodie."

 Giving a feeble grin, Bodie excused himself, saying, "Dark corners and
chairs don't mix all that well, Your Ladyship."

 "Somehow, you don't seem like the stumbling sort to me," mused the
brunette.

 Wriggling under the continued scrutiny, Bodie shot a silent plea for
rescue at his partner. Grimacing, Doyle gave a half-shrug, then returned
to contemplating the middle distance. The ex-SAS sergeant was starting
some mental re-vamping of the Doyle family tree when Queen Yazeia abruptly
said, "You're right; he doesn't look the sort. Oh, lordy, Jude--you don't
think all this hullabaloo has upset Katie, do you?"

 Doyle had just opened his mouth to demand--politely, of course--an
explanation of this bizarre statement when a knock sounded, and Mrs.
Simms, the housekeeper, stepped into the room. "Your Ladyship, the baths
have been drawn."

 Catching his partner's eye, Doyle gave a minute jerk of his head. "If
Your Ladyship will excuse us..."

 "Oh, my, yes." Starting out the doors, Carlisle's chatelaine stopped just
long enough to gather up her friend. "Come on, Babs. How does a long, hot
soak sound?"

 Bodie waited until the women's voices had faded away completely before
asking in bewilderment, "Just who the bloody hell is this Katie they're
all talking about?"

 "Beats me, mate," said Doyle. "I don't remember a Katie, or any variation
thereof, on the list that Cowley gave us."

 "Okay. That's two, then," decided Bodie.

 "Two?"

 "Things we have to do. First, we take a quick look over the security
arrangements; then we find Connors and find out just who this blasted
Katie is!"

 ******

An hour later, having ascertained to their satisfaction that the SAS
guards were remaining alert, the CI5 agents were ambling through the
courtyard toward the caretaker's entrance. The closer they got, however,
to the door half-hidden by the rambling ivy, the more Bodie was struck by
a bizarre oddity: Doyle was plainly reluctant to re-enter the castle.
*It's like he's nervous about going in*, ruminated Bodie. *Almost as
though he's...what? Scared?* Dismissing the fantastic thought immediately,
he was nonetheless determined to discover the reason for his partner's
peculiar hesitancy.

 "Something wrong?" Bodie asked for the second time that morning.

 "Hmm?" Doyle gave a guilty twitch. *Damn, didn't realise I was being that
obvious.* Still, he didn't know why he was so surprised that Bodie had
picked up on his unease. At times, the ex-merc possessed an uncanny knack
of knowing what Doyle was thinking almost before Doyle himself.

 "Don't give me that, mate," reproved Bodie sternly. "C'mon, spill all to
your Uncle Bodie."

 Grinning sheepishly, Doyle shrugged and led the way to a marble bench
below a towering ash. Once seated, he canted a look upward through his
lashes. "What d'you make of Carlisle?"

 Frowning slightly at the question, Bodie dropped onto the bench beside
him as he answered, "Big and drafty, with far too many corners and rooms.
Well-maintained, unlike some, and at least it's kept spotless. Connors'
staff know their onions. Do wish, though, that whoever it is with the
apple scent fetish would ease up. Place positively reeks of it at times."

 "You've smelt it, too?!"

 "'Course, I've smelt it!" Bodie was at a loss as to why his partner had
gone so pale. "Be ruddy hard to miss it, the way it's tossed around."

 "Thought it was just me," muttered Doyle, gazing at nothing. "Checked
with Mrs. Simms after I noticed it a couple of times." He watched Bodie
out of the corner of one eye. "Mrs. Simms said the maids don't use room
scent when they clean. Lady Wenham-Davies doesn't like it, says the fresh
air is scent enough."

 Blinking at this news, Bodie questioned, "Where does it come from, then?
There's no apple trees about."

 "Don't know." Doyle shrugged again. "She just gave me this funny look
when I said the same thing, and told me she had to get back to work.
Practically ran down the hall away from me."

 Studying the other man speculatively, Bodie asked quietly, "Ray, what's
bothering you about Carlisle?"

 "You'll think I'm crazy," sighed his partner, leaning forward to rest his
forearms on his thighs. "Can't say that I blame you."

 "Ray..."

 "I don't like Carlisle, Bodie, because it makes me uneasy. Ever since we
walked into the place, it's felt as though somebody's been watching me.
Only there's never anybody there. At times, the air feels electric, like
there's a storm brewing...and I don't mean the gentle rain that fell this
weekend. Thought the apple scent was all in my head because, the few times
when I've mentioned it, all I got were wide-eyed looks." He sighed again
into the heavy silence. "Now, go ahead and tell me it's all in my
imagination."

 "You don't have that sort of imagination."

 The answer was decisive, giving Doyle the courage to look up. "Then
what's going on? 'Cause it's bloody silly to be spooked by a pile of old
stones and, no, before you ask, I don't believe in ghosts."

 "Never said you did," Bodie said equably. "But, just for your
information, there's been more than a few times I've looked over my
shoulder these past three days."

 Startled, Doyle shot a look at him. "You have?"

 "Uh-huh. Never been anything there, either." Regaining his feet, Bodie
put out a hand to help Doyle stand. "Let's go find Connors for that talk.
Maybe he can shed some light on things." He started for the door only to
be halted by a tug on the hand Doyle still held. He shot an equiring
glance over his shoulder.

 "Bodie, thanks." Doyle was serious. "For believing me." The resulting shy
smile caused Doyle to catch his breath and severely lecture his overactive
hormones.

 ******

At the knock on his office door, Peter Connors looked up from his
paperwork. He waved the agents in. "Hello, again. Is there something I
might do for you?"

 Atypically, it was Bodie who showed no hesitancy with the strange subject
matter. "Yes, Mr. Connors. You can tell us if Carlisle is haunted."

 Somewhat to Doyle's surprise, the caretaker did not launch into immediate
denials. Instead, he leant back in his chair and gave a broad smile. "I
believe this will take some time. Have a seat, gentlemen." Pressing a
button on his desk console, Connors asked for some tea to be sent in. That
done, he surveyed the agents with a slightly worried look. "I can't
understand what's making Katie take on so. We've had numerous security
functions and receptions at Carlisle over the years and she's never been
like this. Usually, she just gets very quiet--leaves us to it, I guess."

 "That's the third time someone's mentioned a Katie." Doyle strove to keep
the annoyance out of his voice. He didn't like mysteries. "Just who is
she?"

 "Queen Katherine Paar."

 As the CI5 agents were picking up their respective jaws, a maid knocked
and entered, carrying a tray of scones and the tea service.

 "Thanks, Polly love," said Connors.

 "Sure thing, Mr. Connors." The young girl gave the men, sitting stunned
in the office's comfortable chairs, a bewildered smile as she left.

 "Help yourselves to everything," urged the big Irishman, after pouring
tea into three large mugs.

 Some minutes later, sipping on the tea Doyle had automatically prepared
for him, Bodie asked mildly, "Care to explain, Mr. Connors?"

 The caretaker swallowed the bite of scone he was chewing. "I assume you
both know the general facts about Katherine Paar."

 As Bodie was stuffing his own mouth, it was left to Doyle to say, "Yeah.
Last and only surviving wife of Henry the Eighth. Didn't she marry Thomas
Seymour soon after the king died? Now that I think of it, I remember she
moved to Carlisle after the marriage and died here not long after."

 "Essentially correct, Mr. Doyle." Connors paused long enough to take a
drink of his tea. "Now, let me fill in the blanks. Katherine Paar was
widely known as a sensible and intelligent woman, even by her political
enemies. However, she had one big weakness--she was in love with Thomas
Seymour and it's been well-documented just how power-hungry he was.
According to one set of historians, Katherine was in love with Seymour
even while she was married to Henry. However, not being suicidal, she kept
it well-hidden. It all came out in the wash four months after Henry's
death, when Katherine and her Thomas were wed on the sly. So infatuated
was the widowed queen, that she refused to believe the rumours that said
Seymour had first proposed marriage to both her step-daughters--Mary and
Elizabeth--in an attempt to get closer to the throne.

 "It was Seymour's brother, William, Duke of Somerset, who was regent to
the young King Edward and Thomas had always been intensely jealous of his
elder brother's favour at court. Through Katherine, he would have an 'in'
with the child-king, for the former queen remained on excellent terms with
all her step-children. Thus, her friends tried to warn her that only harm
could come of the marriage to Seymour, but she wouldn't listen. In April
1547, she and Seymour were married and the newlyweds retired to Carlisle,
which was held by Seymour at the time as a reward for past favours to
Henry.

 "All was relatively serene for a period of time; then lo and behold, it
was announced that Katherine, aged thirty-five, was pregnant with her
first child. To everyone's additional surprise, the pregnancy was
uneventful and on 30 August, 1548, Katherine gave birth to a healthy
daughter they named Mary. Just as the celebrations were gearing up,
Katherine fell ill with puerperal fever. A week after the birth, she died.
Thomas wasted no time; the day of her funeral, he was on his way to
London. This time, he focused exclusively on young Elizabeth, but his
shenanigans cost him. Less than a year later, on 20 March, 1549, Thomas
Seymour was beheaded for treason to the Crown."

 Caught up in the ancient drama, Doyle's face was grim. "So what happened
to little Mary?"

 Finishing his tea, Connors sadly shook his head. "Initially, after
Katherine's death, the poor, wee thing was sent to live with her uncle,
the Duke of Somerset, and became part of his household. When her father
caught himself a neckache, however, William decided it wasn't politically
expedient to have her around, so he shipped the lass off to a friend of
Katherine's, the Duchess of Suffolk, as the Crown had confiscated all of
Thomas' properties upon his conviction of treason. Unfortunately, the good
lady soon began complaining of the expense of trying to raise the daughter
of a former queen and kept petitioning Somerset for more money. Shortly
after that, more to shut up the Duchess than because of any pangs of
conscience--at least in my opinion--all of Seymour's lands were returned
to Mary and the poor kid was again shipped off, back to Carlisle this
time, to live all alone with her nurses and maids. There was mention made
in a letter to Somerset of 'the childe, Lady Mary, being of two years of
age at month's end'."

 "And?" prompted Bodie, curiosity powerfully aroused.

 "And that was it." Connors gave a shrug. "There was no further mention of
the child; none that has ever been found, at least. No one knows what
happened to her."

 "You mean she just disappeared?" Doyle shared an incredulous look with
his partner.

 "From the historical record, yes. One school of thought says the girl
died young of one of the many illnesses so prevalent then; another
discounts this and maintains that Mary grew up here and went on to wed a
local squire and raise her own family. Unfortunately, there's been no
definitive proof for either theory."

 "Oh." Doyle mulled this over for a few moments, then asked, "Why does
everyone believe it's the ghost of Katherine Paar who haunts the castle?"

 "Circumstantial evidence, I believe you would call it." Connors shrugged.
"Every now and then, a baby can be heard to cry in the castle nursery.
It's soon joined by the sound of a woman sobbing her heart out. Over the
years, castle staff have reported glimpses of a tall, auburn-haired woman
in a green Tudor-style dress--it was reputed to have been her favourite.
The ghost never seems to do much: Walks about the nursery, occasionally
plays with the furniture if she doesn't like where it's placed, or
sometimes, she's seen at one of the gallery windows just staring out at
the grounds."

 "Her favourite scent wouldn't happen to have been apple, would it?" Doyle
asked sourly.

 Connors grinned at this. "As a matter of fact, yes. I gather you've had
several run-ins with our Katie, Mr. Doyle."

 Bodie made a tsking sound. "Know you've always claimed you were
irresistible to the birds, mate," he said, deadpan, "but isn't this going
a little too far?"

 Chuckling, Connors said, "I'm sure he's not doing it on purpose, Mr.
Bodie. Although, I have to admit, I've never heard of Katie focusing in on
one person this way."

 "See, sunshine?' Bodie beamed at the other agent. "Now, don't you feel
special?"

 "No," Doyle retorted evenly. Rising, he poked Bodie in the ribs. "C'mon,
you. Mr. Connors has work to do, and we've put off ours long enough."

 Shutting the office door firmly behind him, Doyle set off for the
security room, Bodie beside him. Turning a corner, he asked, "So, what
d'you think, Bodie? If it is a ghost, why is she picking on me?"

 The dark-haired man's shrug was uninformative.

 Doyle was slightly irritated. "D'you believe in ghosts?"

 "Beats me, mate. Know I saw some queer things in Africa..." Bodie
shrugged again. "But I'll tell you one thing for free: I don't think you
have anything to worry about."

 "What makes you say that?"

 "For some reason, she's watching you and hanging about. Don't worry about
it until she starts chucking things at you."

 "Oh. Yeah."

 ******

The rest of the Monday, and the next three days, passed uneventfully. To
the gratification of the SAS guards, the clouds continued to stay away,
leaving behind bright blue skies and pleasant temperatures. To the
gratification of the CI5 agents, Lindstone also continued to stay away,
turning up only for the morning briefings and nightly security reports.
From overheard remarks, Doyle knew the sergeant major was driving his men
crazy with impromptu exercises and drills, but he had not attempted any
unofficial meetings with either Bodie or himself since Sunday night. Doyle
could not find it in himself to be upset over this. As for Bodie, it
seemed he had all but forgotten the other man's presence.

 Since their talk with Connors, the agents had not discussed the supposed
ghost of Katherine Paar. But while their speculations might have remained
unspoken, the manifestations of the so-called spirit were still very much
in evidence. Doyle had lost count of the number of times he'd found
himself enveloped in the rich smell of apple flowers, or felt the hairs on
the back of his neck shiver under the sense of being watched. He'd stopped
worrying about it, however, for it seemed Bodie was correct. Now that his
mind was no longer distracted by jealousy and resentment, he could tell it
was a benign observation. All in all, he reasoned, if one had to be
haunted, at least it was best to be haunted by a nice ghost. And he had
always liked the smell of apples. 

 But poor Bodie... Since commencing his affair with Doyle, he was now
blessed with frequent ghostly phenomenon. What made this a rather dubious
honour was the discovery that he was violently allergic to apple blossoms.

 Walking down the back corridor late Thursday afternoon, Doyle was
chuckling as he remembered the previous night. He and Bodie had been
tucked into the big bed in Bodie's assigned room. Events had taken an
interesting turn when, suddenly, the room was filled with the odour of
fresh apple flowers. By the time the ex-merc had been able to stop
sneezing, Doyle was a crumpled ball beside him, scarlet-faced, breathless
and incoherent with laughter. He would no sooner start to get control of
his diaphragm when he would catch sight of his lover's red nose and
streaming eyes and off he'd go again. Noisily blowing his nose, Bodie had
grumbled that it was obvious Katie--as he'd also taken to calling her--was
a mother; she always showed up at the most inopportune times. Doyle knew
it was probably only his imagination, but he'd thought he'd heard faint
laughter then and the ethereal smell of apples had vanished.

 His mind on the rather pleasant epilogue to the encounter, Doyle at first
thought the faint sneezing was only a mental echo. As he opened the door
to the security room, though, he was greeted by one of his partner's
better efforts, and the now-familiar scent. Sniggering, he leant against
the door jamb and folded both arms over his chest.

 "What's the matter, sunshine?" he asked solicitously. "Catching a cold?"

 His dignified glare spoilt by another gargantuan blast, Bodie gave a moan
of pure self-pity and reached for his handkerchief. "C'mon, Katie, be a
love, will you?" he pleaded pathetically, addressing the room. "I told you
Ray was around here somewhere. Go bother him now, all right?"

 As his partner finished speaking, Doyle felt a cool blast of
apple-scented air caress a cheek. In seconds, the room was clear. Going
over to the stricken man, he laid a soothing hand on the dark head.

 "There, there, love," he crooned softly, stroking the silky hair. "Better
now?"

 Bodie eyed him disgustedly and blew his nose one last time. "Easy for you
to laugh," he mumbled. "You're not the one whose eyes feel like there's
sand in 'em." Feeling a light kiss on the top of his head, he craned his
neck backward and smiled. "You're not so uptight about the idea anymore,
are you?"

 Planting another kiss--this time on the tip of the abused nose--Doyle
then came around to the desk and hitched one hip against it. "Nah." He
shrugged. "Like you said--at least she's not throwing things."

 "Don't think she's that sort of ghost, mate." Bodie gave the security
screens a casual glance. "This one's got class; a real lady, if you know
what I mean."

 "Yeah." Sinking into an over-stuffed chair close by, Doyle was quiet for
several minutes before asking curiously, "Bodie, have you seen her yet?"

 "Seen who?" Bodie was only half-listening as he switched the monitors to
give him a different perspective of the grounds.

 "Katie. Connors said some of the staff have seen her about before. I
haven't; just wondered if you had."

 A faint frown pulling at his brows, Bodie flicked a glance his way. "No,
I haven't," he said thoughtfully. "Bit odd, don't you think? Considering
the way she's been following you about."

 Doyle gave another shrug and sank deeper into the chair. "I reckon she
has her reasons."

 ******

Eyes snapping open, Doyle peered about the dark bedroom, trying to place
what had awakened him. A sharp movement came from beside him and Bodie was
also wide awake, leaning on one elbow.

 "You, too, eh." The younger agent's voice barely broke the stillness.

 "Yeah. Don't see or hear anything, though." The return whisper was laced
with frustration. "Must be getting nervy..." There was a full five seconds
of silence, then "Bloody hell!"

 It was his lover's tone as much as the words that made Bodie whip his
head around. 

 "What?" He could see nothing amiss.

 "Over there--by the door." The sleep-husky voice was taut.

 Blinking his eyes, Bodie peered in the indicated direction. *Nothing
there, just a little misty; although how the room can be misty when it's
so sodding cold in here...*

 Jaw dropping, he echoed the other man's sentiments. "Bloody hell."

 The mist was slowly taking form. Before their astonished eyes appeared a
tall, slender woman, lit by a bizarre glow that obscured her face but
outlined the apparition's body and flowing green dress. A pale hand took
shape; reaching out, it beckoned to them.

 Bodie found his voice first. "Katie, what do you need?"

 The ghost continued to beckon at them. Ridiculous as it seemed, Doyle was
convinced there was a sense of urgency about her. That conviction gave him
the courage to say, "There's something wrong, isn't there?"

 Nodding her head, the spirit gestured at the window, then beckoned once
more. Almost against their wills, the two agents climbed from the bed and
dressed quickly in their cast-off clothes. Glancing up as he hurriedly
zipped his cords, Bodie saw the spectre had vanished. He grabbed his gun
and followed his partner from the room.

 Taking the stairs downward two at a time, Bodie noted off-handedly, "No
apple scent, this time."

 "Yeah." Doyle reached the bottom of the stairs and set off for the
security room at a brisk jog. "She doesn't want you sneezing your head
off, does she. Must be bloody important." He didn't slow upon reaching the
room, but barreled on through the door, greatly startling the SAS man on
duty.

 "What's happening?" Bodie demanded, coming up to glare over the other
man's shoulders.

 "W-Why nothing, sir," stammered the young corporal. "See for yourselves."
He gestured at the monitors.

 "Certainly seems peaceful enough," murmured Doyle, standing at Bodie's
right shoulder. "D'you think we misunderstood her?"

 "Maybe." Bodie continued to stare at the screens, brows lowered. "But,
somehow--I don't think so."

 "Me, either," confided Doyle. "My spine's itching like mad." 

 He was filled with the same urgency he'd sensed emanating from the
ex-queen. Going over to the windows, he lifted the heavy drapes and peered
out into the night.

 Bodie was still frowning perplexedly. Giving a dissatisfied grunt, he
picked up an R/T. "Bodie to Sector One." He called the guards at the front
gate. "Report."

 The response was swift. "Sector One to Bodie. All clear."

 "Understood. Sectors Two and Three, report."

 The guards patrolling the castle proper gave the same reply, as did the
men stationed around the old chapel building and the two teams in the
Banquet Hall ruins. Bodie had just called the men stationed in the topiary
garden when the security room door opened and Lindstone walked in. Doyle
guessed he had been called by the corporal. The observation was borne out
when Lindstone showed no surprise at seeing them there in the middle of
the night.

 "Problems?" the sergeant asked.

 "Unclear." Doyle shrugged. "Could be nothing."

 "Could be something." Bodie lowered the R/T and looked over at them
grimly. "Sector Seven isn't responding."

 Doyle came up to him immediately, but Lindstone was shaking his head. "No
need to worry," the stocky man said condescendingly. "There's a perfectly
logical reason; I canceled that watch this afternoon. The position was
redundant."

 "What?!" exploded Bodie. Stalking over to his ex-squad mate, he grabbed
the other man by the throat and pinned him against the wall. "Who the fuck
gave you the authorisation? We sure didn't!"

 Both hands gripping the steel vise around his throat, Lindstone gasped
and choked. "N-Nothing's happened, has it?" Face turning florid, he
wheezed, "Christ, there's four men out front, eight men covering the
chapel and ruins out back and the lights make everything as bright as
day... Bodie, let go. I can't breathe!" 

 But the pressure must have increased, for the frantic brown eyes bulged
even further from the purpling face.

 "Let him go, sunshine," Doyle said contemptuously, eyeing the quivering
figure with deep scorn. "We've got bigger fish to fry. Besides, once we
report this, his career will be over."

 Bodie tightened his grip just a fraction more before tossing the sergeant
aside as though he were weightless. "Yeah. Let's get out..."

 A loud explosion drowned out the rest of his words. The castle, itself,
seemed to shudder and suddenly the air was filled with the bedlam of men
shouting and the sound of automatic gunfire. Stopping only to glance at
the monitors to find the source of the attack, Doyle bounded through the
door.

 "Corporal!" snapped Bodie. "You're in charge here until further notice.
Detail six men to round up the staff, then put everyone--including Lady
Wenham-Davies and Queen Yazeia--into one of the upstairs rooms. Keep
everyone away from the windows!"

 Orders given, he bolted after Doyle, barely hearing the younger man's
crisp, "Yes, sir!"

 Ignoring the frightened voices of the milling staff, Bodie pelted along
the back passage toward the Long Gallery on the east side of the castle.
According to an inside camera, one of the small rooms used by the staff
had been the victim of a rocket grenade. Rounding a corner at a full run,
he staggered from the effect of another explosion. Through the R/T still
held unconsciously in his left hand, came a familiar terse cry.

 "They're in the castle! Repeat, Security Control--armed raiders in the
castle!"

 Bodie's heart seemed to stick in his throat. The last grenade had hit
close by and he was choking on the cordite and smoke. From a room ahead
and to his left, came the well-known sharp retorts of a Browning Hi-Power.
Plastering himself against a wall, Bodie edged toward the door. Before he
could reach it, two dark-clad figures burst into the corridor, moonlight
gleaming dully on upheld weapons.

 Instinctively bringing up his own gun, he fired off several rounds.
Stepping over the crumbled shapes, he shouted, "Ray! You all right?"

 "Yeah!" More gunfire was exchanged. "Shit!"

 Taking a deep breath, the younger agent dived into the room. His forward
roll fetched him up against the plump arm of a settee. Cautiously raising
his head, he spied several bodies littering the floor and squinted, trying
to find his partner.

 "Where are you, sunshine?"

 "Over here, behind the chair." Doyle's voice was grim, but unstrained.
"I'm out of ammo. Got spare clips?"

 "Yeah. On the count of three." Counting slowly, Bodie abruptly popped up
from his hiding place, showering the demolished window with covering fire.
A quick dive and Doyle was beside him. "Jesus, how many are there?!"

 There more dark shapes were crouched against the far wall, another one
was still climbing through the wreckage.

 Hurriedly re-loading, Doyle was sharply aware of the ongoing gun battle.
A blistering curse from Bodie brought his head up--the movement left him
eye to eye with the menacing muzzle of an Uzi. The futile sound of Bodie's
weapon clicking on a misfire echoed through the suddenly silent room.

 A heartbeat, two, then there came a blast of fury-driven arctic air; the
overpowering, cloying odour of apples suddenly boiled in the small room.
With dazed eyes, the two CI5 agents watched as the non-comprehending
terrorist was lifted bodily into the air and flung viciously head-first
into the nearest wall. A dull crack sounded and the man slid bonelessly
down to the floor. The avenger was plainly not finished: From their frozen
crouch behind the settee, Bodie and Doyle heard Arabic voices calling out
in terror and high-pitched screams. The sitting room echoed with sickening
squelching sounds, and then a deathly quiet.

 It took some moments, but eventually the agents clambered to their feet
and surveyed the charnel house which had once been the quaint sitting
room. The man who had been thrown at the wall lay where he'd fallen; three
more unmoving forms lay around him. Bemused eyes took in the fireplace
pokers rammed through the chests of two of the men; the third man's head
lay at right angles to his body. Eight more terrorists lay scattered about
the floor, blood dripping from the almost-prosaic bullet holes.

 There was the merest whisper of apple-scented breeze wafting through the
room. It ruffled Doyle's curls, then was gone.

 Bodie gradually became aware of the squawking R/T lying abandoned on the
floor. As he bent over to retrieve it, he distantly noted the absence of
gunfire.

 Pressing the transmit button, he answered the urgent summons. "Bodie."

 "Sir!" The tension-filled voice of the young corporal filled the room.
"Are you and Mr. Doyle all right?"

 Only then daring to meet the stunned jade eyes, Bodie released a long
breath. "Yeah, we're fine. Report."

 "I think we've got them all, sir. There's five enemy dead, seven wounded,
one of them seriously. We sustained no casualties, but have two wounded.
Neither appear life-threatening."

 "Thank god for that," breathed Doyle, abruptly finding his voice. Leaning
over, he said into the R/T, "We've got more dead raiders back here. How
are the civilians?"

 "Not a scratch on 'em," assured the corporal. "In fact, Lady
Wenham-Davies has the cook making tea and sandwiches while she and Her
Majesty are in one of the upstairs parlours, bandaging our wounded men. It
seems they both trained as nurses when they were young."

 "Hooray for them," muttered Bodie. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Doyle
and I will be there shortly. Carry on."

 He flicked off the R/T in the middle of the affirmative.

 For a long moment, there was silence. Then, Doyle asked quietly, "Why,
Bodie?'

 "Why what?" Sinking down onto the settee they'd been hiding behind, Bodie
leant his head back and sighed deeply, willing his hands to stop shaking.
*At that range, there was no way that bastard could've missed Ray...*

 "Why did she do it?" Doyle frowned unseeingly down at his partner. "She's
such a gentle ghost. Why did she do...this?" A waving hand took in the
carnage.

 "Are you complaining?" Peering upward, the dark-haired man declared, "I,
for one, am exceedingly grateful to the lady for her assistance."

 "So am I," his partner said decisively, reliving the terror-filled
seconds when he'd been positive that he and Bodie were dead. Laying a
still-trembling hand on the cropped head, he continued, "I just don't
understand why she did it, that's all." He frowned once more upon seeing
the tender smile on Bodie's long mouth.

 "Don't you see, sweetheart?" Bodie prompted softly. "She had to do it.
Couldn't stand by and let you get hurt, now could she."

 Doyle slid down to slump beside him. "Bloody hell," he mumbled
resignedly. "Doesn't anybody think I can take care of myself?"

 ******

*ONE YEAR LATER*

 Stifling a yawn, Bodie urged his partner down the stairs at CI5
headquarters. "C'mon, sunshine--shift it or Cowley will find something
else for us to do. I don't know about you, but sixty-three hours on duty
in one go are more than enough for me."

 "Getting old, are we?" jeered Doyle, although his speed noticeably
increased. Not slowing upon reaching the bottom, he was halfway out the
outer door, Bodie on his heels, before he realised that the guard at the
security desk had called his name.

 Braking so abruptly the ex-merc slammed into him, almost knocking him
over, Doyle said wearily, "What now, Bill?"

 Grinning broadly at the two disheveled men--Bodie was swearing loudly and
creatively--the guard waved a large, white envelope in their direction.
"Now, don't be like that, 4.5; got something for you, haven't I? Came by
special messenger yesterday afternoon."

 Exchanging a puzzled glance with his partner, Doyle ambled over to
retrieve the indicated object. "For me?" He eyed the packet dubiously. It
was a standard legal-size envelope; judging by its thickness, there were
several pieces of paper inside. His name had been typed on the front,
along with the notation 'In Care of CI5 Headquarters--London'. "I wasn't
expecting anything."

 Coming up beside him, Bodie gave the parcel a suspicious look. "Has this
thing been through the scanner, Bill?"

 "First off," reassured the guard. "Nothing but paper inside."

 "Oh, well." Shrugging off the mystery for now, Doyle shoved the envelope
inside his jacket and resumed his escape from CI5. "You planning on taking
up residence here, mate?" he called back over his shoulder.

 "Don't be bloody ridiculous."

 ******

Forty-five minutes later, collapsed on the settee in Doyle's flat--at
their Controller's insistence, they still maintained separate flats for
appearance's sake--Bodie reached up and gratefully took the drink held out
to him. He took a restorative mouthful as his lover dropped beside him
with his own drink. As Doyle took a sip of his scotch, Bodie nudged him.

 "Why don't you open that letter now, eh?"

 "Anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?" remarked Doyle,
although he obligingly stretched out an arm to snag his jacket from where
it lay on the opposite end of the settee. He pulled out the envelope and
slit it open, taking another drink before setting the glass down on the
coffee table in front of him.

 "Meow," quipped Bodie, draping an affectionate arm around the bony
shoulders. "Who's it from, then?"

 Automatically leaning into the warmth next to him, Doyle looked up,
frowning. "'S from Peter Connors." At his partner's blank look, he
reminded, "You remember, Bodie--the caretaker of Carlisle Castle?"

 The younger man gave him a startled look. "Oh, yeah. Why's he writing to
you?"

 Doyle returned to the missive in his hand. "Says he thought we might be
interested in something. Seems Lady W-D took it into her head to do some
redecorating on the nursery floor, so the walls between the nursery proper
and the rooms on either side were knocked out. The workmen found a tiny
priest's hole no-one knew about."

 "Fascinating," admitted Bodie, "but why tell us?" His eyes widened at the
sudden look of excitement on the exotic face.

 "My god, Bodie--inside the space was Lady Mary Seymour's journal!" He
glanced up, jade eyes sparkling. "She lived, sunshine!"

 "As least long enough to be able to do a journal," Bodie amended
realistically. "So go on, Ray; what was in it?"

 "Mmm." Doyle read on rapidly. "Connors says he photocopied the last page
and sent it on." He flipped over another sheet of paper. "Here we are."

 Taking a sip of his drink, he began to read out loud, hampered by the
faint, spidery handwriting:


 

*...If God continues to be with me, this shall be the last. I do so pray
to Him that my deliverance, and my joy, is at last to hand. By the time
the cock crows on the morrow, my Beloved and I shall be far away from this
accursed and lonely place. No more to be watched with jealousy and
suspicion, to see the disappointment in my Lord Somerset's eyes when he
finds I have not yet succumbed to some fever that is ravaging the
countryside.

 Well do I know what they will say of me when my flight is discovered;
they will shriek and be outraged at the dishonour of it. Then they will
shake their pious heads, saying, "What else shall we expect of her?" As if
my Father's crimes against the Crown were made with my knowledge e'en
though I was but a babe in arms when he plotted his schemes! God will deal
with all of them, the whisperers and gossip-mongers, who fill the Court
with such maliciousness. Have they so soon forgotten the good and
beautiful Katherine, my precious Mother?

 I must not be vindictive and should follow the wise counsel of my Beloved
to leave all to God. The world looks at him and sees naught but a dusty
stable hand. I look at him and see Life, itself, for so he is with his
beautiful eyes and gentle smile. I shall thank the Good Lord every day
left to me that he gazed upon me and saw, not Lady Mary Seymour, but a
maid on the verge of womanhood; a maid who was desperate to love, to be
loved.

 Now that I have reached my fourteenth summer, there is nothing that shall
keep us apart. I have no doubts there shall be no pursuit, only poorly
hidden relief and much joy at my supposed disgrace. When we reach
Cahirciveen on Eire's coast, my Beloved has promised that we shall be wed
by the same village priest who attended his Christening, and that his
humble family will open their arms and hearts to me. If this be true, then
it is one more reason for which to give Thanks. And, now, I must close
this record. From this moment onward, there will no longer be Lady Mary
Seymour and Miceal, the stable hand. From this moment onward, there is
only Miceal and Mary Doyle.

 Anno Domini 1562*


 Outside, car horns honked and children shouted, but inside the CI5 flat,
the silence of eternity held sway for long minutes. Ashen-faced, Doyle had
to clear his throat several times before he could speak.

 "Connors also says," he went on in a tight voice, "that there hasn't been
any sign of Katie since that night. No apple scent, no baby or woman
crying in the nursery, no nothing. Everyone is baffled." The papers in his
hand shook slightly.

 "Doesn't surprise me," declared the dark-haired man. Bodie's own face was
paler than normal, cobalt eyes darkened to midnight, but his voice was
under control.

 "How d'you mean?"

 "No reason for Katie to be hanging about any longer, is there," commented
Bodie gravely. He tightened the arm around Doyle's shoulders, drawing his
trembling lover into a fierce embrace. Planting a tender kiss on a
curl-covered temple, he whispered, "She finally got what she was waiting
for, didn't she. Now she can finally rest--she knows her child is safe and
loved."

 -- THE END --

 *April 1997*
 *Originally published in *Chalk and Cheese 17*, Whatever You Do, Don't
Press! (Agent with Style), 1997*

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