The Professionals Circuit Archive - Someone Special	    Someone
Special

 

by Mona Moore

  
 Doyle paused in the doorway to watch the rest of the card game.

Looking at the group around the table, it struck him again that Bodie's
old military mates bore a decided resemblance to each other--and to Bodie.
A resemblance of type if not exactly of feature. They even dressed alike.

Bloody three musketeers, he thought. What is it with the SAS--they only
take 'em if they're tall, dark, and handsome? Not that Doyle had any
objection to tall, dark, and handsome. Quite the contrary.

Three sets of broad shoulders hunched over the table; three dark heads
bent to study the cards. Three sets of eyes in varying shades of blue,
three polo necks, and--he glanced at the hatstand in the corner. He'd
never seen so many brown leather jackets in his life.

None of the men were paying any attention to Doyle whose terrible hand had
caused him to fold early in the game. The atmosphere was tense as the last
bets were placed. All participants were proud, not only of their
card-sharping abilities, but of their poker faces. Ray, knowing his
partner as well as he did, guessed Bodie's hand must be a good one.

His prediction was borne out as Bodie, to the groans of his friends,
displayed a full house and scooped up the pot, a substantial weight of
copper. Laughing and stretching his cramped muscles, he tilted back in his
chair and gave Doyle a private smirk over the heads of the others.

"Want to pack it in?" he addressed his erstwhile opponents. "I'm not sure
you two are up to this anymore." Bodie smiled his infuriatingly smug smile
and opened his mouth to continue. "I always--"

"Anyone want some more lager?" interrupted Doyle hastily. He'd heard
Bodie's poker lecture too many times already. "And the loo's free."

When the group reassembled in the lounge, relieved and replenished with
beer, Bodie, for a wonder, seemed content to drop the subject of his
prowess at cards.

Conversation that evening had ranged widely, touching on football and
politics and films and, to Doyle's amazement, had strayed only briefly
into military reminiscence. Later he might be forced to admit to his
partner that his reservations about the evening had been mistaken.

Bodie leaned back in his armchair, stretching his legs with an unconscious
wince that made Doyle twitch in sympathy. They had spent the day outside
London at a lovely country estate in Kent attending an intelligence
services joint refresher course--crawling, climbing, jumping,
running...and running into Bodie's old friends doing similar things on
behalf of their units.

Apparently Bodie had known Mike Gambit for years, dating back to a stint
in the Paras together and then again in the SAS. Willie Caine was a more
recent acquaintance. He'd gone from the Paras into SIS, and had met the
others during a summer working with SAS intelligence. When Doyle had
returned to his car at the end of the day, he'd found himself included in
Bodie's plans for an impromptu card game at his flat that evening, and
Bodie wouldn't let him cry off.

"Mike," said Bodie, "you still working with that smashing bird?" He turned
to Doyle. "I met her once, that time we were both after the same
gang--that bunch of spades into all sorts of nasty stuff," he explained
casually.

Ray's acknowledging smile didn't reach his eyes.

Mike frowned. "Purdey? Oh, yes. She's still around."

Which unit did Mike work with, Doyle wondered. MI5? No, it was that small
group under...um, John Steed, that was it. Doyle was amazed at the amount
of trivia his copper's brain could retain even after an exhausting day and
four--or was it five?--beers.

Willie smiled slightly at the annoyance in Mike's deepset eyes. "What's
the matter, Mike? Not getting anywhere?"

"Actually, no, I'm not." Mike leaned forward and rubbed a rueful hand
across his cleft chin. "And it's not for lack of trying. She's just not
interested."

"Cheer up, mate. Plenty more out there." Bodie with his blase,
bird-pulling-is-no-trouble-for-me routine. Doyle hid his inadvertent smile
in his beer. "Though she was quite a looker, as I remember. Tall and
blonde, with legs like a dancer."

"Yeah. But something she said the other day made me think.... Nah."

"What?" Bodie prompted, curious.

"She sounded as if she fancied the boss!" Mike subsided back in his chair,
aggrieved.

"What's wrong with him, then?" asked Doyle, fishing around in his head for
some recollection of Mike's boss.

"Nothing. He's good at the job. I even like working for him. But he's
twice her age!"

"Oh, right." Doyle finally placed Steed. "Bodie, you remember. About
Cowley's age, one of the bowler and brolly league."

"Ah," said Bodie wisely. "She'll soon get bored. Then you can move in."
The problem settled to his satisfaction, he added, "If not, like I said,
plenty more. How about one of those MoD secretaries?"

Even Mike joined in the laughter. Defence secretaries were the toughest
lot in all of London's myriad security agencies. They had to be.

Reaching for another beer, Mike became serious again. "Well, yeah,
but...." He sighed. "Secretaries and barmaids are great for a fling, but
you always have to remember the job. There are times when I wish I could
have it all. A nice looking woman, some brains with it, and not having to
lie about the job. Purdey's right there, dammit! Same security clearance,
so Steed wouldn't mind. And after some of those operations, someone who
knows what it's like, well.... Know what I mean?"

Willie, whom Doyle had pegged as either the quiet type or somewhat
depressed, broke the silence that followed Mike's outburst. "Yeah, I do.
My boss has just stated that he will not allow me to date his secretary.
Not allow! We go back six years--no, seven--and he's coming the headmaster
with me. She's not a fellow agent, and I think she's interested.
Marianne's nice, only been with us four months. But just when I get her to
accept a dinner invitation, bloody Burnside hears about it and--bam--she's
got to stay late to type a report." With gloomy fellow-feeling, Mike
enquired, "Burnside after her, you think?"

"Ha. Not him. He's like your Cowley," he said with a nod to Bodie. "His
wife divorced him because he never left the damn job behind. And then
Laura...." He stopped, looking down at his hands.

Doyle recognised a keep-out sign when he saw one. "So what's he got
against it?" This Burnside did sound a lot like Cowley. Dictatorial wasn't
in it, at times.

"Pure selfishness. According to him, if Marianne and I get involved, her
efficiency will drop when I'm on a mission. She'll worry about me, and his
coffee will be late!" The curve of Willie's mouth just missed being a
sneer. "The only woman around that I could talk to about the damn job....
Of course, he wouldn't know about that kind of thing.... Ah, what's the
use?"

Bodie stared at Mike and Willie, slouched in their seats with matching
scowls. "If a happy marriage is what you're after, lads, you're in the
wrong line of work. Security is not the place for it. Should quit and go
run a pub."

"Lorry driving's good, too," added Doyle thoughtfully, trying not to smile
at Bodie.

Mike and Willie glanced at each other. Mike chuckled. "Publican for me.
Don't care for the food in the motorway caffs."

Willie smiled perfunctorily but was not diverted. Doyle guessed this must
be what was bothering him tonight.

"How do you two manage? What's CI5 like for birds?"

Bodie and Doyle shared a quick glance, then looked away.

"We manage." Doyle hoped he imagined the wobble in Bodie's voice, the hint
of suppressed laughter. He knew the lounge lighting wasn't bright enough
to show his own slightly heated face.

"Does Cowley let you date his secretary?" Willie's grievance was certainly
strong.

"Betty? Cowley wouldn't mind, but no one's ever managed it." Bodie's voice
was under control again, showing only the appropriate mild amusement.

"Yeah. A legend in the squad, our Betty. Everyone's tried. No joy." The
least Doyle could do was give his partner cover.

"Other agents?" Mike asked, reaching for the crisps. "I remember seeing at
least one real looker at the Fennell op--a blonde. Susie?"

Mike must always notice blondes, Doyle decided, even at the wrap up of a
particularly nasty operation.

"Susan. She's taken." Bodie smiled reminiscently. Doyle hoped it was at
memories of that riotous wedding bash.

"Yeah, 'Sir' Percival got her, lucky sod." Doyle shook his head at the
manifest unfairness of the universe.

"Who?" Mike paused in amazement, his handful of crisps in danger of
falling into his lap.

"Perc Brodman. You won't know him; he's our tame genius with the
electronics. He can bug any place, anything. Susan's the only thing that
gets him out of earphones." Doyle shook his head, remembering the
consternation when Susan picked Perc instead of any of the host of hopeful
agents willing to promise her the moon.

"Ah," Willie sipped his beer. "Not partners, then."

"Nah, he's not an agent. Cowley's not too keen on involvement between
agents." Bodie sounded aggrieved.

It was true, of course, Doyle reflected, and Bodie wasn't the only one to
resent the fact. Still, if one were discreet--

"Same old story," Mike sighed. "So, you two-- You just go along with it?
Date outside the unit?" He didn't wait for a reply. "I guess I should give
up on Purdey and do likewise. Be less trouble. But it is a shame." He
drained his glass and stood up.

"I'm off. Got an escort job tomorrow, and I need to recruit my strength
for all that standing around. Was great to see you two again." He clapped
Willie on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Willie."

Doyle rose politely to show Mike out, then hesitated, looking at the
plethora of brown leather jackets. He shrugged, picked one at random, and
handed it to Mike. Mike stared at it a moment, then hung it back up and
took his own. Doyle shrugged again and smiled depreciatingly.

"Nice to finally meet you, Ray," said Mike. "You keep him in line, okay?"
With a mock salute to Bodie, he left.

Doyle locked up after him, then returned to the lounge. Bodie was idly
practising fancy shuffles, and Willie was staring into his beer. Doyle
felt unaccountably sorry for Willie. This thing with the secretary was
obviously hitting him hard. He refilled his own glass and took a
thoughtful swallow. Joining Willie on the settee, Doyle met his cautious
glance. "No chance your boss'll change his mind?"

"Burnside?" Doyle must have hit on something, for Willie's pleasant face
cleared. "I'll never live to see it. He can be incredibly stubborn when
he's sure he's right. And he's always sure he's right. That stubborn
streak's saved my life a few times. I just wish he didn't think he can run
my life--or at least not my private life."

Bodie looked up from his cards. "What about her, then? Maybe she could
transfer, work for someone else?"

"Can't ask her to, can I? Don't know her that well, and if Burnside has
his way, I won't get the chance." Willie scowled, pushing a hand through
his thick dark hair. "Do know she wanted this job, though. With Burnside
specifically, I mean. No, I'll just keep at it. She's special, and I can
be stubborn, too." He checked his watch. "I'm off. Got to pack."

"Holiday?" Doyle enquired, contemplating the remaining brown leather
jackets.

"Don't I wish. Off to Malta, but no beaches for me. All I'll see is the
insides of conference rooms."

"The SALT talks? What's your lot doing there?" Bodie stopped shuffling,
surprised.

"Special request. Some one-upmanship among the ministers."

Doyle handed him a jacket. Willie looked at it in surprise. Bodie looked
at it, too.

"Doyle," said Bodie patiently, "how much beer have you had, mate? That's
your jacket."

Willie handed the jacket back politely and fetched his own, shrugging into
it.

"You know what gets up my nose?" he asked. "They're always sending us off
to some vacation spot, lots of sun and bloody hot, and then you go around
in a constant sweat, never able to take off your jacket because of the
armoury. Can't even get a tan."

He gave a rueful smile, made his farewells, and let Bodie show him out.

Ray was gathering the dirty glasses onto a tray when Bodie came back into
the lounge.

"Sorry about that, Ray. Didn't know they'd both be needing an agony aunt."
He began straightening up.

"Didn't mind. Beats your stories about the old SAS days." Ray paused,
holding the bowl of crisps. "Felt sorry for them, actually. Not everyone
is lucky enough to find someone special.". He gave Bodie a straight look.

Bodie met his glance, and his expression softened. "Yeah." He took a step
toward Ray, then stopped, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching
his shoulders, looking away. When he looked back, Ray caught his breath.
Bodie's face was open, his expression revealing as it seldom was, even in
private.

"Ray, I'm not good with words, but.... Well, I do know I'm lucky. Thank
you."

Ray felt tears touch his eyes before he blinked and cleared his throat.
"Yeah. Well, it's worth it. You're worth it." He turned abruptly and
retreated to the kitchen with the crisps.

In a moment Bodie joined him with the dirty glasses. Neither said anything
as they swiftly cleared up. When things were tidy, Ray grabbed a jacket.

"Pick me up tomorrow?" He paused, hand on the door.

"Ray, are you okay to drive? You can stay here."

"Nah. Thanks, but I'm fine."

Bodie smiled. "See you in the morning then."

Ray looked at him, dark and handsome and untroubled, and felt sorry for
Willie and Mike, looking and never finding. So much sorrow and so little
joy in life. Before he could regret the impulse, he took Bodie in a brief
hug, felt Bodie's surprise before he hugged back. Ray slid out the door
and rattled down the stairs without looking back. Lucky, yeah.

As he paused in the building's entry hall to slip into the jacket, he saw
a familiar figure just arriving. The stakeout was finally over, then.
Good.

"Murph," Ray greeted him quietly.

"Ray." Murphy paused. "Just off?"

"Yeah. Had a poker game with Bodie and some old army buddies." In response
to Murphy's grimace, he added, "Wasn't bad actually. And they're gone
now."

"Ta." Smiling, Murphy turned to start up the steps, then stopped when Ray
touched his sleeve.

"Murph, I just want to tell you...you're good for him. I appreciate it."
He tapped Murphy on the shoulder and started to leave, extracting his car
key from his jeans pocket.

"Ray..."

He turned back. Murphy looked pleased but puzzled. "Yeah?" Doyle
encouraged.

"Thanks, Ray. He's good for me, too, and I know it. But, Ray...."

"Yeah, Murph?" Doyle's smile was only the slightest bit fuzzy.

"Um...why are you wearing Bodie's jacket?"

Ray looked down at himself, confused.

"It's the one I gave him last Christmas." Murphy smiled gently. "It's all
right. Just be careful with it, okay? G'night."

Ray walked briskly to his car, thinking hard about Bodie and Murph and
then about Willie and Mike. All this emotional stuff made you do some
weird things at times. Ray knew Bodie's bad qualities, but his good ones
far outweighed them. He was the best partner Ray had ever had and his best
mate as well. Bodie got up Ray's nose at times, but he loved him despite
his faults.

Ray had been flattered and pleased when Murph had taken him into his
confidence six months back. Helping to cover for them had meant bending
CI5's rules on occasion, but Bodie's present happiness made it all
worthwhile. Bodie'd never admit that he needed steady, devoted loving, but
he did. And Murph was just the one to give it to him.

Smiling at the recollection of Bodie's unexpected thank you, Ray got into
his car and sat for a moment, toying with the key.

Someone special, Murph had said when he first told Ray about his feelings
for Bodie.

Well, wasn't that what everybody wanted? He hoped that Willie and Mike
would someday find their own special people, as Murph and Bodie had.

He was amused by his lapse into sentimentality--perhaps it was the beer.
He checked his watch. Not very late.

Doing his part to conceal Bodie and Murph's mutual attachment had been
difficult at times, but Ray was very good at keeping secrets. He had to
be. His own longtime relationship was also a clandestine one and had to
remain so, and not just because of CI5's rules. There were those who
wouldn't be able to understand. Some of them were important to him.

He checked his watch again, debating with himself. Sure, why not? It
really wasn't late, and after listening to Willie and Mike, he wanted a
little quiet loving, a warm body beside him on a cold springtime night.

He turned up the collar of Bodie's jacket, started the car, and drove
carefully off into the London night, automatically checking for tails and
taking a circuitous route to Jax's flat. 

-- THE END --

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