Betrayal

by Halcris

Several new men join the squad, but one is not all he seems.

Betrayal.

Doyle pulled his car neatly into the yard at C.I.5's Headquarters, parked it and climbed out. He was just turning the key in the lock when his partner, Bodie, shot into the space beside him, perilously close. He swung round to complain.

"Watch it, mate," he said. "You nearly had me then."

"What are you worried about ?," replied Bodie cheekily. "You know I 'drive to the inch' as the expression goes."

"Show off," retorted Doyle. But there was no animosity in their banter as they made their way together into the building and up the stairs.

"Any idea what's on today ?," enquired Bodie.

"Yes," replied his mate. "It's Cowley's talk to the batch of new men."

"Oh, heck," complained Bodie. "We've heard it all before, but if we're about, we're supposed to attend, and do a bit of the 'welcoming' stuff."

"Have you met any of the new men yet ?," asked Doyle

"No," replied Bodie, "Have you ?."

"Not recently," said Doyle, "Though I understand a couple of them have police backgrounds, so I might have run across them years ago."

They tapped on Cowley's door and were called in. They found their boss studying a paper held in his hand.

"Report on the latest fire-arms tests done by the new men," he explained. "Some of them are pretty good, too. Withers, for example, excellent, and so is Harman. They'll be challenging you next, Bodie. You'd better look out."

He said it jokingly, but Bodie frowned. He was proud of his marksmanship prowess, and didn't like the idea of being challenged.

Doyle was not in the least concerned. Expert marksmanship was a requirement for all C.I.5 men, as lives could depend on it. Their own lives, and their partner's, but also lives of innocent people accidentally involved. So they could never have too many experts.

So the pair dutifully attended the session, and listened patiently to the speech they had heard often before.

Bodie was a little disappointed to find it was only new men this time _ no new girls for him to exercise his charm upon. But he brightened up a little later as several of the office girls took charge of dispensing the tea and coffee,.

Doyle took the time to find out which of the men had previous police experience, but couldn't recall having ever encountered any of them.

So it wasn't till the afternoon that they were summoned into Cowley's office to get on with some real work. He got straight down to business.

"That report about the Brunton gang trying to set up their protection racket again seems unlikely. The group has split up. But there is a hint that someone else might be trying to muscle in, so keep an eye on that."

He paused a moment, consulting the list he had in his hand, and continued, "But something that does merit attention is the Mortinellis."

Both his listeners looked surprised. Bodie was the first to express his thoughts. "Well," he began, "Ralph Mortinelli is out of the picture. He's still in prison, and with the details of his conspiracy with Bates and Mazzone, he won't get the remission he was hoping for."

"And Uncle Roberto is keeping Benjy on the 'straight and narrow'," added Doyle.

"Both correct," agreed their boss, "But the Mortinellis are a very large and extensive family. As you said, Doyle, Roberto has been keeping Benjy in line, training him into the wine trade. But I've just heard that he has now taken him back to Italy for a long and extensive visit to all of the family's many vineyards."

"Don't tell me there's another Mortinelli !," exclaimed Bodie.

"Yes, there is," replied Cowley. "One Eduardo Mortinelli has moved into the family home here this week. He has a son, Dino, I understand, and two daughters. I am waiting for a report from Interpol as to what were his activities in Italy."

"Nothing that legal, I expect," said Bodie morosely.

"Until I hear from them," went on Cowley, "I want you to talk to some of Doyle's Italian contacts, to see if they know anything about them."

But although the pair spent the next day talking to their various informants, nothing of any consequence came to light. But many expressed the opinion that if Eduardo was anything like the rest of his family, he was likely to be up to no good soon, and they would keep their eyes and ears open.

They made this rather negative report to Cowley. Several days later, when they reported in, he confirmed their contacts opinions.

"I've just had the report from Interpol," he enlightened them. "According to this, Eduardo is one of the worst of the Mortinelli tribe. He's the kind that is the controlling mind behind every criminal activity you can think of, but clever enough to remain in the background so that nothing can be proved against him."

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Bodie. "We've known a few like that."

"Apparently," Cowley continued, "his main interests are drug-smuggling and gun-running. As he's only been here a short while, it may be some time before he gets going, so we will have to await developments and keep a close watch on him and Dino."

And things were left at that for the present, as the C.I.5 men all over London got on with more pressing work.

Some while later, Doyle was in extra early one morning, as he wanted to collect some notes from his locker before he put in a report to his boss. He found the notes he was looking for, and as the lift was working, he took that to save time. As he exited, he glimpsed a figure leaving Cowley's office, and quickly slipping down the stairs.

He's in a hurry, Doyle thought to himself. He wasn't completely sure, but he thought it was one of the new men. Cowley occasionally called one of them in for a private talk, entirely for his own reasons.

He moved along the corridor and tapped on the door. No response ! He tried again, waiting to be called in, but the summons didn't come. Puzzled, he ventured to open the door, and look in.

There was no-one there !

How very odd, he thought. What was someone doing in Cowley's empty office ?

As he retreated to the corridor, he heard the sound of the lift coming up. He waited to see who it was. It was his boss, Cowley. He stepped forward to meet him, and immediately put an anxious question.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "But did you have an appointment with one of the new men this morning ?"

Cowley looked surprised at the curious query. "No, I did not," he declared firmly. "Why do you ask ?,"

Quickly Doyle told him what he had seen. Instant suspicion leapt into both of their minds. Cowley was a perpetual target, wherever he was.

"Call Security," he ordered briskly. It didn't take long for several men to appear on the scene, carrying their special equipment. They entered the office cautiously.

Cowley turned to Doyle. "Get down and speak to the doorman," he ordered. "Check who has come in and who has left."

Doyle shot off down the stairs to speak to the doorman, a man called Harry, whom he knew well. He had done the special job for years and was entirely trustworthy.

Just then a group of the new men came in. Some pulled a face as Harry demanded to see their I.D. passes, as they'd shown them several times in the last few days.

"Oh, you'll get used to it," said Doyle. "He does this to all of us, and he's known us for years."

"It is the correct procedure," protested Harry.

One of the men explained that they were due at a first-aid refresher talk by Dr. Thornton, and the group hurried up the stairs. Various other new men came in after that, singly or in pairs.

Doyle took what he had learned back up to Cowley. "Nobody left this morning," he said, "Harry is absolutely positive about that. I was the first in, and then you, and then the new men going to Dr. Thornton's talk. And that is all."

"Right," commented Cowley, "So if there was an intruder, he's still here somewhere."

An extensive search was ordered at once, but no intruder was found.

Doyle went to Dr. Thornton's room to check. But the doctor had the correct number of men present according to his list, fifteen in all, and was starting his talk to them.

Then Cowley had a report from the experts who had searched his room, and subsequently the whole building. To his surprise they reported that they had found three 'bugs', listening devices, one in his room, one in the rest room where the agents congregated, and one down in the locker room.

So there had been an intruder ! But where was he now ?

The search was re-doubled, but no-one was found, leaving C.I 5 with a mystery.

(Actually, the solution which had not been found yet, was very simple.

Dr. Thornton had his correct complement of men, fifteen of them, but only fourteen had come through Harry's careful scrutiny. The other one had been in the building all night, carefully avoiding the night-staff manning the switchboard. He had done the job he had planned, and stayed concealed until the time was right to join the first-aid class, He was there now, sitting with the others, and totally unsuspected.)

Cowley returned to his office which had now been thoroughly 'vetted'. Not deemed necessary up till now, a lock was fitted to his door.

Thorough searches were continuing, as Security was determined to find and close any loop-hole. Cowley had to put up with being shadowed everywhere he went by a diligent, if uncomfortable, security man, endeavouring to be as inconspicuous as he could.

Doyle couldn't rid his mind of the feeling that the man he had glimpsed was one of the new men, though he had no real basis for the thought, only some instinct. Work went on as usual, though there was added alertness in all departments, as the mystery remained unsolved.

Reports began to come in that Dino Mortinelli had been making his presence felt. He had been seen in various places, talking to some dubious characters.

Cowley showed Bodie and Doyle the list that was being compiled about Dino, and both looked at it with interest.

"That's odd," said Doyle suddenly.

"What is ?," demanded his partner.

"This list," replied Doyle. "It seems to be exactly like the list Bates gave to us. You know, the possible drug contacts Ralph was interested in."

"Let me see," said Cowley, suddenly interested. He studied the list they had all just read "You're right," he said. "I think it's identical, - how odd !."

"It's as if Dino has that list," suggested Doyle. "Bates isn't out, is he ? To give it to him."

"No," said Cowley, "He's still in custody over conspiracy charges with Ralph, and Mazzone and his men."

He moved quickly to his desk, opened a drawer, and searched through it for a certain folder. He pulled it out and opened it. He gave a startled grunt, and showed Bodie and Doyle. "There were two copies here," he said, "Now there's only one !."

"Our intruder, I suspect," snapped Bodie.

Cowley frowned. This was becoming a serious problem. Everything pointed to devious work by someone who had access to the building – an 'inside' job. But who could it be ? There was nothing to give a clue to his identity. Investigations would have to be stepped up, immediately.

It had become the practice that when a new batch of men joined the force, a series of refresher talks would be available. These were not compulsory, but they had been arranged for either early morning or late afternoon, so that they would fit in with the daily work the men had been assigned. They were appreciated, and usually well-attended.

Last week's had been an early session with Dr. Thornton. This week's was a late one with Sergeant Stevens from the armoury.

So this was already going on when Doyle brought Bodie in, literally brought him in, for his partner had been nursing a badly cut hand all the way back from their last job. Doyle had dropped him off at the doctor's room to have it seen to, and had made his way up to the rest room. He'd settled with a cup of tea, to get their notes into better order, before his mate joined him to submit their report to Cowley.

He looked up as he heard the door open, expecting to see Bodie. But it was one of the new men, Harman. He came in, and rather too quickly for a new man, helped himself to coffee, quite making himself at home.

He approached the table where Doyle was working. "You're Doyle, aren't you ?," he asked.

Doyle nodded. Although he rarely pulled seniority rank, or demanded deference, he found this man's attitude rather brash.

"I hear you're a good shot," went on Harman. "So am I. A.1 marksman."

So are nearly all of us, thought Doyle to himself, but we don't go boasting about it. He was already beginning to dislike this man.

"Shouldn't you be at Sergeant Stevens talk ?," he asked.

"I did go to the first half," replied Harman, "but it was all stuff I knew already, so I decided to skip the second bit, and take the chance to look round the building to see where all the departments are."

That sounds a bit odd, mused Doyle.

"Does Cowley shoot ?," asked Harman.

Put off by the man's less than respectful tone, Doyle replied tersely. "Mr. Cowley is a very good shot," he said.

"How old is he ?," Harman asked rather rudely.

"I don't know," said Doyle, "and it's none of our business."

Harman seemed impervious to Doyle's censorious tone. He wandered round the room, peering at notices on the board, and looking at books on the shelves.

Just then the door opened again. It was Bodie, sporting a neatly-bandaged hand. As he came in, Harman moved round him and left. Bodie turned to look after him. "Who was that ?," he asked his friend.

"Harman, one of the new men," replied Doyle, "and a right arrogant little what'sit, too"

But as he too had watched the man leave, something stirred faintly at the back of his mind, something about the way the man moved. But as he tried to pin it down, it slipped away again. But it bothered him. Was Harman a suspect as the 'intruder' ? Had he any grounds for this thought, or was it just because he didn't like the man ?

He decided to do a little personal checking on the man later. He did so, and found that Harman had had some police experience, but for the last seven years he had been working on private security, with several well-known and influential men. A couple of them were Cowley's friends, which was probably what had brought the man to his notice. But he found nothing questionable, so he decided not to mention his suspicions, not even to Bodie.

Over the next few weeks the new men were quickly assimilated into the force, working their way up from straight-forward information-seeking tasks, through stake-outs etc., to taking part as back-up to senior men's missions. All performed very well, fulfilling what was expected of them, and soon their names, numbers and faces became more familiar.

Then C.I.5 became involved in a serious case. The police had asked for help after a series of incidents of lorries being hi-jacked and their contents stolen. Normally such thefts would have been entirely police business, but these had a nastier side to them. The victims of the attacks were all foreign drivers coming in from various parts of Europe.

But the gang, not content with stealing the cargo, were killing the drivers !

The lorries were being found on deserted waste sites, emptied of their contents, and with the unfortunate drivers dead in their cabs.

Naturally, firms abroad were now feeling reluctant to send their lorries over, and trade was being threatened.

"Nasty," commented Bodie, as he and his partner read the details together.

"And the police have nothing to go on ?," queried Doyle.

"Nothing as yet," replied Cowley. "As the drivers are dead, there is no-one to question, so there are no details about the attackers."

"Could there be a racial motive, as they are all foreign ?," suggested Bodie.

"Possibly, but I doubt it," was Cowley's response. "It is more likely that they are selected because the cargo they carry is usually more valuable and easier to re-sell than local stuff."

"These lorries are huge and carry a lot of stuff," said Doyle thoughtfully. "Unloading them is not a quick job. Hasn't anyone seen that happening ?"

"Evidently not, as yet," replied Cowley, checking the report

Doyle went on with his thinking."It would take several vans," he said.

"Or another lorry," suggested Bodie.

"Unless it was done under cover somewhere else," said Doyle.

"Gentlemen," said Cowley, his politeness hiding his impatience. "This clever speculation is of no help. You have raised several possible scenarios. Get out there and investigate the possibilities. The matter is urgent."

The pair left in a hurry. Later Cowley called a briefing meeting and addressed his men.

"There are questions to be answered," he began, drawing on what Doyle had said earlier, "Where are the lorries unloaded ? Where they are found or somewhere else ? Is the stolen stuff back on the market, or is it stored somewhere ? Has anyone seen anything suspicious which might give us a hint to some answers ?."

All the agents took to the streets, speaking to their various contacts, trying to find out if anyone had seen or heard anything that might give C.I.5 a clue. One or two hints of unusual activity were followed up, but nothing came of any of them. Days passed but no useful information came to light.

Jax, one of Cowley's best men, had an older sister, Mamie, who lived out in the suburbs of London, with her husband, Joe, a retired railwayman. Jax liked to go to visit her when he could, for her health was poor and she didn't get out much. It meant a rather tedious train trip, for they lived a long way out, but Mamie was an excellent cook, and always put up a splendid meal, so Jax didn't mind the journey too much. A home-cooked dinner was a real treat for a bachelor living on ready meals !

So, on his next day off, that was where he went. Both Mamie and Joe greeted him warmly. They all got on well, and he was soon making himself at home. Naturally, he enquired after his sister's health.

"I'm not too bad," she said, "But I could do without the disturbed nights I've been having."

Jax really didn't like to ask what had been disturbing her sleep. It might be personal. But her husband enlightened him

"She tells me she's been hearing lorries going up the old road behind us. But I reckon she's been dreaming."

The old track at the back of their place was a cul-de-sac. It only led to an old depot, which had been abandoned years ago, as it was so far out. The firm renting it had found more convenient premises further in. The owners had been unable to re-rent it, for the same reason. It was too far out in the 'sticks'.

"Nothing goes up there," went on Joe, "It's been empty and deserted for five or six years now."

"I have heard them," persisted Mamie. "I think perhaps someone has taken the wrong road by mistake in the dark, and I lie awake waiting for them to turn round and come back down again."

"You've got too much imagination, my girl," said Joe dismissively

At that moment, a timer 'pinged' in the kitchen, so the conversation was dropped, as Mamie hurried off to see to her cooking.

Joe continued to entertain his brother-in-law with chat about his garden, of which he was very proud, and took him out to show him round.

Then Mamie called them in to eat, and they settled with a lovely meal; and a leisurely afternoon watching sport on the television.

But as Jax sat on the train later, the conversation came back into his mind. Such an out of the way place, was just the kind of place a gang might use. It would bear a little investigation. He didn't think his sister was given to imagining things. He decided he would report it to Cowley. So he got into base early the next morning and went to speak to Cowley. He told him exactly what Maisie had said.

"I think it's a 'possible', sir," he said earnestly. "It's the kind of out of the way place that might be used."

"I agree," replied Cowley. "Leave it with me, Jax, and I'll get someone to have an unobtrusive look."

He got onto it straight away. He chose two agents carefully, one male, one female, and instructed them in what they had to do. It was a simple but very effective ploy he'd used more than once before.

A day or so later, on a Sunday afternoon, a couple strolled up the track, accompanied by a pair of lively small dogs. They played their parts well, pausing every now and then for a quick kiss and a cuddle to enforce the idea that they were a romantic couple, but their concentration was elsewhere, taking in every detail of what they saw around them.

They reached the top of the slope, and stood for a moment looking idly at the deserted depot, before turning round and strolling back down the track. But in that short moment they had assimilated a lot of information. They went back to base, returning the borrowed dogs on the way, and reported to Cowley all they had noticed.

There where no signs apparent that anyone was using the building, but it was in a good solid state, with no signs of collapse or damage. There was a lorry parked in the dark shadows at the far end of the yard, but it looked rather old and dust-covered, so it might well have been there five or six years.

The once-high stone wall round the yard was a different matter. It had collapsed and fallen down in several places, and was only a couple of feet high in parts.

But far more significant were the tyre-tracks in the mud of the top of the hill and in the yard.

They were definitely not five or six years old !

This would have to be looked into further, Cowley called in Jax. "You know the area," he said, "Is there anywhere to set up a stake-out ?"

"Yes," replied Jax instantly, "My sister's back bedroom ! You can see most of the track from there and even a corner of the yard wall."

"Spendid," said Cowley. "Take one of the new men and set it up as fast as you can. These incidents have been happening every ten days or so, so there could be another one quite soon."

Jax chose Coulter, one of the new men. He was bright, eager to learn and fit in, and, what pleased Jax most, he treated the senior men with an admiring touch of deference. Together they chose a car from the 'pool', loaded it up with all the complex equipment that would be useful, and set off.

Jax had already phoned his sister to check that it was all right. She was delighted with the idea, both because it meant she would see more of her brother, but also because it brought a new interest into her rather humdrum life.

She took to young Coulter straight away, causing Jax a bit of concern. She was likely to try to 'mother' them both, but they were there to work.

With the younger man's keenness, they quickly got on with setting up the equipment they had brought, a complicated performance. They were only about halfway through, when Coulter suddenly sprang to the window, easing back the curtain.

"There's a car coming up the track !," he exclaimed. Then moving with considerable promptness, he snatched up one of the smaller cameras, and took several shots of the grey saloon car, bumping up the rough track. It disappeared round the corner of the wall into the yard at the top of the hill.

"Good work," praised Jax, delighted by the man's quick re-action. "I'll call in and get those collected straight away. They might be able to 'blow them up' to get a number-plate to identify whose car it is."

Bodie and Doyle had just come into Cowley's office with their report on their day's work. He told them what had been happening, and they were still there when the report came in from the specialists who had done well with Coulter's photos.

"The car belongs to a Mickey Gant," Cowley told them.

"I know about him," said Doyle at once. "He's had several convictions for breaking into shops and warehouses."

He looked a bit doubtful as he went on. "But I don't think he's clever enough to be running this campaign himself. He's tough and nasty enough to carry out grabbing a lorry, but I don't think he's a killer."

"Maybe the mastermind who's running the show, whoever he is, sees to that himself," suggested Bodie.

"Do you want Gant brought in ?," asked Doyle. "He shouldn't be hard to find."

"No," said Cowley. "We haven't any real evidence that he's involved. He could just be nosey, looking the place over for some plan of his own. But I do want him found and watched to see if can learn any more."

Back in the suburbs, Jax and Coulter continued with the setting up of their equipment, sophisticated night-vision cameras. Mamie brought them tea, and then they settled down to wait, taking it in turns to rest on the bed.

Their patience was rewarded, but not until the early hours of the morning. Coulter roused Jax, who quickly joined him to focus their equipment on the lorry whose headlights were illuminating the rough track. With the special night-vision camera they could make out a lot of detail.

"That's a foreign lorry," declared Coulter.

"I think you're right," agreed Jax, as they watched the vehicle, followed by a big black car, jolt its way up the rough track, and disappear into the yard at the top.

"Did you get a make on the black car ?," asked Jax.

"Not a clear one," admitted Coulter, "I think they've tried to black out the number plate."

"The 'lab.' boys can do wonders," said Jax, "Maybe they'll be able to enhance the image enough to check."

An hour later, moving much more freely, as if now empty, the lorry came back down the track, followed by the grey car they now knew to belong to Mickey Gant. So he was involved.

All the information went to Cowley, who called a briefing meeting. He confirmed that there had been another attack, ending in an abandoned lorry on a bit of waste ground, and, alas, another dead driver.

But the boys in the photographic laboratory had done their work well, and confirmed that it was the same lorry that Jax and Coulter had filmed.l

Cowley addressed the men "We weren't able to save that driver, unfortunately, but we now know that that depot is where the lorry goes to be unloaded, and presumably, the stolen cargo is stored. But we should be able to prevent another attack. We have a few days grace, time to arrange a concerted night raid on that depot. We will take it apart, and we should learn all we need to know, to finally put an end to these vicious attacks and to bring to book those responsible."

This optimistic speech heartened his men, most of whom had spent quite a lot of time talking in vain to their contacts, who didn't have anything to give them, as events were happening so far out in the 'sticks'

Some of them had learnt a bit about Mickey Gant though. As the orders had been to keep an eye on him, he had been 'tailed' very carefully. It was found that he had become an inveterate gambler, and spent most evenings at a casino in Soho, with a doubtful reputation. It was run by a Frenchman, called Jacques Lemaire. Little was known about him, as he had only recently come to Britain to take up the post.

But two interesting facts did emerge. He had been working for some years with an import/export firm, based in France, arranging their lorry schedules.

And, he owned a big black car. !

Cowley immediately began to put his plans into action for a raid on the depot. He had organized some research, and had come up with the original building plans of the building. He had had these copied so that those involved would have a good idea of the layout of the place.

It was a two-storey structure, with a large walled yard in front of it. The first floor consisted of three large storage areas, with sliding doors big enough to admit large vehicles. Above that, the second floor had four smaller rooms with an open railing veranda in front, and an iron staircase at each end.

Two of the rooms had been designated as office space, but the other two had been fitted out as living quarters, so that a manager or night watchman could remain on the premises if necessary.

How much of the interior fittings remained was a matter of conjecture. The owners had probably stripped them out when they left, or perhaps local vandals had been in. Nothing showed from the outside as to whether the rooms were still habitable, or whether anyone might be staying there.

As Cowley wanted the place fully turned over and investigated, with a forensic team to follow later, two cars were going.

Bodie and Doyle in the lead, with Jax who knew the area, and two senior men in the second with Coulter, and oddly enough, Harman.

As it was to be a night raid, the group gathered together late evening, loading up the cars with all the equipment they might need.

Doyle suddenly remembered that he had left his favourite torch in his locker. He preferred it to the standard issue ones. They would undoubtedly need torches, as there had been no sign of any lights anywhere in the building.

So he hurried back to get it. He entered the locker-room, to find Harman there, behaving very oddly. He had pulled a bench from beside the wall, to push it in front of the row of lockers, and was standing up on it.

He was reaching over the top of the lockers. He looked a bit startled as Doyle hurried in, but quickly recovered his poise.

He jumped down and came towards Doyle with something in his hand. "I've found another 'bug'," he said. "I heard a sound and searched it out."

Doyle was a little taken aback as he looked at the small instrument in his hand. He'd never heard of a 'bug' making a noise. But this one was not like the ones C.I.5 used. It was a make he'd never seen before, though there was something familiar about it. Doubts began to creep into his mind. He'd have to investigate this further, but not now, as there wasn't time.

"Come on," he said, sticking the object into his pocket. "We're holding everyone up."

He helped Harman put the bench back in its usual place, and collected his torch. Then the pair hurried off to join the rest.

Before long the convoy of two cars each with its complement of eager and determined dark-clad men was well on its way towards the outskirts of the city. They found a space to park the cars at the bottom of the hill, well hidden from any casual sight.

They unloaded the basic equipment they would need. They would fetch the other stuff later when it was needed.

So armed with hand guns and torches, some bolt-cutters and a couple of 'jemmies', the party set off up the rough track towards their objective.

It was a dark night, lit only by fitful moonlight as the moon broke through the low cloud-cover. But thankfully, it was dry, for the road became a dreadful muddy track if there was much rain.

They reached the broken-down perimeter wall, and eyed the building before them. There were no lights on anywhere, and nothing to suggest that there might be anyone there. And the yard was empty too, apart from the same old broken-down lorry that had been seen before.

So the team began to enter, and spread out along the inside of the wall, before advancing toward the actual building.

Then suddenly they received a shock !

Simultaneously, all four doors on the top floor were swung open, and a fusillade of shots rang out, firing down into the yard towards the advancing men.

Thanks to quick re-actions, injuries were few and minor, as the men dived back over the lower portions of the wall to take cover behind the higher parts still standing.

Bodie was crouching beside Jax, who was busy tightly wrapping his scarf round his left forearm.

"It's only a scratch," Jax protested bravely , "But how did that happen ? It's almost as if they were expecting us."

Doyle overheard these words, and all his old suspicions and doubts began to return, as he recalled Harman's odd behaviour just before they'd set out.

He fished in his pocket for the remembered 'bug'. A sudden fear entered his mind that he might have inadvertently led his colleagues into an ambush with it. But the little instrument seemed to be inert. Was he letting his imagination run away with him ?

Just to be sure, he moved a little way away, and using the butt of his gun, ground the thing into the rubble.

Just then the moon disappeared into a thicker patch of cloud, increasing the darkness in the yard. So no-one noticed two dark-clad figures climb back over the wall, and move, one right, one left, towards the far ends of the yard and the steep stairways hidden in the extra deep shadows.

Sporadic firing continued, with men popping out of the doorways on the second floor, to throw shots at the C.I.5 force, who returned fire whenever they saw them. But at that distance, with so little illumination, neither side was achieving any great result.

Then the cloud parted suddenly. A figure, instantly recognisable as Gant, popped out of the right end doorway. He flung a shot down into the yard and then turned to fire horizontally along the veranda, as he caught a glimpse of a figure there.

Fire was instantly returned from both directions, and Gant was seen to fall.

The intermittent moonlight went and then returned, making visibility very poor

This time a figure was seen three-quarters of the way up on the right stair..

Fortunately before any shots were fired, a waving arm helped identify Harman.

By this time the rest of the team were over the wall and racing for one or other of the stairways.

Bodie charging up on the left, was dismayed as he neared the top to see a fallen figure, slumped over the top step. He increased his pace, switching on his powerful torch, and was shaken by what he saw.

It was Doyle, his partner, but he looked really badly hurt. He was bleeding profusely, his eyes were shut, and his face was deadly pale.

Bodie moved to one side to let the others past him, as he holstered his gun, and reached for his radio-phone. He summoned an emergency ambulance, almost shouting into the phone. Where was the nearest hospital ? How far would they have to come ?.

Jax, still clutching his arm, came to report to him. "We found one dead in the next to end room," he said, "But the other two have gone. There's a back door in the living quarters bit that leads out onto the hill behind."

Coulter, right behind him, chipped in, "No chance of catching up with them in the dark," he said, "Maybe the forensic chaps will find a print to identify them, and we can pick them up later."

Both were gazing anxiously at Doyle's still form.

"Looks bad," whispered Jax, who was a close friend, "Is he still … ?"

"Yes," replied Bodie tersely, knowing what he was asking.

One of the senior men, thinking quickly, had run down the hill, and retrieved their car, with a first-aid pack in it, bringing it up into the yard. Bodie quickly did what he could with what was in the pack, but all the time he felt as if he was fighting a losing battle.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team had taken the bolt-cutters to the padlocked doors below. They found what they had expected, a huge quantity of the goods stolen from the lorries.

The senior man reported this to Bodie, but he could see that this news was not Bodie's priority, so he took over the task of reporting to Cowley, telling him exactly what had happened.

Cowley said he would get onto the police to get the stolen cache dealt with, so that his team could return to base, and demanded that he be kept up to date on Doyle's condition.

It seemed an age before they heard a nearing siren, and saw flashing lights coming up the track. The ambulance pulled into the yard. Two medics jumped out, and following directions, hurried up the stairs. The older experienced man managed to control his expression, but the younger couldn't suppress his look of horror at what he saw.

But they set to quickly using all their skills, and soon were carrying Doyle, swathed in red blankets, and secured to the stretcher, carefully down the steep stairs.

Jax caught Bodie's arm. "You go with him," he said, "Morton and I will see to everything here. But keep in touch."

The ambulance sped the fortunately few miles to the nearest hospital, a medium-sized place, called Hillgate. Doyle was rushed inside, and immediately whisked away, out of Bodie's sight.

He was escorted to a waiting-room by a senior nurse, asking for identification details. He endeavoured to give these as clearly and accurately as he could, though his mind was elsewhere.

Was this the end of their partnership ? He and Doyle had gradually developed a rapport that suited them both very well. It would be a hard blow to take if this was the end of it.

The nurse had been impressed by Bodie's I.D. and had hurried off to consult the Sister in charge. She entered a few minutes later, and approached him, bearing a cup of tea.

"Sit down, Mr. Bodie," she said, "And try to relax. Your friend is in very good hands, Dr. Raman is an exceptional young surgeon, and will do all he can."

She was endeavouring to be bright and encouraging, as she could see the man before her was deeply concerned. It was difficult, for she had seen the patient before he was rushed into the operating theatre, and had been appalled at the state he was in.

She continued to keep an eye on Bodie, as he sat through the subsequent hours in the waiting-room, sending her nurses in with coffee and sandwiches, though he barely touched those.

Bodie had put through a call to base as soon as they had arrived to leave details of which hospital Doyle had been taken to. When Cowley called him a couple of hours later, he still had nothing to tell him.

Hours later, heard the sound of the room door opening, He looked up wearily, quite expecting to see one of the nurses, but to his great surprise, two men entered. The first was their friend Dr. Fenton, from the hospital they usually used, St. Richard's.

He jumped up in surprise and sudden fear. "What are you doing here ?," he demanded.

"Cowley phoned me," replied Fenton, "and as it was my day off I grabbed the chance to come and see how things were."

He turned to the young man standing just behind him. "This is Dr. Raman. He was kind enough to let me sit in while he worked. He is brilliant, Bodie. He did everything I would have done, maybe even better."

Then his face became more serious. "I won't lie to you, Bodie. Ray's in a bad way this time. He's critical, and will be for some time. He's getting every care, but we can only wait."

Bodie was dismayed at these words. Dr. Fenton was usually so cheerful and optimistic. But these serious words were ominous.

"I'm going back now, but I'm leaving him in the best possible hands," Fenton said. "I've been told to take you back as well."

"I want to stay here !," protested Bodie vehemently.

"To do what ?," asked Fenton. "Fret yourself sick ? We both know how strong he is, so we can only hope and pray. But it is Cowley's express orders, Bodie, so you've got to come with me."

So reluctantly Bodie went with his friend. Both were rather silent on the journey, lost in their own thoughts.

Bodie reported to Cowley's office and added his account of all that had happened on the raid that had turned out so differently from what they had expected.

Over the next few days, Cowley, shrewd as ever, kept him constantly busy. He sent him out with either Jax or Murphy, on tasks which demanded his total concentration, and gave him little time to think of anything else. Which was just as well, for the daily report that Cowley received was constantly "No change."

On his next day off, Dr. Fenton went down to Hillgate again. He was met by Dr. Raman, who brought him up to date on all that was being done. He seemed particularly glad to see his colleague, and began to explain why.

"I actually think he's a little better this morning," he said, as he led the way to Doyle's room. "He's restless, as if he's struggling to come round."

The pair entered the room, and moved closer to look at the patient. Fenton could now see what Dr. Raman meant. The usually strong hand, lying limp on the covers, seemed to be feebly plucking at them, and the curly head on the pillow was moving slightly. As they watched, the eyelids flickered, and the pale lips moved as if trying to speak.

"He seems to be mouthing something," suggested Raman, "but I can't understand what he's trying to say."

Fenton moved closer round the side of the bed and watched carefully. "It's 'Bodie'," he exclaimed. "He's trying to say Bodie. That's his friend who came in with him. They work together as a team, and have a very close rapport."

Then the young doctor made an important suggestion. "Could we get Bodie here ?," he asked. "His actual presence might stimulate him further, and bring him round."

"Can I make a phone call ?," asked Fenton excitedly.

The pair hurried to Raman's office. Using some special numbers he knew, Fenton quickly got through to Cowley. He explained the situation.

"Right," said Cowley decisively, "He's out on a job at the moment, but I'll collect him from there, and bring him down there myself."

He sprang into action, and very soon his skilled driver was eating up the miles, as they sped towards Hillgate hospital.

Cowley had only told Bodie the basic facts as Fenton had told to him, but both men were buoyed up with renewed hope, after a very negative period.

Some time later the pair arrived and were quickly conducted to Doyle's room, where Fenton and Raman were waiting.

Bodie grabbed a chair, carried it to the bedside and sank into it. His hand shot out to cover the restless one on the covers, and his voice was gentle but urgent.

"Ray," he said, "Ray, it's me. I'm here."

Instantly the tired eyes opened, and the pale face was lit by a faint smile

"Bodie." This time it came out as a faint whisper.

"Easy, Ray," said Bodie gently, continuing to press the hand beneath his.

"Important, must tell," came a weak but determined voice.

"Take your time," said Bodie soothingly, "I'm not going anywhere."

The weary eyes held his. Doyle was not aware that anyone else was there. The other three were standing quietly, out of his eye-line, but watching and listening intently.

"He shot me," came the whispered words.

"Yes, Gant," said Bodie, "But we got him."

But Doyle was gently shaking his head. "Not Gant," he murmured, "Harman !"

Bodie stared in disbelief. Harman had been on the stairway near Gant, but hadn't reached the top. "Why would he ?," he gasped.

"Traitor," said Doyle, feebly.

Very slowly and haltingly, with many pauses, Doyle told the whole story. How, just before the mission, he'd caught Harman with that 'bug', which he now remembered as identical in design to those found before. And also how he'd suspected Harman right from the start of being the 'intruder'.

"He shot me," he persisted, "Saw him clearly."

The three standing in the shadows, had listened, transfixed, to this account with considerable incredulity.

Now Cowley stepped forward and Doyle saw him.

"Sir," he gasped.

Cowley almost demanded "Is this true ?," but stopped himself in time. Of course it was true ! Doyle, even ill as he was, wouldn't lie over something like this. And it all began to tie in with rumours he'd heard about Harman having been seen talking to some very dubious people.

"I'm going back to base," he said decidedly, already planning the action he would take. "Bodie, you can stay on for a bit, and come back with Dr. Fenton, if he'd be so kind ?."

Fenton nodded instantly. Bodie's presence had done so much already. Doyle was re-gaining strength visibly, but he might relapse if Bodie was to leave too soon. They needed a little more time together.

So Bodie sat by his mate's bedside for a while, quietly talking, bringing him up to date, for of course, Doyle didn't know what had gone on after he'd been hit. Bodie told him how the stolen cargoes from the lorries had been discovered in the lower storage rooms, and were presently being checked over by the police, before they would eventually be returned to their rightful owners.

He told him how Gant and another man had been killed, but that two others had managed to escape through a back door, and had fled across the hillside.

"But the forensic team were pretty good," he said. "They found two fairly good sets of prints. One was quickly found in our records, a man called Simpson, a mate of Gant's. The other set weren't on our books. But we picked up Simpson quite quickly, and after a little 'gentle persuasion (Bodie grinned mischievously) he admitted that the other man was Lemaire, the casino manager. That's being checked with the French."

Doyle had been content to lie quiet and listen to this account. The effort of getting his story out had taxed him severely, but to have Bodie there was all he currently needed.

Fenton stood in the background and watched carefully. He eventually decided that Doyle had had enough for one day and needed to rest and sleep. So he told Bodie that they were leaving, and reluctantly he accepted this.

"I've got a day off on Friday," he said as he stood up to go, "so I'll be back then."

Doyle made steady progress, thanks to the special care showered upon him. He had one visitor, as Jax, coming to see his sister, popped in for a while, bringing good wishes from many of their colleagues, very pleased to hear Doyle was recovering.

Bodie duly turned up as promised, bringing more news. He was delighted to see how much better Doyle was, now sitting up and taking notice.

"Lemaire's prints were in the French records," he said. "So they are looking out for him, in case he's skipped back over there."

He pulled a face as he reported the next bit."But Harman's disappeared. There's no trace of him."

"I'm not surprised," said Doyle. "As soon as he heard that I wasn't dead, and was starting to recover, he'd know I would tell all I suspected, which was why he'd tried to get rid of me."

"I expect we'll catch up with him eventually," said Bodie, trying to treat the subject casually.

He wasn't going to tell Doyle that Cowley had been in a terrible mood, after what he had learned. He was furious at what he considered his own lack of judgement, and had driven everyone hard in his determination to find Harman and deal with him. A traitor in the ranks, an extremely rare occurrence, could not be tolerated, and C. I.5 would not give up until he was found, however long it took.

"Bit of good news, though," Bodie said, smiling at his mate. "Simon says you're doing so well, he'll get you moved back to St. Richard's's soon. Then we'll have you back in our hair again. Thank goodness !."