Discovered in a Christmas Card - January 5 2017 - The Deviousness of Wise Men by KWS - Part 1

[kiwisue.livejournal.com]

I had 1500 or so words hidden on my hard drive from a few years ago, a sequel of sorts to my Discovered in the Mistletoe challenge fic from 2006-7. There's an extra 10k words here - no, I'm not sure how I got that many either.

You can read my old fic or jump straight into this one. Apart from a certain plot point involving Susan (which you find out about pretty much straight away) it stands on its own.



"Another pot of tea, sir?"

"No, thank you." The woman looked relieved. Doyle glanced at his watch – after four-thirty. It was still the off-season by a hair; he was the only customer left in the shop and all the large cakes had been cleared from the display cases. Susan was late. Very late, since he'd agreed to meet her an hour before. After two pots of tea he was swimming in the stuff and his bladder was protesting.

As he started wondering whether it was time to call it a day or not, Susan swept into the shop and over to his table.

"Sorry I'm late. Can we go somewhere else? Just to be on the safe side." She was as stylishly dressed as ever, in a light grey skirt with a fitted grey tweed jacket over a high-necked blouse that toned with the tinted lenses in her oversized sunglasses.

"Don't fancy talking to the sugar bowl then? All right," he added hastily when she looked annoyed. Susan wasn't very patient at the best of times and she seemed on edge today.

He paid for his teas and they walked out into the street.

There was a riverside park not far away, which he suggested as a quiet place for their meeting, and she agreed. There was even a public convenience handy, which he ducked into to get rid of the tea. Windsor on a weekday afternoon or not, off the High Street and away from the Castle the streets were fairly quiet.

It was a few months since he'd last seen Susan; since she'd been seconded to MI6 following Cowley's crackdown on "agent fraternisation". She'd reported starting a relationship with Murphy and this awkward situation was the unpalatable result.

They strolled through the gardens until they found a park bench in a quiet spot that was still lit by the sun as it by now it was well into its afternoon descent. The air was nippy: late afternoon, early spring. Doyle was glad he had a scarf. The only other person nearby was a middle-aged man who had brought his Labrador dog for an excursion in the crisp air. He was also very well-wrapped in coat, scarf and cap. He wore a hearing aid and walked with a slight limp, for which he used an ordinary walking stick.

"All right, Susie, what have you got for me?" He moved close to her and spoke quietly.

"About as much as you've got for me I hope," she responded crisply. "Willis knows I'm meeting you. I have to bring back something worthwhile."

"Ah… you show me yours and…."

Susan took off her glasses. "Don't be daft, Doyle. I'm not in the mood."

She looked almost as good as the last time he'd seen her, but there were hints of wear and tear that he could detect around her eyes, muscular stress markers that showed even though her skin was otherwise smooth and clear.

"Okay. Blackmail, then. Of a high level civil servant by the name of Pemberton. He had his fingers in a couple of dodgy deals but not enough to get nicked for them. When he got the job of coordinating the trade talks with Burani, though, some not so friendlies got in touch, demanded information in exchange for silence about his other activities. Khalid, the diplomatic attaché, is in it up to his eyeballs. We’re not sure whether it’s political points-scoring or something more mercenary, but Cowley decided a bent civil servant's a matter for CI5 so we’ve been investigating. Everything points to something happening after the Trougham Hall conference this weekend."

Susan nodded. "Good work on Khalid, I don’t think he’s on anyone’s radar at the office. I'll tell them not to cross territories. Next?"

"Still chasing Hetherington. Frankly, we don't think we've got an opening there. Any help, and all that."

"He's purely internal, but if we hear anything of interest I'll let you know."

"Your turn".

Susan grimaced. "Suppose so. Baron-Aston. We're on it."

"That one's ours!"

"Not any longer. We've checked the accounts. What Aston's been doing in England is child's play next to his activities in Germany, Tell George the memo requesting the file will be on his desk any day now."

Now that there was a hint of competition in the air, Susan seemed livelier, more like the agent Doyle remembered.

"I could also tell you about the French ambassador's wife's lover, but then I'd have to shoot you."

Doyle chuckled. "I thought he was one of yours anyway. If not, he ought to be. Never seen anyone with so many fake ID's. You want him, you can have him." A pause. "Tell me about Gibraltar."

Susan stiffened. "That's low, Doyle."

"Why? I'm not holding you responsible."

She pursed her lips briefly before she spoke. "I told you, Willis knows I'm meeting you. I can talk about… anything I can talk about, I suppose. Nothing more. After this I go back and I give my report like a good girl, although Willis is so paranoid that he'll suspect me even when I'm telling the truth. And he will ask me if we talked about Gibraltar." Then, a second later, "Damn, you got me. Nice work, Doyle." But she was smiling, as though it didn't matter, as though she was sharing a joke. Doyle felt oddly affected. He'd never been close to Susan, despite respecting her skills as an agent, but she’d earned that respect anew with her acceptance of this latest assignment.

"It can't be easy for you. I don't know if I could handle Willis if I was in your position."

She shrugged. "If I were Willis I wouldn't trust me either. But I do my job. He's got nothing to complain about. Not that it stops him."

"He’s letting you talk to me, isn’t he? It's a good idea. Anything to stop us tripping over each other's feet. Have you seen Murphy? D'you want me to pass on any messages? "

"No and no thanks. You can say we've met, but I don't want my private life open for dissection, thank you."

"I'm sorry. Cowley should've bent the rules."

Susan gave him a scathing look. "Cowley bends the rules as often as he feels like it."

Now that was true, although he wasn't going to tell her how true. Without replying he turned back to the business of exchanging information on any CI5 cases that might cross MI6's brief. All in the interests of interagency co-operation, of course. Or keeping your sibling rivals close, where you could see them. Same thing when it came down to it.

While they were talking the man with the dog passed them again, on his way back to the main gates. It was getting properly chilly now, only a little while until sunset.

Eventually there was nothing left to say. They left the park by a low side gate, emerging onto the promenade by the river. As she walked, Susan poked about in her handbag and retrieved her car keys. Her car was parked near the Castle, she said, so when they came to the next corner it meant goodbye. She'd donned her glasses again, her armour against the world.

"He hasn't forgotten, you know."

"Willis? Just as well – neither's Bodie!"

She shook her head. "All the same, be careful, Doyle. You and Bodie." Then she walked swiftly away. Doyle let her go and walked to his own car, which was parked a little distance away, near the station.

He slipped into the driver's seat and had his keys in the ignition, motor running and foot hovering over the clutch, when he paused, listening to the faint interior prickling that told him something wasn't quite right. As soon as he was able he made a right hand turn back towards Windsor and headed for the corner where he'd last seen Susan. Turning down the side street he saw her standing next to her car, about to open the door. He cruised slowly past. The man from the pub was on the pavement ahead of him, dog leading the way, cane tapping the ground in time with the limp.

In the mirror he saw Susan get into her car and, a moment or two later, her indicator lights flashing in the evening gloom before he reached the end of the street and was forced to correct course so he could get back to the London road.

He mulled things over as he drove. The information Susan had given him wasn't much, but it would help keep CI5 and MI6 from wasting resources battling over each others' territory. What really interested him was not so much what Susan had said about their respective cases, but her comments about bending the rules and Willis' continued resentments over the Schumann affair. Was Willis taking an interest in his relationship with Bodie, or even just keeping eyes on them for personal reasons? It would make life extremely difficult if he knew too much about their private lives. Cowley had guessed, and put in place measures that would protect CI5 if the scandal ever broke, but Willis had a lot of influence and a ruthless streak a mile wide.

Maybe he was over-reacting. He should talk it over with Bodie when he saw him.

******

He checked the other entries in the day book on the way into headquarters. Bodie had signed out two hours ago. There was a message waiting in his pigeon-hole.

*Early start tomorrow, mate. Breakfast - my flat, 6.30 if not before. Bodie*

That made him smile and helped him to set aside his concerns for the time being.

Cowley was still at his desk, waiting for his return.

"Mission accomplished, Doyle?"

"Yes, sir."

"How is Susan?"

"You're not her favourite person. But she doesn't love Willis either."

Cowley chuckled at that. "Very few people do. All right, what did you find out?"

Doyle gave his report, including Susan's last, cryptic message. "I'm not sure what it means."

"Keep your guard up, laddie, that’s all it means. If you didn’t know that already you should start looking for a new job. I’m more interested in what Willis knows about the Pemberton case. More than Susan let on, I’ll wager – I’m sure MI6 has Khalid in their sights too. When is the meeting?"

"Tuesday evening. Pemberton and Undersecretary Mekone will be at the conference tomorrow in support of their respective bosses: if Khalid goes anywhere near the Hall, he won’t be able to contact anyone without coming under our surveillance. If nothing happens, we’ll have a trade deal and on Tuesday Pemberton is our tethered goat."

"Very tidy," Cowley agreed.

Doyle nodded. "Bodie and I are going to Trougham Hall in the morning. Anson’s had a team there for a couple of days, setting the place up. We’ll be ready"

Cowley flipped open a file. "I've read your briefing on the security arrangements. Full of errors, as usual. You type like a drunken Scotsman."

He made Doyle go over the plan in detail. It was a thorough cross-examination and seemed to take a very long time. At last Cowley appeared satisfied.

"Reasonably well done. You need better electronic surveillance in the corridors outside the guest rooms. I'll send Phillips over tonight."

"Will you be there sir?"

“By midday. Hopefully with some fresh intelligence on Khalid and his associates."

There was no more to be said. Doyle glanced at his watch as he left Cowley's office. Almost nine p.m. He decided to ring Bodie before he left rather than wait until he got home.

The phone was answered almost immediately. "Bodie".

"Doyle. I'm still at work, unlike some I could mention. Enjoying your leisure?"

Bodie groaned. "That's an unkind cut. I'm knackered. Spent the afternoon teaching a bunch of coppers the difference between an M1 carbine and an AR-15 on the off-chance they're capable of joining our mob."

"Did they survive?"

"Glowing with health, the lot of them. Hate to say it, mate, but I think we'll be drowning in bobbies next intake."

Doyle was amused. "Despite your best efforts, hey? I've been with Cowley. Got a bit to tell you tomorrow, so don't stay up late. I'll be over *early*, okay?"

"Doyle…"

He hung up. Keeping Bodie on the hop was a good deal of fun sometimes.

Out to his car and home. He was hungry, but reheating a meal from the freezer felt like too much effort, so he cut slices of cheese, fitted slabs of bread around them and shoved the sandwich under the grill. While the bread toasted, he popped open a can of lager, downing a third of it in one long, thirsty swallow.

He liked his own company – in fact he sometimes very much needed to be alone. But he'd been close to suggesting to Bodie that he come over tonight, not tomorrow morning. Only the hour and his own weariness stopped him, and perhaps just an echo of Susan’s warning.

Taking care meant secrecy, meant safety, as they had agreed since the beginning. Although it was difficult at the height of that first heady flush, they'd taken Cowley's less than subtle warning to heart and limited their after-hours contact, especially the overnight stays at each other’s’ flats. And yet - adding to the difficulties their voluntary separation caused was a work problem - Cowley seemed determined to keep them even further apart, often sending them on special assignments alone. Interesting assignments, most of them, like this afternoon’s Windsor jaunt. And Bodie playing instructor with the recruits – he shook his head with wonder. He didn't know what was going on in the Old Man's mind – which wasn't unusual – but he wished that it involved a bit less of the interesting and a lot more of him and Bodie being a team again.

His sandwich started to burn. He pulled it out, gave the other side a perfunctory pass under the grill, and ate the whole thing at the worktop washed down with the lager. After packing the clothes and other things he'd need for the conference weekend, and performing the bare minimum in the way of ablutions, he tumbled into bed and slept.

******

Next morning he got ready in record time and was on Bodie's doorstep not long after six. Bodie answered his knock on the door. He looked as though he'd just had a shower, his usually smooth cap of dark black hair dishevelled, damp tufts sticking out in all directions. He was wearing the white dressing gown Doyle enjoyed so much, with its seamless cut draped across his shoulders, emphasising their bulk, their solidity.

He only realised he'd paused in the doorway when Bode smiled at him and reached out an arm.

"Better come in, then," he said, softly.

Bodie drew him inside, shutting the door behind them and pulling Doyle into his arms in one fluid movement. Then Bodie's mouth was on his, a kiss deep and hot, his body shower-warm and soap-scented pressing against him.

Smug bastard, he thought, dazedly, as Bodie's tongue made a circuit of his lips and teeth. Knows I love him like this, got himself out of bed in plenty of time… The taste and smell of fresh morning on his lover overwhelmed him. He answered in kind. Moments passed.

Reluctantly he pulled away. "We've got…"

Bodie paused an exploration of Doyle's jawline. "How long?"

"We can miss the traffic. Get there at ten. Anson'll cover."

"Bugger Anson."

"No thanks." He pushed his hip against Bodie's groin. Through the fabric of the dressing gown he could feel the heavy pressure of Bodie's cock – hardening, pushing insistently against his thigh. Memories like fire swept through his mind; Bodie's cock in him, his in Bodie. Did he want that this morning? His own cock was getting in on the game as well – his jeans too tight now, he needed to take the pressure off...

Bodie was there before him, easing the zipper down. Released from imprisonment Doyle's cock thrust forward, questing. Bodie stroked it with clever fingers, the slow strokes making Doyle gasp and lean back onto the wall for support.

Another kiss then and Bodie led him towards the bedroom, one arm wrapped around Doyle’s shoulders, his free hand tangling with the buttons on his shirt until they were all undone. Doyle drew the shirt off then; he let it drop across the laundry hamper while Bodie lapped at his exposed flesh. Doyle pulled Bodie’s robe open and pushed him down onto the bed, then he lay down on top so that their cocks nestled comfortably together.

Rising up on both arms he made his hips swivel so their erections kissed and rubbed against each other. Bodie joined in the dance, hips pumping in time with Doyle’s gyrations, building friction and delight until his cock wept a single crystal tear.

Doyle paused then, only to slide down until he could take the big cock into his mouth and suck on it. Bodie continued to thrust, which was fine with Doyle because he loved the feel of the hard shaft sliding between his lips, knowing he was exciting Bodie beyond anything with the pressure and the wet tongue lapping cunningly at his cockhead. He massaged Bodie’s balls for good measure, rolling them gently between his fingers, making Bodie groan.

Bodie was getting close now, his thrusts were wilder, they were hitting the back of Doyle’s throat now. Doyle could take it, but not for long. He drew back a little, and sucked harder. Bodie shuddered under him, even as Doyle reached for his own hardness, gripped it and pumped once, twice, thrice, and more, a quick wrist action that brought him to a peak fast, and then Bodie was coming in Doyle’s mouth and Doyle spilled himself on Bodie’s leg a mere moment later.

Doyle kept Bodie’s cock in his mouth until he swallowed, a gentle, giving pressure that made Bodie almost sigh with the completion of it. Then he slithered back up the bed so he could kiss Bodie again, the taste of him still on his lips, and Bodie held him in a hard embrace that gradually loosened, and they rested together awhile.

******

Despite post-coital languor, second showers and breakfast they were on the road not too long after seven. The house where the meeting was to be held was set in secluded countryside, one hundred acres of which belonged to the house itself, with a larger buffer zone created by surrounding farms. Three hours north of London, it was privately owned by a rich and influential peer who had loaned it to Her Majesty's government on this occasion as 'a favour', which was how Cowley had put it to Doyle.

Doyle had sniggered at that. "Wonder what sort of favour he wants in return, eh? The chance to lick Maggie's shoes?"

Of course it was nothing quite like that. The peer simply wanted the privilege of meeting Mekone’s boss, Vice-President Birhanu, personally. A private talk, that was all, fifteen minutes of His Excellency's precious time.

"And they'll chat about the weather and such, will they?" This time the sneering came from Bodie. "Or the price of oil, diamonds and gold?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought. But according to Cowley that's not how things are done in those circles. There’s the mutual admiration society meeting, then his nibs' factor deals with his other nibs' factor so the top boys can keep their hands clean. While the rest of us…"

"Pay ten pee more per gallon at the pump."

"Cynical, Bodie. Very cynical." He thought for a minute. “Does Burani have oil?”

“Don’t they all?”

“I just thought you would know, since you’ve been in Africa, an’ all.”

“It’s a big place, Doyle,” Bodie grumbled.

They left the M1 for the A45 and another A road after that. Next, a B road, then a turn-off onto a private road which went through open fields for about half a mile before traversing a river and heading up to the house itself, an imposing Elizabethan mansion surrounded by outbuildings and backed by wooded slopes. Doyle stared at the view while Bodie spoke with the CI5 agents stationed at the river bridge. Centuries of bloody tradition – some of it very bloody indeed – were embedded within those walls.

But they had a job ensuring that the progress of diplomacy and trade went unhindered, so they drove across the bridge and into the car park, where Anson met them.

"About time you lot got here. There's a riot in the kitchen needs sorting."

Doyle snorted disbelievingly. He knew Anson well enough to be confident that no such thing had occurred – or, if it had, the man would have dealt with it, firmly and efficiently.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Cook's in a foul temper. Didn't realise some of the guests were Muslims and decided roast pork from the estate would be just the thing for tonight. We've brought in more lamb and beef, but she's worried about the waste." The last few words were spoken in an atrocious attempt at a Scottish accent.

Doyle looked at Bodie: Bodie looked at him, and grinned.

"My job."

"'Atta boy." Doyle clapped him on the shoulder. "Just leave some for the rest of us. I'll go over things without you." Although it wasn't without Bodie, really. It was good just knowing they were both on the case, working together the way they should be, the way things hadn't been, lately. He'd have to have a word with Cowley about that. Maybe. If the auspices were good. Although he seemed to remember that auspices had something to do with sacrifices and reading entrails, so on the whole maybe he would just thank whatever gods there were that they were together for the moment.

Bodie headed for the house while Doyle talked with Anson. "The maps and photos didn’t show the whole estate in detail. What's it like, up there." He gestured at the high ground behind the house.

"Woods to the top then clear slope to the road, about a mile back. We've got observers on the ridge, and a team watching the back of the house in case anyone tries to get through that way. There'll be lighting on both sides of the house tonight and the gardens are pretty clear. I've seen worse.”

“Standard obbo shifts?”

“Yeah. Relief teams – that now includes you and Bodie – swap over every four hours.” While Doyle scanned the area, starting to familiarise himself, Anson reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a cigar and lit it.

"Thought you were giving those up?"

Anson shrugged. "Broke up with Cecilia, didn't I."

Doyle didn't answer. Anson smoked cigars like some other agents drank booze. It was a way of dealing with the life.

"Any changes to the schedule?"

"The main party's due to fly in at four. The Duke'll arrive soon, make sure we haven't nicked any artworks. Pemberton's here already, asking for you. I'll get you squared away, then show you round what we've done. You'll like our doss house."

The "doss house" turned out to be the stable block which was big enough to hold a small wedding party. There were enough rooms for all the teams and three bathrooms between sixteen men. Some rooms had beds, but those that didn’t had been equipped with camping stretchers brought in from a nearby army base. Anson helped him lug their gear from the car into one of the furnished rooms, after which he sorted out his and Bodie's suits, hanging them on a convenient peg on the wall to let the wrinkles fall out. They talked about the mission while he unpacked, and later as they walked around the house.

"Communications? Hope we're not using a 'phone in the kitchen."

"We've supplemented the house with field equipment. Pearse was putting it together but then Phillips got here, which made it easier. Our RT's work inside the grounds and we have shortwave radio as well as telephone upstairs."

Done with the room, they went out and headed for the main house. Bodie hadn’t reappeared, and Doyle strongly suspected he was exercising his charms on the kitchen staff to the benefit of his own stomach. As they walked, Doyle heard a noise overhead. Looking up, he saw a small aeroplane in the sky, circling slowly. That didn’t half look suspicious - he reached for his RT and called the radio room.

"4.5 to Phillips."

"Phillips here," acknowledged the radio operator.

"We're being buzzed by a very persistent bee. Light plane, too high to see the markings."

"What type? There must be dozens."

"Cessna, I think." But he really had no idea. He looked at Anson, who shrugged, blank-faced.

"Okay. I'll see if Control can ID it by the flight plan, warn them away."

"Right. 4.5 out."

He watched the plane for several minutes more as it took lazy turns over the estate. It was beginning to annoy him, especially since there was as yet no response from Phillips. Then Bodie joined them. In each hand he bore a paper napkin on which rested two scones, topped with strawberry jam and cream. He looked up, following Doyle's gaze.

"Piper PA-38 Tomahawk," he pronounced. "Pretty new type – haven't seen many of them around."

Doyle thumbed his RT and gave the details to Phillips. "And find out who owns it and what they're doing up there."

He flipped the RT off and put it away, before protesting at Bodie’s tardiness. "That took you a long time."

Bodie ignored him.

"Here, have these. Yeah, you too," he said to Anson. "Although I don't know what you did to upset Cook, she's a lovely lady." He winked at Doyle. "She's catered for the Queen, you know."

Doyle took the proffered scones. They were warm and the strawberry jam smelled fruity and tasted sweet. Annoyance fled. A couple of minutes later the plane changed course, veering away south.

“Just as well… but I still want to know who they are.”

“I’ll visit Phillips, see what I can do to help,” Bodie offered, earning himself a smile of thanks.

“Right, Well I’d better find 6.1. Have to do our rounds,” Anson said. “You’ll find Phillips in the attic, Bodie. And I believe there are roast pork sandwiches in the kitchen for lunch, unless you’ve eaten them all.”

******

Pemberton was waiting for him in the library, flipping the pages of a book too quickly to be reading much of what was written on them. A brown-haired, slightly balding man. Middle years, middle weight, middle everything. Afraid. Definitely scared – he startled when Doyle walked into the room.

"Any news?"

"Yes. He called this morning. Wants to bring the meeting forward. He’s getting anxious."

"If he calls again, say that you're nervous. Tell him you’re worried someone is bugging your calls. And if he says he'll call you on your car phone, tell him not to. Tell him the line crackles and you're worried that it's been bugged. You want as little contact between the two of as possible before Tuesday."

"He hasn't told me the place yet."

"He will."

Pemberton licked his lips. "It'll be easy to say I'm nervous because I am. God, I wish I'd never….”

"Should have though of that before you got involved. Don't worry, if everything goes according to plan; you'll look like a hero." A tarnished one, but there was no point in mentioning that fact. Pemberton was enough of a realist to understand it for himself. “After all, this trade deal will be a real feather in your cap… all that arab oil…”

Pemberton looked askance. “Is that what you think it’s about? Oil? You couldn’t be more wrong!”

“Oh? Then enlighten me.”

“Groceries.” Pemberton licked his lips. “Coffee, almonds, sugar and spices, all that sort of thing. Burani does have some oil but production is a relatively small proportion of gross domestic product. It’s one of the poorer countries in that region and they’re anxious for better access to European markets.”

“Then why? Khalid’s country can’t be short of a few nuts and what they don’t grow they can buy.”

“They do have large reserves of cash, but it’s heavily concentrated in a few hands. There are many on the outer circle who see opportunities for investment overseas. But being a middleman is a competitive business. Khalid wants to capitalise on the trade deal. If the information I give him about the terms of the deal enables him to get the jump on his competitors, it’s potentially worth millions of pounds.”

Coffee and nuts. So much for the oil. Well, Bodie should like that at least.

“Thank you for the information. Now is the Duke arriving soon?”

“He should be here within the hour.”

“Then we’d better be ready to receive him.”

******

As promised, the duke arrived near midday in a small convoy of Rolls Royces bearing, principally, himself and the trade minister, and a few lesser- ranked civil servants with briefcases. At least Doyle assumed the ones with briefcases were lower on the pay scale – neither the duke nor the minister carried one.

In Cowley’s absence he and Anson introduced themselves. The duke greeted them both civilly, without much apparent interest.

"Pleased to meet you Mr Anson, Mr Doyle." He looked around. "Ah... is Major Cowley here?"

“Not yet, sir. We expect him before the meeting begins”

“Good, good…. I believe the drawing room is set up for the reception and we’ll be in the dining hall for the meetings. Is everything secure?

“You couldn’t get a mouse in there without someone spotting it. We’ll have a couple of men at the reception and outside at all times. We’ll have to inspect any bags anyone wants to bring in as well,” Anson replied, pointing at the nearest briefcase holder.

“Of course. Well, crack on, or whatever it is you lads do.” And with that he and the Minister headed for the main entry where Pemberton was waiting for them. Anson went with them.

Bodie came over after the official party left.

“Phillips found out about that small plane,” he said. “It came from an airfield near Cambridge. Hired by a Miss S Fisher for a ‘scenic flight’ over Northamptonshire.”

“Ah. She didn’t talk about any travel plans yesterday, unless she wanted to keep us in the dark. I wonder why?”

“I don’t think Susie’s all that keen on flying for the sake of it. Are you sure MI6 isn’t interested in these talks?”

Doyle shook his head. “She promised they’d stay off our case. Something must have changed. I don’t like it.”

“And I don’t like your not liking it, although I’m inclined to think the question is who, not why.”

“Willis? You could be right. Susan did say he had his eye on us.”

“And you were going to tell me this – when?” Bodie growled. “Considering I owe him a non-fatal beating, followed by a bullet to the head. Also considering what he might learn if he looks too hard in our direction.”

“This morning. Well, that’s what I thought last night. Seems my mind took a different turn when I got to your place. I forgot, sorry,” he ended, somewhat feebly.

“Okay,” apparently Bodie was no longer aggrieved. In fact a slow smile was starting to form, and a look in his eyes that even a sightless man would have interpreted as lascivious. Doyle smiled too, revisiting the sensations of the morning in a haze of affection for the man standing beside him.

“Of course we’ll have to check our flats for bugs,” Bodie added, chucking a bucket load of cold water over their thoughts.

Doyle groaned. “You don’t think…”

“I think mine is all right. Since Wakeman’s sister tried to redecorate my last place, I’ve been using some warning devices. Nothing’s been disturbed as far as I can tell. If you don’t count the bedroom, of course, which has been left a terrible state. You’re a wriggly little devil between the sheets, you know.” He looked entirely delighted by this, which had the effect of stirring Doyle into an inappropriate state of physical arousal.

“Bodie! Now I’m in no condition to talk to any VIPs!”

“Well, let’s go and see Cook instead. Since we’re on duty in five minutes, I need some sustenance if I’m going to patrol all of this.” He gestured around him.

Bodie and sex. Bodie and food. It was sometimes tough to work out which was motivating him at any given moment.

“I hope she’s got something other than roast pork sandwiches.”

She did, and both men felt fully replete by the time they relieved Anson and Murphy, who headed back to the stables for a few hours rest.

******

The vice-president and Makone arrived on time aboard a Royal Air Force Wessex helicopter, escorted by a pair of Westland Lynxes. The Wessex and one of the escorts landed in a clear area near the kitchen gardens while the other escort flew off.

The trade minister, the Duke, and Cowley (who had arrived a couple of hours earlier and been immediately whisked away inside the house) all greeted the latest arrivals before all retreating again, this time to the reception. One of the other teams took over at this point, and although Bodie and Doyle stayed with the party for a while longer, hoping that Cowley would speak to them, it wasn’t to be.

They retreated to their room, chastened and a little puzzled. There were at least two other teams sharing their rest period in other rooms along the passageway, but they could still converse quietly.

“I’m puzzled,” Doyle admitted. ”He told me he would have news about Khalid, but if he does he’s not saying. Which leaves us where?”

“About where we were when we realised MI6 was stalking us.” Bodie replied.

“How so?”

“Because I have the feeling this whole operation is a masquerade. Khalid’s not going to show, and we still have to worry about Willis. I guess we’ll find out more when we need to.”

Doyle laid back and stared at the ceiling. Typical of Bodie to accept Cowley’s word, or rather lack of it, with confidence. Doyle harboured doubts, as he always did. Doubts, and no answers for any of it.

“Doyle.” Bodie whispered from the other bed. He was lying on his stomach, one arm dangling.

“Hmm…?”

“I can hear the gears turning. Get some rest.”

And Bodie reached out his arm and Doyle responded, so their fingertips touched and slid together in the space between the beds. Then the contact was broken, and they rested for the allotted period until Anson woke them both for their next shift.

******

“That went well sir,” Bodie said as the helicopters rose from the estate for the final time, into the morning sky. “I expected some action, though – Special Branch could have handled it.”

“Perhaps. Drive back with me. I’ll have Williams bring your own car back. We have a lot to talk about.”

Although somewhat puzzled, Bodie handed his keys over to the agent who had driven Cowley from London. They’d already packed so it took little time to transfer their bags into the boot of Cowley’s car. The minister had already left with Pemberton and the assortment of civil servants, copies of the trade agreement in separate briefcases in separate cars.

Bodie drove, although Cowley waited until they reached the motorway again before he spoke.

“Doyle knows I was waiting for reports on Khalid and his whereabouts. He left London a little after you did, you know – aye, I ken fine when that was because I know what time you arrived at the house. We had the police helicopters out, watching his route. He was heading up the M40, and then he turned around! He got to Bicester, almost, and he turned around. Why would he do that?

“Someone warned him off.” Bodie guessed.

“Yes, but warned him off what?” Doyle objected. “Talking to Pemberton? He already tried bringing the meeting forward, maybe he realised he was on a hiding to nothing trying to contact Pemberton at the conference.”

“He did, did he?” Cowley sounded interested.

“That morning. Pemberton didn’t say what time, but it was before we got there.”

“Well, that fits.”

“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

“We need to stage an incident. Khalid will claim diplomatic immunity for himself and his cronies. Withdrawing his diplomatic status would require incontrovertible proof of wrongdoing.”

“Which we wouldn’t get if he’s just driving up the motorway to have a chat with his good friend, Pemberton.” Bodie concluded.

““Exactly! We need to draw him in, and close the trap!”

“Yes, but who warned him off?” Doyle said. “And what’s going on with MI6?

For the moment, these were questions without answers.



Trailer is at the end of Part 2 (following)

Comments

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

How in the world am I the first person here?! I took your story to bed with me last night, and finished it over breakfast this morning, and it was a proper treat - thank you! Nice and long, and oh, our lads proper together without being mushy about it. Spot on - thank you! *g*

[sw33n3y.livejournal.com]

Ooh, this looks like a good read! I'm in LJ catch-up mode, at the moment, so will settle down to read it soon. Thank you and Happy 2017!

[snailbones.livejournal.com]

Oh! Thank you - I'm scrambling to catch up with LJ, and just spotted this - yay! Late night reading, here I come!