Out of the Dark: Chapter Fifteen, Part One
This time action is afoot!
Fandom: The Professionals
Title: Out of the Dark
Author: Francis Kerst
Pairing: Bodie/Cowley
Genre: Slash
Rating: Adult
Warning: None
Archive: Anywhere
Summary: Cowley on the war path.
The morning call struck as a bolt in a summer sky.
« Where's Bodie? »
Cowley's sense of danger was instantly on alert, with a grim foreboding. « What's the matter? »
« Where is he? »
« What do you want him for? »
Angus' voice on the RT was sharp. « George, that's serious business. Can you speak freely?»
“Aye. I'm alone. Get to the point!”
“In three words: Truce is over!”
“What d'you mean?”
“You had a truce with MI6 regarding Bodie, didn’t you? Well, it's over.”
Cowley didn't bother to ask Angus what his source of information was; he just questioned: “What happened?”
“Seems some serious threat from the P L F has been uncovered that Bodie might have got intelligence about, like their arms provider's whereabouts, or even an access inside. They want him, urgently.”
“He's of no use to them in his current condition.”
“You don't need to tell me that. It's a moot point though; they want to question him, their way.”
“On what authority?”
“A fairly sufficient one, have no doubt about it.”
“The Minister?”
“You mean the Home Secretary? Changed his mind. Not his competence anyway. Foreign matters, MI6 private sandbox.
“I've got higher contacts.”
You don't intend to go up to the PM for this boy, do you, George? We're on highly sensitive grounds here. Our Israeli friends are fretting. With good reason.”
Cowley kept silent for a few seconds. Angus insisted: “You're playing with fire, George, keep in mind what's at stake.”
More than you imagine, Angus, thought Cowley. Angus knew about his project, along general lines, but not how close it was to its implementation. A wrong move on his part and everything could still be cancelled, or entrusted to someone else. However that wasn't his worst fear. His career he could dismiss, his honour was another thing. If the boy had noticed...what he couldn't have failed to, if he spoke (and then, in what terms?)...The least suspicion about his morality would cast a shadow on all his past achievements.
A sense of urgency gripped him, wringing his throat tight. “How much time do we have?”
“No time. They're already here.”
“What!”
“The last phone call I got was from Glasgow and mentioned a helicopter.”
“The last call? What else did you hide from me?”
“George, I wasn't even supposed to warn you at all.”
“I see. We'll talk later. What's going on at the moment?”
“MI6 has sent a team; they must have landed now, not very far from your place; if they're not at your door, they most likely are at the boat house.”
Cowley's heart lurched. Bodie was at the boat house, to try the engine and set the boat afloat. “What did you tell them, exactly?”
“Everything I knew. Look, I couldn't conceal anything from them in my position.”
“What position? You left the services years ago.”
“You never leave the services, George, never completely.”
“I'm wasting a precious time. Bye, Angus.”
“Hold on! What are you going to do?”
“Try to salvage something from this wreck.”
“George, don't do anything foolish!”
“I won't. Bye.”
Nothing was less sure, though. Cowley clicked off the RT. There was little he could do. Save a private telephone number, which was of no use there, he had no means of communication with the only man who had enough clout to thwart the MI6 moves (and who probably wouldn't deem the gain worth the wager anyway). He wondered how far he would have been ready to go otherwise: up to risking the most powerful support he had ever got in his career? Thinking further about it, he decided he didn't want to know. But he knew what he wanted: to take hold of Bodie before anyone else did, and silence him, by any means available barring murder.
It was reluctantly, though, that he retrieved his gun from its cache. Shooting at regular State agents performing a legal arrest was unthinkable; shooting at Bodie was hardly more acceptable, even in case of resistence, but, with the lad at least, just showing him the gun might allow him to get close enough to use another, more effective, weapon if plain words failed. He made sure he had the stun serum device well at hand in the inside pocket of his sports jacket and inserted an extra dose in the container. No manacles (they still were in the trunk of his car) but a roll of thin, strong nylon rope; properly used, it would make do.
He spared a few minutes to put on good walking shoes and breeches, then picked up his RT and the light bag he had prepared for the fishing party and left. He took a short-cut he never used, for it was still steeper than the track made by the boat trailer; more a sheep pass than a path, actually.
There was little chance he would be at the beach in time, Bodie could have been abducted already if Angus was right, but he hurried nonetheless. His leg and foot didn't hurt anymore, as if they never had. He hardly limped. He was aware he was going on adrenaline. Once or twice he slipped without much damage. A brief wave of pain surged and ebbed. He kept moving, singlemindedly, his attention and willpower focused on his goal. But what was his goal, exactly? For the second time in less than a month, he had rushed into action, not minding the consequences or having made a plan, without leaving himself a way out ...He wanted Bodie; he wanted Bodie safe. Safe and silent, or just silent? This was a shameful thought. This was the inescapable issue of the dilemna. No choice really. At least he could tell himself it was all for the higher good.
The narrow track seemed to stretch out under his feet with every cautious step and every passing second, as if there would never be an end to it. When it eventually and abruptly ended into a clearing, he stopped under the cover of a beech-tree and scanned the surroundings. From his standpoint he could see the perfectly still and level surface of the loch and the clear blue sky above, beyond a barrier of shrubbery that hid the beach and the pier from his sight. Everything looked quiet; too quiet: no bird songs, no rustling through the grass and leaves. Such an unnatural silence couldn't be imputed to a lull in the breeze only: something had disturbed the wild life of the woods, and very recently, though he hadn't heard any shooting or shouting while walking down the last hundred yards.
Gun in hand, as noiseless as a bird-watching cat, he skirted around the line of the front trees and got close to the bushes, standing at the far right edge, where a gap in the branches opened up a broader view, encompassing the boat house and the pier. A first glance told him everything wasn't quite normal: the motor boat was nowhere to be seen; only the old wooden one was there, looking more wretched than ever. All his senses on alert he stood, motionless, for a little while. Nothing. Odd how silence and stillness may be more disquieting than turmoil sometimes. Yet he had to move, and fast. He wouldn't have any cover to cross the beach. Giving up all precautions, he headed straight for the boat house.
As always, comments are very welcome and appreciated.
Fandom: The Professionals
Title: Out of the Dark
Author: Francis Kerst
Pairing: Bodie/Cowley
Genre: Slash
Rating: Adult
Warning: None
Archive: Anywhere
Summary: Cowley on the war path.
The morning call struck as a bolt in a summer sky.
« Where's Bodie? »
Cowley's sense of danger was instantly on alert, with a grim foreboding. « What's the matter? »
« Where is he? »
« What do you want him for? »
Angus' voice on the RT was sharp. « George, that's serious business. Can you speak freely?»
“Aye. I'm alone. Get to the point!”
“In three words: Truce is over!”
“What d'you mean?”
“You had a truce with MI6 regarding Bodie, didn’t you? Well, it's over.”
Cowley didn't bother to ask Angus what his source of information was; he just questioned: “What happened?”
“Seems some serious threat from the P L F has been uncovered that Bodie might have got intelligence about, like their arms provider's whereabouts, or even an access inside. They want him, urgently.”
“He's of no use to them in his current condition.”
“You don't need to tell me that. It's a moot point though; they want to question him, their way.”
“On what authority?”
“A fairly sufficient one, have no doubt about it.”
“The Minister?”
“You mean the Home Secretary? Changed his mind. Not his competence anyway. Foreign matters, MI6 private sandbox.
“I've got higher contacts.”
You don't intend to go up to the PM for this boy, do you, George? We're on highly sensitive grounds here. Our Israeli friends are fretting. With good reason.”
Cowley kept silent for a few seconds. Angus insisted: “You're playing with fire, George, keep in mind what's at stake.”
More than you imagine, Angus, thought Cowley. Angus knew about his project, along general lines, but not how close it was to its implementation. A wrong move on his part and everything could still be cancelled, or entrusted to someone else. However that wasn't his worst fear. His career he could dismiss, his honour was another thing. If the boy had noticed...what he couldn't have failed to, if he spoke (and then, in what terms?)...The least suspicion about his morality would cast a shadow on all his past achievements.
A sense of urgency gripped him, wringing his throat tight. “How much time do we have?”
“No time. They're already here.”
“What!”
“The last phone call I got was from Glasgow and mentioned a helicopter.”
“The last call? What else did you hide from me?”
“George, I wasn't even supposed to warn you at all.”
“I see. We'll talk later. What's going on at the moment?”
“MI6 has sent a team; they must have landed now, not very far from your place; if they're not at your door, they most likely are at the boat house.”
Cowley's heart lurched. Bodie was at the boat house, to try the engine and set the boat afloat. “What did you tell them, exactly?”
“Everything I knew. Look, I couldn't conceal anything from them in my position.”
“What position? You left the services years ago.”
“You never leave the services, George, never completely.”
“I'm wasting a precious time. Bye, Angus.”
“Hold on! What are you going to do?”
“Try to salvage something from this wreck.”
“George, don't do anything foolish!”
“I won't. Bye.”
Nothing was less sure, though. Cowley clicked off the RT. There was little he could do. Save a private telephone number, which was of no use there, he had no means of communication with the only man who had enough clout to thwart the MI6 moves (and who probably wouldn't deem the gain worth the wager anyway). He wondered how far he would have been ready to go otherwise: up to risking the most powerful support he had ever got in his career? Thinking further about it, he decided he didn't want to know. But he knew what he wanted: to take hold of Bodie before anyone else did, and silence him, by any means available barring murder.
It was reluctantly, though, that he retrieved his gun from its cache. Shooting at regular State agents performing a legal arrest was unthinkable; shooting at Bodie was hardly more acceptable, even in case of resistence, but, with the lad at least, just showing him the gun might allow him to get close enough to use another, more effective, weapon if plain words failed. He made sure he had the stun serum device well at hand in the inside pocket of his sports jacket and inserted an extra dose in the container. No manacles (they still were in the trunk of his car) but a roll of thin, strong nylon rope; properly used, it would make do.
He spared a few minutes to put on good walking shoes and breeches, then picked up his RT and the light bag he had prepared for the fishing party and left. He took a short-cut he never used, for it was still steeper than the track made by the boat trailer; more a sheep pass than a path, actually.
There was little chance he would be at the beach in time, Bodie could have been abducted already if Angus was right, but he hurried nonetheless. His leg and foot didn't hurt anymore, as if they never had. He hardly limped. He was aware he was going on adrenaline. Once or twice he slipped without much damage. A brief wave of pain surged and ebbed. He kept moving, singlemindedly, his attention and willpower focused on his goal. But what was his goal, exactly? For the second time in less than a month, he had rushed into action, not minding the consequences or having made a plan, without leaving himself a way out ...He wanted Bodie; he wanted Bodie safe. Safe and silent, or just silent? This was a shameful thought. This was the inescapable issue of the dilemna. No choice really. At least he could tell himself it was all for the higher good.
The narrow track seemed to stretch out under his feet with every cautious step and every passing second, as if there would never be an end to it. When it eventually and abruptly ended into a clearing, he stopped under the cover of a beech-tree and scanned the surroundings. From his standpoint he could see the perfectly still and level surface of the loch and the clear blue sky above, beyond a barrier of shrubbery that hid the beach and the pier from his sight. Everything looked quiet; too quiet: no bird songs, no rustling through the grass and leaves. Such an unnatural silence couldn't be imputed to a lull in the breeze only: something had disturbed the wild life of the woods, and very recently, though he hadn't heard any shooting or shouting while walking down the last hundred yards.
Gun in hand, as noiseless as a bird-watching cat, he skirted around the line of the front trees and got close to the bushes, standing at the far right edge, where a gap in the branches opened up a broader view, encompassing the boat house and the pier. A first glance told him everything wasn't quite normal: the motor boat was nowhere to be seen; only the old wooden one was there, looking more wretched than ever. All his senses on alert he stood, motionless, for a little while. Nothing. Odd how silence and stillness may be more disquieting than turmoil sometimes. Yet he had to move, and fast. He wouldn't have any cover to cross the beach. Giving up all precautions, he headed straight for the boat house.
As always, comments are very welcome and appreciated.