There had been a joint operation with Special Branch. They had gathered and shared information that had led them to a large warehouse on the busy Dock Road. The agents had waited, watched and taken note of who was moving around the large area. There were ten gang members as far as they could work out, and they were unloading cargo from a barge to several small vans inside the warehouse. The watchers knew what was in those boxes - arms and explosives. They also knew who the receivers would be. They, too, were being watched in another part of the country. At a critical point, when the last box had been loaded and the men were gathered together, starting conversations, beginning to light up cigarettes, and generally relax after their hard labour, Cowley gave the signal his team had been waiting for. They moved in quick and fast. They didn't know whether the gang were armed or not, but were taking no chances. Fortunate that their training alerted them to expect the unexpected. The gang were armed to the teeth. However, in the ensuing battle the unexpected did happen. From nowhere a group of Orientals suddenly wandered into the centre of the battleground. They were disorientated, confused, frightened and screaming. They would have been better staying where they were rather than rushing around like bewildered sheep. It was immediately obvious that these individuals were not part of the mob - not part of anything as far as anyone could make out. The gang were not slow in using them as human shields and grabbed at any passing body. Doyle took a suicidal risk, rather than gunning down an unarmed civilian. He crept as close as he could to a couple of the gang, then launched himself at their legs to take them and their hostages off balance. It would at least give his colleagues a chance at something. He thought he made contact, but a loud explosion near to his ear was the last thing he remembered. For him the battle was over.
Seeing Doyle's tactic, one of the Special Branch officers took courage and tried the same gambit. He too was cut down. But they were gaining the upper hand now. The gang were being slowly backed into a corner of the warehouse. They had been ordered to drop their weapons, but the orders fell on deaf ears. However, CI5 were encouraged to hear the click of empty guns from their prey. Some began to surrender, others fought to the death. Gunning down a man with an empty gun wasn't Cowley's way of course, so they were brought down by hand-to-hand combat.
Eventually silence descended. Those of the gang still standing were rounded up as the sound of sirens was heard in the distance. Special Branch also rounded up the rump of the foreigners. They still didn't know who they were dealing with there, and they didn't speak English - or refused to. Once it was clear that there was no-one in the shadows going to take further shots at them, CI5 and their colleagues could look for, and attend to, casualties from all sides. Bodie was instantly at Doyle's side once he'd used his cuffs on a suspect. At first he thought Doyle was bleeding from his ear. He checked his pulse and found it weak but regular. He ran his fingers through Doyle's hair and his friend murmured in pain and tried to regain consciousness. Bodie was relieved to find a scalp wound not a penetration. He turned his attention to the rest of his friend's body, slipping his hands under Doyle's dark jacket and feeling for any ominous wet patches. Finding nothing, he began exploring the lower reaches, when a paramedic dropped by his side. Bodie reported his findings and helped the doctor to transfer his friend gently on to a stretcher. McCabe was attending to his own partner, and medics were loading other casualties on to stretchers, ignoring for the moment the dead.
"A fiasco," Cowley snarled angrily as Bodie approached him. Cowley had been in deep conversation with Mitchell, the head of the Special Branch op. Clearly the conversation hadn't gone well. Bodie had wanted to ask if he could go to the hospital to see how Doyle was getting on, but felt instinctively that he should instead offer more practical help here. Cowley needed answers on how this had gone from a viable operation to a bloodbath.
"Do we know who the foreigners are, sir?" Bodie stopped himself using a derogatory epithet for these immigrants as he knew it wouldn't go down well, particularly in Cowley's mood.
"That's for you to find out!" Cowley barked and marched away.
Bodie and Mitchell exchanged exasperated looks and set out to find answers.
Bodie had been working through the night with his colleagues to figure out what had happened at the warehouse. Immigration authorities had been brought in as it gradually became clear that the gang had not just been smuggling arms, but had diversified (unknown to any intelligence agency) to people trafficking. A group of Burmese refugees had been smuggled in along the Thames and 'stored' at the warehouse. They were to be moved on, along with the arms, to a distribution centre up north the next day. CI5 had put a stop to that. Bodie made enquiries at the hospital about the casualty figures. Between CI5 and Special Branch, they had five injured officers - one seriously. Bodie made a point of visiting him in Intensive Care once he'd dropped by Doyle's room for a few minutes' reassurance. Anson's wife and colleague were at his bedside. It could go either way. Of the 10-strong gang, three had been killed and five injured. Of the hapless Burmese, several of them had been killed, several injured, and they didn't know how many of them there were to start with as it was suspected that at least some of them had managed to run away entirely in the confusion of battle. There were women and children among the group. The immigration officials had found the owners of a restaurant in the City who were willing to help out as translators but the refugees were saying nothing, not even acknowledging who their family members were, much less their names, in case they were sent back to the hell they'd just escaped from (paying a vast sum of money for the privilege).
Bodie managed a few hours sleep in the Mess before reporting to Cowley in the morning. His boss looked as though he hadn't slept at all. His view that the operation had been a fiasco hadn't changed in the intervening hours. His question at the time still remained unanswered - why didn't we know about the immigrants? There clearly had been a lack of intelligence from somewhere. Now, though, was not the time for blame. They would gather what they could from the wreckage, dust themselves down, and put it down to experience. Cowley looked very weary and seemed to have aged overnight. Bodie took a gamble.
"Sir, you've obviously not slept at all. I doubt if you've eaten …"
"When I need a nursemaid, I'll call for one - and that nursemaid won't go by the name of William Bodie!"
Bodie smiled, said nothing, and waited. It was a tactic well used on his partner. George Cowley looked at his agent for a few moments before a small grin began to slide across his face.
"You're a danger to society, Bodie," he censured.
"Breakfast?"
"Does Doyle have to put up with all this mollycoddling?"
"Only when he's naughty," Bodie replied cheekily, getting up and nodding towards the door.
Cowley sighed and knew when he'd been beaten. Bodie led him outside for fresh air and they strode to a small café off the main road. He was glad to see his boss soon tucking into a greasy English breakfast.
"I don't suppose you can get Doyle to eat this muck," Cowley commented after a while of contented chomping.
"Not unless it contains bean sprouts and vitamins," Bodie smiled. "He was still unconscious when I visited last night," he added after a thoughtful pause.
"Well, you can take the worry off that ugly face of yours. I phoned the hospital about an hour ago and he's woken up. You may even get him back by this evening if he behaves himself."
Bodie was relieved. "And Anson?" he asked, remembering his colleague in Intensive Care.
"Survived the night. The doctors are 'cautiously optimistic'."
They finished their strong tea in companionable silence. As they got up to return to the office, Bodie cautiously brought the conversation back.
"When did you last take leave, sir?"
"You're doing it again, Bodie. I thought this kind of thing was left to Doyle. I've obviously misjudged the pair of you."
Bodie was confused and hurt. "Doing what? Caring? We both do that. Doyle hasn't got the monopoly!"
Cowley looked at him sharply, wondering whether he'd just been reprimanded by his operative. As they approached the back door to HQ, Cowley turned to Bodie, laid a hand gently on his arm, and said, "I'm sorry, lad. I do know you care. It's just that you can get hurt that way. Look at Doyle. He can hardly function sometimes when he's all wound up. A child was killed in the shoot-out you know. Nothing to do with Doyle, but since he was within a fifty mile radius of the death then it must be his fault."
Bodie knew what he meant. They entered the building and began climbing the stairs. Bodie knew that his boss was pushing himself too far and, despite the act he put on, Cowley did care - he cared about his operatives, he cared about the civilians, and he cared about the work they did. He just didn't let it show, or let it cripple him. Bodie would need to find another way to reach him.
It was in fact a couple of days before Doyle was released from the hospital's grip. Bodie was glad to pick him up and take him home, but equally glad to hear the news that Anson was slowly recovering and moved from Intensive Care. It would be a while before he was on his feet, but at least he was heading in the right direction now. Bodie hadn't been able to talk shop with Doyle at the hospital, but brought him up to date in the car on the way home. He said nothing about his concerns over their boss. He thought he'd see if Doyle noticed. Perhaps he was making a fuss over nothing. When had he suddenly started taking on the role of father figure, or mother hen? Cowley was right, that was Doyle's job.
Despite being on sick leave, diligent Doyle went to the filing room at HQ next day to bring himself up to date. It wasn't his concern now as there were other agents working on the case, including Bodie, but he was curious as well as saddened. He was dismayed to see the list of dead and injured. He tried to imagine what he could have done to prevent any of the deaths, but couldn't immediately think of anything helpful. Immigration officials had managed to get some information from some of the Burmese, but it sounded like a long and drawn out process of piecing bits of information together from here and there. Doyle couldn't help them out here. He had no contacts in the small, tight-knit Burmese community.
After reading everything he could, the discussion with Bodie, and a few phone calls to Special Branch contacts, Doyle was ready to see Cowley. His boss welcomed him back, and then proceeded to give him a long lecture about his 'suicidal tendencies', and wasn't his job dangerous enough without 'Dan Dare' heroics? Doyle, not for the first time, found himself apologising for saving lives. He went to the Mess with Cowley's words of wisdom still ringing in his ears. He found Bodie regaling one of the cadets with an escapade he and his partner been on some time in the past. Doyle quietly made himself a cup of tea while Bodie finished his tale. When he'd got to the end of it, Bodie glanced over at his partner and, as usual, they read each other's minds. Bodie dragged his feet off the coffee table and they wandered silently to the café where Bodie had taken his boss earlier. Once they were settled with more tea, Bodie asked how Doyle had got on with Cowley, and with the case. The café only had a few customers, so there was little chance of them being overheard. Although Doyle wasn't actively involved, Bodie was still interested in what he had to say. He was good at reading between lines and linking seeming disparate threads. After they'd talked it through, they adjourned to Doyle's flat by silent agreement.
"So," Bodie started off while Doyle started to prepare a meal, giving Bodie peeling duty, "are you on sick leave or not?"
"Supposedly got the rest of the week off, but you know how Cowley likes to remind us that we should still be on alert for any call-up."
Bodie thoughtfully peeled a courgette and probed. "Do you think he should take the rest of the week off? I thought he looked a bit tired." Bodie actually thought he looked exhausted, but was interested to hear what Doyle thought.
"Tired?! He looks knackered. I'm surprised he's still standing. He's going to give himself a heart attack if he carries on like this."
Well, that was unequivocal! Bodie was about to comment, but Doyle hadn't finished. "There's no way he's going to back down at the moment, though. I reckon he thinks his reputation's at stake. I know we can't win every battle, Bodie - and we sure as hell can't win the war - but he's taking this particular fiasco very personally - and taking it out on us."
No, Bodie thought sadly, just on you, mate. "Well, there's not a lot we can do for him. He'll not appreciate us interfering. He'll just see it as fussing." Bodie's conversation with the Old Man had confirmed just that.
"Well, we can't do anything till the dust has settled on this case. You know, I reckon that Cowley may have got a dressing down from a minister or two and is taking it out on us."
"Yeah. I'd like to see a minister or two go through what we went through at the warehouse and see if they have any more bright ideas after that!" Bodie growled angrily.
Doyle took the peeled veg off his friend and did mysterious things at the stove with them.
"Well, the Burmese angle is one for the immigration boys, and hopefully you can push as much work as you can towards Special Branch, then we'll see," Doyle said.
"See what?"
"What we can do about Cowley's blood pressure."
Suddenly, it seemed, Doyle had finished his alchemy at the hob and put a steaming plate of something tasty under Bodie's nose accompanied by a cold can of beer. Bodie was a happy man.
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