The Professionals Circuit Archive - Not Even Good-bye       Not Even
Good-bye

 

by Rob 

  
 "Ahoy there, shipmates!"

Across the flat water a voice called out through the blanket of fog.

The soft, phut-phut of the outboard came closer and the shape of a small
boat and its skipper emerged from the white shroud.

"Come on Taff," yelled Bodie. As the boat came nearer and the unmistakable
bulk of Taff Evans could be identified. "Couldn't you 'ave got here a bit
quicker, we've been missing all the fun stuck out here waiting for you." 

The small boat drew up alongside the yacht and Bodie helped his partner to
tie the mooring ropes fast. 

"What happened to the launch?" asked Doyle as he eyed the small powerboat.
"You're never going to get us and the merchandise in *that* thing?" 

"Look, mate," Taff's cheerful voice ignored the irritation evident in his
tousleheaded colleague. "All the launches are trying to find Charlie, I
commandeered this thing because I thought that you just might have a nice
word to say to me." He continued on cheerfully as he climbed up onto the
small deck of the yacht. "Y'know, something along the lines of 'Good on
yer, Taff, nice of you to think of us stuck out here' -- that sort of
thing." 

Doyle latched on to the only part of Evans rambling that interested him.
"What do you mean, 'trying to find Charlie.'" 

"Ah, well." Taff hesitated, trying to find the right words to tell Doyle
that the operation had just blown up in their faces. "Fog's thick, isn't
it," he said pointedly. 

"You lost them!" Nobody could accuse Doyle of being slow on the uptake,
thought Taff. 

"Not just me, everyone. Cowley's already blasted my ears off along with
everyone else within a mile of him, so don't you start." Having already
incurred Cowley's wrath, Evans had no intention of undergoing a repeat
performance. "We were halfway down the river before we realised that the
engine we were following was another police launch, the bugger knew we
couldn't see beyond our noses and must have switched his engine off and
sat there as we chased each other down the river." 

"You were chasing the police launch!" Bodie only just managed to choke
back a laugh -- he had a feeling that his partner as yet couldn't see the
funny side of it. 

"I don't believe it." Doyle was furious and his face showed it, as 

Taff Evans and Bodie had experienced Doyle's somewhat explosive temper
before, they tried to defuse the situation. 

"At least we've got the stuff they left behind," Bodie said, pointing out
that the night's work hadn't been a complete waste of time. Evans picked
up on the hopeful note. 

"They left it all behind, that should cheer the Customs and Excise men,
might improve the Cow's mood as well. Where did they hide the stuff then?"


"In the engine, actually packed into the machinery. Nice neat little
packages, must be how they moved it, towed it up and down the river at
night and parked it on mooring buoys, explains how Customs and Excise
missed it." 

"Clever little Charlie," said Evans, a note of begrudging admiration in
his voice. You had to be pretty nifty to get much past Customs and Excise
nowadays. 

"I just don't understand how you lost them." Doyle's fury crashed down
directly on the unfortunate Taff. "We all but put them in you lap-how the
hell did they get away?" 

"It's not my fault, Doyle, blame the sodding weather. Next time you get a
tip-off have a word in God's ear and ask for a nice sunny day." 

"Come on, Doyle." Bodie restrained his partner as he moved threateningly
towards Evans. "Work off some of your temper on shifting the merchandise."


Accepting the futility of smashing Taff's nose, Doyle turned and
disappeared into the tiny cramped cabin, lifting the hatch, and stepped
into the engine room. 

"You give him a hand, Taff, and I'll stack the stuff into your boat." 

For a while they worked in silence. Doyle too furious and disappointed to
talk and Taff held his tongue out of a healthy respect for his colleague's
temper. 

Up on deck, Bodie stamped his feet and wrapped his hands around himself in
an effort to keep warm. 

"I bet Cowley thinks it's funny leaving us out here freezing our balls off
watching the perishing sunrise." He blew on his hands and stamped on the
deck harder. A loud thud and a muffled curse brought Doyle out of the tiny
cabin rubbing his head and elbow at the same time. 

"If you rock this damn boat once more I'm going to knock you over the
side. Stand still -- better still get into the other boat and start
stacking the stuff up." 

Obediently Bodie clambered into the small boat and began to stack up the
fruit of the night's labours, carefully wrapped packets containing an
innocuous white powder that in this day was even more precious than gold
dust. While he forced his numbed fingers to work Bodie continued to bemoan
his lot. 

"It's all your fault, Doyle," he shouted, peering over the bow of the
yacht. "Why you couldn't have arranged for this to happen on dry land or
tied up to the dock beats me." 

"Shut up, Bodie," the muffled retort wafted out of the tiny cabin. 

Bodie just pulled a face. "Shut up, Bodie," he mimicked. "Next time you
get a tip-off about a drugs haul in the middle of a perishing river you
can bloody well leave me out of it." 

"Bodie, SHUT UP!" 

Wisely, Bodie did as he was told. Eventually the sweating forms of Doyle
and Evans emerged from the cabin. 

"Phew." Taff Evans wiped the sweat from his face and stretched his back,
easing the cramped muscles. "That's the lot, here's the last packet,
Bodie." He handed it over and gingerly climbed down into the loaded boat;
he moved to undo the aft mooring while Doyle went forward to release the
other. As soon as the rope dropped from Doyle's hand Bodie started up the
engine and pushed the throttle forward; the launch moved away from the
yacht leaving Doyle standing mouth gaping in astonishment. 

"Oi," he yelled. "What about me?" 

The boat phut-phutted in the direction of the shore, swiftly being
swallowed up by the thick fog. 

"Same way we got out here, only this time *you* can row," Bodie yelled
back, gleefully. "You need the practice, sunshine." 

"BODIE!" 

Doyle's outraged voice followed them through the fog. 

"Does his mother know he uses words like that?" asked Taff mildly. 

"He can't help having a mouth like a sewer outfall. Anyway, he doesn't
know what half the words mean." 

The engine and the laughter of the two agents finally drowned out the
ceaseless tirade. 

Eventually, Doyle came to the conclusion that his partner really was
leaving him stuck in the middle of the river. He'd half expected Bodie to
return for him but the sound of the boat engine was still receding. 

He looked down at the tiny rowing boat with intense dislike. They had used
the boat to creep up on the yacht just in case any of the gang were still
on board, he'd tried to take a turn at the oars but it had been years
since he'd last tried rowing a boat anywhere and it showed. After a few
moments of helpless floundering Bodie had taken the oars back. With a
muttered curse he climbed down into the rocky boat and sat in position.
Undoing the tender rope he pushed away from the yacht and headed in what
he hoped was the right direction; the fog was lifting slightly but it was
still so thick that for all he knew he could be heading straight down the
estuary to the open sea. 

As the police launch drew up to the quayside, Taff watched and wondered
what it was that had caught his interest. His eyes skimmed over the
uniformed crew, none of their lads on board. What on earth had caught his
eye? Curiosity aroused, he moved along the quay towards the launch. 

It had a small tender in tow -- the little boat looked familiar -- he'd
last seen it tied up alongside the yacht. 

His instinct for trouble flared up, again he scanned the faces on the
launch then quickly through the clusters of talking men hanging around on
the quay. It had been nearly an hour since he and Bodie had returned with
the heroin consignment but he couldn't recall seeing Doyle since then.
Troubled he moved towards the police inspector disembarking from the
launch. 

"Excuse me," he flashed his ID at the policeman. "That boat you're towing,
how did you come by it?" 

The inspector threw the scruffily dressed, bearded dropout a filthy look.
Bloody CI5 louts had had him and his men chasing ghosts all over the
river. 

"It was floating downriver. It constitutes a hazard to shipping -- apart
from being at your beck and call we do have a duty to *try* and keep the
river a safe place." 

"How far down river?" persisted Evans urgently, something of his manner
alerted the inspector and he answered the abrupt question with a little
more civility. 

"About half a mile out in the middle, why?" 

Unnoticed, George Cowley had joined the group. 

"What's going on?" he demanded, recognising the troubled expression on
Evans' face. 

"The tender, sir." Evans pointed it out. "Doyle was using it to row back
to shore. That was over an hour ago. I haven't seen him and the inspector
found it floating about half a mile down river." 

Cowley and Evans both surveyed the faces on the quay, in the distance,
Bodie could be seen talking to the Customs and Excise men loading their
precious cargo into a security van. They looked down at the small tender
bobbing gently up and down behind the launch. 

"There were no oars and one of the rowlocks is broken." The inspector
climbed down into the boat and pointed out the broken wood for Cowley's
inspection. "The wood is rotten, but the last part of the break is new,
it's still clean. Looks like he lost the oar.

Was he wearing a life jacket?" 

Evans shook his head. 

"You're sure this is the right boat, we often find them floating on the
tide. All these Sunday sailors," the inspector said scathingly.

"None of them know how to moor a boat properly." 

"That's the boat he was in, I'm sure of it." 

Cowley and the inspector looked out across the river, the fog was lifting
and the opposite bank was nearly visible. 

"You get your men to check the river, inspector, meantime I'll check to
see if he came ashore." Cowley spoke sharply. The inspector moved to board
his launch, shouting orders to move off immediately. Evans and Cowley
looked at each other; they knew what the empty boat signified. The river
looked peaceful enough but its currents were treacherous -- without a life
jacket or swift assistance a person would be swept away to a watery grave
very quickly. 

One by one the flotilla of police launches drew away from the dock. The
sudden flurry of renewed activity and the urgent questions about Ray
Doyle's presence quickly subdued the cheerful conversation of the men
gathered on the dock. Nothing had gone right this morning, the villains
had got clean away and now it seemed as if something had happened to 4.5.
The tale soon spread, the empty tender, the lost oars; no, no one had seen
Doyle. 

Cowley was in radio contact with the inspector heading the water-borne
search, his own eyes scanning the deceptively calm black waters. Cowley
didn't acknowledge the circle of men that surrounded his car listening to
the two way conversation. 

"...on board the yacht and there's no tender tied up." 

"We've looked around here, he had an R/T and he hasn't checked in to say
he's landed further down stream." 

"The current's strong out here, the tide would have just turned about when
he was last seen, without a life jacket he wouldn't have lasted more than
five minutes in the water." The flat tone of the inspector didn't hold
much hope. Out in the middle of the river downstream from the yacht a
figure could be seen pushing a long stick under the waterline of another
moored vessel. In the distance, another police launch was repeating the
action. 

"Unless we're lucky it's going to take a long time to find the body, he
could be under any one of the boats out here, the way the tide's running
we could find him anywhere from the docks to the hook of Holland." 

"You're certain he wouldn't have made it ashore?" 

"There's always a chance." The inspector's voice softened slightly but the
listening men knew he didn't believe what he was saying. 

"Carry on searching," Cowley ordered. He clicked off the radio then looked
around, beyond his audience. Cowley's eyes seemed fixed on something past
them and they turned to see what. 

The security van was moving off and Bodie turned to walk towards the group
congregating around Cowley. As he drew closer he realised that to a man
they were all watching him. What was going on, he wondered. He flicked a
look down his body, he was safely zipped up so what were they looking at?
He casually threw a glance over his shoulder -- nothing there -- so it was
*him* they were all eyeing. 

As he reached the edge of the group he scanned the faces looking for his
partner. The men drew back and refused to meet his eye, the crowd parted
and then moved away without speaking. With growing bewilderment he watched
the departing men -- soon only Cowley was left. 

Bodie was aware of a cold sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach,
turning his back on Cowley he watched the police boat out on the river.
His brain identified the actions of the distant figures. He had seen
police searching for bodies in the river before. 

Cowley watched the colour drain from Bodie's face. In his heart he had
always know that this day would come; known it, expected it and dreaded
it. 

"Where's Ray?" 

Bodie's voice sounded normal enough, but Cowley wasn't fooled. Bodie knew,
but just couldn't believe it. It was a risk he knew they had talked about,
the possibility of one of them being left behind -- a risk that might
happen tomorrow. Not today - -- never today. Blindly, they had clung to
the hope the childish belief that tomorrow never comes -- but like all
childish illusions that belief had just been shattered. 

Without speaking, Cowley moved to stand closer, silently offering support.
For a moment he took his eyes from the motionless figure and looked around
the dock; the men were slowly moving away, no one seemed to want to come
and stand with Bodie - - - to offer their support. From their faces it was
obvious to Cowley that none of them knew what to do or how to react. He
doubted that any of them even suspected the depth of the tie between their
fellow agents. The fact that they lived and slept together had never been
hidden -- you couldn't have secrets in CI5, but the two men had never
trusted anyone enough to allow them to see how much they loved each other,
needed each other -- except their Boss, so he was the only one who could
even begin to guess with any accuracy what was going through Bodie's mind.


"Where's Ray?" The black eyes left their search of the river and turned to
the man beside him. 

"Bodie..." How on earth do you begin to shatter a man's world? "The police
are looking for him, there's a faint chance..." He couldn't build up any
false hopes, "a very faint chance that he may have been able to catch hold
of a mooring line, the launches are searching all the boats and jettys as
well as along the banks." Even as he spoke he could see that Bodie knew it
was a false hope. 

"What happened?" 

Cowley pointed to the small tender still bobbing up and down in the water.
"The wood holding the thole pin is rotten, it must have broken as he was
rowing back, one oar was found a few minutes back. He could have fallen
overboard trying to retrieve it." 

"Didn't anyone see it, couldn't someone have got out there to help him?"
Bodie demanded. 

"The fog's only just lifted, Bodie. No one knew anything was wrong until
9.6 saw the launch towing it in. The police didn't know someone was
supposed to be in it." The full horror of what the soft Scots voice was
telling him conjured up nightmare images before his eyes, Ray, alone, lost
in the fog grappling in the water for an oar, falling in and being swept
away, arm outstretched, pleading -- begging for help that wasn't there,
fighting futilely against a slow, inevitable death -- alone... 

In his worst nightmares Bodie had always imagined a quick death, a
sniper's bullet, swift and painless and himself soothing his pain by
destroying the cause of his partner's demise, or else a quiet moment
together before death claimed them, a moment to say, 'goodbye -- I love
you.' Never had it been like this. Not even knowing that his partner was
fighting for his life in the cold waters while he laughed and joked with
strangers. And it was his fault, it shouldn't have happened, there was
plenty of room in the launch for Ray as well. It was all his own fault.
Word for word his mind repeated the blistering tirade his partner had
released on his ears as he'd steered the launch towards the shore. Not
even, 'goodbye -- I love you.' The last words had been of anger, and
operation turned sour and the final straw being his partner -- his lover
-- deserting him, leaving him alone in the middle of a fog-bound river. 

"I'm sorry Ray." Cowley heard the soft whisper, the catch in the voice.
"...Sorry, I'm sorry." 

There was nothing he could do here, the inspector had the search under
control. Bodie didn't resist as he turned and maneuvered him into his car.


The briefing room was full of angry voices, the buzz of conversation
audible from the empty corridor. Over the past year there had been a lot
of new faces, the squad nearly doubled in size, and quite a few of the
newer members seemed to feel a resentment against the more established
agents. Being fairly new they never got any of the really exciting jobs,
the cream usually went to the experienced older hands, like Bodie, Doyle,
Murphy and McAllister. Right now the room was split into two definite
factions. 

"I'm telling you that it must have all been in your imagination, there was
nothing going on between them. Even a friend would express some kind of
grief, but Bodie hasn't. The way he's behaved the past two days you'd
think he never even heard of Ray Doyle." Turner spoke out fiercely, still
smarting from a tongue lashing dished out by 3.7. "All I said was that
there was still no news from the river police and he nearly threw me
through the bloody wall, if Cowley hadn't come in at that moment he would
'ave really gone for me, as it was all he said was, 'get on with your
*real* work' and then stormed out." 

"What the hell do you want him to do?" 

There weren't many people who really knew Bodie, but Taff Evans had joined
the squad only a few months after him. He'd seen the way Bodie and Doyle
had worked together, you couldn't work that well or that closely to
someone you didn't like, he didn't doubt the truth of the stories that had
been floating around the gossip box, those two had been so close that
anything could be possible. 

"What do you want him to do?" he asked the room at large. "Sit down in
front of you all and cry, slash his wrists in public, throw himself in the
river? Forchrist's sake, forgetting all the rumours they've worked
together, watched each other's backs, saved each other's necks countless
times and now Doyle's dead." The room was hushed as Evans continued, his
own eyes bright with tears. "Doyle's dead -- not shot during a job, killed
by some bastard he could shoot back at, he's dead because he fell in a fog
bound fuckin' river where no one, not even his partner, knew what was
happening." The strong voice cracked and broke off, Evans wiped a hand
across his face, wiping the evidence of his own grief away. 

"I'll tell you what Bodie's doing, he's shutting everything away, blocking
out all the hurt, the grief, guilt, everything, because that's the way
Bodie is. Never gives away what he's feeling -- that's Bodie. And I'll
tell you something else, the reason why he's pushing so hard, he's trying
to finish Doyle's case. Right now that's all he's interested in and he's
going to knock hell out of anyone who gets in his way." Evans finished his
unprepared speech and slumped back into his chair, exhausted. For a moment
the room remained silent as all the men took in what Evans had told them. 

"What's he going to do when the case gets wrapped up?" The quiet voice
from the middle of the crowded room voiced most of their thoughts. 

When Cowley entered the room he was immediately aware of the awkward
atmosphere. A period of unease, depression and grief usually followed the
death of an agent and he knew that Doyle had been fairly well liked
amongst his colleagues but the feeling of...Cowley struggled to put a name
to it... tension...nervous tension was different. It was as if they all
felt they were sitting on a bomb, he doubted that the tension was caused
by the lack of success in finding Doyle's body. The door opened and the
air positively cracked as the tension in the room increased. Bodie walked
in, CI5's own walking, talking, unexploded bomb. 

Cowley knew that Bodie was running on a short, very unstable fuse.
Anything could bring about the imminent explosion, the emotional dams were
going to break sooner or later. In a way Cowley was pleased Doyle's body
still had not been recovered, the sight of his partner's body, the
irrefutable evidence of his own eyes would cause the dam to break. Until
faced with hard evidence of Doyle's death, Bodie would cling to the hope
that maybe, just maybe... 

But until that moment Bodie was still of use to CI5 and Cowley needed him.
"You found Russell?" he asked, knowing that for the past two days Bodie
had been searching for the informer who had given his partner the original
tip-off. 

"No, but I found his girlfriend. Russell dropped out of sight once he knew
the pickup had failed." 

"Damn." There were times when Cowley wished his upbringing allowed him the
luxury of swearing out loud. 

"But I...persuaded the woman to talk to me." Bodie met the fierce gaze
defiantly. "There's not a mark on her, not that I put there anyway, I
simply explained to her that it would be in her best interest to tell me
everything she knew." 

There was no humour behind Cowley's grim smile, he had no doubts about
Bodie's ability to persuade people to talk. 

"So what did she tell you?" 

"All she knows are names and addresses, I don't think she knows what goes
on at the addresses but from what she said about Russell visiting places
and flapping his mouth off I think we've found the factory." Bodie's eyes
glittered with anticipated triumph. 

"Where?" barked Cowley, and the roomful of agents sat up and took note as
the map was marked and plan of attack formulated. This time they were
going to get them. 

Swiftly, the agents penetrated the security fence, if by some miracle the
factory was still intact they wanted to keep it that way. The managers
behind the massive flow of heroin into the British drug market were the
very top of the league. If they could take over the manufacturing
headquarters they would probably also find priceless lists of suppliers,
dispatchers; if they were really lucky tonight's work could knock a big
hole in the underground drug scene -- as well as causing one or two red
faces in the houses of Lords or Commons as the financial backers of the
most despicable of trades revealed. 

"There are too many bloody if's in this operation for my liking." Turner
whispered his latest grouch into the ear of his companion -- who wondered
what he had done to deserve such a pain in the arse for a partner. 

"If this is the right place," Turner went on barely pausing to draw
breath, "if anyone's still here, we could be in for a real shoot out,
after last Sunday's effort we aren't going to catch them unawares are we?"


His hapless partner tried to tune out the never ending moans and focus on
the furtive activity over on his left. It was too dark to see but he
guessed that the two men were Bodie and Evans. 

"They're probably sitting in there with machine guns and explosives ready
to blow the place sky high to destroy the evidence." 

"For Christ's sake shut up." His patience finally exceeded, Miller turned
on his companion. "If there is any explosive in there I just might make
you sit on it and blow it up myself," he hissed angrily. "Now shut yer
mouth and pay attention they're getting ready to move in." 

They both looked down from their rooftop position onto the wide empty
forecourt that ringed the warehouse. The flat tarmac was brilliantly
illuminated, and anyone crossing it immediately visible. 

"He'll never make it. If they're in there they'll be waiting for him." 

It'll take him 10 seconds to sprint across the space, maybe he'll be lucky
and they'll blink slowly." Miller's voice was sarcastic but his heart was
pounding as adrenaline flowed through his body, his mind preparing for the
attack that would come when Bodie reached the building -- or didn't. 

"It's a suicide run, surely Cowley won't let him do it." Turner spoke with
hushed awe. Miller thought over the few times he'd seen Bodie and Doyle
together, the one evening he'd spent in their company after a nerve
wracking job; the rumours hadn't surprised him, it was obvious to anyone
who took the time to watch them together. 

"Maybe he doesn't care anymore." 

Bodie ran. A straight line. The floodlights made it as bright as day. In
ten seconds he could be lobbing a stun grenade through that open window,
if someone was waiting for him it could take 2 or 3 seconds to recognise
the threat running at full pelt towards them; another 2 seconds to pick up
the rifle or gun, another 2-3 seconds to sight it. Eight seconds -- maybe
they'll miss the first shot. He ran on, nearly there he drew the pin on
the grenade, a movement in the corner of his eye, eight seconds were up,
he swerved sharply and a shot whizzed past his head, he felt the rush of
air on his skin, good shot. He arrived at the window and threw in the
grenade, another shot rang out and hit the ground by his feet. 

From inside the warehouse sounds of coughing and shouting could be heard,
he gave the signal and the tarmac was suddenly teeming with life as the
building was surrounded, agents wearing protective breathing masks burst
into the building through every available entrance, windows as well as
doors. 

Catching up with Bodie, Evans thrust a protective mask into his hand and
then they both entered the smoky fray. Turner and Miller were thoroughly
enjoying themselves. The whole thing had gone like clockwork and all the
evidence was intact. As Doyle had predicted the warehouse was a gold mine
of information, each of the dilapidated offices and storerooms containing
a wealth of evidence. The chemist and his laboratory technicians along
with at least one of his bosses and several heavies were effectively
subdued and recovering from the side effects of the gas which thank
goodness was clearing rapidly. Investigating the remaining offices, Turner
and Miller cautiously removed their masks. The air was still acrid but
breathable, Turner placed his

mask on top of a desk knocking something off the surface in doing so. He
bent down to retrieve the object then froze. 

"What's up?" enquired Miller. 

"Look." Turner passed the open wallet to his partner. It was a CI5 ID,
Doyle's ID. Their eyes swept the office: in a heap on the floor was a
leather holster and a dark jacket. 

A muffled cough from the next room took them to the door, guns drawn.
Cautiously Turner tested the handle. It was locked. 

"You don't think..." said Turner. 

"It could be anyone," Miller whispered. 

"On three," mouthed Turner. One two three, under the onslaught of one size
10 and one size 11 1/2 the door burst open. The room was tiny and
windowless. The light from the broken doorway showed a slumped figure tied
to a metal frame. 

"Christ!" 

"No it's not, it's Doyle." 

"Turner." Miller gave his partner an exasperated look. "See to him, I'll
get Bodie." 

Leaving Turner standing in the doorway he moved back down the hall towards
the main storeroom where everybody was congregating. He saw Bodie standing
on his own looking over the equipment the chemist had been using, he
wondered what to say first, he couldn't just walk up to him and say 'Guess
who I just found.' 

"Bodie." On the second call, the bleak eyes turned to him. 

"Turner and I found...something at the other end of the building." 

"Tell Taff, he's supervising the clearing up." Bodie turned away, he'd
done what he'd come here to do. Pity the lookout was such a lousy shot! 

"No," Miller insisted. "I think you really ought to come and see for
yourself." 

Again the bleak eyes fixed on him and Miller felt himself take an
involuntary step backwards. Bodie's face suddenly changed and the
suppressed menace was overtaken by weariness. 

"Okay, let's go see what you've found." Bodie gave himself a mental shake,
it wasn't Miller's fault the operation hadn't gone exactly as he'd hoped
it would. 

They walked in silence along the corridor, Miller stopped and indicated
the open doorway. Bodie raised an eyebrow in query but Miller just said,
"In there, go on." 

Bodie went -- and froze on the threshold of the tiny room. Engaged in the
task of trying to saw through the ropes binding Doyle, Turner didn't
realise Bodie had arrived until he felt Doyle, only barely conscious,
stiffen and heard the soft gasp from the door. He looked up. 

Doyle spoke first, hoarsely and with an effort through bruised lips. "I'm
all right, Bodie. I'm all right." 

"Ray," was all Bodie managed to get out. 

"Bodie, I'm *all right*," insisted Doyle. 

"I thought you were dead, we found the boat -- I thought you'd drowned
because I left you behind." 

"I know, Bodie believe me I'm all right. They jumped me just after you
left, I didn't see them until it was too late." Doyle tugged on the ropes
around his wrists and looked up at the motionless Turner who was staring
at Bodie. "Come on, cut me loose, *now*!" Quickly Turner returned his
attention to the thick ropes, the room was silent as he worked. Both arms
free, Doyle tried to move but couldn't, his muscles protesting over the
vicious beating and prolonged, enforced rigidity of his body because of
the bonds. Turner helped him up to his feet. He looked terrible -- but at
least he was alive. 

Turner looked across at Bodie who still hadn't moved from the doorway. 

"Bodie, I'm all right, just a bit bruised that's all." To a practiced eye
it was obvious that Doyle was lying, the way he was holding himself showed
that much, still Bodie didn't move towards his partner, and Turner now saw
why. 

Bodie was standing rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his
eyes tightly closed, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Doyle staggered towards his partner and Turner guessed rightly that Doyle
knew who needed comfort most at that moment. Bodie's arms went out and
enfolded Doyle, holding him tightly -- but gently mindful of his injuries,
and buried his face into Doyle's hair, obviously crying now and making no
attempt to hide it. 

"I thought you were dead, Ray. Oh God I thought you were dead." 

Doyle turned his face into Bodie's neck and kissed it. "I'm all right,
Bodie," he whispered over and over. 

Feeling rather like a spare bride at a wedding, Turner squeezed past the
two agents and into the corridor, pushing his partner down towards the
main room. They were met by Evans and Murphy who were closely followed by
Cowley. 

"Turner, Miller," barked Evans. "Doyle's here in one of these rooms." 

"Yeah, we know," Turner spoke casually as he and Miller came to a halt in
front of the men, the two men exchanged glances then stood side by side,
effectively blocking the corridor. 

"What are you two talking about? Where is he, is he all right?" Murphy and
Evans both spoke at once. 

"He's just fine. Bodie's with him." 

Evans went to push past the two younger agents but was firmly pushed back.


"I think it would be better," suggested Turner recalling what exactly was
happening back in the tiny room, "if we waited for them to come here." 

"Just give them a few minutes, eh," added Miller. 

"What?" Light dawned on the bewildered Taff Evans. "Oh. I see. Yes, well,
all right then." 

With a last look over Turner's and Miller's shoulders, Evans and Murphy
turned away to spread the good news. And Miller watched them go and then
turned to his partner, he looked up and down the lean, almost stringy 6ft.
6in. length as if seeing him for the first time. 

"You know, hidden beneath that sharp tongue, revolting sense of humour,
and miserable temperament is a heart of gold." 

"Go easy with the compliments, mate, I mean, save *some* for later." 

"I'm your partner, if I want to insult you or compliment you, I will. It's
what partners are for." They both looked along the corridor to the small
room then back at each other. 

"Not sure," Miller went on, "that I'll ever appreciate you *that* much,
but as a partner you'll do. 

-- THE END --

*November 1983*

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