AN ADVENTURE IN SEVEN MILE LANE
I'd driven through France and braved a lively sea having caught the ferry to Dover. I was on the final part of my journey and looking forward to getting to the hotel for some rest. Tomorrow was the final meeting in a series which had seen me travelling through Spain and France for the past ten days. I wanted my bed, and a chance to read through my notes for tomorrow's presentation. Once the meeting was over, I'd planned to get back to my house in Greenwich as quickly as possible and take a few days off.
However things don't always go according to plan. I was lost. Driving along the dark and narrow lane, it was obvious I wasn't going to make the hotel until the early hours. I cursed the circumstances which had delayed my return to the UK and forced me to drive rather than fly home.
Yet again I pulled over, switched on the interior light and checked the map. Seven Mile Lane? More like Seventy Mile Lane! I was on the right road, but still some distance from the hotel. Wearily, I pulled back onto the road and drove on. There was no street lighting, and the night was 'starless and bible black' to quote dead poets and defunct rock bands.
Thankfully I was driving slowly or I would never have seen the two men staggering along the unlit lane. As I approached, the taller of the two turned and began waving his arms as if to flag me down.
"Not likely mate," I thought to myself. "What do you think I am? Stupid? Two of you, probably drunk, one of me, dark road. Bugger off!"
I would have driven past but when he pulled out a gun and stood, steady as a rock, in front of my car, the weapon very obviously pointed directly at me, I chose the sensible option and stopped, locking the doors as I did. It was a lifestyle choice. A better option than getting my head blown off, I reasoned.
He limped up to my window, and pressed some sort of warrant card against the glass. It looked very official with a 'Her Majesty's Government' crest on one side, and a photograph of a dark haired, good looking bloke. Apparently I was talking to WAP Bodie who worked for CI5. Cautiously I wound down the window.
WAP Bodie flashed me a brilliant smile.
"Sorry for the weaponry, but I need your help," he said.
I looked at him, unsure whether he was serious or I was being taken for a fool.
"Why?" I asked. "What on earth do you need my help for? It's eleven thirty at night, I'm lost and you're miles from anywhere taking a stroll with your mate," I looked around quickly, "who seems to have disappeared.
WAP Bode jerked his head to one side.
"He's over there. We've had an accident and his car's been written off. He's a bit tired and emotional right now – it was his pride and joy."
I glanced across at the friend. He was sitting on the verge, head down, with his arms wrapped around himself. I could see a mass of dark curly hair, and a pair of long be-jeaned legs stuck out in front. His boots were muddy. The man at the window looked dishevelled, his trousers dirty and a large rip in his well cut jacket.
I made no move to unlock the door. I gently moved the gear to DRIVE, and the big car juddered as I held it steady on the brake.
WAP Bodie flashed the brilliant smile again. He tapped the gun against the glass.
"It would be a lot better if you could help. We really do need to get somewhere rather quickly, and it would be a shame to have to commandeer your car. Don't like to think of you out here by yourself."
The friend lifted his head and called out to WAP Bodie the sarcasm dripping from his words.
"Try not to frighten her off you idiot. We're the fuckin' damsels in distress!"
Bodie replied giving as good as he got.
"Yeah, and the 7th Cavalry's around the corner. C'mon Ray, we need to get to Malling, we're both hurt. You can barely walk, and my ankle's fucked. I can't put any weight on it."
"Should lay off the swiss roll then," came the acid reply.
WAP Bodie continued smoothly ignoring the waspish comment.
"She," he nodded briefly at me, "has a big, comfy car with an automatic gear," he added.
Such banter seemed out of place given the large gun, and bedraggled appearance of the men.
I took a better look at them.
WAP Bodie, was tall and well built. Despite the torn jacket and mud splattered trousers, he looked vaguely amused, a sardonic smile lifting his mouth. Standing tall, I took a guess he was ex military. I had been an army brat and knew the type. Dark hair, dampened down, a few unruly curls at the nape of his neck. Dark eyes retained a twinkle despite the situation.
Ray, gently stretching himself, appeared smaller than his friend. His battered leather jacket was wrapped around his body, giving no hint of body size or condition. His hair was curly, but dragged down with moisture, giving him the rakish look of a rock star.
I took a deep breath and made my decision.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"The Holiday Inn at Malling," was the reply.
I couldn't believe my ears, as that was the same place I was trying to find.
"Do you know the way," I asked.
"Yes. It's a few miles from here, at the end of the lane."
WAP Bodie began to open my door. I looked at him with as much severity as I could muster, given my fear.
"No. Your ankle's 'fucked' I believe. Get in. I'll take you. At least I can drive the car," I muttered.
WAP Bodie did the smile thing again and walked across to his friend, who handed him a wallet. WAP Bodie showed me his friend's warrant card. Raymond Doyle. CI5.
That was interesting! Like most people in the UK, I knew very little about CI5, other than the odd item on the news when they'd been involved in apprehending a terrorist or foiled some plot. They didn't advertise their presence. They were similar to MI5, but home land based. I assumed WAP Bodie and Raymond Doyle were the good guys, and I felt better.
I unlocked the doors to the car and motioned for them to climb in. WAP Bodie went across to Raymond Doyle and helped him to his feet. It was then I noticed the blood stained tee shirt and how it had matted the dark chest hair. All my good intentions got put on hold. I hadn't bargained for this. Raymond Doyle got in next to me, and smiled weakly.
"Thanks love," he whispered, "s'good of you to stop. We really need some 'elp."
I was too busy staring at the blood to register much more.
WAP Bodie got in the back. I noticed that he was limping badly and bleeding, a gash in the pale skin on his broad shoulder, showing through the rip in his jacket.
"I didn't realise you were both injured," I protested. "I think you owe me an explanation. I didn't pass any car crashed or otherwise and I've been driving up and down this road for ages. I'm lost! I stopped 'cos you waved a gun at me, and now you're in my car . . . bleeding . . . and I'm scared . . ."
I could hear my voice rising with fear, and to my embarrassment my voice caught. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I remembered advice from my childhood 'don't trust strangers'. I'd screwed that one up properly! I thought better of my choice to help these two and in trying to open the door to run off, I managed to lock it instead.
WAP Bodie leant over the seat and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. He passed across a pristine, white hanky. I blew my nose noisily, and jammed the hanky in my pocket.
"Sorry love. I know how it looks, but we are kosher! We do work for the government, and our car is a write off."
He smiled apologetically.
"We were on our way to deliver some documents to our boss, important papers, when we were run off the road. We've been making our way across the fields, tryin' to avoid the bad guys. Nice motor," he added out of the blue.
"So why the Holiday Inn?" I asked.
Raymond Doyle answered me.
"Our boss is there, along with the person who wants the documents."
I let out a sigh. Shakily I started the engine, and got the car moving.
Raymond Doyle lay back in the seat, his eyes half closed.
"I'm Doyle, and he's Bodie," he said tiredly.
"Pleased to meet you both," I muttered as I drove along the lane. "I'm Claire Roberts. Don't you have first names?"
"Ray," replied Doyle. "He's just Bodie. Saves time and doesn't pander to his ego," he added heavily.
We drove along silently. I had no idea what I'd let myself in for. Two rather attractive men in my car both hurt and involved in some nebulous adventure. I kept my speed down and strained my eyes trying to see the road ahead. It really was not the night for tooling around the Kent countryside without a clue as to where I was going. Bodie spoke quietly from the back.
"Just carry on down this road. It leads out to the main road soon."
"I just wish the car behind would slow down a bit," I said. "The headlights are on full beam and it's bearing down pretty fast."
At this, both men turned and checked the rear view. Bodie swore quietly under his breath.
"Doyle, it's a blue Rover. Dented bumper. Gotta be them."
Doyle looked at me.
"Put yer foot down there's a love. We really don't wanna meet up with that lot."
I looked wide eyed at Doyle. He wasn't smiling and I could see him fumbling with a gun, hissing with the pain it obviously caused him. Checking the rear view mirror, I saw Bodie, gun already in hand. I had no idea what was going on but instinctively I knew they were the good guys, and I needed to do what I was told to avoid any further bloodshed.
I floored the accelerator, and the car leapt forward. The big 3 litre V6 engine growled, and the tyres bit down on the road. Bodie shouted directions to me, while watching the Rover try to catch up. Branches whipped by, caught in the slipstream as we sped by. Doyle was silent, and the swift glance I gave him confirmed my suspicion. His shirt gleamed wetly in the poor light, his hand trying to staunch the weeping wound.
"Doyle's not good," I yelled.
Bodie looked over and checked his partner.
"He'll be OK. He was shot, but it's just a graze. The crash has done more damage. Cracked some ribs I think. "
"You?" I shouted, as I fought to keep my car on the road. The Rover was far behind now, but still following us.
"Twisted or broke me ankle. Got some glass in my shoulder. Bloody windscreen shattered."
Bodie shouted further instructions as I drove on.
"It's not far now. Traffic lights in about two miles. Turn left and then you'll see the hotel on yer right. We'll be fine then."
He turned back to keep an eye on the road behind us.
I did as I was told. I could see the lights in the distance, but didn't dare slow down too much. I certainly didn't relish the thought of being caught up in a gunfight.
The big car slewed slightly as I stamped on the brakes. Bodie yelled at me to carry on. Miraculously I got the car round the corner ignoring the red stop light. As we powered up the road, I caught sight of the Rover as it shot out of the lane and straight across the road. It hit the kerb and spun over coming to rest against a tree before bursting into flames. I thought I was going to be sick. It was pure luck that something similar hadn't happened to us. I shook my head; what an awful way to go.
Doyle opened his eyes at the dull sound of the explosion. He spoke quietly.
"You can slow down now love, we're gonna be OK."
Bodie slumped back into his seat, and I heard him muttering to himself.
In the rear view mirror I saw the flames leaping into the air. The car was unrecognisable. I noticed some bedroom lights being switched on in the houses opposite the turning. No doubt the residents would be calling the police.
I drove on at a sedate pace, not wanting to draw any further attention. Doyle was slumped forward, held safely by the seat belt. Bodie slipped a hand around the head rest, and ruffled his friend's hair.
"Hang on sunshine, we're nearly there. Claire, can't thank you enough." With that Bodie fell back and closed his eyes.
The lights of the motel cast a chilly light across the road. I turned into the car park, and ignoring all the signs directing me to the parking area, I brought the car to a standstill close to the main entrance. Bodie stirred himself and leant forward, eyes darting around, checking the area, his body still tense from earlier events.
We sat in the car, silent except for the metallic tic of the hot engine cooling down. I looked across at my two passengers. Both of them looked drained, tired and in need of help. Bodie touched Doyle lightly on the arm.
"You OK mate? Stay here. I'll find Cowley."
Bodie grunted as he slid his battered body out of the car. He gave a barely stifled cry as he put his weight on his damaged ankle.
Doyle attempted to get out of the car to assist his partner, but I took one look at him, and spoke.
"I'll help him. Who do I ask for?"
"Cowley. Check at Reception, they'll tell you where to find him."
I got out of the car and walked round to Bodie. I put my arm about his waist and he leant heavily against me. Together we shuffled towards the entrance. I looked back at Doyle. He smiled at me and mouthed a 'thanks' through the window.
Bodie could hardly walk. As soon as we got through the door, I sat him on one of the soft leather sofas dotted around the huge reception area.
"I'll get help," I said.
I went directly to the Reception, passing a group of people listening with rapt attention, to a small, sandy haired man.
The receptionist, smart and fresh in spite of the late hour, peered over the counter at me.
"May I help you?"
I cleared my throat, suddenly overwhelmed by recent events.
"Could you tell Mr Cowley his employees have arrived please? It is a matter of urgency. There's been some trouble. . . . "
Before I'd finished the sentence the sandy haired man was at my side.
"I'm George Cowley. Who are you? Tell me what's happened."
His rapid fire questions and stern expression touched a raw nerve and I just let rip.
"Don't you talk to me like that Mr Cowley! Your employees are hurt, tired and worried about getting some bloody piece of paper to you! They've been shot at, Doyle has crashed his car, I nearly ran them over. Bodie waved a gun at me! People were chasing us and they crashed and their car blew up . . ."
The words were coming too fast and I heard myself verging on hysteria. I thought of how Bodie and Doyle had done their best to complete whatever task this man had set. I remembered when I first saw them stumbling along the road, Bodie limping but almost dragging Doyle along. I'd thought they were drunk. Images invaded my mind: Doyle's blood stained tee shirt, Bodie, pointing that bloody gun at me. The headlights of the Rover, getting bigger and brighter as it gained on my car.
". . . apologise for being so short, but they are part of a high level . . ."
I stared at George Cowley realising he was trying to make amends.
"I'm sorry Mr Cowley, I really didn't mean to sound off so, but your men risked life and limb to do their job, yet you seemed angry. Both are hurt, but that didn't stop them . . . hijacking my car and kidnapping me, in the politest manner I may add . . . just to get the job done. Your men are injured! Doyle's outside in my car, and Bodie is over there." I waved towards the sofa. "They both need medical attention."
"YOUNG LADY!" the head of CI5 roared. "While you have been listing my shortcomings as an 'employer', my staff have relieved 3.7 and 4.5 of the vital documents, and both of them are on their way to the Manor Clinic where they will be cared for by the best medical staff available."
I looked at the older man, using the most disdainful look I could muster.
"Please use their proper names. They are people, and very brave . . ."
George Cowley looked long and hard at me and then a deep rumble of laughter forced its way out of him.
"Och you are a feisty one aren't you? Come. Sit down. You've done us all a great service and you deserve to know something of what's happened tonight."
He led me to a deep sofa and gestured for me to sit down. Members of his staff were busying themselves all around the area. A young woman called Betty appeared with a tray of coffee and biscuits. Someone called Murphy handed Mr Cowley a note. He read it briefly and looked across at me.
"Miss Roberts, just to put your mind to rest, 3.7, Bodie has a badly twisted ankle and a deeper wound to his shoulder, caused when the car crashed. The worst damage appears to have been done to his jacket, which, he tells me is beyond repair."
Cowley continued.
"Agent 4.5, Doyle has a graze across his chest from a stray bullet. It's not serious. He also has two cracked ribs. Both of them will stay in hospital overnight for observation." He continued. "After they were run off the road, they took to the country, and have been trying to reach me for over twelve hours. It could have gone bad for them if they had been caught. Both my men owe you a great deal."
I stared at the man not really able to take in much of what he said. I was so tired and just wanted a hot bath and a warm bed, then to be allowed to sleep for a week.
George Cowley smiled kindly at me.
"Off to bed with you lassie. The staff will get anything you need, and your bill is already taken care of."
I got up and made to leave. Cowley called out to me.
"Despite what you think Miss Roberts, Bodie and Doyle's welfare is of supreme importance to me. Just don't ever tell them I said so."
Part of a newspaper article the following day
" . . . Sheikh Al Adabi flew back to Jordan in the early hours of this morning, following the return of documents proving without doubt the Al Adabi family's claim to the kingdom of Wasiri ben Gira. The British security services, recovered the documents from the exiled military junta who have been hiding in Kent . . . "
Part of a handwritten note delivered to Claire Roberts two weeks later
". . . do me the honour of joining me for dinner at the Savoy Hotel next Monday at seven thirty pm. I'm sure you will be pleased to learn that both Bodie and Doyle will join us, now they are both recovered from their recent injuries . . . "