Round Robin - Start

[empty-mirrors.livejournal.com]

The crowd milled, mindless government employees chattered, drinks were supped. Feeling like a cross between a stuffed shirt and a spare groom at a wedding, Bodie worried at his bow tie and tossed a hopeful look at his partner. For two hours they'd suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous speeches, surely no one would miss them if they slipped out now. Duty done. They'd had plans for this evening, and none of them involved the brainless blondes from the Home Office that Doyle was busy chatting up.

Much to Bodie's annoyance, Doyle ignored him. That would never work. If he wanted to Doyle to himself - and the aforementioned plans had included just the two of them in Bodie's bed - he had to at least get Doyle to listen.

In such circumstances, there was only one solution, and that was rhubarb.

Leaning forward, so his chin propped uncomfortably on Doyle's shoulder, Bodie gave the idea a whirl. "Rhubarb."

The conversation ground to a halt as all attention turned his way. Bodie grinned. Mission accomplished. "It's what extras say in crowd scenes," he offered by way of explanation.

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Part 17

[myrebelcat.livejournal.com]

“There!” said Bodie suddenly. He used his pistol to point, and Doyle followed the line of his arm to see something dart silently behind the statuary.

One shared glance, and then together they charged. The spooky atmosphere of the graveyard receded. Monuments and mausoleums became simple terrain. The darkness shielded them, and the moon created shifting shadows to throw off the enemy’s aim.

Bodie ducked under the spreading wings of a larger than life-sized stone angel. “Halt!”

His target dove sideways. Bodie heard a grunt and a thud. Rounding the wall of a tomb, he found Doyle on the ground grappling with the man – who appeared to be making a surprisingly good account of himself.

Bodie jammed the nose of his Browning under his target’s ear. The man froze, the heel of his palm half an inch from Doyle’s nose. Then, slowly, he sat back on his heels and lifted his hands.

Doyle climbed to his feet, dusting himself off. “All right, who the hell are you? And what are you doing sneaking around here in the middle of the night?”

“I vas not sneaking!” replied their prisoner in a heavy Russian accent. “Und I do not appreciate being man-handled!”