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Reverberating Across The Years
by Felicity M. Parkinson
Part 1
And So It Was Set In Motion
When he wanted to, he could move very quietly and he did so now. At the end of the hallway he paused, looked at the keys in his hand and glanced back at the closed bedroom door.
****
April
Bodie thrust the last of the heavies into the waiting police van, then gave a thumbs-up to Murphy, who was waiting to shut the doors.
“The Cow’ll be pleased. We’ve caught ’em red-handed - mopped up the whole gang. Guid work, lads.” Bodie attempted a Scots accent.
“Yeah,” Murphy agreed. He gazed past Bodie. “What’s up with your other half?”
“There’s nothing the matter with Doyle.” Bodie turned and followed Murphy’s gaze. “He’s -”
Doyle was halfway down the street from them, leaning heavily against a parked Jensen. He made no move to join them.
Bodie ran, shouting, “Ray? You okay?” Reaching Doyle he asked, “You hurt? Did they get you?”
“Nah.” But Doyle was pale. “Think my knee’s had it.” He took a breath. “Heard it – like a gunshot. I can’t put any weight on my leg.”
“Damn,” said Bodie. “Hang on to me and I’ll get you to that wall over there.” He carried out his actions as he spoke, seating Doyle on a low wall further along the street. “Murph can go back to HQ and make the report. I’m taking you to Casualty.”
****
September
Bodie waited while Doyle had his check-up with the surgeon who’d operated on his knee. When he eventually emerged from the consulting room, Bodie could see that the news wasn’t good. The look on Doyle’s face told him all he needed to know, without his partner saying a word.
“So they’re not letting you back on the streets just yet?” he asked mildly. “The Mob will be breathing sighs of relief.”
“Very funny,” Doyle snarled, and scowled at him. “Bloody doctors, what do they know? I’m okay.” He marched past Bodie and down the corridor towards the hospital exit.
Bodie walked after him. It wasn’t any good trying to reason with his partner when Doyle was in a temper. He’d learned that a long time ago.
Doyle was waiting for him by the car, moodily kicking a stone around. He said nothing till Bodie had negotiated Hanger Lane and they were on the North Circular, then he suddenly slammed his fist against the door.
“Oi!” Bodie glanced at him. “Leave my car alone. What was the verdict?”
“Pritchard says the knee’ll be okay but never A1. He advised me to start thinking about another job.”
“Pritchard’s an old woman.” Bodie was dismissive. “It’s only been a few months since your op. You’re fitter than most.”
“Yeah but I’m coming up to forty and things aren’t getting any easier in that department. It’s okay for new agents like O’Farrell or Woodford. They’re almost half my age. If they get injured, they bounce back after a couple of weeks. I don’t. And if I’m not up to scratch, then I shouldn’t be on the Squad.”
Bodie tried to sound reasonable. “What would you do instead? I don’t see you as a pen-pusher. You’d just get frustrated.”
“Dunno,” Doyle admitted. “But I’m thinking hard about it.” After a moment he added, “What would you do if I ended up in a desk job? Murph’s a good man – he’d work with you if you wanted it, or maybe one of the younger lads. Thompson’s on the ball. Probably give you a new lease of life.”
They had reached Doyle’s flat. Bodie parked the car and turned off the engine. “Why would I want another partner? And what goes for you, goes for me. I’m only a couple of years younger.”
“But,” said Doyle, opening the passenger door, “you don’t have a gammy knee. And that’s not all. There’s scar tissue from when that Chinese girl – what was her name - Mayli? – shot me. Yes it was some years ago and I recovered. But it wasn’t a complete recovery. Last physical I had, Pritchard warned me I was running on borrowed time in the Squad. The knee’s another reminder that I can’t go on pretending that everything is okay.”
They got out. Bodie locked the Capri and followed Doyle into the flat. The phone was ringing.
“Three-thirty this afternoon? Okay, sir. Dr Pritchard said he was sending you the report. Yes, sir.” Doyle replaced the receiver.
“The Cow?” Bodie asked.
“Who else? Wants to see me this afternoon, and you tomorrow at ten.”
“Why can’t he talk to me today?”
“Ask him yourself. He wasn’t in the best of moods.”
Bodie grinned. “Rather you than me, sunshine. We’ve three hours to kill, so how about food? Your local does a great pie and chips.”
****
Bodie entered the rest room to find Woodford making himself a cup of tea and Murphy reading the Racing Post. He helped himself to coffee.
Woodford asked, “When’s Doyle back on the Squad?”
“Dunno.” Bodie shrugged and sat down. “The quack thinks he needs more time. Doesn’t want to let him loose too soon.”
“Maybe Doyle should come off the A Squad if it’s getting too much for him.”
Murphy put down his newspaper and looked over at Bodie. “You ever think about what you’ll do when you’re no longer considered fit enough to be one of Cowley’s finest?”
“No,” said Bodie firmly, “and Doyle doesn’t either. Pritchard’s a fool.”
Murphy grunted and went back to studying form. Woodford picked up The Sun and turned to page three. Bodie finished his coffee and left the room. He wanted time – and privacy – to consider the unthinkable.
****
Doyle seemed subdued after leaving Cowley’s office.
“You staying tonight?” he asked after they’d returned to his flat.
“Okay,” Bodie said and didn’t question him about the meeting till they’d gone to bed.
“When’s Cowley letting you back on duty?”
“He isn’t.”
“What?” Bodie heaved himself up abruptly.
“No.” Doyle pulled the duvet a bit more to his side of the bed. “Cowley’s taking me off the A Squad – permanently. He showed me the medical report. The body isn’t what it was.”
“Nothing wrong with it in my view.” Bodie leered at him.
Doyle grinned and punched him lightly on the arm. “You’re prejudiced.”
“What’s he offering you instead?”
“Retraining. Wants me to go into intelligence work, liaising with other departments and agencies. And a lot to do with planning and policy.”
“That’s a desk job,” said Bodie. “You’d be bored in five minutes.”
“Not necessarily.” Doyle studied the ceiling. “I said I’d consider it.”
****
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Bodie stood in front of Cowley’s desk.
“Has Doyle spoken to you about his meeting with me?”
“Some of it, sir.”
Cowley gestured to a chair. “Och, sit down, Bodie, you’re giving me a crick in the neck. I’ve a problem. As I’m sure he’s told you, I’m not putting him back on the Alpha Squad. Oh -” he held up a hand as Bodie started to speak “- he’ll be fit enough, eventually. But it’s short-term. His age is against him, and frankly, he’s of far more use to CI5 out of the field.”
“So I heard, sir.”
“My problem,” Cowley continued, “is to persuade him it’s in his best interests to agree to my suggestion.”
“Doyle will make up his own mind, sir.”
“Of course. But he has a handicap. You. Or more precisely, you and he have a relationship that won’t benefit him in the long run.”
“It’s not illegal, sir.”
“Possibly not, but it’s unhelpful. I don’t want him to be concerning himself with your safety when he’s no longer your partner. And I doubt a desk job would suit you.”
“You’re suggesting I leave?”
“Leave CI5, leave the country. I have contacts. There’s a job for a security advisor to a president in southern Africa. Given your background and experience, you’d be the right man to do it.”
“What if I refuse?”
“You’d be well-advised not to.”
“Doyle wouldn’t agree to any of it.”
“No, he wouldn’t. That’s why you’ll leave without a word about it to him. Doyle won’t achieve his full potential with you as an albatross round his neck. I have tolerated your relationship, Bodie, turned a blind eye to it. But it has no future – for you, or for him.”
****
November
Cowley the puppet master had pulled the strings. Bodie had finally seen the sense in it. It had been a good partnership and the sex had given everything an extra edge. Doyle would never forgive him, but better to get out before the situation destroyed them both. A clean break.
When he wanted to, he could move very quietly and he did so now. At the end of the hallway he paused, looked at the keys in his hand and glanced back at the closed bedroom door. Letting himself out, he relocked the front door and dropped the keys through the letterbox. Then he walked down the path and over to the waiting taxi.
Part 2
Broken Bonds
It is a perfect setting. The mansion stands surrounded by immaculately kept lawns that sweep down to a distant lake. If the place is guarded, then it is done discreetly.
He walks away from the reception area, notes the lack of uniforms, the preponderance of business suits. The military are obviously keeping a low profile. He hears the echo of that phrase from the past. Another accent. Another life.
There is time for coffee in the main room. He pours a cup, helps himself to milk.
“Bodie.”
A voice he has not heard in ten years, never thought to hear again. He has long since ceased hearing it in his dreams. With an effort he places the milk jug back on the table. Only then does he turn round.
He finds nothing he can say, simply remembers a face once so well-known to him. It is automatic that he catalogues the changes of a decade. The eyes are the same, as is the arrogant stance.
“You could always try saying hallo.” The words fall into the silence between them.
“Hallo, Doyle.” The past must remain just that. “You here for the meeting?”
“What else?” Doyle flicks a glance at the security tag attached to the breast pocket of Bodie’s jacket. “We were told they’d be sending a couple of special advisors. Your name wasn’t on the list.”
“I’m a last minute addition,” he says. “Ring the embassy if you want confirmation. And check with Reception here. My name’s on the current list.”
“We’ll do that.” Doyle beckons over a dark-suited man from the other side of the room. “Full check on William Bodie. Immediately. I want to know the details before the briefing starts.”
Bodie watches as the man leaves, and wonders what security service Doyle now represents. He glances at the name tag: CI5. Still. Idly he wonders if Cowley has managed to circumvent civil service regulations and remained head of the organisation. Doyle’s voice reclaims his attention.
“You come with me.”
He delays a moment to pick up his coffee from the table, then walks beside Doyle out into a corridor. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I don’t know you.” The ‘any longer’ stays unspoken. “What you’ve been doing, where you’ve been. It’s a closed book. While we’re waiting for your clearance, we can have a little chat about the last ten years.”
Doyle opens a door and motions him into a large room. Leather-bound tomes line the walls from floor level to almost ceiling height.
“Not a lot to tell.” Bodie drinks some of his coffee. “I don’t believe you’ve no idea what I’ve been doing since I left the organisation. And the embassy will confirm all the details.”
“Tell me anyway.” Doyle stands with his back against the books, his arms folded.
“Security work,” says Bodie. “All absolutely legit. UAE, Hong Kong, South Africa. I’m freelance. My current employers wanted me here because I’ve seen their end of the problem. They thought I’d make a useful addition to their team.” He finishes his coffee and carefully sets down the cup and saucer. “I see you’ve stayed with the old mob.”
“Yes.”
“Still out on the streets?”
“What do you think?”
The security man comes into the room and hands over several sheets of paper. Doyle puts on his reading glasses to study them. He dismisses the man.
“You check out.” He removes the glasses and glances over at Bodie. “They’ve faxed us the relevant details and say you’re on the revised list. When I find out who didn’t pass the information on to me, they’re going to be very sorry.”
“So we’re one big happy family. When did you start wearing those?” He indicates the glasses in Doyle’s hand.
Doyle looks at them. “Same time I came off the streets. If you’d stuck around long enough, you’d have known that for yourself.” He makes no move to return to the meeting room.
After a moment, Bodie says, “I wouldn’t call your attitude particularly welcoming. St Patrick was more civil to the snakes. If you object to my being here, then take it up with your boss.”
Doyle puts the glasses away. “How long have you been back in England?”
“Since Friday. I haven’t been back before now.”
“Then you’ll see some changes.”
“Drug-pushers on every street corner, beggars in every doorway. Since when did England become a Third World country?”
“You never were p.c.” Doyle’s voice is mild. “And I don’t remember you caring about street low-life. ‘Me first, second and third’ was your credo. At least that’s what it was ten years ago.”
Bodie studies the richly-bound volumes. Their titles suggest they are the usual hunting, shooting, fishing memoirs found in such a place.
“Why did you leave?”
He can lie, or tell Doyle the truth.
“There wasn’t any point in staying on,” he says, turning round from his contemplation of the books. “We were both getting a bit long in the tooth to be field operatives. You didn’t have a future on the A Squad, and I didn’t fancy a desk job. I was offered the opportunity to be independent, so I took it.” He does not mention his ex-partner’s accident.
“And Cowley raised no objection?”
Bodie remembers Cowley’s involvement and gives Doyle a version of the truth. “Why should he? I wouldn’t have been of use to him much longer, at least not in the way I wanted to be. Things fell into place at the right time – he saw to my resignation and debriefing personally – rushed it through, in fact. You know what civil service bureaucracy is usually like. He was so pleased I was making things easy for him, he practically waved me off at Heathrow.”
“Interesting you made your decision while I wasn’t around.” Doyle is watching him. “One minute we were a team; the next, you weren’t even in the country and Cowley didn’t have a forwarding address.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” he says, “if I had told you. One way or the other, our partnership was finished.”
“It certainly was.” Doyle looks at him steadily. “I understood about the work side when Cowley told me about it. Didn’t necessarily agree with it. What about the other?”
Bodie says nothing.
“Well, are you going to give me an explanation? I think you owe me one.”
Bodie shrugs. “Just leave it, will you? It all happened a long time ago.”
“In a galaxy far far away. Crap. You ran – out of CI5, out of our partnership, out of … the rest of it.”
“That’s your interpretation,” he replies. “Am I going to the meeting or are we going to stand here and reminisce?”
Doyle straightens up. “What’s your real agenda, Bodie? Why are you here?”
He remembers all too well Doyle’s persistence, his ability to drag the truth out of a person little by little, often by sheer doggedness alone. He cannot allow that to happen. At least, not here, not in these surroundings. The truth is not safe in this place.
“I told you,” he says blandly, “I’m here to offer my advice. Nothing more.”
Doyle walks back to the door and opens it. “I haven’t finished with you, Bodie. We’ll talk after the briefing. Don’t think of disappearing – you’ll find it’s easier to enter this rat trap than to escape from it.”
Part 3
Testing The Waters
Meeting over, he emerged into the bright sunlight. Doyle was waiting for him, leaning against the BMW. Bodie was reminded of a younger man, dressed in jeans and an old leather flying jacket. It was all a long time ago.
“Get in,” Doyle said, indicating the passenger door with his thumb.
“I’ve paid for a taxi,” Bodie said mildly.
“Too bad,” came the reply. “You’re coming with me.”
“And if I object?” Bodie was curious.
“You’ll have no choice in the matter.”
“I didn’t think I had a choice anyway.” He walked over and got in. Doyle did likewise.
“Look,” said Bodie, as Doyle started the engine and moved off, “if you object to my being here, take it up with your boss, whoever he is these days.”
“She,” said Doyle, turning the car out of the gateway. “She wants a word with you.”
Bodie glanced over at him. “You spying on me, Doyle?”
“Would I do that?”
Bodie thought about it for a moment, then turned his attention to the passing scenery.
Just before Reading, Doyle left the motorway and took a minor road through the countryside. He pulled up in a pub car park. “Food here’s okay. I’d head straight back but I don’t want to have to listen to you whingeing on about not getting a decent meal. You always were a greedy bugger.”
Bodie ignored the provocation. Doyle had every right to be angry, even after all this time. There was no way Bodie could justify what he’d done and he wasn’t even going to try. It was a closed chapter of their lives and he had to live with the consequences. Right now he had more urgent matters to deal with than Doyle’s feelings.
“Can we go in and eat?” he asked. “Or are we going to sit in the car for the next hour while you go in for character assassination?”
They ordered at the bar before seating themselves in a corner. Bodie did not wait for Doyle to start any questioning. Time was running out and he needed someone’s help. He put no faith in any of the security organisations, CI5 included, but he had always trusted his partner – ex-partner, he reminded himself – and if Doyle thought the Big A was still worth working for, then Bodie accepted his judgement.
“The presidential visit,” he began, checking no-one could overhear him. “You happy with the arrangements?”
Doyle looked at him. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“In our line of work, you hear things. Odd comments. Whispers.”
“And you’ve heard something?” Doyle came straight to the point.
“Maybe. You know what it’s like: plenty of rumours and not a grain of truth in any – “ He broke off as the food was brought to their table, watching the girl as she walked back to the kitchen.
Doyle noticed his gaze and gave a twisted smile. “You want to be careful. These days they’ll have you for sexual harassment before you can blink.”
“Oh, you know all about that, do you?” Bodie turned his attention to his meal. Curiously, for all the animosity, it felt as though he had never been away, that this was where he belonged. With Doyle. Discussing a case as they had done many times in the past. But it was too late for any regrets. He could never go back to what had once been.
Doyle was giving him an odd look. Bodie swallowed a mouthful of steak and continued with the conversation. “I think we need to talk about certain matters.”
“Who’s ‘we’? Us? CI5? Your mob? You didn’t mention anything at the meeting this morning.”
“Couldn’t. I don’t trust anyone and if the whispers turn out to have some truth in them, then the problem is at my end.”
“What d’you want to do about it?”
Bodie finished his beer and placed the glass back on the mat. “Talk it over with you first. And not here or at your HQ. Organisations have a way of leaking like sieves.”
“Okay,” said Doyle. “When you’re done, let’s get going.”
****
Doyle parked the car outside a block of flats in Kensington and they took the lift to the second floor. The place was spacious and looked as well lived-in as the others he had had.
“Nice,” Bodie said, moving a pile of paperbacks onto the floor and sitting down. “Very nice. Civil Service must be better paid these days. Is it bugged?”
“You’re paranoid,” Doyle told him. After a moment he added, “I had it checked this morning but I’ll do another sweep if you’re worried.”
“No,” said Bodie. “Given the past ten years, you’re probably the last person they think I’ll contact, so we’re ahead of the game.”
“Okay,” Doyle sat down opposite him, “what have you heard?”
“No proof but the grapevine says someone’s out to terminate the president and that it’ll happen during his visit.”
“That’s a pretty constant whisper. I can think of all sorts who’d be only too pleased if someone took him out. Why wait till he comes over here?”
“There’s such a thing as fouling your own nest. If it’s done when he’s out of the country, then there’s always another government to blame and a bit more confusion as to who’s responsible. There are enough right-wing organisations who wouldn’t be shedding any tears. A few left-wing ones too.”
Doyle stood up. “Why’re you telling me this? Why not let his own security people deal with it?” He moved to the doorway. “I’m going to make some coffee – want one?”
Bodie followed Doyle into the kitchen. The scene was familiar. Once again, it took him back to when he and Doyle had worked together. How many times had he stood and watched while Doyle made coffee for them both?
“Yeah. Thanks. I haven’t said anything to them because I think the danger is close to home. I can’t trust them. If I tell anyone there, I don’t know if I’m talking to someone who’s got a finger in the pie.”
“You’ve got a problem,” Doyle acknowledged, pouring boiling water into two mugs. “How d’you like your coffee these days?”
“Same as ever,” Bodie told him. “Milk, no sugar.”
Doyle went back into the living-room. “So you think there’s a contract out on the president, that someone in the security forces at your end – or at least someone connected with them – is involved? And you want CI5 to investigate?” He indicated to Bodie to sit down, then took a chair himself.
“That’s it.” Bodie blew on his coffee and took a cautious sip.
Doyle put his coffee mug down and leaned back in his seat. “Let’s look at it another way. There’s going to be a hit on President Ojuka, very likely during his visit. A couple of rumours have begun to surface and won’t go away. So the people involved need a smokescreen. What better way than admitting there’s a problem and asking the British to check it out. Either they won’t find anything or they’ll finger the collar of some innocent sod. In the meantime, the real villains get on with their own agenda.”
“That’s crazy,” Bodie said. “Why pick CI5? Why not go to MI6 or any of the intelligence people?”
Doyle got up and walked over to the window and looked out. “Because you know CI5, you know me and you know which buttons to press to get me going.” In a smooth movement he turned, slid his gun from beneath his jacket and levelled it at Bodie. “For all I know, you’re the would-be assassin. I think we should have another little chat, this time at headquarters.”
Bodie sat still. “Oh, very good, Doyle. Cowley give you lessons in triple-think, did he? What’re you going to do? Pump me full of the latest pharmaceutical wonder? I’m telling you because there were only two people I ever trusted and Cowley’s not in the frame any longer. Me take out the president? Don’t be daft. He’s their country’s only hope. Mind if I put the mug down?”
“Slowly,” said Doyle, “and the automatic you’re carrying. Put that on the floor and push it out of reach.”
“What happens now?” asked Bodie, sitting back. “Do you call up your mob to come and fetch me? Are they poised, waiting round the corner for your signal?”
Doyle glared at him. “Don’t be melodramatic.”
Bodie gave a sigh. “I might have known you’d turn nasty.” He looked at the gun with interest. “You favour a Glock, then?”
“It’ll put a bullet in you just as well as any other. Three of your lot are in the street. Those faces were at the meeting today.”
“Ray,” Bodie said urgently, “I didn’t tell anyone what I intended to do and I didn’t think we’d been tailed. If you don’t believe me, then you’re dead. We both are.”
“Shit!” Scooping up Bodie’s firearm, Doyle said, “The fire escape’s through the kitchen. There’s an alleyway at the back.” He motioned with the Glock for Bodie to move. “Don’t try anything. I’ll be right behind you.”
Part 4
Retying The Threads
It’s not easy hurtling down a fire escape in relative darkness and being quiet about it at the same time. But we shot down those treads like the proverbial bat out of hell. I had no illusions about the men Doyle had seen below in the street at the front of the houses. Either they wanted any new intelligence I had, or wanted me silenced - probably both. If they succeeded, Doyle would go down with me. They wouldn’t leave a witness.
I raced along the path to the end of the small garden, Doyle close behind me, slid open the bolt to the gate and peered out into the back alleyway. All quiet - no shouts to say we’d been spotted, no sign of shadows moving around.
“It’s your call, Doyle,” I said, breathing a lot harder than I used to when we were running around the streets of London, doing our damnedest for CI5. But that had been a decade ago. “What now?”
There was enough glow from the streetlight at the mouth of the alley for me to see his face. He gave me that icy look he’d had the whole day.
“Along to the end of here, then left.” He jerked his head in the direction I was to take. “I’ll still be right behind you, Bodie, so don’t try anything funny.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes.” I wasn’t going to pander to his bad temper. The situation wasn’t of my making, and at some point he’d have to learn to trust me again, or we’d never have the chance to prevent the hit I was afraid was going to happen.
I got another fishy-eyed stare for my efforts, and we made a dash for the opening to the side-street. I wished I had my gun on me, but a quick glance up and down showed the street was deserted. We hotfooted it along the road, anxious to put distance between ourselves and the men who’d come calling.
Three streets later we raced round the back of a block of flats to a rundown line of workshops and garages. “Here,” Doyle gasped, stopping in front of one of the garage doors, which he unlocked. He was definitely fitter than me, even though he must have been deskbound for some years. He could still put in a good turn of speed and his knee was obviously holding up. He must have had a lot of physiotherapy. I wondered just what position he now held in CI5. Judging by his actions this morning, he was definitely one of those near the top of the tree.
Inside the garage was a maroon Rover that had seen better years.
“Taking a leaf out of my book, Doyle?” I asked. “I thought I was the one who always kept an extra set of wheels.”
“You had your uses,” Doyle said coldly, unlocking the car. “Get in.”
As we drove out of the area and turned into the road, I said, “Where’re we off to now?”
“HQ,” was the terse reply.
I sat back in my seat, watching Doyle’s face by the glow of the passing streetlights, and couldn’t help grinning at the situation. “Just like old times, eh? We’re a mobile ghetto again.”
Doyle spared me a glance, negotiating his way between a double-decker and a black cab. “You know your trouble? You’re one stop short of East Ham.” He wasn’t being funny.
I smiled sweetly at him, knowing it would irritate the sod. I couldn’t resist it. “Since when did you start travelling on the District Line, Raymond? Can I have my gun back?”
“No,” Doyle said with a snarl, and I knew I’d got under his skin. He was glowering again. “Not till we’ve talked to my boss.”
****
On our way through HQ, I took a good look at the old place, noting the changes in the time I’d been away: more security, more technology, fewer personnel - at least at this time of night. But that was probably normal, the non-operational people working usual office hours. Only the agents never slept. Or so it had seemed towards the end, when Doyle’s luck had finally run out and he’d been forced to come off the streets. And then I’d run out on him. I couldn’t blame the bugger for his hostility towards me. I looked round again, but the memories were just that. I didn’t feel any nostalgia, or regret at leaving the organisation. The building was in need of a fresh coat of paint in the few corridors I’d seen, and still had that stale, airless smell.
Doyle led me to a small, windowless room I didn’t remember from my time in the outfit.
“You stay here,” he said, indicating I should sit at the table.
“Am I going to be interrogated?” I asked, mildly. “You know, thumbscrews, electrodes, pharmaceuticals - the usual.”
“Don’t be bloody stupid,” Doyle snapped.
I was a bit tired of his attitude, considering he’d had ten years in which to get over the mess we’d made of our lives. Or to be more honest, I’d probably made of his the moment I resigned from CI5. But then Doyle always did bear a grudge for a long time, as criminals had found to their cost, and I was now experiencing.
“I have to talk to my boss,” he added, and left, locking the door.
Fuck it. I didn’t appreciate being treated the way he was dealing with me. I considered picking the lock, but that wouldn’t help the situation. So I stayed put, mulling over the facts I had, and tried not to get impatient. I focussed on controlling my emotions. Old Shusai would have been proud of me.
Doyle returned after about an hour, still looking narked.
“Thought you’d left me here to starve,” I said.
“If it had been up to me, I would’ve.”
He always was a nasty piece of work when riled. He motioned me out of the room and marched me along the corridor to another office. A young man stood beside a closed door.
“My boss wants to talk to you. We wait here.” Doyle pointed to a couple of chairs.
I glanced over at our guard dog, who was obviously there to prevent undesirables entering the inner sanctum. He looked wet behind the ears, and probably had a degree from Cardiff. I wondered if he’d ever killed anyone.
The phone rang. Babyface answered it, then said to Doyle, “You can go in now.”
Inside the adjoining office, a middle-aged woman sat behind a desk; she looked the usual businesswoman type.
“Please sit down, Mr Bodie,” she said. “I’m Veronica Turrington; I head CI5.”
Yeah, he’d mentioned his superior was a woman. Of course there’ve been women prime ministers and heads of state, but I still wonder about them running the security services. I speculated briefly on how Doyle managed to toe the line.
“I’ve read your file,” she was saying. “I’m aware of your past association with this organisation and with Doyle” - just what did she mean about me and Doyle; how much had been written in our files? - “and of your present credentials. From what Doyle has reported, we have a serious breach of security. Until it is contained, this matter remains confidential to Doyle, yourself, and to me, Mr Bodie.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“I wish to go over the information you’ve given Doyle. Is there anything else you want to add before we start?”
There were some things I wasn’t prepared to mention, as I couldn’t be certain where the rot stopped. The coming presidential visit was vital in ensuring the stability of certain countries on the African sub-continent. If something happened to the president while he was here … But I needed to trust someone, just a little.
“Yes,” I said. “Apart from the fact Doyle believes I’m the hit-man, someone seems to think I know too much. I set up a meeting with an informant a few days ago. If I can get there, I may have a better idea of who’s behind it all.”
Doyle turned to me. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“You didn’t give me the chance.” I took the opportunity to get back at him, just a little.
“Gentlemen.” Turrington’s voice was barely raised but it had the effect she wanted. “Mr Bodie, how soon is your meeting?”
“Tomorrow morning,” I replied.
“We need to make sure you keep it. You’ll stay overnight in one of our safe houses. Doyle will remain with you.”
He wasn’t happy with that. “I could be of more use here. Let someone else do the babysitting.”
“Doyle.” Again, she didn’t raise her voice but I could tell that the new CI5 boss was pure titanium. I’d always had a lot of respect for Cowley, but I suspected she was even more ruthless. “May I remind you, this matter is confidential to the three of us. The fewer people who know of Mr Bodie’s whereabouts the better. I’m sure he’ll give us all the details we need. And I’ve no doubt you and he will have a lot to discuss.”
Oh yes, she knew about our past all right. But she was wrong about Doyle and me having anything to discuss. That door was firmly shut. Locked and bolted.
Part 5
The Reckoning
Criminal Intelligence 5
Memorandum
from: Veronica Turrington, Director
to: Raymond Doyle
An appointment has been made for Mr Bodie to see you this Friday (30th). I do not wish to find that the meeting has been cancelled or postponed.
Bodie watches as the PA disappears into the inner office, presumably to inform Doyle that his visitor has arrived and is waiting. He reminds himself that he no longer has any privileges here, at least not for the time being; cannot breeze into an office with little or no permission. Not that he ever tried that with Cowley, at least not that he can remember.
A tune is playing in his head while he waits. It’s been playing for some time now, won’t go away. The lyrics flow through his brain. / When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide / Yeah, that’s how life has felt just recently.
The PA reappears and comes over to him. “He’ll see you now, Mr Bodie,” she announces to him quietly, all professional courtesy that means nothing.
Bodie gets up from the chair and walks into the office, closing the door behind him. Doyle is seated behind the desk opposite and indicates a chair in front of it. “Bodie.”
Bodie ignores the gesture, the unspoken command and stays where he is. “I won’t take up much of your time.” His stance is relaxed, but with the echoes of a military past. “I expect your boss has informed you that she offered me a job in CI5, and I’ve accepted. I start as soon as my final security clearance comes through. President Ojuka now has the information he requires regarding security during his upcoming visit. I took on the work as a personal favour to him and he no longer needs my services. I want to stay in the UK, so I agreed to your boss’s offer. Assessment of personnel and training for Intelligence operations interests me, and I’ve plenty of relevant experience.”
“Obviously,” Doyle says evenly, “or you wouldn’t have been offered the job. The Director informed me about it. I don’t have any input on appointments; it’s not my department.”
“Would you have objected if it had been?”
“To your working in CI5? No, why should I?” Spoken with calm indifference.
It’s obvious to Bodie that his one-time partner won’t make this easy for him. “I assumed she’d tell you,” he continues. “I studied the organisation’s structure before I made any decisions. I know you’re one of her departmental heads.”
Doyle makes no reply. The air in the room remains glacial.
“But it’s not the reason I wanted to see you. I want to thank you for saving my life. I met my informant but they were waiting for us - he was killed. I recognised the four hitmen as thugs in Juma Shigera’s pay. Took out one but the odds weren’t looking good.” He indicates the side of his head where the hair is growing back, hiding a long, newly-healed scar.
Doyle’s expression doesn’t change. “CI5 had nothing to do with what happened. You were told explicitly we couldn’t be involved.”
“True.” Bodie gives his former partner an assessing look. “It was a miracle, wasn’t it?” he adds pleasantly. “Someone who was armed just happened to come by, I heard the shots as I went down. Someone alerted the authorities and dealt with them. The police told me at the hospital there were five dead at the scene. One was my informant, a second was the man I shot So someone took out the three remaining thugs. That gunman didn’t kill me and nobody’s questioned me so far. Coincidence, or forewarned?”
Doyle stands up, moves over to the window and looks out. As if weary, he leans against the wall.
“The shots from behind were from the same gun,” Bodie continues relentlessly. “I knew the sound immediately. You know what it was? A Walther. A P38.”
“So it was someone with a P38.” Doyle turns from the window and looks at him. “It could have been from any of the Services. You were probably being followed - you weren’t exactly secretive about why you were in the country.”
“I was here on legitimate business,” Bodie replies, “as you’re well aware. And none of the Services issue P38s these days. I made it my business to check, not that I needed to.”
Doyle’s face is a frozen mask.
“Yeah, you know, Doyle. Guns can have their own unique sound when fired. I recognised it. Heard it enough times all those years ago. And you’re licensed to hold a P38. Not CI5. You. Are you going to tell me you lend it out occasionally? Bloody hell, I’m trying to say thank you for following me to the meeting-place and stopping them killing me, all without creating a diplomatic incident.”
Doyle moves back to his desk but remains standing. “It was personal. Nothing to do with CI5. Was there anything further you wanted to say?”
It’s come to this, Bodie acknowledges, and I can’t blame him. What happened ten years ago has changed us both. Him maybe more than me. There’s no point in raking up the past. I made my decision - I was wrong and I have to live with it.
“No,” Bodie says aloud, “that’s all I came for. I’m due at the Training Centre in an hour’s time for a preliminary briefing, nothing high security.” He turns and opens the office door.
“Bodie.” The moment stretches. “Wait.” It’s said quietly. Then: “Why?”
Doyle seems to be asking in spite of himself. Bodie can hear the pain. He realises he’s been wrong about everything. Ten years of pain. He closes the door again and turns round. He’s not sure he can be honest, even now. Even though he owes it to the man facing him.
“Why what?” he prevaricates.
“Don’t be bloody thick,” Doyle snaps. The dam wall is cracking but it’s better than the indifferent calm he’s shown so far. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. One minute you’re there and we’re flyin’ high, the next, I find you’ve gone. Left. With Cowley telling me it’s all for the best and you’ve had a better job offer. All fuckin’ crap. What went on? Cowley had a hand in all that, didn’t he? Triple-thinking, devious, manipulative old sod.”
/ And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride … Helter Skelter / That’s life in all its glory – and misery, Bodie thinks. Lennon and McCartney had it right. He remembers how he and Doyle had gone to Brighton once, seizing a weekend of pleasure when they weren’t on duty or standby, and tried out all the amusements, finally walking down the pier to the tall tower at its furthermost point. They’d just had to have a go, sliding all the twisting way down on a mat, helter-skelter, then trudging back up the stairs to start all over again. It had been a good time, before he’d fucked everything up.
This is another start for him. He ought to deal with unfinished business, however painful and whatever the outcome. He owes it to Doyle. If he brushes it off, or comes up with yet another version of the truth in order to avoid facing the consequence of his actions, the situation will always be between them. Even though they won’t be working together, they’ll have meetings, briefings, whatever, when they have to be in the same room as each other. He doesn’t want his – come on, Bodie, complete honesty for once – lies and evasions having an impact on his time here.
“Yeah,” he says finally, “he did.” He faces a moment of utter truth. “But the decision was mine. I really didn’t get it, did I? Didn’t understand.”
“Understand what?” Doyle doesn’t move from where he’s standing behind his desk. His eyes challenge as he asks the question.
Bodie makes a vague gesture. “Us. What we had. I thought –” He stops for a moment, then continues in a determined voice. “It was after your knee op. and the medics saying you’d have to come off the streets, stop being an active field agent, if you wanted the knee to be okay long-term.”
“What did that have to do with anything?” Doyle asks.
“I thought what we had together might be a passing fancy on your part, something that would burn itself out in time. Cowley gave me a way out.”
Doyle stares at him. “So it was Cowley’s decision and you went along with what he said?”
“No.” Bodie is brutally honest now. “Told you - it was my own doing. But I wanted to believe him. I was wrong. Just didn’t realise …”
“You chose to believe him.” The dam wall breaks. “You bloody coward. You could have asked me how I felt about it. I was the other half of the equation.”
“Christ, Doyle,” Bodie gives a bark of laughter, bitter and regretful at the same time, “when did we go in for deep and meaningful discussions back then? We didn’t exactly spend time baring our souls. Not to Kate Ross and almost never to each other. I don’t remember you ever giving me a hint that what we did in bed was anything more than a good time while it lasted. Too much time together, too much intensity – kill or be killed. It gets to a bloke in the end. I wasn’t one for hearts and flowers – neither were you. The sex was a way to scratch an itch, it suited us both.”
“That all it meant to you?” Doyle has regained his outward calm. But Bodie can see that his eyes are dark, eyes he used to believe showed Doyle’s deepest emotions.
“No.” Bodie gives a sigh. “I know now I was wrong. At least about me. I shouldn’t have left like that – without a word. Yeah, Cowley advised me to but it was my decision in the end. I –” He stops. The words he’s been about to utter might well take him down the slide right to the bottom again. / Helter Skelter /
I don’t know whether I’ve still got the energy to climb back up. Maybe it’d be easier to leave now.
“You -?” Doyle leaves the query hanging in the air.
“I regretted it. Later.” He’s burned his bridges. “By then it was too late to make good what I’d done. I’m sorry. I was wrong about everything – you, me, how we could’ve worked around the changes to our partnership. The possible effects on our – relationship.”
After a moment’s silence, Doyle says, “I’ve spent ten years trying to forget you, Bodie. You appearing at the security briefing the other week – I could willingly have killed you. Would’ve kicked you out if that’d been possible.” He pauses. “But the feeling didn’t last. I couldn’t leave you to face Shigera’s men without a back-up, knew I couldn’t have your death on my conscience. Wouldn’t. Now? Now at least I know what happened a decade ago. It doesn’t make things any easier.”
“No,” Bodie admits, “I know. But at least you have the unvarnished truth. I destroyed what we had – might have had if I’d thought about it a bit more. If I’d asked you and not relied on my instincts and Cowley’s half-truths. But I can’t turn back time.” He looks over at the clock on the office wall. “I’ll be late for my meeting.” He moves to open the door.
“Perhaps …”
Bodie looks back enquiringly. It seems that Doyle hasn’t finished with him. The meeting may have to wait.
“Perhaps … we could have a drink together.”
Bodie watches Doyle’s face. He’s looking stunned, as if he can’t quite believe the words he’s just uttered.
“If you want to,” Doyle adds.
Bodie waits a heartbeat. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
It’s a tiny step, but in the right direction. One step at a time. That’s all that matters.
****
Title: Reverberating Across the Years
Author: Felicity M. Parkinson
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: This current piece is not for AO3 or Proslib at present.
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse are not mine, and I only play.
Notes: These linked pieces were written for WriteTime between 2005 and 2024, with varying story prompts and permitted word counts, and slightly revised since.
Broken Bonds is on AO3.
f_m_parkinson, and she will reply to your comments, so please do leave feedback here for her!by Felicity M. Parkinson
Part 1
When he wanted to, he could move very quietly and he did so now. At the end of the hallway he paused, looked at the keys in his hand and glanced back at the closed bedroom door.
April
Bodie thrust the last of the heavies into the waiting police van, then gave a thumbs-up to Murphy, who was waiting to shut the doors.
“The Cow’ll be pleased. We’ve caught ’em red-handed - mopped up the whole gang. Guid work, lads.” Bodie attempted a Scots accent.
“Yeah,” Murphy agreed. He gazed past Bodie. “What’s up with your other half?”
“There’s nothing the matter with Doyle.” Bodie turned and followed Murphy’s gaze. “He’s -”
Doyle was halfway down the street from them, leaning heavily against a parked Jensen. He made no move to join them.
Bodie ran, shouting, “Ray? You okay?” Reaching Doyle he asked, “You hurt? Did they get you?”
“Nah.” But Doyle was pale. “Think my knee’s had it.” He took a breath. “Heard it – like a gunshot. I can’t put any weight on my leg.”
“Damn,” said Bodie. “Hang on to me and I’ll get you to that wall over there.” He carried out his actions as he spoke, seating Doyle on a low wall further along the street. “Murph can go back to HQ and make the report. I’m taking you to Casualty.”
September
Bodie waited while Doyle had his check-up with the surgeon who’d operated on his knee. When he eventually emerged from the consulting room, Bodie could see that the news wasn’t good. The look on Doyle’s face told him all he needed to know, without his partner saying a word.
“So they’re not letting you back on the streets just yet?” he asked mildly. “The Mob will be breathing sighs of relief.”
“Very funny,” Doyle snarled, and scowled at him. “Bloody doctors, what do they know? I’m okay.” He marched past Bodie and down the corridor towards the hospital exit.
Bodie walked after him. It wasn’t any good trying to reason with his partner when Doyle was in a temper. He’d learned that a long time ago.
Doyle was waiting for him by the car, moodily kicking a stone around. He said nothing till Bodie had negotiated Hanger Lane and they were on the North Circular, then he suddenly slammed his fist against the door.
“Oi!” Bodie glanced at him. “Leave my car alone. What was the verdict?”
“Pritchard says the knee’ll be okay but never A1. He advised me to start thinking about another job.”
“Pritchard’s an old woman.” Bodie was dismissive. “It’s only been a few months since your op. You’re fitter than most.”
“Yeah but I’m coming up to forty and things aren’t getting any easier in that department. It’s okay for new agents like O’Farrell or Woodford. They’re almost half my age. If they get injured, they bounce back after a couple of weeks. I don’t. And if I’m not up to scratch, then I shouldn’t be on the Squad.”
Bodie tried to sound reasonable. “What would you do instead? I don’t see you as a pen-pusher. You’d just get frustrated.”
“Dunno,” Doyle admitted. “But I’m thinking hard about it.” After a moment he added, “What would you do if I ended up in a desk job? Murph’s a good man – he’d work with you if you wanted it, or maybe one of the younger lads. Thompson’s on the ball. Probably give you a new lease of life.”
They had reached Doyle’s flat. Bodie parked the car and turned off the engine. “Why would I want another partner? And what goes for you, goes for me. I’m only a couple of years younger.”
“But,” said Doyle, opening the passenger door, “you don’t have a gammy knee. And that’s not all. There’s scar tissue from when that Chinese girl – what was her name - Mayli? – shot me. Yes it was some years ago and I recovered. But it wasn’t a complete recovery. Last physical I had, Pritchard warned me I was running on borrowed time in the Squad. The knee’s another reminder that I can’t go on pretending that everything is okay.”
They got out. Bodie locked the Capri and followed Doyle into the flat. The phone was ringing.
“Three-thirty this afternoon? Okay, sir. Dr Pritchard said he was sending you the report. Yes, sir.” Doyle replaced the receiver.
“The Cow?” Bodie asked.
“Who else? Wants to see me this afternoon, and you tomorrow at ten.”
“Why can’t he talk to me today?”
“Ask him yourself. He wasn’t in the best of moods.”
Bodie grinned. “Rather you than me, sunshine. We’ve three hours to kill, so how about food? Your local does a great pie and chips.”
Bodie entered the rest room to find Woodford making himself a cup of tea and Murphy reading the Racing Post. He helped himself to coffee.
Woodford asked, “When’s Doyle back on the Squad?”
“Dunno.” Bodie shrugged and sat down. “The quack thinks he needs more time. Doesn’t want to let him loose too soon.”
“Maybe Doyle should come off the A Squad if it’s getting too much for him.”
Murphy put down his newspaper and looked over at Bodie. “You ever think about what you’ll do when you’re no longer considered fit enough to be one of Cowley’s finest?”
“No,” said Bodie firmly, “and Doyle doesn’t either. Pritchard’s a fool.”
Murphy grunted and went back to studying form. Woodford picked up The Sun and turned to page three. Bodie finished his coffee and left the room. He wanted time – and privacy – to consider the unthinkable.
Doyle seemed subdued after leaving Cowley’s office.
“You staying tonight?” he asked after they’d returned to his flat.
“Okay,” Bodie said and didn’t question him about the meeting till they’d gone to bed.
“When’s Cowley letting you back on duty?”
“He isn’t.”
“What?” Bodie heaved himself up abruptly.
“No.” Doyle pulled the duvet a bit more to his side of the bed. “Cowley’s taking me off the A Squad – permanently. He showed me the medical report. The body isn’t what it was.”
“Nothing wrong with it in my view.” Bodie leered at him.
Doyle grinned and punched him lightly on the arm. “You’re prejudiced.”
“What’s he offering you instead?”
“Retraining. Wants me to go into intelligence work, liaising with other departments and agencies. And a lot to do with planning and policy.”
“That’s a desk job,” said Bodie. “You’d be bored in five minutes.”
“Not necessarily.” Doyle studied the ceiling. “I said I’d consider it.”
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Bodie stood in front of Cowley’s desk.
“Has Doyle spoken to you about his meeting with me?”
“Some of it, sir.”
Cowley gestured to a chair. “Och, sit down, Bodie, you’re giving me a crick in the neck. I’ve a problem. As I’m sure he’s told you, I’m not putting him back on the Alpha Squad. Oh -” he held up a hand as Bodie started to speak “- he’ll be fit enough, eventually. But it’s short-term. His age is against him, and frankly, he’s of far more use to CI5 out of the field.”
“So I heard, sir.”
“My problem,” Cowley continued, “is to persuade him it’s in his best interests to agree to my suggestion.”
“Doyle will make up his own mind, sir.”
“Of course. But he has a handicap. You. Or more precisely, you and he have a relationship that won’t benefit him in the long run.”
“It’s not illegal, sir.”
“Possibly not, but it’s unhelpful. I don’t want him to be concerning himself with your safety when he’s no longer your partner. And I doubt a desk job would suit you.”
“You’re suggesting I leave?”
“Leave CI5, leave the country. I have contacts. There’s a job for a security advisor to a president in southern Africa. Given your background and experience, you’d be the right man to do it.”
“What if I refuse?”
“You’d be well-advised not to.”
“Doyle wouldn’t agree to any of it.”
“No, he wouldn’t. That’s why you’ll leave without a word about it to him. Doyle won’t achieve his full potential with you as an albatross round his neck. I have tolerated your relationship, Bodie, turned a blind eye to it. But it has no future – for you, or for him.”
November
Cowley the puppet master had pulled the strings. Bodie had finally seen the sense in it. It had been a good partnership and the sex had given everything an extra edge. Doyle would never forgive him, but better to get out before the situation destroyed them both. A clean break.
When he wanted to, he could move very quietly and he did so now. At the end of the hallway he paused, looked at the keys in his hand and glanced back at the closed bedroom door. Letting himself out, he relocked the front door and dropped the keys through the letterbox. Then he walked down the path and over to the waiting taxi.
Part 2
It is a perfect setting. The mansion stands surrounded by immaculately kept lawns that sweep down to a distant lake. If the place is guarded, then it is done discreetly.
He walks away from the reception area, notes the lack of uniforms, the preponderance of business suits. The military are obviously keeping a low profile. He hears the echo of that phrase from the past. Another accent. Another life.
There is time for coffee in the main room. He pours a cup, helps himself to milk.
“Bodie.”
A voice he has not heard in ten years, never thought to hear again. He has long since ceased hearing it in his dreams. With an effort he places the milk jug back on the table. Only then does he turn round.
He finds nothing he can say, simply remembers a face once so well-known to him. It is automatic that he catalogues the changes of a decade. The eyes are the same, as is the arrogant stance.
“You could always try saying hallo.” The words fall into the silence between them.
“Hallo, Doyle.” The past must remain just that. “You here for the meeting?”
“What else?” Doyle flicks a glance at the security tag attached to the breast pocket of Bodie’s jacket. “We were told they’d be sending a couple of special advisors. Your name wasn’t on the list.”
“I’m a last minute addition,” he says. “Ring the embassy if you want confirmation. And check with Reception here. My name’s on the current list.”
“We’ll do that.” Doyle beckons over a dark-suited man from the other side of the room. “Full check on William Bodie. Immediately. I want to know the details before the briefing starts.”
Bodie watches as the man leaves, and wonders what security service Doyle now represents. He glances at the name tag: CI5. Still. Idly he wonders if Cowley has managed to circumvent civil service regulations and remained head of the organisation. Doyle’s voice reclaims his attention.
“You come with me.”
He delays a moment to pick up his coffee from the table, then walks beside Doyle out into a corridor. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I don’t know you.” The ‘any longer’ stays unspoken. “What you’ve been doing, where you’ve been. It’s a closed book. While we’re waiting for your clearance, we can have a little chat about the last ten years.”
Doyle opens a door and motions him into a large room. Leather-bound tomes line the walls from floor level to almost ceiling height.
“Not a lot to tell.” Bodie drinks some of his coffee. “I don’t believe you’ve no idea what I’ve been doing since I left the organisation. And the embassy will confirm all the details.”
“Tell me anyway.” Doyle stands with his back against the books, his arms folded.
“Security work,” says Bodie. “All absolutely legit. UAE, Hong Kong, South Africa. I’m freelance. My current employers wanted me here because I’ve seen their end of the problem. They thought I’d make a useful addition to their team.” He finishes his coffee and carefully sets down the cup and saucer. “I see you’ve stayed with the old mob.”
“Yes.”
“Still out on the streets?”
“What do you think?”
The security man comes into the room and hands over several sheets of paper. Doyle puts on his reading glasses to study them. He dismisses the man.
“You check out.” He removes the glasses and glances over at Bodie. “They’ve faxed us the relevant details and say you’re on the revised list. When I find out who didn’t pass the information on to me, they’re going to be very sorry.”
“So we’re one big happy family. When did you start wearing those?” He indicates the glasses in Doyle’s hand.
Doyle looks at them. “Same time I came off the streets. If you’d stuck around long enough, you’d have known that for yourself.” He makes no move to return to the meeting room.
After a moment, Bodie says, “I wouldn’t call your attitude particularly welcoming. St Patrick was more civil to the snakes. If you object to my being here, then take it up with your boss.”
Doyle puts the glasses away. “How long have you been back in England?”
“Since Friday. I haven’t been back before now.”
“Then you’ll see some changes.”
“Drug-pushers on every street corner, beggars in every doorway. Since when did England become a Third World country?”
“You never were p.c.” Doyle’s voice is mild. “And I don’t remember you caring about street low-life. ‘Me first, second and third’ was your credo. At least that’s what it was ten years ago.”
Bodie studies the richly-bound volumes. Their titles suggest they are the usual hunting, shooting, fishing memoirs found in such a place.
“Why did you leave?”
He can lie, or tell Doyle the truth.
“There wasn’t any point in staying on,” he says, turning round from his contemplation of the books. “We were both getting a bit long in the tooth to be field operatives. You didn’t have a future on the A Squad, and I didn’t fancy a desk job. I was offered the opportunity to be independent, so I took it.” He does not mention his ex-partner’s accident.
“And Cowley raised no objection?”
Bodie remembers Cowley’s involvement and gives Doyle a version of the truth. “Why should he? I wouldn’t have been of use to him much longer, at least not in the way I wanted to be. Things fell into place at the right time – he saw to my resignation and debriefing personally – rushed it through, in fact. You know what civil service bureaucracy is usually like. He was so pleased I was making things easy for him, he practically waved me off at Heathrow.”
“Interesting you made your decision while I wasn’t around.” Doyle is watching him. “One minute we were a team; the next, you weren’t even in the country and Cowley didn’t have a forwarding address.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” he says, “if I had told you. One way or the other, our partnership was finished.”
“It certainly was.” Doyle looks at him steadily. “I understood about the work side when Cowley told me about it. Didn’t necessarily agree with it. What about the other?”
Bodie says nothing.
“Well, are you going to give me an explanation? I think you owe me one.”
Bodie shrugs. “Just leave it, will you? It all happened a long time ago.”
“In a galaxy far far away. Crap. You ran – out of CI5, out of our partnership, out of … the rest of it.”
“That’s your interpretation,” he replies. “Am I going to the meeting or are we going to stand here and reminisce?”
Doyle straightens up. “What’s your real agenda, Bodie? Why are you here?”
He remembers all too well Doyle’s persistence, his ability to drag the truth out of a person little by little, often by sheer doggedness alone. He cannot allow that to happen. At least, not here, not in these surroundings. The truth is not safe in this place.
“I told you,” he says blandly, “I’m here to offer my advice. Nothing more.”
Doyle walks back to the door and opens it. “I haven’t finished with you, Bodie. We’ll talk after the briefing. Don’t think of disappearing – you’ll find it’s easier to enter this rat trap than to escape from it.”
Part 3
Meeting over, he emerged into the bright sunlight. Doyle was waiting for him, leaning against the BMW. Bodie was reminded of a younger man, dressed in jeans and an old leather flying jacket. It was all a long time ago.
“Get in,” Doyle said, indicating the passenger door with his thumb.
“I’ve paid for a taxi,” Bodie said mildly.
“Too bad,” came the reply. “You’re coming with me.”
“And if I object?” Bodie was curious.
“You’ll have no choice in the matter.”
“I didn’t think I had a choice anyway.” He walked over and got in. Doyle did likewise.
“Look,” said Bodie, as Doyle started the engine and moved off, “if you object to my being here, take it up with your boss, whoever he is these days.”
“She,” said Doyle, turning the car out of the gateway. “She wants a word with you.”
Bodie glanced over at him. “You spying on me, Doyle?”
“Would I do that?”
Bodie thought about it for a moment, then turned his attention to the passing scenery.
Just before Reading, Doyle left the motorway and took a minor road through the countryside. He pulled up in a pub car park. “Food here’s okay. I’d head straight back but I don’t want to have to listen to you whingeing on about not getting a decent meal. You always were a greedy bugger.”
Bodie ignored the provocation. Doyle had every right to be angry, even after all this time. There was no way Bodie could justify what he’d done and he wasn’t even going to try. It was a closed chapter of their lives and he had to live with the consequences. Right now he had more urgent matters to deal with than Doyle’s feelings.
“Can we go in and eat?” he asked. “Or are we going to sit in the car for the next hour while you go in for character assassination?”
They ordered at the bar before seating themselves in a corner. Bodie did not wait for Doyle to start any questioning. Time was running out and he needed someone’s help. He put no faith in any of the security organisations, CI5 included, but he had always trusted his partner – ex-partner, he reminded himself – and if Doyle thought the Big A was still worth working for, then Bodie accepted his judgement.
“The presidential visit,” he began, checking no-one could overhear him. “You happy with the arrangements?”
Doyle looked at him. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“In our line of work, you hear things. Odd comments. Whispers.”
“And you’ve heard something?” Doyle came straight to the point.
“Maybe. You know what it’s like: plenty of rumours and not a grain of truth in any – “ He broke off as the food was brought to their table, watching the girl as she walked back to the kitchen.
Doyle noticed his gaze and gave a twisted smile. “You want to be careful. These days they’ll have you for sexual harassment before you can blink.”
“Oh, you know all about that, do you?” Bodie turned his attention to his meal. Curiously, for all the animosity, it felt as though he had never been away, that this was where he belonged. With Doyle. Discussing a case as they had done many times in the past. But it was too late for any regrets. He could never go back to what had once been.
Doyle was giving him an odd look. Bodie swallowed a mouthful of steak and continued with the conversation. “I think we need to talk about certain matters.”
“Who’s ‘we’? Us? CI5? Your mob? You didn’t mention anything at the meeting this morning.”
“Couldn’t. I don’t trust anyone and if the whispers turn out to have some truth in them, then the problem is at my end.”
“What d’you want to do about it?”
Bodie finished his beer and placed the glass back on the mat. “Talk it over with you first. And not here or at your HQ. Organisations have a way of leaking like sieves.”
“Okay,” said Doyle. “When you’re done, let’s get going.”
Doyle parked the car outside a block of flats in Kensington and they took the lift to the second floor. The place was spacious and looked as well lived-in as the others he had had.
“Nice,” Bodie said, moving a pile of paperbacks onto the floor and sitting down. “Very nice. Civil Service must be better paid these days. Is it bugged?”
“You’re paranoid,” Doyle told him. After a moment he added, “I had it checked this morning but I’ll do another sweep if you’re worried.”
“No,” said Bodie. “Given the past ten years, you’re probably the last person they think I’ll contact, so we’re ahead of the game.”
“Okay,” Doyle sat down opposite him, “what have you heard?”
“No proof but the grapevine says someone’s out to terminate the president and that it’ll happen during his visit.”
“That’s a pretty constant whisper. I can think of all sorts who’d be only too pleased if someone took him out. Why wait till he comes over here?”
“There’s such a thing as fouling your own nest. If it’s done when he’s out of the country, then there’s always another government to blame and a bit more confusion as to who’s responsible. There are enough right-wing organisations who wouldn’t be shedding any tears. A few left-wing ones too.”
Doyle stood up. “Why’re you telling me this? Why not let his own security people deal with it?” He moved to the doorway. “I’m going to make some coffee – want one?”
Bodie followed Doyle into the kitchen. The scene was familiar. Once again, it took him back to when he and Doyle had worked together. How many times had he stood and watched while Doyle made coffee for them both?
“Yeah. Thanks. I haven’t said anything to them because I think the danger is close to home. I can’t trust them. If I tell anyone there, I don’t know if I’m talking to someone who’s got a finger in the pie.”
“You’ve got a problem,” Doyle acknowledged, pouring boiling water into two mugs. “How d’you like your coffee these days?”
“Same as ever,” Bodie told him. “Milk, no sugar.”
Doyle went back into the living-room. “So you think there’s a contract out on the president, that someone in the security forces at your end – or at least someone connected with them – is involved? And you want CI5 to investigate?” He indicated to Bodie to sit down, then took a chair himself.
“That’s it.” Bodie blew on his coffee and took a cautious sip.
Doyle put his coffee mug down and leaned back in his seat. “Let’s look at it another way. There’s going to be a hit on President Ojuka, very likely during his visit. A couple of rumours have begun to surface and won’t go away. So the people involved need a smokescreen. What better way than admitting there’s a problem and asking the British to check it out. Either they won’t find anything or they’ll finger the collar of some innocent sod. In the meantime, the real villains get on with their own agenda.”
“That’s crazy,” Bodie said. “Why pick CI5? Why not go to MI6 or any of the intelligence people?”
Doyle got up and walked over to the window and looked out. “Because you know CI5, you know me and you know which buttons to press to get me going.” In a smooth movement he turned, slid his gun from beneath his jacket and levelled it at Bodie. “For all I know, you’re the would-be assassin. I think we should have another little chat, this time at headquarters.”
Bodie sat still. “Oh, very good, Doyle. Cowley give you lessons in triple-think, did he? What’re you going to do? Pump me full of the latest pharmaceutical wonder? I’m telling you because there were only two people I ever trusted and Cowley’s not in the frame any longer. Me take out the president? Don’t be daft. He’s their country’s only hope. Mind if I put the mug down?”
“Slowly,” said Doyle, “and the automatic you’re carrying. Put that on the floor and push it out of reach.”
“What happens now?” asked Bodie, sitting back. “Do you call up your mob to come and fetch me? Are they poised, waiting round the corner for your signal?”
Doyle glared at him. “Don’t be melodramatic.”
Bodie gave a sigh. “I might have known you’d turn nasty.” He looked at the gun with interest. “You favour a Glock, then?”
“It’ll put a bullet in you just as well as any other. Three of your lot are in the street. Those faces were at the meeting today.”
“Ray,” Bodie said urgently, “I didn’t tell anyone what I intended to do and I didn’t think we’d been tailed. If you don’t believe me, then you’re dead. We both are.”
“Shit!” Scooping up Bodie’s firearm, Doyle said, “The fire escape’s through the kitchen. There’s an alleyway at the back.” He motioned with the Glock for Bodie to move. “Don’t try anything. I’ll be right behind you.”
Part 4
It’s not easy hurtling down a fire escape in relative darkness and being quiet about it at the same time. But we shot down those treads like the proverbial bat out of hell. I had no illusions about the men Doyle had seen below in the street at the front of the houses. Either they wanted any new intelligence I had, or wanted me silenced - probably both. If they succeeded, Doyle would go down with me. They wouldn’t leave a witness.
I raced along the path to the end of the small garden, Doyle close behind me, slid open the bolt to the gate and peered out into the back alleyway. All quiet - no shouts to say we’d been spotted, no sign of shadows moving around.
“It’s your call, Doyle,” I said, breathing a lot harder than I used to when we were running around the streets of London, doing our damnedest for CI5. But that had been a decade ago. “What now?”
There was enough glow from the streetlight at the mouth of the alley for me to see his face. He gave me that icy look he’d had the whole day.
“Along to the end of here, then left.” He jerked his head in the direction I was to take. “I’ll still be right behind you, Bodie, so don’t try anything funny.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes.” I wasn’t going to pander to his bad temper. The situation wasn’t of my making, and at some point he’d have to learn to trust me again, or we’d never have the chance to prevent the hit I was afraid was going to happen.
I got another fishy-eyed stare for my efforts, and we made a dash for the opening to the side-street. I wished I had my gun on me, but a quick glance up and down showed the street was deserted. We hotfooted it along the road, anxious to put distance between ourselves and the men who’d come calling.
Three streets later we raced round the back of a block of flats to a rundown line of workshops and garages. “Here,” Doyle gasped, stopping in front of one of the garage doors, which he unlocked. He was definitely fitter than me, even though he must have been deskbound for some years. He could still put in a good turn of speed and his knee was obviously holding up. He must have had a lot of physiotherapy. I wondered just what position he now held in CI5. Judging by his actions this morning, he was definitely one of those near the top of the tree.
Inside the garage was a maroon Rover that had seen better years.
“Taking a leaf out of my book, Doyle?” I asked. “I thought I was the one who always kept an extra set of wheels.”
“You had your uses,” Doyle said coldly, unlocking the car. “Get in.”
As we drove out of the area and turned into the road, I said, “Where’re we off to now?”
“HQ,” was the terse reply.
I sat back in my seat, watching Doyle’s face by the glow of the passing streetlights, and couldn’t help grinning at the situation. “Just like old times, eh? We’re a mobile ghetto again.”
Doyle spared me a glance, negotiating his way between a double-decker and a black cab. “You know your trouble? You’re one stop short of East Ham.” He wasn’t being funny.
I smiled sweetly at him, knowing it would irritate the sod. I couldn’t resist it. “Since when did you start travelling on the District Line, Raymond? Can I have my gun back?”
“No,” Doyle said with a snarl, and I knew I’d got under his skin. He was glowering again. “Not till we’ve talked to my boss.”
On our way through HQ, I took a good look at the old place, noting the changes in the time I’d been away: more security, more technology, fewer personnel - at least at this time of night. But that was probably normal, the non-operational people working usual office hours. Only the agents never slept. Or so it had seemed towards the end, when Doyle’s luck had finally run out and he’d been forced to come off the streets. And then I’d run out on him. I couldn’t blame the bugger for his hostility towards me. I looked round again, but the memories were just that. I didn’t feel any nostalgia, or regret at leaving the organisation. The building was in need of a fresh coat of paint in the few corridors I’d seen, and still had that stale, airless smell.
Doyle led me to a small, windowless room I didn’t remember from my time in the outfit.
“You stay here,” he said, indicating I should sit at the table.
“Am I going to be interrogated?” I asked, mildly. “You know, thumbscrews, electrodes, pharmaceuticals - the usual.”
“Don’t be bloody stupid,” Doyle snapped.
I was a bit tired of his attitude, considering he’d had ten years in which to get over the mess we’d made of our lives. Or to be more honest, I’d probably made of his the moment I resigned from CI5. But then Doyle always did bear a grudge for a long time, as criminals had found to their cost, and I was now experiencing.
“I have to talk to my boss,” he added, and left, locking the door.
Fuck it. I didn’t appreciate being treated the way he was dealing with me. I considered picking the lock, but that wouldn’t help the situation. So I stayed put, mulling over the facts I had, and tried not to get impatient. I focussed on controlling my emotions. Old Shusai would have been proud of me.
Doyle returned after about an hour, still looking narked.
“Thought you’d left me here to starve,” I said.
“If it had been up to me, I would’ve.”
He always was a nasty piece of work when riled. He motioned me out of the room and marched me along the corridor to another office. A young man stood beside a closed door.
“My boss wants to talk to you. We wait here.” Doyle pointed to a couple of chairs.
I glanced over at our guard dog, who was obviously there to prevent undesirables entering the inner sanctum. He looked wet behind the ears, and probably had a degree from Cardiff. I wondered if he’d ever killed anyone.
The phone rang. Babyface answered it, then said to Doyle, “You can go in now.”
Inside the adjoining office, a middle-aged woman sat behind a desk; she looked the usual businesswoman type.
“Please sit down, Mr Bodie,” she said. “I’m Veronica Turrington; I head CI5.”
Yeah, he’d mentioned his superior was a woman. Of course there’ve been women prime ministers and heads of state, but I still wonder about them running the security services. I speculated briefly on how Doyle managed to toe the line.
“I’ve read your file,” she was saying. “I’m aware of your past association with this organisation and with Doyle” - just what did she mean about me and Doyle; how much had been written in our files? - “and of your present credentials. From what Doyle has reported, we have a serious breach of security. Until it is contained, this matter remains confidential to Doyle, yourself, and to me, Mr Bodie.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“I wish to go over the information you’ve given Doyle. Is there anything else you want to add before we start?”
There were some things I wasn’t prepared to mention, as I couldn’t be certain where the rot stopped. The coming presidential visit was vital in ensuring the stability of certain countries on the African sub-continent. If something happened to the president while he was here … But I needed to trust someone, just a little.
“Yes,” I said. “Apart from the fact Doyle believes I’m the hit-man, someone seems to think I know too much. I set up a meeting with an informant a few days ago. If I can get there, I may have a better idea of who’s behind it all.”
Doyle turned to me. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“You didn’t give me the chance.” I took the opportunity to get back at him, just a little.
“Gentlemen.” Turrington’s voice was barely raised but it had the effect she wanted. “Mr Bodie, how soon is your meeting?”
“Tomorrow morning,” I replied.
“We need to make sure you keep it. You’ll stay overnight in one of our safe houses. Doyle will remain with you.”
He wasn’t happy with that. “I could be of more use here. Let someone else do the babysitting.”
“Doyle.” Again, she didn’t raise her voice but I could tell that the new CI5 boss was pure titanium. I’d always had a lot of respect for Cowley, but I suspected she was even more ruthless. “May I remind you, this matter is confidential to the three of us. The fewer people who know of Mr Bodie’s whereabouts the better. I’m sure he’ll give us all the details we need. And I’ve no doubt you and he will have a lot to discuss.”
Oh yes, she knew about our past all right. But she was wrong about Doyle and me having anything to discuss. That door was firmly shut. Locked and bolted.
Part 5
Criminal Intelligence 5
Memorandum
from: Veronica Turrington, Director
to: Raymond Doyle
An appointment has been made for Mr Bodie to see you this Friday (30th). I do not wish to find that the meeting has been cancelled or postponed.
Bodie watches as the PA disappears into the inner office, presumably to inform Doyle that his visitor has arrived and is waiting. He reminds himself that he no longer has any privileges here, at least not for the time being; cannot breeze into an office with little or no permission. Not that he ever tried that with Cowley, at least not that he can remember.
A tune is playing in his head while he waits. It’s been playing for some time now, won’t go away. The lyrics flow through his brain. / When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide / Yeah, that’s how life has felt just recently.
The PA reappears and comes over to him. “He’ll see you now, Mr Bodie,” she announces to him quietly, all professional courtesy that means nothing.
Bodie gets up from the chair and walks into the office, closing the door behind him. Doyle is seated behind the desk opposite and indicates a chair in front of it. “Bodie.”
Bodie ignores the gesture, the unspoken command and stays where he is. “I won’t take up much of your time.” His stance is relaxed, but with the echoes of a military past. “I expect your boss has informed you that she offered me a job in CI5, and I’ve accepted. I start as soon as my final security clearance comes through. President Ojuka now has the information he requires regarding security during his upcoming visit. I took on the work as a personal favour to him and he no longer needs my services. I want to stay in the UK, so I agreed to your boss’s offer. Assessment of personnel and training for Intelligence operations interests me, and I’ve plenty of relevant experience.”
“Obviously,” Doyle says evenly, “or you wouldn’t have been offered the job. The Director informed me about it. I don’t have any input on appointments; it’s not my department.”
“Would you have objected if it had been?”
“To your working in CI5? No, why should I?” Spoken with calm indifference.
It’s obvious to Bodie that his one-time partner won’t make this easy for him. “I assumed she’d tell you,” he continues. “I studied the organisation’s structure before I made any decisions. I know you’re one of her departmental heads.”
Doyle makes no reply. The air in the room remains glacial.
“But it’s not the reason I wanted to see you. I want to thank you for saving my life. I met my informant but they were waiting for us - he was killed. I recognised the four hitmen as thugs in Juma Shigera’s pay. Took out one but the odds weren’t looking good.” He indicates the side of his head where the hair is growing back, hiding a long, newly-healed scar.
Doyle’s expression doesn’t change. “CI5 had nothing to do with what happened. You were told explicitly we couldn’t be involved.”
“True.” Bodie gives his former partner an assessing look. “It was a miracle, wasn’t it?” he adds pleasantly. “Someone who was armed just happened to come by, I heard the shots as I went down. Someone alerted the authorities and dealt with them. The police told me at the hospital there were five dead at the scene. One was my informant, a second was the man I shot So someone took out the three remaining thugs. That gunman didn’t kill me and nobody’s questioned me so far. Coincidence, or forewarned?”
Doyle stands up, moves over to the window and looks out. As if weary, he leans against the wall.
“The shots from behind were from the same gun,” Bodie continues relentlessly. “I knew the sound immediately. You know what it was? A Walther. A P38.”
“So it was someone with a P38.” Doyle turns from the window and looks at him. “It could have been from any of the Services. You were probably being followed - you weren’t exactly secretive about why you were in the country.”
“I was here on legitimate business,” Bodie replies, “as you’re well aware. And none of the Services issue P38s these days. I made it my business to check, not that I needed to.”
Doyle’s face is a frozen mask.
“Yeah, you know, Doyle. Guns can have their own unique sound when fired. I recognised it. Heard it enough times all those years ago. And you’re licensed to hold a P38. Not CI5. You. Are you going to tell me you lend it out occasionally? Bloody hell, I’m trying to say thank you for following me to the meeting-place and stopping them killing me, all without creating a diplomatic incident.”
Doyle moves back to his desk but remains standing. “It was personal. Nothing to do with CI5. Was there anything further you wanted to say?”
It’s come to this, Bodie acknowledges, and I can’t blame him. What happened ten years ago has changed us both. Him maybe more than me. There’s no point in raking up the past. I made my decision - I was wrong and I have to live with it.
“No,” Bodie says aloud, “that’s all I came for. I’m due at the Training Centre in an hour’s time for a preliminary briefing, nothing high security.” He turns and opens the office door.
“Bodie.” The moment stretches. “Wait.” It’s said quietly. Then: “Why?”
Doyle seems to be asking in spite of himself. Bodie can hear the pain. He realises he’s been wrong about everything. Ten years of pain. He closes the door again and turns round. He’s not sure he can be honest, even now. Even though he owes it to the man facing him.
“Why what?” he prevaricates.
“Don’t be bloody thick,” Doyle snaps. The dam wall is cracking but it’s better than the indifferent calm he’s shown so far. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. One minute you’re there and we’re flyin’ high, the next, I find you’ve gone. Left. With Cowley telling me it’s all for the best and you’ve had a better job offer. All fuckin’ crap. What went on? Cowley had a hand in all that, didn’t he? Triple-thinking, devious, manipulative old sod.”
/ And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride … Helter Skelter / That’s life in all its glory – and misery, Bodie thinks. Lennon and McCartney had it right. He remembers how he and Doyle had gone to Brighton once, seizing a weekend of pleasure when they weren’t on duty or standby, and tried out all the amusements, finally walking down the pier to the tall tower at its furthermost point. They’d just had to have a go, sliding all the twisting way down on a mat, helter-skelter, then trudging back up the stairs to start all over again. It had been a good time, before he’d fucked everything up.
This is another start for him. He ought to deal with unfinished business, however painful and whatever the outcome. He owes it to Doyle. If he brushes it off, or comes up with yet another version of the truth in order to avoid facing the consequence of his actions, the situation will always be between them. Even though they won’t be working together, they’ll have meetings, briefings, whatever, when they have to be in the same room as each other. He doesn’t want his – come on, Bodie, complete honesty for once – lies and evasions having an impact on his time here.
“Yeah,” he says finally, “he did.” He faces a moment of utter truth. “But the decision was mine. I really didn’t get it, did I? Didn’t understand.”
“Understand what?” Doyle doesn’t move from where he’s standing behind his desk. His eyes challenge as he asks the question.
Bodie makes a vague gesture. “Us. What we had. I thought –” He stops for a moment, then continues in a determined voice. “It was after your knee op. and the medics saying you’d have to come off the streets, stop being an active field agent, if you wanted the knee to be okay long-term.”
“What did that have to do with anything?” Doyle asks.
“I thought what we had together might be a passing fancy on your part, something that would burn itself out in time. Cowley gave me a way out.”
Doyle stares at him. “So it was Cowley’s decision and you went along with what he said?”
“No.” Bodie is brutally honest now. “Told you - it was my own doing. But I wanted to believe him. I was wrong. Just didn’t realise …”
“You chose to believe him.” The dam wall breaks. “You bloody coward. You could have asked me how I felt about it. I was the other half of the equation.”
“Christ, Doyle,” Bodie gives a bark of laughter, bitter and regretful at the same time, “when did we go in for deep and meaningful discussions back then? We didn’t exactly spend time baring our souls. Not to Kate Ross and almost never to each other. I don’t remember you ever giving me a hint that what we did in bed was anything more than a good time while it lasted. Too much time together, too much intensity – kill or be killed. It gets to a bloke in the end. I wasn’t one for hearts and flowers – neither were you. The sex was a way to scratch an itch, it suited us both.”
“That all it meant to you?” Doyle has regained his outward calm. But Bodie can see that his eyes are dark, eyes he used to believe showed Doyle’s deepest emotions.
“No.” Bodie gives a sigh. “I know now I was wrong. At least about me. I shouldn’t have left like that – without a word. Yeah, Cowley advised me to but it was my decision in the end. I –” He stops. The words he’s been about to utter might well take him down the slide right to the bottom again. / Helter Skelter /
I don’t know whether I’ve still got the energy to climb back up. Maybe it’d be easier to leave now.
“You -?” Doyle leaves the query hanging in the air.
“I regretted it. Later.” He’s burned his bridges. “By then it was too late to make good what I’d done. I’m sorry. I was wrong about everything – you, me, how we could’ve worked around the changes to our partnership. The possible effects on our – relationship.”
After a moment’s silence, Doyle says, “I’ve spent ten years trying to forget you, Bodie. You appearing at the security briefing the other week – I could willingly have killed you. Would’ve kicked you out if that’d been possible.” He pauses. “But the feeling didn’t last. I couldn’t leave you to face Shigera’s men without a back-up, knew I couldn’t have your death on my conscience. Wouldn’t. Now? Now at least I know what happened a decade ago. It doesn’t make things any easier.”
“No,” Bodie admits, “I know. But at least you have the unvarnished truth. I destroyed what we had – might have had if I’d thought about it a bit more. If I’d asked you and not relied on my instincts and Cowley’s half-truths. But I can’t turn back time.” He looks over at the clock on the office wall. “I’ll be late for my meeting.” He moves to open the door.
“Perhaps …”
Bodie looks back enquiringly. It seems that Doyle hasn’t finished with him. The meeting may have to wait.
“Perhaps … we could have a drink together.”
Bodie watches Doyle’s face. He’s looking stunned, as if he can’t quite believe the words he’s just uttered.
“If you want to,” Doyle adds.
Bodie waits a heartbeat. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
It’s a tiny step, but in the right direction. One step at a time. That’s all that matters.
Title: Reverberating Across the Years
Author: Felicity M. Parkinson
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: This current piece is not for AO3 or Proslib at present.
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse are not mine, and I only play.
Notes: These linked pieces were written for WriteTime between 2005 and 2024, with varying story prompts and permitted word counts, and slightly revised since.
Broken Bonds is on AO3.
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