They leave the room and turn right
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Doyle eased the door open, peering cautiously one way and then the other along the corridor, but it seemed entirely unchanged, as empty of life as it had been before. Bodie's hand touched his shoulder, urging him on, and they stepped out, looking one way and then the other. Doyle shrugged, indicated to the right, and they moved cautiously forward.
Even the air seemed still, and the carpet muffled their footsteps. Beside him Bodie moved carefully, but he appeared none the worse for whatever had happened to him. The corridor stretched far ahead of them, and they scanned the doors in front of them as they moved, wary of the silence.
When it came, it came from the place that they were least expecting - beside them. Just as they had in Doyle's taxi that morning, doors on either side of them whipped suddenly open, and they were shoved hard and unceremoniously together, so that they clutched at each other just to stay upright, and then turned to stand firm, back to back, ready to do their worst.
"Lucas!"
"McCabe?"
The figures confronting them were entirely familiar.
Bodie turned his head to whisper a stage aside to Doyle. "We've been done."
"Aye!" Another door opened, and an even more familiar voice joined in. "You might well say that!"
George Cowley, as smart as he ever could be in a dark serge coat, briefcase in one hand, gestured briefly to his other agents, who melted back into their hotel rooms as if they'd never been there.
"A training exercise," Doyle said again in disgust.
"Funny sort of training," Bodie growled, with his own dark look at Cowley. "Where you drug your own agents!"
"You should be prepared for anything, Bodie, as I've told you time and time again. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week..."
"And three hundred and seventy five days a year," Doyle interrupted. "You knew we weren't going to be at our best after last night!"
"Aye - and so might the Coogans, or the Organisation, or Uncle Tom Cobbley! A few harmless drugs, Bodie, is nothing to what they might have done - never mind the KGB!"
There was nothing to say to that, Doyle thought, nothing at all, and they both knew it. It was unfair, but it was true.
One day he'd pack it all in.
Cowley surveyed his now openly sulking agents, and if his voice softened then neither of them noticed. "Unfortunately," he said, "Brian refuses to work over Christmas, so you've got the next week to get this - lapse - out of your systems. You'll see him for a refresher on the twenty-seventh." He gave them each one more solid glare, and then turned his back on them and set off down the corridor. "Gentlemen," he said over his shoulder in finality, and that was all.
They were left tanding alone. Doyle wasn't sure whether he should be relieved at the turn of events, or horrified. "And merry Christmas," he muttered to Cowley's retreating back. "Right - who d'you want to sort out first - Lucas or McCabe?" He swept a hand that promised trouble from one door to the other.
"Neither."
What? Bodie was just as angry as he was! Bloody Cowley, and... He turned a disbelieving gaze on his partner.
"You heard what the man said," Bodie began.
"Yeah - we were slack," Doyle interrupted. "He was right too."
"Not that bit! The bit where he just gave us ten days off!"
"Ten days?" Doyle thought back. "You're crazy."
"Not me, mate." Bodie began to grin, then rubbed his hands together with glee. "It's the sixteenth today - and he doesn't want us until the twenty-seventh. That's ten whole days."
"Four of them are weekends anyway," Doyle protested automatically, but he could feel a warmth of his own beginning to seep in. Maybe Cowley had got one over on them - and Susie and Turner as well, for that matter, but he and Bodie were both between girls at the moment, and ten days stretched out ahead of them.
"You can get us a turkey," Bodie was saying, "And I'll make us my famous pigs-in-blankets and stuffing..."
"Ten and a half days," Doyle interrupted him, and gave his own grin at Bodie's frown. "It's only three o'clock - that's practically another half day free if you shift yourself."
"Ten and a third," Bodie corrected. "You can't call..."
They headed down the corridor again, shoulder to shoulder, and quietly bickering. Brian Macklin might well be in their future - and no doubt Towser as well - but for now it was Christmas, and they'd be spending it, every single minute, together.
~ The End ~
Doyle eased the door open, peering cautiously one way and then the other along the corridor, but it seemed entirely unchanged, as empty of life as it had been before. Bodie's hand touched his shoulder, urging him on, and they stepped out, looking one way and then the other. Doyle shrugged, indicated to the right, and they moved cautiously forward.
Even the air seemed still, and the carpet muffled their footsteps. Beside him Bodie moved carefully, but he appeared none the worse for whatever had happened to him. The corridor stretched far ahead of them, and they scanned the doors in front of them as they moved, wary of the silence.
When it came, it came from the place that they were least expecting - beside them. Just as they had in Doyle's taxi that morning, doors on either side of them whipped suddenly open, and they were shoved hard and unceremoniously together, so that they clutched at each other just to stay upright, and then turned to stand firm, back to back, ready to do their worst.
"Lucas!"
"McCabe?"
The figures confronting them were entirely familiar.
Bodie turned his head to whisper a stage aside to Doyle. "We've been done."
"Aye!" Another door opened, and an even more familiar voice joined in. "You might well say that!"
George Cowley, as smart as he ever could be in a dark serge coat, briefcase in one hand, gestured briefly to his other agents, who melted back into their hotel rooms as if they'd never been there.
"A training exercise," Doyle said again in disgust.
"Funny sort of training," Bodie growled, with his own dark look at Cowley. "Where you drug your own agents!"
"You should be prepared for anything, Bodie, as I've told you time and time again. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week..."
"And three hundred and seventy five days a year," Doyle interrupted. "You knew we weren't going to be at our best after last night!"
"Aye - and so might the Coogans, or the Organisation, or Uncle Tom Cobbley! A few harmless drugs, Bodie, is nothing to what they might have done - never mind the KGB!"
There was nothing to say to that, Doyle thought, nothing at all, and they both knew it. It was unfair, but it was true.
One day he'd pack it all in.
Cowley surveyed his now openly sulking agents, and if his voice softened then neither of them noticed. "Unfortunately," he said, "Brian refuses to work over Christmas, so you've got the next week to get this - lapse - out of your systems. You'll see him for a refresher on the twenty-seventh." He gave them each one more solid glare, and then turned his back on them and set off down the corridor. "Gentlemen," he said over his shoulder in finality, and that was all.
They were left tanding alone. Doyle wasn't sure whether he should be relieved at the turn of events, or horrified. "And merry Christmas," he muttered to Cowley's retreating back. "Right - who d'you want to sort out first - Lucas or McCabe?" He swept a hand that promised trouble from one door to the other.
"Neither."
What? Bodie was just as angry as he was! Bloody Cowley, and... He turned a disbelieving gaze on his partner.
"You heard what the man said," Bodie began.
"Yeah - we were slack," Doyle interrupted. "He was right too."
"Not that bit! The bit where he just gave us ten days off!"
"Ten days?" Doyle thought back. "You're crazy."
"Not me, mate." Bodie began to grin, then rubbed his hands together with glee. "It's the sixteenth today - and he doesn't want us until the twenty-seventh. That's ten whole days."
"Four of them are weekends anyway," Doyle protested automatically, but he could feel a warmth of his own beginning to seep in. Maybe Cowley had got one over on them - and Susie and Turner as well, for that matter, but he and Bodie were both between girls at the moment, and ten days stretched out ahead of them.
"You can get us a turkey," Bodie was saying, "And I'll make us my famous pigs-in-blankets and stuffing..."
"Ten and a half days," Doyle interrupted him, and gave his own grin at Bodie's frown. "It's only three o'clock - that's practically another half day free if you shift yourself."
"Ten and a third," Bodie corrected. "You can't call..."
They headed down the corridor again, shoulder to shoulder, and quietly bickering. Brian Macklin might well be in their future - and no doubt Towser as well - but for now it was Christmas, and they'd be spending it, every single minute, together.
~ The End ~