May. 3rd, 2008

[identity profile] probodie.livejournal.com
“Depends which entrance you meant,” whispered Doyle, much to the amusement of his partner.

With difficulty, the two men forced their faces into those of professional, alert CI5 agents. Clambering to their feet, they turned to watch Cowley limp up to them.

“Sorry sir, it was like this. Doyle told me to-“

“I don’t want to know what 4.5 told you to do. If he told you to jump off a cliff, would you?” Cowley replied, glaring at his two most troublesome agents. “Don’t answer that Bodie. I haven’t walked all this way to banter with you. Here.”

He handed a large brown envelope to Doyle who promptly removed the contents. The envelope contained three large but grainy black and white photos of two men. Although the images were dark, they were well defined and they burnt fiercely in the eyes of the two agents. A single glance between them was enough for them to realise they were in deep shit.

“Sir...I....we...” Doyle tailed off, unable to complete the sentence; not even knowing what he could have said.

“I don’t want your excuses, 4.5. I want to know how, why, when. I want to know why you didn’t tell me. And then I want your armoury and your IDs. As of ten minutes ago, you two are suspended.”

Not a laughing matter, thought Doyle, even as the idea of using a line from a recent television programme crept into his mind.

Not even Cowley would buy the ‘it was the gay serum’ line.
[identity profile] draycevixen.livejournal.com
 


Doyle could read it in the set of Bodie’s shoulders, that he was about to jump off that cliff Cowley had mentioned, but it was too late to stop him.

 

“Yes Sir. In that case, Sir.” Bodie snapped to attention. “Because 4.5 in evening wear inspires only two impulses in me… and I can’t write a sonnet. The Embassy ball. I actually thought that you might suspend us.” Bodie looked at Doyle. “I think I missed one.”

 

“The first one. How?”

 

“Thanks mate. Well, it’s like this Sir, when one CI5 agent likes another CI5 agent very, very much—”

 

“Enough Bodie.”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

Cowley swung the full force of his attention to Doyle.

 

“So these photos were taken after the Embassy ball, 4.5?”

 

“No sir.”

 

“But Bodie said—”

 

At the Embassy ball, Sir.”  Doyle handed the photos to Bodie.

 

“In the broom cupboard, to be exact, Sir.”  

 

“I told you to be quiet 3.7. So who took these photos, 4.5?”

 

“No idea Sir.”

 

“If you hope to salvage your careers, I suggest you find out fast.”

 

“Well we’ve got one clue at least Ray.” Bodie glanced again at the photos. “He’s a very talented photographer. Really captured your best side.”

 

“That’s not my face, Bodie.” 

 

 

[identity profile] hambelandjemima.livejournal.com

“No it’s not,” Bodie agreed, smirking. “I always say your best asset is your—”
 
“Thank you, 3.7,” Cowley interrupted, dryly, and turned his attention to both men. “It’s hardly a laughing matter. With the annual budget due for renewal next month, the last thing I need is a scandal to queer up the system.”
 
Bodie sniggered, which turned into a cough as he felt his boss’s eyes burn into him.
 
“There wasn’t a note with them, sir?” Doyle asked, ignoring Bodie in case he started giggling like the girl he most definitely wasn’t. He turned the envelope over in his hands, looking for some clue as to who could have sent it.
 
“No, that’s all there was. And there were no prints on anything either, before you ask,” Cowley replied, pre-empting Doyle’s next question. He went on, briskly, “You have one week, gentlemen, to find out who took these photographs and what they intend to do with them. All without bringing the department into disrepute any more than you usually do. I’ll have your IDs and armoury now.”
 
Five guns and two knives were deposited in the duffle bag Cowley held open, along with two CI5 IDs. He secured the bag and hesitated before holding out a hand.
 
“Good luck…. Doyle,” he said.
 
Surprised, Doyle looked at his partner and received a puzzled shrug in reply. He gripped the older man’s hand in a firm handshake. “Thank you, sir,” he managed to say.
 
Cowley turned to Bodie who took the proffered hand with some reluctance.
 
“Good luck, Bodie.”
 
“Thank you, sir.”
 
Doyle half expected to see a salute from the ex-Para, so rigid was his stance.
 
They watched the Old Man limp away to the red Granada that was waiting silently by the gates.
 
Bodie leaned into Doyle, shoulders brushing together.
 
“Did he just…?”
 
“Yeah, I think he did.”
 
“But he called me by my name,” Bodie said, incredulously, shaking his head. “Things are bad, mate.”
 
“Yeah.” Doyle looked around him. “I don’t know about you, but I feel kind of exposed—”
 
He caught sight of Bodie leering at his crotch, and finished off, “— without my gun.” He punched Bodie on the upper arm without malice. “You must have something stashed away somewhere?”
 
“Yeah. Rifles, a machine gun, one revolver. That’s all. We’ll need to get kitted out. Can you get your hands on some serious cash?”
 
Doyle nodded, frowning. “Where are we going?”
 
Bodie kept his face expressionless. “To see Marty Martell.”

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