Fic - Flowers Never Bend (2b/3) Pros

[fiandyfic]

Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall

Part One
Part Two A

Monday 13th August

When George Cowley finally returned from the Far East, he looked much the same as when he left. Except, perhaps, Elizabeth could detect a little, very little, touch of optimism in his general demeanour.

It was several days before he had the time to spare even five minutes for her ongoing project, but as soon as was practical, he appeared at the door of Elizabeth's small office.

"George," she greeted him with a smile. "I was wondering when you would get round to me."

"Going away for a few days seems to encourage the paperwork to increase ten-fold," he complained, gratefully sinking himself into the spare chair. "But, the Lord-willing, I think I'm back on top of things."

Elizabeth poured a generous amount of whisky into a glass and handed it across to the Controller.

"Thank you," he said appreciatively. "How have you been getting on?"

"No bad. Did you know Agnes Penfold, your computer expert, was quite the protégée of Sir Henry?"

"No, I didn't. Her file did indicate she worked for at least one of the companies he held, amongst a number of others. But nothing to indicate that he knew of her. "

"Hmm, yes. Well it seems that several of those other jobs were secondments to set up databases on behalf of one of Sir Henry companies, BeeChip. She'd worked at Pharmacet before that, on installing computer hardware for one of the pharmaceutical plants."

"So you think that Agnes might have been working for Sir Henry in less legal way?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Susan has been taking me through the wonder that is your database system. Quite the piece of work, you know? Fascinating. We could have done with such a powerful tool when I was with the Cabinet Office. Getting the information you need is so quick and easy. Though, of course, it has its drawbacks."

George raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Security in CI5 is tight. No-one off the street could get into this building unobserved. And that's what the database relies on. There is internal security, but it has its weaknesses. Consider that the administrator has complete access to the data. On its own, it's a potential security risk. And they have ability to grant anyone they like the same privileges."

"Someone like Doyle?"

"Precisely, compounding that risk many times over, whether through accident, ignorance or malicious intent. And that's not even considering the possibility of a back door."

"A back door?"

"Susan was quite happy to explain this one to me. Basically it's a like a hidden door, you can only get in if you know about it. A couple of keystrokes and the programme knows to let you in. It also conceals any unauthorised access as the rest of the security protocols don't know about it."

"And there isn't one?"

"Not that we've found, no. But I think it would be foolish to assume that there isn't one."

"So security could still be compromised. Damn. I fear this could be the end of the database."

"Well an expert could find it, given time. And, in the meantime, talk to Susan. I know she's been re-writing the protocols and has already taken the most sensitive data off the computer. I think she's talking about a separate system for those."

Cowley nodded. "I will do."

"And we know that Doyle didn't know anything about a back door."

"He used his own account, where it was plain to see."

"He's not used to this kind of technology. It probably didn't even occur to him that his accesses were being logged."

"But Agnes knew. Why didn't she warn him? Or do something about it?"

"I've been asking myself the same question. I think it comes down to time. I think she was covering herself so she could get away before she was caught as well. I think the breach was caught too quickly for her to act for both of them, so she relied on us not looking too far beyond Doyle until she was in a position to get herself away. As it is, she managed to cover up her side of the theft most diligently. There's no record of her actually admitting Doyle through her own administrative access. That has been left to appear like a glitch in the programming."

"But it isn't."

"Definitely not. It would have affected more users. It's too convenient that it was only Doyle's account that was so affected. And then there's the question of how the account was affected." Why just the user access? We know he was originally assigned to the standard group for agents, so it wasn't an input error. It's all very strange."

"So, where does this all fit in?" George indicated to the board hung prominently behind Elizabeth's chair.

Elizabeth stood and placed Agnes' photo directly under Henry Beech's. She then picked up a couple of coloured threads, weaving them around a number of pins in the board. "Agnes Penfold worked for Beech at Pharmacet, and again at BeeChip. There are close links there and it's certain that they knew each other. Contrarily, we can still prove no link at all between Doyle and Agnes. Agnes somehow set Doyle up with the necessary access, while he got the information out or acted on it. Now, Doyle's connection to Henry Beech is still tenuous. But he was seen at Sir Stephen Chase's residence before the arms raid. We still don't know what his connection to that is. But we know Sir Henry was involved, somehow, there. Perhaps Doyle was acting on behalf of Sir Henry, ensuring that the operation ran smoothly."

"But would Sir Henry risk a traitor whose cover had been blown on such a delicate matter?"

"He might if he had set it up to fail. Get rid of Doyle and Sir Stephen together in one fell swoop."

"No honour amongst thieves eh? Doyle had been promised passage out of the country but learned in time that he had been betrayed. Perhaps when he realised Grayson was there. He couldn't know that the helicopter would be rigged to explode..."

"But it might make him pause enough not to trust a route out that been prepared by his employer."

"Exactly. He somehow escapes, then lies low until he can get away unseen. Heads to North Africa, organises, somehow, a hit on Sir Henry Beech before sending word to explain exactly why the man had been targeted."

"It certainly fits the facts as we know them. But what's the motive for killing Sir Stephen?"

Cowley shook his head. "It could be one of a myriad reasons. Perhaps it was to keep him quiet. Perhaps he wanted more money. This lot seem to be an unscrupulous bunch. But you're right. We need to know more about whatever this arrangement was."

"Which brings us neatly back to Ray Doyle. How did you fare with Mr. Bodie?"

"About as well as I predicted. He was very loathe to cooperate until I gave him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"But?"

Cowley sighed. "Bodie wears his heart on his sleeve most of the time. And he's usually fairly direct, if there's something he wants. But this time... I don't know. There's something we're all missing, here, I'm sure of it. I just hope it doesn't jeopardise the investigation."

"Do you think it will?"

"I just don't know. He will find Doyle, I'm sure of it. But what he does after that, well."

"You have a suspicion that he's not innocent in all this?"

"I suspect everyone. That's my job. But no. It's something else. While I've done my best to ensure the correct outcome, there are still one or two factors out of my control."

"I hope, for your sake, he does the right thing."

Cowley raised his glass and drained it. "I hope, for everyone's sakes, he does."

* * * * *

Tuesday 21st August

As Bodie set foot on Moroccan soil, he cursed Cowley for what felt like the thousandth time. Prior to being diverted to Hong Kong, Bodie had felt that he was gaining on Doyle, but all that was now moot. Even if he had been only hours behind, and he had no proof of that now, the almost three-week delay between leaving the Swiss Alps and landing here; via Washington DC, of course; would mean that, in all probability, the trail had gone cold.

Bodie cursed Cowley again, for good measure, and set off through the airport to find a taxi. A little bit of haggling, and he was soon being taken towards the city.

He should have realised that the note was a forgery. An old bill with "Esther sends her love" in block capitals. Too easy to come from somebody else. And he hadn't noticed.

But at least now he had a purpose. Even if he'd had to sell his soul to Cowley, again, to do so. Doyle would be delivered alive to CI5 as agreed. And then Bodie would finally be free to think about the future. Of course, the irony was that he had finally decided that the chase was futile. Hong Kong was to have been his last attempt before he gave up and found something else to occupy him. Not that he had any plans. But this stalking of the man he had once called 'partner' was almost obsessive.

Changing his mind, he asked the taxi-driver to call straight at the bar. He didn't need a hotel, he could be out of here before night-fall if could he pick up the note that had been left for him. Bodie wasn't under any illusions that Doyle would be found here. He was bound to have moved on again, if only for security reasons. The man was on the run and this was not a safe place to hide for someone who hardly ever had left the green of England before. If Doyle had really never been out of the country prior to this. And that was a fact that was no longer certain.

The bar he had described to Doyle, so long ago, half-soused and willing to share a little, was in the older part of the city, and didn't look all that much from outside. Come to think of it, it didn't look like much from the inside either, dimly lit and pokey. Unlike the bars on the tourist route, this had little in the way of entertainment. A poker game in the corner, the inevitable prostitutes - of both sexes - looking for trade. Bodie ignored them all and walked up to the bar.

In what he knew to be execrable Arabic, he enquired if any note had been left for him, but the man at the bar answered in the negative and Bodie inwardly sighed. He had too little remembrance of the particular conversation that had led him here, and could not remember if he had mentioned any other bars. There were a handful he knew of, but surely he wouldn't have mentioned them. But there was no other chance, so he set off on his quest.

Night was falling by the time Bodie made it to the last of the bars he could remember. Again the barman answered in the negative to Bodie's question. As all had in the hours he had been trudging to and fro.

Bodie sighed and turned away. He had exhausted every lead he had. Perhaps it was just as well Doyle could not be found.

The barman grasped at his wrist and Bodie turned back, muscles automatically coiling in anticipation of an attack.

"You English, yes?" the man enquired in broken English.

Bodie nodded, warily.

"Then perhaps you help? Man come in every day now. English too. Three weeks maybe. Cause trouble. Not now. Soon. In his eye, yes? You big man, may be help move man on?" He rubbed his finger and thumb together in the international symbol for money. "I make it worth your while?"

Bodie shrugged, not willing to get himself into any local dealings. "Why don't you get your own boys to 'move him on', eh?"

The barman shrugged. "I cause no trouble. This man. Not tourist. Not worker. Not whore. Not anything. Very suspicious. You not tourist either." The barman looked Bodie up and down with a quizzical frown.

Bodie frowned back. It would be an awfully big coincidence, but he had to know.

"Where is he?"

"Over in that corner," the man pointed. Bodie looked, but it was too dim to distinguish anything but a general shape. Bodie nodded to the man and walked over to the table quietly, stopping as soon as he could get a clear look at the man who was likely to cause so much trouble.

It was Doyle.

Bodie hung back a moment, to ascertain the risks. Doyle looked unwell. Never the most brawny of men, he was now thinner than ever. His hair had grown or been dyed back to its original colour, in direct contrast to the sandy orange of the ageing tourist he had appeared to be in Cairo. It was still shorter than Bodie was used to, and hanging limp around a pale and sweaty face. Bodie wondered if it was just alcohol, or whether or not he would have to contend with the effects of some kind of drug abuse.

He stepped into Doyle's line of sight and was deeply perturbed when Doyle didn't react at all. Hesitating, he looked deeper to find the man he once knew in this wreck of humanity. But he couldn't find it. The confident man he'd once worked beside had gone. As had the more confusing persona Doyle had worn in Cairo. Bodie still wasn't sure which, if any, the real Doyle was.

"Hello, Sunshine."

Doyle finally reacted, starting up, chair falling over backwards, a wicked-looking knife appearing in his left hand.

"Bodie?" he whispered.

"Yeah, it's me."

Doyle continued to stare, assessing, and Bodie grew uncomfortable under the other man's gaze. Then, obviously happy with what he saw, Doyle finally put away the knife. "Bodie! Am I glad to see you!
Here, have a drink. Barkeep! 'nother glass and b'nana, please!"

"I think you've had enough, Ray," Bodie started, helping Doyle upright his chair and sit back down.

"Nah, this's good stuff. Here, try."

Bodie sniffed at the glass suspiciously before pretending to take a sip. His eyebrows rose at the unmistakeable smell of mint tea. Well, whatever Doyle was on, it wasn't the drink.

"What are you doing 'ere, Bodie?" Doyle asked as the barman set down another two teas in front of them. Bodie nodded at him, hoping to convey his willingness to get Doyle out of here.

"Looking for you, Ray."

"How did you find me?"

"You've been leading me a wild goose chase for the past two months and you ask how I found you? You're having me on."

Doyle frowned at that. "Leaving you notes? Oh, yes. I hadn't realised... It's you? It's really you?"

"In the flesh, old son."

Doyle tentatively touched Bodie's arm, as if to verify that statement. "Amazin'. I never..."

His voice trailed off again and Bodie wondered what, exactly, the man had been taking. It could be any number of things, but assuming that it was under some semblance of control, then it might work in his favour. The first trick, though, would be to get out of here and get somewhere more private. Bodie opened his mouth to speak, but Doyle was already standing, draining his glass.

"We better get going. Can't talk 'ere, can we? I've got a place round the corner. Nice and private." He left a pile of change on the table and staggered towards the door. Bodie caught his arm to steady him - and to make sure that Doyle didn't disappear on him.

They walked out into the cool night air, and Doyle immediately turned left.

"It's just down here," he remarked pointing the way down and into the maze of tiny lanes and alleys that typified the area. Although the narrow streets were bustling with people, their progress went unimpeded and the two men soon fetched up at an unassuming door, no different to countless others they had already passed. Doyle pushed it open with one hand.

"In here," he whispered, leading down the short stone corridor to a further door at the end. He unlocked this one with a key and showed Bodie into a small, dark room. He lit an oil lamp and placed it on a small bedside table. "Home, sweet home," he chuckled, waving his hand.

"So I see," commented Bodie, dryly, as he took in the sparse furnishings and general squalor of the place.

But he didn't have time to look closely as Doyle immediately pressed him up against the wall, his lean length covering Bodie's from shoulder to knee. Curls tickled beneath his chin and huffs of breath drifted across his neck as hands stroked everywhere else within reach.

"God, Bodie. How I've missed you," Doyle mumbled into his neck before licking and nipping his way across Bodie's collarbone.

Doyle rarely ever used his mouth on his body anywhere other than on his cock and these new sensations quickly threatened to overwhelm him. And, when Doyle insinuated his knee between Bodie's trying, and succeeding, to push himself in closer, Bodie started to unravel. Casting caution to the winds, he reached down, scrabbling to pull the restricting cloth of trousers aside. It had been months since he had had Ray's hard cock in his hands, let alone other places he'd rather it be, and he needed it now.

"Want you," Ray whispered, succeeding in unzipping his trousers just as Bodie succeeded in undoing his own.

At the first touch of heated flesh, both men groaned loudly, fumbling to grab each other's cock. It was awkward. Bodie, leant back against the wall, was half off-balance with his trousers still around his ankles, Doyle was pushing him further backwards, hard against the rough wall, resting a lot of his weight on his chest and groin. It seemed like sense to hold each other up in that circumstance, winding arms round each other's waists, pulling each other even closer as they rocked against each other.

Neither man could last long. Bodie came first, release boiling up through him, leaving his thoughts and feelings scattered in its wake. Ray soon followed, crying out in his ecstasy

As heart rates and breathing slowed in the aftermath, Bodie felt Ray press his lips at the juncture of neck and shoulder. "Love you, sunshine," the other man said and sagged in Bodie's arms, almost pulling them both down on to the floor.

Bodie froze for a moment, a chill shudder running through him. What the hell? Then he gathered himself, resolving not to think about it. Pulling the unconscious Doyle up and dropping him onto the bed, he checked for signs of life, The pulse was a little fast, but that was probably a consequence of recent activities. But Doyle did not stir. Bodie smiled to himself. This was an opportunity to get one over on his former friend, no point in waking the man up before he had to. So Bodie moved fast, mopping them both up, then handcuffed Doyle to the head of the bed and used a spare belt to hobble him.

Now concerned for the still-unconscious man, Bodie checked Doyle's arms carefully, looking for tell-tale track marks, but could find none. Doyle was better at this, he knew far too well the myriad ways that a man could demolish his own body. But Bodie was fairly familiar with many of them as well. Whatever it was, Doyle wasn't injecting it. Smoke or pills, perhaps.

He searched the room thoroughly, coming across a quantity of cash stuffed into a holdall and a gun and spare magazines, tucked behind the small bed. He placed the cash into his own bag, with the ammunition, but kept hold of the gun. Amazing really that this hadn't been found and stolen by any opportunistic thief. But no pills of any kind. Frustrating really that he had no way of knowing what Doyle had taken or when. Plans could be made to take advantage of situation, but only if he knew what the situation was.

As it was, he would just have to trust to fate. Doyle was deeply asleep and probably would be for a while. Bodie was fairly sure that he had time to get out and arrange transport back to England before Doyle woke up. And if Doyle did wake up, well. He would have some difficulty getting free. Hopefully his bonds would hold him until he got back.

Bodie picked up his holdall and with only one backwards glance, let himself out of the room and out into the night air.

* * * * *

Doyle hadn't stirred by the time Bodie got back. He was pretty sure this wasn't a good sign, but in the absence of anything else he would take this and work with it. Different scenarios, and solutions to them, ran through his head as he worked quickly, untying Doyle from the bed and re-cuffing his hands behind him. He left Doyle's legs untied, reasonably sure that he could force some kind of cooperation. And besides, it would be easier to walk Doyle to the pick-up point. Or he could carry an unconscious body if the cooperation was unforthcoming. If he had to.

He repacked the holdall, pushing Doyle's gun securely down the side, easy enough for himself to get at it, not so easy for the handcuffed Doyle. Then he sat on the rickety chair by the side of the bed, gun held loosely in his lap, and prepared to wait, at least a little while, for Doyle to wake up.

The oil lamp was starting to burn low by the time Doyle began to stir. Bodie had been resolutely not thinking about anything but the successful conclusion to the mission, but Doyle looked so very innocent as he finally awoke.

Well, appearances could be very deceiving.

He finally looked at the man, to find him focussing blearily at him.

"Hello, Sunshine," Doyle said.

Bodie concentrated on the names and faces of the agents Doyle had murdered in his betrayal. It helped.

"Got to get going," he commented, brusquely. "Pick-up's in an hour."

Doyle nodded, visibly collecting his wits together, whatever this pale facsimile of his old friend still had. The tone of voice passed without comment, and Doyle started to move. He stopped abruptly as he belatedly realised he was bound.

"What's this?" He rattled the thin loops of metal together. "Handcuffs? You've not turned kinky on me have you?" The tone of voice was light, but Bodie couldn't see the other man's expression in the waning light.

He grasped his gun a little tighter. "You're my prisoner." Bodie was fully prepared to bring the butt of the gun down on Doyle's head, if necessary. Even shoot him.

Doyle was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Under cover, eh? Well, if it's necessary to get us out in one piece. But can't you leave the cuffs off for a while? Until they're needed?"

Bodie shook his head. "They're needed now." He unbent enough to try to sound convincing. "Sorry."

Doyle shrugged, and then winced. "Fair enough. Just don't expect me to run far like this."

I was counting on it, Bodie thought. "Let's go," he said instead.

"Well, help me up then."

Not relinquishing his tight hold of his gun, Bodie stood, swinging the holdall over his shoulder and hauled Doyle to his feet.

"Anything you need with you?"

Doyle shook his head. "Got everything I need right here, don't I?" he said bumping a shoulder into Bodie's.

Bodie gritted his teeth and grasped Doyle's arm tighter. "Let's move then."

They made steady progress out of the house-cum-hovel and out into the winding streets. Bodie had slung Doyle's jacket over his shoulders before they left, so they didn't attract any attention as they made their way to the docks. Walking in silence, they were over half-way to the pick-up point when Doyle stopped suddenly.

"Friends of yours?" He enquired in a low tone.

Bodie looked and cursed volubly. Two men had appeared out of the shadows. At least one of them was carrying a knife. "No. Trouble."

"Bollocks. This way then," and Doyle took an immediate left turn, ducking into some kind of alley. They were running then, darting through narrow, dark streets. Doyle stumbled more than once, off balance without the use of his arms and Bodie wondered whether he could have played this differently. But he hadn't been expecting any trouble. But, there again, it always paid to expect it. Especially when it didn't seem to be likely.

They finally paused as they neared the dock area, as one seeking the shelter of a pile of crates either off-loaded or waiting to be loaded onto one of the many cargo ships that passed through there.

"We lost them?" Doyle asked, audibly out of breath as he leaned against the stone wall.

"Think so," Bodie answered. "Hope so. They were just your common-or-garden muggers, looking for an easy mark." Even as he said it, he felt embarrassed, so surprised he was by his own reaction to the threat.

Then a voice called out. "Come out, come out, where ever you are! We know you're here and we've got you surrounded!"

The voice was familiar, but Bodie couldn't place it.

"It's Bodie, isn't it?" the voice continued. "Don't you recognise your old mate? I'm going to enjoy this job. I still owe you for the little present you gave me back in Dakar."

Bodie finally placed the voice and cursed heavily. Too late he was reminded exactly why he had vowed never to set foot back in Africa.

"Definitely old mates of yours," Doyle whispered. "Do you always get such a warm welcome?"

"Shut up, Doyle," Bodie snapped, thinking hard. This was obviously some kind of trap, but was it a deliberate set up or was it just on the spur of the moment? There were at least four of them, and, as he heard a gun bark and a bullet hit the wall somewhere to the right of them, at least one of them had a gun. Though, knowing Ted, they all would. This was bad, this was very bad.

Doyle, in the meantime was squirming against him. "Get me out of these cuffs, Bodie," he hissed. "Can't do much while I'm trussed up, can I?"

Bodie looked at him. He was just one man, with a dangerous prisoner. And with at least four men ready to shoot him down. Without Doyle he might just do it. But he wouldn't be taking Doyle back to England with him. The reason for Ted's 'present' reminded him of as much. There was no way he could defend the two of them from this position. But the two of them...

"Bodie," Doyle hissed again, hopping from foot to foot in frustration.

He made his decision. At least this way there was a possibility of them both getting out of this alive. Assuming Doyle wasn't going to put a bullet in him as soon as he was able. And if not, well at least this way The Cow would still have a chance of retrieving Doyle. And if they both died trying, well. At least they'd died trying. A bullet in the head was a damn sight better than anything Ted would have in store for either of them.

He dug in his pocket for the keys and released Doyle's handcuffs. He could hear the soft sounds of the enemy getting closer as they searched.

"Here," he said, pulling Doyle's gun out of the holdall and thrusting it at him as Doyle rubbed at his sore wrists. Doyle took it, the checking it over as automatic as breathing. "Just be careful where you point that."

Doyle snorted. "Still teaching your Grandmother to suck eggs, I see. Got any ammunition?"

Bodie dug back in to the holdall and pulled out the spare magazines. "Not much, I'm afraid."

Doyle grimaced. "It'll do." He stuffed them into his jacket pocket. "How bad is it?"

"Four, possibly up five. Try to take out Ted, he's the ringleader."

"The gobby shite, right? Okay."

And with that they fell into the old patterns, as if that morning long ago was only yesterday. Doyle rolled out, drawing fire, Bodie pin-pointing each man from the muzzle flash from his own vantage point.

They had been the best Cowley had. Were still the best, regardless of the deep mire of betrayal and hurt that had extended between them. Bodie took out two with the first draw of fire, sparing his own meagre supply of bullets. Then it was he who was running as Doyle returned fire. And Bodie really wasn't sure which side would get him first.

As he rolled to safety behind the next stack of pallets, he realised the gun-fire had stopped.

"We got all four of them," Doyle grinned, standing straight and blowing on the muzzle of his gun like a Wild West Cowboy.

"Good," Bodie replied absently, climbing to his own feet and now wondering how on earth he was going to gain back the advantage this little fracas had cost him. He turned to Doyle, still unsure what to say. But he froze immediately as Doyle brought up his gun, aiming right at Bodie's head.

"Down!" Doyle cried and instinct kicked in, driving Bodie to the floor even as Doyle's gun fired. He felt the bullet whistle harmlessly above his head before hitting the floor with a force that all but knocked the wind out of him. Quickly he pulled himself out of his defensive huddle, realising there had been a fifth man, had got Bodie in his sights even as he'd been stood there, congratulating his partner, his ex-partner, on their victory.

And speaking of Doyle...

He saw him a few feet away. It was obvious that the fifth man had managed to get a shot at the two of them. Bodie had been his target, but instinct had changed that. There was blood, too much blood even in the pre-dawn light. A shoulder wound, perhaps, but blood was also staining Doyle's torso. Bodie crawled to him, wondering what to do now. This man who had saved his life, His partner. If he took him back now he would only be saving him for months of interrogation and Bodie was under no illusion that the end would be the same. Duty to his country or duty to ... this man. He sat back on his heels, unsure of what to do now.

Part Three A