Hail pattered off the windows would be putting it mildly Bodie thought. Hail crashing down on the glass so it sounded like it was going to break would be a more accurate way of putting it. But it made his flat look cosy. Bodie absentmindedly rubbed the back of his head. The doctors had told him he was lucky that his skull hadn't been fractured. It still felt a bit tender but he was back on duty. Yawning he settled back to The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
Simply the image of Bodie reading a book would make most people gape in wonder (and make jokes of the 'who are you and what have you done with Bodie?' variant) but to be honest he'd had the book for a while and felt he should really get around to reading it. Then if it ever came up in a conversation with his partner he could annoy him with it. Smiling a little to himself he flicked over a page.
The phone suddenly trilled out. Bodie sighed. Should he let it just ring off? The phone kept trilling incessantly. Finally he marked his place and leaned across the table.
"Hello?" he said wearily. The voice crackled down the line.
"You're going to pay."
"What? Pay for what?" Bodie exclaimed, alarmed. The link snapped off leaving Bodie listening to silence. Confusedly he replaced the receiver, a dark sense of apprehension creeping up through his mind. That was…worrying. A horrible sense of déjà vu rapidly flashed past him. If this wasn't some kind of a joke then… He grabbed for the phone again and with shaking fingers dialled the number.
The ringing seemed to go on forever. Bodie waited with a pounding heart until eventually the phone was picked up.
"Hello?" Bodie only just restrained himself from exhaling in relief.
"Hello sunshine. How did it go?" A tad grumpily Doyle replied.
"It went fine."
"Nah, it went rubbish didn't it?"
"I wouldn't say rubbish." Doyle protested.
"That is because you don't have the charm Doyle me lad…" Bodie was relentlessly pursuing the thread of conversation in an attempt to pretend everything was fine.
"Oh shut up."
"If you do insist on that mop…"
"Goodnight Bodie." The phone clicked again. Bodie sank back into his sofa, the book forgotten. Who had called him? Biting his lip Bodie pinched his nose in thought. If it had just been a hoax it hadn't been a very funny one. Should he report this to Cowley? He knew what happened last time… but he wasn't certain. He'd think it over in the morning. But he still did a double check on the windows and doors before he went to bed.
Doyle didn't mention the late night call and Bodie saw no reason to bring it up. Cowley had sent them on a stakeout. A very boring and ultimately useless stakeout. Bodie was rather quiet and his normal jokey mood was all but gone. As they were packing up Doyle asked;
"What's up?"
"The sky." Doyle rolled his eyes and then continued.
"Come on. That's probably the first stakeout I haven't felt like killing you at some point. Not that I'm complaining mind you," Bodie grinned, "so what is it?" his partner shrugged but didn't answer. Doyle knew better than to try and force it so quickly switched the topic. Bodie would tell him in due time.
It wasn't long. Bodie realised he had forgotten a report for Cowley and since they were near his flat he asked Doyle if it was alright if they picked it up.
"Suit yourself," Doyle chuckled, "at least I remember things." Bodie shot him a contemptuous glare, wondering whether to rib him about the amnesia, but secretly glad for the banter. Then he looked up towards his door. A sheet of paper was pinned to it. He leapt out of the car and hurried up to it. Doyle followed him out, confusion etched on his features. Bodie skimmed the words scrawled on the paper, his frown getting deeper. Then he noticed Doyle trying to peer over his shoulder and crumpled the sheet hastily. He tried to disinterestedly stuff it in his pocket but it slipped out of his hand. Doyle snatched it up from the pavement before his partner did.
'Better watch out'
"I got a call last night." Bodie admitted as Doyle glanced at him. "I was kind of hoping it was a joke." He shrugged carefully and added, "But, 'you're going to pay' isn't exactly funny."
"Any ideas?" Doyle asked. Bodie shook his head.
"It could be anyone couldn't it? Although a few of the blokes I…worked with aren't this subtle." Doyle raised his eyebrows.
"Cowley?"
"Cowley."
"Somebody's got a grudge against you." Cowley said, placing the note on his desk.
"I had figured that out sir."
"Anyone come to mind?" Bodie inclined his head slightly. He was glad they had decided to call in; it put his mind more at rest.
"Let's assume it's something from your past, Bodie. Who would want to kill you and why?"
"You should look up a few old friends," Doyle suggested, his manner pensive in the corner. Bodie nodded in agreement.
"Might not be much in the files but we could find out if any of them are even in the country." Cowley surveyed the pair.
"Get to it." His tone brooked no argument though Doyle was at a loss why they would. As the duo began to leave he ordered gruffly; "But in the meantime Bodie, pick up a tracer and carry it. It does no good sitting in your car." Bodie had the good grace to look rueful remembering the incident.
Bodie returned from the equipment room, fixing the device inside his sleeve. Doyle glanced at him.
"Why'd you get two?" Bodie gave him a look.
"One for me and one for you," he explained dropping a tracer into his friend's hand. Doyle opened his mouth to protest but he quickly cut in; "What if they're after you too? And even if they're not…well, it pays to be cautious." Doyle cocked his head and handed back the tracer, an adamant look on his face. Bodie thrust it back out to him.
"Doubt I'll need it." Bodie rolled his eyes at his mate's stubbornness, didn't he understand? But finally Doyle curled his fingers around the item and fixed Bodie with a half obstinate glare. His exasperated partner pretended to cuff him round the head and the gloomy atmosphere dissipated as Doyle tried to return the favour.
The files showed nothing. Annoyed, Doyle flicked over another page reading though what had started as a lead and had now fizzled out. Nearby Bodie was engaged with the same activity, an almost permanent scowl etched on his face. At last Bodie threw down the document and rocked the chair backwards, hands clasped behind his head.
"I can think of two people," he announced. "Benjamin Jamesworth, American ex-soldier turned mercenary; he tried to disembowel me the last time we met. Or Frank Carter, white African smuggler; his brother was accidently killed in a shoot-out including the group I was with. He reckoned it was my fault because I was the only one he knew."
"You certainly didn't make friends out there did you?" Doyle muttered. "Any idea if they're in the country?" Bodie raised his shoulders to the sky.
"We could check at the airports. And the docks. They could be here for another reason and I'm the entertainment on the side."
"I'm really glad I was never a merc." Doyle said.
However the next few weeks were completely free from sinister messages or threatening phone calls. Bodie was beginning to hope that whoever it had been had simply stopped. Perhaps they had only wanted to scare him. However after the second week had passed without incident he had almost forgotten about it. But unfortunately they hadn't.
Gunfire crackled over Bodie's head. He fumbled with his weapon, shoving a new cartridge in. The group was good. Taking advantage of the lull he pushed himself up and answered in short, sharp bursts. One of the gang swung around, his gun raised and ready to fire. A bullet slammed through him. Doyle sprang from his cover and ran, bent double, before throwing himself down beside his partner.
"Backup's coming, and my radio's just broken," he gasped. Bodie nodded before slinging a volley of slugs back.
"How long?"
"Two minutes!"
Up. Fire. Down. Doyle felt like a Jack-in-the-Box. Two minutes could stretch until it seemed like two hours. Two members – unshaven and nasty – suddenly pounced on the agents from behind penning them in. Bodie and Doyle both whirled about, rapidly feeling like rabbits caught in car headlights – doomed. The men grinned murderously, the automatics levelled with an unerring accuracy.
"Any last words?" one demanded, his words obviously taken from one of those shoot-'em-up action movies starring John Wayne and his band of merry cowboys.
"Yeah," Bodie said before turning slightly to Doyle, "Liar."
The would-be gunman keeled over with a surprised look on his face. The explosion echoed aggressively. His companion turned, unsure whether to address the new danger or to get rid of the old ones. Murphy quickly brought him down as Harrison loosened off a barrage.
"You're late!" Doyle yelled at Harrison.
"Traffic!" The guns on both sides spat flame. Three left.
It wasn't long before they overpowered the gang. The weak sunshine highlighted the group when they trooped out into the small courtyard. They were a little jizzed up after the fire fight but still keeping an eye on the two men.
"Did you radio in before you got here?" Bodie asked. Harrison shook his head.
"No, I'll do it –" his words were cut off by a yell and a sickening thud of metal hitting meat. Doyle wasted no time, leaping over and striking the man, the knife spilled out of his hand. The other survivor started for it before he saw Doyle's expression and very wisely decided not to aggravate the situation.
"Murphy!" Murphy clutched at his side, pain clear on his face.
"Not too bad," he panted, trying to stem the flow. "Dodged." Bodie was quickly beside him, bundling up Murphy's jacket and pressing on the wound. Harrison was patting himself down in desperation.
He swore. "The R/T's in the car!" He scanned the other two agents hopefully. Doyle shook his head.
"Mine's on the brink," One hand waved exhibit A; "Bodie dropped his in the first volley."
"Right," Harrison said, "We're down the other end of the street. I'll run and phone for an ambulance."
"Don't need one," Murphy muttered.
"Shut up and concentrate on not bleeding to death," his partner snapped. Bodie half turned from his task, his free hand digging in his pocket. He chucked his keys to the agent.
"Mine's closer," Harrison set off in a sprint.
He reached Bodie's car quickly. Harrison stopped, flicking his brown hair away from his eyes while fumbling with the key. The door opened smoothly and he grabbed for the radio.
Poor Harrison. At least it was quick.
The car disappeared in a column of fire.
Bodie sat blankly in the locker room staring at nothing. This was his fault. He should've remembered, he should've thought of it. Murphy's face swam behind his eyes; the shocked expression twisted his insides like…like a knife. God, what had been left had been a mess. Harrison wouldn't need a coffin. But there was another thought that sounded so selfish echoing through his head.
That could have been me.
It could've been his guts spilled over the pavement; he would've burnt inside that pyre. Or Ray could've. Or both of them. If Murphy hadn't gotten sliced by that maniac Harrison wouldn't have gone for a radio and then…Bodie briefly wondered if they would have checked the car. It was unlikely. Harrison was usually observant, and he hadn't seen the danger.
He suddenly wanted to vomit.
That was meant for me. It should have been me.
Then a new venomous thought appeared. This one made sense. Bodie could feel the anger crackling through his limbs like a prolonged static shock.
I am going to get that bastard.
Doyle returned from the hospital with good news. Murphy's wound wasn't bad; he was just requiring a few stitches, a large bandage plus some time off. Murphy acted as if he wasn't there. 'Suffering from shock' as the doctor put it. But it was the gloom that really struck the agent when he left. He saw how Murphy's hands clasped, wringing his fingers, he saw the blankness in his friend's gaze and he could feel the fury and the helplessness pouring off him.
Doyle shivered. The explosion seemed burned into his mind. The explosion meant for Bodie. Some madman was definitely out to kill him – and they'd stepped up from ominous phone calls to something much bigger. It looked like it was going to be a long night.
Bodie's door buzzed. Yawning he trundled to answer it. Full alertness sprang out at him and hissed a warning, grisly images spawning inside his head. He stopped and stared. If yesterday's incident was anything to go on…
Carefully he eased to the phone, checking for anything out of the ordinary.
"Doyle." Bodie grinned.
"Push,"
Doyle wondered in, scratching at his unshaven face. He yawned and Bodie teased;
"Couldn't you find anywhere better to sleep?" Doyle smiled to hear his own words being used on him.
"You've got some nice birds on your street," Bodie tutted.
"You wouldn't have a chance with any of them mate." He gestured to the bathroom and Doyle hurried in with a distinctly relieved air.
The smell of toast (albeit slightly burnt toast) was soon wafting through the kitchen when shaved Doyle exited the bathroom looking infinitely happier. Bodie passed him a mug of tea.
"Uneventful?" he asked. Doyle took a sip of the liquid.
"Uneventful." The mug clattered on the table. "Got a call from the switchboard last night. Carter's been seen in London. Think it's him?" Bodie shrugged.
"Could be, he was pretty angry when I saw him last. Not one to travel all over the place for personal reasons though. Find him and we'll probably uncover some gunrunning." Doyle pursed his lip in thought.
"There's an APB out for him. And Jamesworth." He paused and then remembered, "There was a prison break a couple of weeks ago, do you think?..."
"Dunno." They lapsed into a cognitive silence.
Suddenly the ringing of the phone skipped into life. Both agents eyed it suspiciously. Finally, slowly, Bodie stood and scooped up the receiver.
"Harrison was a blast wasn't he?" Bodie stiffened then growled down the phone.
"You bastard! Who the hell are you?" The mocking laugh chilled him to the bone. But not as much as the next words did.
"Why don't you ask Ray? He's standing by the table."
The alarm crystallised around Bodie. He whirled around, the phone dropping out of his hand. Doyle caught the feeling, his hand reaching for his gun. He was quick but they were caught unprepared. The door slammed inwards. Bullets from a silenced gun pockmarked across the table. Doyle snatched his hand away, lucky to escape with all his fingers. Three figures emerged, all brandishing automatics. The two flanking the leader were recognisable by the photos in the CI5 files but both agents stared at the main man in disbelief.
"I wouldn't try anything if I were you," Wallace said conversationally, "especially, trying to get the gun."
"Wallace!" Bodie choked out. Wallace pointed the weapon at him.
"That's my name. Nice of you to remember." He smiled humourlessly and indicated the pair beside him. "Do you like my new gang?" Jamesworth and Carter stood loosely and observed their prisoners. The guns snouted menacingly.
"Not particularly," Doyle muttered. If looks could kill Wallace should've been splashed across the wall.
"This is a pleasant bonus," Wallace derided, regarding Doyle, "two for the price of one." Bodie could see Doyle tense up. No wonder. But Wallace's statement made him stop. Bonus?
"What do you want?" he demanded hotly.
"Right now I want your friend to kick the gun away because he's edging towards it." Doyle scowled. Carter stepped forwards and gestured forcefully with his weapon. The gun skittered reluctantly under the table. "Good. Now I want you to both come quietly or I will shoot you. Maybe not fatally, but it will hurt." He glared at the duo. "Move." The voice was very calm and very dark.
The other two men grabbed one of the agents each. Bodie shot Doyle a look as he started to resist. These people were mercenaries and wouldn't hesitate to fire. Thankfully he got the message and yielded sullenly. "Take off the coats," Wallace ordered. Bodie groaned inwardly as his tracer was tugged away from him. Then Jamesworth and Carter forced them out the door.
The van was parked close up; making it less likely anyone would see them. Bodie and Doyle were shoved into the back by Wallace and Jamesworth while Carter climbed into the front. The engine growled into life.
Leon skimmed over the newspaper, kindly brought to him by one of the obliging computer girls; Karen. He took a draught of his coffee, checking through the stories, wondering whether she'd be free tonight. Suddenly a name caught his eye. His gaze dragged back along the side column then up to the bold but small headline and the story below.
Convicts Still at Large
Wallace Samuels. CI5 was familiar with that name; Leon had been one of the squad who had swarmed the house where they'd been hiding, seven months ago. He had been sentenced to twenty five years in prison for unlawful imprisonment, assistance GBH and attempted murder. Leon shook his head, his brown eyes skimming over the paper. Quickly he reached for the phone.
He waited as the phone beeped out. The tone told him the number was unavailable. He waited, and then tried again. Nothing. Slightly anxiously he tried the R/T. There was no answer. Leon was worried now as he contacted another number, then the radiophone. He pushed himself up and hurried to Cowley's office. He rapped on the door and a plummy voice told him;
"Come in!"
Cowley glanced up at the young agent.
"What is it Whyte?" he asked.
"3.7 isn't responding to his phone or R/T, sir." Cowley glanced up at him and then grabbed his coat from the back of his chair.
"Raise 4.5,"
"He's not answering either sir."
It was a long journey. Carter knew how not to draw attention to himself and the van had moved at a sedate pace though London's streets. Bodie didn't know exactly how long it took or where they were going but an unspoken plan was forming in his head. None of their captors had bothered to restrain them so…he caught Doyle's eye as the van slackened. Doyle understood. The route had become slower with more turns. Out in the country then.
Eventually the van slithered to a stop. Both agents readied themselves. Jamesworth turned away to open the doors – and the pair struck. Doyle barged into the mercenary, wrestling the gun from his grasp. Bodie shoved into Wallace; going in low and dirty, before hitting across the face. Unfortunately he mistimed his last punch. Wallace dodged and seized his gun. The cold barrel pressed against Bodie's chest.
"Don't move," he directed coolly. He wasn't looking at Bodie, rather, over his shoulder. Doyle froze as though the barrel was directed at his heart; staring warily at the man. "Let go of the gun, Ray."
Somehow, even though he was currently a second away from a messy death if Wallace pulled the trigger, it irked Bodie that he used his friend's forename. Offering no struggle Doyle allowed himself to be disarmed.
"Here's the rule," Wallace said cheerfully, "One of you tries to run, and the other one gets hurt. Both of you try to escape and whoever's further behind gets hurt – badly." his tone sharpened, "Alright?" Not waiting for a reply Jamesworth thrust Doyle up towards the house, Carter following with Bodie.
Stepping inside made Doyle suddenly feel like he'd been punched in the gut. He recognised this building. The supressed memories rose up in his mind like a tidal wave.
The pain of being dragged inside because he wasn't able to stand…the nutter promising more if he didn't stop trying to fight them…
"Keep moving!" Doyle was almost grateful for the push because it snapped him out of the flashback. He barely noticed Jamesworth roughly pulling his hands behind his back and then securing them with a length of rope. Bodie had noted Doyle's momentary lapse and fury swelled in his stomach. The bastards… there wasn't much he could do however, with Carter just itching to pull the trigger. So he submitted to have his hands bound. Jamesworth pushed open a door leading down to a cellar. He grinned nastily and both agents knew what was going to happen.
Bodie rolled over with a groan. Why was it that if stairs were involved, people had the urge to throw you down them? Gingerly, he mentally checked himself over, came to the conclusion that it was just hefty bumps, and then asked the darkness;
"Doyle? Are you alright?"
"Yeah," it came out as a half whisper. Doyle swallowed and tried again. "I'm ok. You?"
"Fine. I'm gonna have some lovely bruises in the morning." The attempt at joviality came out flatter than he wanted.
"If they keep us alive that long." Doyle muttered to himself. "Where are you?"
"Over here."
"That's a great help." he remarked sarcastically. Their eyes were adjusting, slowly but surely, as Doyle wriggled over and eyed Bodie's wrists. "I think I could untie these," Bodie twisted, trying to see over his shoulder.
"Great,"
The door was ajar. Leon slipped his gun from his holster and cocked it. With stealthy tread he moved on towards it. Cowley followed him. He creaked open the door, noting the splinters peeling off, and stopped. His worst fears weren't realised but the scene was pretty grim. A couple of older agents from forensics were buzzing around like busy bees. The phone was hanging off the hook. Explains why it was engaged Leon thought grimly.
"What happened in here?" Cowley asked. Smith turned around and nodded to the boss.
"If I had to guess, there wasn't much of a fight." He indicated the bullet holes cut into the table. "They must have been caught unawares."
"They?" Leon queried. The agent fixed him with a disrespectful look.
"Bodie and Doyle. Doyle's gun was found under the table, plus both sets of fingerprints."
"Any others?" Cowley demanded. Smith tugged at his ear.
"There are other prints but they're smudged, we might not be able to identify them."
"Oh great!" Leon's derision could have been cut with a knife.
"Unfortunately that's not the bad news." Cowley glared at him. "Bodie's jacket was here; along with his tracer. We might find something more but whoever it was, they're professionals."
"Good work Smith let me know if you find anything." As they walked back outside Leon asked;
"Sir, do you think it's strange they didn't put up a fight?" Cowley stopped and looked at him.
"No laddie I don't."
Bodie gasped as his hands came free and the blood began to flow freely again.
"Right," he said turning, "I'll do yours." He was met by the sound of silence. "Ray?" Doyle didn't react. "Ray?" Bodie tapped him on the shoulder before he saw the blank gaze. Whatever was going through his brain obviously wasn't pleasant. Then Doyle shuddered, blinked and asked;
"What?"
"The rope,"
"Oh, right." After a few minutes of struggling with the knots Doyle was able to use his hands again. The pair started examining around the cellar for anything they could use to escape. The dimness hindered their search and it didn't help that it seemed to have been thoroughly cleared. While they were probing the dark corners Bodie asked;
"What's with the thousand yard stare?"
"I've been here before." Doyle muttered after a pause. "Danny held me in one of the rooms. Upstairs I think."
"Anything useful?"
"Bodie, I could barely tell what state my arse was, let alone think of an escape plan. Besides," he added bitterly, "it's very hard to do anything when you're chained to a bloody wall."
"Oh…!" The tone of Bodie's voice suddenly changed as he snatched up something thin and hard. Praying it hadn't broken when he'd stepped on it he examined it carefully.
"What?" Bodie showed it to him and Doyle brightened. "What sort of lock is it?"
Closer inspection revealed that indeed the metal pin would open the door. Taking it in turns the CI5 agents picked doggedly at the lock. Doyle suddenly started patting his clothes.
"What are you doing?" Bodie asked bemusedly. Doyle ignored him until he reached the hem of his jeans. He grinned.
"Wow, that's a very lucky coincidence." He pulled a small device. "I never handed back the tracer." Bodie stared at him.
"Has that been in your jeans for the last three weeks?" Doyle turned it over, his euphoria fading.
"I changed it about for the first two and then I forgot." His face fell, "it's been through the washing machine. Twice, I think."
"Does it still work?"
"Dunno, doesn't seem likely."
Finally the door clicked and quietly swung open. Bodie carefully checked the corridor. Nothing moved.
"The coast is clear," he whispered. His partner nodded in response. "Don't cop out on me mate."
"I'll try not to," Doyle replied dryly. The two padded down the passage, making as much noise as a pair of cats.
Bodie reached the door first. It was bolted shut.
"Nearly there," he murmured. He grabbed the latch and was about to pull when a sudden scuffle caught his attention. He spun round – and found himself looking down the barrel of a vicious looking gun. Carter grinned horribly and then stepped aside, the gun wavering near Bodie's temple. But Bodie hardly noticed it.
Wallace had one arm pressed across Doyle's throat, the other clutching a handful of the curly hair. He was positioned in a half-crouch, his face gleeful, daring Bodie to make a move. The knife in his hand glittered with a malicious ambience. Bodie stared at Doyle, worried and half terrified, who managed ashamedly;
"Copped out."
"At least you didn't disappoint," Wallace announced casually before interrupting himself, "please stop struggling Ray or the rest of your life is going to be very short." Bodie didn't say anything, just glared. Jamesworth materialized on the other side of him, revolver at the ready. Finally Bodie growled;
"You wanted an escape?" Wallace shrugged and the knife shifted slightly, the cold metal jumping up the side of his neck. Doyle remained very still, trying not to breathe. If he moved he could easily slit his own throat.
"Makes things interesting," Bodie knew he should be thinking up a plan – anything – but his brain didn't seem to be working properly anymore. Ohshithe'sgonnakillRay was running through his mind, a demented hamster on a wheel, overriding everything else. Finally he croaked,
"What's this about Wallace? Danny?" Wallace looked genuinely surprised.
"Danny?" he scoffed, "I should be thanking you for that! I'd planned to get rid of him somehow in the future. Take control and all that. But then Danny thought up that stupid plan that ended in Johnny and his deaths. I should've known that you'd get CI5 involved at some point, it was inevitable." Bodie listened to the tirade warily, hearing underneath the tone which had been so familiar in Danny.
"Then why?"
"You sent me to jail. Twenty five years? That's more than quarter of my life gone. They were looking to extend my sentence because Richard was ratting on me. With my rap sheet I'd be staring down a life sentence. So I escaped." He smiled unpleasantly at Bodie, "luckily for me I didn't have to look hard for people willing to help." Carter pressed the barrel of his gun to Bodie's head.
"So, you're going to kill me."
"Eventually. I want to see what breaks first, your body or your mind." The knife suddenly pressed against Doyle, a hiss of pain escaped him as it cut into his skin. "Remember the rules?" A tiny rivet of blood trickled into Doyle's shirt. That was too much for Bodie. He started forwards with the intention of tearing Wallace apart. Jamesworth intercepted him, his fist driving into Bodie's stomach. Bodie doubled over, and then the gun thunked into the back of his neck. Everything went black.
Wallace looked impassively at his two henchmen.
"Who wants it?" he asked. Doyle suddenly realised that Wallace had relaxed his grip, the knife clasped slackly in his fist, his other hand let go.
His elbow jabbed backwards, catching Wallace in the solar plexus. He came up like a bat out of hell as Jamesworth bore down on him. His punch caught him on the nose with a satisfying crunch. But there was one of him and three of them. Finally a well-aimed blow struck him on the side of the head, flooring the agent. Dazedly he attempted to continue when Jamesworth pinned him. Sticky stings of blood flowed from his nose and murder was in his eyes.
"You can have Bodie," he snarled at Carter. Doyle tried to blink back the ringing in his ears but he heard Wallace warn his attacker;
"Just don't kill him – yet."
"Damn!" Cowley flung down the file. There was nothing to tell him where his best agents had been taken. Leon was looking similarly frustrated; both knowing that time was of the essence – if it wasn't already too late. Suddenly the door slammed open and an agent rushed in.
"Murph?" Leon exclaimed, "What are…"
"Jax told me, I can't just sit around with something like this," Murphy looked enraged, "I want to get the bastards before they kill anyone one else!" Leon glanced at Cowley, slightly worriedly but the boss knew that there was nothing that would change Murphy's mind.
"We've got ID," Cowley quickly explained, "One of Danny's old gang. Wallace Samuels took them."
"Where?" Murphy demanded.
"We don't know," Leon protested tiredly. Murphy began to pace. He stopped and looked over at Cowley.
"Tracer?"
"In his flat." Murphy stared at him.
"What about the other tracer?"
"What other tracer?"
"Anderson was complaining to me yesterday that one of his tracers hasn't been returned for weeks. I checked before I got here sir, Bodie took out two of them." Cowley pursed his lips and then put his glasses on.
"It's a slim chance Murphy, but it's a chance all the same…"
Blood pounded in Bodie's ears. His wrist felt like it was on fire and his ribs were screaming at him. Bodie dully suspected they were broken. Carter had mostly avoided his face, probably on Wallace's orders and Bodie dreaded what he was planning. Whatever it was they wanted him to be fully conscious for it. Bastards.
Carter was lounging comfortably, puffing on a cigarette, with a conceited smirk on his face. Absently he rubbed at his knuckles which were starting to bruise with the force he was hitting. He pushed himself out of his chair and swaggered over, clearing enjoying Bodie's vulnerability.
"Not talking to me Bodie?" Bodie could feel the fury building inside him. He wanted to rip these people apart and feed them to the dogs. Everything hurt; not just because of the beating but his arms were tethered above his head meaning there was a painful strain on his wrist.
"If I did I don't think you could keep up with me," he taunted. Carter responded by smacking him across the face. He felt blood drip down his chin and tasted the salty tang in the back of his throat.
"We've been taking bets you know." He smiled nastily, "on what'll go first. Personally I'm betting body but we'll just have to see."
"That explains why you've concentrated on that bit." The words came out slurred but Carter caught the snide tone.
"Why do you think we brought your partner?" Bodie tensed up, his gaze hardening. Half forgetting where he was he tried to start towards his tormentor. The handcuffs jingled and a sharp stab shot through his ribs. Carter laughed.
"If you dare…"
"Dare what? Eye for an eye Bodie. You killed my brother."
"I never laid a hand on him," Bodie growled. "You started the fight."
"NO I DIDN'T!" His hands scrabbled for his gun. Madness gleamed in his green eyes.
Click. Carter never finished his turn. A spray of bullets splattered across his chest and he jerked then fell with a final death rattle. Murphy clattered down the steps, reloading his gun. Leon followed close on his heels, covering the corridor.
"Murph!"
"The one and only," His gaze travelled across the bruises and cuts, ending at the red dripping out of his mouth.
"Are you alright?" He asked.
"Yes! Get me out this thing!"
Leon's lock pick quickly freed his college. Murphy glanced over and asked;
"Where's Doyle?"
"I don't know, he's still alive I know that much." His expression was of extreme disgust as he remembered the threats.
"We need to find him quickly," Leon offered. Murphy was moving towards the stairs. Suddenly Bodie recalled something. Body or mind...
"He's upstairs,"
"How do you know?"
"I just do! Give me a gun!" Bodie knew he was just running on adrenalin. Leon eyed his broken wrist.
"Bodie-" Murphy looked back and saw Bodie's face.
"Give him a gun."
It was a small team of three agents; Leon, Murphy, Ruth and Jax. Murphy and Bodie tailed the group, neither were in an exactly peak physical condition. A shot rang out. It had come from upstairs. It seemed to reverberate around Bodie's brain, conjuring up horrific images. Oh god… They ran round the corner, Ruth covering, everyone else running to the next protection they could find.
Suddenly bullets thudded over their heads.
"First agent I see moving without my permission gets it!" Wallace called mockingly. The calm voice didn't match the insane grin that was plastered across his face – taunting the agents. Then that wiped away, replaced by his usual sneer. "Come out Bodie, we've got unfinished business." Bodie's knuckles whitened around his gun, itching to blow this madman away once and for all but Ruth hissed in his ear;
"Don't." She was right; coming up guns blazing wasn't a suitable tactic as Wallace was well protected from his position. Murphy motioned with his weapon. Wallace was standing near the foot of the stairs, blocking it. Bodie saw what he wanted to do. He closed his eyes and came to a decision. Bodie dropped his gun with a clang.
"I'm coming out Wallace." Jax stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"You are not serious!" He hissed. Bodie flicked his eyes towards Murphy.
"Deadly." Taking a deep breath he stepped out.
Wallace laughed.
"Bodie are you completely brainless? I hardly expected you to do that." Bodie just gazed calmly at him.
"No he's not." Wallace didn't have time to bring his gun up as Murphy vaulted over the banister, his gun directed unfalteringly at Wallace's head.
"Drop it." Wallace looked into his eyes and saw the anger. The weapon clanked unto the wood. Murphy wrapped his finger around the trigger, his lips compressing into a thin line.
Bang!
The gunshot distracted everyone – and that was all Wallace needed. He seized Murphy's gun, yanking it out of his hands. Then his arm whipped across his throat, the gun pressed hard into the agent's temple. Murphy was totally at his mercy.
"I think the phrase I'm looking for is…drop it."
Jax brought up his weapon but Wallace jeered at him;
"Go ahead! Take the shot. I'll take him with me." He shook his head. "It'll get very messy." A third explosion echoed from the top of the stairs. Bodie's gaze snapped upwards.
"Let him go," Ruth ordered. Wallace ignored her, his scrutiny focused on Bodie.
"There can't be much left of him now, I wonder just how much will be recognisable." He chuckled darkly. "How does it feel to have failed Bodie? You are helpless, no more use than a squalling infant. Just remember you let him die." He gazed around the agents collectively. "I think he'll need a friend in hell." His finger tightened on the trigger. "What colour are you brains going to be?"
A gunshot belched out. Everyone froze, checking themselves. A puzzled look etched onto Wallace's features then he slipped to the ground. His shoulder dripped blood.
Doyle stood at the top of the stairs like an avenging angel.
"Not to anyone else, you sadistic bastard."
A surge of relief spread through Bodie but that was quickly overshadowed. His gaze leapt from Doyle's bruised face to the thin chain dangling from his ankle to his hands clutching at the rail. Doyle slid down, his hand pressed to his side. His partner bounded up the steps, over the prone body of their kidnapper and reached Doyle. The gun lay on the floor beside him, splattered with crimson.
"Ray…"
"It's not too bad," Doyle attempted a reassuring smile – a ghost of his normal grin – and said; "Just…scratched me that's all. I shot the bastard." Bodie slumped down beside him, his injuries calling out their payments for being ignored.
"That's not a scratch. That's a bloody gash." Doyle was dimly aware of Jax radioing an ambulance.
"I'm going to be in hospital. Again." He cracked open one eye, "You have no idea how boring it gets."
"I'll take your word on that sunshine. Just concentrate on not dying."
"I'm not gonna die."
"You are if you keep taking the pressure off." Bodie reached over and pushed Doyle's hand against his wound. Doyle's eye flickered shut again.
"Shut…up…"
"Hello mate!" Doyle glanced up from the book he was reading.
"I don't believe it," he moaned, "You're getting out already?" Bodie wiggled his eyebrows. His chest was still a mottled mess, and his wrist and ribs had been taped up with the firm order not to do anything strenuous for a month. Couple that with a few painkillers and he felt alright.
"Oh, yeah. I'll visit. If you're not too busy with the nurses." Doyle nodded.
"It's over."
"Yeah." Bodie bit his lip, "I'm really sorry Ray."
"Why?"
"It all started 'cos of me didn't it? My fault. Danny only targeted you 'cause of me."
"And?" Doyle stared at him, "It's over." He moved his shoulders and winced. "All in the past." He murmured sleepily. Seeing that his friend was fighting to keep his eyes open Bodie said;
"See ya Ray."
Before he left the hospital Bodie had one for errand to run. Turning right he walked towards the man on duty and flashed his ID. As he turned to open the door he saw Cowley looking at him. He held his boss's gaze steadily, not saying a word. Slow he took his gun out of the holster and placed it deliberately on the table. Cowley didn't say anything. Daring Cowley to stop him Bodie pushed open the door.
Wallace looked up from the hospital bed, his arm in a sling and his shoulder bandaged up.
"I do hope you're not going to disgrace the uniform Bodie," he said coldly. Bodie's smile was equally as cold and carved out of rock.
"No, I'm not going to lay a finger on you." He stalked over until he was standing above the man. "No, I'm not going to rough you up because that would be police brutality." His eyes were dark and unflinching, "but you are lucky you've got a guard." Wallace let out a bark of laughter.
"Is that all?" he pointed at the bruise on his face.
"That was for putting me through five days of hell." The friendly act slid away as smoothly as a snake shedding its skin. "You threatened Murphy, Murphy's a loyal friend. I owe him for last time. You killed Harrison. I liked Harrison. Lastly you kidnapped my partner. That puts you in a very bad position."
Some of Wallace's cockiness drained away at the menace palpable in his voice. "You tortured him for your own sadistic pleasure. He was different when we first got him back and I doubt I'll ever hear the full story. The only reason that I'm not putting a bullet through your head right now is that I left my gun outside." He glanced down in distain.
"Is that a threat?" Bodie ignored the question.
"Ray's a good man. He shot you to save Murph, not out of any sense of vengeance. And he doesn't miss so that could've been a lot worse. He wants proper justice, he really believes in it. I am not a good man Wallace." His voice was still composed but it carried a hard edge. "If you ever come near any of my friends ever again I will hunt you down and I will kill you. Slowly, painfully, in a way that would make Krivas proud. You threatened my friends and I. Won't. Stop."
Wallace stared back at him.
"But luckily I won't need to," Bodie said. "Cowley knows a certain little country out in Africa. I think you know which one. You are going to get there Wallace, even if I drag you there myself. They'll administer justice I'm sure. Shame I won't be there to see it but as long as it keeps you away I don't care what they do to you." Bodie turned around, his voice dark. "For their sake, I hope to God it hurts."
Wallace was left staring after, his ashen face blank and his eyes full of visions.
Author's note: I'm sorry if I'm dragging out the 'Danny' line too long but I always felt like Bodie never got to properly take vengeance. I hope you enjoyed this. Reviews please?