Re-Discovered on All Hallows Eve: This is Halloween - Part One
Here is my fic offering for tonight, may it please... *g*
This is Halloween
The corridor was surprisingly empty when Doyle shouldered his way through the double doors, one hand holding the straps of a large black sports bag. He stopped for a moment, his attention caught by the unusual peace of the building. When CI5 HQ was like this it was only too easy to imagine that everyone had buggered off to save the world without him.
He snorted at his own imagination, and let the door loudly bang shut behind him, the echo bouncing distantly down the stairwell. Yeah, maybe they’d all been abducted by aliens and Cowley had been turned into an angry Scottish blob…
Sudden movement on his left and he whirled around to see a figure reel forward with blank slits for eyes and an evil devil’s grin. He took a step backwards, and perhaps the mask-wearer noticed the twitch of his hand towards gun belt, as McCabe quickly took it off.
“Gave you a scare did I?” he said. “Wooo!”
He waved the mask in front of Doyle, who batted it away from him in disgust. “Had you going for a bit though, didn’t I?” McCabe said, turning the mask around to face him and grinning down at its wicked sneer.
“Had me going with that? Don’t be soft,” said Doyle, choosing to ignore the way his heart had thumped when McCabe had burst out of… His eyes narrowed. “Were you hiding in the cleaner’s cupboard?”
“No,” McCabe said instantly. “I was looking for something.”
“You were bloody hiding!”
“I wasn’t! I was looking for…some…cleaning…stuff. Well, alright, I was hiding - I wanted to see what sort of effect the mask had. Requisitioned it from a theatre in Hackney. Thought it might come in useful - Halloween an’ all that.”
“Don’t tell me you buy into all that nonsense! Festival of the dead, candle in the western window?”
McCabe looked puzzled. “Er… nah… I just thought I might frighten my bird and comfort her when she’s a bit scared if you know what I mean.”
“If you're still going with Marie in accounts then she’ll have you in a head-lock the minute you try - I saw her take on Susie the other day at the gym, even Macklin was impressed…”
“Wrestling Susie, was she?” McCabe said, perking up.
“…And aren’t you supposed to be convalescing instead of haunting the corridors?”
“Made it to light duties,” McCabe said, experimentally flexing his hand. He winced.
“Shouldn’t have caught a bullet then should you?”
The sound of a door opening down the corridor distracted them, and Doyle turned to see his partner exiting Cowley’s office looking lost in thought. McCabe slipped the mask back over his head. “Oooo Bodie!” he called in a wavering voice.
Bodie glanced up from where he’d been contemplating his shoes. “Suits you Mac, definite improvement. Alright Ray?”
They left McCabe behind them giving the mask a doubtful once-over, and continued down the corridor.
“We’re supposed to be relieving Murphy in twenty minutes, we’ll never make Kings Cross on time now, not with the rush hour.” Doyle looked at his watch.
“We’re giving Murphy relief in Kings Cross? My reputation will be forever sullied,” said Bodie, barging through the door to the stairs.
“I knew it, the minute I bloody opened my mouth…” Doyle thumped Bodie on the back and they both clattered down the stairs, footsteps amplified by a concrete echo. “Anyway, what did Cowley want with you?”
Rain lashed against the window, blown by a determined wind, and Doyle glanced up and frowned. Stakeouts were bad enough in good weather, let alone at night when you could barely see anyway, with rain pissing down and the chill seeping through derelict old buildings...
“Cold spots,” said Bodie quite decisively.
“Eh?” Doyle said, and he jumped down the last four steps with a surprising burst of energy, almost bouncing into a startled Chief of Security in the foyer.
“Watch yourself, lad,” Fred said with a frown, as he walked ponderously up the stairs. “Could’ve done me an injury.”
“Alright, sorry!” replied Doyle, feeling rather put-upon. He turned back to look at Bodie. “What did you say?”
“What Cowley said,” Bodie said, and winced as Doyle opened the main door, gusts of cold wind blowing around them. “Freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here.”
“Cowley said that?”
“Not quite that, no,” Bodie said with a grin, as they plunged into the rain, and across the slick shining tarmac of the car park. “Did you go to the canteen?”
“Yeah, everything’s in the bag - it’s a CI5 special tonight old son,” replied Doyle, quickly unlocking the driver’s door and sliding in, leaning over to open the passenger door. He threw the bag on the back seat.
Bodie folded himself in the passenger side, and looked over questioningly at Doyle. “Ham?”
Doyle gave a brief shake of his head, grinned disarmingly, and started the engine. The car roared into life, lights illuminating an odd assortment of CI5 vehicles - Cowley’s Jaguar, an old white van, a blue Morris Minor and, strangely, a milk float.
“Stuart’s,” Doyle said, seeing Bodie stare at it. “Gets him around un-noticed, so he said.”
“What - as a milk bottle?” asked Bodie, wiping a stray raindrop from his forehead.
Doyle laughed, one of his genuine dirty chuckles that seemed to roll around the car with a life of its own. It tugged an answering grin from Bodie, always surprised at being able to amuse him so.
“Ah, he’s not so bad, is Stuart. Just been working on his own for a long time - you know how it gets.” Doyle put the car into gear, checked over his shoulder and pulled out in one fluid movement, pausing only briefly at the exit of the car park before finding a gap in the early evening Whitehall traffic.
Bodie stayed diplomatically silent. He’d had less opportunity to work with Stuart, but the few times he'd done so the man had always made some smug pronouncement that had set Bodie’s teeth on edge.
Doyle chuckled again. “So go on, what actually did Cowley want with you? Why did you say coleslaw?”
“Eh?” Bodie looked genuinely confused. “What - the sandwiches? Ham and coleslaw?”
Now it was Doyle’s turn to look confused. “I think we’re missing something.”
Bodie took a quick look down at himself. “You might be, whereas I, on the other hand, am a perfect physical specimen.”
“Yeah, in a jungle with no one else around.”
“So me Tarzan, you…”
“Don’t you bloody say it. Me Tarzan, you Cheeta, more like.”
“I never cheat! Straight down the line, that’s me.”
“And bent in the bed.”
It took a moment until enough composure could be found in the car to answer the insistent buzzing of the two-way radio.
“Bodie I’ve got 6.2… are you alright? You sound a bit peculiar.” Jane’s crisp precise tones sounded clearly through the radio.
Doyle was still laughing in the background.
“I feel peculiar. No I’m fine sweetheart, patch him through,” said Bodie, wiping a tear away under his eyes.
A crackle announced Murphy’s irritated tones loudly over the wire.
“Oi, Bodie, what are you two still doing in the car? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago! Not sure if it’s escaped your attention, fellers, but me and Lucas here have been eyeballing this warehouse for three days straight now.”
Bodie grimaced. “Yeah alright mate, we got held up.”
“We!” Doyle snorted beside him, not taking his eyes off the road, foot on the accelerator.
Bodie flicked his gaze towards Doyle. “We’ll be there in ten, well, five the way Nigel Mansell here’s driving.”
“Well thank God for that, me eyes are going brick-shaped. And Lucas lost his power of speech around two o’clock.”
“Every cloud, and all that.” Bodie looked over at Doyle, his high amusement revealed by a tiny glimpse of pink tongue.
Murphy sounded exasperated. “He may’ve lost his power of speech, but he hasn’t lost his power to hum, it’s driving me round the twist. If he does ‘Following in Father’s Footsteps’ one more time I won’t be responsible. What was that god-awful pub you told him about? I need to know where to avoid.”
“Oh that’s Doyle’s favourite, that is. Hang on…” Bodie responded to Doyle’s gesture by holding the radio over to his mouth.
“Murph, it’s not so much the song, as who sings it. You ask Bodie.”
“I know who bleeding hums it, that’s for sure. Aren't you here yet? I have a date with my bed.”
“Your social life is riveting.”
“My social life is doing very nicely I’ll have you know.” Murphy sounded smug.
“What - pulled at last have you? Who's the unlucky bird?”
“A very nice little blonde is who it is, and no, there won’t be any introductions.”
Bodie stole a glance at Doyle. “That’s alright, I’m sticking with Jane. Woah!”
“Bodie? You alright?” Murphy sounded concerned.
“Car swerved. Think Doyle here should go in again for his advanced… anyway, won’t be long Murph.”
He hastily broke the connection as Doyle had a rather wild glint in his eye. The warehouses of Kings Cross loomed on either side of the road, street lights indistinct despite the glooming of the day.
“So,” said Bodie, “Cowley.”
“Yeah, start again with that one,” said Doyle, swinging the car around into a side street, looking for a safe place to park up for the night.
“Apparently Ruth told him she thinks my old flat is haunted.”
“Your old flat?” Doyle said, looking at him in disbelief.
“Yeah. The one in Bethnal Green. Apparently she toldhim it has cold spots and funny noises.”
“Cold - spots?”
Doyle chuckled to himself and brought the car to a rest between a skip and a Morris Minor that had seen better days. He continued, with more than a hint of derision.
“You’re telling me the Cow took that seriously? He was never asking you about cold spots and things that go bump in the night, I don’t believe it.”
“You’re right, he wasn’t. He was asking if I thought it was likely to have been compromised. Bugged,” he clarified.
“Now that makes more sense,” Doyle agreed, reaching for the sports bag. He turned back with a frown. “I don’t remember any strange noises, do you? Can’t have been while we were there.”
“Moaning, groaning, rattling of chains - we probably wouldn’t have noticed,” said Bodie, looking at Doyle with affection.
“Oh yeah,” said Doyle, with nostalgia. “We better bloody hope it wasn’t bugged! We weren't exactly discreet!”
“Nah - that night was, what - six months ago? More? If we were being bugged then we’d have heard about it by now. If it was our side, their side, whatever side - they’d definitely have made contact.”
Doyle shifted in his seat. “Depends what case they're building.”
“Oi! You're not regretting it, are you?”
And there was Bodie in front of him, Bodie of the blue eyes and impossible long lashes, with a strange note of vulnerability in his voice.
“Don’t be daft,” Doyle said, eyeing the road and the car mirror, before reaching his hand around Bodie’s neck, feeling the shiny smoothness of his black leather jacket, the heat of his skin. He applied pressure, and Bodie came willingly to him, their mouths meeting, hot and urgent.
“Windows,” said Bodie when he pulled back after a few stolen moments, looking up and through the windscreen.
“I already checked,” replied Doyle, his voice full of warmth. He opened the car door and let in the greedy cold air. “Some agent you are.”
They were outside now, and walking briskly between the buildings. A cat yowled from somewhere close by, and glass crunched underfoot. The darkness was heavy, a thick blanket pressing down from the sky, threadbare patches letting through an occasional glimmer of star.
“Nice neighbourhood this,” Bodie commented.
“What did you expect, the Ritz?”
“I wouldn’t mind the Ritz. A few upmarket villains here and there would be nice,” said Bodie, twisting his foot slightly on some rubble. “Bloody place.”
Doyle was checking upwards, looking at fire escapes. “This one, isn’t it?”
“Red carpet, garlands of flowers, finest wines, can’t you tell?” replied Bodie, eyeing up the rickety iron steps, the litter drifting around, and the crumpled cans of Special Brew.
“Well come on then, our welcome awaits.” Doyle easily jogged up the steps, shadows playing across him as he moved. Bodie followed behind, admiring the view. Five floors up there was the unmistakeable tall shape of Murphy leaning against an open door.
“Oh finally,” was his heartfelt greeting, as they followed him into the narrow corridor. The door clicked softly shut, and then the blackness from outside was in with them. They navigated by the grey light that fell through open doorways either side of the corridor. Bodie peered in one; the otherwise empty room had an upended table at one side. The blank windows reflected an indecisive moon ducking away behind the clouds, and a breeze whipped in through a broken pane. Cold spots, thought Bodie vaguely, following Doyle and Murphy onwards into the building.
Six doors down, and Murphy turned into a larger room. Lucas was silhouetted against the pale wall at the side of the window, a tattered blind inadequately covering the dirty panes of glass. The binoculars were set up on a stand, trained to focus through the gaps in the slats.
“Does this mean we can leave? Bloody hell, miracles will never cease,” Lucas’s sarcastic tones cut through the room, although he made no move yet to vacate his post.
Bodie stepped up to the window and peered down. Across the road was the warehouse hiding the suspected arms cache. The doorway looked derelict, the windows bland and blind.
“Any movement?” he asked Lucas.
“Nope.”
“We saw your partner lounging around HQ. He sends his love,” said Doyle, also peering through the blind.
The only reply to that was a heartfelt ‘bastard’ from behind the binoculars.
“Come though here, and I’ll fill you on what’s been happening, this room’s safe,” said Murphy, beckoning them over to what looked like a small store cupboard.
He waited until they were both inside, and then he shut the door. For a moment the dark was a living thing, tangible and wanting, and then Murphy snapped on the electric light. They all squinted and blinked at each other, Murphy looking rather baggy around the eyes.
There was a desk and a chair against one of the walls, and strewn on top of the desk was the detritus that gathered on a three day stakeout - an out-of-date copy of The Sun, two tea-stained mugs, a chewed biro, a chipped ashtray filled with cigarette butts, empty cans of Coke and a few crumpled crisp packets. An official grey cardboard file and notebook sat importantly to one side, looking out of place, and a paperback book was splayed open on the orange plastic chair. The room held an unpleasant tang of old tobacco.
Murphy picked up the notebook and flipped through it to the latest entries.
“This is the record of what’s been happening - and absolutely nothing has,” he said, handing it over to Doyle. “We’ve been watching a closed door and empty windows - not even a mouse has twitched its whiskers. It’s a waste of time; we should just go in there and find out for sure. Snouts aren’t always right.”
Doyle pursed his lips but didn’t reply, instead studying the records in the notebook. There was little to be gathered, so he held it out to Bodie who shook his head, and then chucked it back on the desk.
“Still, here we are,” he said lightly, perching on the desk and drawing the grey folder closer to him. He flipped it open, black and white portraits of frowning men stared back at him, slabs of flesh and bone with flint-chipped eyes.
“There is one thing…” Murphy said. “It’s probably nothing, mind. But… well, it’s odd.”
“Go on,” said Bodie, hands deep in his pockets.
“Well it may be nothing as I said, certainly nothing to go in a report. But when we first got here we checked the entire building, you know the drill, making sure it’s secure, and all was fine, it’s completely boarded up down there. But on my last once round the ground floor one of the boards by the front entrance had slipped - it was letting in more daylight than usual. So I checked it out and there is no way someone could have got in, the gaps not even big enough for a kid. But… it just seems odd.”
Doyle rubbed his nose as he contemplated this. “I don’t suppose our surveillance covers the front entrance of our own building?”
“Well that’s just it, it doesn’t,” Murphy said. “See we’re supposed to be watching them over there, not, well, watching them watching us over here. And there’s probably nothing more to it than the wind and an old building.”
“And you say no one could’ve got in here? You sure of that, Murph? Don’t want to be a sitting duck,” said Bodie.
“Positive, there were no other gaps and everything is as secure as when we first started surveillance. If anyone was testing for a weak point that's a good place to start, but then they, whoever they are, would know we're here, and this is a closed operation, isn’t it? Or at least, that was the brief I got. Things have a habit of changing”
They exchanged a rueful smiles , and then Bodie turned, breaking the moment. “Oh well, food for thought. What you reading here?”
“Uh, yeah, let me just…” Murphy reached across, but Bodie grabbed it first, turning to see the title and then looking up, grinning broadly. He chucked it across to Doyle, who took one glance at the cover and shared the same grin.
“Oh God…” Murphy recognised those looks - new ammunition, that’s what those looks were. “Give it here.”
Doyle handed it to him, still grinning. “So, fancy yourself a super-spy, do you?”
“Didn’t know your first name was James…” Bodie mused, looking up at the ceiling.
Murphy shook his head in resignation, and stooped to grab his bag, picking up Lucas’s as an afterthought. “Save it for another day, fellers, ‘m too knackered,” he said, tucking his book away. “The only other info to share is that the loo is back down the corridor, second on the left, broken flush. Have fun!”
He snapped the light off so all three were temporarily blind, before opening the door and walking into the main room, moonlight and a few street lights competing for prominence through the gaps in the blinds.
A quick glance was all it took to decide, and Bodie moved behind Lucas, tapping him on the shoulder and taking over by the window. Lucas stretched and cracked his back, sighing in relief.
“Thank fuck for that,” was all he said and quickly caught his bag as Murphy chucked it over.
“C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,” Murphy said, heaving his own bag over his shoulder.
“In his Aston Martin,” added Bodie without turning.
“Cheers for that Bodie,” Murphy said, and paused in the doorway as he was about to follow Lucas out of the room. He looked back towards them.
“You know - where we've set up surveillance is probably the only place in the building where the front entrance is a blind spot. Just a thought,” and he nodded towards them and left, his footsteps echoing through the deserted building before they heard the sound of a door closing in the distance.
“I think I prefer Columbo,” Bodie said flatly.
Doyle busied himself putting the sports bag down on a table, setting out a thermos and a couple of Tupperware containers.
“So was it ham and coleslaw?” asked Bodie hopefully.
Doyle grinned, and brought one of the containers over to Bodie. “Not quite…”
Bodie fished in the container without taking his eyes off the binoculars, and bit into the sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “Lemon curd. Please tell me they're not all lemon curd.”
Doyle sniggered and took the container away, fixing the lid back on. “The others are cheese I think. Want one?”
“And that’s how we’re going to win the war is it, on flipping cheese and lemon curd? I think I’ll pass, thank you. I’ll save it until I'm so hungry I don’t care what I’m eating.”
“So,” Doyle made a show of looking at his watch, despite the fact Bodie couldn’t see him, “that will be around half an hour then?”
“Probably,” agreed Bodie rather forlornly, so much so that Doyle had to go over and ruffle his hair. He then walked around him and peered through the blind slats again.
“Right, I’m going to check out the other floors, there might be something in Murphy’s bedtime story.”
“Take your RT,” was the rather terse reply, but Doyle still smiled at the thought behind it, grabbing his RT from the bag before leaving the room.
Five minutes was all it took to dismiss the rooms on their floor, most no longer had doors, and all were empty apart from theoverturned table. That left the dark mouth of the stairwell, yawning blackly up at him. He peered over the banister, seeing the glint of the handrail continue down to the ground floor. Some light filtered through from the grimy windows, but the overall effect was like peering into a cave. After a second’s hesitation he drew his gun. It was a good thing he'd given up being scared of ghosts years ago, he thought, as he descended into the darkness. Although ghosts were tame compared to how evil some humans could be.
o0o
Part Two
This is Halloween
The corridor was surprisingly empty when Doyle shouldered his way through the double doors, one hand holding the straps of a large black sports bag. He stopped for a moment, his attention caught by the unusual peace of the building. When CI5 HQ was like this it was only too easy to imagine that everyone had buggered off to save the world without him.
He snorted at his own imagination, and let the door loudly bang shut behind him, the echo bouncing distantly down the stairwell. Yeah, maybe they’d all been abducted by aliens and Cowley had been turned into an angry Scottish blob…
Sudden movement on his left and he whirled around to see a figure reel forward with blank slits for eyes and an evil devil’s grin. He took a step backwards, and perhaps the mask-wearer noticed the twitch of his hand towards gun belt, as McCabe quickly took it off.
“Gave you a scare did I?” he said. “Wooo!”
He waved the mask in front of Doyle, who batted it away from him in disgust. “Had you going for a bit though, didn’t I?” McCabe said, turning the mask around to face him and grinning down at its wicked sneer.
“Had me going with that? Don’t be soft,” said Doyle, choosing to ignore the way his heart had thumped when McCabe had burst out of… His eyes narrowed. “Were you hiding in the cleaner’s cupboard?”
“No,” McCabe said instantly. “I was looking for something.”
“You were bloody hiding!”
“I wasn’t! I was looking for…some…cleaning…stuff. Well, alright, I was hiding - I wanted to see what sort of effect the mask had. Requisitioned it from a theatre in Hackney. Thought it might come in useful - Halloween an’ all that.”
“Don’t tell me you buy into all that nonsense! Festival of the dead, candle in the western window?”
McCabe looked puzzled. “Er… nah… I just thought I might frighten my bird and comfort her when she’s a bit scared if you know what I mean.”
“If you're still going with Marie in accounts then she’ll have you in a head-lock the minute you try - I saw her take on Susie the other day at the gym, even Macklin was impressed…”
“Wrestling Susie, was she?” McCabe said, perking up.
“…And aren’t you supposed to be convalescing instead of haunting the corridors?”
“Made it to light duties,” McCabe said, experimentally flexing his hand. He winced.
“Shouldn’t have caught a bullet then should you?”
The sound of a door opening down the corridor distracted them, and Doyle turned to see his partner exiting Cowley’s office looking lost in thought. McCabe slipped the mask back over his head. “Oooo Bodie!” he called in a wavering voice.
Bodie glanced up from where he’d been contemplating his shoes. “Suits you Mac, definite improvement. Alright Ray?”
They left McCabe behind them giving the mask a doubtful once-over, and continued down the corridor.
“We’re supposed to be relieving Murphy in twenty minutes, we’ll never make Kings Cross on time now, not with the rush hour.” Doyle looked at his watch.
“We’re giving Murphy relief in Kings Cross? My reputation will be forever sullied,” said Bodie, barging through the door to the stairs.
“I knew it, the minute I bloody opened my mouth…” Doyle thumped Bodie on the back and they both clattered down the stairs, footsteps amplified by a concrete echo. “Anyway, what did Cowley want with you?”
Rain lashed against the window, blown by a determined wind, and Doyle glanced up and frowned. Stakeouts were bad enough in good weather, let alone at night when you could barely see anyway, with rain pissing down and the chill seeping through derelict old buildings...
“Cold spots,” said Bodie quite decisively.
“Eh?” Doyle said, and he jumped down the last four steps with a surprising burst of energy, almost bouncing into a startled Chief of Security in the foyer.
“Watch yourself, lad,” Fred said with a frown, as he walked ponderously up the stairs. “Could’ve done me an injury.”
“Alright, sorry!” replied Doyle, feeling rather put-upon. He turned back to look at Bodie. “What did you say?”
“What Cowley said,” Bodie said, and winced as Doyle opened the main door, gusts of cold wind blowing around them. “Freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here.”
“Cowley said that?”
“Not quite that, no,” Bodie said with a grin, as they plunged into the rain, and across the slick shining tarmac of the car park. “Did you go to the canteen?”
“Yeah, everything’s in the bag - it’s a CI5 special tonight old son,” replied Doyle, quickly unlocking the driver’s door and sliding in, leaning over to open the passenger door. He threw the bag on the back seat.
Bodie folded himself in the passenger side, and looked over questioningly at Doyle. “Ham?”
Doyle gave a brief shake of his head, grinned disarmingly, and started the engine. The car roared into life, lights illuminating an odd assortment of CI5 vehicles - Cowley’s Jaguar, an old white van, a blue Morris Minor and, strangely, a milk float.
“Stuart’s,” Doyle said, seeing Bodie stare at it. “Gets him around un-noticed, so he said.”
“What - as a milk bottle?” asked Bodie, wiping a stray raindrop from his forehead.
Doyle laughed, one of his genuine dirty chuckles that seemed to roll around the car with a life of its own. It tugged an answering grin from Bodie, always surprised at being able to amuse him so.
“Ah, he’s not so bad, is Stuart. Just been working on his own for a long time - you know how it gets.” Doyle put the car into gear, checked over his shoulder and pulled out in one fluid movement, pausing only briefly at the exit of the car park before finding a gap in the early evening Whitehall traffic.
Bodie stayed diplomatically silent. He’d had less opportunity to work with Stuart, but the few times he'd done so the man had always made some smug pronouncement that had set Bodie’s teeth on edge.
Doyle chuckled again. “So go on, what actually did Cowley want with you? Why did you say coleslaw?”
“Eh?” Bodie looked genuinely confused. “What - the sandwiches? Ham and coleslaw?”
Now it was Doyle’s turn to look confused. “I think we’re missing something.”
Bodie took a quick look down at himself. “You might be, whereas I, on the other hand, am a perfect physical specimen.”
“Yeah, in a jungle with no one else around.”
“So me Tarzan, you…”
“Don’t you bloody say it. Me Tarzan, you Cheeta, more like.”
“I never cheat! Straight down the line, that’s me.”
“And bent in the bed.”
It took a moment until enough composure could be found in the car to answer the insistent buzzing of the two-way radio.
“Bodie I’ve got 6.2… are you alright? You sound a bit peculiar.” Jane’s crisp precise tones sounded clearly through the radio.
Doyle was still laughing in the background.
“I feel peculiar. No I’m fine sweetheart, patch him through,” said Bodie, wiping a tear away under his eyes.
A crackle announced Murphy’s irritated tones loudly over the wire.
“Oi, Bodie, what are you two still doing in the car? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago! Not sure if it’s escaped your attention, fellers, but me and Lucas here have been eyeballing this warehouse for three days straight now.”
Bodie grimaced. “Yeah alright mate, we got held up.”
“We!” Doyle snorted beside him, not taking his eyes off the road, foot on the accelerator.
Bodie flicked his gaze towards Doyle. “We’ll be there in ten, well, five the way Nigel Mansell here’s driving.”
“Well thank God for that, me eyes are going brick-shaped. And Lucas lost his power of speech around two o’clock.”
“Every cloud, and all that.” Bodie looked over at Doyle, his high amusement revealed by a tiny glimpse of pink tongue.
Murphy sounded exasperated. “He may’ve lost his power of speech, but he hasn’t lost his power to hum, it’s driving me round the twist. If he does ‘Following in Father’s Footsteps’ one more time I won’t be responsible. What was that god-awful pub you told him about? I need to know where to avoid.”
“Oh that’s Doyle’s favourite, that is. Hang on…” Bodie responded to Doyle’s gesture by holding the radio over to his mouth.
“Murph, it’s not so much the song, as who sings it. You ask Bodie.”
“I know who bleeding hums it, that’s for sure. Aren't you here yet? I have a date with my bed.”
“Your social life is riveting.”
“My social life is doing very nicely I’ll have you know.” Murphy sounded smug.
“What - pulled at last have you? Who's the unlucky bird?”
“A very nice little blonde is who it is, and no, there won’t be any introductions.”
Bodie stole a glance at Doyle. “That’s alright, I’m sticking with Jane. Woah!”
“Bodie? You alright?” Murphy sounded concerned.
“Car swerved. Think Doyle here should go in again for his advanced… anyway, won’t be long Murph.”
He hastily broke the connection as Doyle had a rather wild glint in his eye. The warehouses of Kings Cross loomed on either side of the road, street lights indistinct despite the glooming of the day.
“So,” said Bodie, “Cowley.”
“Yeah, start again with that one,” said Doyle, swinging the car around into a side street, looking for a safe place to park up for the night.
“Apparently Ruth told him she thinks my old flat is haunted.”
“Your old flat?” Doyle said, looking at him in disbelief.
“Yeah. The one in Bethnal Green. Apparently she toldhim it has cold spots and funny noises.”
“Cold - spots?”
Doyle chuckled to himself and brought the car to a rest between a skip and a Morris Minor that had seen better days. He continued, with more than a hint of derision.
“You’re telling me the Cow took that seriously? He was never asking you about cold spots and things that go bump in the night, I don’t believe it.”
“You’re right, he wasn’t. He was asking if I thought it was likely to have been compromised. Bugged,” he clarified.
“Now that makes more sense,” Doyle agreed, reaching for the sports bag. He turned back with a frown. “I don’t remember any strange noises, do you? Can’t have been while we were there.”
“Moaning, groaning, rattling of chains - we probably wouldn’t have noticed,” said Bodie, looking at Doyle with affection.
“Oh yeah,” said Doyle, with nostalgia. “We better bloody hope it wasn’t bugged! We weren't exactly discreet!”
“Nah - that night was, what - six months ago? More? If we were being bugged then we’d have heard about it by now. If it was our side, their side, whatever side - they’d definitely have made contact.”
Doyle shifted in his seat. “Depends what case they're building.”
“Oi! You're not regretting it, are you?”
And there was Bodie in front of him, Bodie of the blue eyes and impossible long lashes, with a strange note of vulnerability in his voice.
“Don’t be daft,” Doyle said, eyeing the road and the car mirror, before reaching his hand around Bodie’s neck, feeling the shiny smoothness of his black leather jacket, the heat of his skin. He applied pressure, and Bodie came willingly to him, their mouths meeting, hot and urgent.
“Windows,” said Bodie when he pulled back after a few stolen moments, looking up and through the windscreen.
“I already checked,” replied Doyle, his voice full of warmth. He opened the car door and let in the greedy cold air. “Some agent you are.”
They were outside now, and walking briskly between the buildings. A cat yowled from somewhere close by, and glass crunched underfoot. The darkness was heavy, a thick blanket pressing down from the sky, threadbare patches letting through an occasional glimmer of star.
“Nice neighbourhood this,” Bodie commented.
“What did you expect, the Ritz?”
“I wouldn’t mind the Ritz. A few upmarket villains here and there would be nice,” said Bodie, twisting his foot slightly on some rubble. “Bloody place.”
Doyle was checking upwards, looking at fire escapes. “This one, isn’t it?”
“Red carpet, garlands of flowers, finest wines, can’t you tell?” replied Bodie, eyeing up the rickety iron steps, the litter drifting around, and the crumpled cans of Special Brew.
“Well come on then, our welcome awaits.” Doyle easily jogged up the steps, shadows playing across him as he moved. Bodie followed behind, admiring the view. Five floors up there was the unmistakeable tall shape of Murphy leaning against an open door.
“Oh finally,” was his heartfelt greeting, as they followed him into the narrow corridor. The door clicked softly shut, and then the blackness from outside was in with them. They navigated by the grey light that fell through open doorways either side of the corridor. Bodie peered in one; the otherwise empty room had an upended table at one side. The blank windows reflected an indecisive moon ducking away behind the clouds, and a breeze whipped in through a broken pane. Cold spots, thought Bodie vaguely, following Doyle and Murphy onwards into the building.
Six doors down, and Murphy turned into a larger room. Lucas was silhouetted against the pale wall at the side of the window, a tattered blind inadequately covering the dirty panes of glass. The binoculars were set up on a stand, trained to focus through the gaps in the slats.
“Does this mean we can leave? Bloody hell, miracles will never cease,” Lucas’s sarcastic tones cut through the room, although he made no move yet to vacate his post.
Bodie stepped up to the window and peered down. Across the road was the warehouse hiding the suspected arms cache. The doorway looked derelict, the windows bland and blind.
“Any movement?” he asked Lucas.
“Nope.”
“We saw your partner lounging around HQ. He sends his love,” said Doyle, also peering through the blind.
The only reply to that was a heartfelt ‘bastard’ from behind the binoculars.
“Come though here, and I’ll fill you on what’s been happening, this room’s safe,” said Murphy, beckoning them over to what looked like a small store cupboard.
He waited until they were both inside, and then he shut the door. For a moment the dark was a living thing, tangible and wanting, and then Murphy snapped on the electric light. They all squinted and blinked at each other, Murphy looking rather baggy around the eyes.
There was a desk and a chair against one of the walls, and strewn on top of the desk was the detritus that gathered on a three day stakeout - an out-of-date copy of The Sun, two tea-stained mugs, a chewed biro, a chipped ashtray filled with cigarette butts, empty cans of Coke and a few crumpled crisp packets. An official grey cardboard file and notebook sat importantly to one side, looking out of place, and a paperback book was splayed open on the orange plastic chair. The room held an unpleasant tang of old tobacco.
Murphy picked up the notebook and flipped through it to the latest entries.
“This is the record of what’s been happening - and absolutely nothing has,” he said, handing it over to Doyle. “We’ve been watching a closed door and empty windows - not even a mouse has twitched its whiskers. It’s a waste of time; we should just go in there and find out for sure. Snouts aren’t always right.”
Doyle pursed his lips but didn’t reply, instead studying the records in the notebook. There was little to be gathered, so he held it out to Bodie who shook his head, and then chucked it back on the desk.
“Still, here we are,” he said lightly, perching on the desk and drawing the grey folder closer to him. He flipped it open, black and white portraits of frowning men stared back at him, slabs of flesh and bone with flint-chipped eyes.
“There is one thing…” Murphy said. “It’s probably nothing, mind. But… well, it’s odd.”
“Go on,” said Bodie, hands deep in his pockets.
“Well it may be nothing as I said, certainly nothing to go in a report. But when we first got here we checked the entire building, you know the drill, making sure it’s secure, and all was fine, it’s completely boarded up down there. But on my last once round the ground floor one of the boards by the front entrance had slipped - it was letting in more daylight than usual. So I checked it out and there is no way someone could have got in, the gaps not even big enough for a kid. But… it just seems odd.”
Doyle rubbed his nose as he contemplated this. “I don’t suppose our surveillance covers the front entrance of our own building?”
“Well that’s just it, it doesn’t,” Murphy said. “See we’re supposed to be watching them over there, not, well, watching them watching us over here. And there’s probably nothing more to it than the wind and an old building.”
“And you say no one could’ve got in here? You sure of that, Murph? Don’t want to be a sitting duck,” said Bodie.
“Positive, there were no other gaps and everything is as secure as when we first started surveillance. If anyone was testing for a weak point that's a good place to start, but then they, whoever they are, would know we're here, and this is a closed operation, isn’t it? Or at least, that was the brief I got. Things have a habit of changing”
They exchanged a rueful smiles , and then Bodie turned, breaking the moment. “Oh well, food for thought. What you reading here?”
“Uh, yeah, let me just…” Murphy reached across, but Bodie grabbed it first, turning to see the title and then looking up, grinning broadly. He chucked it across to Doyle, who took one glance at the cover and shared the same grin.
“Oh God…” Murphy recognised those looks - new ammunition, that’s what those looks were. “Give it here.”
Doyle handed it to him, still grinning. “So, fancy yourself a super-spy, do you?”
“Didn’t know your first name was James…” Bodie mused, looking up at the ceiling.
Murphy shook his head in resignation, and stooped to grab his bag, picking up Lucas’s as an afterthought. “Save it for another day, fellers, ‘m too knackered,” he said, tucking his book away. “The only other info to share is that the loo is back down the corridor, second on the left, broken flush. Have fun!”
He snapped the light off so all three were temporarily blind, before opening the door and walking into the main room, moonlight and a few street lights competing for prominence through the gaps in the blinds.
A quick glance was all it took to decide, and Bodie moved behind Lucas, tapping him on the shoulder and taking over by the window. Lucas stretched and cracked his back, sighing in relief.
“Thank fuck for that,” was all he said and quickly caught his bag as Murphy chucked it over.
“C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,” Murphy said, heaving his own bag over his shoulder.
“In his Aston Martin,” added Bodie without turning.
“Cheers for that Bodie,” Murphy said, and paused in the doorway as he was about to follow Lucas out of the room. He looked back towards them.
“You know - where we've set up surveillance is probably the only place in the building where the front entrance is a blind spot. Just a thought,” and he nodded towards them and left, his footsteps echoing through the deserted building before they heard the sound of a door closing in the distance.
“I think I prefer Columbo,” Bodie said flatly.
Doyle busied himself putting the sports bag down on a table, setting out a thermos and a couple of Tupperware containers.
“So was it ham and coleslaw?” asked Bodie hopefully.
Doyle grinned, and brought one of the containers over to Bodie. “Not quite…”
Bodie fished in the container without taking his eyes off the binoculars, and bit into the sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “Lemon curd. Please tell me they're not all lemon curd.”
Doyle sniggered and took the container away, fixing the lid back on. “The others are cheese I think. Want one?”
“And that’s how we’re going to win the war is it, on flipping cheese and lemon curd? I think I’ll pass, thank you. I’ll save it until I'm so hungry I don’t care what I’m eating.”
“So,” Doyle made a show of looking at his watch, despite the fact Bodie couldn’t see him, “that will be around half an hour then?”
“Probably,” agreed Bodie rather forlornly, so much so that Doyle had to go over and ruffle his hair. He then walked around him and peered through the blind slats again.
“Right, I’m going to check out the other floors, there might be something in Murphy’s bedtime story.”
“Take your RT,” was the rather terse reply, but Doyle still smiled at the thought behind it, grabbing his RT from the bag before leaving the room.
Five minutes was all it took to dismiss the rooms on their floor, most no longer had doors, and all were empty apart from theoverturned table. That left the dark mouth of the stairwell, yawning blackly up at him. He peered over the banister, seeing the glint of the handrail continue down to the ground floor. Some light filtered through from the grimy windows, but the overall effect was like peering into a cave. After a second’s hesitation he drew his gun. It was a good thing he'd given up being scared of ghosts years ago, he thought, as he descended into the darkness. Although ghosts were tame compared to how evil some humans could be.
o0o
Part Two