Fic - Flowers Never Bend (3b/3) Pros
Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall
Part One
Part Two: A and B
Part Three A
Tuesday 9th October
"So, how is our brave agent?" Elizabeth enquired the next morning when Cowley came to call on her in her office.
"As well as can be expected. Weak, two days in hiding on top of everything else hasn't done him much good, but he's on the mend."
"Well, that's good news, at least."
"Yes. Unlike this investigation. We are now further away from the truth than we were before. We now don't know who ordered Beech and Penfold dead, or who ordered the hit on Doyle in Casablanca."
"Oh, I might be able to help you there."
Cowley stared at her. "My God, Liz, you've solved it, haven't you?"
"Well, it's still only a hypothesis, but one that holds together, I believe. We've known for a while that it wasn't Doyle at the centre of the puzzle board, but that there had to be someone there. He, or she, is connected to Sir Henry Beech and Sir Stephen Chase. He's not above murder or blackmail to get what he wants. And he's very good at keeping hidden. I was quite stumped with this one. Until Susan uncovered another link between Agnes Penfold and Sir Henry Beech. They're Old Guildsmen."
"They both went to Imperial College?"
"At different times, of course. But they met through the alumni association. Sir Henry was already mixed up in the illegal activities and roped Agnes in to help. Susan had a look through Sir Stephen Chase's history and, although he didn't graduate, we did find out that he'd read Electrical Engineering at the College before dropping out to help his ailing father run the business. And I found another in the list of cases that Doyle had, supposedly, accessed. I think we're looking for another Old Guildsman as the head of this little band of merry men."
"That's rather a lot of suspects."
"Yes, I know. I had Susan call up a complete list and it went on for pages. Someone is going to have a lot of work to do, checking up on each one. But I found a short cut. I checked out those members who would have been at the College at the same time as either Sir Stephen or Sir Henry and I found a name you might recognise."
Cowley raised an eyebrow.
You remember the case with Kovac, of course?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I said at the time there were two names on my shortlist."
"Dawson and myself. But Dawson is dead and I'm not a Guildsman."
"No, you're not. And I wasn't implying that you were. Dawson wasn't either, but I think he ties into this rather well. There was one other man mentioned at the time. A man who was cleared of suspicion when the dispatches went missing at Orly."
Cowley caught on refreshingly quickly. "The Minister? Of course. He read Mechanical Engineering. It'd be about the same time as Sir Henry."
"Exactly. I think he knew exactly who Dawson was and had him on a very short leash. One that even the Russians hadn't spotted. He covered up Dawson's betrayal, but for a price. A big one."
"But why? And what has this to do with this?"
"Information and the lack of it, I rather fear," Elizabeth said, unconsciously echoing Cowley's words from months before. "Agnes called the man behind all this 'our leader'. I don't think she was being rhetorical, merely premature. I think Denholme is angling for Prime Minister and is using whatever means he can to get there."
"So he puts his own man as head of MI6 and finds a mole to infiltrate CI5. It makes sense, I suppose. But why the rest?"
"Ah. Yes. Denholme has been rather playing both sides against the middle. At the same time as using the information he received to his own political ends, he was also selling it on, making pots of money for his 'Guild'. Who were also involved in all sorts of activities."
"Including the illegal arms trade. Yes."
"You dealt him a massive blow when you exposed Dawson as a Russian agent, taking out one of his biggest lines of intelligence. And when you threatened to start digging around and weed out the traitors, well. It was only a matter of time before you found the mole he had planted and that line of communication would be shut off too. Even worse, he knew that Agnes would most likely lead you straight to him."
"His office recommended her for the job," mused Cowley. "It wouldn't have taken long for us to get there."
"No. So he set up a scapegoat and organised that scapegoat to be sacrificed before he could get word about what was going on. He entrusted Sir Henry with this, who was supposed to pass Doyle onto Sir Stephen, who, I think, had started to become a liability for the organisation. I don't think that the gun-running was anything to do with the Guild. I think that's why Sir Stephen was killed. Sir Henry planned for both of them to go up together in a shoot-out with CI5."
"But Sir Henry had also recognised the usefulness of a CI5 agent who wasn't being looked for and had passed Doyle on to his secret lab team. Without which we would never have got to the bottom of this."
Elizabeth nodded. "When Denholme realised what Sir Henry had done, he had to get rid of him. He had Agnes killed to guarantee no information leaks in that direction and then ordered a hit on Doyle as well. With all three out of the way, he would be safe."
"But I arranged for Doyle to be picked up alive, against the Minister's express wishes. One thing is still bothering me, though."
"Only one thing?" Elizabeth smiled, wryly.
"Why Doyle? If any of my staff could have been used to direct attention from the real mole, why pick the one person least likely to actually be a traitor?"
"You said so yourself, George. One half of your best team. If one of your best men were feeding the 'other side', which ever side that may be, with information, then who could you trust? It would also discredit your own clean sweep."
"A very nasty business. But, now we know what is going on, what are we going to do about it?"
"Denholme has managed this very well. Without the witnesses, we don't have any proof. Just logic and intuition."
Cowley thought for a moment. "I know just the thing. And I know just the person."
Elizabeth frowned.
"Denholme isn't the only one to have spies planted in the opposite camp." He rose from his chair. "I'm afraid I need to dash off. I'll need to have a word with her before I see the Minister this afternoon."
"And what are you going to tell him?"
Cowley smiled. "The truth. That Doyle is ready and willing to tell us everything. As soon as he recovers consciousness."
* * * * *
Thursday 11th October
It was the middle of the night and Bodie was trapped in a closet. It would be a situation that Bodie would normally find bleakly humorous, but the reason for his present incarceration was not amusing at all. The caretaker’s closet in a central London hospital was the nearest covert hiding place to Doyle’s current private hospital room and Bodie had been tasked with monitoring the two cameras Phillips had previously placed in and outside the room. All Bodie had to do was sit tight and wait for a hired assassin to try to take out Doyle.
It was definitely no laughing matter.
Doyle had been moved from Repton to St. Marys in the middle of London, ostensibly for the acute medical care that such a place could provide. Cowley had briefed Bodie as to the real reason, of course, and Bodie wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Doyle was still weak, regardless of what the doctors were saying, and he worried that Doyle wouldn't be able to fend off any sort of attack.
Bodie hadn't been to see Doyle in the two days since the obbo had started, on Cowley’s orders; the Cow, perhaps justifiably, worried that Bodie’s sudden presence at Doyle’s side would be suspicious.
But the Cow not a fool and hadn’t ordered Bodie to stay away this time. Instead he was relegated to watching Doyle sleep on a blurry television screen where he would be next to useless if the agent outside, currently a bleary-eyed Keene, was unable to provide backup.
The monitors looked clear, so he reached for his R/T. “5.3?”
“Yeah?” Keene responded, sounding like he was yawning.
“How’s it going?”
“Boring as hell, to tell you the truth. Does The Cow really think the attempt is going to be here?”
“He’s counting on it, Keene. And you should count yourself lucky. What with the monitors in here there’s barely enough space for me and my flask of tea. And it’s boiling hot…”
“Hang on, Keene hissed, as his image on the screen straightened. “There’s someone coming. Doctor by the look of it.”
Bodie immediately sat up and watched the screen intently. A few heartbeats later, indeed, a white-coated man appeared on screen with Keene. There was a brief, silent conversation between the newcomer and the agent before the agent opened the door to Doyle’s room. The doctor slipped inside, the door closing behind him and Keene nodded towards the surveillance camera.
Good, Bodie thought. Keene was obviously as suspicious of the unusual appearance of a medic at this time in the morning as Bodie was himself.
Bodie now switched attention to the second monitor, hoping that the camera itself was in a suitable position to see the attack. This was the more frustrating part of the plan, not knowing how it was to be made. Cowley was betting against a straight hit, instead sure that the Minister had ordered that the death look natural.
The man didn’t look particularly like an assassin, short and stocky with thinning hair, but that didn’t mean anything. Bodie watched carefully as the man approached the bed, leaned over a slumbering Doyle to reach the IV line snaking into the back of Doyle's hand, and pulled a syringe out of his pocket.
Bodie immediately hit the send button on his R/T, sending a burst of static to Keene, and anyone else listening in, the pre-arranged signal and carried on watching the monitor.
One second, two seconds…
Keene should be bursting in the door right now. Surely he’d’ve appeared on the monitor by now. He checked the first screen again, it showed no waiting agent.
He quickly switched his attention back to the second, but it was now only showing static. Bodie cursed and sprang out of his seat. He threw the door of the closet open and ran down the corridor towards Doyle’s room, pulling his gun out of its holster as he did so.
He took the corner at speed and skidded to a halt in front of the open door to the room in time to see Keene wresting the would-be-assassin’s arms behind his back to snap on handcuffs. Doyle, half-raised up off the bed, had his gun shoved in the man’s groin and, as Bodie watched, grinned a typical manic Doyle-grin up at Keene.
Bodie stumbled back from the door. Doyle didn’t need him here. He couldn’t breathe, his throat was tight. He had to get out of there…
He turned back the way he had come and ran smack into Cowley.
“Ah, 3.7,” Cowley greeted. “Is it all wrapped up here?”
Bodie nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.
“Well, come on then,” Cowley indicated to the room, let's see what we’ve caught.”
When Bodie didn’t immediately move, Cowley stepped around him and led the way into the hospital room. Bodie leaned against the door, not wanting to get any closer, not wanting to see the look of contempt in Doyle's eyes.
“Good job this thing wasn’t actually attached to me,” groused Doyle to Cowley, waving the fake IV line in lieu of a more traditional greeting. “And me hand’s all wet now.”
Cowley ignored him with the ease of a man who had put up with many of these complaints from Doyle and instead stepped up to the prisoner, looking him over. After a couple of silent seconds, Cowley nodded, obviously content with what he saw.
“5.3,” he said to the young agent still holding the prisoner firmly. “if you would like to deliver this,” Cowley indicated to the prisoner, ‘to 3.7. Tell him to deliver our guest to Headquarters and I’ll follow along shortly…”
At hearing Bodie’s designation Doyle’s head had snapped up, scanning the small room as if to see Bodie appear there. Not wishing to be seen, Bodie immediately stepped back into the hospital corridor, Cowley’s voice fading as Bodie moved away. He didn’t go too far though and when Keene stepped out of the room a couple of moments later, hand tight around the fake doctor’s upper arm, Bodie smoothly stepped forward, grabbing the other. Between them they -frog-marched their prisoner down to the Capri.
* * * * *
Cowley appeared back at Headquarters very quickly, Bodie had barely made their prisoner comfortable in one of the small interrogation rooms in the basement. In fact Bodie thought he recognised it, as he closed and locked the door, as the one he himself had been held in at the start of all this.
He was walking away just as Cowley came walking down the corridor towards him, limp slightly more pronounced than usual.
“Morning, sir,” Bodie said in faintly sarcastic greeting.
Cowley nodded with a faint grimace. “So what do you think of our catch then, eh?”
Bodie shrugged. “Not what I would expect from a professional. He’s too nervous by half. Damn near ruined the upholstery in my car on the way back here.”
“Scared, eh? Yes, that’s my opinion too. I think we out-manoeuvred the Minister quite satisfactorily this time round.”
“And put Ray in even more danger. I’d rather face a professional any day of the week rather than a nervous amateur.”
“Nevertheless, 3.7,” Cowley said, severely, “It worked. Do you think he’s ready to talk?”
“Over-ready, in my opinion. It was only my famous glare that stopped him from spilling it all in the car.”
Cowley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Well, then. Shall we?”
Bodie unlocked the door and stood back to let Cowley precede him into the room. He took up position by the door at a parade rest and stared at the prisoner as Cowley approached him.
“Hello, Alfred,” Cowley started in an amiable tone, dropping a file on the table and sliding into the seat opposite. “It is Alfred, isn’t it?” He made a show of consulting the file. “Ah, yes. Alfred Jacobs. You’re an accounts clerk at the Home Office?”
Alfred nodded carefully, his eyes very wide and scared behind thick spectacles.
“So what was an accounts clerk doing in a hospital room at two in the morning?”
Alfred licked his lips, but said nothing.
“Especially one wearing a doctor’s coat and attempting to inject an innocent man with poison?”
The other man finally found his voice. “It wasn’t like that!” he protested.
“Do you deny that you were there?” asked Cowley in an incredulous tone.
“Well, no. But I didn’t want to do it.”
“Really? So you were forced into attempting murder?”
“No! I mean, yes. But it wasn’t supposed to be murder!”
“What else would you call injecting a healthy man with a large dose of barbiturates and painkillers?”
Alfred shook his head. “It's not like that. He was supposed to be in a coma. That’s what he told me. That it didn’t matter, that it was a kindness really, the man was dying. It was just helping him along a little.”
“It was to be murder,” Cowley countered.
“No! I’ve never committed murder…”
“But you have ‘helped someone along’ before, haven’t you?”
Alfred’s eyes welled with tears, but he didn’t respond.
“That’s why you went along with this scheme, isn’t it? You were blackmailed into it.”
He nodded, tears running freely down his face now.
Cowley wordlessly offered him a handkerchief, then realised the man would not be able to use it with his hands still shackled behind his back.
“Och, release those cuffs, 3.7. I can’t see Alfred here being a problem, can you?”
With a frown Bodie did as he was told, instinct screaming that you should never leave a prisoner free. But he did agree with the Cow that Alfred didn’t look a threat. Instead of returning to his former position by the door, however, he stood directly behind the prisoner, ready to restrain if necessary.
Cowley let Alfred wipe his face before asking the most important question.
“So who was it who blackmailed you into attempting to kill Doyle?”
Alfred winced at the wording, but didn’t dare to contradict Cowley again. "I... I can't. He'll..." He trailed off into silence, and looked at Cowley, pleading.
Cowley nodded, seemingly absent-mindedly, and turned back to the file, flipping pages over in silence. He finally paused on one. "Ah, yes. Here we are. Maria Louth. Do you recognise the name?"
Alfred turned white. "I..."
Cowley turned another page. "How about Vera Masters?"
Alfred shook his head violently. "It was such a long time ago. I was young, so young. A junior doctor. Those women were in so much pain, I couldn't stand it. It's part of the reason I got out. But he found out about it, told me he'd go to the police. Tell them everything, if I didn't do as he said."
"Who was it?"
"I had no choice, do you see that?" Alfred whispered.
"Name?" Cowley pressed.
"He'll kill me!"
"Name?"
The prisoner sagged in defeat. "The Minister. Ian Denholme."
* * * * *
Friday 12th October
"All packed up and ready to go, Liz?"
Elizabeth nodded, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and laying it over her arm. She smiled at Cowley, "I am now. Will you walk me down to the car?"
"Certainly." He held out his arm and she took it, and they made their way down to the car park together.
"So, how did it go with the Minister?" Elizabeth, finally broke the comfortable silence.
"As bloody as could be expected. He put up a bit of a fight until I gave him the letter from the PM. Then he calmed down. Took it rather well, after that."
"Really?"
A shadow passed over Cowley's brow. "Well, as well as you could expect in the circumstances, anyway."
Elizabeth nodded. She wouldn't be surprised to see Denholme's obituary in The Times before the year was out. She changed the subject. "And what about your dynamic duo? Everything on the mend there?"
The shadow on Cowley's brow grew longer. "They are nothing if not unpredictable. If anything, I'd've laid odds on Bodie being the one to try to out-run his feelings of guilt. Not that he'd ever admit to them, of course. But it's Doyle who has handed in his notice. Some such rot about not being mentally fit enough for such a stressful position. Lad doesn't know what he's talking about."
"He might not make it back," Elizabeth reminded him.
"Well, he's certainly not going to if he's ready to give up already."
"You think there's something more to it."
"I know there's something more to it. The question is what." Cowley frowned. "It's as if…" he trailed off into silence.
"As if, what, George?" Elizabeth was intrigued.
"Och, I don't know. Damn fools, the pair of them. I'll get Bodie to knock some sense in to Doyle. It's something 3.7 is good at."
They walked on in silence until they finally reached the car park and Cowley's car, where Susan, back on full status, was waiting.
"Well, thank you for everything," Cowley said, sincerely, turning to Elizabeth and shaking her hand.
"I was my pleasure, George."
They both stood in an awkward silence for a moment, hands still clasped, before Cowley cleared his throat and spoke again. "I wonder if you would join me for dinner at my club, before you retire back to the country and your daily crossword?"
Elizabeth thought for moment, well, she'd always enjoyed George's company. So she smiled. "That would be wonderful."
* * * * *
Saturday 20th October
Bodie managed to not visit Ray once while he was still at Repton, Ray having been moved straight back there after they had caught the Minister pet accountant-cum-hitman. Not that he was avoiding him, of course. No, it was just that with being kept so busy with various items of importance that he just hadn't have time to visit his ex-partner.
He'd even managed to wangle two free days the weekend he heard Ray was being released. It paid to keep an ear out, after all, and he was going to spend the leave somewhere very far from London. He deserved the time alone, after all.
That was until he finally realised exactly why the Cow had authorised the time off, bellowing for Bodie's presence on a Friday evening just as everyone coming off duty were slinking down to the pub. Bodie, putting the finishing touches to his final late report, had therefore delivered it by hand and had found that his plans for the weekend had been radically changed.
Which was why he found himself heading down country lanes towards Repton early the next morning with a direct order to 'sort it out'. Whatever 'it' actually was.
Doyle looked a lot better than the last time Bodie had seen him properly, not in a hospital bed. Upright for a start. He was still pale, but had put on most of the weight he'd lost during the ordeal.
He didn't particularly look pleased to see Bodie.
"Doyle." Bodie said in greeting.
"Bodie." Doyle returned.
"Your chariot awaits," Bodie offered with a wave towards the door, but a single raised eyebrow from Doyle quelled any further light-hearted commentary.
Then fell into an uncomfortable silence as Bodie helped Doyle down to the Capri with his bags and the drive back to London was conducted in the same silence. Ray, still recovering, mostly dosed in the passenger seat while Bodie concentrated on driving through the match-day traffic and tried not to think of anything at all.
Finally, pulling up in front of a nondescript block of flats in West Kensington, Bodie turned off the engine and leaned over to shake Ray awake.
"We're here, Sunshine."
Ray opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at Bodie, whose heart flipped. Immediately he pulled away, covering his confusion with efficiency.
"Come on," he said in a brisker tone, getting out of the car and moving round to the boot to retrieve Ray's bag. "I'm dying for a cuppa."
Ray meekly did as he was told, following Bodie up the stairs and into the large, airy flat, finally taking in his surroundings.
"'ere. This isn't my flat."
"No, it isn't," Bodie agreed. "Yours was reassigned months ago. This is mine."
"But..."
"Cowley said that as you were resigning, there was no point in your being assigned a new place. You're in with me for the duration."
Ray's eyes widened in panic. "Hotel," he said in a hoarse voice. "I can go..."
"Cow's orders, Sunshine. And this has the advantage of being free. Well, mostly free," he amended. "You can stump up for your half of the 'leccy and gas." Bodie realised he was taking a kind of perverse pleasure in Ray's discomfort; so close to his own, and he backed down slightly. "Look," he said, thrusting the bag into Ray's arms, "I'll go and put the kettle on, while you go and stow that in your room. It's the one on the left. Mind you're back in five minutes, though, or I'll have to come in and drag you out again."
He left Ray still standing in the middle of the small sitting room and went to make the tea, still half expecting Ray to be gone when he got back.
Tea made, Bodie wandered back through to the sitting room, heaving a small sigh of relief as he spotted that Ray had installed himself on the rather lumpy sofa, wedged in at one end, his holdall placed by his feet. He was staring at the silent television, frown creasing his forehead.
"Penny for them?" Bodie said as he placed the mug on the coffee table in front of Ray and sat in the chair to one side, not close enough to crowd.
Ray didn't stir, ample proof that Bodie hadn't startled him. Bodie sat back in the chair and tried again. "Look Ray, I know what you're going through. Going through it myself, as a matter of fact."
"So why are you doing this?" Ray's voice was low.
"Promised, didn't I? And I owe Cowley enough favours."
"That's like selling your soul to the devil."
"Yeah, and don't I know it. Look, come on. All we need to do is give him one good enough reason and he'll back off. But it has to be good enough to convince him that we are telling the truth."
"I don't want to talk about it." Ray said, defensively. "It's not going to change a damn thing, is it?"
Bodie didn't know how to answer that, so he took a mouthful of tea instead. "Drink up, Ray. Before your tea gets cold."
Ray automatically reached for his tea. "What?" he remarked irritably, as he took in Bodie's stare.
Bodie coughed. "So the quacks say you're totally cured then?"
"Yeah. Well, not quite. Ross still has to have a go, naturally. But even she's quietly confident."
"You must be the toast of Shrinktown, coming back as normal as you ever were."
Ray grimaced. "Yeah, Ross even said she wants to write a paper on me. Awful thought, that."
"So what's your secret?"
"Eh?"
"Well, you had countless memories bouncing around in that curly-haired bonce of yours. Some true, some false. How did you sort through them all?"
"Oh. Not much of a secret there, mate. I just took y... an object and any memory that didn't fit it, I discarded."
"Just like that eh? So what do you remember then?"
Surprisingly, Ray answered him. "Quite a lot really. Not everything had to be picked over. I don't know. Everything important. Childhood, being a copper. CI5."
CI5. "You don't want to leave, do you?"
"Got to, haven't I?"
"Look, so they all spent six months thinking you were bent. So what? They thought you were dead for the majority of that time as well! And you know that it'll all blow over soon enough - everyone already knows that you were set up. There's even ample chance you won't get any jokes about it."
"Christ, Bodie. You know what this mob is like! Half the agents are always convinced the other half are on the take. That's what keeps us so good. 'Cowley's Incorruptibles'; not because individually we are, but together we keep our own house clean. Cowley's the worst; and the best. Sure it leaves a bad taste, knowing that he believes no-one is totally trustworthy, but it goes both ways. He didn't hold the Hahn case over us, did he?"
"Hahn?" Bodie frowned in memory. "Oh, dear old Victoria. Yes. So it's not the attitude of the other agents and it's not Cowley. So it is personal. It's me, isn't it?"
Doyle's silence was confirmation enough.
"Look Ray," he swallowed past the sudden obstruction in his throat. "You don't need to leave over this. It should be me that resigns. It was my fault, not yours. We could split the partnership up, go with other people. Or I can leave, if you can't bear to look at me even in passing."
"I can't… Bodie, what are you talking about?"
"Casablanca. You know that I came for you purposely to deliver you back to Cowley. So, okay, at the time there was no doubt in my mind that you were a double agent. But that's no excuse. I betrayed you."
Bodie let out a breath. There, the words were said. Better that he say them himself, than let Ray tie himself up in knots over the accusation. He glanced over to his once-friend, who was frowning in confusion.
"Bodie, why do you think I'm upset because you betrayed me whilst believing that I was a double agent? I believed I was a double agent! I thought I was leaving messages for my contact around the world. When you turned up in Casablanca, I thought you were a spy too! You did the right thing. I mean, if I had been passing information on, it was your best opportunity for finding out who I was working for. And, anyway, if you'd not turned me over to Cowley then, well. I wouldn't be here now. Would probably have died of septicaemia, if Denholme's men hadn't got to me first."
"But I believed that of you." And it was Bodie himself who was now the picture of abject misery.
"The entire squad did as well." Ray reminded him.
"This is different. I am, was, your partner."
"And you're only human. As much as you don't like to admit that, of course."
Bodie ignored the dig with the ease of long practice. "But, if it's not that, then why are you leaving?"
"And I say again: I don't want to talk about it!" Ray exploded. "Can't you get that through your thick skull?"
Bodie jerked back, shocked. "So that's it then."
"Yes." Ray's speech was clipped. "Look, Bodie. I should go. Get out of your hair." He stood, reaching for his holdall at the same time.
"And never darken my doorstep again. I know." Bodie's voice was bitter. "But tell me one thing, Doyle. If you're going to vanish out of here, never to be seen, by me at least, again, what's the harm in telling me why?
"I can't." He moved towards the door.
Bodie stood up angrily and crossed over to the window. Turning his back on the other man, he stared blindly down at the street below. "You know, it would be nice to know how, exactly, I've killed off this relationship. Just so I don't do the same thing next time something like this comes up, if you know what I mean?"
Silence stretched before them and Bodie had thought Ray had left. But then Ray responded in a whisper, "It wasn't you. It was me. I fell in love. I fell in love with you."
Bodie whipped round as the quietly spoken confession penetrated his brain. "You...?"
Ray was still standing by the door. "Look, I know. And I'm sorry, okay? I'll just..." And he turned away.
"NO!" Bodie cried, shocked into action. He rushed at Ray, grabbing his arm and spun him round forcing him back against the wall.
Ray dropped his holdall, face white and pinched. "Just get it over with," he said in a voice full of misery.
Bodie slammed his hands either side of Ray's head, leaning in, trapping him in place, all his concentration focussed on Ray's face, his lips. The impossible goal he had been fantasising about for months. With a growl he bent his head and pressed his lips hard against Ray's own.
At first Ray was unresponsive, his mouth tightly closed and body tense but, as Bodie gentled the assault, he began to relax and respond. Ray sighed, his lips parting, allowing Bodie's tongue to slip past them, probing for and meeting the other's tongue. This new contact, electrifying, seemed to flip some sort of switch in Ray, who began to kiss back in earnest, his arms winding around Bodie's waist and pulling him in closer. Bodie moved his own hands down to cradle Ray's head, thumbs gently caressing at the sensitive skin behind his ears. Ray groaned in response, pushing forward body to body, and the sound sent a shock of desire straight to Bodie's cock.
It was everything he'd ever dreamed about and more. Like all his birthdays rolled into one. Ray's scent enveloped him, intoxicating, and Bodie felt quite giddy. He sucked at Ray's lips, caressing teeth and tongue with his own, trying to pour all his passion and love into this one act, trying to make it say the one thing he had so much trouble saying himself.
After an indeterminate amount of time he drew back. Both men were panting heavily. Bodie kissed Ray once more on the lips. "I..."
"I didn't know..." Ray said at the same time and they both stopped, staring at each other in confusion. Ray finally laughed, weakly. "Can we go and sit back down, do you think? I don't think my knees can support me much longer."
Bodie nodded, letting go and stepping away as Ray unwound his arms from his waist. He immediately felt the loss and took Ray's hand, pulling him over to the sofa and sitting down. Ray sat down next to him, body angled slightly, knee pressing against Bodie's own, their hands still tightly entwined.
Ray broke the silence. "We're a pair of fools, aren't we?"
"Speak for yourself, earthling," Bodie chuckled, but seeing a flash of something in Ray's eyes, he continued more seriously, "Yes, I am. I've wanted to do that for months."
"And I've been wanting to do that for years."
"Why didn't you?"
"Queers don't kiss, remember? Someone told me that once."
"Who?"
"Doesn't matter."
Bodie frowned, but at the look on Doyle's face he quietly dropped the question on the tip of his tongue. It would keep. "Queers may not kiss. But lovers do."
"But we weren't lovers, were we?" Ray's voice was bitter. "Just mates who occasionally went to bed together. Don't get me wrong. That was fine to start with. But then I fucked up, didn't I? I fell in love."
"How long?"
"Months. Years, may be. I don't know. All I knew was it was tearing me apart that you didn't feel the same. I could fuck you, but I couldn't kiss you. Or hold you afterwards."
"That's why you started leaving so soon afterwards?"
"Yeah. You noticed?"
"Could hardly not do, could I? Wham, bam, thank you Bodie. I thought you were going to leave me. I thought you didn't love me any more... Oh!" The revelation stunned Bodie into silence.
"What?"
"How could I be so stupid? I was trying so hard to keep things the same as they'd always been that I hadn't realised they'd already changed. I was so hurt and confused that you didn't want me any more. But I didn't realise why and that confused me even more."
"Bodie, you're not making any sense."
"I know. I... I..." But the phrase turned out to be more difficult to say than he realised.
Ray must have noticed his plight because he leaned forward and kissed Bodie on the lips, effectively silencing him. "I know, okay. And, for the record, I do too."
Bodie nodded, heart lightening. He would say it one day, but not today. Some day it would slip out naturally, and that would be okay. Wanting to change the subject, he deliberately lightened his tone of voice. "So now that's all sorted out, why are you resigning?"
Ray grinned, accepting the change of direction in the conversation easily. "You know, I haven't the faintest idea."
"We could both go, I suppose."
"And what would we do?"
"I'm sure we could think of something," Bodie leered.
"For money, I mean. I don't have that many transferrable skills."
Bodie pretended to think for a moment. "No, you're right. Back to being Cowley's Irregulars, I suppose. But on Monday morning.” He stood, holding his hand out to Ray and pulling him up off the sofa in one swift movement. “I've got plans for you this weekend, Raymond, my boy."
"Oh, really?" Ray said, following Bodie out of the lounge and into the hall.
"Yes and they definitely involve us both being naked and lying down." He paused at his bedroom door, thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "So, you are completely back to normal then? No lingering effects of the memory drug?"
"None at all, I swear. Don't worry; I've not forgotten what goes where and how."
"No, it's not that. It's just that I've had this offer of a bridge I thought you might be interested in."
"Oh?" Ray pretended to consider this. "What colour is it?"
Bodie grinned and grabbed Ray's hand, pulling him into the bedroom. "Oh, Sunshine, any colour you like."
End
So, I'll continue to continue, to pretend
My life will never end,
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall.
Part One
Part Two: A and B
Part Three A
Tuesday 9th October
"So, how is our brave agent?" Elizabeth enquired the next morning when Cowley came to call on her in her office.
"As well as can be expected. Weak, two days in hiding on top of everything else hasn't done him much good, but he's on the mend."
"Well, that's good news, at least."
"Yes. Unlike this investigation. We are now further away from the truth than we were before. We now don't know who ordered Beech and Penfold dead, or who ordered the hit on Doyle in Casablanca."
"Oh, I might be able to help you there."
Cowley stared at her. "My God, Liz, you've solved it, haven't you?"
"Well, it's still only a hypothesis, but one that holds together, I believe. We've known for a while that it wasn't Doyle at the centre of the puzzle board, but that there had to be someone there. He, or she, is connected to Sir Henry Beech and Sir Stephen Chase. He's not above murder or blackmail to get what he wants. And he's very good at keeping hidden. I was quite stumped with this one. Until Susan uncovered another link between Agnes Penfold and Sir Henry Beech. They're Old Guildsmen."
"They both went to Imperial College?"
"At different times, of course. But they met through the alumni association. Sir Henry was already mixed up in the illegal activities and roped Agnes in to help. Susan had a look through Sir Stephen Chase's history and, although he didn't graduate, we did find out that he'd read Electrical Engineering at the College before dropping out to help his ailing father run the business. And I found another in the list of cases that Doyle had, supposedly, accessed. I think we're looking for another Old Guildsman as the head of this little band of merry men."
"That's rather a lot of suspects."
"Yes, I know. I had Susan call up a complete list and it went on for pages. Someone is going to have a lot of work to do, checking up on each one. But I found a short cut. I checked out those members who would have been at the College at the same time as either Sir Stephen or Sir Henry and I found a name you might recognise."
Cowley raised an eyebrow.
You remember the case with Kovac, of course?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I said at the time there were two names on my shortlist."
"Dawson and myself. But Dawson is dead and I'm not a Guildsman."
"No, you're not. And I wasn't implying that you were. Dawson wasn't either, but I think he ties into this rather well. There was one other man mentioned at the time. A man who was cleared of suspicion when the dispatches went missing at Orly."
Cowley caught on refreshingly quickly. "The Minister? Of course. He read Mechanical Engineering. It'd be about the same time as Sir Henry."
"Exactly. I think he knew exactly who Dawson was and had him on a very short leash. One that even the Russians hadn't spotted. He covered up Dawson's betrayal, but for a price. A big one."
"But why? And what has this to do with this?"
"Information and the lack of it, I rather fear," Elizabeth said, unconsciously echoing Cowley's words from months before. "Agnes called the man behind all this 'our leader'. I don't think she was being rhetorical, merely premature. I think Denholme is angling for Prime Minister and is using whatever means he can to get there."
"So he puts his own man as head of MI6 and finds a mole to infiltrate CI5. It makes sense, I suppose. But why the rest?"
"Ah. Yes. Denholme has been rather playing both sides against the middle. At the same time as using the information he received to his own political ends, he was also selling it on, making pots of money for his 'Guild'. Who were also involved in all sorts of activities."
"Including the illegal arms trade. Yes."
"You dealt him a massive blow when you exposed Dawson as a Russian agent, taking out one of his biggest lines of intelligence. And when you threatened to start digging around and weed out the traitors, well. It was only a matter of time before you found the mole he had planted and that line of communication would be shut off too. Even worse, he knew that Agnes would most likely lead you straight to him."
"His office recommended her for the job," mused Cowley. "It wouldn't have taken long for us to get there."
"No. So he set up a scapegoat and organised that scapegoat to be sacrificed before he could get word about what was going on. He entrusted Sir Henry with this, who was supposed to pass Doyle onto Sir Stephen, who, I think, had started to become a liability for the organisation. I don't think that the gun-running was anything to do with the Guild. I think that's why Sir Stephen was killed. Sir Henry planned for both of them to go up together in a shoot-out with CI5."
"But Sir Henry had also recognised the usefulness of a CI5 agent who wasn't being looked for and had passed Doyle on to his secret lab team. Without which we would never have got to the bottom of this."
Elizabeth nodded. "When Denholme realised what Sir Henry had done, he had to get rid of him. He had Agnes killed to guarantee no information leaks in that direction and then ordered a hit on Doyle as well. With all three out of the way, he would be safe."
"But I arranged for Doyle to be picked up alive, against the Minister's express wishes. One thing is still bothering me, though."
"Only one thing?" Elizabeth smiled, wryly.
"Why Doyle? If any of my staff could have been used to direct attention from the real mole, why pick the one person least likely to actually be a traitor?"
"You said so yourself, George. One half of your best team. If one of your best men were feeding the 'other side', which ever side that may be, with information, then who could you trust? It would also discredit your own clean sweep."
"A very nasty business. But, now we know what is going on, what are we going to do about it?"
"Denholme has managed this very well. Without the witnesses, we don't have any proof. Just logic and intuition."
Cowley thought for a moment. "I know just the thing. And I know just the person."
Elizabeth frowned.
"Denholme isn't the only one to have spies planted in the opposite camp." He rose from his chair. "I'm afraid I need to dash off. I'll need to have a word with her before I see the Minister this afternoon."
"And what are you going to tell him?"
Cowley smiled. "The truth. That Doyle is ready and willing to tell us everything. As soon as he recovers consciousness."
* * * * *
Thursday 11th October
It was the middle of the night and Bodie was trapped in a closet. It would be a situation that Bodie would normally find bleakly humorous, but the reason for his present incarceration was not amusing at all. The caretaker’s closet in a central London hospital was the nearest covert hiding place to Doyle’s current private hospital room and Bodie had been tasked with monitoring the two cameras Phillips had previously placed in and outside the room. All Bodie had to do was sit tight and wait for a hired assassin to try to take out Doyle.
It was definitely no laughing matter.
Doyle had been moved from Repton to St. Marys in the middle of London, ostensibly for the acute medical care that such a place could provide. Cowley had briefed Bodie as to the real reason, of course, and Bodie wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Doyle was still weak, regardless of what the doctors were saying, and he worried that Doyle wouldn't be able to fend off any sort of attack.
Bodie hadn't been to see Doyle in the two days since the obbo had started, on Cowley’s orders; the Cow, perhaps justifiably, worried that Bodie’s sudden presence at Doyle’s side would be suspicious.
But the Cow not a fool and hadn’t ordered Bodie to stay away this time. Instead he was relegated to watching Doyle sleep on a blurry television screen where he would be next to useless if the agent outside, currently a bleary-eyed Keene, was unable to provide backup.
The monitors looked clear, so he reached for his R/T. “5.3?”
“Yeah?” Keene responded, sounding like he was yawning.
“How’s it going?”
“Boring as hell, to tell you the truth. Does The Cow really think the attempt is going to be here?”
“He’s counting on it, Keene. And you should count yourself lucky. What with the monitors in here there’s barely enough space for me and my flask of tea. And it’s boiling hot…”
“Hang on, Keene hissed, as his image on the screen straightened. “There’s someone coming. Doctor by the look of it.”
Bodie immediately sat up and watched the screen intently. A few heartbeats later, indeed, a white-coated man appeared on screen with Keene. There was a brief, silent conversation between the newcomer and the agent before the agent opened the door to Doyle’s room. The doctor slipped inside, the door closing behind him and Keene nodded towards the surveillance camera.
Good, Bodie thought. Keene was obviously as suspicious of the unusual appearance of a medic at this time in the morning as Bodie was himself.
Bodie now switched attention to the second monitor, hoping that the camera itself was in a suitable position to see the attack. This was the more frustrating part of the plan, not knowing how it was to be made. Cowley was betting against a straight hit, instead sure that the Minister had ordered that the death look natural.
The man didn’t look particularly like an assassin, short and stocky with thinning hair, but that didn’t mean anything. Bodie watched carefully as the man approached the bed, leaned over a slumbering Doyle to reach the IV line snaking into the back of Doyle's hand, and pulled a syringe out of his pocket.
Bodie immediately hit the send button on his R/T, sending a burst of static to Keene, and anyone else listening in, the pre-arranged signal and carried on watching the monitor.
One second, two seconds…
Keene should be bursting in the door right now. Surely he’d’ve appeared on the monitor by now. He checked the first screen again, it showed no waiting agent.
He quickly switched his attention back to the second, but it was now only showing static. Bodie cursed and sprang out of his seat. He threw the door of the closet open and ran down the corridor towards Doyle’s room, pulling his gun out of its holster as he did so.
He took the corner at speed and skidded to a halt in front of the open door to the room in time to see Keene wresting the would-be-assassin’s arms behind his back to snap on handcuffs. Doyle, half-raised up off the bed, had his gun shoved in the man’s groin and, as Bodie watched, grinned a typical manic Doyle-grin up at Keene.
Bodie stumbled back from the door. Doyle didn’t need him here. He couldn’t breathe, his throat was tight. He had to get out of there…
He turned back the way he had come and ran smack into Cowley.
“Ah, 3.7,” Cowley greeted. “Is it all wrapped up here?”
Bodie nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.
“Well, come on then,” Cowley indicated to the room, let's see what we’ve caught.”
When Bodie didn’t immediately move, Cowley stepped around him and led the way into the hospital room. Bodie leaned against the door, not wanting to get any closer, not wanting to see the look of contempt in Doyle's eyes.
“Good job this thing wasn’t actually attached to me,” groused Doyle to Cowley, waving the fake IV line in lieu of a more traditional greeting. “And me hand’s all wet now.”
Cowley ignored him with the ease of a man who had put up with many of these complaints from Doyle and instead stepped up to the prisoner, looking him over. After a couple of silent seconds, Cowley nodded, obviously content with what he saw.
“5.3,” he said to the young agent still holding the prisoner firmly. “if you would like to deliver this,” Cowley indicated to the prisoner, ‘to 3.7. Tell him to deliver our guest to Headquarters and I’ll follow along shortly…”
At hearing Bodie’s designation Doyle’s head had snapped up, scanning the small room as if to see Bodie appear there. Not wishing to be seen, Bodie immediately stepped back into the hospital corridor, Cowley’s voice fading as Bodie moved away. He didn’t go too far though and when Keene stepped out of the room a couple of moments later, hand tight around the fake doctor’s upper arm, Bodie smoothly stepped forward, grabbing the other. Between them they -frog-marched their prisoner down to the Capri.
* * * * *
Cowley appeared back at Headquarters very quickly, Bodie had barely made their prisoner comfortable in one of the small interrogation rooms in the basement. In fact Bodie thought he recognised it, as he closed and locked the door, as the one he himself had been held in at the start of all this.
He was walking away just as Cowley came walking down the corridor towards him, limp slightly more pronounced than usual.
“Morning, sir,” Bodie said in faintly sarcastic greeting.
Cowley nodded with a faint grimace. “So what do you think of our catch then, eh?”
Bodie shrugged. “Not what I would expect from a professional. He’s too nervous by half. Damn near ruined the upholstery in my car on the way back here.”
“Scared, eh? Yes, that’s my opinion too. I think we out-manoeuvred the Minister quite satisfactorily this time round.”
“And put Ray in even more danger. I’d rather face a professional any day of the week rather than a nervous amateur.”
“Nevertheless, 3.7,” Cowley said, severely, “It worked. Do you think he’s ready to talk?”
“Over-ready, in my opinion. It was only my famous glare that stopped him from spilling it all in the car.”
Cowley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Well, then. Shall we?”
Bodie unlocked the door and stood back to let Cowley precede him into the room. He took up position by the door at a parade rest and stared at the prisoner as Cowley approached him.
“Hello, Alfred,” Cowley started in an amiable tone, dropping a file on the table and sliding into the seat opposite. “It is Alfred, isn’t it?” He made a show of consulting the file. “Ah, yes. Alfred Jacobs. You’re an accounts clerk at the Home Office?”
Alfred nodded carefully, his eyes very wide and scared behind thick spectacles.
“So what was an accounts clerk doing in a hospital room at two in the morning?”
Alfred licked his lips, but said nothing.
“Especially one wearing a doctor’s coat and attempting to inject an innocent man with poison?”
The other man finally found his voice. “It wasn’t like that!” he protested.
“Do you deny that you were there?” asked Cowley in an incredulous tone.
“Well, no. But I didn’t want to do it.”
“Really? So you were forced into attempting murder?”
“No! I mean, yes. But it wasn’t supposed to be murder!”
“What else would you call injecting a healthy man with a large dose of barbiturates and painkillers?”
Alfred shook his head. “It's not like that. He was supposed to be in a coma. That’s what he told me. That it didn’t matter, that it was a kindness really, the man was dying. It was just helping him along a little.”
“It was to be murder,” Cowley countered.
“No! I’ve never committed murder…”
“But you have ‘helped someone along’ before, haven’t you?”
Alfred’s eyes welled with tears, but he didn’t respond.
“That’s why you went along with this scheme, isn’t it? You were blackmailed into it.”
He nodded, tears running freely down his face now.
Cowley wordlessly offered him a handkerchief, then realised the man would not be able to use it with his hands still shackled behind his back.
“Och, release those cuffs, 3.7. I can’t see Alfred here being a problem, can you?”
With a frown Bodie did as he was told, instinct screaming that you should never leave a prisoner free. But he did agree with the Cow that Alfred didn’t look a threat. Instead of returning to his former position by the door, however, he stood directly behind the prisoner, ready to restrain if necessary.
Cowley let Alfred wipe his face before asking the most important question.
“So who was it who blackmailed you into attempting to kill Doyle?”
Alfred winced at the wording, but didn’t dare to contradict Cowley again. "I... I can't. He'll..." He trailed off into silence, and looked at Cowley, pleading.
Cowley nodded, seemingly absent-mindedly, and turned back to the file, flipping pages over in silence. He finally paused on one. "Ah, yes. Here we are. Maria Louth. Do you recognise the name?"
Alfred turned white. "I..."
Cowley turned another page. "How about Vera Masters?"
Alfred shook his head violently. "It was such a long time ago. I was young, so young. A junior doctor. Those women were in so much pain, I couldn't stand it. It's part of the reason I got out. But he found out about it, told me he'd go to the police. Tell them everything, if I didn't do as he said."
"Who was it?"
"I had no choice, do you see that?" Alfred whispered.
"Name?" Cowley pressed.
"He'll kill me!"
"Name?"
The prisoner sagged in defeat. "The Minister. Ian Denholme."
* * * * *
Friday 12th October
"All packed up and ready to go, Liz?"
Elizabeth nodded, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and laying it over her arm. She smiled at Cowley, "I am now. Will you walk me down to the car?"
"Certainly." He held out his arm and she took it, and they made their way down to the car park together.
"So, how did it go with the Minister?" Elizabeth, finally broke the comfortable silence.
"As bloody as could be expected. He put up a bit of a fight until I gave him the letter from the PM. Then he calmed down. Took it rather well, after that."
"Really?"
A shadow passed over Cowley's brow. "Well, as well as you could expect in the circumstances, anyway."
Elizabeth nodded. She wouldn't be surprised to see Denholme's obituary in The Times before the year was out. She changed the subject. "And what about your dynamic duo? Everything on the mend there?"
The shadow on Cowley's brow grew longer. "They are nothing if not unpredictable. If anything, I'd've laid odds on Bodie being the one to try to out-run his feelings of guilt. Not that he'd ever admit to them, of course. But it's Doyle who has handed in his notice. Some such rot about not being mentally fit enough for such a stressful position. Lad doesn't know what he's talking about."
"He might not make it back," Elizabeth reminded him.
"Well, he's certainly not going to if he's ready to give up already."
"You think there's something more to it."
"I know there's something more to it. The question is what." Cowley frowned. "It's as if…" he trailed off into silence.
"As if, what, George?" Elizabeth was intrigued.
"Och, I don't know. Damn fools, the pair of them. I'll get Bodie to knock some sense in to Doyle. It's something 3.7 is good at."
They walked on in silence until they finally reached the car park and Cowley's car, where Susan, back on full status, was waiting.
"Well, thank you for everything," Cowley said, sincerely, turning to Elizabeth and shaking her hand.
"I was my pleasure, George."
They both stood in an awkward silence for a moment, hands still clasped, before Cowley cleared his throat and spoke again. "I wonder if you would join me for dinner at my club, before you retire back to the country and your daily crossword?"
Elizabeth thought for moment, well, she'd always enjoyed George's company. So she smiled. "That would be wonderful."
* * * * *
Saturday 20th October
Bodie managed to not visit Ray once while he was still at Repton, Ray having been moved straight back there after they had caught the Minister pet accountant-cum-hitman. Not that he was avoiding him, of course. No, it was just that with being kept so busy with various items of importance that he just hadn't have time to visit his ex-partner.
He'd even managed to wangle two free days the weekend he heard Ray was being released. It paid to keep an ear out, after all, and he was going to spend the leave somewhere very far from London. He deserved the time alone, after all.
That was until he finally realised exactly why the Cow had authorised the time off, bellowing for Bodie's presence on a Friday evening just as everyone coming off duty were slinking down to the pub. Bodie, putting the finishing touches to his final late report, had therefore delivered it by hand and had found that his plans for the weekend had been radically changed.
Which was why he found himself heading down country lanes towards Repton early the next morning with a direct order to 'sort it out'. Whatever 'it' actually was.
Doyle looked a lot better than the last time Bodie had seen him properly, not in a hospital bed. Upright for a start. He was still pale, but had put on most of the weight he'd lost during the ordeal.
He didn't particularly look pleased to see Bodie.
"Doyle." Bodie said in greeting.
"Bodie." Doyle returned.
"Your chariot awaits," Bodie offered with a wave towards the door, but a single raised eyebrow from Doyle quelled any further light-hearted commentary.
Then fell into an uncomfortable silence as Bodie helped Doyle down to the Capri with his bags and the drive back to London was conducted in the same silence. Ray, still recovering, mostly dosed in the passenger seat while Bodie concentrated on driving through the match-day traffic and tried not to think of anything at all.
Finally, pulling up in front of a nondescript block of flats in West Kensington, Bodie turned off the engine and leaned over to shake Ray awake.
"We're here, Sunshine."
Ray opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at Bodie, whose heart flipped. Immediately he pulled away, covering his confusion with efficiency.
"Come on," he said in a brisker tone, getting out of the car and moving round to the boot to retrieve Ray's bag. "I'm dying for a cuppa."
Ray meekly did as he was told, following Bodie up the stairs and into the large, airy flat, finally taking in his surroundings.
"'ere. This isn't my flat."
"No, it isn't," Bodie agreed. "Yours was reassigned months ago. This is mine."
"But..."
"Cowley said that as you were resigning, there was no point in your being assigned a new place. You're in with me for the duration."
Ray's eyes widened in panic. "Hotel," he said in a hoarse voice. "I can go..."
"Cow's orders, Sunshine. And this has the advantage of being free. Well, mostly free," he amended. "You can stump up for your half of the 'leccy and gas." Bodie realised he was taking a kind of perverse pleasure in Ray's discomfort; so close to his own, and he backed down slightly. "Look," he said, thrusting the bag into Ray's arms, "I'll go and put the kettle on, while you go and stow that in your room. It's the one on the left. Mind you're back in five minutes, though, or I'll have to come in and drag you out again."
He left Ray still standing in the middle of the small sitting room and went to make the tea, still half expecting Ray to be gone when he got back.
Tea made, Bodie wandered back through to the sitting room, heaving a small sigh of relief as he spotted that Ray had installed himself on the rather lumpy sofa, wedged in at one end, his holdall placed by his feet. He was staring at the silent television, frown creasing his forehead.
"Penny for them?" Bodie said as he placed the mug on the coffee table in front of Ray and sat in the chair to one side, not close enough to crowd.
Ray didn't stir, ample proof that Bodie hadn't startled him. Bodie sat back in the chair and tried again. "Look Ray, I know what you're going through. Going through it myself, as a matter of fact."
"So why are you doing this?" Ray's voice was low.
"Promised, didn't I? And I owe Cowley enough favours."
"That's like selling your soul to the devil."
"Yeah, and don't I know it. Look, come on. All we need to do is give him one good enough reason and he'll back off. But it has to be good enough to convince him that we are telling the truth."
"I don't want to talk about it." Ray said, defensively. "It's not going to change a damn thing, is it?"
Bodie didn't know how to answer that, so he took a mouthful of tea instead. "Drink up, Ray. Before your tea gets cold."
Ray automatically reached for his tea. "What?" he remarked irritably, as he took in Bodie's stare.
Bodie coughed. "So the quacks say you're totally cured then?"
"Yeah. Well, not quite. Ross still has to have a go, naturally. But even she's quietly confident."
"You must be the toast of Shrinktown, coming back as normal as you ever were."
Ray grimaced. "Yeah, Ross even said she wants to write a paper on me. Awful thought, that."
"So what's your secret?"
"Eh?"
"Well, you had countless memories bouncing around in that curly-haired bonce of yours. Some true, some false. How did you sort through them all?"
"Oh. Not much of a secret there, mate. I just took y... an object and any memory that didn't fit it, I discarded."
"Just like that eh? So what do you remember then?"
Surprisingly, Ray answered him. "Quite a lot really. Not everything had to be picked over. I don't know. Everything important. Childhood, being a copper. CI5."
CI5. "You don't want to leave, do you?"
"Got to, haven't I?"
"Look, so they all spent six months thinking you were bent. So what? They thought you were dead for the majority of that time as well! And you know that it'll all blow over soon enough - everyone already knows that you were set up. There's even ample chance you won't get any jokes about it."
"Christ, Bodie. You know what this mob is like! Half the agents are always convinced the other half are on the take. That's what keeps us so good. 'Cowley's Incorruptibles'; not because individually we are, but together we keep our own house clean. Cowley's the worst; and the best. Sure it leaves a bad taste, knowing that he believes no-one is totally trustworthy, but it goes both ways. He didn't hold the Hahn case over us, did he?"
"Hahn?" Bodie frowned in memory. "Oh, dear old Victoria. Yes. So it's not the attitude of the other agents and it's not Cowley. So it is personal. It's me, isn't it?"
Doyle's silence was confirmation enough.
"Look Ray," he swallowed past the sudden obstruction in his throat. "You don't need to leave over this. It should be me that resigns. It was my fault, not yours. We could split the partnership up, go with other people. Or I can leave, if you can't bear to look at me even in passing."
"I can't… Bodie, what are you talking about?"
"Casablanca. You know that I came for you purposely to deliver you back to Cowley. So, okay, at the time there was no doubt in my mind that you were a double agent. But that's no excuse. I betrayed you."
Bodie let out a breath. There, the words were said. Better that he say them himself, than let Ray tie himself up in knots over the accusation. He glanced over to his once-friend, who was frowning in confusion.
"Bodie, why do you think I'm upset because you betrayed me whilst believing that I was a double agent? I believed I was a double agent! I thought I was leaving messages for my contact around the world. When you turned up in Casablanca, I thought you were a spy too! You did the right thing. I mean, if I had been passing information on, it was your best opportunity for finding out who I was working for. And, anyway, if you'd not turned me over to Cowley then, well. I wouldn't be here now. Would probably have died of septicaemia, if Denholme's men hadn't got to me first."
"But I believed that of you." And it was Bodie himself who was now the picture of abject misery.
"The entire squad did as well." Ray reminded him.
"This is different. I am, was, your partner."
"And you're only human. As much as you don't like to admit that, of course."
Bodie ignored the dig with the ease of long practice. "But, if it's not that, then why are you leaving?"
"And I say again: I don't want to talk about it!" Ray exploded. "Can't you get that through your thick skull?"
Bodie jerked back, shocked. "So that's it then."
"Yes." Ray's speech was clipped. "Look, Bodie. I should go. Get out of your hair." He stood, reaching for his holdall at the same time.
"And never darken my doorstep again. I know." Bodie's voice was bitter. "But tell me one thing, Doyle. If you're going to vanish out of here, never to be seen, by me at least, again, what's the harm in telling me why?
"I can't." He moved towards the door.
Bodie stood up angrily and crossed over to the window. Turning his back on the other man, he stared blindly down at the street below. "You know, it would be nice to know how, exactly, I've killed off this relationship. Just so I don't do the same thing next time something like this comes up, if you know what I mean?"
Silence stretched before them and Bodie had thought Ray had left. But then Ray responded in a whisper, "It wasn't you. It was me. I fell in love. I fell in love with you."
Bodie whipped round as the quietly spoken confession penetrated his brain. "You...?"
Ray was still standing by the door. "Look, I know. And I'm sorry, okay? I'll just..." And he turned away.
"NO!" Bodie cried, shocked into action. He rushed at Ray, grabbing his arm and spun him round forcing him back against the wall.
Ray dropped his holdall, face white and pinched. "Just get it over with," he said in a voice full of misery.
Bodie slammed his hands either side of Ray's head, leaning in, trapping him in place, all his concentration focussed on Ray's face, his lips. The impossible goal he had been fantasising about for months. With a growl he bent his head and pressed his lips hard against Ray's own.
At first Ray was unresponsive, his mouth tightly closed and body tense but, as Bodie gentled the assault, he began to relax and respond. Ray sighed, his lips parting, allowing Bodie's tongue to slip past them, probing for and meeting the other's tongue. This new contact, electrifying, seemed to flip some sort of switch in Ray, who began to kiss back in earnest, his arms winding around Bodie's waist and pulling him in closer. Bodie moved his own hands down to cradle Ray's head, thumbs gently caressing at the sensitive skin behind his ears. Ray groaned in response, pushing forward body to body, and the sound sent a shock of desire straight to Bodie's cock.
It was everything he'd ever dreamed about and more. Like all his birthdays rolled into one. Ray's scent enveloped him, intoxicating, and Bodie felt quite giddy. He sucked at Ray's lips, caressing teeth and tongue with his own, trying to pour all his passion and love into this one act, trying to make it say the one thing he had so much trouble saying himself.
After an indeterminate amount of time he drew back. Both men were panting heavily. Bodie kissed Ray once more on the lips. "I..."
"I didn't know..." Ray said at the same time and they both stopped, staring at each other in confusion. Ray finally laughed, weakly. "Can we go and sit back down, do you think? I don't think my knees can support me much longer."
Bodie nodded, letting go and stepping away as Ray unwound his arms from his waist. He immediately felt the loss and took Ray's hand, pulling him over to the sofa and sitting down. Ray sat down next to him, body angled slightly, knee pressing against Bodie's own, their hands still tightly entwined.
Ray broke the silence. "We're a pair of fools, aren't we?"
"Speak for yourself, earthling," Bodie chuckled, but seeing a flash of something in Ray's eyes, he continued more seriously, "Yes, I am. I've wanted to do that for months."
"And I've been wanting to do that for years."
"Why didn't you?"
"Queers don't kiss, remember? Someone told me that once."
"Who?"
"Doesn't matter."
Bodie frowned, but at the look on Doyle's face he quietly dropped the question on the tip of his tongue. It would keep. "Queers may not kiss. But lovers do."
"But we weren't lovers, were we?" Ray's voice was bitter. "Just mates who occasionally went to bed together. Don't get me wrong. That was fine to start with. But then I fucked up, didn't I? I fell in love."
"How long?"
"Months. Years, may be. I don't know. All I knew was it was tearing me apart that you didn't feel the same. I could fuck you, but I couldn't kiss you. Or hold you afterwards."
"That's why you started leaving so soon afterwards?"
"Yeah. You noticed?"
"Could hardly not do, could I? Wham, bam, thank you Bodie. I thought you were going to leave me. I thought you didn't love me any more... Oh!" The revelation stunned Bodie into silence.
"What?"
"How could I be so stupid? I was trying so hard to keep things the same as they'd always been that I hadn't realised they'd already changed. I was so hurt and confused that you didn't want me any more. But I didn't realise why and that confused me even more."
"Bodie, you're not making any sense."
"I know. I... I..." But the phrase turned out to be more difficult to say than he realised.
Ray must have noticed his plight because he leaned forward and kissed Bodie on the lips, effectively silencing him. "I know, okay. And, for the record, I do too."
Bodie nodded, heart lightening. He would say it one day, but not today. Some day it would slip out naturally, and that would be okay. Wanting to change the subject, he deliberately lightened his tone of voice. "So now that's all sorted out, why are you resigning?"
Ray grinned, accepting the change of direction in the conversation easily. "You know, I haven't the faintest idea."
"We could both go, I suppose."
"And what would we do?"
"I'm sure we could think of something," Bodie leered.
"For money, I mean. I don't have that many transferrable skills."
Bodie pretended to think for a moment. "No, you're right. Back to being Cowley's Irregulars, I suppose. But on Monday morning.” He stood, holding his hand out to Ray and pulling him up off the sofa in one swift movement. “I've got plans for you this weekend, Raymond, my boy."
"Oh, really?" Ray said, following Bodie out of the lounge and into the hall.
"Yes and they definitely involve us both being naked and lying down." He paused at his bedroom door, thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "So, you are completely back to normal then? No lingering effects of the memory drug?"
"None at all, I swear. Don't worry; I've not forgotten what goes where and how."
"No, it's not that. It's just that I've had this offer of a bridge I thought you might be interested in."
"Oh?" Ray pretended to consider this. "What colour is it?"
Bodie grinned and grabbed Ray's hand, pulling him into the bedroom. "Oh, Sunshine, any colour you like."
End
So, I'll continue to continue, to pretend
My life will never end,
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall.