Chapter 1

CI5 didn't often venture abroad. Britain had its own share of home-grown problems to keep George Cowley busy. However, some of those problems fled abroad in the hope that the long fingers of the law wouldn't feel their collar. Abrahams was one such 'refugee'. He'd fled to the former Communist country of Sirenstan. It was just finding its new independent feet and was anxious to curry favour with the West. Why Abrahams had fled there was a mystery. As far as British intelligence and Interpol were concerned, the fugitive had no links with the country and it bordered no friendly nation either. To smooth the diplomatic waters, the gods on high decided that Major George Cowley was the man to bring Abrahams home. Operation Cowley was considered less official and less visible. Somehow, British diplomats had persuaded Sirenstan not only to allow Cowley and his two best men to enter the country but also to carry side arms to persuade Abrahams to leave quietly. No fuss, no diplomatic incident. All calm and gentle.

Just before the CI5 team left, Cowley got word that the security forces over there had captured Abrahams and were holding him ready for the handover. Intelligence reports hinted that Abrahams was screaming blue murder about human rights and illegal imprisonment. It seemed that even the iron fist of CI5 appeared a better option than whatever Sirenstan was threatening him with. Cowley took nothing for granted of course, but the op was looking increasingly like a 'jolly' - a quick handover then home.

The RAF flight was delayed for reasons unknown. When they eventually touched down at Dovsky Aerodrome near the capital those reasons became clearer by the minute. Sirenstan was sliding into anarchy already. The shiny new flag of independence was already tattered and bloody. Communist forces, still prominent in the country, were not happy at being sidelined by the Western-influenced ruling party and the riots were turning ugly. Cowley and his agents were met by harried officials at the airfield and taken rapidly through the streets of the city by car. The dark night was lit up with flares and burning tyres. The smell of acrid smoke choked the capital. Yells and chanting could be heard streets away. The driver turned on the radio but even the sound of Bach couldn't drown out the sound of a city tearing itself apart. The driver tried to avoid the conflict areas but the lines were shifting all the time. Roads were blocked either deliberately by one side or another, or by debris and burning cars. The chauffeur and passengers remained quiet until they reached their destination. Silently and quickly the driver opened the car doors for them and they were escorted hastily through a very ornate building - the Ministry of Justice. Eventually they were shown into an opulent office where a thin, tall officer in uniform greeted them. A translator was in attendance. After tea and preliminaries, Abrahams was summoned. He looked as though he'd gone a few rounds with a heavyweight champ. His clothes were torn and bloody, as was his face. He limped in. Through the translator, it was explained to the prisoner that he was free to go - as far as Sirenstan was concerned - and Major Cowley and his operatives were here to ensure that he got a safe passage. Cowley didn't know how much Abrahams was aware of events outside or whether he'd try to give them the slip. He'd brought handcuffs just in case the man got any odd ideas.

The small party was led back through the opulent lobby. As soon as they were shown through the door and down the steps to their car, all hell broke loose. The insurgents had reached the Ministry. The car they had been driven in was on fire. Molotovs and rocks were thrown towards the building. The party retreated. Cowley still had firm hold of Abrahams. This was just the sort of chaos he could use to his advantage. To their horror they found that the great doors had been locked on them. Whoever was just inside had clearly assessed the situation and barricaded themselves in. Cowley knew that it was futile to waste precious seconds trying to persuade those inside to open up, so looked around for their driver to guide them to safety. However it didn't take a moment to see that the chauffeur had fled. His own skin was much more precious to him than these foreigners. The men swore. Cowley took hold of the situation and led his men quickly round the back of the building. They had no idea where they were going or where sanctuary lay. Cowley had been given the address of the British Embassy but he had no idea where it was amongst this madness. They were running ahead of the pack now and taking increasingly narrow lanes, the better hide in shadows. They were hindered by Abrahams who was not as fit as they and the injury to his leg or ankle was slowing him down. He was panting hard and his limp was getting worse. They took a breather inside a park. There were bushes there where they could hide if necessary. To the men's surprise, Cowley took out a map of the city. 'X' marked the Embassy spot. He handed the creased sheet to Bodie.

"Any ideas?" he asked.

Bodie studied the map in the dark, with Doyle looking over his shoulder. The map was in the Cyrillic alphabet and if there was an Embassy to aim for, and the Ministry they'd just left, it was too obscure to decipher. Bodie shrugged despairingly. Somehow he felt he was letting his boss down; he should know the answer. Staying put till daylight was too risky. They could be overrun at any moment. Not speaking the language was always going to be a problem. Where could they run? Where was sanctuary? Bodie was pleased that he may have a solution as they gazed round anxiously at the burning ruins around them, the chanting of the mob close by somewhere in the darkness.

"That looks like a hotel, sir," he said, pointing to an ornate building with lights at most of its windows reflected in the inky waters of the river.

Cowley agreed that it was a possibility and they weren't overflowing with other options. The rebels were snapping at their heels and the building wasn't far away. They kept to the shadows as much as possible, pausing now and then to listen to the crowd and how far away they seemed. Now that they were nearer to their destination, it looked like Bodie was right. They just needed to cross the open square now. All was quiet in their small world. They made a run for it. Unfortunately the mob broke through, with the government opposition emerging from the other side. The CI5 team were trapped in the middle. The rebels had swapped their improvised weapons of rocks and Molotovs for guns. The party ran for their lives as bullets rained down around them. Abrahams' limp suddenly improved as he realised that his life was at stake as never before. He was even gaining on Cowley, who still had firm hold of him. They almost reached the steps of the hotel, hoping that that too wouldn't be barricaded, when Abrahams fell. Cowley came down on top of him. The mob had reached them. Cowley recovered and dragged his charge up the steps as Doyle and Bodie swirled on their heels towards the crowd and tried to surrender, yelling that they were English.

Bodie dredged up some German, "Wir sind Englisch!"

This seemed to have some effect on a few of the crowd, as they held back in confusion. At that moment of indecision, a tank and some army jeeps thundered into the square to back up the government forces. The insurgents decided that they had bigger fish to fry and a more deadly enemy to pursue than these foreigners. Water cannon was instantly turned on the rebels. Bodie and Doyle used the confusion to head back to the hotel door. Cowley and Abrahams had disappeared and the door was barred. The men hoped that Cowley had found sanctuary there. Although the pair were armed, it had been made absolutely clear to them that they were only to use their weapons in extreme emergencies and only then, it was inferred, to aim them at Abrahams not the Sirenstanis! The rebels were brave in their madness and turned on the armed vehicles despite being outgunned. The bloody battle could only go one way. Eventually they began to disperse into the darkness, no doubt to regroup and find more weapons and ammunition. As they left they lobbed a few well-aimed Molotovs at the army and managed to set the tank on fire. The CI5 agents watched the battle while scouting desperately for somewhere to hide when they saw the tank go up in flames with a whumph and a triumphant cheer from the insurgents.

"They'll fry alive!" Doyle yelled, heading instantly towards the burning vehicle.

"No! Stop!" Bodie screamed as he raced behind his partner towards the burning tank.

This was none of their business. It wasn't what they were here for. But Doyle was deaf to anyone around him. He cast round urgently for anything that would help dowse the flames; the military were doing the same. They'd found a hose from the water cannon and were fixing it to a hydrant. The process seemed to take too much time. Doyle grabbed the business end of the hose instantly and stuffed it into Bodie's hands.

"Cover me!" he yelled.

Confused, Bodie reached for his gun and then realised what Doyle meant. The hose writhed in his hands like a living thing as the water gained pressure. Bodie aimed the hose at his mate and at the tank. Doyle allowed himself to get thoroughly soaked before quickly jumping up onto the side. The metal was burningly hot but Doyle managed to open the hatch.

"Get out!" he screamed.

The men inside were confused at a foreign voice and a foreign order hurled at them, but their instinct took control and they poured out of the hatch in panic, Bodie drenching them as they rolled through the flames and onto the ground, their comrades helping them as they hit the tarmac.

"Schnell! Schnell!" Doyle screamed, reaching for the only word he could remember from the war films he'd seen as the last of the men scrambled from their flaming tomb.

The soldiers didn't need a translation; they were out of there in a moment. The mob had returned far more quickly than anyone had thought, and were armed to the teeth. A staccato of bullets joined the noise of battle nearby. One of the military helping Bodie with the hose went down and, to Bodie's horror, Doyle disappeared over the far side of the tank. Bodie immediately dropped the hose and turned to find his mate but was struck in the face by a lump of rock hurled in a general direction by the insurgents. He instantly fell to his knees in pain as a bullet whizzed over his head. He heard a groan behind him as it made contact, followed the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground. The counter-fire from the army nearly deafened him. Bodie dragged himself to a crouch and abandoned his station as he ran round the side of the vehicle, a soldier following in his wake. Doyle was flat out. Bodie grabbed his mate's collar and, helped by the army, dragged Doyle quickly away from the burning tank. The mob had begun to retreat again, firing as they did so, threatening to return for a further bout, leaving their dead and injured colleagues in the town square.