Co-operation.
For once, a rare occasion, Doyle was late for work. Not his fault. He'd got caught up in a traffic jam, caused by a road accident, and not all his driving skill, or his knowledge of all the back streets, could get him out of it. So he'd had to sit and fume till the police had arrived to sort it out, and got the traffic moving again.
He drove as fast as he could to try to make up the lost time. Fortunately, a car coming out of the yard at Headquarters, afforded him a quickly accessible parking space, and he shot into the building at top speed.
He was just mounting the stairs to Cowley's office, when he met his team-mate on the way down. Bodie had a piece of paper in his hand, which appeared to be a list of names and addresses.
"Morning," said Doyle, trying to get a look at the list.
"What are we on, then ?"
"Just a bit of checking up," replied Bodie, "and it's not 'we', just me. Cowley's got something else lined up for you, and you'd better get a move on. He's waiting."
Doyle shot up the rest of the stairs, two at a time. The boss could get a bit irascible if he was kept waiting. But when he knocked and entered the room, he was relieved to see that he didn't seem to be in a bad mood. He was sitting at his desk, reading material from a folder.
"Ah, Doyle," he said, looking up. "Sit down."
Doyle sat down, recovering his breath, and waited to receive whatever orders his boss was about to give him.
At last Cowley began.
"You were involved with that Tariq Hussim affair, a couple of years ago, weren't you Doyle ?" he said thoughtfully.
"Yes," replied Doyle shortly, a grim expression coming over his face. It had been a nasty encounter, with some vicious terrorists. Two good men had been killed, and he had narrowly escaped death himself. He'd spent a dreary fortnight in hospital, trying bitterly to work out if it could have been handled any differently.
"So you might recognize some of his mob, if you saw them again ?" mused Cowley.
"Oh, yes," said Doyle, "I'm pretty sure of that."
"Right said Cowley, and continued on a different tack.
"You've no doubt read about today's big news story,?"
"Yes," responded Doyle, "if you mean the arrival of Princess Subadra, who's engaged to Sheik Farouk el Mahmoud.
It's regarded as 'the society wedding of the year', I understand. But that's police business, isn't it ? I didn't think we were involved."
"No, we're not ," said Cowley. "The police are handling security, a pretty big job, too."
"Then what's …..?" ,queried Doyle.
"Our connection?," said Cowley finishing the sentence for him. "Just this. Tariq Hussim has been making threats against the Sheik. He declares he's going to stop the wedding. It's a very important event, which will involve two very powerful families, and bring about a lot of changes. He doesn't want that to happen."
"What do you want me to do ?" asked Doyle curiously.
"Go out to the airport, and come into London, to the hotel, with the Princess and her entourage. Keep an eye open for anyone you recognise, who might be one of Hussim's men."
"It's a bit of a long shot," said Doyle doubtfully. "It was two years ago, sir."
"I know," replied Cowley, "but until we get any more information, it's worth a try. You need to be at the airport by 10.30. Inspector Edwards is expecting you, so find him first, and make yourself known."
"Yes, sir," agreed Doyle, and went off to carry out his task.
He made it easily to the airport. He quickly found Inspector Edwards, who regarded him a little suspiciously at first. The Inspector knew very well that C.I 5 had the authority to over-ride his orders. But when he was told earnestly that that was in no way Doyle's intention, he became more affable and obliging, making him known to the top security men, one of whom found him a place in one of the escorting police cars.
Bodie returned to Cowley's office, just as his boss was switching on the television.
"They are covering the arrival of Princess Subadra at the London hotel," he said "I sent Doyle to observe proceedings there," he added, and then explained to Bodie why he had done so.
"That's a bitter memory for Ray," commented Bodie, and Cowley nodded.
The cavalcade of cars, police cars and several large black limousines, for the Princess had a large staff with her, drew smoothly up to the forecourt of the hotel, where a very official-looking red carpet had been rolled out.
Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the event. They were being held back by roped-off cordons and a large police presence, so as to leave the forecourt clear for the arrival of the prestigious party.
As police and security men erupted from the escorting cars, Bodie and Cowley both spotted Doyle's dark curly head among them.
Men sprang to hold open the doors of the main limousine, and to the delight of the watching crowd, several brightly-clad ladies emerged, two ladies in attendance, and then the beautiful Arab princess, impressive in a sunshine-yellow robe.
Then came a sudden interruption.! A dark car and a black van swept rapidly along the street, knocking down several of the police who tried to stop them, and drew up alongside the limousine. Several men jumped out.
Small black objects were tossed over the top of the cars to land all over the wide forecourt. As they impacted on the ground, they produced clouds of orange smoke, and everyone within 5 yards of these collapsed to the ground in a heap, unconscious.
"Stun gas !," exclaimed Bodie and Cowley, almost in one voice.
As those in the crowd furthest away panicked and fled, with much yelling and screaming, the men from the attacking vehicles, grotesque figures in ugly gas-masks, dashed round. They made for the bright forms of the three ladies.
One of them passed close to where Doyle lay. He stopped, looked back,then returned a couple of steps.
He stared for a second, and then lashed out a vicious kick at the inert form, before hurrying on.
"That was uncalled-for !," exclaimed Bodie angrily.
By now the men had collected the three unconscious ladies, carrying them round the cars, and loading them into the back of the dark van.
The man who had kicked Doyle came back to where he was lying, and to the watching men's horror, he now had a gun in his hand.! He pointed this straight at the dark curly head.
Cowley heard Bodie's sudden intake of breath, but neither of them took their eyes off the screen.
Suddenly, the assailant changed his mind. Perhaps murder was a step too far. Instead he reversed the weapon in his hand, and bending down, lashed out viciously at his helpless victim.
Then he was off, after the others, into the dark car, and the two vehicles swept rapidly away.
Cowley was on his feet, making for the phone on his desk.
He glanced towards Bodie, noting the grim expression on his man's face.
"You still here ?" he barked. "Go on, find him, see if he needs help."
Bodie didn't need telling twice, and shot out of the room at a run. He was in his car and on his way very quickly, driven by anger and concern.
As he neared the area, he ran into difficulties, for the congestion was terrible. Apart from the normal traffic, the roads were swarming with vehicles, police cars, marked and un-marked, and a great many cars with CD plates.
Although the authority given him by his I.D card would have got him through, it was just a physical impossibility. So he found a quiet side street, parked his car, and walked in. His C.I.5 credentials got him through the police cordons easily, and he was soon on the scene of the action.
It presented rather a forlorn picture. The big limousine, its doors hanging open, stood by the roadside. The once-pristine red carpet was now dusty and well foot-marked by the hordes of officials milling about, policemen, security men, and various others, some in Arab dress or dark suits.
As he couldn't see Doyle anywhere, Bodie pushed his way through till he spotted a familiar face, Inspector Edwards, and accosted him.
"Sir," he said politely, "I'm looking for Doyle,"
"Who ?," said the Inspector blankly, harassed out of his wits by recent events. "Oh, yes, I remember, the C.I.5 man. He didn't come round when the others did, - he got hit on the head, I heard. So my 'guvnor' had him sent to 'A and E'."
"Where ?," demanded Bodie.
"St. Angela's, just round the corner," replied the man.
"Thanks," said Bodie and made his way there.
The 'A and E' at St Angela's was extremely busy. Added to their normal heavy load, had been several injured policeman, one or two people with breathing difficulties, adversely affected by the gas, and some from the crowd, suffering from shock or minor injuries.
So it was a while before Bodie could get any answers about Doyle. At last he was directed to a Nurse Young.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Curly-haired chap – had a head injury. I cleaned it and dressed it. He said he was O.K and left."
"Where did he go ?," asked Bodie.
"How should I know," snapped the over-worked nurse, to busy to answer silly questions.
Bodie apologised, calmed her down, and departed. With all the delays, nearly an hour had passed since the attack. Where had Doyle gone ? He called base to ask if he'd reported in yet, and was told he hadn't. He began to get a bit worried. Had the head injury been worse than it had looked ? Was his mate in trouble somewhere ? He made his way back to his car, some distance away.
As he climbed in, wondering where to go next, his car-phone rang. He answered it quickly. It was Cowley.
"You'd better come back now," his boss said. "Doyle called to say he's on his way in."
"Good, he must be all right then," said Bodie thankfully, and rang off.
As he pulled into the Headquarters' car-park, he spotted Doyle's car neatly parked at the end of a row. He found him up in Cowley's office, and eyed him worriedly, but he looked O.K, apart from the dressing taped to his forehead.
"I've been half-way round town, looking for you," Bodie grumbled. "Where did you get to ?"
Doyle gave him a quick look, surprised at the concerned tone of his mate's voice.
"I cadged a lift out to the airport, to collect my car," he explained.
Cowley had been on the phone during this exchange. As he put the receiver down, there was a knock at the door. Bodie, who was nearest, answered it. It was a messenger who handed a packet to Cowley and left.
"I asked for a copy of the telecast," explained Cowley. "Let's go and run it.
The three men watched carefully the re-run of the morning's events. When he saw the vicious kick aimed his way, Doyle rubbed his side. No wonder that's uncomfortable, he thought. But he wasn't prepared for the next bit, nobody had told him about that !
"Whew," he said, "Close call !"
When the run ended, Cowley posed the question.
"Did you see anyone you recognised ?"
"None of Hussim's mob," answered Doyle. "But it's been a couple of years, - he's probably got new men now, - if it was his mob," he added thoughtfully.
Then something clicked in his memory.
"Could I see it again ?," he asked, and the projectionist obliged. When they got to the bit where the assailant was pointing the gun, Doyle called a halt so that he could have a closer look, and the man behind the camera obligingly zoomed in for a close-up.
"Left-handed," exclaimed Doyle, and studied the figure before him. The gas-mask prevented a real identification, of course, but eventually something alerted him.
"It could be," he muttered to himself. "Run it back to some of the others, please." The projectionist did as he was asked, lingering on each figure in turn.
"Yes !," Doyle exclaimed. "That's Mick Forbes, the one with the slight limp, and since they are always together, the other is 'Lefty' Milton."
"He doesn't like you," commented Bodie.
"No, he doesn't," agreed Doyle. "I've booked him more than once. He was always being collared, robbery or GBH mostly. The last time I booked him was just before I left the Force. He'd just married a very pretty girl called Marla, and he was extremely jealous and possessive. He accused any man he met of 'making eyes' at her, even me.!"
"Did you ?," asked Bodie cheekily.
"Well, she was worth a second look," admitted Doyle, "but, no I didn't. I arrested him for beating up a lorry driver he said had 'leered' at her."
He turned to Cowley.
"But they're not the brains behind this," he said. "That pair can hardly raise one brain between them. But they're useful hired muscle, and expendable if things go wrong."
He was thoughtful for a bit.
"But we might get a lead from them," he suggested. "Lefty, if they're still together, was so mad about Marla, that even if he was away on some scheme like this, he couldn't go long without seeing her."
He got up ready to leave.
"My old sergeant," he said, "He'll help me check the records. There might be a recent address, a place we could keep an eye on."
"It's worth a try, I suppose," said Cowley. "We've nothing else to go on yet, anyway. Off you go then."
Bodie and Doyle left and hurried down the stairs.
"Right," said Doyle, "Let's see if we can find the uxorious Mr. Milton."
"The what ?," asked Bodie.
"Look it up," said Doyle cheekily. "Though it's never going to apply to you."
Bodie hurried after his mate, looking puzzled. Still he was pleased to think that at least it meant that Doyle hadn't been too upset by the morning's events, and his narrow escape, and was still his teasing self.
They reported back to Cowley a little later.
"I got a current address for Lefty and Marla," said Doyle, "and a recent mug-shot, which I'll get copied and circulated. It might help."
Later that evening the pair took over a shift from the men who had been carefully watching Lefty's home address. They reported that Marla had been out shopping, and was now in, alone, but there had been no sign of Lefty. Bodie and Doyle sat back in their seats and watched for a while, but there was hardly any activity anywhere in the quiet street.
At last, Doyle sat upright and opened the car door.
"I'm going to have a word with Marla," he said. "She's a decent sort, - too good for the likes of Lefty, and she may tell me something useful."
He prodded his reclining mate, and added,
"And you, stay awake, for goodness sake.!"
Marla opened the door cautiously, recognised Doyle, and seemed quite pleased to see him. She led him through into the living-room. The table was set for a meal, - for two, Doyle noticed. Marla saw him looking.
"Oh, it's not for Lefty," she said. "I hope he never comes back.! No, my brother's coming in on the late train."
She seemed willing to answer questions, but could tell him little. Lefty had gone off about four days ago, saying he was on a good job, a real earner, he'd said. She seemed glad to have an audience, and went on to tell her visitor what a misery her marriage had become.
Doyle was a good listener, and as she became tearful, and on the verge of breaking down, he put out a comforting arm.
Suddenly, there was a shout from behind him..
"Got you !," yelled Lefty. He was standing in the doorway, with a gun pointed menacingly at Doyle.
"I always knew you fancied her," he snarled, "and this time I've caught you at it. You'll pay for that !."
"I don't think so," came another voice. Bodie was there, behind Lefty.
Then events erupted suddenly, taking them all by surprise.
Lefty jumped, visibly startled. The gun went off. Doyle spun round and fell to the floor, and Marla fainted away onto the sofa behind her.
Shocked by the speed of everything, Bodie grabbed Lefty, swung him round, and landed a punch that slammed the villain back against the wall, where he slid down limply, out cold.
Bodie dashed over to his fallen mate, and rolled him over. Doyle lay still, his eyes closed, but Bodie could see no sign of injury.
As he gazed, puzzled, he saw Doyle open one eye slightly to squint past him. Then, as he saw that Lefty was out for the count, he opened both eyes, and pushed himself up on his elbow
"What the….?", exclaimed Bodie.
"I had an idea," said Doyle. "See that throw on that chair ?
Put it over me, then when Lefty comes round, let him think he's killed me, and lug him off to the Interrogation Centre. As soon as you've left, I'll ring ahead, and get some of the lads to put on a show for you. An act, menacing, revenge-seeking, fierce against someone who's killed one of their own, you know the sort of thing. If you scare Lefty badly enough, he'll very likely fold, and tell you all you want to know."
"What about Marla ?," asked Bodie. "She'll know it's fake."
"She'll co-operate," said Doyle. "She's been talking to me about Lefty. She's fed up with what he's become. She wants a divorce. I said I'd help her."
"What ! Marriage-counselling, too ?" teased Bodie. "Is there no end to your talents ?"
"Quick, he's stirring," warned Doyle, and laid down again.
Bodie moved fast.
With one hand he pulled the cream cover off the chair. With the other, he reached over to the table, grabbed the squeezee bottle of tomato ketchup, and before Doyle could stop him, he'd squirted a large dollop down the front of his mate's shirt.
Doyle's snort of protest was muffled by the cream throw carefully spread over him.
But it was a very successful ploy, for as Lefty opened his eyes and came round, the first thing he saw was the motionless covered form, with a scarlet stain seeping through the cream cloth. He stared, horrified.
"I didn't mean to shoot him," he protested, as Bodie hand-cuffed him, and hauled him to his feet. "You startled me !"
"Bit late for that now, isn't it ?," snarled Bodie fiercely, acting his part, and thrusting his prisoner roughly towards the door.
As soon as Doyle heard the door slam, he threw off the cover, and got moving. As promised, his first move was to call the Interrogation Centre. As soon as he explained what he wanted, he had a small group, full of enthusiasm and ready to put on a show for Lefty's benefit. It's a pity I won't see that, he thought to himself, - they're going to have fun !.
Marla was stirring now, so he fetched her a glass of water, and as soon as she recovered, explained it all to her. She had blanched a little at the sight of his crimson shirt front, but she was a bright girl, and listened carefully. When he'd finished, she promised she'd play along if anyone came asking her questions.
Doyle went quickly back to base. He tapped on Cowley's door and was told to come in.
His boss was at his desk, frowning in concentration over a document he was reading, and didn't look up immediately.
When he eventually did, and saw the dark red stain on Doyle's front, he jumped up in alarm, and came round the desk.
"Doyle, you're hurt," he exclaimed.
"No, sir, I'm all right," replied Doyle. "It was that oaf Bodie's bright idea," and he carefully explained to his boss what they had been doing.
Cowley returned to his desk, relieved, and secretly marvelling at the clever ideas of this quick-thinking pair. How glad he was that he'd thought of putting them together, even though they were 'chalk and cheese'. It was constantly paying dividends.
He returned to the document he'd been studying.
"There's been a major development," he said. "Hussim has sent an ultimatum. He admits responsibility for today's attack. He says the Princess is safe and comfortable, being attended by her own ladies. She will not be harmed, and will be returned safely, as soon as there is an official proclamation, signed and sealed, that the wedding will not take place."
At this point there was another knock at the door, and Bodie entered. He eyed Doyle up and down.
"Ooh, messy !," he said with a grin.
"Yes, and sticky and uncomfortable too, thanks to you," replied Doyle, scowling at his mate.
Cowley handed Bodie the document to read, and Doyle peered over his shoulder, as they assimilated the contents. He handed it back to his chief.
"What will happen now,?" he asked curiously. "Will they agree to his demands ?."
"I shouldn't think so," said Cowley. "There has been planning for this event for years, - they won't give it up easily, - too much is at stake. And besides, there's another complication. The Princess and the Sheik have known each other for some while, - they want to get married."
"Love's young dream," said Bodie sneeringly.
"Cynic !," accused Doyle. "I think it's rather nice. So often these 'marriages of convenience' are formal and loveless. It's good to think it could well be a happy union, too."
"You old romantic," retorted Bodie, grinning at his mate.
Cowley watched them, smiling inwardly. He rather liked eaves-dropping on the banter that went on between this pair. It was very revealing. But he drew them back to business with his next words.
"It's got too big for us to handle," he said. "It's now a major terrorist incident."
His listeners nodded in agreement, as he went on.
"I've a big meeting to go to in the morning, - heads of all parties concerned, police, army, SAS, M.I 6 etc., all the top brass, and all the Arab big guns too."
"Then it's a good job you'll have something to contribute," said Bodie triumphantly. "That's what I came up to report."
As the other two looked at him questioningly, he continued.
"Our little ploy worked extremely well," he said. "Our guest, Lefty Milton, has been singing like the proverbial canary. You can go to your meeting and tell them a great deal, sir. Where Hussim is holed up. Where the Princess is being held. How many men he has with him, and how they are armed. Plenty of information! I've left Milton with Murphy and some of our experts, getting it all written down."
Cowley looked towards Doyle.
"Can we trust what Lefty is saying ?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Doyle confidently. "The man is too stupid to be cunning or devious."
"Besides," added Bodie, "We've got him scared out of his wits"
Cowley looked askance as Bodie. How far had he gone ?
"Oh, nothing physical," said Bodie quickly. "We just stimulated his imagination a bit."
Cowley came round the desk, and crossed to his drinks cupboard.
"Great work, the pair of you !", he congratulated, and poured each a liberal helping of his best malt scotch.
He thought for a moment.
"There's no point in revealing what we know tonight." He said. "Nothing's going to happen in a hurry. So off home with you." Then he scowled fiercely.
"Doyle, you get yourself cleaned up. I'm getting sick of the smell of tomato sauce.!"
"So am I, sir," said Doyle fervently.
The pair turned towards the door, but Cowley still had something to add.
"Report here, 9.30 sharp," he said. "In your 'best bibs and tuckers'. You're coming to support me at this meeting !"
Prompt at 9.31 the next morning they were en route. Bodie sat beside the driver, and Cowley and Doyle were in the back.
After they'd been going a little while, Doyle, who'd been sitting looking very thoughtful, suddenly spoke out.
"I suppose," he said, "that when we pass on all the information we have, planning will start for a major anti-terrorist operation ?"
Cowley nodded, then waited for more. He could tell that Doyle was pondering over the situation, and his comments could be worth hearing. His was a clever mind.
"Will we be involved, sir ?" Doyle asked at last.
"Do you want to be ?," countered Cowley, waiting to see what was on his man's mind.
"Well, yes I do," replied Doyle. "I'd like to see the lady safely rescued. She's very nice; - she spoke to me at the airport."
"You never mentioned that before," said Cowley sharply.
"Oh, it was only a moment," said Doyle. "She spoke to Inspector Edwards, then she smiled at me, and said "Are you a policeman, too ?" I just about had time to say "not exactly", before her escort swept her on towards the cars."
He smiled at the memory. With her coiled dark hair, deep brown eyes, and the beautiful robes she was wearing, it had been a very pleasing picture.
"But I'm worried about what might happen when an attack is launched. Tariq Hussim, fanatical terrorist that he is, is just as likely to kill the Princess at once, so that whatever happens to him and his men, there won't be a wedding."
"Doyle's got a point there," contributed Bodie from the front seat. "It's just what he would do, sir, isn't it ?"
"You could be right," their boss agreed thoughtfully. "Let me have a think about it."
They all lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey.
It was a very impressive gathering that met in one of the large reception rooms at the Ministry of Information building.
There were the heads of several different organisations, plus the 'top brass' from the army, police, S.A.S. etc. There were also several representatives from the Arab ruling parties, including Sheik Farouk el Mahmoud, a handsome young man, though at the moment wearing a rather worried expression.
Cowley was not the tallest of men, but as he strode in confidently, closely followed by his stalwart back-up, he attracted considerable attention. They took their allotted places.
The Minister chaired the meeting, and called the gathering to order. The first speaker was the young sheik himself, who gave an impassioned plea to all those present, to do their utmost to ensure the safe return of his beloved bride-to-be.
Then the Minister introduced Cowley, who had forewarned him that he had a great deal of information to pass on.
Cowley stood up, and began in a quiet steady tone, passing on all the details he had. The expressions on the faces of those listening changed from initial stunned amazement to excited eagerness, as each of those clever minds there began thinking of how the expertise of their own organisation could contribute to the massive operation which was certain to be planned now.
As he laid down the piece of paper from which he had been reading and sat down, an excited buzz of conversation swept round the room.
It never occurred to any of them to question the validity of Cowley's information. His reputation, and that of C.I.5, were both too good for that. They accepted it unreservedly, and began planning how to make the best use of it.
At a look from Cowley, the Minister called the meeting to order again, banging on the table with his gavel. As Cowley got to his feet, there was an attentive silence, as all eyes turned to him again.
"I realise, gentlemen," he said, "that this is going to be a big exercise, and we must look mainly to the police and the military to organise it. But one of my men has raised a valid point. Tariq Hussim is a terrorist, a fanatic prepared to die for his cause. He does not want this planned wedding to take place.
Our fear is, that when he is attacked, his first step will be to kill the Princess, so that even if he and all his men die, his aim will still have been achieved."
An angry murmur ran round the room, especially from the Arabs present, as they realised the reality of this thought.
Cowley held up his hand, and there was instant quiet.
"I have thought about this problem, and have a suggestion to make. Perhaps if, before the main attack is launched, maybe at night under cover of darkness, a few special men were to infiltrate the building, get to the Princess's room, and barricade themselves in, they could hold the fort, and keep the Princess safe, until the main attack was completed."
An excited murmur ran round the room.
A Major Forbright, representing the S.A.S., sprang to his feet.
"Just the job for the S.A.S.," he said excitedly. "My men are well-trained in this kind of work !."
So are mine, thought Cowley to himself.
"I agree," said Cowley, "but I think it should be my men that go in."
Doyle, listening intently, pricked up his ears at this. Perhaps he was going to get to play an active part, after all.
"Why ?," demanded the Major aggressively.
"I have a very good reason," said Cowley in a placating tone.
He turned and beamed at the faces round the table.
"Princesses," he said, "by their very station in life, are not very good at being ordered about. But one of my men has already spoken with the Princess at the airport. I feel that she will be more likely to trust and co-operate with someone she recognises, and her life may depend on her responsiveness."
A strong murmur of approval and agreement came, mainly from the Arab group.
Cowley, ever the diplomat, turned towards the Major, who still looked a bit put out.
"But, Major Forbright," he said, turning on his considerable charm, "We will definitely need your help to get them in there, and all the expertise you can give."
Mollified, the Major was ready to begin planning.
"If you'll choose your men, sir, and arrange a meeting, we'll get to work with them on the details."
The meeting continued for some time, mainly with the police and the army representatives discussing possible courses of action.
At last, the Minister, as Chairman, called a halt.
"Gentlemen," he said, "This is far too big to be decided in one meeting. I suggest you start by arranging as many consultation meetings as are necessary, to work out the details of whatever action you envisage."
There were nods and murmurs of approval all round.
"Before you go, I would like to emphasise to you two main points. First of all, time is not of the essence, although all of us here are anxious to rescue the Princess as soon as possible. Tariq Hussim has put no time limit on his ultimatum, for he well knows that a lot of talking will have to be done, as the Arab powers involved will not want to capitulate easily, even though they are concerned for the Princess's safety."
He turned towards the Arab representatives who nodded agreement.
"So take enough time to get it all worked out properly." He instructed. "The second point is equally important. You must take every precaution to ensure that no word reaches the terrorists about what you are planning. Do your training and rehearsing as if it were part of routine manoeuvres, but go nowhere near the area where Hussim is holed up."
There was a murmur of approval about this warning, especially from the army and police heads, as they well understood its significance.
As they drove back to base, Doyle had to ask.
"You did mean us, sir," he queried, "to be the ones to go in?"
"Of course," said Cowley, "You and Bodie,- choose two good men to go with you, and get in touch with Major Forbright as soon as you can."
For the next few days there was a great deal of concentrated consultation and planning going on. Those who were to be directly involved went on intensive training and rehearsal courses, but heeding the Minister's warning these were cleverly concealed in with normal army exercises and projects.
Doyle had one piece of interesting news before he packed his stuff and left. Marla phoned to say that Mick Forbes had come looking for Lefty, but she'd managed to convince him that her husband had committed murder and had fled, probably to Ireland, she'd hinted. Hopefully, this would mean that his absence would arouse no suspicion.
The four chosen C.I.5 men joined an S.A.S unit. As they all showed their willingness to listen and learn whatever they could, they overcame the slight initial resentment shown by some who thought the job should have been theirs, and were soon integrated in the planning for this special exercise.
At last the chosen day came, or rather the evening, for the attack was planned as a night raid, with the initial S.A.S force going in late evening, as soon as it was dark enough.
The army and police contingents kept their distance, but they were loaded onto fast mobile trucks, ready to swoop in rapidly, as soon as they saw the pre-arranged signal, which would indicate to them that the first part of the plan had been successfully achieved.
The S.A.S. group made a silent, stealthy approach from the woods at the back of the house, and quickly effected an entrance, neatly and efficiently silencing each of the terrorists they encountered. So skilled were they that the operation was successfully completed without any alarm being raised.
Soon the C.I 5 party were unlocking the door of the Princess's room, slipping silently inside, and re-locking it behind them.
The supporting party melted into concealment anywhere they could find, ready to play their part when the main attack was implemented.
It was a big room, lavishly furnished, with a huge four-poster bed, and two small divans for the attendants, pushed against the far walls.
Fortunately, the ladies had not yet retired, but were sitting talking, as one attendant brushed the Princess's hair. Released from its normal neat coils, it hung down her back like a dark silken curtain, almost to her waist.
The sudden entrance of four men, clad in dark jumpers and trousers, and wearing ski-masks, startled them, naturally. The two attendants looked about to scream, so Bodie and Robson leapt forward to grab them, and clap hands over their mouths.
The Princess did not scream or panic, but stood up, calm and dignified.
Doyle went up to her, pulling off his ski-mask.
"Do you remember me ?," he asked urgently.
"Yes," she replied instantly. "The 'not exactly' policeman from the airport."
Doyle quickly explained to her that an attack was imminent, and that their job was to keep the ladies safe until it was all over.
Deep brown eyes met his steel-blue gaze steadily, as she listened carefully.
"What do you want us to do ?," she asked as he finished.
"I think the safest place for you all, is under the bed, if you don't mind," he replied.
She smiled, and turning to her ladies, spoke a few swift words in her own tongue. They nodded, and Bodie and Robson let go of them.
They came swiftly to their mistress's side. Then all three got down on the floor, and wriggling backwards like three brightly-coloured silken worms, they retreated till they disappeared behind the heavy brocade valance of the bed.
Bodie and the two other men were now busy heaving the ottoman from the foot of the bed to wedge it behind the door. It was a large piece of furniture, over six feet long, and very substantial. It took all their combined strength to shift it, but it would make a very good barricade.
Doyle shot over to the far window. Pulling back the curtain, he used his torch to flash the pre-arranged signal. Then he joined his companions. All four carefully checked the weapons and ammunition that they had brought with them, and then took up their positions, down on the floor behind their improvised barricade.
They waited silently, satisfied with the first part of the mission, and preparing for the next part, 'repelling boarders'.
They did not have very long to wait. Sudden bursts of gunfire indicated that the attack had begun. Shouts were heard from inside the house, as those who had retired rose hurriedly.
Loud voices were heard yelling orders, and the sounds of running feet echoed through the corridors.
Then came the attack they were expecting. It started with loud banging on the big double-doors, by those who had just arrived, and were very surprised to find them locked from the inside. Then a volley of shots in an attempt to destroy the lock. There was a lot of shouting as they found that the doors still would not give, due, of course, to the weighty barricade behind them. There was a lull as the men outside considered what to do next.
They started with a barrage of shots as they attempted to destroy the less-substantial upper panels of the doors.
The C.I.5 men endeavoured to discourage this by popping up in turn to put a shot back through the splintering wood. They had the occasional reward of a curse or a yell from outside.
For the moment they were relatively safe behind their barricade, but they could see that the doors were being rapidly destroyed, and once the enemy had made sufficient access for men to get in, it would be a different story. But they were ready to do their utmost to hold them at bay.
Then, everything changed. There was more gunfire, but the sound was different, for it came from along the corridor outside. The attack on the doors ceased. Being cautious, they kept their heads down, and waited.
There was a banging on the door, and a shout from outside it.
"Doyle, are you all right ?," it said. "It's Major Forbright."
Doyle recognised the voice, but still demanded and received the pre-arranged security password.
Satisfied, he and the others heaved their make-shift barricade away from the door, to admit the Major and several of his men.
Then Doyle went to the bed, lifted the valance, and spoke to the Princess. To the surprise of the watching S.A.S. men, three bright silken forms wriggled out from beneath the bed, and clasping proffered helping hands, clambered to their feet.
Major Forbright approached them.
"Princess Subadra," he said, "Are you all right ?"
"Yes," she replied. "We are all perfectly unharmed, thanks to these splendid men."
And as he led her from the room, the smile she bestowed on her protectors was radiant indeed.
All that remained after that, was a massive clear-up operation. Most of the terrorists, including Tariq Hussim, had been killed. The remaining few had been rounded up without further trouble. Casualties among the soldiers and the police had been minimal, with fortunately, no fatalities.
As Doyle and Bodie emerged from the wide front door, they were almost dazzled by the array of floodlights set up on derricks by a very efficient team of Royal Engineers.
The forecourt and the gardens in front of the house had been invaded by numerous vehicles, army trucks, police cars, etc. It would take the once-pristine lawns some time to recover, thought Doyle idly, well-trampled as they were, by the hordes of men milling about.
Spotting Cowley's car parked among others over on the far side of the drive, they began to make their way in that direction.
Bodie glanced towards his team-mate.
"Oh," he exclaimed, "I see you didn't get rid of all that tomato ketchup."
Then suddenly realising the utter stupidity of that remark, he grabbed his friend's hand and pulled it up, to look at the red trickle running down the back of it.
"You're hit, Ray !," he gasped worriedly.
"It's only a scratch," protested Doyle, using his other hand to pull back the torn edges of the slit in his sleeve, showing Bodie the deep score across the back of his wrist, still bleeding sluggishly.
"How did that happen ?," demanded Bodie. "We all kept our heads down."
"It was a ricochet," explained Doyle, "Didn't you hear it ? It 'pinged' off that metal-framed mirror on the far wall."
They were almost run down by a large group of long-robed Arabs, hurrying towards the two big black limousines, which had just pulled into the driveway. Then the group stopped and parted, and the Princess was there!
"Oh, you are injured," she exclaimed, as she saw what they were looking at.
"It's only a scratch, Ma'am, " replied Doyle.
"You will get it properly seen to ?," she demanded.
Doyle nodded, feeling rather embarrassed by her concern.
"You are all such heroes," she exclaimed, and before anyone realised her intention, she leaned forward and planted a swift kiss on Doyle's cheek.
Her entourage swept her away towards the cars, leaving Doyle and Bodie staring after her in some amazement.
Then Bodie turned to his mate, with a wicked grin on his face.
"Well, Ray," he asked, "Now that you've been kissed by a real Princess, how soon do you turn into a frog ?"
.