Fic - Flowers Never Bend (3a/3) Pros
Title: Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall - Part Three (complete)
Author: Andromeda
Proslib / Circuit Archive: Yes
Pairing and/or characters: Bodie/Doyle, everyone.
Rating: Definitely Adult
Warnings: More angst. Sorry!
Word Count: 12,500 / 33,000
Notes: With massive thanks to cuvalwen who has been doing sterling work as both a beta and ideas bouncer. This seriously wouldn't have been written if not for her. Also thanks to my other beta reader, Ian (WOLJ), who discovered the gaping plot hole without, quite, falling in it. So this is it - the end. With many thanks to chestercity2 and lukadreaming for reading through this last part and for giving me valuable feedback.
Summary: Elizabeth's job begins to pay dividends and Bodie begins to pretend that everything is normal.
Disclaimer: The Professionals are the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall
Part One
Part Two: A and B
Part Three
It's no matter if you're born
To play the King or pawn
For the line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow,
So my fantasy, becomes reality,
And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.
Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall - Simon and Garfunkel
Friday 28th September
As September drew to a close, Elizabeth's puzzle board started to resemble a dense, colourful, spider's web, each thread representing a contact of some sort. Agnes Penfold's personal effects, which had been requisitioned, had finally been handed over by a reluctant mother, and had proved to be a wealth of information. Her diaries, once decoded, had meticulously noted every meeting with everyone she had contact with. Including Sir Henry, whom she met with at least once a month, and Sir Stephen, whom she had met with on more than one occasion. There was also mention of a 'Guild' of some sort and 'our Leader', something Elizabeth was sure had something to do with the entire case, but could not prove. Casual enquiries garnered no information and without knowing anything more about 'The Guild', it was impossible to find out.
While Agnes' diary had been a mine of information, the whys and wherefores of the case were still highly obscured. Nothing tied in to each other as it should. Even a comprehensive review of all the cases that had been soured by Doyle's betrayals lent no clue. They were a complete mixed bag. A couple of IRA cells, a prostitution ring that was possibly, or possibly not - the leads had vanished before any connections could be proved - a financial investment for a small, belligerent African dictator. A hit on a minor German diplomat had been successful, while an industrial espionage case had been dropped when, despite CI5's best efforts, the chief witness for the prosecution had been shot dead.
Elizabeth filed that one for further consideration, though she could still see no connection there and hoped that George Cowley was getting further with his detainee.
She had a chance to find out when he called her into his office, early one Friday morning.
She took the offered seat and accepted a cup of tea from Betty. "So how's our fugitive then?"
"Better than he has been, the infection was much more deep-rooted than first thought. He'd had a knife wound for some time before Bodie picked him up in Casablanca. The doctors are quite surprised he survived at all, to be honest. But he's still very confused. Bodie has indicated that Doyle was showing some classic signs of drug abuse even before Casablanca, perhaps even before he met up with him in Cairo."
"It would be an explanation for his betrayal."
"But it's not Doyle. He was in the drugs squad, prior to joining CI5. He's seen what drugs do to people. It's almost impossible to think that he would resort to this sort of undignified slow demise, regardless of how bad the rest of his life is."
"Have the doctors found out what Doyle's particular habit is?"
"No. They're still running tests."
"And Bodie?"
"He hasn't been anywhere near Doyle. Hasn't even mentioned him to me. It's almost as if he's gone back to pretending that Doyle is dead, now he's in custody."
"Yes, Kate Ross has been talking to me. She's rather relishing the chance to be let at Doyle, if he ever stabilises. She's rather keen to see how he managed to fool her all these years, if I'm any judge. But it's Bodie she's worried about."
"Her and me both," Cowley confessed, but refused to elaborate.
"Have you got anything out of Ray Doyle yet?"
"Very little. But we do have one thing."
"And what's that?"
"While delirious, not everything Doyle has said has been unintelligible. He mentioned a place up near Liverpool, on the Wirral and it rang a faint bell with me, so I had Susan call it up. It has a lot of chemical factories and warehouses there, one of which used to be owned by Sir Henry Beech, before being sold off. Interestingly, it was sold to one of the small subsidiaries he owned, a chemical storage company. It was demolished about four months ago in a big explosion, killing two security guards."
"And you think that there might be something there?"
"I don't know. It's been months and it is possible anything interesting has been cleaned out. But Sir Henry was out of the country at the time, and it is possible that he didn't know anything about the explosion, not actually owning the property directly at the time. Certainly the police didn't know anything about the change in ownership. It didn't exactly mean anything to them anyway. But I think it's worth checking out, so I've sent a team up to investigate. Hopefully we'll get something from them in the next day or so."
"As a matter of interest, who have you sent?"
"Jax and Anson. And Bodie."
"Bodie? Is that wise?"
"Probably not," Cowley conceded. "But without knowing what they are going to find up there in Liverpool, I'd rather have three of my best agents up there."
* * * * *
Saturday 29th September
It was the next morning before the trio of agents found themselves standing outside the offending warehouse.
“That it?” Anson queried.
“Looks like it,” agreed Bodie easily. “Amazing what a discarded cigarette can do, isn’t it?”
Anson nodded morosely, snapping his gum.
The place was frankly a wreck. The standard firework-factory plan of thick walls and a light roof had obviously not been followed here. The explosion had taken out most of the top of the building; fire scorching the remaining walls black.
Even after so many months the area was still covered in police tape, fluttering in the warm breeze. The agents ignored it, stooping under it automatically and making their way over the uneven ground. Masonry and twisted metal originating from the warehouse littered the ground.
“The explosion really did a number on this place,” remarked Jax.
Anson grinned. “And it was such a palace before. Mullioned windows, sweeping vistas…”
"A sundial in the middle of the lawn…" Jax continued. "Must've been a picture!"
"Before it was framed, of course." Anson retorted, laughing at his own wit.
They had neared the wrecked hulk of the building as they were talking, crossing to what seemed to have been an entrance before. Now the corrugated aluminium shutter gone, probably blown halfway across the yard.
“This blasted heath,” Bodie muttered.
“Shakespeare, eh?” remarked a man who had suddenly appeared from the ruined doorway. “That’s rather high-brow for your lot, isn’t it?”
All three agents stopped and glared at the unwarranted interruption, but the man was unperturbed. “I’m Detective Inspector Williams,” he remarked, holding out his hand.
There was a perceptible pause before Bodie stepped up and shook the man’s hand. “Bodie,” he responded tersely. “So what have we got here?”
Williams frowned. “This place went up in May. It was an accident, as far as we could tell from the preliminary investigations. Two people were killed in the blast. The owner never bothered to clean up. It just sat here, like this, up until a few days ago.”
Bodie nodded. He’d read as much from the report. “And now?”
“Well, as soon we realised you were actually going to grace us with a visit, we held off, you see. Didn’t want to tread on any toes.” The words might be antagonistic, but the tone of voice was light, almost jovial.
Bodie felt his calm mood slip. “And did you find anything in between those two events?”
All credit to Williams, he responded to the severe tone and pulled himself up straight. “Well, kids found the entrance to the secret laboratory a few days ago, before we were informed you were on your way. Quite amazing that we didn’t notice it previously, actually. Though, of course, we weren’t looking for it, at the time.”
“Secret laboratory?” Anson interjected. "Sounds like something from a second rate spy film."
“Unfortunately, yes. It's quite well equipped as well, for all intents and purposes. Lots of scientific equipment. And other stuff. Two more bodies for one.”
“They still down there?”
“No. We removed them. You have to understand they’d been down there since before the blast. Not very pretty either of them by now.”
“Cause of death?”
“Just preliminary thoughts, okay?"
Bodie nodded. He might not have been a copper, but he did understand how the police worked.
“Well, one in the corridor was most likely shot in the head. Half of it was missing. The second, the one by the chair, had a broken neck.”
“Neither self-inflicted, eh?”
“Unlikely,” Williams agreed.
“So, another person or one of the two original bodies?”
Williams shrugged. “The men who died in the blast were security guards. They are both accounted for. And, well, perhaps you should see for yourself.” He gestured to the interior of the building.
“We may as well,” Bodie answered. “Seeing as we’ve come all this way.”
It was darker inside the warehouse, though not excessively so. There was very little of the roof still above the men. Most of it lay around their feet, piled on the twisted remains of the storage facility the warehouse had contained. It would’ve been hard going, but a path of sorts had been cleared through the debris, and the men easily followed the Inspector.
There were steps to a now non-existent upper level in one corner of the warehouse, and Williams led them behind them. A floor hatch had been pulled back to reveal a set of stone steps leading downwards.
“This place has a cellar?” asked Jax.
“Nuclear fall-out shelter,” responded Williams, leading the way down. "Or that's what it looks like."
“Great,” muttered Bodie.
Williams led the men down a short corridor and through an open blast door. “If that had been shut, I don’t think we’d ever have got in here,” he remarked.
It was lighter the other side of the door, fluorescent lights built into the ceiling were glowing.
“The electricity still works?”
“Separate generator,” answered Williams. “And water supply. It’s completely cut off from the rest of the facility, which would make sense in the circumstances, of course.”
“Of course.”
There’s several rooms down that way with evidence of prior occupation,” Williams pointed down the hallway, “but you’ll probably want to see the lab first.”
“Is that where the second body was found?”
“Yes. In here.” He led the way into a large room. “The man was found over there,” he pointed over to the far corner, where a large wooden chair stood next to a bench. Its purpose was obvious.
Bodie glanced over it, impassively. So whatever they had been doing down here, it had human test subjects. That was certain. “He was in the chair?”
“No, crumpled to one side, actually.”
“So whoever had a go at him had probably been in the chair at the time.”
Williams nodded. “It’s not beyond the realms of possibility.”
Bodie looked quizzical.
“Well, it would make sense. If whoever it was could get free.”
Bodie took a closer look at the chair. It was heavy and bolted to the floor. Thick leather restraints were riveted to every available surface. Put a man in that, do it up properly and he’d be hard pushed to move an eyebrow.
“Anything else of interest?”
“A couple of lab books on the benches, they’re already bagged and tagged for you. And there’s a safe in the next room.”
“Managed to crack it open yet?”
“We’ve got someone working on it now.”
“Oh so you really did decide to leave it all to us.”
Williams shrugged, unrepentantly. “There's also a cell, if you can call a box four foot on each side a cell. But the other rooms are fairly innocuous. I suppose you’ll want to have a look."
“You go, Jax. Anson, you check out the safe. I’ll stay here for a moment.”
“To soak up the ambience, eh?” replied Anson, but he was already halfway to the door.
“Something like that," Bodie called after him.
As the other men left the lab, Bodie glanced round. It was your typical laboratory. A couple of computers sat on a bench on one wall. Bodie flicked the switch of one, but it didn’t start up. Whether because it wasn’t plugged in or whether because something had fried the electronics, he didn’t know and he resolved to ask about them before he left.
He didn’t know what they were doing here. Except that the Cow didn't know what to expect. Three trained men could take out a nest of vipers, but this had turned out to be just a liaison and courier job. And Bodie knew that he wasn’t any good at those.
What had Cowley thought they would find?
He looked round again, before focussing back on the centrepiece of the room. The chair. Though 'chair' was too normal a word for it. The thing loomed, hinting at unspeakable things done in this room. Bodie looked at it more closely. There were spatters of dried blood on the surface.
Some poor sod had probably spent the last few days of his life in that thing.
A flash of white by the chair leg caught Bodie’s eye and he stooped down to see what it was. He reached out to touch it, but drew his hand back as he identified the object. Whether the previous owner was the poor sod in the chair, or whether it had been knocked out his torturer’s mouth Bodie didn’t know. But he knew better than to tamper with evidence. Doyle would have his guts for garters, for a start.
Bodie sighed at that. It was, what? Four hours since the last intrusion into his thoughts. That was fairly normal. But he had a method for this now. If an intrusion occurred, and he had the time, he would devote exactly five minutes to the thought. And then he would banish it completely. Until the next time.
He glanced around again, but he was alone. And he probably had the time. If he was found being all introspective, he could always say he was thinking about the case.
Instinctively avoiding the chair, he pulled out a high stool from under the bench and sat on it, propping himself up on his elbows on the surface of the bench.
Yes, Doyle would’ve given him hell for it, but Doyle was dead to him now and Bodie could not forget that. Though the man he had delivered into Cowley’s safe hands was alive at the time - and that was by no means certain now as Doyle had been in a bad way by the time they had reached England - that man was not the Doyle he had known and loved.
Yes, loved. And that was a mockery of fate if there had ever been one. He had fucked, and had been fucked by, the man he loved for over seven years and had never even realised. Never even had chance to say anything. Hell, he'd never even kissed him. Kissing was for birds, not for partners you fucked every so often.
But it was also for the person you loved. Not even a single inkling had crossed his mind until he had knelt there, looking over the bullet-ridden body of the best friend he’d ever had. The man who had sold out his country for mere money. And Bodie was confronted with the hardest choice he had ever had to make. Duty to his country or duty to the man he had loved more than anything else in the world.
He’d made the right choice, of course. Except that it didn’t always feel like it. And now all he had left was the job. The same one Doyle had thrown away.
Bodie knew that Cowley was worried about him. Or, more importantly, was worried that he would soon be another agent down. But Bodie knew that was a false worry. The old man wasn't going to get another white envelope. Bodie no longer had anywhere to run to.
“Oy, I know that one. It’s a brooding Heathcliff, isn’t it?” Anson’s voice cut across his thoughts.
Bodie refused to answer, but turned to face the other man.
“We've got the safe open. You should see what’s inside.”
“You know, I think I can curb my curiosity. Just this once.”
“But we found…”
“Save it, Anson. Just bag it up. I’ll take it and the lab books back down to London with me now. The Cow did say he wanted any and all papers as soon as possible. You can continue up here, see if you can come up with anything else. And see if you can get someone to get into these computers.”
Anson scowled at them. “We could do with Susan for this.”
“I’ll see if Cowley can spare her. I’m not promising anything, though.”
“I know, I know. In the meantime, I’ll try to keep Jax away.”
“Fancies himself a computer expert, eh?”
“Yeah. But in reality he probably knows less than I do.”
“And I thought that was impossible.”
Anson grinned. “With computers, that just may be. Just you have a look at the stuff from the safe before you hand it over to the Cow.”
“I will,” promised Bodie. But even as he did so, he knew that it was unlikely.
* * * * *
Friday 5th October
It was Susan who finally provided the key to the elusive Guild. While providing a print-out of Agnes Penfold's movements for the past few years, she casually commented "I didn't know Agnes was a Guildsman."
"Guildsman?"
"Well, Guildswoman, really. She did her undergraduate degree in computing at Imperial College. The Engineering faculty is called the City and Guilds College. Hence 'Guilds'. I was looking at applying, once."
"What happened?"
The smile on Susan's face vanished. "Let's just say, you don't get into CI5 without having an interesting time when you were younger. In the Chinese sense, if you know what I mean. That goes double if you make 'A' squad."
"Ah, yes. Of course," muttered Elizabeth,.
"Anyway, Guilds've got quite the old boy's network. I see that Agnes was already working by the time she graduated."
"Where?"
"Pharmacet. Hey, what's the betting..."
"Sir Henry was a Guildsman as well?" Elizabeth finished, grinning. "Let's see. And see what Sir Stephen's educational background is as well. Then, if that pans out, let's see if we can get a full list of these Old Guildsmen, see if any surprises jump out at us."
Susan grinned back. "I'm right on it!" and, collecting another stack of folders, she left, almost bumping into Cowley at the door.
"George!" Elizabeth greeted. "It's been a few days since you've been down to see us."
"Busy, I'm afraid, Elizabeth. I see you and Susan are getting on," Cowley eased himself into the spare to chair with a little wince.
"Yes, very much so. She's a godsend, really."
"I'm glad. Normally a spell in files means almost-terminal boredom for a recovering agent."
"Well, she's certainly not bored at the moment. And I'm going to be very sad when I have to hand her back. We're just working on a theory."
"Oh?"
"I'll let you know when Susan confirms our suspicions. In the mean time, I want to talk to you about the puzzle board."
"What about it?"
"Well, there's something completely wrong about this," Elizabeth removed Doyle's photo from the board and then unwound the threads connecting him from the others. "Look."
"I don't see it."
She sighed. "Everyone else is connected on this board. The lines I've removed don't make any difference. Anyone of your agents could take Doyle's place."
"So are saying that you think Doyle is innocent, he was merely a scapegoat, used to cover up the fact it was Agnes Penfold that was passing the information across to Sir Henry Beech?"
Elizabeth thought. "Yes, I suppose that is exactly what I'm saying."
Cowley nodded. "Well, then. I completely agree."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, George had obviously been thinking about this. "And?"
"I've had my specialists on this." He threw the file down in front of Elizabeth
She glanced through it, immediately picking up on one key phrase. "Test subject?"
"Doyle," Cowley confirmed. "His CI5 ID was found in the laboratory safe. If I'm right, Doyle was snatched back in February and whisked up north, before being the subject of about twelve weeks experimentation."
"Into what?'
"The best guess so far is some kind of mind control."
"How?"
"You've heard of sodium pentothal, of course?"
"The truth drug. But it's not."
"No," Cowley agreed. "It's not. It's a sedative and mild hypnotic. It merely allows its victims to feel a little more relaxed about the secrets they are betraying."
"So by using sodium pentothal they were trying to get more information out of him?"
"No. Sir Henry would've known that anything they could get out of Doyle once he'd been taken would be next to useless. Assuming they could get anything out of him. All 'A' squad agents are trained to withstand such techniques. And it wasn't just sodium pentothal. It was a mixture of different barbiturates, opiates, other non-barbiturate sedative hypnotics and a few other, more exotic, chemicals."
"It's surprising, then, that with that cocktail running through his blood, Doyle is still alive."
"Yes," George bowed his head for a moment, lips set in a thin line. "If he hadn't been in such strong health to start with, it's quite possible that he wouldn't have survived. As it is, it's been touch and go since we got him back home."
"So what were Doyle's captors doing?"
"Experimentation. A new kind of chemical warfare, if you will. Imagine if you could turn anyone into a double agent through a mixture of biochemical implants and hypnotic suggestion?"
"And Doyle had one of these implants?"
"Apparently placed under the skin, it was supposed to leak out a little of the chemical mixture into the blood constantly, reinforcing the suggestion. If it worked correctly, the scientists who were masterminding the project were convinced that it would take between six and ten weeks for the effects to be permanent."
"And did they succeed?"
"Not quite. For a number of reasons. They tried several different combinations, finally hitting on one that seemed to be working. Except it seems then that the capsule was defective, leaking the chemical into the blood far too slowly. Before they could replace it, Doyle escaped. They hadn't got very far in the imprinting process before it was all over. However, the drugs still leaking into Doyle were still having an effect. Using a mixture of what had been said in the original process and subsequent events, Doyle instead built his own reality, one that is substantially different to what we now know."
Elizabeth sat down. "Nasty."
"Very."
"But why Ray Doyle?"
"Opportunity, I believe. He had been set up as a scapegoat by Sir Henry over the leaked information and was to deliver him to Sir Stephen to dispose of. But Sir Henry obviously thought him too valuable to waste and instead gave him over to his scientific team, finding a substitute to murder instead.“
"So Doyle was never at Caxted Hall?"
"I don't think so. I think Sir Henry had to come up with the 'package' he had already organised the delivery of to Sir Stephen and sent some poor doped up fool in his place. The gun was planted to make us believe Doyle was there."
"And Grayson?"
"I'm not sure about that. Either he didn't see much of the Doyle substitute and IDed him wrongly, or someone else could've given that whispered identification, after Grayson was shot, just to ensure that we believed it was Doyle in the helicopter. I think that the bomb was supposed to be set off over the Channel, once the pilot and Sir Stephen had bailed out. But it went wrong, blowing them all up in the back garden at Caxted Hall."
"Leaving no-one to know when Doyle finally escaped and headed out of the country."
"Precisely."
"So what now?"
"Well, now our doctors know what they are working with, I think they'll be able to at least counter the physical effects of the drug. How much permanent damage it has done to Doyle's mind, well. We will have to run more tests. The doctors are already looking for the capsule implant, and are assessing him for the physical effects of the drugs, although there are indications Doyle's been in withdrawal for a few weeks. He'll get the best care and, when he's ready, we will be able to ascertain what decisions need to be made about his future."
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment Betty came hurtling into the small office, not bothering to knock.
"Mr. Cowley!" she said, her breathing a little harsh. "I've been looking for you everywhere! Doctor King just called. Ray Doyle's escaped!"
* * * * *
Sunday 7th October
The early morning air was damp and chill as Bodie jogged along the quiet streets. The end of British Summertime had given a temporary reprieve, but it would be less than a month before these morning runs would be completed entirely under the cover of darkness.
As Bodie turned into the old cemetery, he lengthened his stride, easing himself into a loping run. Force of habit turned his thoughts to the myriad subjects that bothered him so much, but he ignored them ruthlessly, concentrating on his breathing and the uneven ground beneath his feet. Running was a kind of meditation, after all, and all it took was a little discipline to dispel all inappropriate thoughts.
But such were the nature of those thoughts, that Bodie found himself quite unable to keep them at bay for long. First and foremost of these was the fact that Doyle had been missing for two days, not a hide nor hair of him to be found anywhere. All agents Cowley could spare were combing the area between Repton and London, looking for some clue as to where he had gone. Bodie’s flat was on twenty-four hour stake-out, as was Doyle’s old flat. Bodie was sure that Doyle wouldn’t be found approaching either of them, he rather hoped that Doyle had gone for good. Somewhere where Cowley and CI-bloody-5 couldn’t reach him.
And there was the other raging thought running through his head. The Cow had called him in as soon as he was able. Bodie had been on an obbo the other side of London, and it had been hours before he found out that his ex-partner had done a runner. And the old bastard had had the temerity to order Doyle to be brought in alive at all costs. Again. Bodie had finally snapped at that and given Cowley what for. Not letting the older man get a word in edgeways, he pointed out that he found the man’s methods highly questionable. If he had not been able to get anything out of Doyle in the previous four weeks, he was unlikely to get it if he had another shot at his particular brand of systematic torture.
Cowley had tried to interject at this point, but Bodie had stood firm. There was no way he was going to take part in running Doyle to ground this time. And if that meant his resignation, then so be it. Bodie had then terminated the interview by hightailing it out of there, slamming the door to Cowley’s office so hard the glass rattled, and avoiding all attempts to stop him as he left the building. He’d removed the batteries from his R/T as soon as he remembered.
For all he knew, Doyle had already been found.
But that was not likely. The stake-out on his flat had still been there this morning and Bodie had resisted manfully waving to them has he jogged past. Cowley had obviously given up on contacting Bodie, waiting for him to calm down a little. But Bodie wasn’t so sure he was going to. If anything, all this thinking had just cemented his conclusions. What point was there to being on the right side of the angels when their methods, especially one they had called their own weren't so different to those on the other side? Bodie knew, had experienced, the questionable tactics of those who had nothing to lose, he wanted to believe that there was some difference there. Except, he wasn't sure there was any more.
Completing a first circuit of the cemetery, a movement in the trees to one side caught his eye. It was probably a fox; there was plenty of wildlife in the area, after all.
Another flash of movement caught his eye and this time he stopped, staring into the trees. That had definitely not been a fox unless, of course, animal experimentation had managed to get far enough to breed the blighters in blue.
With the back of his neck prickling, Bodie eased forward, his running shoes making no sound on the wet, patchy grass.
A flash of blue again, someone was hiding behind the next tree, and Bodie cursed himself for no longer carrying a R/T or gun. As he drew near, he reached out to grab the arm of the unknown watcher and, as he did so, he stood on a fallen tree branch, snapping it with a loud crack.
The watcher spun round, twisting in Bodie's grasp and he found himself face to face with a very bewildered Ray Doyle and the business end of a gun.
Bodie immediately let go, dropping Doyle's arm and taking a step backwards, hands held open to the side and in front of him, showing no threat.
Doyle held the gun trained on him, his hand shaking as he gazed at the man standing in front of him. "Bodie?" he asked uncertainly.
"Doyle," Bodie acknowledged, warily.
"Bodie," Doyle said again. "What are you doing here?"
"Jogging," Bodie replied succinctly, gesturing carefully to his track suit. "A more pertinent question would be 'what are you doing here?'"
Doyle shook his head hard. "Don't know." His voice was uncertain and Bodie took a careful look at the man standing in front of him. Doyle looked very ill. Pasty white and sweating even in the chill of the early morning sunshine. But he was most definitely alive.
"We have to get out of here." Bodie knew that Cowley and CI5 would be closing in by now and he was already computing their next moves. Drop out of sight, head northwards. Catch a container ship and get off this thrice-damned island. He still knew of one or two cargo ship owners who'd turn a blind eye to whoever his passengers were, as long as the payment was big enough and the men were willing to work.
But Ray's next words shattered his plans. "Can't do that."
"Why not?"
Doyle laughed. It was an ugly sound. "You're CI5, mate."
"Not any more, Ray-mate. Up and resigned, didn't I?"
"Why?" Ray's voice held curiosity and nothing more.
Bodie sighed. This was going to take time, time they didn't have. "Can't we do this somewhere a little less public?"
"No." Doyle shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Can't trust anyone, can I?"
"You can trust me." But Bodie knew that was a false argument, he'd already betrayed Ray before. Why would Ray trust him again?
"No, I can't. Can't trust anyone. Can't even trust myself. Don't know what I've done, but it has to have been bad, doesn't it? For it to haunt me so."
"What do you remember?"
Doyle shook his head. "Not much. Questions. So many questions. Who I was working for, what I was doing. It didn't seem like my life, but they kept asking, kept demanding. Drugs. Lots of drugs." Doyle looked down at the ground for a moment, then stared back up at Bodie, pain in his eyes. "I killed them. I had to escape, so I killed them. Snapped his neck with my bare hands. Who were they, Bodie?"
Christ, no wonder Cowley was desperate to get his hands on the fugitive.
"Then you were there, and it was all okay again. Until it wasn't. And you were gone and I had to see you again." Doyle's voice had taken on the cadence of a bewildered child. "I thought it'd be all right, but it won't, will it?"
"It will be all right, Doyle," a new voice cut across the graves and Bodie whipped round to see Cowley standing behind him.
Oh, Christ, Bodie thought. Too late. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cowley carried on, completely ignoring Bodie.
“If you would just put the gun down and come along with me, 4.5, and we can get this all sorted out.”
4.5? Bodie was bemused. The Cow’s voice was gentle, but firm. Rather stating facts than trying to persuade. Bodie turned to Doyle who, if anything had turned paler. His erratically shaking gun was now trained on Cowley.
“What?” Doyle asked. “How…?”
“We can talk about that later, 4.5. But right at this moment, we need to get you back to the hospital.”
“No!” cried Doyle. “I can’t!”
“Yes you can, and you will.”
“Now look here…” started Bodie, but was immediately silenced by Cowley raising a warning hand at him, not taking his focus off Doyle.
“4.5, I know that hospital is a frightening prospect for you at the moment, but it’s the only way we can make you better. We know what happened, and we know how to reverse it.”
“CI5,” Doyle accused in a hoarse voice.
“No,” countered Cowley. “We know you were kidnapped and we know what happened after that. It wasn’t CI5, that I can assure you.”
“But I escaped… snapped…” Doyle’s head fell forward slightly, “ran…” his head snapped up and he stared straight at Bodie. “You were working for… I…” His brow furrowed, and the gun fell from his slack hand. “What’s happening to me?” he said in a bemused voice, looking directly at Cowley before he unceremoniously crumpled to the ground.
Bodie just stood there, shocked into silence as Cowley went over to check on the fallen man and used his own R/T to summon assistance. Murphy loped over to help and Bodie unfroze himself, white hot rage beginning to boil through him.
He opened his mouth.
"That will be all, 3.7!" bellowed Cowley, cutting across his first words. "I've had quite enough of your attitude!" He continued in a slightly lower voice, "Murphy, take this young hothead back to Headquarters and deposit him with Betty. I'll go back with Doyle to hospital myself. Bodie, if you're not waiting on me when I get back, well..." As if not being able to think of a threat dire enough, Cowley left it hanging, turning his back on the two men as Murphy tugged at Bodie's sleeve to pull him away from the scene.
* * * * *
It was close on four hours before Cowley made it back to Headquarters, and in that time, Bodie had gone from anger to resignation and back again, twice. Murphy had sat with him, silently, for as long as he could before leaving Bodie in the not-so-tender ministrations of Betty. No-one was saying anything.
Cowley strode past Betty with only minimal acknowledgement, before beckoning to Bodie to follow. Bodie stood and did so, closing the glass-panelled door behind him none too lightly.
"What the..."
"Shut up, 3.7," Cowley snapped. "For once in your life you are going to listen to me!"
"Listen to you spin more of your lies, like you did to poor Ray, you mean? Well, I've had just about enough of them!"
"And I've had just about enough of you!" Cowley paused to take off his tie and loosen his collar, before sliding his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it on the hat stand by the door. He continued in a quieter tone, "For your information, Bodie, every word I said out there was true."
"And I'm likely to believe that," Bodie scoffed.
"Possibly not," Cowley conceded, "But it's definitely true. You went up to that laboratory, man. You know what you saw."
Bodie, mouth open to deliver another tirade, actually felt his brain switch tracks. "... You what?"
"Liverpool. Or don't you remember? The burnt out warehouse, the secret laboratory in the basement?"
"I..." He remembered the lab all right. Still gave him nightmares, if he were to tell the truth. The tiny cell, the chair with all those restraints... Doyle had been there?
'I killed them. Snapped his neck...'
The world went grey for a moment and when it cleared, Bodie found himself sat in the chair next to Cowley's desk, with Cowley leaning over him, pressing a glass of scotch into his hand.
"Drink that up, Bodie," Cowley said, softly. "You took a bit of a turn there."
Bodie did as he was bid, feeling even more light-headed as the scotch burned a path down to his stomach. He slid the empty glass onto the desk, hand shaking as he did so and Cowley poured him, and himself, another.
Bodie took another sip and finally found his voice. "Doyle was there?"
"Held for about three months, by my reckoning, before he managed to escape."
"Bloody hell," Bodie breathed. "But what about the spying before? All that information passed on?"
"Doyle was set up to take a fall by Agnes Penfold. You know, the computer girl? You dated her a couple of years ago."
He vaguely remembered her; she had been good-looking and witty. "But why set up Ray?! I mean, it's inconceivable!"
"Yet we all believed it. At least for a while."
Yes, Bodie had believed it, in the end. And he'd nearly put a bullet into Ray, very nearly ended the man's life while everyone still thought he was a despised traitor. He shuddered.
"What, what did they do to him?"
"Drugs. Experimentation. Trying to turn him into the double agent they'd already made him out to be."
And Doyle had escaped that, only to realise that he was already thought so. "It must have almost killed him!"
"Aye, it almost did. But he's on the mend now. The doctors inform me he should be as good as new in a few weeks."
"And in the meantime?"
"We're going to find out why Doyle was set up in the first place."
* * * * *
Part Three B
Author: Andromeda
Proslib / Circuit Archive: Yes
Pairing and/or characters: Bodie/Doyle, everyone.
Rating: Definitely Adult
Warnings: More angst. Sorry!
Word Count: 12,500 / 33,000
Notes: With massive thanks to cuvalwen who has been doing sterling work as both a beta and ideas bouncer. This seriously wouldn't have been written if not for her. Also thanks to my other beta reader, Ian (WOLJ), who discovered the gaping plot hole without, quite, falling in it. So this is it - the end. With many thanks to chestercity2 and lukadreaming for reading through this last part and for giving me valuable feedback.
Summary: Elizabeth's job begins to pay dividends and Bodie begins to pretend that everything is normal.
Disclaimer: The Professionals are the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall
Part One
Part Two: A and B
Part Three
It's no matter if you're born
To play the King or pawn
For the line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow,
So my fantasy, becomes reality,
And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.
Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall - Simon and Garfunkel
Friday 28th September
As September drew to a close, Elizabeth's puzzle board started to resemble a dense, colourful, spider's web, each thread representing a contact of some sort. Agnes Penfold's personal effects, which had been requisitioned, had finally been handed over by a reluctant mother, and had proved to be a wealth of information. Her diaries, once decoded, had meticulously noted every meeting with everyone she had contact with. Including Sir Henry, whom she met with at least once a month, and Sir Stephen, whom she had met with on more than one occasion. There was also mention of a 'Guild' of some sort and 'our Leader', something Elizabeth was sure had something to do with the entire case, but could not prove. Casual enquiries garnered no information and without knowing anything more about 'The Guild', it was impossible to find out.
While Agnes' diary had been a mine of information, the whys and wherefores of the case were still highly obscured. Nothing tied in to each other as it should. Even a comprehensive review of all the cases that had been soured by Doyle's betrayals lent no clue. They were a complete mixed bag. A couple of IRA cells, a prostitution ring that was possibly, or possibly not - the leads had vanished before any connections could be proved - a financial investment for a small, belligerent African dictator. A hit on a minor German diplomat had been successful, while an industrial espionage case had been dropped when, despite CI5's best efforts, the chief witness for the prosecution had been shot dead.
Elizabeth filed that one for further consideration, though she could still see no connection there and hoped that George Cowley was getting further with his detainee.
She had a chance to find out when he called her into his office, early one Friday morning.
She took the offered seat and accepted a cup of tea from Betty. "So how's our fugitive then?"
"Better than he has been, the infection was much more deep-rooted than first thought. He'd had a knife wound for some time before Bodie picked him up in Casablanca. The doctors are quite surprised he survived at all, to be honest. But he's still very confused. Bodie has indicated that Doyle was showing some classic signs of drug abuse even before Casablanca, perhaps even before he met up with him in Cairo."
"It would be an explanation for his betrayal."
"But it's not Doyle. He was in the drugs squad, prior to joining CI5. He's seen what drugs do to people. It's almost impossible to think that he would resort to this sort of undignified slow demise, regardless of how bad the rest of his life is."
"Have the doctors found out what Doyle's particular habit is?"
"No. They're still running tests."
"And Bodie?"
"He hasn't been anywhere near Doyle. Hasn't even mentioned him to me. It's almost as if he's gone back to pretending that Doyle is dead, now he's in custody."
"Yes, Kate Ross has been talking to me. She's rather relishing the chance to be let at Doyle, if he ever stabilises. She's rather keen to see how he managed to fool her all these years, if I'm any judge. But it's Bodie she's worried about."
"Her and me both," Cowley confessed, but refused to elaborate.
"Have you got anything out of Ray Doyle yet?"
"Very little. But we do have one thing."
"And what's that?"
"While delirious, not everything Doyle has said has been unintelligible. He mentioned a place up near Liverpool, on the Wirral and it rang a faint bell with me, so I had Susan call it up. It has a lot of chemical factories and warehouses there, one of which used to be owned by Sir Henry Beech, before being sold off. Interestingly, it was sold to one of the small subsidiaries he owned, a chemical storage company. It was demolished about four months ago in a big explosion, killing two security guards."
"And you think that there might be something there?"
"I don't know. It's been months and it is possible anything interesting has been cleaned out. But Sir Henry was out of the country at the time, and it is possible that he didn't know anything about the explosion, not actually owning the property directly at the time. Certainly the police didn't know anything about the change in ownership. It didn't exactly mean anything to them anyway. But I think it's worth checking out, so I've sent a team up to investigate. Hopefully we'll get something from them in the next day or so."
"As a matter of interest, who have you sent?"
"Jax and Anson. And Bodie."
"Bodie? Is that wise?"
"Probably not," Cowley conceded. "But without knowing what they are going to find up there in Liverpool, I'd rather have three of my best agents up there."
* * * * *
Saturday 29th September
It was the next morning before the trio of agents found themselves standing outside the offending warehouse.
“That it?” Anson queried.
“Looks like it,” agreed Bodie easily. “Amazing what a discarded cigarette can do, isn’t it?”
Anson nodded morosely, snapping his gum.
The place was frankly a wreck. The standard firework-factory plan of thick walls and a light roof had obviously not been followed here. The explosion had taken out most of the top of the building; fire scorching the remaining walls black.
Even after so many months the area was still covered in police tape, fluttering in the warm breeze. The agents ignored it, stooping under it automatically and making their way over the uneven ground. Masonry and twisted metal originating from the warehouse littered the ground.
“The explosion really did a number on this place,” remarked Jax.
Anson grinned. “And it was such a palace before. Mullioned windows, sweeping vistas…”
"A sundial in the middle of the lawn…" Jax continued. "Must've been a picture!"
"Before it was framed, of course." Anson retorted, laughing at his own wit.
They had neared the wrecked hulk of the building as they were talking, crossing to what seemed to have been an entrance before. Now the corrugated aluminium shutter gone, probably blown halfway across the yard.
“This blasted heath,” Bodie muttered.
“Shakespeare, eh?” remarked a man who had suddenly appeared from the ruined doorway. “That’s rather high-brow for your lot, isn’t it?”
All three agents stopped and glared at the unwarranted interruption, but the man was unperturbed. “I’m Detective Inspector Williams,” he remarked, holding out his hand.
There was a perceptible pause before Bodie stepped up and shook the man’s hand. “Bodie,” he responded tersely. “So what have we got here?”
Williams frowned. “This place went up in May. It was an accident, as far as we could tell from the preliminary investigations. Two people were killed in the blast. The owner never bothered to clean up. It just sat here, like this, up until a few days ago.”
Bodie nodded. He’d read as much from the report. “And now?”
“Well, as soon we realised you were actually going to grace us with a visit, we held off, you see. Didn’t want to tread on any toes.” The words might be antagonistic, but the tone of voice was light, almost jovial.
Bodie felt his calm mood slip. “And did you find anything in between those two events?”
All credit to Williams, he responded to the severe tone and pulled himself up straight. “Well, kids found the entrance to the secret laboratory a few days ago, before we were informed you were on your way. Quite amazing that we didn’t notice it previously, actually. Though, of course, we weren’t looking for it, at the time.”
“Secret laboratory?” Anson interjected. "Sounds like something from a second rate spy film."
“Unfortunately, yes. It's quite well equipped as well, for all intents and purposes. Lots of scientific equipment. And other stuff. Two more bodies for one.”
“They still down there?”
“No. We removed them. You have to understand they’d been down there since before the blast. Not very pretty either of them by now.”
“Cause of death?”
“Just preliminary thoughts, okay?"
Bodie nodded. He might not have been a copper, but he did understand how the police worked.
“Well, one in the corridor was most likely shot in the head. Half of it was missing. The second, the one by the chair, had a broken neck.”
“Neither self-inflicted, eh?”
“Unlikely,” Williams agreed.
“So, another person or one of the two original bodies?”
Williams shrugged. “The men who died in the blast were security guards. They are both accounted for. And, well, perhaps you should see for yourself.” He gestured to the interior of the building.
“We may as well,” Bodie answered. “Seeing as we’ve come all this way.”
It was darker inside the warehouse, though not excessively so. There was very little of the roof still above the men. Most of it lay around their feet, piled on the twisted remains of the storage facility the warehouse had contained. It would’ve been hard going, but a path of sorts had been cleared through the debris, and the men easily followed the Inspector.
There were steps to a now non-existent upper level in one corner of the warehouse, and Williams led them behind them. A floor hatch had been pulled back to reveal a set of stone steps leading downwards.
“This place has a cellar?” asked Jax.
“Nuclear fall-out shelter,” responded Williams, leading the way down. "Or that's what it looks like."
“Great,” muttered Bodie.
Williams led the men down a short corridor and through an open blast door. “If that had been shut, I don’t think we’d ever have got in here,” he remarked.
It was lighter the other side of the door, fluorescent lights built into the ceiling were glowing.
“The electricity still works?”
“Separate generator,” answered Williams. “And water supply. It’s completely cut off from the rest of the facility, which would make sense in the circumstances, of course.”
“Of course.”
There’s several rooms down that way with evidence of prior occupation,” Williams pointed down the hallway, “but you’ll probably want to see the lab first.”
“Is that where the second body was found?”
“Yes. In here.” He led the way into a large room. “The man was found over there,” he pointed over to the far corner, where a large wooden chair stood next to a bench. Its purpose was obvious.
Bodie glanced over it, impassively. So whatever they had been doing down here, it had human test subjects. That was certain. “He was in the chair?”
“No, crumpled to one side, actually.”
“So whoever had a go at him had probably been in the chair at the time.”
Williams nodded. “It’s not beyond the realms of possibility.”
Bodie looked quizzical.
“Well, it would make sense. If whoever it was could get free.”
Bodie took a closer look at the chair. It was heavy and bolted to the floor. Thick leather restraints were riveted to every available surface. Put a man in that, do it up properly and he’d be hard pushed to move an eyebrow.
“Anything else of interest?”
“A couple of lab books on the benches, they’re already bagged and tagged for you. And there’s a safe in the next room.”
“Managed to crack it open yet?”
“We’ve got someone working on it now.”
“Oh so you really did decide to leave it all to us.”
Williams shrugged, unrepentantly. “There's also a cell, if you can call a box four foot on each side a cell. But the other rooms are fairly innocuous. I suppose you’ll want to have a look."
“You go, Jax. Anson, you check out the safe. I’ll stay here for a moment.”
“To soak up the ambience, eh?” replied Anson, but he was already halfway to the door.
“Something like that," Bodie called after him.
As the other men left the lab, Bodie glanced round. It was your typical laboratory. A couple of computers sat on a bench on one wall. Bodie flicked the switch of one, but it didn’t start up. Whether because it wasn’t plugged in or whether because something had fried the electronics, he didn’t know and he resolved to ask about them before he left.
He didn’t know what they were doing here. Except that the Cow didn't know what to expect. Three trained men could take out a nest of vipers, but this had turned out to be just a liaison and courier job. And Bodie knew that he wasn’t any good at those.
What had Cowley thought they would find?
He looked round again, before focussing back on the centrepiece of the room. The chair. Though 'chair' was too normal a word for it. The thing loomed, hinting at unspeakable things done in this room. Bodie looked at it more closely. There were spatters of dried blood on the surface.
Some poor sod had probably spent the last few days of his life in that thing.
A flash of white by the chair leg caught Bodie’s eye and he stooped down to see what it was. He reached out to touch it, but drew his hand back as he identified the object. Whether the previous owner was the poor sod in the chair, or whether it had been knocked out his torturer’s mouth Bodie didn’t know. But he knew better than to tamper with evidence. Doyle would have his guts for garters, for a start.
Bodie sighed at that. It was, what? Four hours since the last intrusion into his thoughts. That was fairly normal. But he had a method for this now. If an intrusion occurred, and he had the time, he would devote exactly five minutes to the thought. And then he would banish it completely. Until the next time.
He glanced around again, but he was alone. And he probably had the time. If he was found being all introspective, he could always say he was thinking about the case.
Instinctively avoiding the chair, he pulled out a high stool from under the bench and sat on it, propping himself up on his elbows on the surface of the bench.
Yes, Doyle would’ve given him hell for it, but Doyle was dead to him now and Bodie could not forget that. Though the man he had delivered into Cowley’s safe hands was alive at the time - and that was by no means certain now as Doyle had been in a bad way by the time they had reached England - that man was not the Doyle he had known and loved.
Yes, loved. And that was a mockery of fate if there had ever been one. He had fucked, and had been fucked by, the man he loved for over seven years and had never even realised. Never even had chance to say anything. Hell, he'd never even kissed him. Kissing was for birds, not for partners you fucked every so often.
But it was also for the person you loved. Not even a single inkling had crossed his mind until he had knelt there, looking over the bullet-ridden body of the best friend he’d ever had. The man who had sold out his country for mere money. And Bodie was confronted with the hardest choice he had ever had to make. Duty to his country or duty to the man he had loved more than anything else in the world.
He’d made the right choice, of course. Except that it didn’t always feel like it. And now all he had left was the job. The same one Doyle had thrown away.
Bodie knew that Cowley was worried about him. Or, more importantly, was worried that he would soon be another agent down. But Bodie knew that was a false worry. The old man wasn't going to get another white envelope. Bodie no longer had anywhere to run to.
“Oy, I know that one. It’s a brooding Heathcliff, isn’t it?” Anson’s voice cut across his thoughts.
Bodie refused to answer, but turned to face the other man.
“We've got the safe open. You should see what’s inside.”
“You know, I think I can curb my curiosity. Just this once.”
“But we found…”
“Save it, Anson. Just bag it up. I’ll take it and the lab books back down to London with me now. The Cow did say he wanted any and all papers as soon as possible. You can continue up here, see if you can come up with anything else. And see if you can get someone to get into these computers.”
Anson scowled at them. “We could do with Susan for this.”
“I’ll see if Cowley can spare her. I’m not promising anything, though.”
“I know, I know. In the meantime, I’ll try to keep Jax away.”
“Fancies himself a computer expert, eh?”
“Yeah. But in reality he probably knows less than I do.”
“And I thought that was impossible.”
Anson grinned. “With computers, that just may be. Just you have a look at the stuff from the safe before you hand it over to the Cow.”
“I will,” promised Bodie. But even as he did so, he knew that it was unlikely.
* * * * *
Friday 5th October
It was Susan who finally provided the key to the elusive Guild. While providing a print-out of Agnes Penfold's movements for the past few years, she casually commented "I didn't know Agnes was a Guildsman."
"Guildsman?"
"Well, Guildswoman, really. She did her undergraduate degree in computing at Imperial College. The Engineering faculty is called the City and Guilds College. Hence 'Guilds'. I was looking at applying, once."
"What happened?"
The smile on Susan's face vanished. "Let's just say, you don't get into CI5 without having an interesting time when you were younger. In the Chinese sense, if you know what I mean. That goes double if you make 'A' squad."
"Ah, yes. Of course," muttered Elizabeth,.
"Anyway, Guilds've got quite the old boy's network. I see that Agnes was already working by the time she graduated."
"Where?"
"Pharmacet. Hey, what's the betting..."
"Sir Henry was a Guildsman as well?" Elizabeth finished, grinning. "Let's see. And see what Sir Stephen's educational background is as well. Then, if that pans out, let's see if we can get a full list of these Old Guildsmen, see if any surprises jump out at us."
Susan grinned back. "I'm right on it!" and, collecting another stack of folders, she left, almost bumping into Cowley at the door.
"George!" Elizabeth greeted. "It's been a few days since you've been down to see us."
"Busy, I'm afraid, Elizabeth. I see you and Susan are getting on," Cowley eased himself into the spare to chair with a little wince.
"Yes, very much so. She's a godsend, really."
"I'm glad. Normally a spell in files means almost-terminal boredom for a recovering agent."
"Well, she's certainly not bored at the moment. And I'm going to be very sad when I have to hand her back. We're just working on a theory."
"Oh?"
"I'll let you know when Susan confirms our suspicions. In the mean time, I want to talk to you about the puzzle board."
"What about it?"
"Well, there's something completely wrong about this," Elizabeth removed Doyle's photo from the board and then unwound the threads connecting him from the others. "Look."
"I don't see it."
She sighed. "Everyone else is connected on this board. The lines I've removed don't make any difference. Anyone of your agents could take Doyle's place."
"So are saying that you think Doyle is innocent, he was merely a scapegoat, used to cover up the fact it was Agnes Penfold that was passing the information across to Sir Henry Beech?"
Elizabeth thought. "Yes, I suppose that is exactly what I'm saying."
Cowley nodded. "Well, then. I completely agree."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, George had obviously been thinking about this. "And?"
"I've had my specialists on this." He threw the file down in front of Elizabeth
She glanced through it, immediately picking up on one key phrase. "Test subject?"
"Doyle," Cowley confirmed. "His CI5 ID was found in the laboratory safe. If I'm right, Doyle was snatched back in February and whisked up north, before being the subject of about twelve weeks experimentation."
"Into what?'
"The best guess so far is some kind of mind control."
"How?"
"You've heard of sodium pentothal, of course?"
"The truth drug. But it's not."
"No," Cowley agreed. "It's not. It's a sedative and mild hypnotic. It merely allows its victims to feel a little more relaxed about the secrets they are betraying."
"So by using sodium pentothal they were trying to get more information out of him?"
"No. Sir Henry would've known that anything they could get out of Doyle once he'd been taken would be next to useless. Assuming they could get anything out of him. All 'A' squad agents are trained to withstand such techniques. And it wasn't just sodium pentothal. It was a mixture of different barbiturates, opiates, other non-barbiturate sedative hypnotics and a few other, more exotic, chemicals."
"It's surprising, then, that with that cocktail running through his blood, Doyle is still alive."
"Yes," George bowed his head for a moment, lips set in a thin line. "If he hadn't been in such strong health to start with, it's quite possible that he wouldn't have survived. As it is, it's been touch and go since we got him back home."
"So what were Doyle's captors doing?"
"Experimentation. A new kind of chemical warfare, if you will. Imagine if you could turn anyone into a double agent through a mixture of biochemical implants and hypnotic suggestion?"
"And Doyle had one of these implants?"
"Apparently placed under the skin, it was supposed to leak out a little of the chemical mixture into the blood constantly, reinforcing the suggestion. If it worked correctly, the scientists who were masterminding the project were convinced that it would take between six and ten weeks for the effects to be permanent."
"And did they succeed?"
"Not quite. For a number of reasons. They tried several different combinations, finally hitting on one that seemed to be working. Except it seems then that the capsule was defective, leaking the chemical into the blood far too slowly. Before they could replace it, Doyle escaped. They hadn't got very far in the imprinting process before it was all over. However, the drugs still leaking into Doyle were still having an effect. Using a mixture of what had been said in the original process and subsequent events, Doyle instead built his own reality, one that is substantially different to what we now know."
Elizabeth sat down. "Nasty."
"Very."
"But why Ray Doyle?"
"Opportunity, I believe. He had been set up as a scapegoat by Sir Henry over the leaked information and was to deliver him to Sir Stephen to dispose of. But Sir Henry obviously thought him too valuable to waste and instead gave him over to his scientific team, finding a substitute to murder instead.“
"So Doyle was never at Caxted Hall?"
"I don't think so. I think Sir Henry had to come up with the 'package' he had already organised the delivery of to Sir Stephen and sent some poor doped up fool in his place. The gun was planted to make us believe Doyle was there."
"And Grayson?"
"I'm not sure about that. Either he didn't see much of the Doyle substitute and IDed him wrongly, or someone else could've given that whispered identification, after Grayson was shot, just to ensure that we believed it was Doyle in the helicopter. I think that the bomb was supposed to be set off over the Channel, once the pilot and Sir Stephen had bailed out. But it went wrong, blowing them all up in the back garden at Caxted Hall."
"Leaving no-one to know when Doyle finally escaped and headed out of the country."
"Precisely."
"So what now?"
"Well, now our doctors know what they are working with, I think they'll be able to at least counter the physical effects of the drug. How much permanent damage it has done to Doyle's mind, well. We will have to run more tests. The doctors are already looking for the capsule implant, and are assessing him for the physical effects of the drugs, although there are indications Doyle's been in withdrawal for a few weeks. He'll get the best care and, when he's ready, we will be able to ascertain what decisions need to be made about his future."
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment Betty came hurtling into the small office, not bothering to knock.
"Mr. Cowley!" she said, her breathing a little harsh. "I've been looking for you everywhere! Doctor King just called. Ray Doyle's escaped!"
* * * * *
Sunday 7th October
The early morning air was damp and chill as Bodie jogged along the quiet streets. The end of British Summertime had given a temporary reprieve, but it would be less than a month before these morning runs would be completed entirely under the cover of darkness.
As Bodie turned into the old cemetery, he lengthened his stride, easing himself into a loping run. Force of habit turned his thoughts to the myriad subjects that bothered him so much, but he ignored them ruthlessly, concentrating on his breathing and the uneven ground beneath his feet. Running was a kind of meditation, after all, and all it took was a little discipline to dispel all inappropriate thoughts.
But such were the nature of those thoughts, that Bodie found himself quite unable to keep them at bay for long. First and foremost of these was the fact that Doyle had been missing for two days, not a hide nor hair of him to be found anywhere. All agents Cowley could spare were combing the area between Repton and London, looking for some clue as to where he had gone. Bodie’s flat was on twenty-four hour stake-out, as was Doyle’s old flat. Bodie was sure that Doyle wouldn’t be found approaching either of them, he rather hoped that Doyle had gone for good. Somewhere where Cowley and CI-bloody-5 couldn’t reach him.
And there was the other raging thought running through his head. The Cow had called him in as soon as he was able. Bodie had been on an obbo the other side of London, and it had been hours before he found out that his ex-partner had done a runner. And the old bastard had had the temerity to order Doyle to be brought in alive at all costs. Again. Bodie had finally snapped at that and given Cowley what for. Not letting the older man get a word in edgeways, he pointed out that he found the man’s methods highly questionable. If he had not been able to get anything out of Doyle in the previous four weeks, he was unlikely to get it if he had another shot at his particular brand of systematic torture.
Cowley had tried to interject at this point, but Bodie had stood firm. There was no way he was going to take part in running Doyle to ground this time. And if that meant his resignation, then so be it. Bodie had then terminated the interview by hightailing it out of there, slamming the door to Cowley’s office so hard the glass rattled, and avoiding all attempts to stop him as he left the building. He’d removed the batteries from his R/T as soon as he remembered.
For all he knew, Doyle had already been found.
But that was not likely. The stake-out on his flat had still been there this morning and Bodie had resisted manfully waving to them has he jogged past. Cowley had obviously given up on contacting Bodie, waiting for him to calm down a little. But Bodie wasn’t so sure he was going to. If anything, all this thinking had just cemented his conclusions. What point was there to being on the right side of the angels when their methods, especially one they had called their own weren't so different to those on the other side? Bodie knew, had experienced, the questionable tactics of those who had nothing to lose, he wanted to believe that there was some difference there. Except, he wasn't sure there was any more.
Completing a first circuit of the cemetery, a movement in the trees to one side caught his eye. It was probably a fox; there was plenty of wildlife in the area, after all.
Another flash of movement caught his eye and this time he stopped, staring into the trees. That had definitely not been a fox unless, of course, animal experimentation had managed to get far enough to breed the blighters in blue.
With the back of his neck prickling, Bodie eased forward, his running shoes making no sound on the wet, patchy grass.
A flash of blue again, someone was hiding behind the next tree, and Bodie cursed himself for no longer carrying a R/T or gun. As he drew near, he reached out to grab the arm of the unknown watcher and, as he did so, he stood on a fallen tree branch, snapping it with a loud crack.
The watcher spun round, twisting in Bodie's grasp and he found himself face to face with a very bewildered Ray Doyle and the business end of a gun.
Bodie immediately let go, dropping Doyle's arm and taking a step backwards, hands held open to the side and in front of him, showing no threat.
Doyle held the gun trained on him, his hand shaking as he gazed at the man standing in front of him. "Bodie?" he asked uncertainly.
"Doyle," Bodie acknowledged, warily.
"Bodie," Doyle said again. "What are you doing here?"
"Jogging," Bodie replied succinctly, gesturing carefully to his track suit. "A more pertinent question would be 'what are you doing here?'"
Doyle shook his head hard. "Don't know." His voice was uncertain and Bodie took a careful look at the man standing in front of him. Doyle looked very ill. Pasty white and sweating even in the chill of the early morning sunshine. But he was most definitely alive.
"We have to get out of here." Bodie knew that Cowley and CI5 would be closing in by now and he was already computing their next moves. Drop out of sight, head northwards. Catch a container ship and get off this thrice-damned island. He still knew of one or two cargo ship owners who'd turn a blind eye to whoever his passengers were, as long as the payment was big enough and the men were willing to work.
But Ray's next words shattered his plans. "Can't do that."
"Why not?"
Doyle laughed. It was an ugly sound. "You're CI5, mate."
"Not any more, Ray-mate. Up and resigned, didn't I?"
"Why?" Ray's voice held curiosity and nothing more.
Bodie sighed. This was going to take time, time they didn't have. "Can't we do this somewhere a little less public?"
"No." Doyle shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Can't trust anyone, can I?"
"You can trust me." But Bodie knew that was a false argument, he'd already betrayed Ray before. Why would Ray trust him again?
"No, I can't. Can't trust anyone. Can't even trust myself. Don't know what I've done, but it has to have been bad, doesn't it? For it to haunt me so."
"What do you remember?"
Doyle shook his head. "Not much. Questions. So many questions. Who I was working for, what I was doing. It didn't seem like my life, but they kept asking, kept demanding. Drugs. Lots of drugs." Doyle looked down at the ground for a moment, then stared back up at Bodie, pain in his eyes. "I killed them. I had to escape, so I killed them. Snapped his neck with my bare hands. Who were they, Bodie?"
Christ, no wonder Cowley was desperate to get his hands on the fugitive.
"Then you were there, and it was all okay again. Until it wasn't. And you were gone and I had to see you again." Doyle's voice had taken on the cadence of a bewildered child. "I thought it'd be all right, but it won't, will it?"
"It will be all right, Doyle," a new voice cut across the graves and Bodie whipped round to see Cowley standing behind him.
Oh, Christ, Bodie thought. Too late. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cowley carried on, completely ignoring Bodie.
“If you would just put the gun down and come along with me, 4.5, and we can get this all sorted out.”
4.5? Bodie was bemused. The Cow’s voice was gentle, but firm. Rather stating facts than trying to persuade. Bodie turned to Doyle who, if anything had turned paler. His erratically shaking gun was now trained on Cowley.
“What?” Doyle asked. “How…?”
“We can talk about that later, 4.5. But right at this moment, we need to get you back to the hospital.”
“No!” cried Doyle. “I can’t!”
“Yes you can, and you will.”
“Now look here…” started Bodie, but was immediately silenced by Cowley raising a warning hand at him, not taking his focus off Doyle.
“4.5, I know that hospital is a frightening prospect for you at the moment, but it’s the only way we can make you better. We know what happened, and we know how to reverse it.”
“CI5,” Doyle accused in a hoarse voice.
“No,” countered Cowley. “We know you were kidnapped and we know what happened after that. It wasn’t CI5, that I can assure you.”
“But I escaped… snapped…” Doyle’s head fell forward slightly, “ran…” his head snapped up and he stared straight at Bodie. “You were working for… I…” His brow furrowed, and the gun fell from his slack hand. “What’s happening to me?” he said in a bemused voice, looking directly at Cowley before he unceremoniously crumpled to the ground.
Bodie just stood there, shocked into silence as Cowley went over to check on the fallen man and used his own R/T to summon assistance. Murphy loped over to help and Bodie unfroze himself, white hot rage beginning to boil through him.
He opened his mouth.
"That will be all, 3.7!" bellowed Cowley, cutting across his first words. "I've had quite enough of your attitude!" He continued in a slightly lower voice, "Murphy, take this young hothead back to Headquarters and deposit him with Betty. I'll go back with Doyle to hospital myself. Bodie, if you're not waiting on me when I get back, well..." As if not being able to think of a threat dire enough, Cowley left it hanging, turning his back on the two men as Murphy tugged at Bodie's sleeve to pull him away from the scene.
* * * * *
It was close on four hours before Cowley made it back to Headquarters, and in that time, Bodie had gone from anger to resignation and back again, twice. Murphy had sat with him, silently, for as long as he could before leaving Bodie in the not-so-tender ministrations of Betty. No-one was saying anything.
Cowley strode past Betty with only minimal acknowledgement, before beckoning to Bodie to follow. Bodie stood and did so, closing the glass-panelled door behind him none too lightly.
"What the..."
"Shut up, 3.7," Cowley snapped. "For once in your life you are going to listen to me!"
"Listen to you spin more of your lies, like you did to poor Ray, you mean? Well, I've had just about enough of them!"
"And I've had just about enough of you!" Cowley paused to take off his tie and loosen his collar, before sliding his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it on the hat stand by the door. He continued in a quieter tone, "For your information, Bodie, every word I said out there was true."
"And I'm likely to believe that," Bodie scoffed.
"Possibly not," Cowley conceded, "But it's definitely true. You went up to that laboratory, man. You know what you saw."
Bodie, mouth open to deliver another tirade, actually felt his brain switch tracks. "... You what?"
"Liverpool. Or don't you remember? The burnt out warehouse, the secret laboratory in the basement?"
"I..." He remembered the lab all right. Still gave him nightmares, if he were to tell the truth. The tiny cell, the chair with all those restraints... Doyle had been there?
'I killed them. Snapped his neck...'
The world went grey for a moment and when it cleared, Bodie found himself sat in the chair next to Cowley's desk, with Cowley leaning over him, pressing a glass of scotch into his hand.
"Drink that up, Bodie," Cowley said, softly. "You took a bit of a turn there."
Bodie did as he was bid, feeling even more light-headed as the scotch burned a path down to his stomach. He slid the empty glass onto the desk, hand shaking as he did so and Cowley poured him, and himself, another.
Bodie took another sip and finally found his voice. "Doyle was there?"
"Held for about three months, by my reckoning, before he managed to escape."
"Bloody hell," Bodie breathed. "But what about the spying before? All that information passed on?"
"Doyle was set up to take a fall by Agnes Penfold. You know, the computer girl? You dated her a couple of years ago."
He vaguely remembered her; she had been good-looking and witty. "But why set up Ray?! I mean, it's inconceivable!"
"Yet we all believed it. At least for a while."
Yes, Bodie had believed it, in the end. And he'd nearly put a bullet into Ray, very nearly ended the man's life while everyone still thought he was a despised traitor. He shuddered.
"What, what did they do to him?"
"Drugs. Experimentation. Trying to turn him into the double agent they'd already made him out to be."
And Doyle had escaped that, only to realise that he was already thought so. "It must have almost killed him!"
"Aye, it almost did. But he's on the mend now. The doctors inform me he should be as good as new in a few weeks."
"And in the meantime?"
"We're going to find out why Doyle was set up in the first place."
* * * * *
Part Three B