Once More
The chase was intense; Bodie at the wheel, driving with skill and determination, while the car in front was weaving back and forth across the road, preventing him from getting past them or even alongside it.
The driver of the car in front knew exactly what he was doing, and for over forty minutes had thwarted Bodie's every move to stop the vehicle, reaching speeds of over a hundred miles an hour as the chase moved further and further across the desolate territory of the Yorkshire moors.
Murphy and Cowley were in a second car that was following closely behind. The chase had begun at a small airfield out in the middle of nowhere: a killing had been committed in London by a very well-paid assassin and CI5 were on the trail of the murderer, a man strongly suspected of KGB connections, which was why the head of CI5 was so determined to get him alive, if possible.
The killer, sensing CI5 were closely on his trail, had fled to the north of England, seeking an escape route via the small airfield, but Cowley and his team of professionals had been firmly on his tail and after a vicious firefight at the airfield, which left the pilot and another man dead and the small aircraft in flames, the killer and his cohort had fled the field just ahead of the CI5 agents.
George Cowley had shouted swift instructions and Bodie and Doyle went in hot pursuit of the assassin, followed closely by Cowley and Murphy. The other agents back at the field would take care of the carnage that was left behind, Cowley was confident of that fact.
The flat countryside about them was starting to slip into darkness, and both Bodie and Doyle knew that if they did not stop the car in front soon, then they might just lose the men inside.
"Get in front of them, man," snapped Cowley through the R/T radio as he witnessed the scene before him, angry that Bodie had not been able to overtake the other car, only to be slung back in the seat as Murphy swerved to miss the bullets that were being fired from the fleeing vehicle.
"I'm trying," snapped back Bodie through the open line as he spun the wheel to avoid the spurts of death that came from the car in front. "But in case you hadn't noticed, they're not too keen on my doing it." Then, throwing a glance at Doyle who sat beside him, he continued angrily, "You could try shooting a tyre out or something."
"In case you hadn't noticed, that's what I am trying to do," snapped the handsome man beside him as he pulled his head and upper body back inside the car to answer, "but you're driving like a mad man and making aiming a tad difficult."
"Do you want to take over then?" Bodie snarled as he again swerved the car to miss the hail of bullets that were directed at them, then shooting a quick glance about and seeing nothing for miles, he demanded in annoyance, "Where the hell are we?"
"In the middle of nowhere," answered Doyle snidely, just before he leant out the window and fired at the car in front again. This time his aim was true and one of the back tyres burst with a loud bang and the car spun wildly out of control.
Bodie fought with the wheel of his car and spun the motor about, desperately trying to avoid hitting the vehicle in front as it skidded to a stop and the men inside spilled out, firing as they did so.
There was no immediate cover in the surrounding area, except for the small stone wall that hemmed in the one-track road, so Bodie pulled the car into a turn and stopped, his side facing the killers ahead, as close as he could to the wall, giving Doyle as much protection as he could. As soon as he had stopped Doyle had leapt out of the car, his own guns firing, laying down a field of fire to allow Bodie to get clear of the vehicle.
As soon as Doyle was safely out of the door, Bodie made to scramble over the seat to get clear - but luck was not with him as the window beside him, then the windscreen burst into splinters; at the same time a searing pain flared through his body, taking his breath away. He gasped in utter shock, but his forward motion carried him partly out of the car, to lay half-sprawled out of the vehicle.
Doyle, seeing his partner's predicament, acted instantly and pulled him clear of the car and the danger of being shot again, then he proceeded to lay partly over Bodie, offering what protection he could, careful to keep his weight from the stunned figure. "Bodie," he cried in fear, as he aimed another shot at the car in front of them. Glancing down, he saw with a ripple of pure terror that other man was beyond answering.
Meanwhile, behind them, Murphy was desperately trying to wrestle his car back under control as he spun wildly about, but he was unable to prevent it from smashing into the low-lying wall further back up the road, and both he and Cowley only just managed to scramble from it and head in the direction of Bodie's car before it burst into flames.
"Bodie's been hit," Doyle cried at Cowley's approach, as he continued to fire at the killers further along the road.
"How bad?" Cowley demanded as he made his way over to his men, keeping in a low crouch as the gunfire continued.
"Can't tell," Ray shot back, but his tone held all the uncertainty that was flaring up within his body.
Suddenly one of Doyle's bullets found its mark and one of the gunmen reared up, giving a cry of agony before he slumped to the ground to lie still. Ray felt an instant flare of satisfaction that died sharply when the body under him groaned weakly. "Bodie," he called, looking down at the pale face of his partner.
"Here, let me," Cowley demanded, moving the ex-policeman aside so that he could get a better look at his man's injuries. He knew that with both Doyle and Murphy laying down covering shots, it would not be long before the last killer joined his partner; suddenly it didn't seem so important to take the man alive.
As he gently lifted Bodie's jacket and shirt, Cowley winced at the amount of blood the other man had already lost. With sure hands he pulled his scarf from about his neck and, wadding it up into a tight pad, he again lifted Bodie's shirt and wedged it firmly up against the wound. The dark-haired man groaned in agony and weakly twisted his head from side to side as if to shake off the pain.
"How bad?" Doyle demanded during a lull in the fighting. He was not looking at Cowley and therefore did not see the grimace that filtered across the older man's face - he had seen wounds like this before. Ray had, instead, fixed his glance upon his partner. Not getting an immediate answer, he looked up and felt his anger and frustration rise at the expression that the other man wore. He swore under his breath and spun back to begin firing at the car with a new, fierce intensity. Within seconds, the last gunman lay dead upon the cold tarmac.
As one, both Doyle and Murphy converged on the downed men, kicking the guns away from the dead fingers. Murphy went down and checked his man for a pulse and found none; he looked over at Ray, who just kicked his man hard to see if he got a reaction. Receiving none, he bent down and felt for a pulse, a satisfied look entering his face when he found none. Within seconds, they had the area secure; both gunmen were dead. Leaving Murphy to check the car to see if it was roadworthy, Doyle quickly made his way back to Cowley and his injured partner.
"Sir?" he asked, unable to put his question into words, as he crouched down beside the smaller Scotsman, intently looking at Bodie's too-still form.
"He's alive, Doyle, and that's all we can hope for now," Cowley offered, not taking his eyes off the injured man as he worked upon him. Once the firing had stopped, he had got the first aid kit that was issued with every CI5 car, and was now treating Bodie's wound more fully. "Get me some more light," he ordered as he ripped open the bloodied shirt, revealing to Ray for the first time the extent of his friend's injury.
Doyle swallowed hard and then rushed to obey, until he was kneeling holding the torch in a shaking hand while Cowley worked upon his friend. The wound was a nasty one; the bullet had entered at the side and looked to have gone straight through, causing untold damage as it passed. "Looks like it could have caught a lung," Cowley observed as he listened to Bodie's laboured breathing.
"Sir," Murphy said, coming to stand by the others. "The radios are dead... must be the hills or the distance is too great, and I've checked both the cars..." Cowley spared him a quick glance as he shrugged apologetically and continued, "sorry, sir... not built to withstand bullets."
"Radio's totally dead?" Cowley questioned in some surprise as he glanced up at the other agent.
The man shrugged weakly. "Sorry sir; if we want help then we're going to have to walk to it."
"Well, this man isn't in any state to walk an inch," snapped Cowley in frustration, before finishing, "let alone God-knows how many miles back to the nearest village or phone."
"Where the hell are we, anyway?" Doyle asked, glancing about. Darkness had now firmly settled upon the earth and, while it was still a clear night, he could just make out the distant darkening of hills.
"This is the middle of Yorkshire, Doyle, but we might as well be in the middle of nowhere for all the good it'll do us." He stopped and gathered his anger; it was no use taking it out on Ray, the man looked ready to drop himself. It had been a long five days tracking down the assassin, and none of them had got much sleep. Taking a steadying breath, he continued in a more reasonable tone, "I think the Pennine Way lies to the west, but this is a single track road which means that it's not used very often... there might not be a house or village around here for over twenty miles or more..."
"What about the airfield?" Doyle asked in desperation, turning back in the direction that they had just driven.
"Ah, man, that's got to be at least thirty, forty miles back and I didn't see a house on the way."
"We've got to do something," Ray insisted, anger starting to fuse with desperation and colour his voice.
Cowley gave a short nod in agreement, then looking at Murphy he said sharply, "Do you think you could run for twenty miles or more?"
Looking at the still figure of his friend, Murphy swallowed and nodded his head determinedly, before answering with a false smile, "No sweat, sir."
"What direction do you want us to take?" Doyle asked, making to remove his own coat, ready for the run.
"Not you, Doyle," Cowley snapped, then seeing the flare of temper he came down hard, snarling, "I'll need you here with me to look after Bodie; if he becomes feverish I'm going to need all the help I can get." Seeing the slump of the shoulders of the man before him, he knew that he'd won that argument and continued looking at Murphy as he said, "We know that there is nothing behind us." As he spoke, he looked up past the cars before him, seeing the ribbon of road that stretched out before them into the distance. He frowned as he tried to recall a map of the area. "If I remember right, there should be a National Park Centre somewhere along this road. We didn't pass one, so it's got to be up ahead, but how far...." He let his voice drift off before he continued in a firmer tone, "It's closed this time of year, but there should be a telephone."
"I'll find it, sir," Murphy vowed as he gave Bodie one last look, then smiling bravely at the others he departed at a swift trot.
"Don't stray from the road, Murphy," Cowley called after him. "There are bogs in this land that are like quicksand." He had to be content with the small wave that Murphy gave him in acknowledgement of his words.
"Why didn't you let me go, sir? I'm sure that I'm faster than Murphy," Doyle demanded once the other man was lost from sight.
"I'll need you here," was all that Cowley said, before he snapped, "Can't you hold that light still?" Then, seeing the look this earned him, he offered, "Bodie is likely to listen to you, and I know for a fact that he hardly ever listens to me and he's certainly not going to listen to Murphy... believe me, son, it's better for Bodie if you stay here." He didn't add that it would also be better for Doyle to be beside his friend should the moment of his death arrive.
Doyle accepted the reprimand for what it was and, raising his other hand, he gripped the light in both hands to prevent it from shaking.
Cowley worked in silence for the next several minutes, swearing once as he discovered a loose, floating rib and felt the jagged, sharp end where it had detached itself from. "The bullet has shattered at least one rib... maybe two," he stated. "We're going to have to bind them so they don't move, otherwise...." He stopped, suddenly not wanting to go on.
"Otherwise it could pierce a lung, heart or any other damned thing it catches," Doyle supplied with bitterness, cursing the dead man who had fired the bullet.
"Find something that I can use," Cowley snapped, not prepared to put up with Doyle's temper for much longer. After searching for several minutes, Ray finally found what he was looking for. George accepted it without a word until he saw the blanket that the other man was holding. "Sleeping on the job, Doyle? That's not like you and 3.7," he commented, not too harshly - it had been a very hard five days for all concerned.
"Not both at once, sir," he advised with a raised eyebrow, daring Cowley to make an issue of it.
"Well, at least it will come in handy... can you tear it into strips?" As he spoke, he handed Ray the Swiss Army knife he always carried. The man looked at it and without a word began to tear the blanket into use-able strips
"Here, Ray," Cowley said, moving around so that there was room for Doyle beside his injured partner. "Can you support him while I wrap this tight?"
Doyle needed no other words of encouragement and, kneeling behind the unconscious man, he gently supported him while George carefully worked the cloth about his upper body, binding the ribs as firmly as he could into place.
Ten minutes later Cowley sat back, satisfied that he had done all he could for his operative. He gently pulled the shirt together and, taking off his own coat, he wrapped it about the shivering Bodie.
Standing, he stretched out the kinks and took a real look about for the first time. The car that he had been the passenger in was still burning a short distance away, the glow warming the chill of the night air. A short distance away, the gunmen lay where they had fallen; he would have to do something about them, but not yet. Sniffing suddenly, he turned wide eyes upon the car that he was standing next to. "Petrol," he gasped, pointing at the trail that led away from the vehicle. Even as he said the word, he noticed the water-like trail that was slowly slipping towards his own burning car.
Doyle followed his look and his reaction was swift and immediate, as both Cowley and he made a grab for the unconscious Bodie. "Be careful, man... jerk those ribs and you could kill him," snapped George as Ray made to lift his partner to safety. "Here, let me take his feet, and make sure you support his upper body... but be very careful... he's got the equivalent of two very sharp knives floating about inside him."
"Yes sir," snapped Doyle, annoyed that Cowley could think that he would take any chances with his friend's life. Between them they managed to carefully move the dead weight of Bodie away from the car. They moved further up the road, well away from the two cars, and gently placed him down on the edge of the road against the small stone wall.
"That car's going to blow," Doyle said matter-of-factly as he shrugged out of his own coat, which he added to Cowley's to cover his friend. Then, without a second's thought, he headed back towards the endangered car.
"Where the hell are you going?" demanded Cowley angrily, but Doyle ignored him as he darted in towards the car that was about to blow. Within seconds he had grabbed up the well-endowed first aid box and was sprinting back towards safety when the car blew. The force of it caught him and flung him forward. The world darkened for a few seconds and when he came to, Cowley was leaning over him, swearing fluently.
"Of all the dumb, stupid things to do, Doyle," he snapped once he realised that Ray was awake. "You could have been killed. and for what?"
"First aid box," Ray muttered as he made to sit up, tilting over as the world slipped to one side.
Cowley considered pushing him back down, but then lent a hand to assist him instead. "That was still a stupid thing to do."
"That box could be the only thing that stands between him," he pointed towards Bodie, "and death."
Cowley opened his mouth to snap back a sharp retort, but then closed it as he grabbed up the box and limped his way back to Bodie.
Ray sat for a few moments, gathering his senses and waiting for the world to stop rolling past, before he stood and wavered his way over to his friends. "How is he, sir?" he asked as he approached, not sure he was ready for the answer.
Cowley looked up and saw the pale, worried face of 4.5 and felt his own anger melt. "He's holding his own," he advised gently.
As if on cue, the man in question groaned, gasping painfully as his eyelids fluttered. He fought his way back to consciousness. "Doyle..." he tried to gasp, but was prevented by a bout of coughing that ripped at his middle and caused him to whimper in pain.
"Don't try to speak, lad," Cowley advised urgently as he bent over the other man, helping him to sit up straighter, easing the agony of breathing as he listened to what he was trying to gasp. "Doyle's fine... he's right here," he offered as he waved Ray forward, directing him to move into Bodie's line of vision.
The injured man saw his partner, battered but unhurt, and he tried to smile encouragingly, but it was ruined by the trickle of blood that seeped out from between his lips, slowly dribbling down his chin.
Ray fought back the utter wave of terror this sight caused and squatted down in front of Bodie, a forced smile plastered across his face as he advised, "I thought I told you not to stop bullets with your body."
Bodie blinked a couple of times as the world faded, then slowly reasserted itself before he nodded weakly and gasped, "Next... time... I'll... remember... for next... time."
"Yeah..." Doyle was amazed that he could speak past the lump that was growing in his throat as he continued, "you promised that last time."
Bodie made to answer, but Cowley stopped him by gently advising, "Don't talk, lad... save your strength. Murphy's gone for help, so we'll soon have you in hospital."
Bodie tilted his head to look at his boss and noticed for the first time the lines of concern that were written into the old man's face. 'When had the Cow started looking so old?' he wondered. He opened his mouth to ask but before he could, the pain welled and he closed his eyes as he slipped into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.
"Sir?" Doyle asked, his voice laced with fear as he saw Bodie go limp.
"No... no, Doyle, he's just unconscious." Looking up, he met and held the other man's worried gaze, but there was nothing that he could say to help him.
***
The minutes began to trickle past until they turned slowly, agonisingly into an hour, and still no sign of Murphy's return with or without help. Doyle had begun to pace after twenty minutes, unable to just sit still while his friend died. He would walk from one burning car to the other, and then back to where Cowley sat partly behind the injured man, holding him carefully upright so that he was able to breathe easier. Doyle would stand for a few moments watching the older man tenderly care for his friend, wiping away the slow trickle of blood that oozed from the slack mouth, would listen to the harsh, laboured, breathing and then spin about and stalk away.
Doyle could not say why he was pacing; every instinct wanted him to sit beside his friend, to hold him just as Cowley was and never let him go. Yet, deep inside, he was unable to look at the still, pale face of his partner. Bodie's face was never still; it was always in movement, either just edging towards a smile or a frown - others said that there were times when his face would fall into blankness, but even at those times Doyle was able to see a movement deep within the eyes. Doyle had never seen Bodie so still, not since they had first met... so still, it looked almost as if death had already claimed him, and only the harsh rise and fall of the chest told Doyle that his friend still breathed.
"Will you please sit down for a few moments, Doyle?" Cowley suddenly snapped, his temper evident. "Your pacing is doing my head in."
Doyle blinked and stared at Cowley; the old man never lost his temper over such a trivial matter. Then he realised that the trivial matter was not really his pacing, but the uneven breathing of the man who lay half supported within his embrace.
"I'm trying to keep warm, sir," he lied... well, partly; he was cold, and pacing did help.
"I know, son," Cowley conceded, knowing that his words had been harsh. "But you're giving me a headache."
"Sorry," Doyle answered as he dropped into loose-limbed crouch beside his partner, who had not moved a muscle since he slipped into unconsciousness. "How is he doing?" Then, seeing Cowley about to open his mouth to answer, he added, "Really sir... how is he really doing?"
The mouth snapped shut and the scotsman looked at the other man; it was a long, steady look that told its own story.
"Do you want me to take over holding him?" Doyle asked, seeing the lines of pain in the older man's face and knowing that holding Bodie upright could not be helping his long-ago injured leg.
Cowley was about to deny him, then paused. It would keep Doyle still and give him a focus. "Here," he offered, gently moving out from behind the unconscious man. "We must be careful," he explained as he continued to hold the man while Doyle settled into the uncomfortable position against the rough rocks of the small wall.
"I know, sir..." Doyle agreed, "the ribs." Within seconds, Ray was settled behind the comforting weight of his partner. Bodie didn't move a muscle during the procedure, but Ray liked to think that his breathing eased slightly once Doyle was in place. Gingerly he wrapped his arms about the other's middle and loosely held him upright, supporting him while allowing the other's head to rest gently upon his shoulder, making sure that it wasn't bent too far back as he didn't want Bodie to drown on his own blood.
"He always looks younger when he's sleeping," Cowley commented as he stretched his back to remove the kinks and looked at the peaceful features of his injured agent.
"Careful sir, that's a trick that he's cultivated on many a barmaid," Doyle offered with a slight smile.
The other man started at the words, then joined in with a smile of his own. "Aye, he's certainly got the wolf-in-sheep's-clothing down to a fine art."
"How did Bodie get into CI5, sir?" Doyle suddenly asked; he knew the story that both Bodie and Cowley told the world, but he also knew that Bodie had a bad reputation and that the head of CI5 was not usually given to accepting black sheep into the very special fold of CI5.
Cowley considered not answering the question, then seeing the need in Doyle's eyes he smiled gently and offered, "He tried to kill me." As he spoke, he settled back down beside the other two men, this time stretching his legs out in front of him.
Ray was very good; he didn't let the shock he felt register within his body show on his face. "What?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh..." Cowley continued, waving the expression aside. "It was only a half-hearted attempt; if he'd meant it, I would have been dead... you know Bodie." Then, seeing that Doyle wanted the whole story, he offered, "He'd been informed by certain people that I was responsible for killing one of his friends - in cold blood."
"And Bodie believed them?"
"At first, yes... yes he did. He was young." Cowley paused and considered how he could put his impressions into words; he had not really thought about them for so long. "I know that he was a hardened mercenary by then, but there was still the little-boy-lost about him... Anyway, instead of killing me outright, he decided to ask me why I'd killed his friend." The older man stopped and smiled as he remembered the conversation. It had been in his home, and he had been staring down the business end of a gun while he answered the other's sharp questions. "Once the situation had been fully explained, he politely apologised for disturbing my night and disappeared into the darkness." He paused again; no-one had ever really been able to get into and out of his flat with the ease that Bodie had shown. "The next day the person responsible for the lies arrived, trussed up outside CI5 headquarters with a neat note pinned to his lapel."
"And you offered Bodie a job there and then?" Doyle joked with a smile; he could believe that Bodie could do as Cowley had said.
"No," Cowley said, a tinge of sadness within his tone. "He disappeared back out to Africa for a few years..." He paused, thinking about the pain the other man had suffered during that time. "I would have, though... I would have if I could have found him." As he spoke, Cowley raised a hand and gently wiped a smudge of dirt from Bodie's pale face. He frowned and lay a hand across the other's cheek.
"What?" Doyle demanded, moving even closer to his friend.
"He's getting warm." Cowley looked up and met Ray's concerned look. "Too warm."
"Where the hell is Murphy?" Doyle asked, carefully hugging his partner closer as if his mere presence could ward off the fever he could feel burning within his friend's body. "He must be walking to John O'Groats to get that damned ambulance."
As if on cue, Bodie began to mutter under his breath; it was a short, gasping sound, painful to hear - first he would mumble one word, then another, until names were starting to float into the surrounding night air. Each name told a story in its own right.
"He's in Africa," Doyle explained quietly, as a name he recognised came to him.
"I know," Cowley agreed in a worried tone. He was more aware than Ray exactly how disturbing Bodie's time in Africa had really been, and if he should start to re-enact some of those times then they might both have problems keeping the injured man still enough so as not to kill himself.
Doyle, seeing the look in Cowley's eyes, knew exactly where he was coming from, so he tilted his head forward and began to speak into Bodie's ear. Slowly the mumbling man grew quiet, his attitude that of listening, and Ray began to go back over some of their cases together; he kept to the lighter ones, but had to admit that they were few and far between.
"What was your first impression of Bodie?" Cowley suddenly asked Doyle as he paused in his narrative.
"My first impression?" Ray repeated, as if it was a strange question to be asking. "I can't really remember," he lied.
"Doyle..." Cowley warned.
Ray smiled and offered, with a weak tilt of his lips, "I wasn't too impressed, sir."
"With Bodie?" Cowley voiced with surprise.
"He came across as a know-it-all - been there, seen it and done that - and I was just the local bobby who didn't know a thing." Doyle reeled the words off with ease; that time had long since passed for them, and they even joked about it now and then. A sharp pain entered his heart as he looked down at his friend and wondered if they would again.
"Aye..." Cowley was saying, "I took a gamble putting you two together. But it was a gamble that's paid off handsomely."
"Bodie had a bad reputation of getting through partners like a dose of salts, often leaving them licking their wounds," Doyle continued as if the other had not spoken, "and everyone made a point of informing me of that." He swallowed and looked into the distance as he carried on, "By the time we'd finished our first stakeout together, I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill him or gag him." There was now a hint of laughter in his tone. Then, seeing the confused look his words earned him from the other man, he explained, "According to him, he had done it all and there was nothing that could surprise him, and every time we hit a situation he would tell me about the time he did such and such, or this happened and how he'd handled it...." This time he did laugh; it was gently murmur of memory as he continued, "I really could have hit him, sir."
"And what stopped you?" Cowley leant forward - for some reason he really wanted to know: the reason why these two should work so well was still a mystery to the older man.
Doyle looked as if he wasn't going to answer, then finally he offered, "He saved my life... I made a mistake and was caught bang to rights. The bloke had me dead in his sights, then Bodie does his SAS bit and comes flying in the window.... Dislocated his shoulder, but managed to get the guy before he could pull the trigger on me."
Cowley frowned; he could remember that assignment clearly - it was the second one that they had been on. His frown deepened. "I don't remember reading that in the report," he commented.
Doyle looked slightly shame-faced as he agreed, "No... Bodie didn't think it would look too good on my record, so before I could interfere he'd processed his report before mine, and then informed me that if I changed the story he'd be for the high jump... so I let it slip."
"Ah yes," Cowley nodded, memory suddenly returning. "That was the report he did before he went to the hospital.... Now I remember... I always wondered why he dropped off at headquarters before going to get that shoulder checked."
Doyle closed his eyes. "Yeah... he left me at the house to supervise the clear-up and got a lift back to base on the pretence that he was going straight to the hospital." Doyle was unable to keep his annoyance from his tone at that little subterfuge... "Silly sod, he could have permanently damaged that arm."
"Why do you think he did it?" Cowley asked slowly.
"I don't know," Doyle answered in total honesty. "I really don't know."
"He... was the... only... one who... put up... with my... crap... without... bitching," gasped the injured man, startling both the other men.
"Bodie!" Doyle gasped, then reaching up he touched the fevered cheek. "How do you feel?" he asked, letting his hand slip up and over the other's dark hair.
"Not... too... good..." Bodie offered weakly, before licking at his lips - after which he grimaced at the taste and added, "Blood... not a... good... sign."
"Murphy's gone for help," Cowley interrupted, standing to lean over the other two men before ordering, "Try not to talk, lad... you need to reserve your strength."
Bodie nodded weakly, then settled himself more comfortably back against his partner. The movement was minimal, but it seemed to have a calming effect upon him as he gasped, "Talk... to me... Doyle... It helps... keeps... me focused."
Doyle swallowed hard, only just realising that Bodie must have been conscious and listening to him as he talked through their previous cases. With the last request in mind, he began to talk again, keeping his tone as light as he could. After another half hour his throat was raw and his voice was croaky, but he was determined to continue, and to this end he was just starting another case when the body under his hands jerked suddenly and began to convulse. Blood spurted out from the gasping mouth, and that action alone caused Ray to release the hold that he'd had upon the man. Doyle cried out Bodie's name in shock, then regaining his senses, he reached out and supported Bodie against him again, drawing the body closer, preventing it from twisting and causing further damage. Suddenly Bodie was very much awake, gasping desperately for air. His eyes were wide and he reached out a hand as if stretching for help, reaching feebly for assistance, as panic set in.
"Bodie... Bodie... don't you... dare leave... me... do you... hear?" Doyle was almost crying as he spoke the words, believing that he was speaking to his friend for the last time.
"Bodie," a deep, calm voice broke clearly through the panic that was consuming both men. "Bodie!" Cowley called sharply again. Old habits die hard, and the injured man turned frightened eyes upon his commander. "I want you to take a steady breath.... Ray," Cowley suddenly commanded, "Ray take his hand and gently squeeze... gently... that's right..." The older man kept his eyes upon both men as Doyle gently took the shaking hand and began to slowly close his hand about it, applying a slight pressure.
The injured man's pain-filled eyes slipped to the strong hand grasping his, then up to his partner's intense face. He saw the pain and fear that was held deep within the other's eyes, then slowly his glance drifted back to the clasping hands. Once there, his look never left the gently squeezing hand, as it opened then closed upon his own. Slowly his breathing began to take on the rhythm of the flexing hands. It was a gentle in-and-out motion that seemed to allow his body to adjust to the injuries that it had sustained.
"That's right, boy... that's right, just concentrate on breathing. Don't worry.... You're doing fine... just keep your mind on the motion of the hands. That is your contact to us, Bodie... your contact to Ray... the hands."
After several minutes of intense silence, Bodie's body began to slowly relax and he slumped exhaustedly back against Ray, the strain leaving his face as his breathing began to grow easier. During that time, Doyle had kept up a flow of words of encouragement, uncaring of what he said, just intent on keeping his friend by his side.
Slowly Bodie began to relax even more against the man who held him, until finally he slumped, head lolling back, breathing easier than before. "Cowley..." Ray asked, his tone urgent.
"I think he's just fallen asleep, 4.5... the lad's exhausted." Cowley gently touched the face of the man before him, then smiled, "Well done Ray... you kept him with us."
Silence again filtered across the countryside. Doyle felt drained, utterly washed out from the emotions of the last few minutes. He wanted to just close his eyes and slip into the same deep sleep that Bodie had managed to climb into, and yet he felt that if he slipped away for just a moment, when he returned Bodie would be gone.
"Doyle..." Cowley's voice was low, but still it carried the edge of urgency. "Doyle."
Slowly Doyle opened his eyes and blinked wearily towards the older man; Cowley was facing away from him, his body tense, his attitude one of intense listening. Now that Ray looked closer, he could see that George was up on his feet and heading back towards the car. Ray looked up beyond Cowley and saw in the distance a flashing light; it was almost dream-like in its quality. Suddenly he was awake. There was definitely a light speeding in their direction, and now he could just make out the sound of a high pitched siren upon the wind as it raced towards them.
"Murphy did it, sir," Doyle said, his teeth clenched as his body fought against the reaction of total hopelessness being swung so suddenly into a flare of hope. "He damn well did it."
Cowley turned and walked back to his two best agents; his tread was slow... he really was very, very tired. As he reached the two men, he forced a smile to his lips and nodded when he saw the flash of hope that had entered Doyle's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that he didn't have any words to say. What could he say, what was there to say...? Once more the gods had been kind to him and his men... once more.
THE END
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