Last Orders.
Draining the last mouthful of now tepid tea Bodie put down the empty mug and picked up his pen. His blue eyes quickly scanned the last page, Cowley's angry voice still ringing in his ears. "I want the most detailed report you've ever written in your life on my desk within the hour, Bodie, and you'll leave nothing out! Damn it man, I'll even want to know what you had for breakfast! And, I don't think I have to tell you what else I require from you. Do I make myself clear!"
Bodie added his signature to the bottom of the last page, shuffled the sheets together neatly and placed them into the thin blue cardboard folder. At the back behind the last page he pushed a white sealed envelope. He sat back stretched his aching fingers and closed his eyes. He just wanted to have a bath and to sleep but that, for now, would have to wait. He got up pushed the chair under the desk he had occupied in the Interview Room and made his way to the office of George Cowley half hoping that when he got there he'd find the man was still not back and he wouldn't have to face him. But it wasn't to be.
"Come in!" the Scot roared, his mood seemingly not having improved over the intervening hour. Bodie crossed the floor in silence barely making eye contact with the older man. He placed the folder on the desk and waited.
"Go home." The two firm words seemed to hang in the air, unregistering in Bodie's brain. Only when Cowley raised his head to look at him questioningly with eyes as black as thunder did the words penetrate and then Bodie turned sharply on his heels and left the room.
As the door closed Cowley stared at the blue folder for several seconds and then he reached for it, the thickness of its contents not going un-noticed. He leaned back in his leather chair and opened it to take out a sheaf of paper into his hands and began to read.
Thursday 1st July 1976. 6.15pm Replex Industrial Products, Wandsworth Lane, West London.
Together with 9.1 Michael Sharp and I, 3.7. Bodie, proceeded to the above address with the intention of
Cowley noted that these first few lines of his agent's report had been heavily crossed out, their indentations clearly visible on the following pages. Then the report began again.
Mike Sharp and I approached the small industrial estate on foot, having left our vehicle further up the street out of sight.
"I don't see the van." commented Mike quietly as we slipped through the open wrought iron gates and crept onto the site. We crouched down behind a unit and I scanned the area.
"I do. Look!" I pointed out the rear of a white van parked outside Replex Industrial Products in the distance and reached inside my jacket for the radio.
"Sir, we've located Crane's vehicle." I informed George Cowley, head of C.I.5. "It's as you said, at the industrial site in Wandsworth Lane. Can't see him or Murphy and Doyle though."
"Good. You're to wait there, 3.7, for back up. It's on its way, as am I. You'll do nothing until we get there. Do you understand,3.7?"
"Yes, Sir." I pocketed the radio and looked at Mike.
"I'm going to have a scout around." I told him bristling with a mixture of excitement at finally finding my partner and worry that we might already be too late.
"We'd better wait for back up like Cowley said." Mike hung back reluctantly.
"You can. I can't stand around here waiting for it to arrive. It'll take at least half an hour to cross London at this time of day."
Cowley stared at the sheet of paper he was reading in utter astonishment.
"What on earth…" he breathed aloud. "I asked for a detailed report on the events leaving nothing out. What the hell is he writing me? A story?" Cowley pulled open the drawer of his desk and took out a bottle of scotch and a glass. He poured out a generous measure took a sip and settled back in his chair again to continue reading his agents unusual written statement.
I left Mike Sharp awaiting back up and made my way towards the Replex building and heard voices from inside. Peering in through a ground floor window revealed nothing, it appeared empty but then I noticed dust coming through the floorboards upstairs catching the light. Cautiously I made my way around the building to the door and, drawing my gun, went inside. There was an almost overpowering smell of petrol and it caught in my throat. Upstairs I could hear a muffled voice as I neared the stairs situated in the middle of the room.
"So, Doyle, you're finally going to get your comeuppance. Not exactly how I had planned it." Crane was saying. "I always imagined I'd dispatch you with a bullet but your friends have done me a favour by chasing me half way across London. Now I get to give you a slow and painful death. Much more satisfying."
Relieved that Ray was still alive I moved to the foot of the stairs and holding my breath I began to climb them slowly listening to Crane's voice to pinpoint his position. He appeared to be in front of me and this was confirmed when I dared to look cautiously over the edge. Both Ray and Murphy, bound and gagged were leaning against the far wall, terror etched on their faces. Crane had a gun in one hand and a cigarette lighter held aloft in the other. Around him lay empty fuel cans and there had clearly been a struggle for there were upturned desks and paper strewn everywhere. He flicked the lighter open to reveal its yellow flame dancing wildly as he moved unsteadily about.
Cowley took a mouthful of whisky and put the sheet down to eagerly pick up the next page as he began to lose himself in his agents account.
I knew there was no time to wait for help. Murphy and Ray were dead if I didn't do something….and fast. But what? If I took him by surprise and shot him in the back he'd drop the lighter and the whole place would go up in a matter of seconds. I could make my presence known and try to appeal to his better nature. Better nature? Crane? No, that was never an option with this madman. He'd wanted Ray dead for years; a few words from me how ever well chosen was not going to change that. He wasn't named Crackpot Crane for nothing.
In the end it was decided by Murphy. From the corner of his eye Ray had seen me but he kept his attention on Crane. Not so Murphy. The second he had caught sight of me on the stairs he'd looked across at me and his glance had given my position away.
In that split second Crane must have known the game was up for, to my horror, he aimed the gun at Murphy and pulled the trigger.
"Crane!" I yelled at the man as Murphy slumped to the floor. Crane swung round with crazed eyes and tossed the cigarette lighter into the air. In an instant the place was alight, a wall of flames going up between me and my friends. I jumped quickly through it seeing the wide eyed look from Ray as he stared at the motionless figure of Murphy. In petrol soaked clothes Crane was enveloped instantly in a ball of flames.
The telephone on Cowley's desk sparked suddenly into life taking the man by surprise so that he jumped visibly. With some reluctance he put the page down and picked up the receiver.
"Yes?"
"The Minister on line two, Sir."
"Yes, thank you, Betty."
Cowley responded to the Minister's questions and proposals with a series of "Yes, yes" and "I quite agree, Minister" and "I'll start the ball rolling right away" when all the while the Scot's eyes drifted to the page before him. The second the phone call was over Cowley replaced the receiver quickly, took another sip of whisky and was about to continue reading when he stopped and lifted the receiver again.
"Betty, hold all my calls, will you?"
"Yes, Sir."
Ripping off the thick sticky tape gag from Ray's mouth the fire began to take hold, catching quickly on the paper strewn floor. He dropped to his knees beside the body of Murphy now lying in a rapidly growing pool of blood. I spun Ray around to try to untie his restraints.
"Murphy!"" he gasped. "He's killed Murphy!"
"Keep still!" I shouted at him, pulling at the rope. By now the room was beginning to fill with thick black acrid smoke. As the rope fell from Ray's wrists we both heard a moan from Murphy.
"Christ! He's alive!"
" Let's get out of here!" I yelled above the noise of the flames as we both began coughing on the smoke. Picking up Murphy and placing him over my shoulder Ray and I turned as one towards the stairs but our exit was blocked by a wall of fire. We turned round to view what we could of the room. To one side were three windows and we made our way towards them. I hoped Mike Sharp outside had heard the gunfire and would by now see the smoke, daring him to leave his post and investigate. When Ray opened one of the windows it seemed a hell of a long way down. I started to feel dizzy by the increasing amount of smoke making breathing difficult and Murphy seemed to be getting heavier.
"What now?" Ray spluttered, holding an arm to his mouth against the smoke.
"Your're going to have to….. go out first and I'll lower…..Murphy down to you. Mike Sharp's out there somewhere…..waiting for help."
Ray didn't hesitate. He made his way out of the window, turned round to hold onto the window frame and then he was gone from view.
"Ray?"
"Yeah,yeah. Give me Murphy!" he yelled up and then I heard him shouting for Sharp.
It seemed to take a great deal of effort for me to lift the weight of the unconscious man up to the window and I wondered if in fact he was even still alive. And I couldn't help but wonder that if he was dead would he still be alive if I hadn't have intervened.
'Aye, and as well you might wonder, laddie.' Cowley thought, picking up the next sheet of paper feeling some of his earlier irritation returning.
I didn't have time to dwell on this further as I pushed Murphy through the window and held him there by his hands, aware of my strength being sapped.
"Ready…..Ray?"
"Yeah, mate. Hurry. You need to get out of there now!"
I leaned out as far as I could and then lowered Murphy as smoke billowed out of the window. It obscured my view so that I couldn't see anything and could only hope that Ray had at least broken Murphy's fall.
There was a sudden crash behind me as part of the floor gave way and I heard Ray yelling frantically at me. Sensing I had only seconds before I slipped into unconsciousness I forced myself out onto the window ledge, gave myself a brief moment to prepare and then leapt out.
I think I was out of it for a few moments for I was next aware of Ray shaking me.
"Are you alright?" he asked anxiously as the wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. I turned over on the ground breathing deeply and saw Mike Sharp leaning nervously over Murphy.
"Is….he….."
"Alive. I think the bullet went straight through." Ray replied, his pale face blackened with soot.
I sat up slowly and saw an ambulance entering the main gates and I was gratefully breathing in great lungful of oxygen that it's crew were administering when Cowley's car thundered onto the site following a fire engine. I could see the worry on his face as he and several other agents spilled out and he took in the sight of the barely conscious Murphy being carried into the ambulance. Deliberately ignoring me he pushed past towards him and exchanged a few words before moving through the throng of ambulance crew, fireman and agents.
"Are you alright, Doyle?" he asked, concerned.
"Yes, thanks to Bodie."
"Get yourself off to hospital and get checked out. I'll be along shortly."
"I'm alright….."
"I said go to hospital." His voice was hard and his cold grey eyes bored into Ray leaving him in no doubt that he did not have a choice. Ray paused for a moment looking at Cowley, then at me and then back again to Cowley. He sensed the strange and sudden tension in the air, not understanding it. But I did.
"Yes, Sir."
As Ray turned away, any concern Cowley had disappeared and turned into outrage when he saw me. With an air of silent menace he flew at me grabbed me by my jacket and threw me against the side of his car.
"Time and time again you have continued to disobey my orders and now you may have caused the death of one of my men and put another in considerable danger. That is unforgivable. I can no longer stand by and watch your flagrant disregard for my authority. You are a liability to yourself and to everyone around you." Cowley let go of me and took a step back.
" Get back to the office now! I want the most detailed report you have ever written in your life on my desk within the hour, Bodie, and you'll leave nothing out!" His grey eyes registered emotion that I had rarely seen. It was beyond anger and fury, beyond disappointment and regret. In those few seconds, as I blinked back at him, I knew without any shadow of a doubt that he had made a decision and this was confirmed in his next few harshly spoken words.
" And I don't think I have to tell you what else I shall also require from you. Do I make myself clear?"
He didn't wait for an answer because for both of us none was required. Instead he turned away motioning Mike Sharp to join him and together they and the other agents got into his car and tore out of the yard behind the departing ambulance.
As I stood alone I understood his reasons for doing what he did; I had been warned before, but did he understand mine? Did he understand that my first priority, however reckless I may seem, was always the safety of my colleagues? Did he understand that given the same circumstances I would do exactly the same again without hesitation? Perhaps he did, perhaps this was half the reason for his decision. Either way, I can do nothing but abide by his wishes.
With a heavy heart George Cowley found himself reading Bodie's last paragraph again and then finally he put down the sheet of paper. His fingers sought the plain white envelope tucked at the back of the folder and he turned it over thoughtfully in his fingers for a few seconds before sliding one under its seal. Unfolding the letter Cowley read his agent's words detailing his resignation with immediate effect and then he re-folded the letter to slide it back into its envelope. With a long sigh of sadness he put Bodie's report in his 'Out' tray and then got up to place his letter of resignation in the agents personnel folder in the filing cabinet behind his desk. Once seated again he put away his bottle of whisky and the empty tumbler and closed the drawer. He took a deep breath and, pushing aside any lingering feelings of regret and disappointment, he picked up the receiver. What was done was done. He had an organisation to run.
"Betty, I am available to take telephone calls again."
"Yes, Sir."