The Professionals Circuit Archive - All the Queen's Men	All the
Queen's Men

 

by Victoria Racklyft

 Illustrated by Suzan Lovett

  
 
 
 *PROLOGUE*

Shadows lengthened and deepened along the quiet street as the sun set in a
leaden sky. He walked more briskly towards the Underground as the chilly
darkness seeped around him. It was unusually quiet this twilight hour;
though in the distance he could hear the famous bells of St. Mary Le Bow.
The oddly comforting sound brought back memories of childhood. Smoke and
incense, chants and hymns spoke of an ancient magic. He stopped at the
street corner to listen more carefully. There was always a mournful
quality to the bells at dusk; he wondered briefly why they still rang at
all. He couldn't imagine that many people went to Vespers here.

Simon loved church bells when he was an altar boy. Especially he adored
their victorious pealing on Easter morning, heralding man's triumph over
death. Another childhood memory surfaced; one of devotions to Our Lady and
Masses on the first six Saturdays in Her honour. Those who completed that
cycle of devotions were assured that they would not be abandoned at the
hour of their death, nor die "in Her disgrace." It was a cheap enough
insurance policy taken out for the hereafter; he'd completed the cycle in
the company of his mother and sister. He could even recall the Act of
Perfect Contrition that was a Catholic's last hope for salvation. Almost
involuntarily, the words flooded his mind.

O my God I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee
 And I detest all my sins for fear of Thy just punishment
 But most of all, because they offend Thee, my God,
 Who art All-Good and worthy of all my love.
 I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more,
 And to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.

Suddenly he was not alone. He turned, uneasy that he'd been so focused on
his memories and the bells that he'd heard nothing else around him. Still,
there was no cause for alarm. After all, he was off duty in a perfectly
safe, usually busy part of town. He looked at a woman beside him with a
guidebook in her hand and a slightly panicked expression on her face. A
lost tourist, and a very pretty one. Playing Sir Galahad couldn't be made
easier. Perhaps she would welcome joining him for a drink in a nearby pub.

There was something vaguely familiar about her, though he had no idea what
it was. He smiled as she pressed closer, book open in her palm, until
their elbows nearly touched. A faint scent teased at his nostrils,
unsettling but not powerful enough to be unpleasant. Some peculiar
perfume, perhaps. He bent his head towards her dark hair and dutifully
looked at the page she presented.

"Can you help me find my way, sir?" Her voice was slightly accented. "I
would so appreciate it." Her smile glittered under the streetlight.

"'Course, miss. Where are you trying to get to, then?"

"MI6 Headquarters." The smile was gone now.

He stared back for a split second too long.

******

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" came Doyle's irate voice as he
stomped down the hallway. He'd had a perfectly pleasant evening all
planned, and breaking this date on such short notice would likely
terminate a budding relationship as well. It was enough to curl a man's
hair. Not that Doyle needed any assistance in that regard, Bodie
reflected, as he watched his colleague approach.

His own plans had been likewise cruelly shattered, but the sight of his
fuming auburn haired partner restored his good humour for some reason. He
hid a smile that lurked just below the surface. "Haven't heard anything
yet," he responded, "except for us to sit out here and wait for Cowley to
come along and brief us. No sense in wondering about it until then." He
curled as comfortably as possible on the lone bench in the corridor
outside Mr. Cowley's office.

His deliberately bland answer earned him a sharp look from his friend.
Whatever Doyle would have said in reply was cut off by the sound of the
office door handle turning, followed by Cowley opening it. Their
Controller did not step through however; he merely held it open for the
Minister to pass, then motioned his waiting agents inside. The Minister
nodded at them, then turned to Cowley once more. "Three hours, then,
George. You'd better hurry."

Bodie caught the faint signs of strain on the older man's features, saw
him attempt to mask it as he turned to face them. Much as he would have
liked to complain as often as Doyle did, he could never forget that the
old man worked harder than any of them. Many were the nights he simply did
not go home. Tonight looked like one of those nights. Clearly, this was
not going to be a routine assignment, what with the Minister already
involved, and all.

He wasted no time on idle preamble. "Simon Stuart is dead. The
Metropolitan Police patrol discovered his body in the City nearly an hour
ago. Let's go." He firmly shepherded them towards the door, ignoring their
gaping mouths. Stuart was a solo undercover agent, very experienced, very
tough. Doyle had teamed with him once to recover two kidnapped hostages
while Bodie and Murphy thwarted a terrorist assassination attempt. The man
was good.

They knew better than to ask any questions until they were ensconced in
the rear seat of the car and their driver was pulling away from the curb.
Cowley looked over his right shoulder and forestalled them. "He was
working as a consultant on a problem MI6 has been having. A very serious
problem. Three of their agents have been found murdered in the past week
and a half. Now Stuart has been murdered in apparently the same fashion.
The Minister has given authority over the entire case to us."

Bodie and Doyle glanced at each other. MI6 weren't going to be terribly
happy to relinquish this mess to their rivals, especially since it
involved their own people. Willis and Cowley had been on the outs ever
since the former had tried to frame Bodie for an assassination. And what
exactly had Stuart been doing for them? Cowley's brief synopsis raised
more questions than it had answered.

They were, alas, thoroughly used to being given incomplete information on
a need-to-know basis, and this looked like no exception. Bodie settled in
philosophically while Doyle chewed on a hangnail, wondering how much more
he could get out of the old man. He settled on an obvious query. "In the
same fashion, hm? No chance it could be unrelated to the case he was on?"

Cowley didn't bite. "No chance at all, 4.5. You'll see for yourself soon
enough."

He knew better than to ask what that meant. "And the three MI6 men? Any
connection between them, or were they just targeted at random because they
were in that mob together?"

"An interesting line of thought, Doyle. I don't believe this is a random
terrorist attack on MI6 the way CI5 were targeted by Wakeman, and neither
did Stuart. Had it been a matter of hitting people based on mere
opportunity, these particular three would have been unlikely targets at
best. There *must* be some connection between them, though at the moment,
Willis doesn't know what it is. They were not currently assigned to
anything together. But in the past..." Cowley fell silent for a moment.
"We shall have to find out."

Bodie considered what was said, and unsaid. "And, of course, once they,
er, realise what the connection is, they'll tell us straightaway."

Cowley didn't even bother to respond to that.

"So how are we going to discover the connection if they don't co-operate?
Do we have authority to search their files and operation reports? I don't
imagine Willis will approve, do you?" Doyle wanted to know.

"The Minister hasn't given him much choice." Cowley irritably waved Doyle
to be silent and continued, "Yes, of course he can drag his feet, and
probably will for a time, but it's not to his advantage to hold us up
indefinitely. Not if he wants to protect his own people. They haven't the
resources or the training to do standard police work, whereas we can. He's
not a complete fool."

Doyle kept his own counsel on that regard. "The Met is giving us support
on forensics, then?"

"A special team of our own criminal laboratory people and theirs are
working on any physical evidence found. The Chief Coroner will report
directly to us about all the bodies."

Neither agent had bothered to ask where they were going. By now it was
apparent that they were being taken to the very heart of the old City. The
well-known dome of St. Paul's Cathedral came into view. A few moments
later they turned onto Watling Street, then up Bow Lane. Doyle stared at
the crime scene vehicles in the middle of the block. 

"This is mad! We're within sight of St. Paul's. A mere block or two from
the Underground station. There must be dozens of potential witnesses. When
did they find the body?"

 "Shortly after six. The corpse was still quite warm. And *no* witnesses
have come forward. Ah, here we are."

They clambered out and rushed over to the demarcated area where the
greatest concentration of police uniforms stood about. Stuart lay covered
at an odd angle, partially obscured by the corner of a building. Still, a
passer-by ought to have noticed something. It had still been rush hour at
that time of day. Doyle bent over and gently lifted the fold of the
blanket up as Bodie looked on, holding a torch steady.

"Jesus Christ!" Both men stared, dumfounded for a minute. Finally, Bodie
ventured a remark. "Saw a man mauled by a starving lion once, in Africa.
Looked a bit like this. Only more bloody. With injuries like that, where's
all the blood, then?"

Doyle swallowed, forcing his brain to engage after the initial shock of
seeing Stuart's face. Bodie was right; when a man's throat has been ripped
out, allowing an observer to partially view his vertebrae past the torn
windpipe, there ought to be gallons of blood on the scene. There was none.
Only his shirtfront corroborated what had become of him.

Both men stepped back as Bodie swept the immediate area with the torch.
Nothing. Cowley joined them, having concluded his business with the
Officer in charge. He stood quietly for a moment, then allowed, "If you're
looking for blood on the ground, you won't find any. Not so much as a
drop."

He had their undivided attention now. "I take it the other three corpses
looked like this?" Bodie asked, his voice deliberately steady. "Not
exactly your typical M.O., is it?"

"Hardly." Cowley sighed. "The other MI6 victims looked *exactly* like
this; throats torn out, nearly decapitated, virtually bloodless. No
gunshot or knife wounds; no sign of poison or drugs in their systems. All
these men were experienced, skilled in hand to hand combat and well armed.
Not one even drew his weapon."

Doyle checked to verify Cowley's pronouncement. Sure enough, Stuart's gun
lay untouched in his shoulder holster. He sat back on his heels, frankly
bewildered. "How could something powerful enough to tear his throat out
just creep up on him without being seen?" He examined one of Stuart's
hands. "His nails aren't broken; his knuckles unscathed. As if he put up
no fight at all."

"Or didn't have time to," Cowley added.

"This makes no sense. Stuart was a tough man. His reflexes were honed as
fine as Macklin could make them. Why would he just stand here and let
something rip into him like this?"

"Something or someone? You're not suggesting a wild animal has a vendetta
against MI6, are you?"

Bodie looked at his superior sharply. "Obviously, a someone. A someone
with enough speed and strength to do this with, what? What was the murder
weapon, sir? Teeth, nails, a garden claw? I'm sure you'll know."

The slightest hint of a smile lightened Cowley's grim features. "Into the
car with you. We'll let them wrap things up here and await their reports."

******

The car was in motion for all of five minutes before Cowley uttered the
one word Bodie was patiently waiting for.

"Teeth."

Bodie frowned, not truly surprised, but puzzled all the same. "Human
teeth?"

"That's being debated as we speak. At least, I am assuming that the debate
will continue over Stuart's body as it has over the others. Several
learned pathologists have been called in to identify the precise causes of
these marks. Human saliva has been found in the wounds of the other three
men. It matches to each of them, and it is not theirs. Yet the pattern of
the bite marks do not fully match the human mouth. Incisors are far too
long."

"So we have, what? A person who immobilises his victims somehow, renders
them helpless, puts on a pair of false teeth and rips away as they stand
there?" Doyle shook his head. "Then what does he do with the blood? Drink
it?"

Cowley peered over his shoulder. "You have a likelier explanation?"

Bodie stretched and yawned behind his hand. "Sounds like our next move is
to put out an APB on Count Dracula, doesn't it? You think he might be
paying London a visit again? Perhaps just a distant relative of his. But
why pick on MI6? Or poor Stuart for that matter?"

"This isn't a laughing matter, 3.7," Cowley scolded.

"Believe me, sir, I'm not laughing. What provisions has Willis made to
protect his people?"

"They're off the street, travelling in pairs. He's moved their
accommodations around. Other departments, including ours as much as
possible are picking up assignments. We can't place a guard on every one,
though. Still, it's reasonable to assume our murderer will try again."

"Where are we going?" Only Doyle had apparently been paying attention to
his surroundings as they travelled west on the Strand.

"Buckingham Palace."

"What?"

Cowley did not quite hide his amusement at their joint reaction to his
announcement. Nor did he comment on the glances that flew from one to the
other. He allowed that morsel to sink in for several heartbeats, then
continued as if uninterrupted. "The Minister has been making arrangements
for special inquiries on this particular assignment. We are going to see
to it that everything is properly organised, and render our assistance."

"What sort of special inquires, sir?"

"That will become more apparent later, Bodie."

Doyle finally erupted. He'd been doing a slow burn since uncovering
Stuart's crumpled body. "So we get to play twenty questions with you while
some maniac is tearing people apart, is that it? How the hell are we
supposed to be responsible for this case when someone else already is, and
you won't even..."

"You're not." Cowley's calm reply sliced right through Doyle's rant.

"We're...not. I don't under..."

"I am. Directly answerable to the Minister 24 hours a day until this is
resolved. You are my hopefully able assistants, but *I *am the primary
investigator. It is *my* responsibility to see the case solved, and to
work unstintingly with the person being asked to inquire directly. Any
further questions, 4.5?"

He knew when he was beaten and slumped back against the upholstery. "No
sir."

"Good."

******

The ride to Buckingham Palace was notable for its silence. Cowley chose to
impart nothing else and neither man was willing to risk further questions.
The driver had no comment to make. They stopped and gave their business at
the front gate, then proceeded through to the imposing front entrance.
Cowley gave no indication that this was out of the ordinary, and his
agents kept their tongues still. Neither could have pretended to be blasé
about this amazing turn of events, and saw no reason to act otherwise. It
was time to place their trust in their leader and keep still about it.

If Cowley noticed their joint decision to offer him their full support, he
took it as his due. They were announced at the door as if they were
visiting nobility, then ushered deep into the shadows of the Palace. Doyle
shook his head, then tried to commit every detail of what he saw to
memory. His mother would kill him if he didn't.

Bodie noted his preoccupation, and smiled encouragingly. He had no one to
impress, other than the two who stood beside him, but he was always
willing to help out where Doyle's family was concerned. His mum had taken
Bodie under her wing, and it was a comfortable place to be. Besides, he
was better at embellishing a tale for ladies than Doyle was.

They found themselves led into an old-fashioned chamber in a presumably
less travelled area of the Palace, and offered refreshments. They took
their cue from Cowley, who refused everything. Moments later all three
stood; Cowley with unfeigned respect, Bodie and Doyle in stupefied
astonishment.

The Queen Mother came over to greet them.

******

It was hard not to fidget like an ill-mannered schoolboy. Doyle did his
best, and for once envied his partner his military training. Bodie looked
like he could stand at parade rest until Hell froze over, in perfect ease.
Even his clothing dared not crease or wrinkle. Not so himself, Doyle
reflected. He probably came off as a ragamuffin cockney child, here by
blind chance. Upon further consideration, that was quite appropriate. It
was what he was.

If the Queen Mother even noticed him, he had no clue. She'd been engaged
in quiet private conversation with Cowley for nearly a quarter of an hour.
He had been correct, attentive, and apparently at ease, though Doyle would
have bet he was no more familiar with the halls of the mighty than
himself. From their position, nothing could be overheard. He directed his
attention once more to standing still.

After an eternity of waiting, the Queen Mother and Cowley finally rose
from their seats. Their Controller motioned them forward, then took Queen
Mary's hand and kissed it, bowing deeply. They were dismissed.

Once they were outside, Cowley indicated that they drive themselves. "A
car has been called to take me back to Headquarters. You two are to
proceed directly to Portsmouth. You will meet the Hovercraft at midnight,
and pick up our guest. A lady will be arriving from France, travelling
under the name of Eleanor Genet. She will be expecting you. Please bear in
mind at all times that she is a most honoured guest of the Crown. You are
not to trouble her with questions, but do answer any she might have for
you. You are to transport her forthwith to the Tower of London, where I
will be waiting for you. Do you understand?"

They didn't, of course, but neither said so. Theirs not to reason why...
They climbed into the front seat of the Ford Granada and Bodie prepared to
fire up the ignition.

Cowley leaned into Doyle's open window, weighing his last words to them,
"Be sure to treat her exactly as you treated the Queen Mother. No
differently. Is that clear? Then, be off with you. I'll meet you at the
Tower."

******

*Chapter One*

At this late hour, few were weathering the Channel crossing. Customs were
nearly deserted. Scattered family groups awaited their arrivals with an
air of stolid resignation. It was quite cold.

A few moments after midnight, the Hovercraft pulled into dock, its mighty
engines slowing to a roar over the water. Disembarkation proceeded with
all due haste; everyone, it seemed, wanted to get out and along to their
final destination.

All but one. Bodie scanned the crowd repeatedly, but one after another
person got taken in hand by waiting friends, relatives or colleagues. No
lone females appeared. He cursed briefly; they didn't even have an idea of
what she looked like. They could find themselves here half the night
looking for a stranger. It was not an appealing prospect.

The crew began leaving as well. He couldn't take any more. Catching
Doyle's eye, he intersected with one of the hostesses, for once all
business. "Might you have noticed a lady travelling in from France, all
alone? We're supposed to be meeting her here."

"Name?" The woman was tired.

"Eleanor Genet."

"Her. She's coming. Takes her time, that one, when she wants to. Just hold
on a bit."

They wound up waiting until nearly twelve-thirty. All but the cleaning
crew had left by the time she came up the ramp into the now deserted
station. There would not be another departure until the morning. It had to
be her, something about her air of grace and nonchalance.

She was of medium height, very slender build, in a black trench coat. High
heeled full black leather boots, a black silk scarf about her neck, and a
large brimmed, veiled hat completed the ensemble. Oddly enough the effect
was not dour. She might have been a Hollywood movie star travelling
incognito. The entire outfit and everything else about her fairly shouted
of money.

Or was it power? Bodie was suddenly uncertain, and knew that even if the
waiting area had been crowded to capacity instead of empty, he still would
have found himself staring at her. If only to catch a glimpse of her face.

She strode over to them purposefully. "Gentlemen?" Imperiously, she raised
one leather-gloved hand.

Bodie took it immediately, bowed, and brought it to his lips. He
straightened with extra effort, barely resisting the urge to salute. He
caught Doyle looking at him curiously, but paid it no mind. He had no idea
who she was, but if her bearing was any indication, Cowley had done well
to warn them to treat her like a queen.

Doyle was slouched against a pillar, making no move to change position
yet. Either he had not heard the same message Bodie had, or he was
deliberately choosing to ignore it. Bad, that. He couldn't imagine her
tolerating it. Part of him wanted to thump his sarky partner on the head,
the other moved to defend the little bastard. This one could eat him alive
if they weren't careful.

She was nothing if not direct. "Are you here to escort me to the Tower?"
she demanded, looking right at Doyle.

"Yes indeed, ma'am, if you are Madame Genet." Bodie murmured, running
interference.

Her eyes never left Doyle. "Then stand up straight when I am talking to
you. If you ever behave with such ill grace in my presence again I will
have you removed from this mission at once. Do you understand?" The voice
was deadly soft, utterly cold.

Wide green eyes met veiled dark ones. He straightened right up, chagrined,
looking for all the world like a schoolboy chastised by a headmistress.
"Beg pardon, ma'am."

"You are excused, this once. Now, collect my bags while this gentleman
shows me to the car." There was just enough of an inflection on
'gentleman' to make Bodie doubly glad he had seen fit not to test her.
This one would overlook nothing. He offered his arm to her and they
proceeded forward without a backward glance.

The car had been left directly in front, a perk of being CI5. Bodie opened
the passenger side at the rear, but the lady forestalled him. "I should
like to sit in the front." He opened the correct door and helped her in
without comment. Doyle loaded her bags into the boot and wordlessly took
the back seat. Bodie slid in on the driver's side next to her.

It was his first opportunity to really take a look at her, albeit sideways
as he started the engine. Her veiled features were regular, possibly
beautiful, though it was hard to be sure. He was dying to see her eyes.
They had possessed enough authority to cow Doyle, not an easy thing to do.
Even their boss had trouble with that at times.

As if on cue, she removed her hat, put her gloves inside it, and ran long
thin fingers through straight, shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair. She
*was* beautiful. She had the kind of ageless perfection of line and form
that once more reminded him of a movie star. High cheekbones, large eyes,
wide mouth, silky hair... She could be thirty, or fifty. He had no idea.

He still couldn't tell the colour of her eyes, but could feel their power
whenever she glanced his way. It was unnerving. Hairs prickled along the
backs of his arms as he pulled onto the main road. That was ridiculous;
she was still just a woman. He decided on a little light conversation.
After all, even royalty engaged in small talk with the help. "Beg pardon,
Madame Genet. Have you been to Britain recently? Your English is very
good."

A tiny smile curved her painted lips. "Actually, no. Not for many, many
years. But I did once live here for a time. Things are much different now,
I am sure. I must say, I am looking forward to seeing how much."

"Monsieur Genet must be sad to be left behind. Will he be joining you
later?" he ventured.

The smile widened. "You wouldn't be trying to flirt with me would you,
Mr....eh? Or is it interrogate?"

"Bodie, ma'am. Just Bodie. Well, a lady as lovely as yourself must be used
to poor blokes like me. No offence meant."

"None taken. As to your question, I have been a widow for many years."

The silences were companionable now. Bodie occasionally pointed out some
landmarks that could be seen by night. It was well over an hour's drive,
but the lady seemed quite alert; considerably more than Bodie felt. Doyle
never said a word. Bodie did check once to see if he was even still awake
in the back seat. He was staring out the window, so Bodie said nothing.

The lights into London grew with the traffic. She asked more questions
about their surroundings, which was a good thing, because the strain of
driving as well as being awake for so long was beginning to tell on him.
They had turned onto the Victoria Embankment, heading east towards the
Tower when out of the blue her next question brought him up short.

"Do you know why the Queen Mother asked me to come here?"

He answered as honestly as he could. "Not really, ma'am. We've been told
the specifics of the case we are assigned to, but not why it was deemed
necessary to send for your specialised assistance. Nor would anyone
explain what that was when we asked about it."

"Is that why your young friend is so morose? He thinks his precious time
is being wasted by a lot of foolish secretaries?"

He glanced back at Doyle, who was sitting ramrod straight in his seat now.
"Perhaps. It might be best to ask him that directly."

"Why? You probably know him better than he knows himself."

How she had come to that conclusion, Bodie dared not even guess.

******

Neither man had ever been inside the Tower of London at night. It was
unearthly in the moonlight. The great walls were more imposing, the
battlements more threatening. The grey stone took on a silver sheen that
reminded Doyle all too much of a graveyard. The deep silence didn't help
either. Three rows of gates were each opened for them by a Yeoman Warder;
a shock, since every Briton knew the gates were locked at 10 PM in the
ancient Ceremony of the Keys, much loved by tourists. No other soul seemed
around, though he knew Cowley and the Constable of the Tower had to be
nearby. There was only a light over at the entrance to the White Tower,
the oldest part of the castle complex. Bodie drove over to it and parked.
It was the correct decision, for Cowley and the Constable emerged from the
shadows to assist the lady by opening her door.

Cowley bowed as deeply as he had earlier in Buckingham Palace, and took
her proffered hand without hesitation. The Constable followed suit,
traditionally attired in scarlet tunic and hose. "Your rooms stand ready
as always, Madame," he murmured after greetings. "I am responsible for
your comfort and satisfaction during your stay. Please inform me at once
if there is anything you require."

Another Beefeater emerged from the shadow of the building and took the
luggage in hand. It was little enough, really. She'd only declared a
carryall and one suitcase, besides her purse. Doyle trailed along,
bringing up the rear of the small party entering the ancient edifice.

Part of him was utterly incredulous at this pompous display of rank and
obsequiousness; the other part was furious with Bodie for going along with
this rubbish. He'd been chatting her up right proper in the car. 'Course,
she was a looker, no doubt. But there was something unusual about his
demeanour with her. The bloody merc seemed to genuinely like her. This was
beyond Doyle's comprehension. She grated on him; had from the moment he'd
laid eyes on her, though he was hard pressed to say exactly why.

As to their assignment, he'd given up even trying to figure out what
Cowley was up to. As long as it didn't get him or Bodie looking like
Stuart, he had no choice but to play along.

He started to pay closer attention to where they were going. They had been
steadily ascending a spiral stone staircase for some minutes, then moved
down a lateral corridor. They'd bypassed the modernised parts and seemed
to be heading to an unrennovated section of the tower. Now *this* was
interesting. He knew there were areas of the Tower that had never been
opened to the general public, but had supposed they hid thoroughly mundane
modern offices. This certainly did not seem to be the case tonight. The
dust on this floor appeared untouched for decades.

Their journey ended at an ancient arched stone doorway that showed no
signs of having been unlocked for at least as long as the floor had gone
untrod upon. Straw torches hung in cobwebbed iron grates on either side of
the entrance, musty, decomposing. The Constable hastily lit them; as old
as they were, he had no trouble getting them to catch fire. Next, he
fumbled with a set of keys that looked as if they too should be in a
museum, rather than the security arrangement for one. The lady said
nothing as first one, then the other massive lock turned.

The curved paired doors themselves were wedged tight. First the Constable,
then Cowley and Bodie leant their shoulders to them. It took their
combined weight, plus the Warder and Doyle's, to finally push them all the
way open. Beyond lay cold, stale air and deeper darkness.

The lady gently but purposefully took a modern torch from Bodie's hand and
led the way inside without comment. Even with its help, the room beyond
felt Stygeian, close, dense, airless. Doyle brought up the rear again
reluctantly.

The other men must have felt the same, for there was a flurry and bustle
of activity as candles were searched for and lit. Within a few minutes the
greater dimensions of the chamber they had entered became more apparent.

It was larger than he'd expected, with the kind of vaulted ceilings one
more customarily found in the crypts of Gothic churches. As little as
Doyle knew of archaeology, he had no trouble guessing that at one time
this had been a place of sophisticated wealth and luxury. Candlestick
holders were everywhere in abundance. A large hearth lay piled with
kindling and wood; it took little more than a match to light it. In a
matter of minutes, heat and light intruded into every crevasse of the
deserted room.

Deserted? Doyle revised his hasty appraisal. Unused, certainly, and for a
very long time. But the lady moved about it without hesitation. Ancient,
exotic furnishings, silk hangings and tapestries, gilded wooden chests
abounded in the quiet spaces. He felt like a grave robber; this was surely
how they found the tombs of Egyptian pharaohs, with every utensil, every
implement ready to service its master in this life or the next. A great
curtained bed dominated one corner of the room, while the shadows beyond
it hinted of a doorway to yet another chamber.

If the mustiness disturbed her, she gave no indication of it. The
Constable and the Yeoman Warder conferred briefly with her and Cowley,
presumably to see to their future needs and wishes, then beat a hasty
retreat. Their Controller showed no sign of a similar departure, however.
As expected, Madame Genet took a seat in a carved wooden chair by the
fire, indicating that Cowley was to do likewise. Bodie moved closer, as
did Doyle himself. Time for business, though it was a hell of a time in
the morning to conduct it.

Cowley came armed with a briefcase that Doyle assumed would carry the
pertinent details of the case, nor was he proved wrong. The Controller
began sorting and displaying things at once.

"Madame, I presume you have already been familiarised with some of the
particulars of these terrible incidents? You must surely appreciate how
uncommon such occurrences are now." *As opposed to when*, Doyle silently
asked. This whole thing was taking on the aspects of a Hammer film. He was
itching to have it all laid out, even as he refused to take any of it
seriously. Only Stuart's death reminded him that ultimately it was no
lark.

Suddenly he had the full brunt of the dark lady's attention upon him. It
was enough to squeeze the breath out of him. In that instant he knew what
grated on him about her. It was simple fear.

"You knew the last victim personally, Doyle?"

His mind went blank with panic. There was nothing in the room but he and
her. There was no thought of dissembling. "Yes, ma'am. We worked on a case
together a while back. He was... very competent." Only after her eyes
moved elsewhere was he able to wonder how she had come to know his name.
Maybe Bodie had told her.

Even Cowley was not unaffected by her. He stuttered slightly as he laid
out the police photographs of the other victims before her. Of course, he
might just be embarrassed at showing such horrible sights to a lady.

Madame Genet displayed no more than clinical interest in the grisly
pictures pressed before her eyes. Of equal concern to her were the
encompassing details; the lack of witnesses, the lack of blood, the lack
of struggle. In the process of her review of the evidence, Doyle learned
that the other three victims had also been killed just after dusk, in
relatively populated areas. It was a clear pattern all right but a pattern
of what? Ghouls that went bump in the night? He refused to countenance
that.

A proper police investigation would be focusing on what assignments the
three MI6 agents had in common in the past few years, and what, and how,
Simon Stuart might have found out about a connection. If Willis didn't
like it, too bad. Time was being wasted, and other lives might be at
stake.

"That's utterly correct, Doyle. See to it first thing in the morning. That
*must* tell us who our murderer is, and what the motive is for killing
these particular men." She actually smiled.

Doyle blinked as Bodie and Cowley stared at him; he had no recollection of
speaking aloud, but since everyone was looking at him, he must have.

"And you must help him, Bodie. See that he gets no trouble from, what is
his name, Willis? If you encounter interference, you will tell Mr. Cowley.
If need be I will take care of it myself." There was just the slightest
hint of warmth in her tone, though what it meant he had no idea. "As for
you, sir, I fear you must personally defuse the menacing situation we are
facing. At first light you must go to the morgue where these poor men lay
and see to it that their rest is not disturbed. Then, at dusk all of you
shall report here and take me to the murder sites. We shall proceed from
there. For now though, you three must take your rest. There is room here,
and little enough time. Find bed spaces now and sleep. Dawn comes soon
enough for you, I fear."

******

Bodie and Doyle fell out together upon the great bed in the corner without
further ado. They lifted the covers and shook the dust off, then crawled
right in, too exhausted to care about anything else. Food would have to
wait until morning. The lady and Cowley retreated to the other chamber
just beyond. She pointed to a smaller bed in that room, then opened a door
to yet another space. Cowley did not follow her gaze there.

"You are a wise man, Mr. Cowley. Sleep well. The sun will rouse you here
soon. See to your needs and those of your men by day. I will meet you here
at sunset." Then she was gone.

Echoing in his mind for several minutes were her detailed instructions on
how the MI6 men and Stuart were to be disposed of in the morning, that
their rest might not be disturbed. They were not far from what he had
expected. But he could not keep his eyes open for long. The instructions
sunk deeply in whilst he slept. All that stayed at the level of the
surface was his surprise at how sweetly Doyle and Bodie were sleeping in
each other's arms in the bed beyond.

******

No trace of that tender intimacy survived the first cold rays of a bleak
dawn, Cowley noted with some relief. As she had predicted, all three awoke
with a start, chilled, rumpled and hungry. He decided that hot food, warm
showers and a quick change of clothing took precedence over all else, and
directed Bodie thus once in the car.

"Find the time to pack a bag or two today, lads. We'll be staying in these
accommodations until everything is in order. I have Stuart's last report
with me; that may save you some steps, though I can't say that anything
jumped out at me when I read it. I was as shocked as any at his death."

"Perhaps he himself didn't understand the significance of something he'd
heard or seen," Doyle suggested. "Something that his killer didn't want to
wait for him to piece together. Still, if the pieces are there..."

"But how did the killer even know that Stuart was assigned to the murders?
Seems to me that suggests either an inside job or a security leak, " Bodie
opined.

Cowley shook his head. "I hate to bring it up in the light of day, but you
might as well hear this directly from me now. Normally I'd agree with you,
Bodie, but how did Madame Genet know what Doyle was thinking last night?
How did she tell me without words what I must do this morning? You're not
stupid; you must know she has been brought over to help in this case
because... because of what she is. She is what the other one is. You
*know* that."

Silence. The car's wheels turned wetly on the damp pavement, grey with the
first signs of day. It was Doyle who finally could stand it no more. "I
can't accept that," he offered, not belligerently. "Can you, Bodie?
Believe what's being suggested here? You don't believe in anything without
evidence, you said. What evidence is there?"

Bodie shifted uncomfortably. "Evidence. Where's Stuart's blood, then? I
don't understand any of this, but it doesn't hurt to keep an open mind,
does it? What might help us sir, is if you could tell us something more
about Madame Genet. Brought over at the request of the Queen for this
case... has her own little old digs at the Tower... what connection is
there between her and the Crown? Surely, that might give answer to some of
Doyle's misgivings about this business."

"I can't say, 3.7. I truly can't; it isn't permitted. Either she must tell
you herself, or you must draw your own conclusions based on what you see
and hear. Of course, you will keep all of it to yourself in either case."
Cowley considered the instructions he had received for this morning. "What
I *can* do is take you with me to the morgue, show you what must be done,
let you see that for yourself. Then we'll tackle MI6 and Willis together.
Best I can do, lads."

******

No one had anything of consequence to add since they'd consumed a hasty
breakfast on the road and stopped briefly at Headquarters to perform their
ablutions and change. The morgue was empty at this very early hour. They
followed Cowley's lead back into a private holding area apart from the
rest of the facility. He picked up a suitcase at the very entrance to the
room that had apparently been left for him and motioned them along.

Once inside it became apparent that this was a morgue within a morgue. The
four corpses they had come to view lay side by side, covered only with
white sheets. Their investigations had evidently been concluded, but no
move had been made to place the bodies back into refrigeration. Yet, there
was little stench other than the usual chemical odours of such places.
Oddly enough, it was hard to tell which was the earliest corpse versus the
latest. Neither man commented on that.

Doyle might make light of Hammer films, but he had seen damned near all of
them as a kid. He had a pretty good idea what happened next and his own
queasiness appalled him. Just the thought... he brought himself up short.
If the Cow could do it, and Bodie could stand there at ease, so could he.
It was bound to be ugly, but he'd seen worse. At least these poor bastards
wouldn't feel a thing.

He hoped. Suddenly, he was not really sure.

Cowley pulled back the sheets from all four. They lay like some odd
brotherhood in death, ghastly pale, identical tears in each bloodless
throat. He motioned his agents closer and opened the suitcase. Four wooden
stakes and a mallet lay within, along with a surgical hacksaw and four
bulbs of garlic.

Doyle gasped despite himself. "Is this really necessary? Surely, they've
been all hacked up from the autopsies. That ought to be enough."

"Not quite, Doyle. The autopsies were specifically designed to determine
the cause of death and rule out other factors. Since the causes were
fairly evident, no removal of internal organs was necessary."

Bodie examined the nearest corpse. "You did already mention that drugs and
such were ruled out with laboratory work. So they did look hard enough to
be quite sure..."

"They did. Right, let's get this over with." Cowley positioned the first
stake over the heart of the nearest corpse, took steady aim, and drew back
on the mallet. A second later it sank in halfway, then, with the next
stroke, all the way through. Between the two blows came a gurgling scream
that went through Doyle and left him shaking.

"Oh, Jesus, he was still alive!"

Bodie stared at him with a cold eye. "With all his blood gone and half his
throat exposed to daylight for a week? Don't be so daft." Exasperated, he
took the next stake out of the kit himself and held it in place so that
Cowley could swing with both hands. It made the next one faster, though no
quieter.

Doyle knew he should try to help, as Bodie was, but could barely hold
himself in place. The urge to flee this dreadful scene and never return
was all consuming.

Bodie swung the mallet himself on the next one, powerful, economical in
motion. It was over before silence returned to the room. There was but one
left to do. It was Stuart. The other two men were looking at him, eyes
grim, demanding. He could not... he could not...

He stared at Stuart before him. There was not the slightest sign of life.
No colour, no blood, no pulse. He touched the shoulder nearest him and
looked directly into the deepest part of the wound. Colder than winter
ground, the edges of the wound were stiff and raw. There was no way the
man he had fought beside could still be here, frozen in this battered
clay. Whatever Stuart had been was long gone. It had to be.

Still, his hands shook as he took the mallet from Bodie's hand. His
partner silently offered to hold the stake in place, but Doyle grasped it
as well. He feared to miss and hit Bodie with a glancing blow. This way,
he would *have* to steady his nerves to do the job properly. Really, it
wasn't as if he was killing someone. Not like pulling a trigger on a
living, breathing human being, which he'd done often enough.

He pulled back and struck once with all his might.

At first he thought that not hearing another horrible scream was a boon.
Then he saw Stuart's face. The eyes were open, sane, warm, alive. They
probed right into his and smiled. The lips moved with the faintest of
whispers. "Ta, mate." Then the eyes glazed over once more, this time in
true death. The features relaxed and froze in place again. Doyle dropped
the mallet nervelessly to the ground even as it rose up to meet him, to
envelop him in welcome darkness.

He came to on the floor, curled in the warmth and safety of Bodie's arms.
They had never felt so strong, so secure. He trembled, then gradually got
up the nerve to meet his partner's eyes. So, he was a right prat, but
after all, this sort of thing didn't happen every day, did it?

Bodie's deep blue gaze was warm with concern. "Lay still a minute, old
son. No need to go anywhere just yet." His arms tightened reassuringly
around Doyle's middle, pressing his face back into the curve of his neck.

The grating sound in the background made Doyle suddenly realise why Bodie
was being so solicitous. Cowley was still busy.

They waited on the floor together until Cowley turned, his sleeves rolled
up, to wash his hands at the sink. He'd laid the hacksaw off in a corner
of the room and the mallet inside the suitcase. Their sheets neatly
covered the dead men. An electric light bulb swung aimlessly from the
ceiling. Everything was in order once more.

It was surreal. But, no dammit, he'd seen it. It was real. It was just...
real. And there was no point in going on about it like a Victorian virgin
dashing through a darkened castle with her candle flickering and her
nightie flowing. He might as well get up and stop making an ass of himself
before Bodie refused to ever let him live it down. At least the good news
was that neither Bodie nor Cowley could ever tell anyone about it either.

"It's a bit early in the day, but I'd say we've earned a wee dram later.
Come on, let's get out of here." Cowley actually helped him to his feet.
"It's all right, lad. The first time is quite difficult, no matter what
anyone says, or thinks they believe."

"First time?" Bodie's face was shuttered now, but his eyes never left his
Controller's. "You've seen this before."

"Aye, lad. You think I read the Sunday lessons for nothing? It was during
the war, in Eastern Europe. Once you know a thing is possible, well, it
changes everything, doesn't it? Some things you never forget." He turned
away. "Still, it's best not spoken of these days. Let's go."

Cowley drove, leaving the back seat to them. It was time to pay a visit to
MI6, then back to Headquarters. There was still much to be set into
motion. First, the funeral arrangements for these unfortunate men. Their
families would be given a polite fiction, and a proper send-off.
Nonetheless, cremation would be insisted upon. Communicable disease, or
some such excuse.

The day's initial cloudiness had given way to a gloriously clear blue sky.
That lifted Bodie's spirits considerably. A blue sky, fresh, clear air,
the swell of the Thames; these were the things he'd never had trouble
comprehending. He didn't need, or care for, weighty explanations for the
natural world his senses brought to him. What passed for magic in one
generation was bound to be exploited by the next. He'd seen Uzis in the
hands of tribesmen whose fathers had hunted with bows and arrows. All that
mattered was how he dealt with what he could see. And he'd seen right off
that Madame Genet was not like anyone he'd ever encountered. This
morning's little demonstration had clinched it. It didn't mean he had to
accept the standard, orthodox explanation for such events; it just meant
that there was no point in denying the events themselves. He wasn't about
to join Cowley's church, but he sure as hell would take whatever advice
the old man could give on how to fight these creatures. He'd leave Doyle
to examine the philosophical permutations of their situation.

He glanced over at his still pale partner. The bionic golly had taken it
hard; wouldn't do for him to go off the deep end and join a monastery
after this was over. Bodie reached over and impulsively squeezed a bony
knee. "You okay?"

Mysterious green eyes that always reminded him of a prowling backyard
tom's met his. They were hooded, deep in thought, but reacting to his
concern. "Yeah, I guess." He brushed back a stray auburn curl from his
forehead. "Still can't believe it; it's so fuckin' fantastic, y'know?"

"You could say that; threw me, it did."

"Did it? You stood there, so dammed cool and precise, like you'd just
finished reading the sections in the training manual on it." Doyle strove
to keep his tone light, but Bodie was not fooled.

"Habit, I suppose. When in doubt, act as if you know what to do. The
fiction becomes the fact. First law of soldiery. Fake it until you make
it. Never let them see your weak points. They might be on the other side
someday, and remember them."

Bodie shared his unwritten mercenary code with no one as a rule. Doyle
stared intently, then murmured, "But you show me things sometimes. Like
now, about yourself." His voice almost sounded pleading.

Like a raw recruit looking for reassurance. Bodie grinned. The poor sod
really *was* shaken up. "Course I do. You're me mate. Whole other thing,
you see. You already know how perfect I am, so there's no harm in
reminding you at times that I am still only human."

As expected, Doyle snorted.

******

*Chapter Two*

MI6 was in a state of siege. An untrained observer could have seen that
there was something amiss. Gone was the cheerful bustle, the calm
orderliness typical of a large government office building in the morning.
There were too many security personnel in the hallways. People were quiet,
tense, scurrying about with minimal interaction. Too many eyes followed
their movements as they made their way down the corridor towards the
office of the MI6 Controller.

Far too many eyes followed them in. Cowley refrained from cursing under
his breath. He'd never thought of Willis as a coward, but this sort of
nonsense got right up his nose. The man ought to be out and about, seeking
answers, following leads, not cowering behind his desk, waiting for Cowley
to clean his doorstep for him. It was disgraceful.

Too preoccupied to even pick up on Cowley's annoyance, Willis ushered them
right in after his secretary announced them. A hasty sideways glance at
Bodie was the only acknowledgement he gave of the last time they'd all
met. There was nothing on Bodie's smooth features to give any indication
that Willis even existed, much less that this man had tried to frame him
for murder and kill him. Cowley's humour returned; if Bodie could present
Willis with a placid demeanour, so could he.

"Gentlemen?" He indicated seats for all. "I've compiled a list of
everything that Stuart looked at while he was here. Terribly sorry about
that business. He was a good man. Family?"

"Taken care of," Cowley replied shortly. "I must take the liberty of
making arrangements for your men too. They must all be cremated."

Doyle made himself handy by reaching for the folder on Willis' desk. "May
I?"

"Please." His attention was fixed on Cowley. "Cremated. By order of..."

"The Home Secretary, and if need be, the Prime Minister."

Willis' mouth opened, then shut again without sound. "Then it is... as
serious as that."

"I'm afraid so."

"There's no doubt?"

"None. I made sure of it myself this morning."

The man's face greyed visibly. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened.
"I've seen many strange things in my time, but I never expected to have to
deal with anything like this."

It was on the tip of Cowley's tongue to point out that Willis was, in
fact, not dealing with anything. He bit it back. That was none of his
concern. He needed this man's co-operation. "Indeed. Few have. It would be
problematic enough if we had a rogue stalking citizens at random through
our streets at night. For a security agency to be so targeted is unheard
of. Still, that must certainly be our best lead. Whoever this is must have
some connection to your department. And since the murdered men were not
recently assigned together, nor were they apparently targets of
convenience, we must begin where Stuart left off. I've read his latest
report, dated two days ago. He'd examined the bodies, but was at a loss to
explain what had happened to them. Has anything more recent than that come
to light, something that had him excited?"

"He'd requested a computer search with some specific parameters listed on
Tuesday. I er... was hesitant at the time to fill the request, as you
might well imagine. We discussed it, and I'd told him I would give him my
answer in a day or so. I'd planned on clearing it with the Minister first,
you see."

Cowley sighed. "So he *did* suspect what we are dealing with? And you were
unsure how far your authority extended to disclose anything further?"

"Exactly. He'd requested a list of people that might have died at the
hands of MI6, either directly or indirectly, in the past five years; here
at home or abroad, who might have had some connection to East Germany,
Poland, Czechoslovakia, Romania, Yugoslavia or Hungary. A tall order,
considering the scope of his request. Nearly the entire Warsaw Pact. Quite
a lot to investigate."

"But narrowed, surely, by cross-referencing that list with the involvement
of the dead agents. He was right on, of course. We'll need that data as
quickly as possible. How soon can you have it available?"

Willis hesitated, but only for a moment. "I don't need to tell you what a
fiasco it would be for this sort of information to reach the light of day.
We are, after all, essentially at war with those governments. You might as
well ask for the names of all the former Nazi sympathisers amongst the
nobility."

The Controller of CI5 chuckled. "I already have that list. Of course, I
appreciate your concern for national security, and needless to say, I
share it, or else the Minister would not have entrusted this investigation
to me. You understand, however, that formal police detection is a task
better suited to my lot. At this point we can't be sure if a hostile
government is behind this or not. We must assume that is at least a
likelihood."

"Which brings us to our next avenue of investigation," Bodie cut in
smoothly. "Why Stuart was killed by the same party or parties responsible
for the deaths of your men. How many people here knew what he was doing?"

"Myself, my secretary, the lead investigator within our own department,
perhaps a few others, but not many. He'd only just started working with
Davison last week."

"Where's Davison now?" Doyle asked, waving the folder he'd been perusing.
"According to this, they'd already checked out two of the victims' most
recent assignments and were planning on interviewing in regards to the
third death. Seems they were looking internally. The first victim, one
John Leeds, was on duty at the time, staking out a possible KGB agent when
he got it. No one should have even known he was there. His body was found
by the stake out relief in the morning."

Willis nodded. "It was logical to conclude after he was found that his
death was related to the assignment he was on. Not that it made any sense.
Routine surveillance work and all that. Still, it was the only
explanation. We continued to tail the KGB man and picked him up right on
schedule. He never even knew he was under suspicion, much less that
someone had been killed while watching him. If the killings are related to
the Eastern Bloc, it's not someone who gives a damn about KGB activity,
one way or the other."

"And then the next man, Walter Campbell, was on holiday. Coming back from
shopping at Harrods. Hadn't been on active service for over a week.
Probably knew nothing about Leeds' death. And there was no reason for
anyone to even know what his location was. So how did our killer find out?
Was someone tailing him?"

Cowley pursed his lips. "And so, Stuart and Davison were gearing up to
check out the third fellow's death, eh? Then Stuart gets it. I'd say we'd
better have a talk with Davison sooner rather than later. Where is he?"

Willis pushed the intercom button on his desk. At the return beep, he
parlayed their request for Davison to join them post-haste. "He did know
about Stuart's murder last evening, of course. We all did. We talked
briefly about it and I suggested he gather his notes on the case as
quickly as possible, since I was fairly sure the Minister would do what he
did. I'm surprised he hasn't been by with them already."

"Has anyone seen him since last night?" Bodie wanted to know.

"I don't know." Willis got back on the intercom with more urgency. After a
few minutes it became clear that he had not been seen yet in the building
this morning. He rang the man's phone number, but received no answer.

"What's his address?" Cowley demanded. "We need to speak with him at
once."

Back in the car, Cowley reviewed the folder from Willis while Bodie drove.
"He might be trying to continue the investigation on his own, or might
have already started to look into the third victim, one Peter Jenks, as
scheduled. But why not show up this morning and turn over what he knew?"

Since the answer was obvious, no one said it aloud. What Doyle did ask of
no one in particular was whether Willis could be trusted to clean house
thoroughly in the event that there was an internal leak. That reply was
obvious as well, and likewise went unanswered.

They pulled up to the address given them in Chelsea with a distinct sense
of foreboding. Davison's house had a garage and in its driveway a car
stood parked. Either he'd merely stayed home for reasons of his own and
chose not to answer the phone, or... 

Doyle sprinted around to the back as Bodie and Cowley took their time
getting up the front steps to the door. There was no sign of activity
within. The shrill ring of the doorbell brought no response, nor did a
succession of loud knocks. Estimating that Doyle had had enough time to
cover the back, Bodie slipped the first lock and made short work of the
second with a master key. There was still a chain to deal with, but a
swift kick settled that. They were in.

He knew better than to underestimate Cowley, but Bodie still wished it
were Doyle at his side, covering his moves with their perfect attunement.
His gun drawn, he made his way cautiously from side to side, watching for
even a hint of motion, a warning sound, a flash of something untoward.
Cowley stayed right with him, equally prepared. They covered the entire
main floor without incident; Cowley met Doyle at the back as Bodie
prepared to check the second floor. There was no cellar to concern
themselves with.

Doyle caught up and covered Bodie's ascent, spot by spot. Still, nothing
marred the house's eerie quiet. By the time Bodie had reached the top of
the landing, Doyle's gut senses were turning sour.

They found him lying face down upon his own rumpled bed, his body nude and
still wet from his morning shower. Someone had blown the back of his head
off.

"Well, at least it was no bloody vampire this time!" Doyle erupted after
they'd combed the room and the rest of the second floor. "I can even
manage to figure out how he got in. Nothing supernatural either." He
gestured to a broken window on the ground floor, by the kitchen."

"Indeed, 4.5. Can you also come up with a reason why the man had no
warning? Why didn't his alarm system alert him or MI6 that a break-in was
in progress?" Cowley inspected the shards of glass as if they held the
answer, but his eyes glittered.

Doyle leaned against the kitchen table and re-holstered his gun. "God damn
it to hell. Someone had to turn off the system at the source."

"MI6. Sounds like we're due for another visit there after we bag this lot.
Damn, and here I was, hoping for a decent lunch." Bodie chimed in. "So our
vampire has an accomplice or two who are equally deadly by day. Double
agents, from the look of things. Well then, what did Davison know that he
wasn't supposed to tell us?"

"That's for you to find out. Stay here and comb this place thoroughly.
I'll have Murphy take a look at his desk and files at his office. We'll
meet back at Headquarters as soon as you're both through."

"And you, sir?"

Cowley grimaced as at a sudden taste in his mouth. "I'm afraid my appetite
for lunch will have already been spoiled by having to stare at Willis
again. This time, with the Minister. Call me with any news." 

******

Lunch was a hurried affair; a few egg rolls and mixed fried rice from a
Chinese take-away, and tea. The flat where Davison died revealed nothing
save the essentials of his death. If he had had any papers with him, they
were long gone. Murphy had drawn a similar blank at his office. All they
had were the notes Willis had handed to them that morning. The other agent
sorted through them as they ate.

"So, we need to take up where Stuart and Davison left off. The untidy
murder of one Peter Jenks." Bodie turned a chair around and straddled it,
laying his chin on the back under his hands. "All we know is that he was
found not far from a pub he frequented, near his flat. He'd been seen in
the pub earlier, was reported to have left about six. Might be that
someone in the pub would have noticed a stranger that night. Suppose we
ought to check it out."

Cowley entered the mess room and shook his head. "You'll need your wits
about you tonight, Bodie. You too Doyle. We'll be up all hours with Madame
Genet." He sat on the chair Bodie had relinquished to him without a sound.
"Two teams is what we'll need. One for the daylight investigation, one for
working with Madame. No point in running everyone into the ground trying
to do both at this point. Murphy, you'll head the daylight team; pick at
least two available personnel to help you with the legwork. Certainly,
Jenks' death needs looking into. But our assassins have tipped their hand
by having to move quickly. They couldn't wait for nightfall to finish off
Davison. Therefore..."

"Therefore, this is an operation," Murphy speculated. "Some foreign agency
is behind this, no matter who they're using to do what. A mole in MI6 had
to discover whatever it was that Davison and Stuart knew or were about to
find out, then finger them to his mob. Their regular operator killed
Stuart." He stopped to wince. "Assuming you can call that regular. But
then they had to bring in backup to finish off Davison long before
sundown. The mole must have had access to the security system wired to
Davison's flat; he disengaged it so that it gave no warning."

"And that is their weak spot. Find the mole, then identify the agency, and
finally locate the vampire." Doyle concluded.

"Or vice versa," Bodie added. "Locate the vampire and unravel it all from
that end."

"Precisely, 3.7. We need to be at both ends. Murphy and his team will see
to the mole. You and Doyle will be working directly with Madame Genet. Get
home, pack your bags and return to the Tower. With any luck, you'll manage
a few hours sleep before she awakens."

"And you, sir?"

Cowley sighed. "I must be there when she rises. She'll be expecting it.
But I need to move proactively too. With all these deaths, it's hard to
stay ahead, but we must. Who is their next intended victim, and why? Would
you, if you were a powerful, hostile organisation, waste such a lethal
weapon on mere field agents?"

"Willis." Bodie and Doyle spoke together.

"Willis," Cowley concurred. "It's the only move that makes sense."

"But why kill these other men at all, then? Merely serves to warn him."

Cowley tapped his forehead abstractedly. "Perhaps that was the price of
getting the vampire's co-operation. After all, the laws of men or
political concerns as a rule do not bind these creatures. They have no
need to be. This one must be young in their world, possibly seeking
revenge for its own death. If this foreign agency somehow got wind of what
had happened to it, and offered it a partnership..."

"Kill your enemies with our help, in exchange for killing ours." Murphy
summarised. 

Bodie grinned. "What is it the Women's Libbers like to say? 'The personal
is the political'."

"Which also implies that our friend Willis is not being entirely
forthcoming with us, doesn't it? Does he know who's out to get him or
not?" Doyle demanded.

"Certainly it looked this morning as though he believes himself to be a
target. But, no, I don't think he does know who's behind it. Not yet."
Cowley straightened in his chair. "Off with you two. I'll meet you at the
Tower at six."

By the time they'd returned to the Tower, the afternoon tours were in full
swing. It was oddly reassuring to see the old castle in its more familiar
mode. Large mobs of foreign visitors gathered like children around the
scarlet clad Yeoman Warders, as those venerable guides boomed forth with
the gory details of the many royal executions that the Tower had seen.

Bodie and Doyle slipped past the crowds, unseen, and quickly found their
way to the foot of the stairs they'd taken the night before. A young
Yeoman Warder stood guard there, with a very modern pistol tucked neatly
out of sight. He perused their identity cards, then added.

"I've been told to expect you, gentlemen. I hope you'll find everything in
order upstairs. The Constable wishes to see to your needs in any way
possible. With your permission, dinner will arrive at five thirty. He
understands you'll be out and about by nightfall, but please feel free to
take all your meals here as our guests."

The Constable was apparently determined to maintain the Tower's reputation
for royal hospitality. The well lit, aired out, thoroughly cleaned
apartments they entered bore little resemblance to the dank rooms they had
vacated at dawn.

Battery lamps and Victorian furniture had been moved in, with comfortable
sofas and chairs, a dresser for clothing, and an armoire. The ancient bed
was still there, but its linens had been replaced and augmented with
thoroughly modern pillows and duvets. Most of the other medieval
furnishings had been neatly tucked away. Hitherto unseen windows opened to
the courtyard below. It was unexpectedly beautiful.

The adjoining room Cowley had slept in had likewise been transformed. An
ornate Victorian desk stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by
substantial chairs, writing materials, and more lamps. It had been set up
as the command centre. A newly installed telephone line snaked along the
walls as well.

The last room beyond remained shut off. Neither man commented on it; they
simply returned to their share of the quarters.

"We must be the most exciting thing that's happened here since the
Constable took office. Bet he loves all this." Bodie lost no time in
putting away his belongings and stretching out on the bed.

"Probably the most exciting thing that's happened in the Tower since
Rudolph Hess. Wonder if he got nice digs too."

Doyle puttered briefly, then examined a note left on the dresser. "Says
there's a modern bath and toilet on the floor below." He showed Bodie the
hand drawn map. "X marks the spot; guess they won't be sending any comely
maidens to empty our chamber pots, then. Pity. I was looking forward to
that."

"Content yourself with a real dinner, my son. They're going to feed us,
man, what more can you ask for?"

"Feed, feed, feed. That all you ever think of? You'd not make a bad
vampire, yourself."

Their bantering continued, as Doyle settled in beside his partner, but not
for long. Both were only too happy to take whatever brief hours of rest
were allotted to them. By the time they accommodated themselves to each
other in bed, they were nearly asleep.

All at once, Bodie felt Doyle stiffen beside him. "What now? Miss your
Pooh bear?"

A jade green glare deigned to respond to such rot. Instead, Doyle proposed
another question. "And once *she's* up and about, who gets to, er, feed
her? Us? Is that why Cowley sent us back early?"

"Now you're being paranoid. He needs us."

"He needs *her* more."

Bodie sighed. "I don't know what provisions he's made for her, but I
sincerely doubt if they include us being her main course. Now shut up and
go to sleep. Besides, they'll wake us before she's up and about."

"So? Think us being awake would make a difference to her?"

Exasperated, the larger man climbed out of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Doyle demanded.

For answer, Bodie went over to his clothes and retrieved a small object
from his pocket. As he returned to the bed, Doyle saw what it was: a
slender dagger with a silver hilt in the shape of a cross. Bodie plopped
down next to his partner and unsheathed the blade for his inspection. The
blade was finely carved dark wood. He pulled Doyle close in next to him on
their sides, until his chest cradled Doyle's back, his arms encircled him,
and the blade nestled in Bodie's right fist guarded Doyle's chest. "*Now*
are you satisfied?" He squeezed lightly.

"Where the hell did you get that thing?"

"Cowley."

"What? How come you get one and not me?"

"He only had one. Now shut up before you annoy Madame."

A small sound came from the general direction of his partner in reply, but
Bodie was too tired to decipher it. A few minutes later he was asleep.

Tired as he was, sleep did not come as quickly to Doyle. Something about
the scent, the nearness of his partner, his unspoken promise to protect
Doyle, left him vaguely unsettled. They'd been together a good bit longer
than most and he had no doubts about their friendship. But this seemed
like something more to him and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

He knew Bodie loved him as the merc loved no other. That had been obvious
to him for some time. He had never really explored or expressed how he
felt in return. Now, in the late afternoon quiet, he wondered why it was
suddenly so important to even think about it. Was it because of the way
*she* looked at Bodie last night? Or the way Bodie seemed to instinctively
trust her despite the great danger she represented?

*Stupid crud, *he thought at his sleeping partner. *Cowley's right. Can't
you see it's you needs protecting? Luckily for you, you've got me at your
back. And your heart. Won't let that French wolf bitch get near either
one.* 

Then Doyle slept.

 
 ******

*Chapter Three*

George Cowley rubbed his eyes. They were bleary with fatigue and not
likely to get much better as the evening wore on. At least his afternoon
meeting with Willis and the Minister had gone better than expected. Both
men had taken his concerns very seriously, especially Willis. He was
rendering Murphy all the assistance he could ask for in locating the mole.
Still, Cowley was uneasy. He liked Murphy quite a bit and worried over his
safety. Oh, he could look after himself well enough by day; so could
Stuart. Sundown was another story. The mole undoubtedly knew what was up
by now, and might well have already passed word to his organisation to
target CI5's men.

Sufficient was his concern that he called Murphy on his R/T and had the
team come back to Headquarters for the night. No one was going to be going
off alone in the dark while this investigation was on.

Including him. Cowley was not vain but he knew his worth. He arranged for
an escort with the Metropolitan Police and thanked them as they ferried
him first to one location, then dropped him off at his final destination.
The sun had already dropped its dying rays into the western sky; soon, its
reflected light would likewise fade. The air was growing colder.

The light and heat emanating from their quarters were both unexpected and
welcome. As was the fully laden table his two best agents sat before.

"Here you go, sir. Saved you some, not that that was difficult. The
Constable knows how to put out quite a spread, he does. Roast lamb,
potatoes, a nice salad, even a good burgundy. Seems they'll do us
breakfast as well, come mornings."

Bodie's cheeriness was mildly contagious and the aroma of the food
irresistible. He sat and helped himself, taking note of the altered
surroundings. "He does know how to impress his guests. Very cosy."

"Even had a telephone installed. Hope Madame doesn't mind the
redecorating. From what I could gather from the lads here, nothing had
changed in these rooms since the reign of King John, if you can believe
it." Doyle's eyes never left his face.

"I do believe it, and no, I don't mind the new look at all. Quite
pleasant. I'm glad you've been made comfortable." Three pairs of startled
eyes turned to the woman standing in the doorway. Cowley made to rise, but
she forestalled him. "No, sir. Sit and eat. You've taken no rest today,"
she rebuked mildly. "Take it now. These young men-at-arms can tell me what
has transpired since this morning."

Doyle had already risen to give the lady his seat, taking careful note of
her appearance. She was indefinably younger than she'd seemed the previous
night, nor was it a trick of clothing or makeup. Her dark eyes were as
hypnotically powerful as before, her pale skin translucent. She was
unquestionably beautiful. Her natural coldness and hauteur diminished
somewhat when she spoke to Cowley. Despite himself, Doyle liked that. He
took it upon himself to brief her up to the point where they had separated
from the Controller.

By that time, Cowley had done justice to a good portion of his meal and
was able to take up what little remained of the narrative. "And so, we've
got every agent accounted for, under wraps, and not one left alone. Willis
too."

"Our own as well, sir?" Bodie enquired. He too was fond of Murphy.

"Yes indeed. Our lads were off the street by sundown and bunkered in at
HQ. They should be safe enough until morning."

The lady nodded her approval. "This traitor, the mole as you call him,
does he know about me, do you think?"

The Controller shook his head, smiling. "Only myself, these men and
Murphy, the Constable, and the Minister know anything at all. Neither
Willis nor anyone else at either squad has heard about you. Of course,
Their Majesties, since they called upon you, have the most thorough
knowledge."

"That will change after tonight," she replied soberly. "In order to draw
the other one out, I must make my presence known. A challenge must be
issued. I had not anticipated there being mortal accomplices who might
stalk me by day. I shall reply upon you to guard my rest, Sir George."

His face actually pinked slightly, much to the secret amusement of his
agents. "Merely Mr. Cowley, Madame. I have never been knighted."

"A foolish formality from a different age, sir. The function is all, and
the function you fill for me here is every inch that of a man I have been
accustomed to calling 'sir.' Considerably more so than those who receive
such titles these days for writing silly love songs. Bear with my old
fashioned manners, I pray you."

He bowed gravely. "Madame, the honour is mine. Your rest will be as secure
as it is possible for us to arrange."

He got up stiffly; his men realised that his leg was acting up due to
fatigue. "I have been remiss in my manners. I have something for you,
Madame."

She smiled. "I know. I was in no hurry. Thank you, sir." He retrieved a
small leather satchel and handed it to her as Bodie and Doyle exchanged
glances. No one said a word as she retreated back to her room. "I shall
return in a moment. Please find us several horses. I assume you can ride?"

"Horses?" Even Cowley was taken aback.

"I hate automobiles. And for what I must see and sense and send forth, a
horse is more suitable."

He bowed again slightly. "As you wish, Madame. There are stables on these
grounds. It should not prove difficult to arrange." He did not add that
his leg might preclude his accompanying her. He'd once loved to ride, as a
young man, but it had been a long time since it had been tolerable for
more than the briefest of occasions. Instead, he made the necessary phone
call and poured himself a stiff drink from the bottle left by the
Constable's men.

When she re-emerged from her room, her eyes were thoughtful. "May I have a
word with you in private, Sir George? I believe we are almost ready, but
there is one thing we must take care of." She picked up his empty glass
and filled it, taking it with her as he followed without comment.

"Horses? In the middle of downtown London at dusk? She wasn't joking when
she said they'd know all about her after tonight. Christ, what a target!"
Doyle fumed.

"What target? She has nothing to fear from them by night, any of them, I
suspect. Nor do we, so long as we're in her presence."

"Think so? What, their agents can't shoot at us after dark? Not allowed?"

"Unlikely they'll be out and about. Can you imagine they trust their own
vampire all that much? We'll be safe enough, sunshine. Madame knows what
she's doing, I'll wager."

"You..." Whatever Doyle might have gone on to say was mercifully cut short
by Cowley's re-emergence with Madame Genet at his side. Sufficient was the
change in their Controller that it knocked his other line of thought clear
out of Doyle's head. He was carrying the empty Scotch glass carelessly,
his hands steady, his eyes bright and clear. No trace of either pain or
fatigue remained in his demeanour. He looked younger, stronger.

"Ready, lads?" He assisted Madame with her cloak, then, without waiting
for a reply, followed her out and down the stairs. There was a bounce to
his step Doyle had never seen.

It took but a few minutes for their mounts to be readied. The Constable
himself saw to it. The sky was dark now, though faint traces of light
lingered briefly in the west. The horses were fine beasts, and ordinarily
Doyle enjoyed riding. But tonight he felt an odd tingling up his spine.
The scene was somehow disturbing, unearthly, as though a much older London
that slept by day was now awaiting them, perhaps with unpleasant
surprises. Cowley took the lead past the opened gates, with the lady at
his side.

"Any particular direction, Madame?" her escort asked. "Perhaps we could
start at the site of the latest murder. It's not far from here; just a few
blocks over to Watling Street."

She nodded her approval and they were off.

They passed along Cannon Street in the early evening gloom. What
pedestrians there were seemed to take scant notice of them. Fortunately,
the weekend was upon them, so the usual dense financial traffic was at a
minimum. Madame Genet looked this way and that, evidently enjoying the
sights. Doyle had to admit it was a novel experience to view the City this
way. He was comfortable enough in his boots, jeans and jumper beneath his
leather jacket, but he doubted if his fashionably attired partner was
equally warm. As for Cowley in his thin business suit...

Well, he had to admit, the old man worried him, but for an entirely
different reason than that. He was altogether too spry, not to mention
nearly ebullient as he showed off the sights to his companion and
commented upon them. She was dressed in black, as usual, but loose fitting
wool trousers covered her boots and her cloak draped her upper half quite
warmly. Not that he supposed she needed the protection. Merely looking at
her gave him goose bumps.

They arrived at the Bow Lane site within a few minutes. It was still
cordoned off with yellow tape, though all other signs of the horror there
had long disappeared. At least to the naked eye. The lady dismounted and
went directly to the spot where Stuart's body had lain. She stood
motionless for some seconds, eyes shut. Doyle had the impression she was
listening to something at first, then saw the tip of her nose quiver ever
so slightly. It hit him that she was concentrating on some elusive scent
too subtle for any human nose. No sooner had that occurred to him than he
realised what Bodie had already tried to tell him; she could have heard
everything they'd said, back at the Tower.

Then again, if Cowley was right, she could probably hear what they were
thinking as well. He couldn't help but wonder what the range of her
abilities were, quite as if she was some deadly long-range rifle here for
his inspection. Would the other one be equally endowed? He wondered how to
ask without angering her.

She turned and looked right through him, leaving him as shaken as before.
Clear as his own thoughts, perhaps even more distinct, came her answer.
*The other one is very young and has had no formal rearing by one of our
kind. She has no idea what she can do yet, which is well for you, else you
would have already met her.*

"Her?"

Bodie and Cowley stared at him.

She spoke aloud too. "Indeed. Our range of suspects can be narrowed a bit.
A woman who favours Continental perfume, that much is sure."

"That *will* narrow it down." Cowley immediately lifted his R/T and
transmitted the news to Murphy at HQ. "Anything else, Madame?"

She shook her head and remounted. "Not here. Let us move on. Perhaps one
of the other murder scenes will hold more clues."

 Cowley consulted his notes. "Closest to our present location would be the
place where the first man, John Leeds, was killed. He was engaged in a
routine surveillance operation in a flat in Islington, near City
University."

They turned north on Bow Lane, then west, up Newgate Street. It was not
far in miles, but the lady was in no hurry. She seemed to be directly
imbibing the City with all her senses. Traffic slowly curled around them,
yet she paid it no mind. As before, Cowley attempted a running commentary,
showing her what had changed since the war.

She smiled at one point. "You really ought to thank the Germans for...
what do the Americans call it? Urban renewal? I've never seen London so
clean and well ordered."

"There was a price." Cowley's voice was strained. "Most of the City
churches had to be rebuilt. We nearly lost St. Paul's. The East End has
yet to recover. Paris was luckier by far."

"Perhaps. Paris suffered in its own way. You were not occupied." She did
not belabour the point. Beneath its modern trappings, it was an ancient
argument and they both knew it.

Islington bore no resemblance to what it looked like before the war, which
was the thrust of her earlier comment. It had been a well-known slum in
the first half of the century, and was only now being rebuilt in clean,
though sombre brick multi storey flats. One of those buildings was still
empty. The party dismounted and tied their horses to a gate in the back
yard. Bodie unlocked the door and pulled out his torch. They ascended the
stairs with him and Doyle in the lead, their guns drawn purely by force of
habit. Cowley did not dissuade them. It was as well they kept their edges
honed. If it amused Madame Genet, well at least she could not fault their
caution.

Nor did she. She waited with all due patience for them to sweep the place
and determine it to be empty, though she surely knew that already. Nor did
she waste the time spent, Cowley realised. She was sensing intently every
step of the way up the stairs.

Once they reached the vacant flat where Leeds had watched and waited, her
concentration intensified further. She wandered from wall to wall touching
blankly at times, as if blind. But her eyes were unclosed and blazed into
absorbed interest at unseen details. Doyle shuddered; there was something
about her every move now that said, 'Not human.' Had he any true doubts
left, they would have gone.

"Her hair is dark, fairly long. Her scent is becoming more and more
apparent to me, now that I can isolate it from the host of others on Bow
Lane. I can identify her by it now quite easily, not that I need it to
know *what* she is." She turned. "The only question now is *where* she is.
Let us go. I must try to call her. If nothing else, I may get a sense of
her direction."

"Where to, Madame?"

She pondered a minute. "I should like to complete our night's work at
Tyburn. Are there any other murder sites along the way?"

Bodie pulled out a list from his jacket pocket. "Peter Jenks was the third
man killed. He was found outside a pub he frequented, near his flat in
Bloomsbury. It's along the way to, er, Tyburn."

No one mentioned that Tyburn's gallows had been moved to Newgate Prison
two centuries ago. All that remained of that infamous place of execution
was a plaque on Bayswater Road. The site was now home to the Marble Arch,
the splendid entrance to Hyde Park. The ancient Tyburn River itself, that
still fed into the Thames, was now completely underground. The city had
grown above it.

They rode to Bloomsbury in near silence. Jenks' flat was off the Tottenham
Court Road, not far from the YMCA. It was a pretty enough neighbourhood,
but no one remarked on it. Bodie referred to his notes and led them
directly to the scene, no longer cordoned off. She did not dismount this
time; there seemed to be little need. After a brief moment's inspection,
they moved westward once more.

They no longer tarried to view the sights, though there were plenty to be
had. Once known as Tyburn Road, Oxford Street was now a major east-west
thoroughfare, as modern as any in the world. Traffic here was heavier than
in the City, befitting its more varied role. It had been London's premiere
shopping street for over a century. Cabs whizzed by them, and at least one
curious bobby had approached, wondering at their odd mode of travel,
especially at night. Cowley headed him off with a flash of his identity
card without breaking their pace.

It was nearly midnight and the wind had turned bitter by the time they
reached the site of old Tyburn gallows. The park was immensely dark and
quiet after the bustle of Oxford Street. Doyle stood in his stirrups to
stretch and twist. He liked riding well enough, but five straight hours in
the saddle was a bit much, even for him. Bodie was beginning to look
equally uncomfortable.

"You boys." Madame sounded quite amused. "When I was your age, I rode from
here to Jerusalem. You two couldn't have kept up with me by the time I
crossed the Pyrenees, half a century later. And you are supposed to be in
top shape. Really."

Both men flushed and sat still. Cowley said nothing at all, but smiled.
His lack of distress had already occurred to them both, though neither
commented on it. It didn't bear thinking about, at least yet. They waited.

Taking pity on them, she dismounted and signalled them to follow her.
Doyle found it was pure heaven to be back on the ground; he followed with
only mild curiosity as to what was to transpire next. She clearly had a
plan of action, even though no one else knew what it was.

It occurred to him that he'd become as pliant in his attitude toward her
as he'd thought Bodie was earlier. It brought him up short, though no one
seemed to notice. Was it some subtle influence of hers, or merely the
normal effect of close proximity? He wasn't sure.

His attention was diverted by a far more dramatic incident a second later.
Sheltered by the great trees of the empty park, horses in hand, deep in
solitude, the lady stopped. She howled.

The sound was beyond adjectives. No dog could have duplicated it, though a
huge timber wolf in the wild might have come close. It sang of strength
and loneliness, of desolation and remorse in a way that broke one's heart.
It pierced every nerve cell in his body, from his toes, up his spine, to
the crown of his head. It was well the shock of it held him still, else he
might have drawn his gun out of habit. Bodie instinctively moved closer to
him, but Doyle was too awed to attempt a snide remark. Even Cowley looked
taken aback.

She waited, motionless in the dark. For what, they dared not ask. Moments
passed, then, from what direction they could not rightly say, came the
response. It was distant, but had the same mournful lupine character.
There was not the depth and range of personality and experience in it that
they'd heard up close, but its raw power was still frightening. No one
doubted whom they had heard.

The lady howled again; this time there was more than a hint of threat in
the air, though the sound was still sonorous. The reply, for such it
clearly was, reeked of fear and defiance even to their untrained ears.
This time Doyle thought its direction was southerly from the park, though
the hovering trees might have obscured it.

A third time Madame Genet raised her unholy voice. This time only silence
answered her. She waited for long minutes, then shook her head. "The
little fool. I might have been able to save her, but she will not have it.
Alas, only true death will stop her quest for justice."

"Justice?" Cowley responded, looking pained. Her remark had obviously
disturbed him.

"What is justice to some may appear to be mere vengeance to others. She
believes herself to have been greatly wronged, and does not much care for
this existence. She will avenge herself, then die quite happily. That
makes her particularly dangerous. She has not hunted yet tonight. I have
frightened her a bit, so I doubt if she will. But of course, tomorrow
night, hunger will overcome her caution. We must be ready; she will seek
to accomplish her goal as quickly as possible. Are you sure you know who
her ultimate victim is?"

Cowley nodded. "We believe it is Willis, the head of MI6. He is already
under heavy guard. All the other MI6 and CI5 agents will likewise be
guarding each other's backs. Any clue as to who she is?"

"No, but of perhaps more importance is where she is."

Bodie asked, almost demurely, "Did her answer come from south of the park,
fairly close by?"

"Indeed, yes. Very close. She is not more than two miles from here, nearly
due south. But her lair will not be easily discovered; I doubt if she will
go there tonight, lest I find it. By dawn she will return to it, but I
must also go to my resting-place then. In any case, I cannot sense her
once she is asleep in her native soil. I will try to give you an idea of
where to look, but it will not be an easy matter. She is not completely
helpless by day. You must remember that."

"One of the men was killed near Harrods, in that general direction. Would
it do any good to go there, do you think?" Doyle wondered.

"Certainly, it is worth a look. There is little else we can do tonight.
Let us go."

Doyle led the way through the darkened park, along the Ring, to the other
side. They emerged onto Kensington Road and took side streets down past
Brompton Road, where Walter Campbell had been discovered. It was a
remarkably well lit and heavily trafficked area, even so late on a
weekend. They encountered a few stares on their journey. Madame paid them
no heed at all; she was clearly preoccupied with sensing her quarry.
Several times she stopped and turned in her saddle, covering the night
with a keen gaze.

"She was very close to this place when she answered. It is this area your
people must concentrate upon in the morning." She shook her head, as if to
clear it. "Very close."

They inspected the last murder scene with little comment, then remounted
and turned east towards the Tower. Doyle was half hoping the lady would
take pity on them and choose a more modern means of transport for the
return trip, but that was not to be. The party rode along in silence back
up Brompton Road to Hyde Park Corner, where once more she stopped and
sniffed like a great hunting dog. "Very close," she repeated, muttering.
"But not here now."

They picked up the pace and cantered along Constitution Hill to the Mall,
passing Buckingham Palace. Despite their haste, she did slow to take in
Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square, then followed the Victoria Embankment
back into the City. From that point it was a scant two miles to the Tower
gates. Doyle could barely contain his joy. Visions of a hot bowl of soup
and tea to comfort his numb fingers tantalised him, though he doubted if
anything was going to make his sore bum feel better any time soon.

It was close to four when the guards opened the gates for them once more.
Another man hastily emerged to take the reins of their mounts, and then
they were free to return to their quarters. The lady stopped and spoke low
to Cowley, who then signalled to one of the guards, but neither Bodie nor
Doyle paid it any mind. They were both too bone weary, though neither
dared show it. Madame's earlier criticism of their endurance still stung.
They waited stolidly for her and Cowley to ascend, then trudged up behind
them.

A fire had been kept going in their quarters and the warmth felt heavenly.
They crowded around the desk in the centre room as Cowley opened a
detailed map of London and traced out their route for Madame Genet. She
studied it intently, then fingered particular spots of interest. The area
she was most taken by was their last stop, close to Harrods.

Her next question surprised them. "Why did Stuart think the person was of
Eastern European origin?"

Cowley shrugged. "Probably because most people think of vampires as
originating from that area. Count Dracula, and all that."

"There's also the connection to MI6; he simply assumed it had to be a
person who had connections to the Warsaw Pact nations," Doyle added.

She snorted. "Well, his reasoning left much to be desired, but his
intuition was probably correct. Isn't this area here the embassy section
of London?"

They all peered over her shoulder. Bodie ventured a question in answer to
hers. "Madame, is it true that she must rest upon her native soil? And if
so, do embassies count as native soil?"

Her smile was so warm it filled the room. "Quite so, on both counts. You
have a location in mind?"

His finger traced a path parallel to her own. "The East German Embassy is
right here, at Belgrave Square. Does that appear to be the general area
you heard her from?"

"Very, very near. I cannot be completely positive, but she could not have
been more than a few blocks off, in any case. Ah, here's your soup,
gentlemen. Sit and relax whilst I study this further. Do you have a
close-up map of this area, Sir George?"

He did, and produced it as Bodie and Doyle set up to eat in the other
room. The table was laid for three, but Cowley seemed disinterested. Bodie
took the time to worry about the older man; he'd been in the saddle every
second as long as they. Nor had he rested during the day, as they had. He
ladled some soup into a bowl and took it to him as he conversed with
Madame Genet. She however, waved them both away and nearly commanded
Cowley to eat. He demurred no longer, and sat beside his lads with spoon
in hand.

"Here's tea, sir. Bloody marvellous, if you ask me. I was desperate for
something like this." He might have added that part of the pleasure was no
longer sitting astride a horse, but even a comfy chair did not ease his
aching thighs and rump. He prayed there would be time for him to take a
hot bath.

Cowley merely grunted, turning his attention to his soup.

******

It was not really that odd for them to be retiring at dawn. They'd done
their share of all night stakeouts together. With Cowley too, for that
matter. What seemed strange was the 'tag team' approach they were taking.
It worried Bodie that Murphy and his crew would be searching the area
around Belgrave Square without them. Of course he trusted the chap and had
confidence in him, but still... Something kept nagging at the back of his
mind. It teased him with a vague sense of something seen but not noticed,
or sensed but not understood. Perhaps Madame Genet, whoever she was, felt
it too. She took the maps back into her own room as they sky lightened. He
did not forget her warning that neither she nor the other one was helpless
by day. And he'd seen for himself what they could do.

His lower back, rump and thighs were killing him, and he knew without
self-pity that it would only worsen with sleep. A shower helped some, and
Doyle had given him some aspirin, but his muscles would still stiffen
during the day. He said as much as he collapsed nearly nude onto the bed.

Doyle sat beside him, towelling his damp locks, looking equally miserable.
"What we need is a team of Swedish masseuses who don't mind getting quite
personal down there. Not that I think I could do more than say 'thank you'
in this state." His eyes brightened with a sudden thought. "Think you
could do it? Massage me, I mean. We could take turns; do us both good."

Bodie turned onto his side and considered his partner's query. They'd
showered and slept together often enough, used the latrine side by side
for years. Bandaged each other up, fed each other, put up with Macklin
together. The notion of receiving such treatment certainly appealed. "Why
not? Toss you for who goes first. Mind, the second chap will be the
luckier, since he'll just get to sleep after."

"Fair enough." Doyle leaned over to where his jeans lay and retrieved a
coin from his pocket. "Heads."

It was tails. Both men stripped down completely by unspoken consent. Bodie
stretched out wordlessly onto his belly and let his thighs fall apart.
True, he'd have to stay awake to do Doyle, but at least he'd be feeling
better sooner. Doyle rummaged through his bag and pulled out some massage
oil, then knelt between Bodie's legs. The satiny coolness of it against
his lower back was a delight; he groaned in deep appreciation as Ray's
fingers nimbly worked it in.

"You keep making noises like that, and Cowley'll think we're having it off
in here," Doyle warned.

"Dammed if I care right now. Don't stop." Bodie closed his eyes and
luxuriated in the kneading pressure being exerted upon his lower back.
Gradually, his partner's hands moved lower, against the taut muscles of
his sore buttocks. *God, that's wonderful*. Uninhibited sounds of pure
satisfaction kept bubbling up from deep in his throat, despite Doyle's
earlier comment.

Those comforting hands slowly worked their way in between Bodie's aching
thighs, brushing ever so lightly against his balls. Good thing it was Ray
doing this; he didn't think he could've let another man get so close. Not
since Africa had he... He tried to close his mind on that thought as he
had in the past, but today it wasn't that easy. It somehow merged with
sudden awareness of how much pleasure he was getting from the working of
Ray's hands. Yes, it was pleasure, and sexual at that. He didn't kid
himself. Time for this to end, before he embarrassed himself and his
partner. Reluctantly, he shifted, pulling away.

"Ta, that's enough, mate."

Doyle sat back on his heels. "You sure? How about the front of your
thighs? Mine are killing me. Turn over."

He couldn't find a good excuse not to. Ray would be suspicious if he
demurred too strongly. Luckily, things were not yet at the stage where
they were obvious. He did as he was told, watching his partner's features
as he turned. Normally they were mobile, expressive, eye-catching, but
right now they were shuttered, telling nothing. His hands smoothed Bodie's
inner thighs, from groin to mid knee, then outward over their front
muscles.

It was heaven. It was torture. He dared not lower his guard too much, yet
those hands demanded that he relax, go with them, let them soothe him. He
closed his eyes in concentration, trying to perceive only the relief, not
the arousal. It half worked, keeping him from making a huge display of
himself, but another man would surely notice the tightening of his balls,
the lengthening and thickening of his cock. God, what if Ray got offended?
The man had temper enough for the two of them some days. That thought
succeeded where control had failed. He managed to endure the sweet torment
without incident, but there was no danger of his falling asleep.

"My turn, sunshine." Doyle slipped over Bodie's leg and lay prone, his
arms above his head. Bodie stretched for a moment, then took up his
position between his partner's legs. Now he could allow himself to relax.
After all, Ray couldn't see him. He squirted some oil into his palms and
warmed it, eyeing Doyle's pink, round bum. Even an out and out homophobe
would have to admit this was a pretty sight.

He started at the lower back, as Doyle had with him, but before too long
his hands had crept down onto that tempting mass of flesh. Its texture was
a nice surprise. Redheads could have coarse, dry skin at times, but not
his Ray. It was buttery soft, inviting him to put his lips down and taste.
He resisted the urge, of course, but its intensity was shocking. This was
a new development in his friendship with the man before him. That Doyle
had engaged his emotions as well as his loyalty was no surprise. He
deserved every bit of all that, had earned Bodie's trust time and time
again. But this... Bodie tried to blank his mind. Tried to only see form
and shape, as if he was in a museum doing nothing more than admiring a
sculpture. It didn't work. Some Pandora's box had opened inside him, not
to be so easily closed and forgotten. His hands now ached to touch more
intimately.

Nor was Ray much help. He was easily as vocal in his pleasure as Bodie had
been earlier, if not more so. Plus, he squirmed. Back and forth, to and
fro, he moved his hips in rhythm to Bodie's massage like some exotic
dancer intent on turning on a roomful of strangers. Or a man making love
to a woman under him.

That image almost undid his control. Bodie carefully repositioned his
fingers lower, over the back of Doyle's thighs and began to work again.
That sufficed for a while, but then it was time to massage their insides.
He forced his hands not to tremble as his knuckles brushed the soft down
of Doyle's scrotum.

Did Doyle enjoy this as he had? Did he dare think about it? Bodie looked
at the other man's back in sudden wonderment. It distracted him enough to
enable him to complete the rubdown. Well, true his partner was writhing
like a cat in heat, but then, that was Ray. Feline sensuality was
something he exuded like musk. Women adored it. They could just tell from
the way he moved what a great lay he would be. That didn't mean he was as
indiscriminate as a cat. Didn't mean he would or ever could want Bodie.
Nothing said that.

He sat back, silently signalling Doyle to turn, but the other man sank
deeply into the bed, emitting a loud sigh. "Thanks. That's enough."

"Thought your front thighs were killing you."

"I'm too knackered. See you later." In a minute or so, his breathing had
deepened, his limbs at rest.

Bodie arose ever so quietly, so as not to disturb him, but he'd barely
gotten off the bed before Doyle opened one inquisitive green eye.
"Where're you going?"

"The loo. Back in a flash." He turned and fled without another word.

******

When Doyle awoke, his partner lay beside him, dark lashes fanning down
over his cheeks in a veil. There was no telling when he'd returned to bed.
His features, so strained before, now were slack and peaceful in sleep.
Doyle studied them, as if they were not someone's that he'd spent the
better part of five years in the company of. As if he'd never rightly seen
them before.

He knew perfectly well what had happened to Bodie. Could sense it in every
move his partner made. Nor had he made it easy for him. He just let it go
on and on, his complaisance a tease, a come-on. He flushed. Doyle was
nothing if not honest, sometimes brutally so. He hadn't started out with
the intention of turning his partner on, but the heady power of it was
irresistible.

He could make Bodie want him.

Now, it was one thing to play with a man's heart; quite another to fool
with a man's balls. Having both, he knew with certainty just how much
trouble he could get them both into. It was imperative that he understand
what the devil he was about, why he had allowed things to come to such a
pass between them.

What he *didn't* need to comprehend was Bodie. No, indeed. The bloke loved
him, wanted him, trusted him completely. And had painfully demonstrated
just how much Doyle could trust him.

The real question was, how much could Doyle trust himself?

He'd become aroused too. Did he really want Bodie? Or was he merely
infatuated with the knowledge that he could be so desired? He'd never had
sex with a man, nor had he ever had any inclination to, though he'd
received his fair share of invitations over the years. They had been a
source of amusement, nothing more. But now...

He looked over the sleeping man. Of course he knew Bodie was an attractive
man. All dark power and sleek muscle. He was magnificent in his
smooth-skinned nakedness. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, big hands that
were surprisingly gentle... Doyle stirred at the memory of their touch.
Yes, Bodie was beautiful. Could he overcome a lifetime of inhibitions and
respond to that male beauty fully? *Should* he?

Women loved Bodie's sugary tongue, his visage all smiles, promising fun.
Somehow he conveyed a heady combination of spicy danger and warm safety to
even the most wary. He'd watched the masterful pick ups often enough. But
Bodie last night was a different man. Brooding, barely controlled,
remote... Yet gentle in spite of it all. A man who stood at the edge of
falling in love.

It was tremendously exciting to be the object of such intense emotion.
Beyond that, he could decide nothing. There would have to be time to think
about it later. He got out of the bed.

For now he desperately needed a nice hot bath. His lower limbs ached every
inch as much as he'd expected them to, and he could only pray that *She
Who Must Be Endured *had had enough of riding through London town.

One hot tub full later, Doyle felt not only his arse, but also his brain
unwind. Idly soaking, his attention wandered to the continuing mystery of
Madame Genet. He could sneer at her in her absence, but her raw potency in
person never failed to slap him down to size in short order. It was
irritating, to put it mildly, the way his skin turned to goose bumps when
she looked at him. No, looked *through* him. He must be as transparent as
glass to her, since she only did it to him. Bodie and Cowley seemed not as
affected. But then, she didn't need to keep them in line, did she?

He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

So, who was she? A former English queen from the looks of things, born in
France, but which one? Most of them seemed to be from France. What had she
said last night about going to Jerusalem and crossing the Pyrenees fifty
years later? There couldn't be many who fit that bill, now could there?
Then there was the reference to King John she had not denied. It was
possible that her given name really was Eleanor, but it was a fairly
common royal name. Then there was her surname, Genet. Short for
Plantagenet? That had been a royal dynasty for nearly five centuries. He'd
studied art in school, but history had not been one of his favourite
subjects. Betty could find out for him, though he wasn't sure if he could
keep it from Cowley. It would take some manoeuvring, but he was determined
to find out for sure.

She couldn't be... who he thought she was. Eleanor of Aquitaine. A
notoriously beautiful woman straight out of legend, tough as steel; a
warrior queen, who in an age of great knights, easily held her own. Spouse
to Henry II, mother of Richard the Lion-Hearted. And John, the wicked
younger brother. He squirmed inside, for what reason he did not know, and
turned his attention to the other problem at hand.

As for the one they sought, an equally uneasy sensation crept through his
nerves, though he dared not give it voice, lest it become true. How many
East German women who'd died at the hands of MI6 did he know of, after
all? Only one, and there was no real reason to suppose it was *her*.
Certainly, there was no cause to mention any of his misgivings at this
point to Bodie. He had enough on his mind.

On the other hand, Marikka Schuman *had* died in England. And had been
buried here. And knew who had killed her.

And loved Bodie. Doyle shivered, despite the heat of the water. Cowley was
nearly always ahead of him, which meant it was no accident that they were
on this case and not another. And Cowley was genuinely fond of Bodie.
Where would he be safer than at the side of Madame Genet?

The old devil! He and Madame were a likely couple, indeed. Now, what trap
were they setting?

******

*Chapter Four*

They might have been an old married couple, sitting as they did, on either
side of the desk. But only one was having tea. Dusk had settled around
them. Bodie and Doyle were in the next room, devouring another fine meal
courtesy of the Tower staff. This time, Cowley did not join them. He
wasn't hungry.

"Your laddie thinks he has things figured out now," she observed with
amusement in her voice. "Who I am, who *she* is, and what you've been up
to. Too bad he hasn't taken some of that restless cerebral energy and
decided what to do about Bodie."

At that he looked up. As Doyle matured and settled down, he would someday
be a logical choice to succeed him. This he'd known for some time, despite
Bodie being his emotional favourite of the pair. It did not surprise him
that Doyle had followed his own reasoning. But what did she mean about
Bodie?

Then he remembered. The other morning, the way they'd slept. His unease,
that he'd quickly, too quickly, thrust aside. He had not been wrong, after
all, to be uneasy. She saw it too.

"Yes. But there is really no cause for alarm, you know. It does not change
who they are, or what they are capable of. You, of all people, should know
that, Sir George."

He bowed his head. How foolish, really, to think that anything could be
kept from her. "I do know. But nonetheless, it complicates things
considerably. We are not as tolerant now as your great court was, Your
Grace. If they are discovered..."

"They won't be. You'll see to that," she replied confidently. "You must
teach them, of course, and that won't be easy for you. But you will do it.
It will be all right."

He smiled back. "And what if he does succeed in confirming your identity?"

She shrugged. "It is not that important to me, now that I have met you, my
lord. As you have known, he *is* the best choice for your position.
Doubtless, he would have had to be told in any case."

He nodded. "And his notion about the other's identity? Do you think he is
correct? I had thought as much, but it is only a surmise, after all."

"His intuition is a powerful tool he really ought to be encouraged to
develop. I suspect that the level of discomfort the thought brought to him
is indicative of its probability. He is very protective of Bodie, and any
true threat will eat away at him until he confronts it. Yes, I think it
may well be her. Of course, proving our suspicions is not as simple as
voicing them. We must take great care in how we use our young friend
Bodie. He may be the key, if we are right."

"And Willis?"

"She will probably try for him tonight. If she is clever she will reverse
her usual pattern of attacking at dusk, and strike after midnight instead,
when men's minds are clouded by fatigue, and their guard is down. I
personally would wait until near dawn for the same reasons, but I doubt if
she is that bold yet. She needs her shelter far more than I do, being so
young. What a pity."

"You tried to give her a way out last night. If she had taken you up on
your offer, would you have protected her? Even from me? She did kill
Stuart, after all."

She patted his hand. "Why trouble yourself, my lord? We shall never know."

******

To Bodie and Doyle's unparalleled delight, Madame consented to riding in a
car over to Headquarters in Whitehall. Given that it was pouring rain, the
decision was particularly welcome. It helped that it was no mere car, but
one of the Queen's Rolls Royces's kept at the Tower for her use. Their
stiffness also may have had a hand in convincing her, though Doyle doubted
it. He could walk, hiding his pain well enough, but he knew there'd be no
chance of him running a foot race and catching anyone faster than Cowley.

Thinking of Cowley, his earlier disquiet returned. The old man had not
eaten with them and looked entirely too comfortable. It bore watching,
though he hadn't the slightest idea what to do about it. It was bad enough
having to worry about Bodie without adding Cowley to the list.

They met with Murphy and his team in one of the briefing rooms. As per
orders, they'd vacated MI6 and got in just before sundown. The offices
were heavily guarded, though not so noticeable as it had been at MI6 the
other day. The other team carefully displayed their best party manners to
Madame Genet, who likewise was cordial, though not especially forthcoming.

Murphy took the ball. "We've had no leads whatsoever in locating the mole,
though we've managed to eliminate some suspects at present. Whoever it is,
is apparently well placed, which is worrisome. Willis is concerned, but
not tremendously helpful. He had no idea how the security system in
Davison's flat could be circumvented. It took a bit of convincing to show
him that it had to be an inside job, else the man would have been warned."

Cowley tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. It was not what he had
wanted to hear. "Any luck in following Jenks' trail the night of his
murder?"

Susan jumped in. "Some. Thanks to your call last night, we were able to
jog a few memories at the pub he stopped at. There *was* a foreign woman
there that night; at least two people remarked upon her accent. It sounded
German to them. She left minutes after he did. We brought them in and did
our best to get a composite sketch of her. As you reported, she does
indeed have longish dark brown hair. Fairly tall for a lady, slender..."
Her voice trailed off as she took in Madame Genet, then picked up. "Very
pretty, as far as they could tell. Wore sunglasses and a hat."

Madame apparently could not resist. "My German is abysmal, my accent
purely French. Besides, I have an alibi. I was in France at the time."

"And you are much lovelier, I might add," Murphy attempted.

Bodie kept his face straight. Doyle didn't even try.

A chastened Susan produced the composite with a flourish. This time,
Bodie's face did change. So did Doyle's.

"You know her?" She guessed.

Bodie looked up at Cowley, speaking to him alone. "Perhaps. I can't be
sure. I can't... It's her style of dress, her look, if you will. But the
picture itself could be any woman her age and general appearance."

The Controller nodded. "We shall have to make sure. Have we a list
generated from this description and cross-referenced to MI6 files of
terminations? Better still, does it match any of the names of our victims
in terms of assignments?"

"In part," Jax replied. "We'd narrowed our list of MI6 terminations down
to about twenty names, based on age and sex. Then we tried having the
computer cross it with the three MI6 men. Two of them hadn't left Britain
in the past three years, so then we looked at only those that would have
been encountered here, at home. We wound up with ten names. Here they
are."

Cowley put on his glasses and perused the list. He was fully aware of how
much thought and effort had gone into the simple white page before him.
More, he appreciated what it would do to the dark man standing silently at
his elbow.

One of the names was Marikka Schuman.

Knowing it was a possibility had not prepared Doyle for the walled-in hurt
his partner exuded, at least to him. It sliced right in, leaving him
defenceless, save for anger. Bodie pulled in behind closed eyes.

"We can't assume anything about this. Do we know where these unfortunate
women are buried?" asked the lady. "For if we do not, we must find out at
once. Before dawn, if possible. If we can find photographs of these ten,
then perhaps the people in that pub might also be more able to help in her
identification."

"We've been working on that," Murphy said. "Fortunately, MI6 kept those
files and we were able to obtain permission to acquire them first thing in
the morning. We should have all their photos by nine. Of course, we
already have Marikka Schuman's, since she was an actress. As for where
they are all buried..." he shook his head. "I honestly don't know. It
might be in their files, though I don't see why it would be. More likely,
we'll have to go through the coroner's records. The bodies all had to be
investigated, since they were unnatural deaths. Then they had to be
released to someone for burial. Usually a funeral home. These funeral
homes will then have records of where and when the actual interments took
place. We can comb the coroner's records tonight, but I doubt if we can
get anything from the funeral homes until tomorrow."

"Surely she won't be there," Doyle demurred. "If she is a foreigner, as we
believe, then she must have already moved her hiding place to one where
she can rest on her native soil."

Cowley nodded. "True, but then we'll know for certain who we are looking
for. Whoever's grave is empty."

"And who will be watching for whoever it is in the meantime?" Bodie asked
acidly. "What about the search teams around Belgrave Square? Did they find
anything?"

Susan shook her head. "That area has been combed through. Lots of small
mid-priced hotels on the side streets. Our people were on it all day and
turned up nothing."

"She isn't going to sit about tonight, waiting for us to do our homework,"
he warned.

"Indeed she is not," Cowley agreed. "Murphy, MI6 can earn their keep too.
I'll call Willis and have his people search those files *now*. If they
can, they should inform us of the burial locations. At the least, I want
those photos well before dawn. They can also spend the night searching the
coroner's records if the locations are not on file. No point in the lot of
them sitting on their rumps while we run ours into the ground."

He turned to Bodie. "You're right, 3.7. She'll be hunting tonight. We
think she'll go after Willis. I want you and Doyle to get over there
and..."

Betty came to the door and interrupted. "Excuse me, sir. We have an
emergency in progress at Controller Willis' office. The call just came
through for backup. There are at least two men down."

"Damn! She didn't wait."

Madame shrugged. "She kept to her original pattern after all. Which means
she will not succeed, since his troops are fresh and were expecting her,
armed with the weapons you gave them. Still, we must go. Where is MI6
headquarters? I shall meet you there."

Cowley pointed it out on the wall map without a word. It was but a few
blocks away. The lady took her leave; Murphy and his team followed her
movements with disbelieving eyes. She simply went over to the window,
opened it, and leapt out. Cowley gave them no time to think about it.

"Well, are you going to sit there all night? Let's go!"

******

The scene at MI6 was utter carnage. Unlike her earlier murders, the
vampire had not tidied up out of hunger. Blood was everywhere; the entire
hallway where she'd broken through was covered with it. Three MI6 men lay
virtually dismembered, in the midst of it all. The five surviving guards
were in a state of shock.

Bodie had never seen anything like it. Not in Africa, not even after
bombings in Northern Ireland. Those dismemberments were random, scattered,
and not viciously purposeful as these were. The woman he had once known
and loved could never have been capable of this. He was sure of it.

Despite her raging, she had not broken through the line of defenders, and
had been forced back out into the night. Sharpened wooden staves and
arrows embedded in the walls bore testimony to the fury of the battle.
Garlic cloves added their pungency to the ghastly scene. Half-empty flasks
of holy water and broken crosses lay scattered upon the floor.

It was a tableau worthy of Bruegel's hell, Doyle reflected. One that
Madame Genet chose to eschew. Perhaps it was all the garlic. Willis was
babbling off in a corner to Cowley, nearly hysterical. Bodie stood frozen
in place, his normally pale complexion utterly ashen. Susan and the others
were doing no better. Murphy went off to a loo to throw up, crossing
himself along the way.

Madame met them outside. "She has fled, nor can I detect a trace of her
now. She must have left as soon as they called us. We must take Willis and
his people to a place of safety. We may not be so fortunate twice."

"But where?" Doyle demanded, incensed by what he had seen. "She can pull
the bloody walls down if she has a mind to, it seems."

"Not the walls of a church." Her quiet answer stunned him into silence.

"Westminster Abbey," Cowley muttered. "It's the closest to Whitehall. We
have to round everybody up and get them there under guard. Any other
thoughts?"

"She will not attack so long as I am with all of you. Or if she does, so
much the better for us. Obtain conveyances and move these poor souls at
once, Sir George. I will guard them until they get there. Once inside,
they will be beyond her reach."

Luckily, most of the office workers at MI6 had departed for the evening
already. Those that had remained were either guarding Willis or working at
his direction. It didn't take long for the dozen or so left to be taken
away, leaving the corridors eerily empty.

"Once I am finished escorting these people, we must search this place for
those files," Madame continued outside. "We have to discover her resting
place as quickly as possible. She has gotten completely out of control."

"Doyle and I can stay here and start looking," Bodie offered.

"No." Her tone was sharp, decisive, leaving Cowley no room but to
acquiesce. "She is rabid. There's no telling what she will attack next. I
can't protect all of London at the same time, but I certainly can keep you
lads safe. All of you are to stay by my side at all times. Especially you,
Bodie." As he opened his mouth to speak, she forestalled him. "And you
damned well know why."

It took less than an hour to deliver MI6's controller to Westminster along
with his mob. A few CI5 agents were summoned to stand watch also, though
from the inside of the sacred grounds. Murphy and his cohorts were beat
and hungry, but there was no time for such indulgence now. They all
tromped back to MI6 headquarters under Madame Genet's watchful eye. To
Doyle it had the fantastical appearance of a gaggle of geese obediently
following a hawk.

Cowley had brought two MI6 secretaries back with them. They were shaky,
but sufficiently recovered to assist in their file retrieval. Even Madame
joined in the hunt. He'd also asked Betty to join them.

Betty arrived, armed with her own notes and a large cardboard box stuffed
with take away fish, chips, and mushy peas. The day team descended upon
said larder with heartfelt gratitude. It wasn't sleep, but it would do for
now. The MI6 women showed them where to make tea.

"That was very thoughtful of you, mistress, but you must take care too. No
one is safe now. We must all stay together after dark," the lady
explained. "Until this is over."

Bodie and Doyle searched steadily while their colleagues took a breather
long enough to eat. "Did anyone get a good description of their assailant
from those guards?' Bodie asked of no one in particular. "Perhaps a
security camera picked her up. We might be able to identify her from
that."

"Useless, even if we had," Madame responded absently as she riffled
through a file cabinet. "A vampire attacking wouldn't exactly match a
photograph of her during her life. I'm sure they'd be happy to tell you
all about her red eyes and her long teeth, but that won't help us find
her. As for the video camera, that may be useful, but the same problem
applies. She will have been moving very fast once she entered. It's
certainly worth looking into, but don't be surprised if all you see is a
blur."

Susan swallowed a morsel the wrong way and needed Jax to thump on her
back. Her eyes flew from Bodie to Doyle to Cowley to Madame, but once
recovered she said nothing.

Several hours and hundreds of files later, nine of the ten in question had
been located. Marikka Schuman's refused to turn up, despite continued
effort.

"The mole?" Doyle hated to say it out loud, but it only made sense, after
all. Bodie must be thinking it too.

"Maybe. Maybe a ruse to throw us off the real trail. In any case we can
now locate the funeral houses for these others and run them down. We might
get lucky and have one of them tell us they know where Marikka is buried
too."

"There's no need for that," Bodie told his controller. "I know where she
lies; I buried her there myself." He turned away from the group and looked
out the window, back straight, shoulders square.

Cowley said nothing.

His partner ached for him, as he'd never thought possible. If Bodie had
broken down and cried, Ray didn't think it could be that much worse. He
longed with every fibre of his being to go to him, to throw a casual arm
across his shoulder, to try to elicit a smile, however small. He dared not
with so many eyes upon them. But when they were alone...

Betty called the coroner's office and harassed the staff into disregarding
the time under penalty of dismissal. It worked. Within two hours, they had
the nine cemeteries and plot numbers verified and listed. Bodie silently
wrote down Marikka's location below the others, then carefully put down
the pen beside it.

At last Cowley was satisfied. "Best we can do for now, I expect. Let's
head back to our own HQ and let you three get some rest. The laboratory
people can take a look at the camera and see if they come up with
anything, just to be sure. We have a busy day ahead of us."

They dropped the secretaries back at Westminster with the others, then
moved on to their own familiar turf. No sooner had they turned the block,
however, then Madame called a halt to the lead car she was in. She
motioned everyone else to remain in their seats while she got out and
patrolled the entrance, looking this way and that. Finally, she pushed
open the main door.

That in itself told a grim story. The door should have been locked and the
guard behind it challenging her. No one appeared.

Cowley emerged, anxious now, with Bodie and Doyle beside him. Murphy and
the rest were but a few steps behind. They hastened up the steps to the
door where Madame remained, still seeking invisible clues.

"How many people were left on duty here after hours?" she wanted to know.
"Guards, cleaning crews, anyone."

Betty answered forthwith. "Perhaps a dozen, not more than that. A total of
four guards, a cleaning maid for each floor, the communications staff, and
the odd late worker who might have been putting in overtime, if any. Why?"

"I don't hear anyone inside moving. In fact, I don't hear anything at
all."

Cowley put his hand on the door. She brushed it off and entered before
him.

"Those are my people in there!" he stormed.

She turned, a study in sorrow. "You can't help them now. Let me just
search for hidden traps first, then you can follow. Come, lads." She
motioned to Bodie and Doyle, who fell in place beside her. They entered
both doors at once, nearly abreast, guns drawn, covering each side.

Nothing.

The rest of the team fell in behind them, likewise armed. Jax closed the
door behind them and bolted it as an afterthought. No one thought that was
odd, or even funny.

"Wait here." Madame ascended the stairs with her chosen two while the
others waited below. Clearly, something was terribly wrong. It merely
remained to locate the bodies.

They found the first one in the men's washroom; his appearance in death
mirrored Stuart and the others. There was not a drop of blood to be had.

"She worked up quite an appetite in that battle with MI6," Madame
commented. "For sustenance and revenge. This one was for food. The others
won't look so clean, I suspect."

She was not mistaken. The washroom was converted into a temporary morgue;
as they discovered each new body, they dragged it into there. Each landing
held a corpse and all had been savagely mutilated. Murphy and Jax pitched
in, while Susan and Betty covered Cowley at all times. There was no point
in taking chances.

The last body found was that of the chief security guard. His headless
corpse lay across Cowley's closed office door. Bodie cursed. It was
obviously a message designed to infuriate the Controller. He shifted his
hand onto the doorknob with great care, but their lady forestalled him.

"Allow me." She turned the handle, oblivious to threat of bomb or shot.
Her eyes surveyed every corner of the darkened room before switching on
the light. She already knew what they would find.

But they were not prepared. Right on top of Cowley's desk was the guard's
ragged head, his eyes frozen wide in terror. Blood splattered all over the
blotter and ran down the sides of the desk onto the floor.

Cowley came up beside them, his face flushed with exertion and rage.
"Well, if it's war she wants..."

"She already knows what will happen when she is caught, my lord. She is
simply making this as expensive for you as possible. She knew perfectly
well that these poor souls were no threat to her. She was simply unable to
get to the ones that are. And we must not give her any chances. No one is
to leave this building before dawn."

"And you, Madame? You cannot stay here that late either."

"I can stay later than she, being older. If you can get me back to the
Tower at the last possible minute, all should be well enough. She will
have already gone back into hiding." She sat on the edge of the desk,
oblivious to the gory sight thereon. "At which point you must be ready to
search out her grave without delay. Sterilise it, in case she attempts to
return to it. Once her identity is known, we will know which embassy she
has taken refuge in."

Bodie gingerly lifted the head away from Cowley's desk and placed it in a
plastic bag. "I hate to bring this up, but what are we going to do once we
know that? We can't search their grounds without their permission." He
carefully put the bag down outside the door, next to the man's body.

"Diplomatic immunity," Doyle explained to Madame.

She snorted. "I am not unaware of diplomatic protocol, my young friend.
Once we know where she is, we can pay them a visit, make our information
known to them, and ask if they would like a war in kind. All very
diplomatically, of course. Since neither she nor I really exist, what can
they complain about? That you are threatening their vampire with your own?
If they are the jackals they have always been, those pathetic courtiers
will attempt to eliminate her themselves in order to avoid that scenario.
They won't succeed, I should think, unless she is an utter fool. But they
will drive her out, where she will be vulnerable. That is what I am
counting on." She smiled at Cowley, who returned it readily enough.

*Too readily*. Doyle could not suppress the thought fast enough for her
not to hear, but she gave no indication of it. He carefully blanked out
further concerns about his boss and forced his unruly thoughts to ponder
their roles come morning. The last thing he wanted was for Bodie to be the
one to dig up Marikka's grave, whether or not she was in it. Surely,
Cowley would understand that. All he had to do was get him alone.

A commotion on the stairs below diverted their attention. Familiar voices,
raised in acute distress, heralded the arrival of more men.

Lucas and McCabe had just finished a protracted assignment in Liverpool
and returned earlier than scheduled, hoping to finish their reports and
thereby acquire a bit more free time the next day. *Poor sods*, Doyle
commiserated. *What a bloody mess to walk into. As for time off...*

Murphy walked in beside them, trying to update them as they entered, but
it was clear that they weren't absorbing much yet.

"What in the name of God is going on? This is incredible!" McCabe raged.

"God has had rather little to do with it, at least so far," the lady
responded, amused. She turned to Cowley. "More of your people? You must
pick them for their charm."

Lucas nearly ran into Murphy's back, as the other man stopped dead in his
tracks. He hadn't seen Cowley's office yet either, and was as shocked as
they. How could this woman be making jokes about it? Nothing was said, but
it was evident from their eyes what they were thinking.

"Now that you mention it, perhaps so; can't possibly be for their brains
that I pick them, now can it?" Cowley flashed a warning look at the men
gaping in the doorway. "What the devil are you two doing here at this time
of night? Why didn't you call ahead and let someone know you were coming?
If you had arrived a few hours sooner..." His eyes hardened. "Well, now
that you're here, report to Murphy. You're on his team. Oh, and by the
way, you're staying the night."

Bodie took McCabe by the arm and steered the lot of them out of the
office, away from the carnage. "Let's go to one of the conference rooms,"
he urged. As far as he knew, there were no ghastly surprises in any of
them. "Murphy and I can fill you in." He glanced over his shoulder at
Doyle, who motioned him ahead with a slight wave. He frowned a bit, then
shrugged. Doyle must have some good reason to linger with those two.

Cowley turned to him when the entourage had departed. "Spit it out, 4.5. I
haven't got all day." The large dollop of Scotch he handed to the younger
man softened his words. He poured himself one as well and saluted the lady
with it ironically.

She smiled, equally ironic. "Water, water everywhere. And not a drop to
drink."

It was enough to chill Doyle to the bone.

"Sir, about tomorrow..."

"What about it, man?"

"I, er, don't think it would be a good idea for Bodie to be along at the
opening of Marikka Schuman's grave." He took a long pull of the soothing
liquor. "He's been through enough already because of her."

It was the lady who answered, and her voice was not unkind. "I know why
you feel that way, Doyle, but I think you are mistaken. True, discovering
that it is indeed she would be painful, but witnessing it for him would
remove all doubt. If it is not her, he will heave a great sigh of relief
after seeing such terrible things tonight."

"And is it so important to remove all doubt?" he flashed back.

"Is his life important to you? She will come for him, if it is she. You
know that, surely. He must be armed with the knowledge of what she has
chosen to become."

"Was it her choice?" Doyle asked.

"To be a vampire, perhaps not. To commit these monstrous crimes, yes. The
Marikka he knew is no more."

Doyle hung his head, defeated. He too had known Marikka, albeit briefly,
and he had liked her. Her loyalty to Bodie had commended her to him easily
enough. Wasn't her rage now due to the obscene injustice of her passing?
How would he have responded if Willis and his men had killed Bodie?

"Your compassion for her does you credit, young man. But she has murdered
nearly twenty people now, and shows no sign of wishing to stop. This isn't
about Willis anymore."

Cowley took the now empty glass from his hand. He looked up, pleading
silently, a thing he would never have done for himself.

"She's right, Doyle. But then, neither of us ought to be standing here
deciding this for Bodie. He can tell me himself what he feels he should do
in the morning. I will abide by his wishes."

"Thank you, sir."

All turned to face the dark man in the doorway, save the lady. Doyle felt
his face flame. Cowley filled a third glass and gave it to Bodie, then
poured himself another drink.

"Just what is it I'm to be deciding in the morning, sir?" He sipped at the
single malt Scotch calmly.

"What sort of assignment you feel is... appropriate for you tomorrow,
3.7."

"And the other lads get a choice too?"

"Dammit, Bodie, I've no time for this! You can stay and guard Madame in
the Tower, or you can join the others searching for this creature's
grave."

Bodie met his eyes soberly. "I can't rightly say I want to, but I must. I
have to see for myself if it's her or not." He took a large gulp of the
Scotch and silently asked for a refill, which he got.

Cowley nodded. "Good enough. Doyle and Mc..."

"No sir! If Bodie's going, then I'm going." Doyle stood his ground,
oblivious to Madame's amusement, Bodie's quizzical expression, or Cowley's
thunderous brow.

She took his side for once. "Let him go, I pray you, my lord. His mind
will be there anyway. Your other two lads will do just as well. With luck,
perhaps they won't bicker as much." Her eyes actually twinkled at Doyle as
she uttered that, leaving him flushed for the second time, but he was too
grateful to take umbrage at her teasing. He could feel Bodie still looking
at him out of the corner of his eye, but his partner added nothing.

The Controller sighed, ceding acquiescence. "Well then, off with both of
you. Find cots for everyone. Call the Met to haul away all these poor
souls, and inform the Coroner I'll be along at dawn again. Tell Murphy
he's to accompany me this time. We'll join you in the field as soon as we
can."

 
 ******

*Chapter Five*

Silence finally came to CI5. It was nearly three. George Cowley sat,
staring into the night. He ought to have been exhausted; instead strange
buoyancy lightened his bones, strengthened his muscles, and eased his
aches. He knew why and wondered if he hadn't made a devil's bargain to
catch one. Then he shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time he'd put his
very soul at risk for the sake of his duty. He could only hope that in the
end his motives would be perfectly understood, and his actions forgiven.

He'd eschewed the common comforts of man for that duty; friends, lovers,
family. Bodie was the closest he'd come to having a son of his own, and he
admitted in the quiet dark that he loved him dearly. Even so, he would not
hesitate to imperil him in the pursuit of this mad creature. Such was what
he had made of himself.

Not for him was the passionate loyalty to Bodie that made Doyle all but a
lover. And if Madame was right, that too was only a matter of time. It
worried him; those two always did. He knew them well enough to understand
that once they turned onto that difficult road, it would be permanent. And
if one was lost... It didn't bear thinking of.

She came up behind him and laid her hand upon his shoulder, silent as
dust. The entire building reflected their moment of introspection, echoing
only the customary sounds of old buildings as they settled down. 

"How does my good lord?" There was a melodious sweetness to her voice that
augmented the honeyed richness of her words. It would have been impossible
not to love it. Impossible not to respond to her. He turned, and lost
himself in her eyes.

Something was subtly different tonight; she was not merely offering, she
was asking as well. He knew that somehow without words. She hungered. For
him.

What did a person of her immense stature in history see in him?
Middle-aged, balding, half-crippled... a lonely, driven man who drank a
bit much? He shook his head as if to clear it. Surely, he was mistaken.

She sat in front of him, the warmth of her normally cold features
dispelling all doubt. "You are too hard on yourself, Sir George. What
would you expect of me? That after all these years a pretty smile or a
shapely chest would sway me? What interest could I have in children, save
as their mother? But you, you are no child. No more than my Henry was when
I met him, though I was his senior by almost a dozen years. Did you think
he was a giant of a man, beautiful and tall? He was not. Indeed, he was as
crafty and wise and determined as you. Those things were what made him
great, not his crown. That was merely an accident of birth. You two would
have made great friends, or great adversaries, just as he and Becket did.
Never doubt it; he would have seen you as an equal, as I do."

Her words took his breath away, as did her closeness. It was dizzying,
looking up at her as she hovered nearer and nearer. His head fell back,
exposing his neck in wordless consent.

Instead, she lowered her lips to his. He could barely remember when he'd
last kissed a woman; it thrilled him too much to even let him think.

"Ah George," she whispered against his ear. "All work and no play. You
haven't let go and allowed yourself even a smidgen of pleasure in such a
long time. Tonight is your night."

"And yours. Have many offered freely what you desire most in recent years?
I half hope not, for I wish it to be as memorable for you as it surely
will be for me." His last words came out as a gasp when she divested him
of his tie and her cool fingers rested against the heat of his neck.

"Not many, not often. And none that entice me as much as you do." She
lifted her head and looked at him soberly. "But there must be no
misunderstanding between us. I want us to be friends, always. This alone
will not cause you to change after death. Only death in my arms can do
that. And that is something I do not offer very often."

"Nor would I wish it," he replied.

"Then you are wise indeed, my dear friend. Come here." She cradled his
head in her arms, her fingers splayed across the side of his face. Their
mouths met again, urgent, almost fearful. It was delicious.

Cowley let himself be pulled in, let himself be led and held and lost in
her embrace. Never had he felt such reined-in power in the arms of a
woman. Of course, she was not, strictly speaking, human now. Her
comparative gentleness was a matter of training and great discipline. It
enthralled him, as no woman had in a very long time.

From far away a soft moan broke the silence; he realised that it was he
who made that plaintive sound. Then another. Her lips were at once cold
and heated, like chilled whiskey that went straight to his head. He was
dizzy with longing.

Desire turned to sheer desperation. Had her lips been a drug, he could not
have been more addicted. Every nerve in his body sensed there was more to
be had, and wanted it, no matter the cost.

Her mouth descended onto his ear, then his neck. It was hard to breathe,
his heart was pounding so hard. Was it some mysterious pheromone that so
enslaved her victims? No matter, this was his decision, and he cared not
at all for the consequences now. All he wanted was her, in whatever manner
she chose to take him.

She licked the base of his throat, close to the jugular vein, with the
utmost delicacy, like a cat cleaning her young. He could barely sit still;
his arms enfolded her slender frame as much for self-control as to hold
her. A deeper, more wrenching noise was torn from him. Still she teased
and licked and nuzzled, in no hurry at all. He held his breath, silently
pleading for complete possession, for release, for consummation.

At long last he felt the harder edge of her teeth just grazing the tender
skin. They were razor sharp, he knew. Only total control kept her from
tearing him to pieces like Stuart and the others, yet he had no fear. He
had trusted her from the first moment he saw her. And this... this
pleasure was beyond description.

There was the barest whisper of pain as they penetrated his skin. It was
meaningless, dazzled as he was by the blinding intensity of it. He fancied
he could hear her heart. Or was it his? All he could focus on were the
unbearable surges of lightning consuming his very being to the core. Death
at that moment had no terror; indeed, it had no meaning at all.

There was a sound from very far away, and he felt her tense ever so
slightly, but then she relaxed again. He paid it no mind, lost as he was
in Paradise. Part of him begged her to never stop. He sensed her desire to
go on as well, but then that iron control he had trusted in surfaced, and
he felt her slowly withdraw from him.

It was a terrible pain to lose her, to feel alone inside his own skin once
more. How gladly he would have given her his last drop! But she would not
take it, and he was too shaken and exhausted to argue.

"My dear, dear friend. You have no idea..." she sighed. Then he saw it had
been like that for her too; more than mere sustenance, or even commonplace
desire. That knowledge was a balm to his lacerated soul.

"My turn," she murmured against his lips, kissing him once more. "Take and
be strong." He didn't know what she meant at first, then the bittersweet
taste of her blood filled his mouth. It hit him with hurricane force,
blasting away all preconceptions of how much ecstasy a man could stand and
live. The tiny drops she had laced his scotch with earlier had not
prepared him for this. He was sure he would rise and float away, save for
the force of her arms restraining him.

Then that too faded, leaving him twice bereft of her. His head fell onto
her breast, her arms cradled him. A soft French lullaby echoed in his
ears. A primal part of him saw the analogy, realised the potency of it,
acknowledged it, then allowed it to pass. Human milestones could only hint
at what he had experienced. He slept.

******

Doyle half ran back to where he'd left Bodie, scared, upset, confused.
He'd only gone to check on the old man, expecting him to already be
asleep. Nothing had prepared him for what he'd found instead. His insides
quaked.

*She* had known he was there, of course. One hard look from those
red-glazed eyes would have been enough to send him scurrying, had it not
been a matter of life and death. He'd made himself stand there, rooted,
until he was sure Cowley was in no danger. That his Controller had
consented to... that... boggled him, but he did not really doubt it. There
was no mistaking the consummate pleasure echoed in his voice, his absorbed
face, even his shaking hands. He could have no quarrel with that. How
could he, shocking though it was? He only had to make sure she wasn't
taking advantage of him.

If she found his protectiveness amusing, she didn't show it. After that
initial eye contact, she ignored him completely. Once she pulled away, he
found he could breathe again. The sheer eroticism of Cowley's response
went straight to his groin, left it aching as if he'd felt her feeding on
himself. At last, he'd turned and fled as quietly as he'd come.

He wasn't sure what to tell Bodie as he entered the otherwise empty room
where he'd left his partner. Then he realised he had no choice; his shock
must still be evident on his face, for Bodie looked up, then sat up from
his sleeping bag, concerned.

"What is it, sunshine?"

Doyle collapsed beside him on the floor, trying to find words for what
he'd just witnessed. He shook his head twice, as if to clear it, still
unsure how to begin. She would hear, of course. She might even tell
Cowley. Then again, what difference did it make? She could hear his
thoughts as he stood there. She might even hear them from here.

Bodie must have guessed some of his thoughts too, for his expression
darkened. "Did you and she have words or something? What is it?"

"Or something. I went to check on Cowley, and found the two of them, well,
you know..."

Amazingly, Bodie's face broke into a huge grin. "You don't say. With her?
The old devil!" There was more than a hint of admiration in his voice.
Then his demeanour sobered. "You didn't say anything? I mean, you didn't
embarrass him, did you?"

"Course not. I'm not a complete fool. I just wanted to make sure the Cow
was all right, that's all. I mean, it's not like it's just the usual
thing, you understand." He shuffled slightly, anticipating the words to
come.

"And what were you going to do about it if he wasn't, Ray?" There was such
open affection in Bodie's voice, it made him squirm. "Come 'ere. Rest your
busy head. You worry too much, you know. Madame wouldn't harm him." Bodie
pulled him down beside him onto the sleeping bag. Tired and wrung out,
Doyle did not demur. He allowed himself to be cuddled close next to
Bodie's solid frame, absorbing his heat and comfort.

Visions of Cowley's arousal flitted through his mind, like a melody
refusing to leave one's consciousness. Somehow, it coalesced with Bodie's
nearness, his indulgent concern, his strength. Doyle gazed up at him,
unsure of what he was asking Bodie for.

Bodie knew. That knowledge was plain to read in his sparkling night blue
eyes. He tilted his partner's chin up, smiling. Doyle felt himself go hot
and cold, scared, elated, relieved that he didn't have to say it aloud.
Bodie ever so lightly touched his lips to Doyle's forehead. A brotherly
kiss, full of innocence and affection, it demanded nothing. A friendly
peck to tip of his nose followed that. Still Doyle did not move; enchanted
by this side of his partner, he only wanted to see where it went from
here.

The next kiss caressed his closed mouth. It tempted, teased, offered more,
but still refrained from pushing him. Bodie's lips were delicate and light
and surprisingly romantic; not at all what he might have expected from
such a man.

Quite suddenly Doyle *did* want more, and was impatient with his own
lingering trepidation. He gripped both sides of Bodie's face, unwilling to
let him go when the kiss was over. His wide jade eyes pleaded silently
again.

His partner stared back, intent and sombre now, but made no move. Ray
understood; it was his turn to commit himself. He leaned forward and
captured Bodie's lips with his own. This time the tone of the kiss was far
from brotherly. The atmosphere was too sensually charged between them to
be mistaken.

Bodie settled in closer to him and allowed the kiss to deepen. He let
Doyle set the pace, giving his partner the lead. Yet he was astonishingly
responsive; each twitch of his mouth followed Doyle exactly, absorbing
him. It was all enveloping, like a mist that gave way before you, only to
lose you in its softness. Doyle felt himself falling into that mist,
further and faster than if Bodie had come on strong to him. The kiss
whetted his appetite and took his breath away all at the same time.

His nipples and groin were filling with blood-heated desire as he ground
more and more forcefully into his partner's accepting frame. Bodie groaned
in his ear, letting him know that his state was shared, as if the hardness
between them had not already told him that. Daring, his hands roved down
Bodie's face, along his neck, across his shoulders, then rested at the
opening to his shirt. They halted there, still unsure of their welcome,
until Bodie's fingers joined them and showed them the way past the
barriers of his buttons. They followed with all eagerness, revelling in
the sweetly smooth skin before them, then sought the tiny nubs that would
pleasure his companion.

Bodie's head fell back, luxuriating in the tenderness of the caress. His
eyes were slits, blue sapphires in a jewelled setting of ivory velvet and
black silk. They enticed Ray to kiss them, to let him know how deeply
precious they were. He was enthralled by the light in them as he did so
and repeated his gesture more than once. His fingers kept up their small
dance of seduction on the broad expanse of chest below them in the
meanwhile.

"You like this, mate?" All at once he needed the reassurance of Bodie's
voice, not merely his passive acquiescence. It would mortify him if Bodie
were merely going along with this to please him. But that was nonsense and
he knew it. Still, he needed the words.

"You're killin' me, sunshine," Bodie breathed. "Want to tear into you, I
do. Keep it up, and I might."

"Go ahead, then. Show me what you want, Bodie. I need to know. New at
this, y'know." Doyle's hands stilled long enough for Bodie to catch up.
His shirt was tugged open and then Bodie's powerful hands were on him,
pulling him closer, enveloping him in heat.

His partner's mouth trailed down his neck and landed on his chest, pulling
at the hair around his sensitised nipples. His breath came out in rasps.
"Want you, Ray. Want to hold you and lick you and suck you senseless. Want
to make you want me."

"I *do* want you, mate. Never thought about it like this before, but..."

"Shhhh," his lover soothed. "Don't think about it now either. Time for
that later." He further distracted Doyle by kneading his slender
jeans-clad thighs, hands slowly settling on his zipper. Ray could not help
but sigh aloud in anticipation. This was going to be very, very good, he
could tell. His hips wriggled of their own accord, exhorting his tormentor
to continue.

"Ah, Bodie, don't tease me now," he begged, voice strained and husky. "I'm
burning up."

"Good." The grin his companion gave him was devastating. His hands grasped
the button above the zipper and slipped it open, then pulled the zipper
down slowly, carefully. Ray realised his care was necessary; his bulging
cock had filled his jeans so thoroughly there was scarcely room to pull
them down.

There was a moment of total freedom, of fear mingled with the desire, but
then Bodie took his cock in a steady grip and all that was left was
throbbing need. He bit the back of his hand to keep from crying out at the
sweetness of it.

"You like this, mate?" Bodie teased him with the echo of his own words,
but his eyes were unaccountably gentle.

"God, Bodie! Please..." He tried to reach for his partner but was pushed
back onto the sleeping bag.

"One thing at a time, sunshine. Take it easy, now. You'll get your turn."

"Bodieee!" He couldn't stay still; Bodie's weight settled across his legs,
trapping him. "Ohhh!"

"Noisy fucker, aren't you?" His lover quieted him with another luscious
kiss that sealed his mouth. Bodie's one hand teased his erect nipple while
the other pulled tenderly at his engorged cock. He rested his hands on
Bodie's waist, clinging as if to sanity while his hips still jerked
helplessly beneath Bodie's weight. Only the threat of suffocation caused
his partner to release his mouth, and then only long enough for a deep
breath. Doyle felt assaulted, drowning, lost. The myriad of sensations was
escalating beyond his endurance.

He came with a deep roar in his ears, then silence, as if he'd gone deaf.
Bodie's arms were the only reality left, the only anchor. Now he truly
knew the meaning of the phrase, 'blown away'. He was marginally aware of
Bodie kissing his eyes and cheeks, then noticed the moisture that his
partner was lapping up. But that was all right. Bodie would never tell.

It was heaven with a diabolical twist; it didn't last forever, only
seconds.

On the other hand, it could happen over and over again.

His hands drifted lazily from Bodie's waist, down to his fly, and began
unfastening the light wool slacks. The fabric was soft and fine, enticing
him to outline Bodie's rigid penis with it. It was impressive in its size,
Doyle decided in a proprietary sort of way. His mouth sought Bodie's again
as his partner's arms came around him. Nothing had seemed this secure,
this perfect, in such a terribly long time. Perhaps it had never been so
before.

Bodie's grip told him how desperate the other man was for release. There
would be time for subtleties at a later date. His hands opened the fly the
rest of the way and fondled the wonderfully hard cock thrusting at him.
One slithered down and caressed the soft sac of balls, while the other
worked at Bodie's head, sliding the foreskin to and fro. His mate growled
in his ear, a deeply hungry sound that sent shivers through his body.

Bodie came only a few strokes later; his arms tightened so much that Doyle
had to struggle for a moment to breathe. His brow, moist and hot, fell
upon Ray's shoulder. Not a sound had escaped him, save one final groan at
climax. Doyle could not help but wonder idly what it would take for the
big man to totally lose control and howl. He determined at some point that
he would have to find out.

For now though, his own arms comforted and held his gasping partner. Even
that felt so right between them. Doyle could not remember experiencing
such soul-deep contentment as this, seeping through him. Feeling his mate
come was as satisfying, in a way, as if he'd done it again himself. Not in
a physical sense, he realised, but emotionally, another instance of their
hard-won attunement.

Now that they'd gone this far, he knew it had probably been inevitable. He
loved William Andrew Philip Bodie. And he had every reason to believe that
the feeling was mutual. His earlier hesitation and concerns seemed to have
melted like hoarfrost on a June morning. He only wondered how it was that
they had waited this long.

No woman had ever touched his innermost being the way Bodie did without
trying. It was time to face facts. He loved him completely and there would
be no turning back now.

Bodie snoozed lightly in the circle of his arms, a look of thorough
satisfaction softening his features. Moments later, an exhausted Doyle did
the same.

But Bodie's distant memories crowded into his dreams, waking him,
disrupting the peace Doyle had so unexpectedly offered him. He had lain
thus with another he had loved, sweet-lipped from the taste of her,
inhaling the scent of her long, dark hair. He had also cuddled in her
arms, secure and sated. She had whispered words of endearment to him in
the night, happy and content. They were lovers once, and would have been
again if only she had lived.

How in the name of any god had that sweet memory become entwined with all
this horror? It could not be her, he reasoned fiercely. He knew her. It
had to be another, and on the morrow he would prove it.

******

Scant minutes before dawn they saw Madame Genet off, to be escorted to the
Tower and guarded by McCabe and Lucas. Cowley waited a hair longer, until
the first rays of the sun were indeed visible, then departed with Murphy
for the City Morgue. Doyle did not envy his colleague the experience.

Arriving reinforcements were assigned the grisly task of putting the
office to rights, sorting out the mess at MI6, and getting those remaining
staffers out of Westminster and into safe houses. Willis was to be
attended by his own guards, in a safe house of his own choosing. After
all, the mole would likely have access to his list of safe houses, and
CI5's as well. A random selection was his best bet.

He and Bodie had gone over the cemetery list with Jax and Susan and split
it between them. No one even questioned Bodie's right to pick Marikka's
grave; Susan and Jax out of courtesy, and Doyle out of a sense of
inevitability. All he could do now was pray that it was not her.

He did manage to convince Bodie to leave her for last.

"After all, if they want to set her up, make it look as if it's her, they
might empty her grave, expecting us to look there first. We might miss
looking for the real one. So, let's check every grave, regardless..."

Bodie did not argue. Logistically, it was impossible on such short notice
to have the digging equipment necessary for such a task in ten different
locations. Only Betty, acting with Cowley's authority, could have pulled
off even an approximation of said feat. She managed to get two heavily
equipped engineering units from the Army to stand by and follow the CI5
teams to the gravesites, one after the other. They could all be finished
by afternoon, assuming they had to open every single grave.

Doyle had diligently avoided thinking about what they might have to do
once they had opened the coffins. In his usual prosaic way, Bodie had not,
and schooled Susan and Jax in the proper technique of using stake, mallet,
garlic, and hacksaw. They had seen too much the night before to even look
askance. But there still were questions.

"Do we just do them all, or is there a way of telling which one it is?
This is assuming they're all at home. Obviously, if one's missing..."
Susan wondered aloud.

"Then that's the one," Bodie agreed. "Well, the corpses we saw Cowley do
hadn't decayed even a bit. If they're completely rotted, there's no point
to it. I guess we ought to do anyone that isn't greatly decomposed.
Besides, being exposed to the sunlight ought to flush out the real one
too."

Jax sighed. "I don't think my mum would approve of all this. Well, here
goes. Keep in touch on the R/T. I don't want to dig up anyone I don't have
to."

"Neither do we," Doyle added. *Although, I did set us up to look at every
single one, because I'm so afraid it's her and he won't cope well. What a
pillock I am. It's me that won't cope well.*

They split up and went to meet their respective Army units.

******

Six tedious and stomach turning hours later, both teams were on their last
gravesites. The previous eight had turned up nothing but the very mortal
remains of years-old human flesh. The Army units had learned quickly to
keep well back once their initial excavation work was accomplished.
Doyle's only relief was that none of the corpses' conditions had warranted
any sort of desecration. They had reburied them as they went along.

He was torn between the certainty it was Marikka, and the fear that if it
wasn't, they had absolutely no clue where to look next. He stalled a bit,
wanting Jax and Susan to have ruled out the very last other possibility
before proceeding. Bodie probably knew what he was up to, but didn't
object. After all, Doyle sensed, how eager could he be to view the
contents of her coffin, no matter what was there or not there? He had been
her lover.

Jax radioed their last failure. Now, there was no escape.

Marikka's grave lay before them. 

Her headstone (that Bodie must have bought?) was a model of serene beauty
and taste. Doyle swallowed, touched by the unexpected depths his partner
sought so often to hide, even from him. Love spoke in every graceful line.

Did she know that? Had she looked upon it with tenderness upon arising?

He forced himself back to the business at hand and gave the signal for the
soldiers to proceed. Then he stepped back, as close to his silent partner
as he publicly dared. Bodie's face displayed nothing.

It was no surprise that this final disinterrment took longer than all the
others combined, or so it felt to him, waiting. He fidgeted, awed by
Bodie's rigid military stance even at this most painful of moments. The
man was unconquerable. His heart swelled with a myriad of turbulent
emotions, love and admiration predominating, closely followed by
compassion and shared suffering.

The coffin was laid bare. They scooped the dirt away at an angle,
affording easy access to it, having worked this out throughout the day.

Bodie half faced him, features sheltered from the others. For a half
second, his mouth melted into the most tender of smiles, that seemed to
communicate all the love, trust and support Doyle had longed to show him
openly. Then it vanished just as quickly as Bodie turned and strode
forward purposefully to the sloping edge of the open pit.

Doyle watched helplessly, knowing full well that Bodie would never allow
anyone this task but himself. His heart ached, but with pride.

Then suddenly he was no longer alone. Cowley stood beside him, grim, yet
not remote. His pale blue eyes scanned the scene with precision, but when
they rested on Bodie, it was clear what he too felt. Nothing needed to be
said, at least not yet.

Bodie balanced himself along the edge, then started on the casket with the
tools he'd been handling all day. Practised, it was but the work of
minutes to release the screws that held the cover in place. Once unlocked,
he opened it without pausing, then sank back onto the disturbed ground.
His tools fell by his side. Even the Army crew drew nearer, sensing
something different.

This coffin was empty.

For all that he had been expecting it, Doyle was speechless. It was one
thing to suspect something; another to see it displayed openly for all to
see. Then he came to himself and focused on his still sitting partner.
Bodie was a picture of calm, but his face had gone a ghastly white. None
of the more grisly sights they had seen this day had so altered his
colour. Cowley also moved to his side.

"Come along, man. Work to do," the Controller urged with a mock severity
that impressed neither of them. "We have to render this hideaway useless
to her. She might return to it for shelter at some point."

Bodie slowly unwound his crossed legs and stood up, not responding. Nor
did he reply when Cowley pressed a garlic wreath in his hands. He might
have wondered why this task had fallen to him as well, but either he knew
the answer or it was not important to him.

He tossed the garlic wreath into the open coffin, followed by an open
flask of holy water, and the crumpled remnants of a communion wafer. Only
then did his frozen features manage to thaw briefly. "What if she's a
devout communist vampire, sir? Perhaps we should burn Chairman Mao's
Little Red Book and place the ashes inside, just to be sure."

Cowley tried his hardest to scowl, but his relief was visible, at least to
Doyle. This was their Bodie; he suspected his own reaction was likewise
palpable.

Their work accomplished, they moved away from the grave and strode back to
Cowley's car. "Now for the hard part," he muttered. "Marikka was born in
East Germany; her husband was a double agent that Willis arranged to have
placed in a position of high authority. We must assume that upon arising,
she went to the East German Embassy and blew his cover as revenge for his
sacrificing her to the cause. For what it's worth, we should try to warn
him, I suppose."

"She started at least two weeks ago. I imagine it's a little too late,"
Bodie commented, unconcerned. He had no reason to care if Schuman survived
or not; that set-up had nearly got him killed, along with Marikka. "More
to the point, sir, what's our next move? Head on over to the Embassy and
threaten them with Madame Genet?"

"All in good time, Bodie."

Murphy and Charlie awaited them at the car; Cowley motioned them to get in
with him and Murphy, leaving Charlie to drive their own vehicle back. The
tall Irishman took the wheel.

Cowley picked up the R/T and placed a call to the Minister, summarising
their discoveries to date. They had little time to waste; it was already
afternoon and the sun was sinking early in the October sky. He wanted an
interview with the East German Ambassador, if nothing else. Whether he
would get it on such short notice was another matter. He motioned Murphy
forward.

"If nothing else we can reconnoitre around the building complex. Nothing
illegal about that," he explained.

"Nothing particularly safe about it either," Doyle pointed out. "We
already know she's not impressed by guns or numbers. If she is staying
there, we don't want to be sitting around at sundown. I doubt if she cares
all that much what the East Germans think about murder on their doorstep.
She's using them for revenge as much as they think they are using her."

Cowley agreed reluctantly, but insisted upon driving past the Embassy on
their way to the Tower. It was nearly time to confer with Madame Genet
anyway. Jax and Susan were scheduled to meet them there.

"What about HQ?" Bodie asked. "We can't afford a repeat of last night."

"Of course not," the Controller snapped. "What kind of fool do you take me
for? The building will be evacuated long before sunset. Everyone connected
with CI5, from the janitors to the housekeepers, are going into safe
houses tonight, as are as many people from MI6 as possible. Did you think
I've been doing nothing all day?" The weight of last night's massacre
would not fade easily from their leader's shoulders.

Doyle recognised that, but felt the need to persist anyway. "What about
the mole? He'll pass on the location of the safe houses, surely. He must
at least know the MI6 ones, and probably ours as well."

"I'm counting on it," Cowley responded grimly.

*Triple think*. Doyle considered the possibilities. "You've passed out
phoney locations for the top brass. If she bites, we'll have the identity
of the mole at least, and no harm to anyone."

Cowley nodded. "It took a bit of doing to shuffle that many people around,
but it's done now. If Betty ever leaves us, we'll all die."

"Marikka will be furious," Bodie observed. "Wouldn't want to be in the
area when she discovers she's been lied to. Hope no one else is at those
addresses."

"Vacant flats in isolated parts of town," Cowley answered absently. "We've
set up remote camera equipment at all of them; not an easy task, I assure
you. We'll be able to track her moves from a safe distance. With luck,
Madame will be able to reach her in time to confront her, though it is by
no means certain."

Murphy raced the car along at breakneck speed, winding through the City
traffic. "We've set up an imaginary hideout for Willis, first and
foremost, then leaked a backup location, so the mole won't be too
suspicious. He'll relay both, of course, but we hope she'll go for the
second address."

"And if she doesn't?" Bodie pondered aloud. "She may not be as suicidal as
we think. What if she goes after an entirely different target?"

Cowley and Doyle both stared at him. Finally, Cowley broke the silence.
"That's why you're staying within earshot of Madame at all times tonight."

******

McCabe and Lucas were just finishing the remnants of their dinner when the
rest of the team arrived. Jax inspected the empty plates with a hopeless
air; Susan groaned and fell off her feet onto a chair. Expecting nothing
better, Murphy ignored it all, and stared out the window at the setting
sun.

Bodie was not so inclined to be philosophical. There was food involved.
"Anything left at all?"

As if by magical response to his desire, an attendant arrived with another
cart laden with tantalising aromas. Cowley smiled. "Bless that girl. She
thinks of everything."

"Who, Betty? Not this time, sir," Lucas replied. "Madame Genet made
arrangements herself this morning. Said she's tired of us all getting
anaemic; won't do at all."

Doyle snorted, trying hard not to look at Cowley, then sat next to his
mates, readying himself to dig in as well. "Well, it's not sleep, but
it'll have to do. What is it, anyway?"

"Liver and onions. Takes our blood counts seriously, she does." McCabe
chimed in. "Hope this isn't a warning or anything. When does she, er...
ah..."

"Later tonight, if we are fortunate," Madame spoke from the doorway. "If
our snare is unusually effective. If not, well..." She came around to
stand behind Bodie's chair teasingly. "It's either him or Murphy. The rest
of you are mere skin and bones." She eyed Doyle with a particularly
malicious glint. "And a lucky thing, too, else I'd have made mincemeat of
you last night, little one."

As always, Bodie was supremely at ease with her joking, leaning back into
her arms familiarly. Flushed, Doyle could only marvel at his unusual level
of trust. Cowley guffawed loudly; the other agents laughed along, but with
a quizzical look. No one chose to enlighten the rest of them.

"All is in place?" she inquired, more briskly. "I want to know the minute
she is sighted."

"Wouldn't it be helpful for us to be closer to the most likely spot?"
Susan asked gamely, "or is there a reason we aren't doing that?"

"There is," the lady approved. "She will sense me if I am too close, and
bolt the scene before we can trap her. And, of course, it is not safe for
the rest of you to be any closer, either. Our objective tonight is merely
to deprive her of her mole and confront the East Germans after she is
photographed. They will give her up with the proper persuasion, I am sure.
Then we can tighten the noose about her by day, when she is far less of a
danger. It is the most expedient solution. If we are fortunate enough to
come upon her, so much the better, but don't count on it."

Cowley nodded. "Lucas and McCabe will be manning the remote camera
equipment next door, since they were able to take turns sleeping a good
part of the day. The rest of you are official guests of the Tower tonight.
The Constable has made arrangements for some cots downstairs. I suggest
you take advantage of this break and try to rest. Our work, if it happens
tonight at all, may occur at any time now. Bodie and Doyle, you stay
here."

 
 ******

*Chapter Six*

Even though Cowley was in the next room, asleep, and McCabe and Lucas down
the hall, the silent room seemed eerie in its isolation. Doyle knew Madame
Genet was very close, keeping an eye on Bodie, but he could not rightly
sense her presence. Too tired to worry for long, he settled in next to his
exhausted partner, fully dressed, and cuddled. They might have to get up
at any time.

"Wish I had the energy to treat you right, sunshine," Bodie whispered in
his ear. "Want to..." he broke off with a thunderous yawn. "Seems like
such a waste to just sleep. It's barely six-thirty."

"Not now," Doyle whispered back. "Just kiss me and let me hold you. I was
so proud of you today, mate," he got out in a rush.

Bodie smiled into the tangled auburn curls he nuzzled, then turned Ray's
head for a proper kiss. It was sweet, unhurried, tempered by fatigue. When
Bodie lifted his head, his eyes were shining, though half closed. "Proud?
What for? Didn't do anything but dig."

Ray snuggled into the crook of Bodie's neck above his collar, pulling him
even closer. "You know," he answered with a yawn of his own. "Glad you're
on my side, sunshine. You're unconquerable."

Bodie inhaled his partner's scent, profoundly content despite the weary,
painful day. His Ray was proud of him, was he? Good enough.

He'd loved Marikka dearly a long time ago, but she had not returned his
love to the same degree. He could see that clearly now. Ray would never
have sent him away, would not have married someone for their wealth, no
matter how difficult his life, would never have cheated on someone if he
did marry. Marikka was a manipulator, and it was a supreme irony that she
had been an amateur in the midst of professionals. He was sorry for her,
sorry for her untimely and unnecessary death, and he had not forgiven
Willis for it. All the same, the creature he hunted now could lay no claim
upon him or his affections. The man at his side held those.

The residual emotion nestled in his heart for her had begun to fade with
the sight of the carnage at CI5. He had dearly hoped it was not she, so as
not to lose the sweetness of her memory, but that had been finally dashed
this afternoon. He winced, then pulled Ray a little closer for comfort. If
she had ever truly loved him, she would not have slaughtered his mates. So
be it.

All the same, he half prayed to an unknown god that it would not be his
hand that laid her low forever.

Midnight's darkness chilled the air around the great old bed. Doyle
sniffled, not knowing why he had awakened. He was quite comfortable right
where he was, absorbing Bodie's heat beside him. His eyes closed.

Then they opened again. He looked about, uneasy. Was something here? No.
Then what?

He sat up, acutely aware of his darkened surroundings. Nothing stirred.
Bodie's breathing was a gentle rumble beside him. His hand went to his gun
reflexively as his hair rose. Part of him silently called out, wondering
where Madame was.

Once the connection was consciously made he understood the cause of his
discomfort. It was *her*, calling to him. Why?

He got up, his disquiet no less for realising it was her now. He had not
Bodie's or Cowley's faith in her. Still, he got up. She must have some
reason for not wanting to disturb Bodie. It was the only thing that made
any sense. He padded over to the closed door in his stocking feet. It
opened by itself silently, chilling him even more than the night air.

Cowley's bed was rumpled but he was nowhere to be seen. The old Victorian
desk had but one lamp burning on it. Beyond it, shadows hinted at the
other room they had all avoided.

That door too was open.

He was shaking, as much from nerves as cold, but his feet carried him
forward. It occurred to him to see if he could consciously stop them. He
faltered for a moment, feeling her pull more forcefully, then found them
shuffling towards her again anyway. The implications of that frightened
him enough to make him turn, trying to call Bodie.

Then she was at his side, with a blanket that she draped over his
shoulders. "Shh, don't be alarmed. It's just that we need to talk. Alone."
Her hands were gentle, but he was not fooled. He could not fight her and
win. He shuddered again.

She led him through the second doorway, into deeper darkness. The barest
minimum of reflected light entered this chamber; no windows broke the
stony surfaces. Its only furnishing, if it could be called such, was a
huge stone sarcophagus, its ornate cover carved with her body and
features, adorned in the robes and crowns of a long dead century. His
throat moved, but no sound emerged.

"Hush, child. It will be all right. Really. I have no need to lie to you,
you know." Her hands reached up and shaped his face, forcing him to make
eye contact with her. Those deep brown eyes of hers were sincere,
concerned, perhaps a bit impatient, but not dangerous. He finally believed
her.

At last he found his voice. "Why?"

"Bodie. He will not be safe as long as she is out there. But she is no
fool. She knows we will watch over him carefully for that very reason. If
we did not, she would sense a trap. Knowing this, who do you suppose her
next target might be?"

He stared into her beautiful almond eyes, finally understanding. "Me. If
she wants to make Bodie come to her, she will take me to force his hand.
She knows how we feel about each other. Hell, I told her myself when I
interrogated her."

Her hands slipped from his cheeks to his shoulders. "Exactly so. She will
seek to abduct you while we are protecting others. But she would not dare
harm you; she needs you alive to bring Bodie to her."

"And you need me to be taken so you can find her by day." This he could
appreciate. It only made sense. "You need to be able to track me, once she
has me. A homing device or a wire, or..."

"She would probably look for that. If not she, then the East Germans
might."

His jade eyes darkened in distress. "So you have another way."

"Don't look so wary. Have I given you cause to fear me so? Yes, that is
the way of it." She smiled sadly. "Do you think I have so little pride
that I enjoy forcing myself upon the unwilling? This is, as they say, for
your own good. You have done far more difficult things in the past for
your partner's safety and your own."

"You want my consent." Some deep part of him thawed.

She nodded. "It will work far better if you are with me, not against me.
Yours is the sort of mind that already carries an attunement to mine. Once
we have exchanged blood, I will be able to hear you, to see you, to find
you anywhere."

He swallowed as she drew nearer. "Will this change me?"

Her hands pressed on his shoulders, pushing him to his knees on the stone
floor before her. "Every experience changes us, Raymond." She laughed deep
in her throat at his startled reaction. "You know, that was my uncle's
name. A common one in our family, and a lovely one. It was when I visited
his court in Jerusalem that I first started on the road to being changed
into what I am now. I will not make that choice for you. Only you can
determine how much this experience will change you, what it might leave
you hungering for. But no, you will not be made into what I am as a result
of this alone." She leaned over him and brushed her lips against his.

"Give yourself to me freely, Raymond. Let yourself flow into me, and I
into you. For Bodie, my young friend."

For Bodie. He closed his eyes, feeling some moisture well up behind his
lids. Yes, he could do damned near anything for Bodie. Even this.

He'd expected her to move his half-open shirt, to find his throat, but she
kissed him instead, a deeply powerful kiss that left him bereft of speech.
He trembled against her, dizzy.

"There must be no mark that anyone can see. Let me enter."

He obediently opened his mouth once more, allowing her whatever she
willed. Their mouths and tongues met as if drawn together by magnets. He
could not comprehend what was happening. Whatever it was, it had nothing
to do with desire or pleasure, at least for him. Yet it was something akin
to love.

It was her raw, burning instinct for survival that scorched his mouth,
pierced his tongue, took his blood. No thought distracted him from the
fury of it, only the image of a hapless gazelle being ripped to pieces by
a lioness intruded upon his consciousness. As inevitable as that...

Then she withdrew. He felt her lips gently upon his cheeks, kissing his
tears away, holding him close, seeking to comfort him.

"Hush, Raymond. Just a bit longer. Here now..." Her tongue entered his
mouth once more, but this time it was to give, not take. The dark power of
her blood exploded within him, smashing Ray Doyle into a million pieces.
He gasped in reflexive horror, then in wonder at it all. The familiar
world he'd always thought he understood shifted on its axis.

He could no longer deny that he knew who she was, or how he knew it.

*Eleanor of Aquitaine. Mother. And Bodie...my brother.*

His head sank upon her breast as her cold hand cradled the back of his
neck. She knew him too. She had to. Perhaps she had all along.

"Yes, my dear. I knew. I knew from the moment I saw both of you. How glad
I am that you love each other so well. And my lord too. All is well,
child. All is well. Did I ever fail to protect you all?"

******

Bodie shifted uneasily in the bed. A slow awareness built that he was by
himself when he should not be, not any more. One eye opened, in faint
concern. Where was his golly? He lifted up on one elbow to scan the room.

"There you are. Had me wondering for a minute. What are doing, standing by
the window?"

Ray turned to him, pale in the reflected light of the midnight moon.

His former anxiety returned full force. Were those silver streaks tears on
his lover's face? "Come 'ere, sunshine. You look awfully cold out there."

Obediently, Doyle returned to the bed and allowed himself to be caught up
in a tight embrace.

"Christ, you're freezing, mate!" Bodie wasted no time in pulling Doyle
underneath him and dragging the duvet over them both. "What the hell were
you doing?" He peered into his lover's eyes, now truly worried. "Are you
sick or something?"

Doyle shook his head and responded with an embarrassed grimace. "Stupid
damned thing, Bodie. Just a bad dream; I didn't want to wake you. Sorry.
Must have been all that bloody grave robbing today."

Bodie appeared to swallow it. He snuggled his friend closer, massaging his
bony back with gentle strokes "Can't say as I blame you, sunshine. Things
have been far from ordinary, even for us. Wasn't a pretty sight in the lot
of them. Let's get you thawed out here." His mouth nuzzled the side of
Doyle's neck, then nipped, then kissed it.

Ray shifted and met him head on, blazing with sudden need. It was as if he
wanted to envelop him, inhale him, absorb every particle that called
itself Bodie into himself, and not let go of any of it. He did his best,
kissing him until Bodie pulled back panting, in surprise.

"Wow." He gingerly touched his lips as if to make sure they were still
there. "Cold hands, warm heart, eh? You're somethin' else, sunshine."

"Then get back here and shut up," Ray demanded. "Stop wasting time. Never
know when the alarms will go off." He pulled the back of Bodie's head
towards him, snaked his legs around his waist, and gripped one ass cheek
with force through his trousers. "Come on, Bodie. I want you."

"Gathered that." His partner slid one hand between them and opened Doyle's
jeans. He grasped Doyle's turgid erection through his cotton briefs.
"Question is, how do you want me? Want this, or..."

"I want to fuck you." Doyle looked nearly as surprised as Bodie by his
words. "How about it?" His eyes met Bodie's with as much entreaty as
arrogance.

"All Hearts and Flowers, aren't you? Your seduction technique could stand
a little polishing, y'know." Bodie informed him severely. "'How about it?'
my arse! You could at least tell me you can't live without me." He did not
look away, though.

Doyle rolled them both over until he was on top, straddling his lover. His
lips caressed and fingers busily opened clothes, letting them do his
talking for him until Bodie sighed, too charged by the ministrations of a
passionately aroused Doyle to resist.

"Okay?" Doyle finally whispered. "Need you, mate. Oh, God..."

"Get on with it then," Bodie rasped harshly. "You know I'd give you
anything I had, you stupid crud."

Ray was too wired up to smile, though he moved his muscles in the attempt.
And Bodie loved him for it. *Fuck*. Bodie adored him. Perhaps Ray knew it,
knew he was pushing it, taking advantage of his partner's feelings, but
was powerless to stop himself. Still, he did see to his partner, to ready
him with snaking tongue and slender probing fingers until Bodie squirmed,
breathless. Then he prepared his lover very carefully with his massage
oil.

No one had ever touched Bodie in that place before; none of his women had
expressed any inclination to do so, nor had he ever thought to ask. He was
mildly shocked by the depth of pleasure his rear was capable of. From
trepidation he passed into eagerness. Part of him wondered briefly where
Doyle had acquired such skills, but he saw no reason to pursue it. Made no
difference now.

All that mattered was that he continue their sensual exploration; this
dark continent of desire beckoned to him with greater and greater
lightning bursts of bliss. He squirmed, clenching and unclenching his
muscular buttocks in response to the tender invasion. Small animal groans
filled his throat, unheeded. His hands twisted in the sheets, wishing they
were on Doyle's sweet flesh.

Then Ray entered him from behind. It was moist and slow, but still painful
at first. He gritted his teeth, working to get past the stretching,
burning, ripping sensations. Ray stopped moving above him, murmuring words
of comfort in his ear. He couldn't comprehend what they were, but their
tone was precious to him, and gradually calmed his alarm.

How Doyle waited, he didn't understand, but he did, until Bodie was ready
for him to carry on. He signalled his willingness with a jutting shove
back against his partner's balls, then felt Ray take over again.

Doyle rode him with long, deep strokes that never hurried, never forgot
who he was or what they were doing. He fell into the rhythm quite
naturally, letting it carry him closer and closer to their mutual goal.
Pleasure kept building tenderly within him, until he grew impatient and
attempted to hasten the pace with his own efforts.

"No, luv, let me," his golly whispered. Doyle held his hips immobile by
force and weight, still sliding slowly to and fro. "Don't rush it now.
We're almost there."

Frustration burned in his blood. He tried to reach his own trapped penis
with one hand, but was unable to work it underneath himself. Only then did
Doyle take mercy on him and start to add a snap to his rhythm. The peak of
the thrust was too exquisite to bear. It forced little cries and sobs from
him.

"Jesus, Ray! Please!" His prostate was on fire, his cock quivering. Blasts
of energy seared the nerves from his groin to his head. He thrust into the
mattress below him. Ray eased back enough to reach his penis, fondle it,
and smear fluid on the head of it. He nearly screamed with the joy of it
all.

Then he was there, pushed over the edge in a totally new way. The man
above him had tensed, surged and erupted just as he had come, he vaguely
realised. Falling, gasping in profound relief, feeling Ray go with him was
like nothing he had ever imagined.

Doyle fell on top of him, panting and sweating, then slipped out and slid
beside him. He half turned and took the lad up in his arms, too knocked
out to speak. His eyes said it all, he suspected. He knew a few tears were
leaking from the corners of his eyes, but didn't care. Doyle was openly
shedding a few himself. Bodie kissed them away, only to have his licked
off in turn. They stared at each other, still silent, until Bodie pulled
his partner close and nuzzled and kissed his forehead, his eyes, his nose,
his flawed cheekbone. There was no part of Doyle he didn't adore, he
suddenly knew. And, gods willing, he'd have time to show him that.

His companion melted in his arms, at peace from the looks of him. They
rearranged their garments a bit, in case they were called. Bodie let his
own eyes drift shut again after that.

Cowley stared pensively at his sleeping men, then determined the best way
to wake them was from outside the doorway. He'd sat up with McCabe and
Lucas in the monitoring room most of the night, no longer wondering why he
became so alert after midnight. His rest in the early evening was more
than enough now. She had said that might happen.

They could have passed for two young lads in their innocent posture, but
Cowley was not fooled. He had a fairly good idea what had transpired in
the wee hours after midnight. So be it. They would be as one from now on,
but Madame was right there too. It was as useful as it was dangerous.

It would be his responsibility to see to it that they were used in the
right way. His to keep them safe. Stuart's ghost did not so much haunt him
as cajole him to do his utmost. This he would have done anyway, for he
loved Bodie with all his heart. He'd come to realise just how deep his
affections ran when he found himself standing next to Doyle, tensely
watching Bodie open Marikka's coffin.

He'd wished to comfort the tightly coiled man who suffered beside him, as
well. Odd, for as much as he admired and relied on Doyle, he had never
thought himself especially fond of him. There was too much contention
between them. Belatedly, he saw that it made no difference. His feelings
for the difficult ex-copper were more complex than for Bodie, but no less
powerful. They were both his sons in a way.

And now they were lovers. The cynical side of him was pleased that it
afforded Bodie an additional layer of protection against Marikka. He knew
his man well enough to know that Doyle was paramount in his affections
now. Indeed, perhaps he had always been.

Sorrow grazed his heart briefly. How might his own life have gone, had he
found such a great friendship to rely upon? He had loved Annie once, but
that had not been reciprocated. He was alone, as he had been for such a
long, long time.

Suddenly, he was not alone. She called, her presence so powerful, he
turned, expecting to see her standing there. Instead, he heeded her
summons, moving back into his own room.

She stood at the entrance to her dark chamber as the sky lightened
slightly. "Sir George. My dear friend." She said nothing else, but it was
enough. He went to her willingly, unconcerned.

"I love you, my lady." His words echoed against the cold stones. Nothing
had ever sounded so right.

Her arms embraced him, lending strength and sweetness, if not warmth. "And
I love you, my good lord." *As I have for all these eight centuries*.

He started at the words that entered his mind unbidden.

*Eight centuries?*

*What does it matter, now, beloved? We are together.*

His mind swirled as his mouth opened to speak. She silenced both with a
kiss, then spoke aloud. "It is time, my lord. I think she will be moving
soon."

******

They'd been wakened abruptly, and found themselves in a dark-windowed car
within a matter of minutes. Madame sat next to Bodie in front while Cowley
checked with McCabe on the telephone. There had been no movement seen yet
at the safe house.

"What time is it?" Doyle yawned.

"Nearly four thirty. About an hour 'til dawn. Suppose we ought to thank
her for letting us sleep most of the night. I needed it."

"Me too."

"Then why are you two so bleary-eyed?" Madame inquired with mock severity.
"Perhaps this will help." She pulled a thermos from under her seat and
handed it to Bodie. The coffee's deep aroma was wonderful. Bodie smiled
his thanks and passed the cup behind him to Doyle. Just then, Cowley's
phone rang again.

"Alpha One here. Do you have visual on the suspect? Very good, man." He
raised his voice as he replaced the receiver. "She's been spotted
approaching the first safe house. Let's go!"

By prior arrangement, Bodie drove the vehicle towards the second safe
house. With luck they might be able to get close enough for Madame to have
a shot at catching her before she turned and ran. Unless she was
sufficiently paranoid to have already bolted. It was a gamble, but it was
better than doing nothing.

He approached with all due haste. The second safe house was located in
Bermondsey, just across the Tower Bridge, in a nondescript area still
largely empty since the war. Given the location of the first safe house,
near the new Covent Garden Market, they knew she would be approaching, if
at all, from the west. She would feel rushed, as the sky imperceptibly
began to lighten. All they had to do now was stay just out of her sensory
range, and wait for McCabe or Lucas to call them. He pulled onto a quiet
street nearly a half mile away and parked.

Madame sniffed the night air like a great hunting dog, then opened the car
door. "If this fails, she will head back to the Embassy straightaway. You
have surveillance set up there as well?"

"Across the street since this afternoon, but they didn't see her leaving
tonight. She must have a hidden way in and out," the Controller replied.
He handed her an R/T and a homing bug. "As you chase her, we'll follow.
Should it get too close to dawn, take cover and call us with your
location. We'll pick you up and get you home as fast as we can."

She looked at the devices with some amusement. "I have summoned you more
directly than this, but never by day. It is a wise precaution," she
admitted.

The phone rang and came to life in Cowley's hand. "Alpha One. Proceed."
Then. "She's already left New Covent Garden, bearing east, towards us."

The lady stood, then turned and leaned into the car window. "Always stay
east of me. At no time must you allow yourselves to get between us. That
could be fatal." She straightened again, head high, waiting.

The minutes crawled.

"Any chance any of you were followed today?" she wondered aloud.

Cowley shrugged in the back seat. "We thought not, but it is always a
possibility."

Madame turned to them again. "Tell our people at the Tower to take cover
inside the chapel at once. Something is wrong. She should have been here
by now."

Cowley relayed the message to Lucas and McCabe. "Now we won't know of her
approach," he murmured.

"I'll feel her, if she comes."

The phone rang again. "A woman has been spotted on the Tower grounds,"
Cowley growled.

With that, the lady vanished.

He'd thought he understood her, but in that instant, Bodie realised he
understood nothing. Her powers were truly incomprehensible from a human
perspective. He'd barely restarted the engine and turned it towards the
Tower Bridge, when Cowley suddenly rapped him on the shoulder.

"Head the other way down Tower Bridge Road towards St. Mary Magdalen.
Hurry, man. This could be a set up, damn it."

He gunned the powerful car and squealed the tyres forward at top speed,
shifting furiously. Cowley handed he and Doyle a flask of holy water.
Still shifting, he pulled out the ebony dagger and handed it to Doyle.

He felt rather than saw Marikka out of the corner of his eye. She was fast
approaching from his right, across an open field. Cowley was taping
crosses on the windows, urging Doyle to help him. He rammed his foot on
the accelerator, heedless of passing traffic.

It was her all right. It was the only thought he had when her beautiful
face appeared at his window, the only one untaped. Her hand shot through
the glass, shattering it all over him, and grasped his neck, pulling
herself towards him.

Without thought, without emotion, he dashed the flask of sacred water in
her face.

The scream that followed deafened him, but she did not let go. Her nails
dug into his neck. Then he felt Doyle behind him with the knife, jabbing
it into her arm. Cowley also splashed her with water. She screamed again.

The church was dead ahead. He simply aimed the car at it, not bothering to
slow down.

She let go.

Now he hit the brakes, still acting reflexively, and turned the wheel
enough to avoid actually hitting the building. They crashed through the
wrought iron gate and landed within a few feet of the church door. He
looked behind them.

She stood, snarling at the edge of the gate, stymied by the wrought iron
crosses it was made of.

Doyle did not hesitate. He opened his door, aimed the knife and threw it
at her. She moved in time for it to miss, but her face contorted with such
rage that for the first time, Bodie could not distance himself from his
fear.

It gave them enough time to get to the church door before she found a
breach in the row of crosses confronting her.

Cowley shot the lock off the door and all three men rammed it in with
their shoulders, then tumbled inside, gasping. She had just reached Doyle
and nearly got him by the arm when Bodie overturned the baptismal font in
the vestibule. The water splashed towards her, making her relinquish her
prey.

Cowley pulled Doyle the rest of the way to safety.

She growled one last time from outside the door, eyes glazed over, teeth
and claws exposed. Then she was gone.

From the east, the sky began to lighten.

They collapsed onto the nearest pews, hearts still pounding. Doyle
examined the deep cuts still spurting blood down Bodie's neck and pressed
a handkerchief against it. "We've got to get him to hospital," he rasped,
barely able to speak.

"This'll work faster." Cowley took another flask of water from his pocket
and soaked the handkerchief Doyle held.

Bodie screamed.

Doyle would have jumped back, but Cowley held his hand in place. "Only for
another minute, laddie," he whispered regretfully. "Then it'll stop."

Bodie collapsed in Doyle's arms, shaking until the handkerchief was
removed. No blood remained, but an ugly burn mark was visible. Doyle held
him close, his lips against his partner's temple.

"I wonder what the devil is going on at the Tower," their leader groused.
"Hand me your R/T, 4.5."

Ray did so, silently thanking the old man for his acumen. Had he been off
by another minute, they would have all been dead meat. Yet he expected no
applause; it was simply time to move onto the next task.

The Tower was likewise in an uproar, as it turned out. They had been
indeed under attack by a vampire, and all present might have come to
misfortune, had it not been for Madame Genet's warning. By the time the
creature arrived, they had all taken refuge in the various chapels on the
grounds.

Then Madame came to finish the fight.

It had not been a remotely equal battle. The little punk rocker girl
Marikka had sent as a decoy had been undead for no more than two days. She
was barely sixteen years old.

"Marikka had promised her all manner of lovely things; power, immortality,
eternal youth... The little twit fell for it completely and thought
nothing of what she was about to do. She had no idea that she was just
being used to throw us off. She thought this was some sort of initiation
challenge. Poor fool." Madame paced inside her darkened room, with just
the door ajar, while the others sat in their makeshift HQ. "Marikka
failed, but only just, no thanks to me. You might have all been killed. I
should have been more careful."

"So should we have," Doyle murmured "This wouldn't have happened if she
hadn't discovered the location of your lair." He turned to his superior.
"How did you know Marikka was after us, sir? I had no idea."

"Neither did I," the Controller confessed. "I just had a very nasty
feeling about the way things were transpiring and thought we'd better move
in a hurry. Whether it was Marikka, or a couple of East German assassins,
I didn't know. Didn't really matter."

"It matters to me," Madame Genet exclaimed. "I ought never to have left
you there exposed. It was the most unpardonable stupidity. I'm surprised
you don't send me packing back to France, my lord."

"Enough!" Cowley roared in such a manner that it was obviously
good-natured. "Post-mortems are useless. We're all here, all alive, and
Susan and Jax are off to pick up our prime suspects for treason. With her
source of information gone, Marikka will have a much harder time of it.
This was her big shot at us, before we close in on her. She missed, no
matter by how much. She missed. Now comes our shot. And we'll not miss."

******

There was the sad matter of dealing with the dead girl and her estranged
family. She had been a runaway, living off the streets, whoring and
dealing drugs to support her heroin habit. Cowley had planned on coming
with them to deal with it all, but Bodie demurred.

"No need for all of us to take care of this, sir. Doyle and I can handle
it. Leaves you free to deal with those suspects."

It was perfectly dreadful. The girl's parents sobbed, raged, then fell
into hysterics. Bodie was surprisingly effective at dealing with such raw
emotion, maintaining his poise while offering genuine sympathy. Doyle was
impressed. He'd had to do it often enough, with the Met, but when had
Bodie acquired such experience? Africa? He resolved, not for the first
time, to pin his elusive partner down one day.

The trip to the morgue had been nearly an anticlimax after such emotional
turmoil. He waited in silence as Bodie completed the steps necessary to
release whatever remained trapped within her mortal flesh. Since it was to
be a closed casket funeral, the family was not even informed. Afterwards,
the body would be quietly removed and cremated. They need never know about
it. Cowley had seen to that.

Back in the car, Doyle tossed his head against the headrest and closed his
eyes. He wanted nothing more at that moment than for it all to be over.
Now that Marikka had lost whatever inhibitions she'd started off with,
there would be no safety for anyone in London.

Bodie drove away, and for several minutes there was only silence. Then he
pulled off into a side street and stopped the engine. Doyle opened one eye
in curiosity, then smiled. His partner was coming to him with arms that
offered comfort and at least momentary peace. They wrapped around his
torso as he bent his head into the crook of Bodie's bandaged neck. His own
arms enveloped the larger man, pulling him closer. Bodie buried his face
in Doyle's hair and nuzzled it. Still, nothing was said. Nothing needed to
be.

They remained thus for nearly five minutes, savouring each other's
nearness, warmth, and understanding. It was not sexual at all, but it had
not been possible prior to their having sex. Doyle pondered the
foolishness of it; now that they were lovers they could allow each other
what they had probably needed so desperately in the past, and had been
forced to receive from strangers.

"You smell good," Bodie finally whispered. "Herbal shampoo?"

"Yeah." He raised his head to gaze at his lover. "I love you, Bodie. Kiss
me?"

"Here?" Bodie looked around, then decided. He lowered his face until they
touched ever so lightly, cheek to cheek, then bestowed a gentle kiss full
of sweetness. It deepened slowly, laying bare all the aching places in his
soul, until Doyle felt near to tears from it. No woman had ever done that
to him. He melted completely, letting Bodie support him.

"We've got to go," he whispered regretfully, as Bodie pulled back a
little.

"I know." Bodie's dark blue eyes were on the verge of revealing more. His
own met them without hesitation and waited. Whatever Bodie wanted...

"What happened last night?" There was no challenge in Bodie's tone, merely
matter-of-fact inquiry. "You know what I mean. Before we made love."

This was the last thing he'd expected. Why he was so surprised, he didn't
know. After all, who knew better than he did just how clever Bodie was?
So, he hadn't been taken in after all. Doyle sighed, but didn't look away.
"It's a bit difficult to talk about," he apologised.

"Gathered that, or you'd have told me last night when I asked. Has to do
with either Madame or Cowley or both. Probably both. C'mon, mate. Unless
Cowley swore you to secrecy..."

"He didn't. He hasn't even indicated he knows, though I'm sure he does."

"Knows what?" Bodie was all hunter now.

"Madame, well... She..." He averted his gaze.

Hands turned him to face his inquisitor dead on. All trace of patience was
gone now. "Did she force you? Where's her marks? I looked, but I didn't
see any."

Doyle gulped and chose to answer the first question. "No, not really. I
can't say I was crazy about the idea, but I understood why..."

"Why?" Bodie's breathing was harsh.

"She's afraid I might need protecting. Or finding, if it comes to that."
He waited for Bodie to pounce all over that with a sense of inevitability.

He didn't right away. For long moments he said nothing at all. His hands
gripped the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead.

"Bodie?" This silence frightened Doyle more than his partner's temper.
"It's all right, you know. She didn't harm me. It's just a precaution."

At last the big man next to him stirred. "A precaution she didn't feel the
need to take with me, though I'd seem to be the likelier target. What kind
of fool do you think I am, Doyle?"

Ray winced. "Ah, sunshine..."

"And don't try that either. Just because I love you doesn't mean I've gone
simple. Well, at least not completely. What are they planning? To use you
for bait? When and where?"

"I don't know." And because it was nothing but the truth, he knew Bodie
would bear with him. He waited a decent interval, then tried again. "You
saw how she used that silly girl. We've got to find Marikka, and fast.
Every night is going to be another catastrophe until we do. And beggars
can't be choosers. She'd know it for a trap if we left you wide open for
her to snatch. She'd expect you to be guarded. But not me. Bodie, she
can't hurt me if she wants you to come to her."

"Are you so sure?" Dark blue eyes scalded him with their intensity. "Sure
enough to bet your life and God knows what else? What if you're wrong? She
didn't seem to care who she killed in front of the church this morning!"

Doyle forced himself to meet his angry partner head on. "Then I'm wrong.
For Christ's sake, Bodie, it's our job. Neither of us has to like it. And
after all, Madame took this...step...before the events this morning. She
had no idea Marikka would attack us like that. Perhaps she's changed her
mind. I don't know; we haven't rightly talked about it. No time."

Bodie's hands gripped his shoulders in a painful embrace, nearly shaking
him. "When this is over, sunshine, I'm going to turn you over in my bed
and ream your sweet arse so hard you'll sit sideways for a week. You
understand me?" Not waiting for a reply, his mouth came down hard,
punishing, demanding, forcing his way into Ray's.

Doyle understood all too well. He accepted the bitter onslaught with
neither anger nor fear. It was how he'd felt last night, and Bodie had not
turned him away. As he allowed the kiss to go on, he sensed Bodie easing
up, turning tender. Bodie's hands began to rub the sides of his arms. He
cuddled closer, even as Bodie released him.

"Luv..."

"Don't say anything," Bodie commanded. "Let me just look at you like this
for a minute. Then, we have to go."

 
 ******

*Chapter Seven*

His name was Jason Whit and he was breaking. Oh, he'd put up a good enough
front for a while, but the facade was cracking and Cowley zeroed in. He'd
already pretty much eliminated the other two; now, he was sure. An
Englishman born, Whit would have to understand they'd show him no mercy
once he was exposed as a traitor. He was directly responsible for
Davison's death, and indirectly, for the others as well.

It was time to dangle the bait. Cowley gave the signal to Jax, who had
been playing the 'bad cop' to Cowley's 'good cop'. He marched out of the
room in disgust, slamming down his cup of tea as he left. The Controller
leaned forward, quiet, sombre, alert.

"We know what you've done and you know what to expect. There isn't any
hope of bluffing your way out of this now. But there is a way out. You'll
wind up in East Germany, most likely, but that would be preferable to
prison, I assume. Needless to say, you must show us a modicum of
co-operation; Willis would have my head if he knew I was willing to trade
you for information. But you surely realise that we are more interested in
finding Marikka Schuman than in you. Your usefulness has ended for them.
They have no reason to save you. Tell me where she is and I will turn you
over to them when she is found."

It was a long shot at best. He doubted if the man knew; it would be quite
sloppy of them to have informed him, in the event of capture. His only
real expectation was that the man would be panicked enough to jump.

Whit was. "I don't know," he blubbered, then shut up at once as he
realised his mistake. He tried to back-pedal. "I don't know what you're
talking about."

"Of course you do," Cowley replied wearily. "Who else would I be looking
for, except Marikka Schuman? You were told that yesterday, when Mr. Willis
went into hiding."

"Well, yes, but..."

"But you already knew that, of course. You are her inside accomplice,
accountable for her nearly twenty murders. Now, I want you to think about
this. She has killed and created a 16-year-old girl, merely to use her in
her mad quest for revenge. The child died as a result. So far, we have
found all her victims and disposed of them properly, to prevent any
re-occurrences. Soon, that will be impossible. All it will take is a few
loose rogues stalking the streets of London to create a very difficult
situation. Now, I don't expect to appeal to your non-existent patriotism;
merely to your common sense. When that happens, how do you think the
British Government is going to respond to East Germany? In kind? I should
think so, don't you? The Cold War will become a great deal colder very
soon. And you, one of its many casualties. Madame Genet will use you to
send our return message, you understand. Not one of us will stop her."

The agent hung his head. "I knew this was insane from the beginning. There
were so many easier ways to get to Willis. But that is irrelevant now.
They were willing to sacrifice my cover right from the start, so enamoured
they were with her power. But they are fools; they cannot control her now.
They never could. She has done what she wished, without regard for any
greater good that might have been accomplished."

"Greater good," Cowley murmured, taken aback. But then, every man believes
himself in the right of it. This one was no exception. "If you are
correct, they may have also come to see her as a liability. I am
considering trading you for her whereabouts. Do you understand what that
means?" 

He nodded. "They will not be pleased, nor will they welcome me with open
arms, but I do think they realise that her time is almost over. And if
they leave me here, it would ultimately damage their credibility."

"Indeed. Not to mention their bodies," Cowley growled. "Let us hope for
your sake, and theirs, that you are correct."

Now that he knew for certain that they were aware of Madame, his heart
eased for the first time all morning. Whit clearly knew, and it was
inconceivable that he would not have informed them. Marikka might not
have, expecting a double cross if things became heated, but Whit had had
no reason not to pass along the information. It was bound to frighten
them.

He had every expectation that the East Germans would be ready to deal
soon. All the same, he had to have a contingency plan as a backup, in case
Marikka was suspicious enough to have moved her hideaway without their
knowledge. A plan that left Doyle sufficiently, but not obviously exposed.

Then he had to pray that she had not gone completely mad. After this
morning, he was no longer sure.

******

Cowley's voice crackled over the car radio. "Alpha One to 4.5 and 3.7. Do
you read me?"

Doyle answered, "Yes, sir. 4.5 here."

"Proceed at once to the East German Embassy on Belgrave Square. Meet me at
the front entrance. It seems our appointment with the Ambassador has been
moved up to this morning, though not at our request. Do not, repeat, do
not enter without me. Alpha One out."

The two men glanced at each other briefly as Bodie accelerated the silver
Capri.

"Now, they're calling *us*? Doesn't sound too good for them, does it?"
Doyle commented.

Bodie pursed his lips. "They've got a tiger by the tail, and they'd dearly
love to let go. She must have thrown quite a fit when she missed us this
morning. She's clever enough to know what that means. Her mole has been
exposed, and her safety at the Embassy is bound to be compromised. We're
coming down to the wire, old son. She's liable to do anything now."

There was no trace of affection or concern in his voice, Doyle noted. All
the same, he knew his Bodie. The man was capable of fanatical loyalty to
those few he had let into his heart, and Marikka had been one of them. In
spite of all she had done, he was suffering. Or because of it. Doyle
suddenly saw why Bodie had volunteered them to deal with the girl's
family. As her former lover, he must have felt it to be his duty, as much
to her as to them. Did he blame himself for her present condition as well?

The thought was odd enough for Doyle to wonder where it had even come
from. Then he thought about it some more. Bodie had accepted the most
bizarre aspects of this case far easier than he had, and faster. Why?

"Bodie? Did Marikka ever tell you anything that would explain what has
happened to her?"

Bull's eye. Bodie's hands stiffened on the steering wheel. Doyle waited,
just as Bodie had waited for him. That they were incapable of keeping
secrets from each other was at the moment only a source of pained,
sardonic amusement to him. The silence deepened inside the car as the
tyres squealed around a corner.

At last Bodie was ready.

"She told about something that happened to her once. A joke, or so I
thought at the time. She'd met a bloke at school; first man she really
fell for. He was into all this occult nonsense, claimed to be from Rumania
and descended from the Bathory family. She told me about having some sort
of ceremony with him, where they exchanged blood and all that rot. She
didn't take it seriously, didn't believe a word of it. She only told me
about it to demonstrate how weird some of her ex-boyfriends had been
before she met me." His brief laugh was bitter. "Weird? I wonder what
she'd think of what I've become."

"Bodie!" Doyle was taken about. Guilt and angst was his forte, not his
partner's. He'd cruelly pointed that out to the dark man more than once,
even though in his heart he knew better. "Look at what *she's* become, for
God's sake! You couldn't hold a candle to her killing spree if you tried
with a grenade launcher at Piccadilly Circus."

"Why? Because I wouldn't last twenty minutes?" Bodie finally smiled.
"Suppose you're right there, sunshine. There's something to be said for
near invulnerability."

"You realise you're feeling this way because you loved her, right?" Doyle
asked sharply. "Even though none of this has anything to do with you?"

Bodie cast a shuttered glance at his partner. "You'd laugh if I told you
that I keep thinking, 'If only I had been more clever, and not gotten her
killed by Willis."

"Jesus, Bodie! Laughing is the last thing I would do!" Doyle's right hand
crept of its own volition over to Bodie's thigh and squeezed. "You're
daft, mate, but I'd never laugh at a thing like that. You know it's not
true, though, or you wouldn't have put it that way."

"I guess," Bodie sighed.

******

Cowley was waiting for them at the front of the Embassy, as he'd said, but
there were also a half dozen ambulances parked, with their red lights
flaring in all directions. Medics scurried back and forth through the open
gates with gurneys, as others leaned over the transported victims, holding
IV fluids aloft, and administering first aid. The scene was too
reminiscent of the terrible night at CI5 Headquarters, though it seemed
there were at least a few survivors. Neither man had any doubt about what
must have happened as they walked up to their leader.

"Seems they got a taste of their own medicine," Bodie commented as they
neared him.

There was just a glimmer of dark satisfaction in Cowley's pale eyes. He
was not above enjoying divine retribution either, though he would never
have wasted time or resources plotting such a reprisal. It would have been
unprofessional.

"So it would appear."

A more immediate concern of his was the press. Already, several television
and newspaper reporters had arrived on the chaotic scene. The East Germans
had demanded a news blackout, and for once he was only too happy to
comply. The area was being cordoned off and additional Met police were
enforcing the restriction. Cowley had phoned the Home Secretary to see
about slapping a D-notice on the press, and was assured that would be no
problem.

"I imagine we'll be hearing more about it from the Ambassador. Let's go
inside."

They were ushered right up to the formal offices reserved for state
business by some very harried looking security guards. Not only the
Ambassador, but his chief of security awaited them. A secretary took notes
in a corner. It was oddly silent when contrasted to the hubbub at the
Embassy gates. In the distance, sirens could be heard as the ambulances
departed with their battered cargo.

Handshakes and introductions accomplished, Cowley wasted little time
getting to the point.

"I see there's been quite a bit of goings on downstairs, sir. Can it be
that you have asked us to come early to seek our assistance? Mr. Whit
indicated you might be willing to consider such a move, and that was
before this...this..."

"Debacle?" The Ambassador wrinkled his nose. "Is that the proper English
word?"

The chief of security, a man named Drukker, stirred restlessly in his
chair, eyes darting back and forth between them. He was pale and sweating.
Bodie had no doubt that he'd initially thought using Marikka was a good
idea. It might have even been his pet project. Right now he looked
physically ill.

"An excellent choice of words, Mr. Ambassador. I could not have picked a
more descriptive term myself," Cowley purred.

"Indeed. Well, needless to say, we have utterly no idea how such a thing
might have come about, but it seems that a crazed assassin gained access
to our grounds just before dawn and wreaked havoc with the guards
stationed to defend us soon afterwards. A terrible mess." He stopped and
pulled out a handkerchief, worrying it between his fingers. "The person
has escaped, worse luck, nor do we know where to look, or for whom."

"Really?" Cowley had expected no confessions, but he couldn't resist
toying with them. "Mr. Whit gave me to understand that using Marikka
Schuman to murder Willis of MI6, and myself, was the whole point of this
unfortunate plan. He also assured me that you understood what form our
retaliation might take for such inexcusable behaviour."

*Score one for the old man*. Bodie was pleased; he preferred the direct
attack himself. The spook next to the Ambassador had gone from pale white
to green.

"I do not know who this Mr. Whit is, nor why he would say such vicious
things about us, Mr. Cowley. This must be some awful mistake!"

"It most certainly is, sir. Yours. Or perhaps, his," Cowley pointed to the
security chief. "Or maybe orders from home. I don't know, nor do I care at
present. What matters is the timely resolution of this situation, don't
you agree? And for that to occur, you must give us your full co-operation
right now. Oh, we'll find her and destroy her, with or without you, but
the consequences for anyone found to have been involved in this dreadful
episode will be extreme. On that you have word of Her Majesty's
Government."

At that the security chief broke in. It was evident that he had merely
been awaiting an opportunity to do so. "Whereas our assistance would
surely count as a manifestation of our good will?"

"Of course," the Controller replied smoothly. "Neither side has anything
to gain from a protracted finger-pointing session. Once this matter is
taken care of properly, it would be best for it to be forgotten by all
concerned."

"I couldn't concur more," the Ambassador boomed heartily. He turned to the
man at his side. "Perhaps you can take Mr. Cowley with you and ask his
advice concerning our immediate problem. Then, I am sure you two will
engage in enough constructive dialogue to assure each other of your best
intentions. Gentlemen?"

******

The bloody Kraut certainly spoke beautiful English, Bodie reflected. All
very diplomatic. That couldn't obscure the foul odour of excessive blood
awash in their lower basement. It was horrific.

The living had already been removed. The dead were being collected in body
bags and piled in a corner. There were at least five of them. Bodie
shuddered involuntarily. It had been Cowley's perspicacity that protected
them from a similar fate earlier this morning. That, and blind luck that a
church was so near.

The older man was now speaking to Drukker, making sure he understood the
necessity for proper disposal of those corpses. Another time, and Bodie
would have worried about their trying to hoard one or two to use as they
had used Marikka. This was the last thing on their minds now, he could
see. Drukker was all for resolution of any potential threat and displayed
his readiness by ordering the tools Cowley would need immediately.

Bodie moved ahead, content to let his superior deal with that mess. He was
inspecting every corner of the brick cellar, eyes darting after his
torchlight. Doyle caught up with him, silently following his movements. In
the darkest part of the low-ceilinged crypt, Bodie found what he sought.
An oblong box. He opened it, to find dirt strewn along the bottom of it.
The impression of a body was left in its surface.

"This was her lair, all right. They were waiting for her, must have come
in soon after they thought she'd lain down to rest. They assumed she was
helpless right after dawn. But she's not that stupid. She was expecting
this sooner or later, and waited in a dark corner."

His torch illuminated boot prints in front of the casket. "When she was
sure of their intentions, she attacked them from behind. The poor bastards
had no chance, really." He stooped to pick up a piece of a wooden stake,
tossed to one side during the battle. It had been broken in half.

Still silent, Doyle tossed a garlic bulb into the open box. Cowley came up
beside them and added the crumbled wafer and sacred water.

"There has to be a way in and out, protected from daylight," he called out
to Drukker, who was still attending to the corpses on the other side of
the room. "Where is it?"

"Behind the old coal chute hatch. There is a tunnel that connects to the
Underground and around Victoria Station." He didn't even try to mask his
dismay at revealing this information, but neither did he hesitate.

"Marikka has certainly put the fear of God into them, hasn't she?" Bodie
murmured, amused. "He really doesn't want us to sic Madame on him; to hell
with the cause, comrades."

"Do you blame him? He can't afford things to get any uglier." Doyle
replied from beside the aforesaid chute hatch. It was loose, and opened
easily enough. Bodie handed him a wooden plank to prop it with. 

"Wait," Cowley commanded. "We need back-up. And maps of where this tunnel
goes."

Both agents looked back at him in surprise.

"Well, what are you staring at? You can see this bloodbath here. Sending
you two in after her would be like sending a couple of kids with popguns
after a lioness."

"That never stopped you before," Doyle muttered under his breath.

The Controller scowled. "Only when there was no other way, 4.5. Or when I
was under orders. Believe it or not, I have invested quite a bit of Her
Majesty's money in you two, and I don't care to waste it."

"The longer we wait, the further away she's going to get," Bodie warned.
"There are hundreds of miles of Underground and old train lines, not to
mention the sewers, for her to hide in. She could stay down there forever
and not be found."

"So long as she has some of her native earth to take refuge with," Cowley
pointed out. "That is what we must determine next. Because if she doesn't,
she'll have to return here for some." He turned again to Drukker, who had
nearly finished staking all five bodies. "Did she have access to her
native soil, other than what is lined in the box?"

"No." The man stood up, shaking his head.

"So, you did everything possible to ensure that she would not, and thereby
be dependent upon you for shelter," Cowley mused. "But is there any chance
she could have circumvented you? We must check with the surviving guards
and see if any of them saw her carrying a bag. Do you have surveillance
tapes of this area?"

He sighed. "If I said yes, it would be tantamount to admitting we knew she
was down here. Therefore I must say no. What I can do is find the answer
to your question and relay it to you as quickly as possible. After ...
interviewing the guards, of course."

"We don't have time for that," Bodie growled. "If she *is* coming back,
I'd think you'd want to be as prepared as possible this time. We need to
know now."

Drukker nodded. "Give me fifteen minutes," he pleaded. "I should have an
answer by then. By all rights, it ought to be 'no', but at this point I
cannot guarantee anything." He turned and quickly ascended the stairs.

Murphy plodded down as the other man passed him on the stairs. "The
surveillance team never saw a thing. Guess you already know that." He
surveyed the scene with a curled lip. "Lovely. Now what?"

Bodie pointed to the open hatch. "Feel like crawling through the sewers,
the Underground, and God knows what else?"

The big Irishman approached and looked over Bodie's shoulder into the dark
hole. "Oh, bloody marvellous. Can't wait."

"Well I can!" Cowley growled. "You two, go on up after Drukker and pry
that damned answer out of him now. Murphy, give me a hand with this mess.
I'm not taking any chances with them not finishing this up right. We've
got enough to deal with as it is." He removed the hacksaw from the toolbox
Drukker had provided and handed it to the large man. The lone remaining
East German guard merely stepped fearfully out of the way.

The Security Chief was busily studying his tapes in a darkened room when
they entered. He didn't bother to hide what he was doing, only waved at
chairs for them to take beside him.

On the screen before them, they could clearly make out Marikka Schuman.

What struck him forcefully at first was how utterly normal she looked.
Bodie saw none of the fangs and claws, the vicious expression he'd
encountered before dawn. She just looked like Marikka. Nothing else.

Except that Marikka was climbing into an open casket. Knowing that it had
happened did not make viewing it any less surreal. He swallowed, forcing
himself to pay attention to the task at hand.

"There are three weeks' worth of tapes to go through." Drukker brushed his
hair back anxiously. "You see why I can't give you a quick answer? She
could have been smuggling dirt out this whole time, a handful here and
there. We were aware of this possibility, or at least I was, and tried to
limit her access to it, but who knows? This whole thing has been a
nightmare from the beginning."

"You too?" Doyle did not try to hide his sarcasm.

"We all know the nature of our business and obey orders, Mr. Doyle," the
man replied wearily.

"Well, it's just that it's rather funny how everyone charged with carrying
out those orders really thought it was a bad idea from the start, now that
the shit's hit the fan."

"What else is new?" Drukker countered. "Your organisation is immune from
this? The Americans even have a name for it. They call it the Abilene
Syndrome."

The door flew open, as a young guard, face wet and pale, began shouting in
German.

Bodie dashed out the door, waiting on no one, as Doyle and Drukker raced
behind him.

"What is it?"

"She's back! And Cowley's down there!" Bodie didn't waste any more breath.
He took the stairs two at a time, vaulting over banisters headlong.
Despite his speed, the flights seemed interminable. The silence ahead of
him was frightening. *If she's hurt him...* He pushed the thought aside.
Nothing must be allowed to slow him down. 

Nothing stirred as he launched himself down the last few steps into
darkness.

"Where's the light switch?" He paused only look enough to turn on his
torch. The odour of coagulated blood was even stronger, now that the
corpses had been beheaded. He swept it around the room as Doyle fell in
beside him, panting.

Drukker pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling to reveal what Bodie's
torch had already found.

The young guard, eyes wide open, seeing nothing, lay with his throat
ripped out. Murphy lay face down beside him, blood oozing from his head.

Cowley was nowhere to be seen.

He ran to the still open coal chute hatch and flashed his torch down the
length of it, as far as the light would reach. "Cowleee! Can you hear me?"
he bellowed as he hooked a leg over the opening. No one answered.

Doyle caught him by the shoulder. "Wait, dammit! What good's that going to
do? They're gone already. Let's get Murphy to hospital. He's alive."

Bodie hesitated, but still did not remove his leg. "We've got to find
Cowley. Now!"

"We will, mate, we will! But use your head. He's alive! She was in such a
hurry to get him out of here alive, she didn't even kill Murphy. So why
would she kill him now? Obviously, she wants him alive. And that's all to
the good. Can't you see? Madame can track him." He stopped to catch his
breath. "Madame can track him just like she planned to track me. We'll
find them, Bodie, but not by thrashing about in the dark."

"What if she kills him before sundown? What then?" Bodie shouted back,
frantic.

"Why should she? She wants him for something, or she wouldn't have taken
him in the first place."

"Willis," Drukker said quietly behind them.

Both men turned to face the East German.

"She wants Willis. Wanted him last, after she destroyed his whole
organisation. Mr. Cowley was never her main target, though we obviously
wouldn't have minded that either. We wanted her to go for him first, not
bother with those other men, but she would not. She wanted him to suffer
as much as she had."

Bodie bit back a curse. "You're being awfully helpful all of a sudden,
aren't you?"

Drukker shrugged. "I am not a fool. We have been watching Mr. Cowley, and
you, and your... Madame? Whit told us what to expect. If I don't help you
get Mr. Cowley back alive, I have little doubt that she will tear us all
apart."

"Indeed, she will," Doyle muttered. "And if she doesn't, we will. Call an
ambulance for Murphy. Come on, Bodie. We've got to wake Madame."

******

The air was foul with sewage, wet trash, animal remains. All that made it
bearable was the speed with which they were travelling. Cowley estimated
they were easily going at least fifty miles per hour. The darkness meant
nothing to her.

Hoisted over her shoulder, Cowley could not have seen much anyway. He
surmised they were moving though old sewer lines and had covered a
considerable distance from Belgrave Square. Given the amazing extent of
London's subterranean passages, they could be anywhere. He could not keep
himself from coughing at the stench.

She'd have to put as much distance between herself and Madame as possible,
as fast as she could. The rate of speed Marikka was maintaining suggested
that she had her route already mapped out. Doubtless, she was taking him
to her new lair.

He cursed himself for not having a homing device planted on him, the way
he'd managed to do to Doyle. The boy hadn't even noticed yet. Still... He
forced his unruly mind to go blank. To concentrate only on the here and
now. Nothing else must be allowed to come through his mind. Marikka's
powers could be developing apace with every night's meal.

At last her breakneck speed slowed, then came to an abrupt halt. Still, he
could see nothing. The blackness was complete here. He might as well be in
a grave. Then he realised he was.

She set him down, then pushed him against a wall. Cowley wished he could
see her features, see anything. He stood there, helpless in the dark.

Marikka did not deign to speak to him. He heard her move, then return to
his side. A characteristic ripping sound told him what to expect next.
Sure enough, she grasped his wrists and yanked them painfully behind him,
then wrapped them with tape.

"Why, Marikka?" he forced himself to ask. "What will this accomplish?"

She pushed him to the floor and likewise bound his legs. "Willis. You
*are* going to tell me where he is, now aren't you?" Her fingers clutched
his throat.

"Even if I could, you'd never get to him," he lied. "You knew where he was
the night you attacked MI6 headquarters, but you couldn't get through his
defences. What makes you think you could now?"

He sensed rather than saw her feral smile. "Then your men are going to
have to give him to me, for you. Bodie cares about you, trusts you. He has
no reason to love Willis, any more than I do. He'll trade." She laughed.
"If you are lying, and I think you are, now would be a good time to say
so. It would keep you from putting Bodie in that position. I'd let you go,
unharmed, if you did. No one but the two of us would ever know."

"And if I don't?"

"Then Bodie will bring him to me, in exchange for you. And, Cowley, I'll
keep him. Once I have Bodie, I won't send him back with you. He'll stay
with me, just to save you, at least at first. Later, he'll stay for love,
as before. You have no idea what I can offer him." Her icy fingers
caressed the side of his neck. "Or perhaps you do. The other one's been
feeding on you, I see. Don't count on her saving you, either. She can't
find you here. No one can." She slapped a final piece of tape over his
mouth. "When I wake up, you'd better have an answer for me. Think about
it."

******

*Chapter Eight*

They were halfway to the Tower when Doyle started coughing. A deep hacking
sound burst from him, leaving him confused.

"Smoking in the toilet again, eh?" Bodie teased, though his heart was not
in it. He was still too upset over Cowley. When no answer came from his
partner, he spared a glance over from watching the road. His frown
deepened. "What the devil's wrong with you now?" Ray's colour was grey.

"Don't know," he sputtered. "God awful smell. Like a sewer."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't know," Doyle repeated, his voice higher. "I can't see... It's dark,
and cold. Bodie?"

 "'Course it's dark, you clown. You've got your eyes closed. C'mon, Ray.
This is no time for..."

"No! I mean it, Bodie. I can feel this place. This other place... Cowley!
*That's* what I'm feeling." He broke off to cough again, though less
forcefully.

"Are you trying to tell me that you can feel the place where she's taken
Cowley?" he asked quite reasonably.

"I... think so. What else could it be?" His breath came out in a rasp.

"A nervous breakdown?" Bodie supplied helpfully. "Happens to anyone under
enough stress, they say." He smirked at Doyle's glare. "Now, now,
sunshine. If you're right, Madame will be able to find him easily enough.
Just breathe, okay? Don't want to have to take you to hospital too."

His airy ways didn't fool Doyle for a minute. The comforting pressure of
his big hand on Doyle's thigh told the whole truth. But Ray was too
immersed in that other place to fully respond to it. The suffocating
darkness, the odour... the discomfort in his limbs...

"He's bound and gagged. Someplace very dark and quiet. She 's nearby,
sleeping. I don't think he's hurt." His voice had a distant quality, even
to his own ears. The pressure on his leg increased.

"Ray." Bodie was the soul of calm deliberation, though his hand shook on
the wheel. "Can you see anything at all? Can you move from that place to
here?" He could scarcely believe he was saying such things, yet by now
he'd given up on his notions of the impossible.

It took a long time for the other man to respond. He tensed and strained
in his seat, effort evident in very muscle. Finally he sprawled back and
closed his eyes. "It's all so confusing," he offered in a small voice. "I
think I could do that if I only knew how. But I can't make it happen right
now."

"Relax," Bodie advised. "We're here. Let Madame sort it out."

Lucas and McCabe met them at the doorway to the Command centre. They'd
already heard about Cowley's abduction and Murphy's injury from Betty. Jax
and Susan were en route from Headquarters.

"What now?"

Doyle pointed with his thumb to the closed door beyond. "Have you tried
waking her?"

"Stood outside the door and pounded. No answer. We couldn't get it to
open." McCabe replied, frustrated. "Any ideas?"

"Maybe." In truth, Doyle had no idea what he was about to do, but his
experience in the car gave him a small hope. There *had* to be a way to
reach her. Guided by nothing more than instinct and desperation, he went
over to the door and pressed both palms against it.

"Thinks he's Luke Skywalker now, does he?"

"Facing the Dark Side of the Force, aren't we? You have a better notion?
Let's hear it?"

*Good old Bodie.* He pushed that away, along with all the other
distractions. He'd been in that room, knew what it looked like. All he had
to do, he suddenly realised, was picture himself inside, standing next to
that sarcophagus. From there had had but to pry open the ornate, carved
lid and look within...

The connection exploded across his consciousness, nearly blinding him.

She was awake.

*Raymond! What is it? Child?*

His thoughts were too jumbled for coherence, so he loosed a host of images
to flow instead. The cellar. The bodies. Murphy hurt. The dark tunnel.
Cowley gone. Then, later, unsure, the images of foul odour and dank dark
that had so oppressed him in the car.

*Well done, Cheri. I hear you. Now, you must get me to the Underground.
Quickly. We must move while she still sleeps.*

Then he saw the way of it. It was simple, really. He turned, unaware of
the expressions of the other men in the room. "We have to move her down to
the Underground in her coffin. She'll be able to get up and hunt where
there is no sunlight."

"The door..." Lucas fell silent as Doyle turned the knob and opened it.

He walked in and pulled off the heavy stone lid, just as he had moments
before in his fantasy, heedless of the weight of it. Bodie rushed to help
him, only to be nonplussed at Doyle's show of strength. Then he stared at
the still distant look in Doyle's half-slitted eyes. No one said another
word.

The coffin within was a plain pine box in stark contrast to the gothic
thing that housed it. He turned again to his companions. "All we have to
do now is carry her downstairs. Give us a hand, then, will you?"

Susan and Jax arrived just as they were lifting it out of the stone.

"Perfect timing, you lot. Grab an end."

The box itself was not too heavy, and the lady slender. They navigated the
stairs with some clumsiness, but no real difficulty. It took but a matter
of minutes for them to reach the ground floor of the ancient White Tower.

"Where to now?" Jax wondered aloud. "We can't just walk this over to the
Tower Gateway Underground and go down the escalator. There has to be a way
to get her below with a bit less notice than that would generate."

Doyle thought furiously. "We need a hearse. With that we can take her to
any entry site and turn her loose."

"Which one?"

Bodie chimed in. "A railway station. Escorting a coffin home for burial is
a common enough practice. We just need to pick one with a tunnel that
connects to the Underground."

"Or the sewer system," Doyle added. "Or both. So long as she can get from
one to the other easily."

"Why not just take her to the East German Embassy and open the box in the
cellar?" Susan asked with some asperity. "We'll have to start from there
anyway."

"Because they'd be fools to let her in. She just might get hungry and
exact retribution for this mess. And we'd be fools to allow them within
ten feet of her, on their soil, in daylight, in case they decided to
neutralise that threat," Bodie explained. "Once she's awake, she can go
there and defend herself if need be."

They quickly decided upon Victoria Station. It was the closest train
station to Belgrave Square and the Embassy, had extensive connections to
the Underground stations in the area, and numerous sewer lines ran beneath
it. They knew that the tunnel from the Embassy connected to it as well.
Alas, it was also the most heavily traversed train station in London. They
would have to use every inch of the small print in their official brief to
pull this off without exciting undue attention.

Doyle set Betty the task of arranging co-operation from the people in
charge; she had already notified the Home Secretary about Cowley's
disappearance. Another time, and she would have had to deal with the Home
Office's attempt to send a political appointee over to take command. She'd
headed that off by the simple expedient of telling them all that Madame
Genet had assumed direct control of CI5 until Mr. Cowley was recovered. It
was hardly a lie. She understood the situation well enough to predict that
without asking anyone's permission.

It was early afternoon by the time they arrived at the deepest level of
the train station, blocked off at their orders. All six agents gingerly
laid their burden down upon the platform; all but Doyle stepped back. He
prised the simple lock that held the lid in place and carefully opened it,
unsure of what he would see.

She was beautiful beyond words, and younger than he had ever seen her.
Early twenties at the most, he thought, then realised that was likely to
be the age at which she had begun her dark journey. She must have used her
supernatural abilities to appear older, to enhance her authority.

There was no time to ponder those nuances of her personality. He had not
sensed her presence during the trip over, and assumed she must have slept
again. Nothing indicated awareness on her part. It hit him with a start
how vulnerable her position was, how deeply she had to trust him to expose
herself like this. His own mistrust, that he had never completely
discarded, felt like a tawdry, petty thing by comparison. He knelt. With
great care, he lifted one of her cold hands and kissed it.

He felt the people behind him step back in a rush as she opened her eyes.
All but Bodie, who never left his side. Together, they lifted her hands
and helped her up. It seemed like the only courteous thing to do.

She looked around the deserted platform, completely alert, a shocking
contrast to her apparent unconsciousness a mere second ago. "Victoria
Station? Did I hear you aright? This will do well."

So much for her unawareness. Doyle handed her a homing device and an R/T.
"Cowley was snatched less than a half mile north-west from here, right
under the East German Embassy. They've given us this map; we should be
able to backtrack to it easily enough." He did not bother to mention the
blood-curdling threats Bodie had employed to obtain said map. It was
unnecessary.

Madame smiled. "I suppose they'll have to dig a new tunnel now. Let's take
a look." She perused the drawing for less than a minute, then traced the
route with her finger. "You have maps of the Underground tunnels and the
sewer lines as well?" Bodie opened those before her without comment. "Very
good. Yes, I suppose we'll have to start by heading towards the Embassy. I
sense nothing around here at all."

She turned to the other two teams. "There's little point in all of us
chasing about under here. McCabe and Lucas, I want you to man the van with
the tracking equipment and be prepared to follow me from above. I'll
contact you when necessary." She held the R/T aloft in her hand. "Susan,
you go straight to Headquarters. I want you to act for Mr. Cowley in his
absence, in regards to all other matters that might arise. Should anyone
give you trouble, have Betty call me. I'll set them straight. I expect you
to put together backup teams for when we locate Mr. Cowley. McCabe and
Lucas will direct them to us. Jax, go to the East German Embassy and
maintain contact from there. Don't let on that we're nearby. Find out, if
you can, how much soil she had access to. This is still important. She may
have more than one hideout." She turned to Bodie and Doyle. "You two are
with me. And I do hope you can run better than you can ride."

Madame Genet led the way into the tunnel. "Have you felt anything from him
since this morning, Doyle?"

"No, ma'am. Not a whisper. You?"

"He's all right. I'd know if she harmed him. But, no, I have no particular
sense of where he is. Mostly because he doesn't know, himself. Not to
worry, lads. We'll find him."

"You'd better move on ahead without us," Bodie observed. "We'll only slow
you down. We'll track you with the homing device through McCabe and
Lucas."

"Not until I know the route is clear between here and there. If she was to
get between us..." she didn't bother to finish. "Besides, I need you there
when I find her. Oh, I can kill her, all right. But I cannot destroy her;
only you can do that. You have what you need?"

They nodded. Nothing was said for some moments after that. They ran flat
out a good part of the way, torches reflecting off the curved tile walls.
Then Madame ducked into a small side tunnel where the air grew staler. Her
pace quickened; the agents strained to keep up with her in the confined
surroundings.

They emerged just under the coal chute.

"Looks different from this side," Bodie commented, catching his breath.
"Can you see anything?"

She directed him with her hand to flash his torch down the other way from
the opening. "She took him that way from here. Let me see the map again."

He did as he was bid in silence.

She perused it thoughtfully, her hand to her chin. "If I was her, I'd try
to get as deep as I could. There's something comforting about being so far
below the surface for our kind, especially the young ones. She would feel
less exposed, more powerful. She might well assume I cannot sense her
moving presence by day, and in part she is correct. My powers are not as
acute. But they are still better than hers. Of course, if she is at rest
now, I cannot feel her presence at all. George, however, I can track by
day or night; I do not think she understands that. If she did, she would
not have risked taking him with her."

"Unless her lair is somewhere other than where he is," Bodie pointed out.

Ray shook his head. "I don't think so. It didn't feel like that to me this
morning. 'Course, I suppose she could have moved since then."

"Doubtful," Madame replied. "She is too young to do so easily. Just
staying awake this morning was taxing enough for her. Ah well, we shall
find out soon enough. Let's go."

There were no clear words to describe what happened next. The only analogy
Bodie could think of was the first time he'd parachuted into hostile
territory. There was a moment of total commitment, the sudden whoosh of
air, an awful sense of the inevitable looming below, exhilaration combined
with near nauseating fear. It all came back in a rush to him. Madame Genet
grasped him by the waist with one arm, Doyle with the other, and propelled
them down the endlessly black corridor before them. Within minutes, there
was virtually no light to be had at all.

He could only guess at the speed at which they were moving. Bodie's arm
circled Madame's astonishingly small shoulders and gripped Doyle's on the
other side of her. The poor golly was shaking. Suddenly Bodie knew why.
Doyle had endured this before, that morning, when Marikka had taken
Cowley. No wonder he shook.

He knew they were going deeper, though he'd long lost any sense of
direction. Time likewise was impossible to gauge. They might have been
gone ten minutes, or half an hour. The air became stiller, colder, the
surroundings more silent. The odours of earth and sewage grew stronger.
Without doubt, they were following the route Marikka had used.

She halted as quickly as she'd started. Bodie would have fallen were it
not for her iron grip on his waist. Then she gently put them both down.

"Where are we?" There was only the slightest quaver in Doyle's voice. It
would have gone unnoticed had it not been for the echoing quality of the
walls about them.

"I was rather hoping your lads above could tell us," she replied. "Let's
find out, shall we? I don't want to get too far underground without
checking. What is the effective range of these things, anyway?"

It was a good question, but one with an uncertain answer. It could depend
on traffic patterns, atmosphere, frequency of other radio waves in the
area, many factors. In the city, they could be counted on for ten miles.
Beyond that was anyone's guess. Bodie did his best to explain, while Doyle
obediently pulled his R/T out of his jacket and called Lucas and McCabe.

"Marble Arch. At least that's the nearest Underground stop to where we
are. And they're having a devil of a time tracking us. It's not just the
speed, it's..."

"That we are rapidly descending. Yes, I thought as much. She followed the
old route of the Tyburn to this place, and now she seems to veer to the
northeast. Show me the map again."

"The Central line runs east-west from Marble Arch. It should be right
above us." Bodie offered as he held the map open. Doyle's torch
illuminated the area in question. 

She sniffed the air, then slowly nodded. "Tell them to go north and call
us from Euston station. If need be, we'll surface to contact them."

It wasn't the sort of thing one could easily get adjusted to, but the
second time aloft was less frightening. At least they knew what was coming
and it beat running to catch up with her. Doyle closed his eyes against
the gust hitting him in the face and used one hand to cover his nose and
mouth. Based on his experience with motorcycles, he guessed their speed to
be in excess of sixty miles per hour. At that rate, their next stop should
take mere minutes, if they were going in a straight line.

They were not. Madame zigged and zagged along ancient crumbling tunnels,
turned, doubled back, and went ever deeper. He had no doubt the trail was
deliberately thus. Finally, she stopped again.

"We're not far, I suspect. His scent is getting stronger, but we must take
care not to awaken her. Are those lads up there yet, do you think?"

"I doubt it. They can't travel at sixty along Tottenham Court Road without
getting themselves killed. It'll take them at least another ten minutes or
so to catch up with us."

"Fair enough. Let us see what else is around here."

They crept along as quietly as possible, disturbed only by the squealing
of frightened rats as they went by. The torches showed that they had long
since left the Underground behind and were at a deeper level.

*Thank God it isn't raining*, Doyle contemplated. The sewers could be
death traps for the unwary. In the nineteenth century, destitute people
had eked out a living scouring the sewer system for lost or discarded
items that could be resold. Many had lost their lives to the torrential
underground flooding that accompanied a sudden downpour.

Fifteen long minutes later, Doyle's R/T beeped and crackled to life.
Reception was dreadful, but at least they knew McCabe and Lucas had gotten
as far as Euston. After several attempts to improve the sound, they'd
determined that the monitoring equipment showed them to be quite close to
Hampstead Heath.

"Tell them to come here, then, and call for the backup teams. We'll wait."
She settled against a wall. "Why here, I wonder? She would have done
better to get as far away as possible."

"Perhaps she was simply tired," Bodie offered. "Then again, you said she
would want to go deep. Hampstead *is* the deepest Underground station in
the city. If there are tunnels even below it, they would be very deep
indeed."

Doyle stirred restlessly. "Once the lads are above us, what then? I'm not
sure our maps will even show them the area we're going to. It may be
uncharted, believe it or not."

"I want the other team to block her way, if possible. I'm sure the place
she is resting will have multiple exits. We must try to surround her. This
won't be easy. If she awakens, things could get very bloody." She sniffed
the foul air again. "Stay here. I won't go far; I just want to see where
the next tunnel goes."

Once she was out of the range of their torches, they stopped looking after
her. Doyle started to lean against the wall, then thought the better of
it. Everything stank. Bodie came up next to him and put an arm across his
shoulders.

"Cold?" Doyle turned to embrace his partner and nuzzled the soft white
skin of his neck, nodding into it for answer.

"Scared?" This question was softer, but Doyle did not hesitate to nod a
second time. "It'll be over soon, sunshine. One way or another." His lips
grazed Doyle's temple, then roved back into his hair. "Love you, y'know."

Doyle swallowed. He knew Bodie well enough to understand that he would not
hear this mush very often. Time was running out. He lifted his head and
sought Bodie's lips in the dark.

For the moment, the kiss blotted out all else from his mind. It was so
sweet and fiery he let himself be lost in it. Bodie held him tightly
against his broad chest, sharing his body heat, his arousal. Nothing else
mattered.

It was perfectly stupid to be doing this now, he realised, but then again,
would there ever be another time? His arms crept around Bodie's neck.
Their mouths finally parted company, only to suck in air.

He lay his head on Bodie's shoulder, wishing this moment could go on and
on, as he closed his eyes.

Disorientation struck him as suddenly as it had that morning. The darkness
and silence were unchanged, but the sense of being alone was subtly
altered. Cowley? *Cowley? Cowley!* He felt the connection somewhere deeper
inside than thought and it made him shake all over again.

"Sunshine? Ray?" Bodie's worried voice came from a great distance. "What
is it?"

"Him," he whispered. "He's close. Very close. He's scared too.
Something... Something's wrong and he doesn't know what..."

"'Course there's something wrong, you berk. He's being held prisoner by a
mad vampiress in a dark, deserted dungeon. He doesn't need any other
reason to feel nervous. Has enough already, he does."

"No." Ray insisted. "Something else."

Bodie straightened them both as the softest of sounds approached.
"Madame?" He held his ebony knife at the ready, then relaxed as her face
came into the range of the torch.

She gestured to them. "Come. We can wait no longer."

******

It was impossible to say how things were different, but they were and he
knew it. Marikka was awake, Cowley was sure of it. What it meant he dared
not even guess. She might be able to hear his thoughts. Even his tenuous
connection to Doyle was a danger to them both. He'd touched the lad
earlier and was able to convey the fact that he was alive, at least. How
he had known to do that, he could not even say. Perhaps it was part of the
silent wisdom of Madame's blood.

His boys were close now, and so was his lady. Her presence fairly
permeated the darkness. Try as he might to think of nothing, it was there,
like a mighty toothache. Could Marikka sense her too? It seemed impossible
that she would be so unaware of her rival. Then why was she doing nothing?
He was frightened, more frightened than he could remember being in a very
long time. Something was terribly wrong.

A brutal hand shot out of nowhere and grasped him by the neck. Marikka's
stinking breath struck him in the face, made him gag, though he could not
speak.

"You've outlived your usefulness, I think," she hissed. "Time for you to
die, Cowley." Her teeth snapped against his throat as she dragged him over
to her coffin.

******

They moved as one with a fluid grace that defied gravity. She led the way,
through floor hatches, down iron ladders that seemingly connected to
nowhere, further down, always down. Doyle left off thinking altogether and
concentrated on following as noiselessly, as swiftly as possible. There
was little time left, his gut senses were fairly screaming at him.

He nearly ran into Madame's back, so quickly had she halted. Yes, he could
sense it too. *Cowley*!

Cowley was there, but fading, like a tattered WWII newsreel. The
realisation made him moan involuntarily.

Cowley was dying.

They surged forward into an open space. His torch marked off signs of
recent disturbance along the ground. Beyond lay Marikka's coffin.

He swept the torch around, so intent on finding Cowley that he paid no
mind to the beeping of Bodie's R/T. It didn't matter now. They were here,
weren't they? And so were Cowley and Marikka.

But where? His torch followed Madame's sudden movement along the ground.
Blood. A lot of it, leading to the coffin. His mouth went dry.

She went to the box, hands frantic, prying at the lid, when Bodie's quiet
hiss stopped them dead in their tracks.

"Bomb!"

They turned as one at him, waiting for the rest.

"That was Jax. Marikka took a fair amount of plastic explosives with her
on one of her last forays." His open hand gestured. "Now where would you
put it, if you were her?"

Madame growled, an unearthly, vicious sound.

"Under Cowley, so when we opened the lid..."

Bodie's smile was feral. "The bitch."

"He's dying in there, Bodie." Ray didn't try to hide the distress in his
voice. "If you're wrong... If we wait too long..."

"If we *don't* wait, we'll all likely wind up dead. Even Madame. She took
enough to level a fair-sized building."

Madame nodded. "It makes sense. We can't take that chance. How quickly can
you find out if you're right, Bodie?"

He put his torch down and examined the box. "It ought to be attached to
the inside of the lid, so when it's opened, it goes off. Easiest thing to
do, though hardly the safest, is to try to saw open the box from either
end and bypass the lid."

"With what?" Doyle demanded. "We don't have time!"

Madame Genet put her ear to the top of the box. A mere second later, she
straightened, went to the end at her right, and splintered it with a
lightning fist.

Doyle let out the breath he was holding after about thirty seconds of
silence. "Can you feel any wires nearby?" he got out.

She shook her head.

"They might be attached to him, so that when we move him..." he flashed
the torch into the small opening. "Can you see anything attached to him?"

She carefully cracked and removed more handfuls of wood. "No. I can see
two wires going from the inside of the lid to underneath him. That's all."

Bodie handed her a Swiss Army knife, with the scissors out and ready.

"Which one do I cut first?" There was a very human note of fear in her
voice, the first Doyle had ever heard.

"Dammed if I know. What colours are they?"

"Red and white. Any opinions?"

Bodie shrugged. "Just so long as you don't hold it against me if I'm
wrong."

"I imagine we'll never know." She smiled up at them both slowly. "Or if we
do, from the other side, I doubt if it'll matter. So, red or white?"

Bodie put one hand on her shoulder, another around Doyle's waist, pulling
him close. "White." He closed his eyes and waited.

She snipped.

Once it was apparent they weren't going to die immediately, she cut the
second wire. Doyle tore at the lid, yanking it open at last. He gasped.

George Cowley's pale eyes stared sightlessly open in cold death.

******

There was no time, no time at all. Doyle was too distraught to see it and
Bodie... Ah, Bodie was broken inside, though he held his brother-in-arms
in a comforting embrace. But she knew. She saw what must be done.

"Bodie! Can you reactivate the bomb, but with a timer? Give us enough time
to get out of here before it goes off?"

He stared at her at first as if she was speaking the Langue'doc of her
youth. Then his blue eyes narrowed unpleasantly. "With the right tools,
yeah. I'll get Lucas to bring them down. You and Doyle clear out of here."

She shook her head. "It'll be faster if I go for them. Tell Lucas I'm
coming and have him meet me with what you need at the Hampstead
Underground. Tell him to hurry! You two, stand here." She drove the point
of a wooden splinter into her wrist, then dripped a circle of blood around
them, the coffin, and Cowley. "Don't touch or do anything until I get
back. Marikka can't get to you in this circle."

She turned and vanished beyond their narrow beams of light.

******

Alone together in the all-encompassing night, Doyle went back into Bodie's
arms, both offering and seeking comfort. His shocked tears filled the
dense chamber, echoing wetly off the narrow tile walls. *Cowley dead. It
couldn't be; it just couldn't.* Not the Controller; it couldn't be him,
lying there with his throat torn out. Yet it was. They'd cut off the tape,
still praying for some slight pulse, some wisp of breath. Their hope was
futile. Bodie had closed his eyes.

He'd admired, feared, respected, distrusted, loathed the old man at times.
Until this minute, he'd had no idea how much he also loved him. It didn't
bear thinking of.

He peered at his partner's pale features, trying to make out their
expression in the near dark. Bodie seemed closed in upon himself,
brooding. His jaw was set so hard it made Ray's teeth ache. Tentatively,
he touched one slender finger to his beloved's taut lips. "Bodie?"

Those beautiful eyes focused at him, softened slightly, then smiled. "It's
all right, sunshine. Madame will take care of everything. As for
Marikka..." His brows converged into a single black line. "I'm going to
put that rabid bitch down myself."

******

As promised, Madame did not take long. McCabe and Lucas had just barely
gotten off the elevator at the lowest part of the station when she
arrived. "Wait here," she commanded them after receiving the materiel,
then turned and fled the way she had come, while the two men stood there,
bewildered. There would be time for explanations later. Or not.

She was beginning to get a bit nervous. Marikka was a good adversary, very
good indeed. What she lacked in experience she more than made up for in
sheer inventiveness. That bomb could easily have been a masterstroke, were
it not for Jax and the duplicity of the East Germans. It might have killed
them.

Even her and Cowley. She didn't need heightened senses to know how badly
her lads were hurting over the loss of their leader. She knew better than
to try to comfort them, especially with the truth right now. She had no
intention of allowing George Cowley to stay dead.

There would be time for that later, too. Or not.

They were waiting just as she had left them, true to her instructions. She
handed the timing device and wires to Bodie, along with the tools Lucas
had assembled for the task. "Allow me," she murmured, removing Cowley's
limp body from the coffin. He hung heavily in her arms. "You'll need to
remove most of the plastic. We don't want an explosion big enough to
disrupt the Underground. Just enough to convince her that her scheme has
succeeded."

Doyle held the torches steady as Bodie worked. His eyes were red, but
otherwise he'd composed himself prior to her arrival. Bodie channelled all
his energies into setting the timer, refusing to take notice of aught
else. He looked up only once.

"How much time will we need to get to the surface?"

She calculated quickly. "About fifteen minutes, at a dead run, of course."

"Of course." He finished wiring the connections, then turned the hands on
the dial to the appointed time. The whole thing went back into the box,
and the lid closed. "Let's be off, then."

She led the way again, with Cowley still in her embrace. Their footfalls
thudded in time to hers, steady as their well-trained hearts. No one said
a word as they clambered up rusting iron ladders into increasingly larger
passageways. The air grew more breathable with each level attained.
Finally, they reached the level of the Underground tunnel itself. From
there, progress was quick and relatively easy. McCabe and Lucas stood
waiting at the end of the platform. They were out of danger.

Even so, the explosion made itself felt under their feet. A mighty
rumbling curved along the walls, followed by a disturbance of soot and
air. It lasted but moments, then subsided into dark silence.

The other two agents rushed to them, too shocked to speak at the sight of
Cowley's limp body in her arms.

Madame Genet laid her precious burden down very gently on the ground
before them and knelt beside him. "What time is it now?"

Doyle consulted his watch. "Nearly four." He did not mention, though his
stomach certainly knew, that they'd been up and running non-stop for
nearly twelve hours without food. His throat was parched. "Now what? It'll
be dark in two hours, and she'll be free to come and go at will."

She stared down the dark tunnel from which they'd come as if it held the
answers she sought. "If we had lifted the lid ourselves, McCabe and Lucas
would be trying to raise us on the R/T. They would have heard, or been
informed of the explosion." She looked up at them, noting their stricken
faces. "What would you have done then? Come down immediately after us, or
called for the backup teams?"

Lucas tried to focus on her face, his eyes watering. "We would have called
for the backup teams as arranged, then prepared to guide them down to your
last known location. Once the bomb went off, we'd have lost your homing
devices, so we'd have had to search a bit. He cleared his throat and
squatted to the ground next to her. "Mr. Cowley..."

"There's nothing more that could have been done. She only used him as bait
to get us down there. Now we must see to it that we did not lose him for
nothing." She brushed Cowley's hair from his face. "You men, do exactly
what you would have done. Call the backup teams in, but make sure they are
heavily armed with holy water and arrows. We must try to convince her she
succeeded. Do your best to make it look realistic."

She stood up. "Bodie, you and Doyle take Mr. Cowley's body back to the
White Tower, and wait for me there. She must not see you, or she'll
suspect she's failed. Maintain radio silence, just in case she is
listening in."

"And you? Where will you go?" Doyle demanded. "It's still day up there."

She turned one last time before re-entering the tunnel. "I think it's time
I had a little talk with the East Germans myself. Their sudden change of
heart is a bit much, don't you think?" Then she moved away, down the long
tunnel.

******

*Chapter Nine*

They used the same coffin from the van that had earlier transported Madame
to Victoria Station. Doyle took the wheel in silence and began the long
drive across town. There seemed little enough to say. Both men were
exhausted, emotionally drained, half starved. The normal traffic of the
great city, the ebb and flow of life around them seemed surreal, distant.
Life was forever changed. George Cowley was no longer there to lead them,
to use them, to protect them, to scold them, to teach them. They were
orphans.

Bodie had nearly nodded off beside his partner when they pulled into the
massive gates of the Tower. He shook himself, then looked around, still in
a fugue. Was it only since this morning that he'd nestled safely in
Doyle's arms? The attack near the church, the horrific scene at the
Embassy, the sudden, bold abduction of their controller, the hunt through
the underground, all conspired to enter his mind at once, leaving him
dazed and shell-shocked. He literally could not think.

Perhaps Doyle shared his plight, for his mate gave him a little shove at
the shoulder. "Come on, sunshine. Let's get him inside." He opened the
back of the van and called for the guards at the entrance to give them a
hand.

Not until they were safely back in their temporary headquarters did his
fog lift sufficiently for Bodie to even question their actions. Just what
were they doing, bringing his body up here? Doyle had directed them to
place the coffin in Madame's private chamber without hesitation. Why? He
turned, the question shining in his eyes, but waited until they were alone
again.

For answer, Doyle simply handed him a large Scotch. "Drink it," he
replied, weary beyond words. "I imagine they'll bring up some sandwiches
in a bit. Then we'd better rest while we can. The night's not even started
yet."

He tried again. "We should have gone to the morgue...We need to..."

"Drop it." Doyle's tone was flat, nearly vacant, but there was a flicker
of something behind his green-eyed gaze. Something Bodie could neither
face nor question.

They took turns showering and changing their clothes in the small bathroom
down the stairs without comment. Another time, and Bodie would have
sensuously joined Ray in the shower. At the least, they could have
comforted each other with their nearness. But his prickly partner was
giving off 'touch-me-not' signals and Bodie had not the heart to overcome
them right now.

He sat down as the guard brought up their meal, but discovered after a few
bites that his usual healthy appetite had left him. He forced down a few
morsels, more out of the feeling that he ought to than because he had any
desire to. Doyle ate mechanically, without comment or evident enjoyment.
Soon enough he too pushed his plate away.

"Let's go to bed." His words were harsh and unfeeling in the cold room.

Bodie looked up, at a loss. "Ray. What the hell are we doing, then?"

"Waiting." The leaner man stood and made his way to bed, then collapsed
onto it.

"Waiting?" Bodie joined him, expecting more.

"We've got an hour or so before sundown. Madame will call us when she
needs us. Might as well catch a kip while we can. Probably be up all night
hunting." He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side.

There was something wrong about this scenario, but Bodie had no energy
left to figure it out. He lay down beside his partner, still trying to
piece it together, but the pieces kept dancing elusively out of his ken.
All he had were questions.

Why had they brought Cowley here? Where was Madame now? What was she
planning next? Why had she gone to the East German Embassy?

What were they waiting for?

He fell asleep to the image of rats scurrying before them in the dark
tunnel.

******

The room was in complete darkness when he next came to. Years of
soldiering caused him to awaken fully conscious, ready to fight if need
be. Even so, his honed reflexes were no match for the woman beside the
bed.

"Marikka! No!" He leapt up next to her to make her let go of Doyle's
throat, knife ready.

She tossed him across the bed, easily, casually, still clutching Ray by
the throat with one hand. His face was purple, eyes bulging. His breath
was coming in harsh gasps. He was still fighting, punching her face with
his fists, kicking, but without effect. She didn't even seem to notice.

"Marikka, Please! For God's sake, let him go!" He was not too proud to
beg, not for Doyle. "Tell me what you want."

She turned to him and laughed, eyes gleaming in the dark. "That's more
like it, Bodie. Why couldn't you have been so reasonable this morning in
the car? Cowley would still be alive now."

He forced back down the bile that threatened to choke him. "What do you
want?" he repeated hoarsely. "Just tell me."

"You know," she taunted. "The same thing you would have wanted if you
weren't such a coward. I want Willis; I want his throat, his blood, and
then I want his head. After I get him, I'll leave for home and bother you
no more. There are a few there I also have a score to settle with."

"Just put him down, okay? You win." He struggled to his feet and came up
beside her again. "I'll find out for you. Just let him go."

She tossed her prey into Bodie's arms like a rag doll she had tired of.
Bodie caught his partner and sat them both back onto the bed, opening
Doyle's shirt, massaging life back into his tortured lungs. Ray was nearly
unconscious.

It took several minutes of sputtering and coughing before his colour
returned to normal. Bodie turned to her, rage still in check, but burning
in his eyes. "You fucking bitch. You didn't have to do that. Or kill
Cowley either, for that matter. I would have given you what you want, to
keep him safe too."

Marikka tapped her foot with deliberate impatience. "So touching," she
sneered. "You certainly didn't respond that way for me when I died. Didn't
kill any of those bastards standing around, their guns still hot and
smoking. No, you just tossed your rifle to Doyle and walked away. You
pathetic excuse for a lover! Did you think I would forgive you that? I
died trying to protect you, and what thanks did I get? A pretty
headstone?" Venom seethed from her dark eyes.

He stood then, up to his full height, blue gaze more troubled than
furious. "Is that it? Is that why you attacked CI5, then Cowley? To get
revenge for something I did? Why not just kill me, then?"

"Bodie, Bodie, don't be so melodramatic. I'm quite glad you survived
today. I need you to tell me where Willis is, and I knew you would, given
the right stimulus. I *did* plan to use Cowley at first, but then I saw
the chance to get rid of that other bitch. Too bad for you, she's gone
too." She stared down at Doyle, who was still supine on the bed. "There's
no one to protect you now."

"I know that," Bodie replied. "She was our last chance."

She grasped Doyle's arm and yanked him up, making him yelp from the pain
in his shoulder. "Indeed she was. Now, you will give me what I want."

Bodie moved forward. "There's no need to pull his arm out of its socket. I
told you I would give you Willis."

"Ah, but you're a liar, Bodie. Just like all the rest. You'll tell me, all
right, because if you don't..." She gave Doyle's arm another vicious tug.
This time his lips went white, but they stayed silently compressed. "I
*will* pull him apart, right in front of you; piece by piece. And there
won't be a thing you can do about it except look and listen."

"Bodie, don't..." Ray gasped. "She'll kill us both anyway."

He moved closer. "I got it, all right? Willis means nothing to me. Do
whatever you want with him or me, I don't care. Just let Doyle go. He
never hurt you. Leave him here. I'll take you to Willis myself."

 "Not a chance," she replied. "He goes with us, for insurance. Do as I
say, and I swear he'll live. Now, get moving."

Bodie led the way into the command centre. "It might take me a few minutes
to find out where he's hiding. Just be patient, okay?" He picked up the
phone.

"As long as you don't try anything stupid, leibchien." She dropped Doyle
into a chair, then stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. "One word I
don't like, and I'll rip his head off."

He picked up the phone, still thinking furiously. Marikka held all the
cards. Even if Madame showed up right now, Doyle would get killed, he was
sure of it. Worse yet, he really didn't know where Willis was hiding.
Cowley knew, but Cowley was dead. He had to find some way to get Betty to
tell him.

She answered the call as she had a hundred times before, but the catch in
her voice betrayed how hard she had taken the terrible news about Cowley.
Bodie had no time to comfort her, another sharp pain to his heart.

"I've got to pass a message to Willis at once. I've just received
information that the East Germans sussed out his location and passed it
onto the vampire. We have to contact him, warn him, and make sure he's
okay. Can you warn him?"

"No sooner said then done, Bodie." She was all business again.

"Thanks, luv. Tell him to proceed to the designated backup safe house
immediately. We'll meet him there to provide cover. Which one is it?" He
held his breath.

"Safe house number seventeen, near Bermondsey, Bodie. You know the one I
mean?" Betty's words came across without the slightest hesitation.

'Yeah, I know it. Thanks, Betty." He let his breath out silently.

"Well then, be careful, mind you. I'll see you later, Bodie." She rang
off.

Still amazed at the ease of his success, he gently replaced the phone on
its cradle. "You heard?"

"Yes." She hauled Doyle back out of the chair. "Let's go. You'll need to
get rid of the guard downstairs and bring the car around. Don't make any
mistakes now."

He did exactly as he was told. The guard was sent off to give an innocuous
message to the Chief Constable while Bodie moved the car. It was all too
frighteningly simple. This time, nothing was going to stop Marikka. Nor,
in truth did he care. All that mattered now was the man she still gripped
by the elbow.

Doyle seemed dazed, in pain. Eyes downcast, he allowed himself to be
propelled down the empty corridors without demur. Bodie had no idea what
he was thinking. Marikka pulled him into the back seat with her, as Bodie
prepared to drive off. He wished more than anything for just a brief
moment of eye contact, some sign of reassurance, something from his
partner, but nothing was forthcoming. He started the engine and manoeuvred
the vehicle back out through the gates and into the city.

******

Deep within CI5 headquarters, another call went out. Betty lifted the
receiver and dialled swiftly, then spoke. "They're on the way. Bodie just
called."

"Excellent. Tell the others to be prepared."

Then both lines went dead.

Eleanor Plantagenet, once Duchess of Aquitaine, Queen of France, then
Queen of England, stared out the window. It would all have to fall into
place perfectly, if Bodie and Doyle were to emerge from this unscathed.
She crossed the room and opened the window. "Come, my dear friend. Awaken.
It is time," she whispered into the night. There was no need to shout. She
knew she would be heard.

From across the city, a pair of light blue eyes opened at once,
disoriented for a mere second, then narrowing in sudden comprehension. His
powerful hands opened the box in which he lay, then moved the stone cover
away from it. Just as Madame had known, Marikka had not been able to sense
him in his quiescent state. It was time to move in. His lads needed him.

Bodie drove recklessly through the city streets, wipers moving the mist
across the windshield. It was imperative that they reach the safe house
first, if he and Doyle were to have any chance of survival. His heart was
still pounding loudly enough for him to be aware of it. It hurt, hurt in a
way that an hour of running did not make it hurt. Doyle would not look at
him, and Marikka, Dear God, Marikka was mad. There was nothing more he
could do. The bitter finality of his failure rest upon him. Cowley was
dead, Willis soon to be. Then she would eliminate Bodie and his partner.
He had few doubts about that. Only Madame could possibly save them, and
only if Betty thought to tell her that Willis was moving. It was a very
long shot indeed.

He pulled onto the street where the safe house lay nestled, in the middle
of the block. The street was utterly silent. He turned this way and that,
looking for any sign of CI5 presence. None was visible. They must have
arrived first, else the others would be around. Still, it was too early to
sigh with relief.

He parked far enough back to go unnoticed, then led the way to the back of
the house. The locks would be standard enough; he knew the combinations to
get them in.

He'd started on the lock when she interrupted him with her hand on his. He
froze while she put her ear to the door and listened intently for several
heartbeats. Apparently she was reassured, for she then signalled for him
to continue. This he did in utter silence.

The tumblers clicked and turned in sequence. Very gently, he pushed the
door open.

The house was dark and quiet. No evidence of recent occupancy intruded in
its sense of isolation. They entered without turning on the lights. Soon
enough, they would have to let Willis' guards know they were waiting
inside.

Bodie was determined that no further CI5 men should die. He said as much
in a hushed whisper as they made their way to the front of the house. It
ought to be simple enough for him to lure them out of the way and give her
a clear shot at Willis alone.

"Why should you care?" She asked, amused. "A moment after I leave they
will declare you both traitors and probably gun you down as you stand. You
have thought of that, haven't you? You would both be safer coming with
me."

He *had* thought of it, though he'd assumed she would have already killed
them herself. "Take Doyle with you, then," he ordered harshly. "If I'm
here alone and explain you have him as a hostage, they may believe me. In
any case, they'll know he had nothing to do with this."

"Bodie..." Doyle looked at him for the first time since they'd left the
Tower. "Don't do this. Not for me."

"Why not? Love you, don't I?" He forced a smile to his lips. This was how
he wanted Doyle to remember him, if it came to that.

A choked off sob answered his words. Then, "Love, you too, mate."

"No wonder you couldn't be bothered with avenging me," Marikka commented,
still smiling, though her eyes were two black agates. "I was never more
than a diversion, I see. *This* is your one true love!" She cuffed Doyle's
shoulder, though not as hard as before.

Bodie cursed himself for six times a fool. Now she would surely kill
Doyle, if not both of them. Her apparent gentleness did not fool him. They
had minutes to live, at best. Ignoring Marikka, who moved to the window,
he enfolded Doyle in his arms. He suddenly knew what he had to do but
dared not think about it. Not now.

Headlights on the street in front of the house heralded the last act of
this damnable Greek tragedy. There was nothing more to say. He turned
Doyle's chin up anyway, just to look one last time. Just to see those
unforgettable green eyes...

Those eyes were smiling back at him. The message they conveyed was so at
odds with their situation that Bodie could only stare numbly. It made no
sense.

Marikka stared out the window, pensive. "I don't see Willis. Just a bunch
of CI5 agents. What are you trying to pull, Bodie?"

"Nothing. Think about it. Of course, they would send a team in to scout
out the place first, before bringing him in. Wouldn't you? You just have
to stay out of sight until they give the okay to bring him in."

"Where?" She gripped Doyle's arm again and forced him to her side.

"There's a basement below. I'll keep them out of it; I'll say Doyle is
checking it out. Now, go." He dared not look at his mate this last time.
It would hurt too much.

He waited until they were out of sight, then turned the lights on.
Fumbling, he managed to pull out a notepad and a pen. There was just the
barest chance that she could not hear thoughts the way Madame could, but
he had to try. *Please God, whatever you are, please keep Doyle safe.
Please*. He wrote crudely, hurriedly, focusing on his silent prayer, not
the task. *If not, then let me kill her myself. For Cowley and Doyle.
Please*. He finished the note that would warn them about Marikka.

McCabe opened the front door, gun out. He relaxed only marginally, seeing
Bodie in the centre of the room. "What's up?" His eyes scanned the room
even as he spoke. Lucas took up a covering position behind him.

Bodie walked closer. "Place looks clean enough," he said casually.
"Doyle's checking the rest of it out now." He put the force of his mind
behind the words even as he handed the note to McCabe.

The other agent's eyes widened as he read the note and showed it to Lucas.
"Good show, Bodie. I suppose we can radio ahead, tell them to bring Willis
along then, eh? We'll go out to the car and let them know."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever happened, he was doing what George
Cowley had hired him for. Doyle would understand. He stood alone once more
in the room, waiting for the others to return. The door to the basement
remained shut. No sound escaped from it.

The front door swung open again. Bodie tensed, expecting the entire CI5
team to come blazing in, weapons ready, to assault the basement. Instead,
Willis himself stood in the doorway, upset, angry, obviously reluctant.

Behind him stood a ghastly pale George Cowley.

******

His Controller put his finger to his lips, smiling faintly. Willis said
nothing at all, though he chewed on his moustache nervously.

Bodie's agile brain took it all in, his reflexes responding at once. He
led the way to the basement door, opened it, and called down.

"Marikka! Willis is here. We're coming down. Show me Doyle." Without
hesitation, he descended the wooden steps, Willis behind him, followed by
Cowley.

She had Doyle by the neck, still wary, all the way on the other side of
the cavernous room. "Well, well, well. I didn't expect to see you again,
Mr. Cowley. So, where is your bitch queen, may I ask? I assume she is
alive and escaped the explosion too."

"If she was still anywhere in the vicinity, you would have felt her, no?
Then you would kill these men and run off again before she could get
here." Cowley came down into the basement, putting himself between her and
the other two men. "There's no need for that. I'm going to give you
Willis, in exchange for Doyle. Fair enough?"

Willis started, clearly taken aback, but Bodie caught him by the arm, and
forced him to stand still, gun at his ribs. He could not repress a shiver
of pure glee. This was more than he had expected.

Doyle was pale, but apparently unharmed, his eyes wide and sombre.

She stared at the older man hard. "That's awfully reasonable of you,
Cowley. Why the sudden change of heart? You wouldn't give him up to me
earlier, to save your own life. Why do it for Doyle?"

"That was before you changed me," he explained with a smile. "Now
everything is a bit... different. I was looking at the weary end of a
mortal life, filled with pain and loneliness. Honour was everything. Of
course, I would not betray my mission, my very purpose in life, merely to
save my own hide."

"But now?' She prompted.

"Now, I see a very long and, dare I say it, glorious future as Controller
of the entire British Intelligence network. MI5, MI6, CI5, all of it.
They'll give it all to me gladly after this, you know. And who needs this
useless fool then?"

"Yet you want Doyle?" She queried. "Why?"

Cowley's icy eyes took on a bit of heat as he looked over to his scruffy
agent. "Because I love the lad, smart mouthed trouble-maker that he is.
And I don't give a good goddamn for Willis here. The choice is a simple
one. You'll have to leave at once, of course. East Germany can have you
with my blessings."

Marikka took a second to ponder the truth of his words, then nodded. "All
right then. Pity you didn't come to this conclusion a bit sooner. You send
him over to me and I'll let Doyle go."

"Not a chance. You let Doyle go first," Bodie barked. Still, he pushed
Willis forward, towards the middle of the large room.

The man was sweating, arms shaking. "You're all mad, do you hear me?
She'll kill us all! Don't be a fool, Cowley." He glanced at Bodie's
gleaming eyes and fell silent. He knew better than to even try that one.

Cowley spread out his hands expressively. "An even trade, then? You send
Doyle walking to the centre of the room; we'll send Willis, step for step.
Okay?"

"No!" Willis cried. "Listen to me!" "I..." His words were cut off by
Cowley's cold hand on his throat.

"Start walking now, or I swear I'll kill you myself," the Controller
hissed. His eyes glowed with an unearthly tinge. He made his MI6
counterpart go with a push. "Get moving, while I still have a use for
you."

Willis trembled, then did as he was told.

Marikka released Doyle, who likewise began walking right towards Willis.

The space between the two men in motion seemed endless, filled with
shadows and secrets. Bodie shivered in the chilly dampness, his nerves
taut to breaking. He'd given up hope of getting Doyle back alive; now his
reborn faith in George Cowley fed into his painful anxiety. It could still
go all wrong. One false move...

Doyle and Willis were within a few feet of each other, each man walking
with measured deliberation. Doyle, because of natural caution, Willis
because he had no safe place to go. Bodie re-holstered his gun. It would
be of no use here.

Three feet, then two. Bodie involuntarily held his breath. Much as he
wanted Doyle safe in his arms, he had never sent a man so purposefully to
a certain, and unpleasant death. Even Cowley's contrivance did not make it
entirely palatable.

They were abreast of each other now. Neither man looked at the other as
they passed, separated only by inches. Willis was visibly shaking. From
across the room, Marikka waited, a smirk disfiguring her beautiful
features. Cowley was utterly impassive.

Then his bionic golly erupted in the nervy way he was famous for. His left
arm snagged Willis and dragged him backwards as Doyle made his lightning
break for Bodie.

Faster yet, Cowley streaked past him and tore head on into Marikka, who
had begun to give chase. The force of their collision dropped them both to
the ground, where they rolled, locked in combat.

Bodie ran over to Doyle as he divested himself of a blubbering Willis and
cried out, "Madame! Now! Wake up!""

The air was not still from his cry when the rear panelled wall of the
cellar smashed into the room, showering Cowley and Marikka both with
wooden debris.

Madame Genet stood at the opening she had made, but only for a split
second. With speed beyond knowing, she reached into the snarling fray and
plucked Marikka out of it and held her aloft.

The other woman was screaming, foaming, eyes glazed red, teeth and nails
bloody. "You!"

Eleanor regarded her gravely. "I gave you a chance, my dear. Pity, you
didn't take it. I am truly sorry." With that, she turned her body and with
a sudden twist flung Marikka to the ground. The snap of her neck was
audible, even in so large a room. Marikka lay still.

Cowley got to his feet, his face bleeding. "This will not finish her.
Bodie..."

He knew what he had to do. Reaching at his feet, he found a large splinter
of wood from the panel, sturdy enough to do his business. With his other
hand he drew his gun out and prepared to use the butt for a mallet.

Her eyes were open in terror when he rolled her over. A momentary
queasiness struck Bodie as he looked into her still lovely face. Yet, he
would do it. It was, after all, only what he had asked for. He knelt.

Bodie steeled his nerves and pointed the stake at her heart. His free hand
prepared to swing the gun butt around when warm fingers pried the gun from
his hand. Doyle knelt beside him.

"We do this one together, mate."

Bodie did not demur. He held the stake steady, and looked away as Doyle
swung the gun butt onto it.

He felt and heard her last spasms, then nothing. 

Gathering his courage, he looked down at the woman he had once loved. To
his awe, there was no trace of pain or fear or anger marring her features
now. They were as beautiful as he had remembered them, when she had slept
by his side, smooth and serene.

"God grant her peace." Cowley bent over and gently closed her eyes.

******

Outside in the night, the air had turned crisp but not bitter. The sky was
bright with clear moonlight and vast streaks of stars. More than anything
else, Bodie seemed to need to just stand there, oblivious to the organised
chaos swirling around him. It didn't seem possible that it was over, that
they had finally won. The night was theirs again.

Doyle came up beside him, saying nothing. He knew better than to disturb
his mate in this sort of mood. Besides, he needed the release too. Though
he'd never really doubted Madame's plan, he was well aware of how many
things could have gone wrong. It was bound to make a bloke very glad
indeed to be alive and whole.

Sooner or later, the shock would wear off and Bodie would start to ask
questions. Questions that had, in some cases, painful answers. Doyle was
not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation.

Cowley had directed the clean-up operation himself. Willis was sent
packing at once, to everyone's relief. Anything he might have said aloud
was forestalled by a few private words with Madame Genet. After that he
roared off in his car, post-haste. McCabe and Lucas took custody of
Marikka's body; whatever they thought about Cowley's sudden re-appearance
they kept to themselves. Headquarters were notified of the successful
conclusion to the mission with a succinct message from Madame herself.
There was nothing left to do.

Doyle felt at loose ends, starting with as simple a matter as where to go.
Never had an op ended so strangely. Was Cowley supposed to still be alive
and were they all going to go along with it? What would Madame do now? He
pulled his leather jacket together and zipped it up, trying to shrug off a
sudden chill.

Likely she knew what he was feeling, for she came up to both of them and
placed an arm at each of their waists. "Go on back to the White Tower.
Take the car. Eat. Rest. Sir George and I will be along after a bit. We
have some private business to take care of. There is nothing more to
fear."

This time, Doyle drove. Bodie leaned his head back against the seat and
closed his eyes nearly at once.

 
 ******

*Chapter Ten*

The room was just as they had left it a mere two hours or so before. The
guards were clearly pleased to see them; someone must have told them
something of what had transpired. Even the Chief Constable came over to
congratulate them and make sure they wanted for nothing. A magnificent
late supper arrived soon after they arrived and made themselves
comfortable. It was delectable. Doyle tried to cast aside his foreboding
and smiled sunnily at his mate. Food was bound to make Bodie happy.

Bodie returned the smile and ate greedily enough, but there was something
distant about his manner. He was brooding still. Doyle said nothing. After
all, he was entitled to grieve for Marikka, if that was what he was doing.
Then again...

Then again, he was probably piecing the entire puzzle together at last.
Which meant that sooner or later he would want to know why everyone else
was in on the plot to trap Marikka except him. Doyle was not looking
forward to explaining that particular part. Feigning ignorance would
simply not wash; Bodie had seen how he'd grabbed Willis and plunged to
safety with him. No, he would want the whole truth, and Madame and Cowley
were conveniently absent. Damn them!

There was nothing for it but to take the plunge and get it over with. He
had every intention of bedding Bodie tonight, so the sooner they got this
nonsense out of the way, the better.

He waited until their supper was done, and poured them both a good hefty
Scotch. Cowley wouldn't be missing it any more. But when he turned around,
Bodie was standing right behind him, sloe-eyed with lust. Doyle shivered
and put all thought of explanation out of his mind that very instant. It
would have to wait.

Bodie took the drink from his hand and swallowed a healthy amount, never
taking his eyes off his partner. Doyle followed suit; just the intensity
of the blue gaze directed at him was making him hard inside his jeans. He
knew he was getting flushed. And Bodie had not even touched him yet.

"Do you remember what I told you the last time I kissed you?" Bodie's
voice was rich and deep, caressing him. He took another sip of Scotch,
slowly, clearly savouring the taste of it in his mouth. His lips were wet
and shiny and very red.

Ray gulped another mouthful himself, eyes wide. He hadn't expected this
kind of romance, this studied seduction. It was setting his nerves on
fire, yet he had no urge to hasten things. Let Bodie take his time. They
had all the time in the world now. "Yeah," he got out hoarsely. "I
remember."

The darker man moved closer, then very gently touched Ray's hand against
the cold glass with one finger. "Good. Just wanted to make sure." His
finger slipped into Doyle's glass, then traced the outline of Doyle's lips
with the Scotch.

His lips parted breathlessly; his tongue darted out and tasted the Scotch,
then the finger that conveyed it to him. Eyes never leaving his mate's, he
drew it into his mouth and sucked, hollowing his cheeks around it. Two
could play at the game of seduction.

Bodie's breath caught, then released in a hiss. Gently, he disengaged his
finger, then cupped the roundness of Doyle's broken cheek in his palm.
"God, you are so bloody gorgeous. How did I not see that for so long?"

Doyle took another sip to wet his suddenly dry mouth. "So are you." He
could find nothing more to say, and drew closer, intending to initiate an
embrace. But Bodie forestalled him with a palm to his chest. He frowned
quizzically. "I want to kiss you, Bodie."

"No. Not yet. Once we start, I won't stop all night long. I want to see
you first." Bodie gave him a devastatingly sexy grin that curled Doyle's
toes. "Take off your shirt, Ray. Let's have a look at you."

Aware of the heat emanating from his skin, Doyle complied. He put his
drink down and unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled it free from his jeans.
It eased slowly off his shoulders. "Now you. Don't I get to look too?"

Just as slowly, Bodie copied his motions. He dropped his shirt on the back
of a chair. "Nothing you haven't seen before, mate."

"Nor you either." But it *was* different. Bodie looked downright edible,
standing there in just his grey slacks. His taut muscles were perfectly
defined; his clear skin glowed with health and vigour. Even the white
plaster still on his neck was a source of tenderness. Doyle licked his
lips again. His right hand went to his belt buckle.

"Wait," Bodie urged. "I want to do that myself." He pushed Ray's hand
away, then undid the brass buckle and top button with great care. His
hands slid around Doyle's hips and cupped the round buttocks that lay just
below well-worn denim. "I love your plush bum, sunshine. Always did like
it."

Doyle was getting restless, fevered. He wanted more than words, dammit. He
wanted those large hands all over his bare body. A low moan escaped him.

His partner heard it and took pity on them both. His hands came forward
again, hooked at the waistband of Doyle's jeans and smoothly tugged them
down his hips. Ray finished the job and toed off his trainers and socks as
well. Only his plain white cotton underpants remained. At the moment they
were accentuating his condition more than hiding it.

Bodie smilingly undid his own belt and pushed his trousers off quickly. It
was getting too cold on the stone floor to cavort about much longer like
this. When he had on nothing more than low-cut black silk briefs he took
Ray's arm and drew him over to the bed. "Now I'm going to kiss you," he
warned. "And kiss you and kiss you..."

They fell together onto the duvet, friction setting each other on fire.
Their bodies melded as their lips finally came together.

Bodie's kisses... They were bloody amazing. Ray felt himself drawn under
his companion, felt those hands stroking him, just as he'd wanted. It was
enough to make a man want to jump out of his skin. Their tongues duelled
for what seemed like an eternity, until he could not longer breathe. He
tilted his head back, mouth still open, gasping, "Bodie... Bodie, don't
stop."

Bodie didn't. His mouth trailed down Doyle's neck, seeking the sensitive
spots along the collarbone, tugging gently at the soft down of his chest.
His fingertips busily outlined the muscles of Doyle's ribs and belly,
reached up and sought his flat little nipples.

Doyle groaned, arching towards the source of such exquisite sensation. He
wanted to reciprocate, and sent his own palms to wander along the smooth
planes of Bodie's back. "Your skin... such a delight to touch, mate. Ah
God, I love what you're doing." His hands slid down into the elastic of
Bodie's briefs and stroked inside. They travelled around to the front and
traced Bodie's rock hard erection beneath the silk. It gratified him to
hear his partner's gasp, feel him lose his concentration for a moment.

Then Bodie was back, caressing first his belly, then his cock; the white
cotton barrier was pulled aside. He could not remember ever being so
painfully hard.

"Shouldn't we get rid of these now?" He tugged lightly on the silk band to
make his meaning clear.

Bodie smiled. "Whenever you're ready, sunshine." He knelt back and slowly
drew Doyle's underwear down, then all the way off his legs.

"Yours too."

Still smiling, he hooked his thumbs in his briefs and slid them to his
knees. When he lay back across Doyle, he kicked them off the rest of the
way.

"Better now?" His face nuzzled the soft auburn curls of Doyle's crotch.

"Yeah, oh yeah." Ray's legs fell apart, encouraging the intimate touch.
"Wonderful." His hands sought and kneaded Bodie's broad shoulders. "God,
you're fantastic."

He wasn't sure until the last minute if Bodie could really do it, any more
than he was sure of himself. But then his partner's mouth closed over him,
pulled him in, sucked him deeply and strongly. He let out a hoarse cry,
unused to such power behind the suction. It was almost painful.

"Jesus, Bodie! You're gonna kill me!" Doyle tried to wriggle his bum away,
but Bodie caught and held it, easing up just a bit. His tongue trailed the
length of Doyle's cock, laving along the veined sides and ridge greedily.

It was amazing to see Bodie do this. It was also an unbearable turn-on.
"Hold up, mate, I'll never last like this," he panted.

Bodie gave him a secret smile, then ran his tongue just along the tip. Ray
thrust helplessly, trying to hold back without success. His lover
continued to tease lightly, while reaching for Doyle's massage oil. He
squeezed some onto his fingers.

It felt cold for a minute against his arse, but Bodie's fingers were warm
and nimble. Ray twisted and cursed, the sensations overwhelming. He knew
from past experiences with women that this could be a great turn-on, but
nothing had prepared him for this intensity.

"Easy, Ray, take it easy. Slow your breathing down; you'll be all right,"
Bodie coaxed. "You know I wouldn't hurt you."

"It's not that," Doyle got out. But he heeded Bodie's words and forced
himself to calm down, to relax his taut muscles. Now was not a time for
talking. God, but it was hard to stay still. Bodie was doing all sorts of
impossibly delicious things with his mouth and fingers.

One finger finally stopped teasing and slowly worked its way into him.
Doyle held his breath despite his good intentions; Bodie ceased until he
began to breathe again. "You okay, sunshine? Tell me..."

"It's *good*, Bodie. Just takes a bit of getting used to, is all." He
squirmed a little, overcoming his own resistance, pulling the finger
deeper inside. "Move it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Bodie resumed his heated mouth play along the length of Doyle's cock while
his finger slowly slid back and forth. After a minute Ray joined him in
setting the rhythm, rocking his hips into Bodie, then having Bodie delve
into him. Sweat broke out on his brow and chest; he knew without
self-consciousness that he was flushed and wild looking. Just the way
Bodie wanted him.

Bursts of sweet sensation were working their way through his nervous
system, leaving him tingling from his ears to his toes. It was impossible
to stay still, to keep quiet. He voiced his pleasure over and over, in
time to the rhythm Bodie was keeping. It could not last much longer; of
that he was sure.

But then Bodie stretched him with two fingers. He grunted, worked past the
momentary discomfort, then pushed back again, impaling himself further. He
was rewarded with a jump to yet another level of ecstasy.

"Can't hold on much longer, Bodie. You've got to do it now!" He arched his
back, begging.

His mate crawled above him until they were eye to eye. Bodie had never
looked so beautiful, so lost to control, so ruddy and so hot. Their lips
came together as Bodie helped him position his legs, resting them on the
backs of his shoulders. Doyle could feel the rounded tip of Bodie's cock
pushing deep into the cleft of his arse.

There was a second of panic, of wondering how the hell he'd come to this;
then it was gone. Bodie was waiting, as if he knew what was going through
Doyle's mind. As Doyle relaxed in his arms, he began his entry.

"Yes, oh... fuck, Bodie! Do it, mate. Oh, fuck!" He writhed and twisted as
Bodie handled his cock, gentled him, entered him further.

He could not tell at that moment if it was pleasure or pain he felt. The
two concepts, so separate in ordinary life, had merged beyond all
recognition. All he could be sure of was Bodie's presence. He clung to his
arms, cursing and sobbing for breath.

Bodie held tight; his large hands gripped his bum and pulled it to him
over and over. Sweat roiled between their bodies and fell to the sheets
below. 

"Easy, sunshine; don't hurt yourself." But Bodie's warning was too far
away to be heeded. Ray bucked and squirmed, the incredible sensation in
the pit of his belly the only reality. He felt it grow and flare, then
burst forth to consume him. And still he could not have told if it was
pleasure or pain. Not that it much mattered. Bodie's grunts in his ear
told him he was not alone. One last frenzied push... and over they both
went.

He fell back, boneless, utterly spent, as Bodie withdrew and collapsed on
top of him, gasping for air. Their sweat glued them together. Gradually,
Bodie rolled to his side, taking Doyle with him, still enclosed in his
arms. The night air was cold enough to send them reaching for the covers,
but soon they were well tucked in and content.

******

"Your feet are cold," Bodie pointed out softly after a lengthy interval of
silence. His own feet wrapped themselves around Doyle's; their lower limbs
intertwined.

Doyle merely grunted in reply, then turned and snuggled closer to his
partner. His head lay over Bodie's heart; its solid beat a source of joy
and comfort. The steady rise and fall of Bodie's chest lulled him into a
state of peace unlike any other he had known. He could envision nothing
greater in his life than that this moment should last and last. He and
Bodie. Lovers.

"Ray."

He grunted again, all but asleep.

"Ray? You knew what was going to happen tonight, didn't you?"

The question. The one he'd been secretly dreading all night. Its urgency
pulled him back from the sea of dreams he had been about to float away
onto. He yawned, shifted then looked up to meet the eyes of his lover.

Even if their relationship had not taken this turn, he doubted if he could
have lied to Bodie. Now, it was utterly out of the question.

"Yeah."

"How?"

It was not the question he had anticipated. Part of him felt reprieved.
"In the van, on the way back, Madame Genet spoke in my thoughts. She was
expecting Marikka to come after us. We were to lead her to the trap, where
Madame would be waiting, asleep, and therefore not detectable to Marikka.
She told me to bring Cowley back here too, though she didn't say why."

"Then she knew what I would do to protect you, just like she knew what
Marikka would do."

"Yes." He peered up into Bodie's face, trying to ascertain his mood.

"Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't you?" There was honest bewilderment,
and some pain in Bodie's voice, but little anger.

Doyle touched his cheek. "She was afraid that Marikka was reading your
thoughts without your knowledge. Think about it. Marikka seemed to always
know where the traps were, what we were doing. She managed to keep one
step ahead of us right to the very end. Since you two had been lovers
once, she might have been more attuned to your mind than to anyone else.
We couldn't take the chance, not even to hint at it to you, for fear she
would hear."

Bodie nodded, eyes still grave. "I supposed it must be something like
that. Couldn't believe you wouldn't trust me, Ray. Or her and Cowley
either, for that matter."

"Course not, you berk. Don't you know by now, how much they love us?" He
did not add that his own faith in George Cowley had been tested this
night, and not found wanting. 

"Mother and Father..." Bodie stared at him in confusion. "Ray, what made
me say that?"

"You must know who she is, then." It was not a question. "You know."

Bodie's eyes widened. "Ah, so is this incest, on top of sodomy? *Are* we
their children?"

"Maybe we were once. Perhaps it's just the way she needs to see us, to
love us in that way. Her mind is very powerful; it could be simply her
influencing us to think that and nothing more. But it doesn't matter,
really, if it was literally true once. What matters is that it is true for
her now and will be true hereafter. Yes, we are Eleanor and Henry's sons."
He lay his head back down.

His partner took this in, still holding him to his chest. "She's not going
to let go of him, is she? Even if he wanted us to end it for him, she
wouldn't allow it."

"I suspect you're right. But I didn't get the feeling tonight he was all
that eager to die, in any case. He would have said so otherwise, and gone
with us. Instead, he went off with her, God knows where."

"Don't you know? I mean, can't you feel him if you try, like you did
before, Ray?" 

"I've been a bit distracted lately, can't think why," Doyle rebuked with a
tiny chuckle. "Let me see."

Quiet moments passed. Ray let his thoughts wander in no particular
direction. He saw that his earlier experiences had been initiated by
Cowley, mediated by the lady's blood they'd shared. He had no clear notion
of how to do it himself. He recalled the way he'd awakened Madame much
earlier that day, but wasn't sure how to apply the same technique. After
all, he didn't know where they were. He voiced his misgivings aloud.

"What if you pictured him sitting at his desk, as you walked into his
office?" Bodie mused. "Maybe it doesn't matter where he is at the moment,
so long as you can see yourself talking to him."

"I'll give it a try." He settled himself more comfortably on Bodie's
chest, hearing once more the steady beat of his mate's heart. It became
the backdrop of his entry into CI5 Headquarters. There he went, past the
guards, down the corridor, up the lift, out into the hall. The door to
Cowley's office was closed. He knocked once, then reached for the
doorknob.

The door opened, not to Cowley's office, but to the private compartment of
a moving train. Cowley and Madame sat opposite each other, speaking
quietly. Beyond them, the windows showed naught but the darkness of the
countryside they rode through. As he entered, two pairs of fiercely
powerful eyes fixed on him. He shuddered. So startling was the ease of the
connection that he nearly lost it for a second, but those eyes held his
steadily.

Cowley's features mellowed into the semblance of a human gaze. *Aye, 4.5,
what's the matter now?*

"Just wondering where you are, sir. And Madame. Didn't mean to intrude.
And, er..."

*I should think you and Bodie would have enough to do to occupy your time
tonight,"* Cowley replied. *"You have three days leave, starting tomorrow.
I'll be in touch by then. Susan and Betty will manage without you. They
know where to reach me if necessary.*

"But CI5... If the Minister knows you're dead..."

*There are all sorts of conflicting rumours buzzing about Whitehall at the
moment. No one is quite sure what has happened. And, if you have any sense
at all, you and Bodie will make yourselves scarce until we return. Do you
understand, Doyle?*

"Yes sir."

*Good.*

The connection broke with such appalling speed that it nauseated him for a
second. He gasped, then sat up. His partner was chafing one arm, softly
calling his name with some alarm.

"They're on a night train to Scotland," he got out.

Bodie nodded. "Makes sense, that. He needs his native soil, doesn't he?"

He related the rest of the message, then added, "I think he knows about
us."

"Well, of course he does, sunshine. But that's all right; we know about
him too."

******

It felt strange, collecting their things and preparing to move on in the
morning. They notified the Chief Constable of their intentions, and
watched with some bemusement as the rooms were rapidly returned to their
original order. Not a word was said about the last room, which was left
severely alone. As they were leaving, the great wooden doors to the
quarters were jammed shut and locked again. No trace of their habitation
would remain.

"Guess we'll have to go elsewhere to celebrate our anniversaries,
sunshine," Doyle mock mourned.

Bodie cast a lust-filled glance over at his mate. "We can worry about that
when the honeymoon's over. Let's get out of here before the tourists
descend on the place."

"My flat or yours?"

"Yours. You probably have more food lying about."

"I shouldn't count on it, as long as I've been gone. Probably all went bad
by now." 

All the same, neither man was in the mood to waste time marketing. By
unspoken agreement Bodie drove them straight back to Ray's flat. 

The phone was ringing as they entered; Doyle picked it up and answered
with an air of weariness that evaporated in seconds. He cradled it on his
neck as he motioned Bodie over. "It's Susan." A broad grin broke out over
his face. "Right. Tell that pillock to mind his step from now on. We'll be
watching." His face changed again as he listened intently. "Are you sure?
No one's said a word to me about it." A few more moments passed. Bodie
helped himself in the kitchen to the teakettle and set it on the burner. 

He'd just finished adding boiling water to the teapot when Doyle entered
the kitchen, his face sombre. "What is it, sunshine? Our leave get
cancelled?"

Ray shook his head as he reached into the cupboard. "No, actually. Some
good news. Murphy regained consciousness this morning. He's pretty banged
up, but nothing permanent."

"That's great." Bodie waited patiently for the rest while his partner set
the cups down and rummaged for some sugar. He even managed to remain still
as they settled themselves at the table, though his forbearance was
wearing thin. Ray sipped distractedly at his tea; Bodie followed suit.

When he thought he couldn't wait another minute, Doyle blurted out, "The
official story is that Mr. Cowley was killed yesterday in the line of
duty. His funeral is scheduled in three days time."

"Just in time for the Cow to make it back from Scotland," he commented
neutrally, "though I doubt if he'll attend. Any word on his replacement?"

Ray raised troubled jade eyes to his. "Me." He put his cup down. "Susan
says she'll hold the fort until we're back on duty."

"What?" At first he was sure it was a bad joke. "That's impossible. You
mean Acting Controller, right? Until they find some school tie political
replacement."

"That's what I would have assumed too," Doyle replied. "But it seems that
there's been considerable pressure put on the Home Secretary to give it to
me."

"From who? Cowley? I can't imagine they would listen to him, not about
this."

"From the Crown." He took a sip of tea. "I suppose it must be Madame. They
do owe her, after all."

Bodie sat back, finally convinced. It made sense. Through Ray, Cowley
could still dominate CI5 for as long as he wished. "You're going to be a
busy lad. I'd better get you back to bed while I still can. No wonder
Cowley gave us three days leave."

"You don't mind?" There was a plaintive note to Doyle's voice that Bodie
had seldom heard.

"Mind? Of course I'll mind us not being partners. It'll take me forever to
break in a new one." He smiled. "And I'll miss spending so much time with
you. But it *is* best for CI5, you know."

"Is it? They could have given it to you. You know how to dress, how to
talk; you can charm them..."

"Don't be daft. I haven't the education, remember? Dropped out of school
at fourteen, didn't I? You, you finished and even went to Art School a
bit, then Police Academy. No, it's yours, mate." He patted Doyle's arm.
"It's the right choice."

"I don't have a military background; don't have those contacts in the
Establishment like he did. Dammit Bodie, I don't see how I can pull this
off alone." He stormed into the kitchen and put his empty cup in the sink.

Bodie came up behind him with a squeeze to his shoulder. "Now, you know
Cowley will be supporting you for as long as you need." *Maybe longer*, he
kept to himself.

"That's not what I mean." Doyle turned to face him. "I need you with me.
If I asked you to be Assistant Deputy Controller or whatever the hell we
call it, would you do it? For me?"

Bodie chewed on a nail. "Close as we are, it would be dangerous, Ray.
Think about it. Unless, of course, you decided to let this go..."

"Don't even think that! I'd turn it down first!"

He grinned at Doyle's vehemence. "Don't turn the green-eyed glare on me,
Golly. If that's what you want, we'll give it a try." *Mind you, Cowley
might veto it, but we'll see*. "Anything else on your mind?" He drew
closer and put both hands on Doyle's thin waist.

Ray moved into his arms completely and returned the embrace, his mouth
next to Bodie's ear. "Do you really think we can pull this off?"

The heat of his breath sent a shiver through Bodie. He turned his head to
capture that sweet, wide mouth with his own. Just before they collided, he
muttered, "Count on it."

******

The day of the funeral was obligingly bleak and damp. Chilly rain and wind
gave everybody red noses and wet eyes, leaving little to distinguish
between those who knew and those who didn't. Doyle and Bodie stood in a
tight circle, flanked by Susan, Betty, McCabe, Lucas and Jax. Murphy was
still in hospital. A distant cousin sent flowers, but no family came. A
few old Army friends did arrive, but the majority of the mourners were
simply CI5. That chilled Doyle more than the weather; if not for Bodie he
too could wind up this isolated at the end of his life. He reminded
himself that the coffin they decorated with flowers was empty, a sham, and
that George Cowley had a whole new existence before him.

The Home Secretary came up to them and personally offered his condolences,
along with his congratulations to Doyle on his appointment as Controller.
There was nothing in his demeanour to suggest he was looking Doyle over,
but Ray felt under a microscope all the same. Even the PM showed up
briefly, along with her husband, and did the same. Though he was loath to
admit it, he was grateful that his mate had dragged him to half a dozen
shops the day before and revamped his wardrobe. At least he more or less
looked the part, though his tie was killing him.

Off in the distance a black Rolls Royce with dark tinted glass stood
motionless, as it had since the funeral began. He had no proof, but Doyle
would have bet his new title that Cowley and Madame were in there watching
the proceedings with considerable amusement. He thought about trying to
contact his mentor, but was unsure if he could pull it off under the
present circumstances. Better to wait until afterwards.

When the ceremony was concluded however, and people returned to their
cars, the Rolls was no longer in sight. He remarked upon it as they took
their respective places in Bodie's silver Capri.

"I'll be dammed; I was sure he wouldn't come. Perhaps Madame made him do
it."

"I can't imagine Cowley letting her lead him around by the nose; no, if he
came, it was for his own reasons," Ray responded pensively. "I think he
wants to meet us, but where? Any ideas?"

Bodie shrugged. "Somewhere dark and deserted, I would think. Unless he
simply plans to wait until nightfall. What about the Tower, then? Madame's
sarcophagus is there. She'd need it, wouldn't she?" His attention was
diverted by the sudden appearance of the black Rolls alongside the road.
Quick as thought, he pulled off behind it.

The car then proceeded back onto the main road, with Bodie right behind
them. "Well, so much for how to contact them. Wonder where we're going."

The Rolls maintained a steady speed all the way back into Central London.
As traffic grew more congested, it slowed, allowing them to easily keep
pace. "Damn," Bodie commented. "Looks like we're going straight to HQ."
But at the last minute, the Rolls turned off in the direction of
Buckingham Palace. "What the devil?"

******

Bodie was not alone in his bewilderment. George Cowley peered over at his
companion, suspicion writ large on his features. "Now what are you up to,
Madame? I still have no idea why we had to go to that dreadful ceremony,
merely to contact Bodie and Doyle. A simple phone call would have
sufficed."

"Patience," replied the lady driving the car. "It's your own fault. If
you're going to insist I learn to operate this bloody automobile, you'll
simply have to be content to remain a passenger." She smiled over at him.
"As it turns out, you were right. I don't half mind these things as long
as I'm doing the driving."

"I'm sure you don't expect to shock me with that bit of news," he
rejoined. "I would still like to know what we are doing here in broad
daylight." That statement came out with a bit more strain than he'd
intended. Truth to tell, he was nowhere near as comfortable as she with
being out and about, even on a very dark and overcast winter afternoon.
She'd assured him they would be safe behind the tinted glass, but it made
him uneasy all the same.

Part of it, he knew, was the difference in their ages. In time, she'd
explained, his powers would grow, as would his ability to tolerate
indirect daylight and running water. It was not something she chose to do
often, but, she insisted, this was a special occasion. A man didn't get a
chance to watch his own funeral that often. He suspected that was not the
only special occasion she was referring to. She had donned a long black
silk gown, covered by a great fur mantle, and had insisted that he dress
up too.

By the time they'd parked in an underground lot and been ushered through a
tunnel into the Palace proper, he began to have an inkling. Bodie and
Doyle hurried to join them.

"Sir?" It was Bodie. The lad seemed downright relieved to see him again. A
strange feeling worked its way through his still changing nervous system;
one he could not give a name to yet. It caused him to smile and wait for
them to catch up.

"3.7," he acknowledged. "Dammed if I know the man standing beside you,
though." Doyle flushed, much to his delight. "4.5, is that you? My God,
man, I'd have died sooner if I'd thought it would get you into the proper
attire." He chuckled as the nameless sensation returned, a bit stronger,
and his hand reached out to ruffle Doyle's still unruly curls. It was then
he recognised it for what it was; hunger. She had warned him about that.
He was unsettled, but not concerned; years of utter self denial had
prepared him well for this role. "I don't suppose you two know any more
than I do what this is about?"

They shook their heads as they both fell in step beside him, Madame
leading the way. The staff bowed to her and indicated the way to follow.
As he suspected, they found themselves in the same room where they'd
previously met with the Queen Mother. All the same, he was taken aback. 

She was seated, dressed in crown and ceremonial robes, waiting for them,
but rose as Madame swept into the room. The two queens came together and
curtsied to each other in the centre of the room as equals. Then they
embraced as old friends might. "Your Grace, I had not expected to see you
again in this life. Welcome back to England. I thank you for all you have
done for us, now and over the course of these many, many years."

"It is my honour and my pleasure, Your Majesty," Eleanor replied. She then
turned and motioned for Cowley to come beside her. "You have met Mr.
Cowley, I understand? He bowed deeply to them both, aware of all eyes upon
him.

"Indeed we have. And I must say, your request pleased me greatly; I can
think of no worthier conclusion to this entire matter." She turned to
Cowley as Madame waved the other two men forward. "My only regret is that
this must be done privately. Come sir, kneel before me."

Bodie was too much the military man not to respond to the simple ceremony
with awe. He watched, eyes shining, as his Controller knelt and the Queen
Mother raised her jewelled sword to his shoulder. Her ancient hands were
steady, her voice clear, as she called forth, "I dub thee a knight." The
sword wove its way to his other shoulder. "Be ever faithful. Arise, Sir
George." He kissed her hand and bowed as he did so. He took Madame's hand
and kissed it as well; as he turned to them, Bodie had no doubt about how
the honour bestowed had affected him. Sir George Cowley's hard features
were aglow with pride and gratitude. And love.

******

*EPILOGUE*

Madame had already made arrangements for a private tête à tête with them
in a separate wing of the Palace. After the Queen Mother left them to
return to Clarence House, she urged her company to follow her into the
secluded recesses of the building. They found themselves in a quiet study
with the fireplace lit and the curtains well drawn. It was the least
imposing of the rooms they'd seen, and the most comfortable. Books lined
the panelled walls and a circular table in the centre held a bottle with
matching glasses. Cowley poured the amber liquor as he always did, but
this time Bodie and Doyle alone drank.

He did suggest the first toast, however. "Here's to the successful
conclusion of a most unusual case." They dutifully raised their glasses.

Bodie led the next one. "To Sir George Cowley. Congratulations, sir." He
was rewarded by Madame's warm approval. Once again the tumblers went up.

Madame offered, "To the new Controller and Deputy Controller of CI5." How
she knew about all that, they didn't even hazard a guess. Cowley never
blinked an eye.

It was Doyle's turn. He searched all three faces before him, hesitant.
"Journeys end in lovers meeting. To Madame and Sir George; may you find
much happiness together." He needn't have worried. They both glowed and
cast adorable, abashed glances at each other.

Then, rapidly, fearing to lose his nerve, he added, "And to Bodie, for
taking me on as well." He waited, breathless, for their responses.

Bodie's grin would have melted frost; he tossed off the last of his drink
with gleeful pride. Madame kissed their cheeks in turn, equally pleased.
Best of all, George Cowley himself came over and placed an arm over each
of their shoulders. Doyle finally exhaled completely and let himself be
embraced by his leader, a lump in his throat. The old man's approbation
meant more than he'd been willing to let on, even to himself.

Relief and the effects of rapid drinking made him boneless. He barely
noticed at first when Cowley drew him away from the others and sat him
down before the fire.

*Ah, laddie, I've much to tell you; much to explain. Bear with me for a
bit?*

Peaceful warmth enveloped him; only when he looked up did he realise that
his mentor had not spoken aloud. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that
Madame and Bodie were engaged in their own private conversation. He
nodded, knowing that Cowley had already sensed his willingness. It was
time to take over the family business.

Much later, his head was bursting with new understanding of the
complexities Cowley had wrestled with alone, for so long. Exhausted, he
let Bodie hustle him off into their car and head for home. He didn't demur
when his partner used the R/T to place an order for takeaway dinner. It
was Indian this time, an assortment of curries. He slouched back against
the seat and said not a word until it was time to get out of the car. Only
then did he mutter something about being knackered.

"First day on the job, and already you're a sad sight." Bodie's eyes were
warm and surprisingly sweet. "Come along then. Dinner first, then to bed."

Once his nude body hit the cool sheets, he understood his fatigue was more
mental than physical. Bodie slid in beside him, apparently content to
cuddle for a bit. This suited Doyle not at all. He needed Bodie's loving
hands all over him and said so.

His mate searched his face intently for a moment, then touched it with
great tenderness. "You look so tired, sunshine. Let me love you to sleep."

Ray was normally far from passive in bed, but this was an offer too
wonderful to pass up. He sighed in utter contentment as Bodie began to
stroke and knead and kiss him from head to toe. Once in a while he reached
out to glide his fingers along Bodie's beautiful skin, or to taste it with
his open mouth, but mostly he lay back and let Bodie have his way with
him.

It was a revelation. 'Making love' had always been merely a flowery phrase
to him. It didn't coincide with his cool, sophisticated attitude toward
sex. But then, neither did his relationship with Bodie. He could think of
no other terms that fit what Bodie was doing with him. Never in his life
had he felt so cherished, so special, so completely cared for. It filled
his heart and forced the words out of his mouth.

"I love you, Bodie. Oh God, I love you so much."

His partner came up and kissed him then, lying atop the length of him.
"Love you too, angelfish. Always have. Always will." His words were
punctuated with light busses along Ray's eyelids, his nose, the hollow of
his throat, his cheekbones, and then his full, hungry lips. One callused
hand teased the nearest nipple, while the other played with his balls and
worked his cock.

Doyle was drowning in a sea of love. He stopped fighting the waves pulling
him under and relinquished himself to them in great flowing bursts. He
shouted, too blissed out to do anything else. 

Vaguely he was aware of Bodie stropping himself against his thighs. He
knew he should help and raised his hands to Bodie's chest. Between the two
of them it took but a few minutes. Then Bodie's sweating, trembling frame
collapsed on him, utterly spent.

He managed, just, to open one eye and look at the top of his lover's dark
head, cradled under his chin. He kissed it. "Luv..." He said nothing more.

******

After a time, Bodie shifted and pulled the duvet over them. He gazed at
his sleeping lover/brother/friend and saw with a start that there was
nothing he would not do for this man, be it fair or foul. Bodie was the
perfect backup. Cowley must have known that too. Whatever small doubts he
had about their ability to handle CI5 together faded.

He got up to get a glass of water.

The flat was dark and quiet. Bodie knew his way around it well enough to
get to the kitchen without turning on a single light. There was no need to
disturb Ray. He padded silently to his destination and took a glass from
the cupboard, then turned on the tap.

"Bodie."

He whirled, nearly dropping his glass at the familiar sound of that voice.

George Cowley sat at the table in the dark. When he smiled, his teeth
caught reflected moonlight and glinted. Bodie felt his heart suddenly
lurch.

"Sir?"

"Ach, laddie, you've no cause to fear me." There was just enough of his
usual irritation in his tone to calm Bodie instantly. The old man wouldn't
lie to him. In any case, he had no need to do so.

"You startled me, sir. Had no idea you were in here." Of course, Cowley
knew all the security codes, could obtain keys to any lock. His appearance
was not all that supernatural.

"Goldilocks is asleep." It was not a question. "We need to talk, you and
I. Sit down, 3.7."

He did as he was told out of long habit, acutely aware of his nudity at
the same time. Cowley deigned not to notice. 

"Madame and I will be leaving for the south of France tomorrow night. It
may be some time before we return. Of course, I do expect you will come
and visit when you're on holiday. I also expect you to call me, should the
need arise. Doyle will not want to; he has something to prove. You, on the
other hand, are less prideful in that regard. I'm counting on you, Bodie."

He nodded, uneasy. It wouldn't do to keep secrets from Ray. Still, the old
man was right. If a situation was important enough he'd call, even if they
had to fight over it, but he would not lie to his partner.

"Nor would I expect you to. He is your leader now, after all. I have no
desire to undermine his authority or to set you two at odds. Far from it.
I merely wish to be kept informed, that's all." 

It was unnerving, being read so openly. How was it that Cowley's abilities
were increasing at such a pace, when Marikka's had not?

"Madame's blood; she is so very old and wise. You have no idea what she
has seen, where she has been. Thanks to her, I am also not as afflicted
with the blood thirst that consumed Marikka." He sighed. "Poor girl. She
was completely unprepared for what happened to her. I think it drove her
mad. You must not think ill of her, Bodie. That sort of personality change
is, alas, all too common with my kind. Only the strongest of wills can
prevent it."

That made sense. He'd never met a man with a stronger will than George
Cowley. No wonder Madame trusted his self control enough to have brought
him over to her world. He took a sip of water, suddenly aware of the other
reason Cowley was here. And yes, he trusted him too. Had trusted him with
his life for years and years. Tonight was no different.

"Thank you, Bodie." The older man arose and stood beside him, a hand on
his shoulder. "Are you sure? Trust is all very well and good, but do you
understand the amount of disclosure involved? For a time, we will not be
entirely separate. Your privacy means a great deal to you."

He sensed Cowley withdrawing, giving him space to decide. It was not hard.
He loved the old man unreservedly. Only Ray Doyle had more pull on his
soul. "Whatever you need, if I have it, it's yours." The room fell silent
as Cowley took his arm and led him to the parlour. He sat on the divan,
and was surprised when Cowley took off his coat and covered him with it.
Only then did he realise how chilled he was.

"You'll catch your death, wandering about stark naked in the dead of
winter, 3.7."

"Wasn't expecting company, now was I?" He lay back in the circle of
Cowley's arms, comfortable and curious. He had wondered what all the fuss
was about with this, but knew better than to ask Doyle. Now he would see
for himself.

He'd expected some level of intimacy, some kind of contact beyond the
physical. After all, Cowley had warned him of it. But nothing anyone could
have said would have prepared him for the depth and raw intensity of
Cowley's invasion. He knew instantly that Doyle had hated it, and why.
Giving one's blood was a minor thing; he'd donated in the past when a mate
had been injured. But this... It was terrifying, really, to be dissolving
into the mind of another. Unless it was someone you loved. He held to that
notion, and let his love open him to an even greater extent than he had
thought possible. Then, ecstasy.

When Cowley was through with him, he was cold again. He snuggled deeper
into the other man's arms, seeking a warmth that was not there.

Cowley knew it and sighed silently. * Time for you to go to bed, lad.
You've got a busy day tomorrow.*

"Yes, sir." Bodie stirred and stretched languorously. *Wonder if I'll ever
get to do that with Ray.*

*Perhaps. Who knows?*

Bodie's eyes opened, suddenly aware that speech was not needed between
them anymore. *Sir?*

*Go to bed, son. You're cold. Go to bed.*

******

He waited in the doorway until Bodie had done his bidding. The sight of
them lying together with their limbs loosely entwined no longer disturbed
him. Quite the contrary; it filled him with great joy. Love came to men in
many ways. He knew that now.

Soundlessly he turned to leave. His own ancient lover beckoned in the
night.

 
 -- THE END --

*Originally published by Cornhusker Press, 1998*

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