Closure
George Cowley, head and mastermind of C.I.5, was not a happy man. It had been several weeks since Doyle and Bodie had found and uncovered the devious B.A.T. scheme, where false alibis were sold to criminals, enabling them to commit crimes with apparent impunity.
He had acted quickly then, guessing that as soon as they heard, the criminals in question might make a run for it. He had sent teams at once to pick them up.
Bodie and Doyle had gone to pick up Vince Marco, whom Doyle had actually seen murder a rival. They had only just been in time, catching the man about to board his private plane, to flee to his villa in Spain.
Unfortunately, they had been forced to kill him, to save the life of an innocent young woman he had grabbed as a hostage. Cowley had not been entirely pleased about that, and the pair had suffered his grumbling for several days.
Murphy and Jax had fared better with the other one, Joe Verani. They had picked him up fairly easily, for he hadn't yet heard that his false alibi had been blown. They had held him in the Interrogation Centre until the police took him into custody, to be charged with master-minding and taking part in, several violent raids on banks.
But getting him to trial was taking ages. Verani had managed to hire some very clever devious lawyers, who were delaying procedures by raising various legal quibbles, and finding odd loop-holes.
The police had located Clare Morton, who had reprised her statement about recognising Verani when he had led a raid on the bank where she had been a cashier, adding the extra details she had told to Doyle. She was now stuck in a safe house, under protective custody, while Verani was being remanded time after time.
And as for the pair of French sisters, Madeleine and Eugenie, who had devised this cunning scheme, and who had already made a great deal of money, who could say when they would be brought to task to answer for what they had done. It was an unusual type of crime.
There was no sign of much happening yet, though after his information, the police had raided Winton House, and had found all the evidence they needed. to reveal what the two women had been doing.
Still, he reflected despondently, there was little point in repining about something that was out of his hands. There were still plenty of items in his 'in tray', awaiting his attention, so he turned his agile mind to them
He picked up his daily police report and scanned through it. One item caught his eye. Good, he thought, here was something that Bodie and Doyle could deal with.
So when they reported in, he was ready for them.
"That report you made on the possible extortion racket on those shops in Notting Hill," he began.
Bodie interrupted. "We didn't get anywhere with that, sir," he said, "They wouldn't talk to us"
"There has been an incident there" continued Cowley, "A shop was burnt out, the flat above ruined, and a little three-year old girl ended up in hospital. The police think it was arson."
"Nasty," commented Doyle.
"I want you to go there again," continued Cowley, "There is anger there now, and resentment, so you may well get a better response and some really helpful co-operation. Try and get some names for who is . Then we'll know who to go after and dis-courage.".
The last words brought a gleam to Bodie's eye. It could mean some pleasing action !
He began to hurry his partner towards the stairs and out to their car, eager to get going.
But Doyle was not going to be stampeded. "Hang on a minute," he said, "I've had an idea. We know quite a few likely villains partial to the extortion racket. Let's stop off at Records and collect copies of a few mug-shots to show people. If we're lucky, we might get a hit."
It was a good idea, as so many of Doyle's often were, so they spent a few minutes on it, before making their way down to the car.
Bodie took the wheel, eased them out on to the road and set off for Notting Hill.
"I wonder how the little girl is ?," mused Doyle. "I saw her last time we were there, a shy little thing with big dark eyes."
"A bit young for a date, isn't she ?," teased Bodie, and winced as his partner thumped his shoulder. "Steady on," he complained, "I'm driving."
They made good time to their destination and parked the car.
As they climbed out, with Bodie clutching the small sheaf of mug-shots, both were hoping they would get a little more co-operation this time.
Straight away they saw the burnt-out shop, the one at the end of the little row. They remembered that it had been a special type of grocery store, supplying all the varied ingredients used in Asian-style cookery. It would be sorely missed by the local community, until it got going again, if it ever did.
There were several Asians there, all helping to clear the debris and piling up black sacks full of ruined food.
It was clear little had been fit to salvage.
Smoke-blackened walls suggested that the flat above was also severely damaged. So the victimised family had lost both home and livelihood.
They moved forward towards the group of Asian men. But to their surprise, as the men turned towards them, they were met with scowls and angry faces.
One man stepped forward. "Please go away," he said, "You have caused us enough trouble already."
"What do you mean ?." queried Doyle, puzzled by his attitude. "We haven't done anything."
The man waved his hand towards the blackened shop. "This was because we talked to you," he said angrily.
"But you didn't tell us anything," protested Bodie.
"We tried to tell them that," went on the man, "but they wouldn't believe us."
A steely glint came into Doyle's eyes as he exchanged glances with his partner. "This has gone too far," he said firmly. "This time we will do something."
"What can you do ?," said the man bitterly.
"Believe me, we can do a lot," said Doyle, "You'll be surprised."
The man looked at him doubtfully.
Bodie had picked up a name from the police report.
"Are you Mr. Bhatti, the owner of the shop ?," he asked. The man nodded.
"How is your little girl ?," asked Doyle.
The man's expression softened a little. "She is doing well," he began, "well enough to come home, if we had a home to bring her to," he added, and the scowl was back.
"We'll get you help with that," promised Doyle rather rashly. "But first you must help us. We need to know all you can tell us about these men so that we can find them and put a stop to their nasty game."
Mr. Bhatti looked at him questioningly. "Are you saying you can stop them demanding money from us ?," he said in a disbelieving tone.
"We certainly can," interrupted Bodie, "but only if you help us to identify them."
Mr. Bhatti turned to the group behind him and unleashed a torrent of words in his own language. Bodie and Doyle didn't understand a word, but they saw a wide range of changing expressions on the faces of those addressed.
Making a decision, Bhatti turned back to the waiting pair. "Come," he said, "We will tell you all we can."
He led the way further along the road to another shop. The group followed as he led them through the shop and up some stairs at the back. He took them into a room which was furnished with a long narrow table and a good number of chairs set round it.
"Answar's wife holds classes," he explained, "to teach the women to speak English." Bodie and Doyle slid into two seats at one end of the table. Bhatti took his place next to them, and the rest of the places were rapidly filled by the Asian men. Some had been joined by their wives. Very soon it was standing room only.
When they settled down Doyle started the questioning. "Think about the men you saw," he said. "What did they look like ?."
This was not very productive. Various descriptions were given, but all very vague. Some of the men spoke quite good English, and some had to have Bhatti's help as interpreter
Bodie turned to whisper to his mate. "Maybe it's a case of 'if they are not your own race they all look alike'.
Doyle decided to try another tack. "When they were here," he said, "Did they talk to each other ?. Did you hear a name ?." Around the table many heads were shaken. Most had been too scared to take that kind of attention.
Then Doyle noticed, half-way down the side of the table, one of the Asian women lean over and whisper in her husband's ear. Straight away he raised a tentative hand. Doyle nodded to him.
"My wife," he said timidly, "She hear something. Is Sid a name ?."
"Certainly, it is," Doyle said quickly, "Thank you."
He turned to have a quiet word with Bodie. "There is a Sid among those mug-shots," he said, "But don't let on about it. Pass the pictures round and let's see if anyone picks him out."
Bodie jumped up and got on with it. He handed out the pictures and they were eagerly passed round and studied. There was a lot of excited talk in words they didn't understand.
Bhatti was also on his feet, going around all his neighbours and listening to their comments. After a little while he came back to speak to Bodie and Doyle. He had three of the pictures in his hand and looked very excited. He held out one of the three.
"We are all very sure he was one of them," he said firmly, "He was the leader and the nastiest. And perhaps these other two."
Doyle exchanged a swift glance with his partner. This was progress at last !
The main picture was that of Sid Mercer, a man with a violent record, and they knew the other two as well.
"Guess what," said Doyle triumphantly, "They all have worked at some time for one man _ Joe Verani !
Just then, Answar's wife left her place and came to stand in front of Bodie and Doyle. She was bolder and more confident than the other women and spoke perfect English.
"I have just remembered something," she said in an animated voice. "One evening another car came with them. It was parked where yours is now. The driver did not get out. But I saw him clearly. He was a big black man, _ not Asian, really black !"
Bodie and Doyle looked at one other. Surely this was a lucky break. The description only fitted Rojo. Verani's constant companion had dropped out of sight when they had lifted Verani and had been missing since then, in spite of police searches. Now it looked as if he had been busy continuing some of his boss's criminal activities.
Suddenly they had something they could work with. Now action could be taken to sort out the nasty situation of these ill-treated Asian shop-keepers.
Bodie and Doyle got to their feet. Their next step must be to tell Cowley all they had learned and await his orders on C.I.5's action.
"Mr. Bhatti, said Doyle, "You have given us some splendid information. Now we can get after these men and put a stop to their activities.
They hurried out to sit in the car and call in to base. They were lucky enough to get put straight through to Cowley and quickly brought him up to date.
"So," their irate boss said crossly, "even though he's in custody his nasty work is still going on.
Then he issued his orders. "I'll get APB's out on all of them. Meanwhile you two go after Mercer and if possible Rojo.
The pair set off immediately to the latest address they had for Mercer. But they were met with a set-back. He no longer lived there. The surly current occupant told them he'd moved a month ago, and no, he hadn't left a forwarding address.
"Think, Bodie," said Doyle as they turned back to their car, "Who do we know who might tell us where he is now ?."
"Well," replied his partner, "He's not exactly popular among his own kind, is he ?. So there are one or two who would gladly 'shop' him."
"Right," said Doyle, slipping into the driver's seat, "Let's go and find them."
It took them a while, but eventually they were given a new address and quickly made their way there.
It was the end house of a terrace, so access was easy. They parked the car in the side street round the corner.
It was a warm day and there was a window open on the ground floor, presumably the lounge. Sounds of a T.V. wafted out.
Motioning to Doyle to wait a minute, Bodie stepped over the low fence surrounding the few square feet of front garden, and sidled up to the window, placing his feet carefully to make no sound. He edged closer and peered in.
A quick look and he was on his way back equally carefully. He pulled his mate back round the corner so he could report without being overheard.
"He's sprawled out in a chair with a beer in his hand, watching a football game," he told Doyle. He grinned widely at his partner.
"Let's go and spoil his fun," he suggested and his mate grinned too.
"I'll give you a minute to get round the back," Doyle replied as he fished out his bunch of lock-picks, "Then we'll make a concerted entry."
Bodie nodded and moved away to climb nimbly over the back wall, moving through an ill-kempt garden to reach the back door, just in case Mercer should decide to bolt.
It all went very smoothly.
Mercer had the T.V. on so loudly that he didn't hear the faint click as Doyle opened the front door and slipped inside.
He stood still for a moment and waited. Then, as he expected, the large form of his partner emerged from the kitchen and moved towards him. As one, they sidled up the hall till they were either side of the open lounge door. A nod of agreement and they both stepped into the room.
"Good game, Sid ?," asked Bodie cheerfully.
The sprawling man was so startled that he dropped his beer. The heavy glass hit the floor and sprayed its contents over the dingy carpet.
He scrambled to his feet and turned to meet his unexpected visitors. "Who are you ? What do you want ?," he gasped.,
"We've come to take you for a little ride," replied Doyle, "Our boss would like answers to a few questions."
As he spoke, he was showing his I.D., and moving round the chair to reach to turn the T.V. off.
Mercer made a foolish error of judgement. For a moment, he imagined a way of escape past Bodie to the open lounge door and made a dive for it. But a casually stretched-out foot from the tall man brought him down and he landed in a heap in the doorway.
"Oops," said Bodie lightly, reaching out a long arm to haul the man back to his feet. He dusted him down playfully.
"Now, why would you try to run, Mercer ?," he said, "Guilty conscience maybe ?."
Deflated, Mercer made no more resistance as they hustled him outside and round to their car. They would take him to the Interrogation Centre and submit him to Cowley's tender mercies. It wouldn't take too long to persuade him to tell all he knew. The man was already behaving as if he was scared stiff, and their boss was very clever at intimidating men like that with just a stare or perhaps some biting words.
Mercer was hustled into a briefing room and pushed into a seat at a table. His captors stood back as another man entered and took up a stance opposite.
Mercer gazed at him warily. At first glance he didn't look that intimidating but he knew that this was Cowley and his reputation was well known to the criminal underworld.
But his first words were amiable enough. "Mercer," he mused, "The name used to mean someone who dealt in buying and selling fabrics. A respectable occupation."
But then his manner changed. He leant forward with two hands on the table and glared at the man before him. "But your trade is far from respectable, isn't it ?," he snapped. "Violence, extortion, arson !"
Shrinking back, Mercer couldn't control his reaction to the last word, thus confirming to those watching that he was definitely involved with the firing of Bhatti's shop.
"A small child nearly died, Mercer," said Cowley angrily.
"Asian brat," Mercer muttered under his breath. A big mistake ! The two watching men surged towards the table furiously.
Only a restraining hand from Cowley held them back, as he turned back to the now cowering man opposite him. "Bad response, Mercer," he said, "My men would like to take you apart.!"
"You wouldn't," whimpered the man, frightened now by the obvious fury of the two who had brought him here.
"Personally, I wouldn't soil my hands," said Cowley, straightening up, "but I've half a mind to turn a blind eye for ten minutes." He turned away as if he was leaving.
"No," yelled Mercer, scared to death by the threatening attitude of Bodie and Doyle, who, to tell the truth, were rather enjoying playing along and putting on the ferocious act.
Cowley turned back and took a seat at the table opposite the now intimidated man. "I suggest we get your full co-operation, Mercer. As yet I haven't passed what I know of your activities to the police. But I won't hesitate to do so if I don't get the answers I want."
Mercer gazed at the stern un-forgiving face, and knew he meant every word.
"You have been continuing the nasty work of a man who will very soon be going down for a long spell in prison," said Cowley. "Joe Verani ?.
Mercer nodded. There was little point in denying it. This man already knew a great deal.
"That stops immediately," said Cowley firmly. "If you or your confederates go anywhere near those Notting Hill shops the consequences will be dire."
He glared at the man before him. "I hope that's understood !."
Mercer was in a quandary. If he continued with the extortion racket, C.I.5 would shop him to the police. But if he didn't he would have Verani's main man Rojo after him. And he was very scared of him.
Cowley's next words added to his misery. "Now to the next important thing. Rojo !" he declared. "We want him and you are going to help us find him."
"I daren't," wailed Mercer. "they would kill me !."
"Maybe we will if you don't," growled Bodie, putting on his most menacing manner.
Doyle had the greatest difficulty in smothering his amusement at the act his partner was putting on. Cowley was not so pleased. It was beginning to go a bit too far.
But it did the trick with the petrified Mercer.
"If I tell you all I know," he begged, "will you protect me ?"
Cowley didn't make any rash promises. "How do we find him ?," he demanded sternly.
"He had to leave Verani's place because the police went in," began Mercer. "He moved in with one of Verani's girlfriends."
"Where ?," demanded Bodie impatiently.
"I don't know for sure," replied Mercer. Bodie scowled at him.
"But he was bragging about how Elsa was waiting on him hand and foot because she was so scared of him. He was enjoying that. I think he said she lives in Bayswater."
Cowley turned to his two operatives. "Well, what are you waiting for ?," he snapped. "that gives you enough for a few enquiries, doesn't it ?.
And I want this one alive," he added crossly.
The pair shot out of the room, glad to get away from their fiery boss who was not in the best of tempers. He badly wanted closure on this long-drawn-out case. It was taking far too long and was a heavy drain on his manpower and resources.
"What about me ?," wailed Mercer. Cowley turned back to him.
"I think you'd better stay in our safe keeping till we have Rojo," he said and summoned someone to take charge of him.
He stalked back to his office, with his mood beginning to improve. If Bodie and Doyle managed to bring in Rojo, he felt the evidence against Verani would escalate.
.
Bodie and Doyle worked quickly. It only took them a few enquiries to collect the information they wanted. The girl was called Elsa Coroni, and she had a place in a block of flats in Bayswater.
It wasn't long before they were parking their car in a side street not far from the block of flats in question. It was an old building, and so did not have great security. Doyle was able to stroll into the foyer, and quickly found that the flat they wanted was on the left on the third floor. He returned to Bodie to pass on the information. Bodie grabbed his arm lightly.
"Look," he said, and following where his partner was pointing, Doyle saw what he had spotted, - the distinctive big black car.!
"Good," exclaimed Doyle, "Should mean he's here."
"Let's check round the back," suggested Bodie. "There ought to be a fire escape ladder."
Together they moved towards the narrow alley which looked as if it led round to the back of the block.
It was a good job they did !
As they swung into it, they ran straight into the big black man on his way out. For a big man, Rojo reacted pretty quickly. He continued his forward momentum, hitting Doyle, a much slighter man, with a full shoulder charge that slammed him hard against the brick wall of the alleyway.
Doyle let out a yelp as his shoulder took the full brunt of the attack. His gun fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers as he slid down the wall to land heavily on the hard ground.
With his other hand Rojo fended off Bodie, pushed past him, and ran surprisingly quickly towards his parked car.
Bodie's gun was in his hand and aiming at the fleeing man, as he shouted the customary warning "Freeze"
Then came a yell from the fallen Doyle. "Alive, Bodie !," he shouted.
Fortunately, he was just in time. Almost in the act of firing, Bodie dropped his aim.
Hit in the legs, the huge black man let out a yell and toppled to the ground. Bodie charged forward to stand over him to be sure he wouldn't continue his flight and escape from him.
He heard a sound behind him and swung round in case Rojo had had an accomplice. He was very relieved to see that it was Doyle, up on his feet, moving easily, though one hand was rubbing his shoulder.
"You all right ?," he asked anxiously. His partner had hit the wall pretty hard.
"Fine," replied Doyle, "Just bruised, I think."
Together they heaved Rojo to his feet, and with a bit of a struggle and a lot of hard words, half-carried him back to their car. Doyle slid into the driver's seat, having helped Bodie push his prisoner into the back, locking the door on him. Bodie climbed in beside his partner but sat turned in his seat, keeping his gun trained on the big black man. But the injury seemed to have knocked the stuffing out of Rojo. He slumped in his seat, clutching his leg, and moaning.
Doyle made good speed back to base where they handed their prisoner over to those who would see to his injury and then keep him in safe custody.
They hurried to find their boss to report the success of their efforts.
"Good !," Cowley said, "When I hand him over to the police, there is plenty they can charge him with, and that should help with evidence against Verani."
He almost beamed at the two agents standing before him.
Great, thought Doyle to himself. At least, this time we got it right.
"I think I'll have a word or two with him myself, before I hand him over," mused Cowley thoughtfully.
"Do you want us along ?," asked Bodie.
"No," said their boss decisively, "He knows you already. Perhaps I'll have Barton. He can be intimidating."
Cowley turned back to his desk, already planning his next move. "Write your report, please, before you leave," he said, dismissing them.
They shot out of the room before he could change his mind, found a quiet office, and wrote up the facts of their afternoon activity. Because they managed it quickly they were 'off-duty' an hour early and were ready to make the most of it.
Later that day an unusual interview took place, deep within the Interrogation Centre. Three people were involved. Rojo, Barton and Cowley himself. What went on there was never spoken of again by any of the three.
So no-one had any cause to suspect co-incidence when they heard that Mr. Bhatti had received through his door an envelope containing a considerable sum of money with the words 'to help with the repairs to your home and your shop'.
Cowley returned to his office in a much better frame of mind.
Now he would hand Rojo o0ver to the police, and the evidence against him would mount up quickly. He was such a noticeable man that there would be plenty of witnesses to declare he had been seen on Verani's raids, either taking part or waiting at the wheel of the getaway car. That should speed up the whole case and should bring about closure pretty soon.
Little did he know how wrong he was !
Bodie and Doyle too, were convinced that they'd finally finished with that long-drawn out case. They were soon busy with other things, and there were plenty of those to get on with. Drug runners were a constant problem for C.I.5.
Informants constantly came up with rumours of shipments entering the country and all had to be investigated, with varying success.
On his way into work one morning, Bodie stopped to pick up a paper. The headline on a board outside the shop had caught his eye. It said
BIG PRISON BREAKOUT !
He hadn't time to read about it yet, for he was already slightly late, so he tossed it onto the passenger seat. He would take it in with him and look at it later.
Turning into the yard at Headquarters, he spotted Doyle just getting out of his car, so he quickly slid in next to him. Picking up his paper, he caught up with his partner, and they climbed the stairs together. A quick look at the duty roster told them they were to report to Cowley. No time to snatch a cup of tea. Together they walked along the corridor, tapped on the forbidding door and were called in.
They found their fiery boss scowling fiercely over a report he was reading.
Bodie had a quick moment of intuition. "Is it about this, sir ?," he queried, holding up his paper with its bold headline.
"Yes, it is," Cowley confirmed brusquely.
Bodie's eyes dropped to the smaller print on his paper, and what he saw there was staggering. Swiftly he showed it to Doyle, and with heads close together they read the whole article.
It told of a very violent event. Soon after the police vehicle carrying Verani and several others to court had left the Remand Centre it had been rammed by a large lorry. A gang of armed men had leapt from two accompanying cars, and holding the guards at gun-point had freed Verani !
He had been quickly spirited away as the gang piled back into their cars. It had only taken a few frenzied minutes.
The remaining prisoners had seized their advantage and had made a run for it, disappearing up the nearest side streets. Most of them were re-captured later.
Doyle and Bodie exchanged glances as they took in the amazing news, and looked towards their still scowling boss.
"So Verani's on the loose again," said Bodie. "That's a bit of a pain, after all our hard work to nail him."
"Do you think he'll try to leave the country ?," suggested Doyle.
"Maybe," said Cowley, "but orders are in place to cover that, and an APB has been issued."
"It'll be hard to catch him again," said Bodie morosely. "He's still got a lot of support."
"That's down to the police," said Cowley, putting down the report, "They lost him. But we will keep our eyes and ears open."
He picked up another report from his always over-flowing 'in-tray', and gave it his full attention.
"I've heard rumours of a big drugs drop due soon, coming in by ship," he said. "you two get out there and find out if any of your informers know any more about it."
This was much more in the pair's usual line, so they hurried down to their car to get on with it. They spent the next couple of days talking to a lot of people, but learnt very little.
Meanwhile there was no further news about Verani. He appeared to have gone to ground, and so far, no-one knew where.
The following morning brought a slight lead. One of Bodie's snouts told them about seeing lights one night at a warehouse that had stood derelict and empty for years.
"I walk my dog that way sometimes," he said, "And there are tyre tracks in the mud. It looks as if someone is using it again but I don't know what for."
Bodie called into base to report what he had heard, passing on the address of the place.
"We'll go and have a look," he said, "but it might be just vagrants or squatters."
Cowley had an appointment that took him out of the office for a while. He arrived back after a rather hurried lunch. He felt he was going to have indigestion
He called through to the switchboard. "Have Bodie or Doyle called in about that warehouse ?," he asked.
"No, sir," was the reply.
"Shouldn't have taken them all morning," grumbled Cowley. "Call them and ask what they are up to."
But the reply he received was annoying.
"No response, sir," said the operator, "Nothing from their R.T.s or from the car phone."
"They're probably having a leisurely lunch, skiving," said Cowley crossly, regretting his own hurried meal.
"Keep calling them," he ordered. They'll have a piece of my mind when they do surface he thought to himself.
Nothing happened in the next hour, which increased Cowley's annoyance. If they are onto something, they should have called in, in case they needed back-up.
But he had other things on his mind. He had an appointment with the Minister which he wasn't looking forward to. Resignedly, he put in a call for his car to be brought round,
When he went to see the Minister, he usually drove himself, as the sessions could take hours, and it would be inconsiderate to leave his driver sitting waiting in the car for that long.
As he had thought, the session was both long and difficult. It was late afternoon when he trudged wearily back to his car, and perhaps that was why he wasn't as alert as usual.
He opened the door and eased himself in, tossing his briefcase onto the passenger seat. He was annoyed with himself as well as startled, when a man rose from behind his seat, and he felt the cold hard steel of a gun barrel on the back of his head
. He froze instinctively, but, unseen by his assailant, one hand crept to the waistband of his trousers, pressing firmly to ensure that the 'tracker' he always wore was working. As soon as he was missed, an efficient team would spring into action.
His eyes flicked to the driving mirror. He had a quick glimpse of the man behind him. He looked hard and mean, but it was not a face he knew.
"Drive, Mr. Cowley" ordered the man, and Cowley obeyed. He started the big car and drove, following the instructions barked at him.
They took him to a deserted area of the city, scheduled for demolition and re-development. He was ordered to a halt outside an old office block. Two more men emerged from the door way as he was directed out of the car.
Cowley was hustled through the door and up some stairs. He was pushed into a room and unnecessarily roughly, into a chair at the head of a table. It was a large antique oak carver chair with long solid armrests. Two of the 'heavies' pushed it in till the arms touched the edge of the table, effectively imprisoning Cowley like a child behind the tray of a high-chair.
Then they left, no doubt to stand guard at the door below.
Trying to remain calm and dignified, Cowley looked round at his new surroundings, endeavouring to assess the situation. It was a large room, empty of any other furniture, apart from a long boardroom table and the chairs around it.
He was inwardly dismayed to find that two of these chairs, a yard away from him on either side, were occupied !
Bodie and Doyle were there, securely bound and gagged !
Both looked rather the worse for wear, as if they had not been taken easily. Bodie had red marks which would turn to bruises, no doubt. Doyle had a trickle of blood running down his neck and under his collar.
At the far end of the table, an evil-looking pistol lay on the bare wood, and beyond it was a man, pacing restlessly backwards and forwards.
Joe Verani himself !
Cowley quailed inwardly at the wild look in the man's eyes.
"Comfortable, Mr. Cowley ?," Verani queried, "No matter, it's your discomfort I'm after." His smile was evil.
"I'm leaving the country soon," he ranted on, "Never to return, but first I wanted to leave you something to remember me by."
He waved his be-ringed fingers at the two younger prisoners.
"I understand it was these two who uncovered B.A.T., and ruined a very effective scheme that I was going to use and enjoy."
He grinned again, looking wilder than ever. "I've got a clever scheme of my own, Mr. Cowley, to pay you all back."
He picked up the gun from the table and stroked it gleefully.
"I'm going to shoot one of these two, and let you and the other one go," he declared. "But the thing is, Mr. Cowley, you are going to choose which one I kill !
All those listening were astounded by this announcement, especially Cowley, who tried hard to control his expression.
"You see, don't you ?.," cackled Verani., "You'll have to decide, and deal with your conscience, and the other one will hate you forever. A fine vengeance !"
He's unhinged, thought Cowley to himself.
Verani was so pleased with himself. He carried the gun round the table.
First he held it against Bodie's dark head. "Will it be this one ?," he said, "or is he your favourite ?"
He scuttled round the table, and pushed the cold steel into Doyle's curls. "Or this one ? I hear he's the clever one." he chuckled.
"You can't make me choose," declared Cowley firmly, "Shoot me and let them go."
"Oh, no," said Verani crossly, "That won't do."
Verani put down the gun, and fished in his pocket. "Would spinning a coin help you decide ?," he asked.
He found a coin, and with a quick flick of his wrist had it spinning on the hard table top.
"Heads or tails, Mr. Cowley ?," he chortled, "But you'll have to say which is which."
He picked up the gun and the coin and came round the table to stand by Cowley, his back to the door. He plonked the coin down in front of him, and waved the gun wildly.
"Come on, Mr. Cowley," he shouted, "Make your choice. Which one shall I shoot ?."
"Neither, I think," came a sudden loud voice.
Startled, Verani spun round.
There in the doorway stood the tall figure of Murphy. Clasped in front of him was a flashily dressed blonde, and Murphy's gun was tight against her head.
"Magdalena," exclaimed Verani as he recognised his daughter.
"Shoot one of them and I'll shoot her," declared Murphy.
"You wouldn't. Not a woman," pleaded Verani.
"He would," declared Cowley, "These men are his friends."
It seemed like an impasse. _ a Mexican stand-off.
But from his position in line with the doorway, Cowley had seen something the others had not.
Behind Murphy, in a low crouching position, was Barton, another of his best men, a crack shot, with his weapon held steady as a rock.
Verani was like a madman. Wild-eyed, he was waving the gun about wildly, pointing it indiscriminately at each of his captives in turn.
Behind Murphy, Barton raised his gun, and sent an unspoken question to his boss. With a degree of reluctance, Cowley gave a barely perceptible nod.
The shot that rang out, echoing round the room, startled everyone but him and Barton.
Verani crumpled to the ground, his gun falling from nerveless fingers.
Magdalena, released by Murphy, stumbled forward to kneel beside him.
Murphy darted forward and collected the weapon Verani had dropped just in time, as she spotted it, and reached for it. He knew she was one of Verani's top casino girls, and no innocent. She might have shot someone as wildly as her father.
By now the room was rapidly filling, as more C.I.5 men led by Barton swarmed in.
Magdalena was grabbed and led away by one of the girls, also armed, and keeping a close eye on her.
Willing hands were hurrying to release Bodie and Doyle, and to check on their injuries. Two hefty men heaved back the heavy chair and set Cowley free.
He stood up, calm and seemingly unruffled, and surveyed his excellent team. He had known they would come. His only concern had been that they would arrive in time.
"Well done, gentlemen," he said firmly, immediately taking charge, as befitted his status. His feeling of relief was tremendous, both for their lucky escape from a nasty situation, and for the feeling that at long last it was over.
His final word was firm and heartfelt.
"I think we finally have closure on this case," he declared.