Recognition.
Bodie tapped on Cowley's door, and he and Doyle entered. The pair were reporting back, fresh after two days off. Both were wondering what would be on the cards for them today. Hopefully something new and interesting.
Their boss was frowning over a report he was reading.
"Special police report," he said. "I don't suppose, being 'off-duty', that either of you looked at a newspaper yesterday. Not that it made headlines, anyway. An important case, due to start at the Old Bailey had to be adjourned."
"Would that be the Harrison and Richter fraud and embezzlement case ?," queried Doyle.
"Yes," replied Cowley. He made no comment, but he was secretly impressed that his agent knew. "It was adjourned because the police failed to produce the accused," he said, waving the paper in his hand. "And this explains why."
He handed the report to Doyle, and he and Bodie put their heads together and read it quickly.
It appeared that the two accused businessmen had been 'sprung' on their way from the remand centre at Bedford to the court in London. The convoy of van and police escort had been diverted by a fake accident, and ambushed on a side road. No-one had been hurt, but the men were gone, and the four masked men who had freed them were not identifiable.
Doyle handed the paper back.
"Is this our business, sir ?," queried Doyle.
"No, not yet," replied his boss, "But it did happen in our area, so I am interested. No action yet, but keep your ears open, and have words with your various contacts. See if there are any rumours.!"
The listening pair nodded acceptance.
"However," said Cowley briskly, "We have more pressing work that needs our attention."
And he proceeded to fill them in with the latest information on a serious drugs situation. The Drugs Squad had reported a dramatic increase in the number of known moderate users ending up in hospital with over-doses, but ill in a way that suggested their supplies were tainted in some way. Most had recovered quite quickly and were discharged. A couple of heavier users had nearly died, but had recovered eventually.
Officers from the Drugs squad had tried to interview the victims. But they had had little success. They had met with the usual refusal of addicts to reveal their sources, even though they were told that it was 'bad stuff' that had made them ill. Streetwise, they would keep silent for fear of reprisals, and endeavour to get what they needed elsewhere.
So a plea had been put in for C.I.5 to help, hoping that the organization's less orthodox methods might achieve more success. Cowley had put quite a few of his agents on enquiries from their contacts, but it was a slow process and not much was coming to light as yet.
Then one day Cowley called Bodie and Doyle in off their enquiries.
"I wonder what's come up ?," said Bodie curiously as they hurried back to report to their boss's office.
As usual, Cowley came straight to the point. "Do you recall that the two businessmen accused of fraud were 'sprung' some time ago ?," he began. The listening pair nodded. "Well, I've just had a report from Interpol that they turned up in Switzerland, cleared their substantial bank accounts, and disappeared again, probably to South America."
"And you're wondering how they got out of this country !," exclaimed Doyle, catching on quickly. "There would have been strict police checks everywhere."
"Exactly," said Cowley, silently registering the quick wit of one of his best men. "And there is more information coming in. There have been two more 'assisted' break-outs. One in Durham, a known drug dealer suspected of the murder of a 'grass', and another in Bristol, a man thought to be the head of a gun-smuggling ring. Both nasty pieces of work and neither have been seen since."
He eyed the two in front of him with a strong calculating look, and continued briskly. "Doyle, Bodie," he said, "Do you remember, a while ago now, that we dealt with a similar scenario ? Criminals being smuggled out of the country."
"Yes," said Doyle instantly, "They were being disguised as lorry-drivers."
"Yes, that's it," confirmed Cowley, "Has something similar started up again ?."
"Well, it can't be the same lot," said Bodie, "Boardman and his gang are still in prison, aren't they ?"
"We can check that," said Cowley, making a mental note to do so.
"But they were only small fry," commented Doyle. "We never caught the real brains behind the scheme, though we knew about him from Boardman."
"Yes," said Cowley, "He knew him as Eric Shroeder, but the man was a master forger, producing realistic passports, visas and other papers, and also a master of disguise, both his own and the men he helped escape."
"So we reckoned he slipped away to the continent," added Bodie, "but under any name and any disguise."
"And could have come back the same way !," declared Cowley succinctly.
That thought stayed with the pair as they hurried down the stairs.
Something else to add to their enquiries.
"Would Shroeder try to repeat the same scheme, do you think ?," queried Bodie, as they reached their car and climbed in.
"Well, it was a very clever affair, wasn't it ?," responded his partner. "A small innocuous lorry firm, going regularly back and forth with simple exports and imports. The scheme's success was because the people checking had got so used to seeing the same men, regular as clock-work. I'm not saying they didn't check the papers carefully. That was their job after all. But it wouldn't have occurred to them to check the drivers, for they were so used to them that they just saw what they expected to see."
"And Shroeder was brilliant at disguising each 'escapee' to resemble one of the drivers," added Bodie.
He mused, as he skilfully negotiated the heavy morning traffic. "It would take quite a while to set it up again, wouldn't it ?."
"We could have been wrong in assuming he'd skipped abroad," said Doyle thoughtfully. "Maybe he just laid low somewhere for a while, and then started looking for another likely firm to take over."
"He could be anywhere," agreed Bodie, "and we haven't the faintest idea what he looks like now."
"Well, the boss will have set up enquiries," said Doyle, "so we'll hear if anything comes to light. Let's just press on with these drug-related ones."
And it turned out to be their lucky day. An informer they hadn't spoken to for a while came up with an odd rumour.
"Mr. Doyle," he said earnestly. "I've just heard the oddest rumour. I can't vouch for the truth of it, but I'll tell you anyway, and you can see if you can get it confirmed by anyone else."
"Get on with it," said Bodie impatiently, "What have you heard ?."
The little man in front of them hurried to tell his news. He trusted Doyle, but he was scared of Bodie. "It seems that instead of making a big 'drop', this supplier is using a lot of insignificant minor addicts to act as 'mules' and bring in small quantities at a time, acting as innocent holidaymakers, coming across on the ferries. If they succeed in coming through customs undetected, they get special bonuses for their own supplies."
"You know, that's not a bad idea," said Bodie. "If any of them get caught, they don't lose much."
"And the 'mules' won't 'grass," commented his partner. "They'll plead innocence and just sit out what happens to them."
"And wait to get back on the street to try again." added Bodie.
Doyle thanked the little man and urged him to contact them again if he heard any more. Then they returned to base to tell their boss this latest odd story.
Cowley was not impressed, and scowled crossly. "That's a bit fanciful, isn't it ?," he snapped.
"Yes," agreed Doyle, "but weird as it sounds, it could just work, sir."
Cowley kept his scowl, but he was thinking furiously. Was it such a bad idea ?
Doyle had good instincts for trouble, and if he thought it was possibly true, it might be worth investigating it a little further.
"I suppose it is worth a bit of checking," he said grudgingly.
He put his shrewd mind onto the problem, and came up with some brisk orders
"I'm taking you two off your present enquiries," he said briskly. "Take a trip down to Dover and have a look at the ferries coming in. You both know a lot of minor addicts. You might spot a face you recognize. And while you're there, ask about lorry firms that come and go regularly."
"If we spot anything," said Bodie eagerly, "we might just kill two birds with one stone."
"Or at least find something worth investigating," added Doyle.
"Well," snapped Cowley crossly, "Why are you still here ? Get on with it !."
The pair hurried out, their minds filled with the possibilities this new mission might uncover. At least it would be a welcome change from the routine enquiries which had started to become a bit boring.
As they hurried down the stairs, Doyle was busy making plans. "Bodie," he said urgently, "If we're looking at lorry firms, we'd better be prepared to stay for a while. If I remember rightly, that last lot favoured trips that came through at night."
"You're right," agreed his mate, "Let's leave our cars here in the yard, pick up something good from the car-pool, and collect our overnight bags on the way."
So this is what they did, and by mid-day were on their way out of London, on the road to the Kent coast. Arriving in Dover, and remembering how Cowley was inclined to carp about expenses, they searched out a convenient, but not too pricey B&B, and booked a double room.
They grabbed a quick bite of lunch, and then made their way into the ferry terminal. They reported to the senior official there. Not wanting to tread on anyone's toes by giving the impression that they were there to find fault, they tactfully put it that they'd come to see if a couple of unlikely rumours could possibly be true. This was basically the truth, though they didn't give the man any details.
Satisfied with their conciliatory tone, the official arranged for them to get all the help and co-operation they needed, backed with his permission.
They began by starting a list of firms that had regular lorry runs to and from Europe, marking particularly the ones whose outward runs were at night, as this had been a special factor in the plans of the gang they had apprehended a couple of years ago.
The task took all afternoon, and still wasn't complete, but by early evening they decided to 'call it a day'. They went to thank the senior man and to tell him that they would be back in the morning to continue their task.
His office was on a level two storeys up. There was an open corridor along the front of the row of offices, and looking over the rail one got a good view down to where passengers from the ferry were coming through the 'Nothing to Declare' channel.
Doyle cast an idle look at the scene below as the pair moved away from the office towards the stairway which would lead them back to where their car was parked.
His attention was caught by a wheel-chair being pushed by a nurse. The man in the chair had one leg stuck out in a plaster cast. The nurse handed over their papers and they were quickly passed through. They moved off in the direction taken by most of the passengers, towards the access to the London trains.
The man was wearing a battered trilby hat, so Doyle hadn't seen his face. But as they moved almost out of his sight, he twisted round to grin up at the nurse.
Doyle had a sudden twinge of recognition. He'd seen that face somewhere before, hadn't he ?
Struggling to remember, he hurried to catch up with his mate, several paces ahead of him. But his mind was still niggled about the man in the wheel-chair. The face had been familiar, he was sure, though the grey goatee beard didn't seem quite right.
It wasn't till they'd almost reached the car, that it suddenly dawned on him. He grabbed his partner's arm to stop him, and almost shouted at him.
"Manx," he exclaimed, "I've just seen Manx."
Bodie looked at his mate blankly. "Who the heck is Manx ?," he asked.
"He's an occasional user and a small-time 'pusher' who lives in Brixton," explained Doyle quickly. "He buys stuff from dealers and sells it on, making a little bit on the side. But there's no way on earth he could afford holidays abroad."
He was turning his friend round and pulling him to go back into the terminal.
"But that's not the point," he added. "He was in disguise, with a false beard, in a wheel-chair with his leg in a plaster cast, and being pushed by a nurse."
"Hey," exclaimed Bodie, catching on quickly, "that sounds as if your snout's rumour could be true."
He increased his pace to catch up with Doyle. They soon reached the customs check point, and identified themselves to the official there.
"That man in the wheel-chair ?," queried Doyle urgently.
The customs officer evidently had a good memory. "Oh, yes," he replied chattily. "Nice old chap. Said he'd had a lovely weekend in Paris but had fallen down the steps in his hotel, and his insurance had sent a nurse to fetch him home. Their papers were all in order," he added, beginning to look worried as he saw the expressions on his questioners' faces.
"Where were they going ?," queried Bodie.
"To the London train," replied the man instantly. He looked at his watch. "Went three minutes ago."
""Damn, we've missed them," said Doyle, exchanging glances with his mate. "Just too late."
What could they do about it ? He thought for a moment. Then using his authority, he demanded urgent access to a telephone. The pair were shown into a small office, and the customs man returned to his duty.
"I'll phone Headquarters and then get them picked up when the train gets to London," said Doyle, as his busy fingers dialled the required special numbers. It was quickly arranged.
As there was nothing more they could do about it at this end, they resumed their way back to the car and went to the 'digs' they had booked. Their landlady produced a good meal, and then as it was getting late they retired to their room and studied their long list of names of lorry firms.
Straight after breakfast, they re-packed the few bits taken from their bags, settled their bill with the pleasant landlady, and went for a last visit to the terminal.
They completed their long list of lorry firms using the busy port. Then they took the time to watch a few lorries come through, noticing the details of the papers checking procedure. It all seemed diligent and efficient but then it had been so when they had unearthed the last scam. They looked at drivers too, but they saw no faces that rang any bells.
Doyle also had another look at the customs check, though it was unlikely that there would be another event quite this soon.
Then they set off on the journey home. Bodie drove while Doyle passed the time working out the words of the report they would deliver.
Cowley wasn't in his office when they arrived back, so they quickly charmed one of the girls to type up their report, plus the long list. They handed it all to Cowley's secretary. Then they made their way to the rest-room for what they felt was a well-earned cup of tea.
They found Murphy there, and Doyle immediately accosted him. "Well," he demanded, "Did you pick up Manx yesterday, as I asked ?
"Yes, we did !," replied Murphy, a scowl coming over his handsome face. "We picked him up as he walked off the Dover to London train. No wheel-chair, no plaster cast, no nurse and no grey beard ! Thank you very much !."
Doyle gazed at the annoyed agent in astonishment. "What did he say ?," he gasped.
"He said he'd had a lovely week-end in Paris," snapped Murphy, "He said he'd been saving up for years as he'd always wanted to see the Eiffel tower. And now he had and it had been great."
"But I saw him," declared Doyle, "I know it was him."
"Well," said Bodie, "The clever bloke behind this scheme organizes things pretty well, doesn't he ?. I bet the beard and the cast got chucked out of a window somewhere on the journey."
"What about the wheel-chair ?" asked Doyle. "You can't throw that away, can you ?"
"Yes, we thought of that," said Murphy. "The only wheel-chair that came through the ticket-barrier was self-propelled by a young woman, a disabled student. Her papers were all in order."
"That was the nurse, I bet," said Doyle and the others nodded. It all made clever sense now.
"There was nothing on Manx," commented Murphy, "So whatever he had smuggled through went with the girl.
While the group were talking, Cowley had returned. Recognizing by the voices that Bodie and Doyle were back, he collected their report, and scanned through it, before stepping out into the corridor and calling them. Both took a hurried last gulp of their tea, and hurried along to the office.
Cowley had their report in his hand and waved it at them. "A comprehensive list," he commented, "Much longer than I expected."
He frowned at it as he put it down on his desk. "I may have to get some outside help checking some of it," he said. "As it's only speculation based on a previous case we handled, it's not vital enough to waste agent's valuable time on it."
Doyle's face had rather a disgruntled expression. They had put in a lot of time and effort on this. For nothing, it now seemed.
Cowley caught the expression, smiled inwardly and immediately made amends. "But this business with Manx is a different matter," he said. "That was a lucky spot, Doyle, and very interesting."
Doyle visibly brightened, but then was cast down again as his boss added, "But it's a great pity it all came to nothing as it did."
"I did see him !," Doyle protested vehemently.
"Yes, I know you did," said Cowley, placatingly. "I would never doubt your word or your memory, Doyle. But the clever way it was organised means we can't prove a thing."
"Can't we do something about it ?, asked Bodie, feeling as disappointed as his mate at the words.
"We'll keep our eyes and ears open," went on Cowley, "But in the meantime I'm going to pass it back to the Drugs squad. I'll tell them all the details about Manx. That should convince them that the rumour is true, and it is happening. They know even more possible suspects than we do, so they can do their own work checking."
The pair left, feeling vaguely disappointed. They had put in time and effort on their enquiries in Dover with no definite results. True, Doyle's recognition of Manx had been a break-through, but even that would be followed up by someone else.
They were even more depressed when the next few days saw them back on routine enquiries, and another boring stakeout.
But what they didn't know, was that someone else had had a sudden flash of recognition. While they had been looking at lorry drivers, none of whom they recognised, one had spotted them.
The man's name was Lannigan, and he had been Shroeder's right-hand man for years, and was still working for him. He hadn't been identified when Boardman and his gang had been picked up, and had got clean away with him. The reason for that was because at that time he didn't have his HGV licence, so he wasn't one of the drivers. But in the years since, he had trained and worked for it. And now he was a driver, and was helping Shroeder to set up a repeat of the scheme that had worked so well.
They had found a suitable small firm, with a greedy and susceptible owner. They had added a couple of lorries, and several drivers of their own choice, and had made a good start, getting the two criminal businessmen out, one at a time. And plans were in hand for the next client, the drug dealer from Durham.
When Lannigan spotted the two C.I.5 men, and realised they were looking at lorry firms, he was seized with a sudden panic. Were they onto them already ?
He couldn't wait to contact his boss to tell him. But he would have to wait a bit, for Shroeder was away, up in Newcastle, negotiating plans for another client.
Lannigan was jittery ! He continued with his regular trip across to Calais and back, but all the while he was pondering over the problem. Would Shroeder want to do something about it ? Was there anything he could do in the meantime ?
A few days later, Bodie and Doyle were on a stake-out, watching the home of a man called Hooper, thought to have connections with a suspected gun-runner. They were now into their second day and there had been no signs of life in the place opposite. Doyle was just beginning to get a bit irritated by Bodie's constant grumbling. He knew his mate detested stake-outs, but they had to be done and a little more patience was required.
But then they had a stroke of luck !
Mid-morning, a taxi rolled up to the house opposite, and out got Hooper, wearing a fancy sun-hat and lugging a suitcase, obviously back from holiday somewhere. The taxi man was paid and drove off. Hooper picked up his case, and entered the house, totally unaware of the watching pair.
After that, the 'collar' was remarkably easy. Bodie and Doyle just walked over to the house, and rang the doorbell. When an unsuspecting Hooper opened the door, he was firmly pushed back into the hallway. Bodie held him there, while Doyle went for their car, parked just round the corner, out of sight. And some time after that, the pair were reporting to their boss that Hooper was safely ensconced in the Interrogation Centre, ready to be questioned.
"I'll inform Anson and Lake," said Cowley, "They've been working on the gun-running case."
He eyed the two men in front of him and almost smiled as he thought how surprised they would be at his next words.
"I've nothing more immediate for you two, so after you've collected the equipment from the stake-out, you can have the rest of the day off. But be in sharp in the morning," he added sternly.
The pair shot out of the office, not giving their boss time to change his mind. An unexpected afternoon off was a real bonus !
They returned to the stake-out, and packed up the equipment in record time, returning it to the stores.
Then, in high spirits, they returned to base, collected their respective cars, and sped off to their flats.
Doyle got himself a quick lunch, and then changed into his overalls. He was looking forward to a long afternoon working on the vintage motor-bike he was endeavouring to restore. He had only got as far as hooking back the garage door, when Bodie's car pulled into the yard, and stopped beside him.
Bodie jumped out. He'd changed into more casual clothes, but he didn't look too happy. "I'm going to take a boat out on the river," he announced, "but I can't find a girl to join me, _ they're all at work."
He looked pleadingly at his mate. "Come with me, Ray," he almost begged.
"No way," rejoined Doyle instantly.
"Why not ?," asked Bodie crossly.
"I can visualise two pictures," replied Doyle, "One is you rowing, and me just sitting there like a useless wimp. The other is you lording it in the stern, while I struggle to cope with your weight. You're at least a stone heavier than me !"
He glared at his mate. "I don't like either picture," he said firmly. "Besides , I want to work on the bike."
"Can't you leave it, just this once ?," pleaded Bodie.
"It's at a vital stage," retorted Doyle. "No way, mate, I'm not coming."
Bodie turned back to his car, scowling. As he climbed in, he threw a final grumble at his friend. "Sometimes, you're no fun, Doyle,_ no fun at all," he growled.
Doyle watched the car swing out of the yard, a little faster than was safe, and felt a slight pang of regret. I suppose I could have obliged him, he thought, ruefully.
But I'm not his 'nanny, he re-considered. I give him total commitment when we are at work, but it isn't part of my job to entertain him when we're 'off-duty'. He's big and bold enough to look after himself, he added, trying to squash the slightly guilty feeling. I bet he finds someone, anyway.
He turned back to his workshop, and his beloved bike, and was soon totally immersed in what he was doing.
Bodie couldn't find anyone to go with him on the river, so eventually decided to go alone. He drove down to Marlowe, hired a boat from his favourite source, and was soon pulling strongly, moving his boat close to some of the interesting islands along the way.
But, enjoying the exercise, he was totally unaware that he was not alone !
Someone, who was just waiting for the chance, had been following him for a while.
Lannigan had learnt by devious means where the C.I.5 Headquarters was located. He had sat in his car at a safe distance, and watched the coming and going of the various cars. He'd soon learnt that Bodie and Doyle were frequently together, usually sharing one car.
He was looking for the opportunity to get one of them on his own. Early in that afternoon, he'd thought his chance had come. The pair had come in together, but had left separately in their own cars. He'd followed Bodie home. He did think he might be able to get him at his flat, but found that the security there was very tight.
So he'd waited till he saw the man come out again. He'd followed him, first to his mate's place, and then down to Marlowe. He saw him hire a boat and set off.
My chance has come, he thought exultantly !
He stroked the rifle, resting against the seat beside him. There aren't many people about, he thought. I should be able to find a quiet spot somewhere along the river-bank.
And he did just that !
Bodie was rowing perilously close to some of the little islands, wondering if he might find an easy place where he could get onto one of them, to do a bit of exploring.
He didn't notice the car coasting along the opposite bank, didn't see it stop, or spot the long barrel poked from a side window.
A sudden 'crack' broke the peaceful quiet of the river.
Bodie suddenly jerked and fell backwards into the bow well of his little boat. For a moment, his long legs waved in the air, then dropped limply to lie across the thwart he'd just been sitting on. One oar, suddenly released from its rowlock, fell into the water with a splash, and began to drift away. The other, dragged back by a failing hand, was neatly shipped. All was quiet again. The only movement was the gentle rocking of the boat.
There had been nobody about to witness the scene or spot the car, as a satisfied Lannigan drove rapidly away.
Ten minutes later, a motor cruiser, which seemed to be hosting a riotous party, came swishing by. No-one on board noticed as the wash from their speeding craft spread towards the sluggishly drifting rowing boat and pushed it nearer to the little island, where it was caught by a weeping willow, whose long branches were almost touching the surface of the water. These dragged across the bow of the boat and the recumbent figure lying in it, stopping its movement, and practically obscuring it from sight.
Doyle was feeling relaxed, happy with his afternoon's work. The section which he had thought might be difficult, had in fact, gone very smoothly and he had made good progress. He was almost ready to pack up for the day, having gone as far as he could for the present. He would have to wait now for the next part he had ordered to turn up.
He was suddenly startled by the 'beep' from his radio-telephone, lying on the work-bench. He had brought it down with him because he would not be able to hear if the land-line rang in his flat. It was a precaution, because he knew from experience that 'off-duty' time could often be curtailed by a sudden emergency call from Cowley. It had happened a great many times.
It's a good job I'd finished the tricky bit, he thought, as he wiped his greasy hands on a rag, and reached for the phone.
But it wasn't his boss's brusque tones that he heard ! Instead there came a gasping noise, and then a faint voice.
"Doyle !," came his mate's familiar but oddly struggling tones, "I'm hit, bad, help me."
Doyle was instantly alert. "Bodie, tell me where you are," he demanded fiercely. The reply came weakly in slow single words. "Boat, river, island."
"Hang in there, mate, I'm coming," Doyle almost shouted." Keep your phone open," he ordered.
He slammed the garage door shut, whipping the padlock into place. Then he shot up the stairs, clutching the phone, and undoing his overalls as he went. He shed the greasy garment on the floor as he reached for the other phone and urgently called into base. To his relief, he was put straight through to Cowley, and quickly put him in the picture.
"Do you know where he usually goes ?," asked Cowley.
"Yes, Marlowe," replied Doyle instantly.
"Then, on your way, lad," snapped his boss. "Leave it to me to organise back-up etc."
Doyle didn't need telling twice. As he had been conversing, his free hand had been busy collecting all he would need. So as soon as he put the phone down, he was racing down the stairs and into his car.
As it was a weekday the roads were not particularly busy, and he made good time. Just as well, for delays would have added to the anxiety he was already feeling. Bodie had sounded so weak, hardly with it at all. And his worry had been acerbated when he'd attempted to contact him again with the radio-phone. It had sounded as if it was still open, but there had been no response.
He pulled into the car-park, and found a space easily. It was then he discovered how busy his boss had been. There was a police-car already parked in the corner, and a young policeman was hurrying towards him.
"Mr. Doyle ?," he queried, and as Doyle nodded, he continued, "We're all ready for you, sir The boatman's on his way, he's been to pick up a medic, and there's an ambulance on 'stand-by' at the local hospital."
Doyle felt totally staggered. On his way down he'd been trying to plan what he would do, even if it meant commandeering a boat and sculling down the river alone to search for his friend.
Now there was all this help available, which should make everything easier and quicker. The Cow had done well, bless him !
Even as he took it all in, he heard a sound, and turned to see a smart little motor-boat, easing alongside the quay wall, with two men aboard. The older man, with steady hands on the wheel, was clearly the boatman.
As Doyle and the policeman hurried forward, the younger man reached out a hand to help them aboard.
The boatman eased his craft back out into the main stream. "I understand we're looking for Mr. Bodie," he said, addressing Doyle. "I was wondering why he wasn't back."
"Something's happened to him," said Doyle. "He said he was close to an island."
"Right, now I know where to look," said the man, and pushed up the vessel's speed. Before long they were approaching the string of little islands, and he dropped his speed right down, and eased closer in. Four pairs of eyes scanned the lush greenery that covered them.
Doyle remembered the phone that was tucked in his jacket, and pulled it out. He had a quick word with the boatman, who immediately cut the engine totally.
He quickly pressed the button, and listened for a response. Not a sound. He tried again, but there was nothing.
"I'll move a bit further on," said the boatman, He coasted his craft a further hundred yards, then cut the engine again.
Doyle pressed the button once more, and listened, as did all the others beside him. And together, they heard it ! The faintest 'beep', some way ahead.
Once again, the skilled boatman started his engine, and running at an idling speed, eased it along beside the dense vegetation that covered most of the islands.
Doyle activated his phone again, and this time it was not necessary to 'kill' the engine, for the sound was stronger and could be heard above the muted murmur of the well-maintained craft.
They crept forward slowly. It was the sharp eyes of the young policeman that spotted what they were all looking for. "Look !," he almost shouted, "under those branches."
All eyes followed his pointing finger, and latched onto what he had seen, the stern section of the little rowing boat, its bow obscured by the long trailing branches.
With consummate skill the boatman eased his craft gently alongside, till both Doyle and the young policeman could catch hold of the wooden sides, to draw them close. Close enough to spot the limp form within.
Doyle was about to clamber over, but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. The medic had picked up the first-aid bag he had brought with him.
"Best let me go first," he said.
So the pair hung on firmly as he climbed nimbly over. Pushing aside the impeding branches, he knelt carefully beside his patient, and reached with a skilled hand for a pulse. A short pause. Then he gave the anxiously watching men a grin and a cheerful 'thumbs up'.
"He's got a bullet wound in his shoulder, and he's lost a lot of blood," he reported, "But his pulse is steady and his breathing's O.K."
He looked towards the young policeman. "But we're going to need that ambulance," he said. "Can you contact your mate about it ?." The young man nodded, and got busy with his own R.T.
Then he turned to the boatman, who he evidently knew well. "Bill, can you tow us back to the car-park ? he asked.
"No problem," the boatman replied.
The medic turned to Doyle with a smile, "I'd rather have the paramedics lift him out, than us trying it," he said.
Doyle was beginning to feel rather redundant with all this efficient help.
But then the boatman, who had been fishing in a locker, handed him a coil of rope. "There's a ring right at the prow," he said. "I use it to moor the boats when they're not in use. Can you find it and tie that on ?."
"Of course I can," replied Doyle eagerly, glad to be doing something useful. He brushed aside the trailing branches, felt his way along the side of the little boat, towards the prow and soon found what he was after. He quickly secured the rope to the iron ring screwed to the prow timbers.
"Now get to my stern," ordered the boatman. Doyle obeyed paying out the rope clutched in his hands very carefully, as the man continued."I'm going to ease out very slowly," he said. "I want you to control the slack till we're clear of the bushes." Doyle nodded. No way would he let go of that rope !
In actual fact the manoeuvres worked very well. The boatman knew exactly what he was doing. The rowing boat rocked a little as it was drawn clear, but the medic had stayed aboard and steadied it. Then following Bill's orders, Doyle and the policeman together pulled it in to a safe distance from the rear of the motor-boat, and tied off the rope securely to the back rail.
The boatman moved slowly out into the mainstream. He took his craft a bit further down to a wider stretch of the river, did a slow and wide U- turn, then moved steadily back up the river towards the car-park landing-place.
As they got nearer, they spotted the bright colour of the ambulance pulling in, and moving towards the edge of the quay.
Doyle also recognised the car parked next to his, and as he climbed out of the motor-boat, was very glad to see the tall form of Murphy hurrying towards him.
"How is he ?," asked Murphy eagerly.
"The medic doesn't think he's too bad," said Doyle.
The pair turned round to watch, as two ambulance men, one carrying a folded stretcher, moved to the water's edge. The boatman had unhitched the towing rope and he and the medic had carefully guided the little rowing boat to where it could be grabbed and held fast.
It was quite a struggle to lift the limp form from the little craft, but several pairs of hands and a considerable amount of skill managed it and the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance.
Murphy clutched Doyle's arm. "I expect you want to go with the ambulance," he said. "Jax is here too."
Doyle had spotted him, talking to the other man in the police-car.
"Give me your car keys," continued Murphy. "Then one of us will bring your car to the hospital later. I'll deal with everything here," he added with a grin, "and I'll call the boss and put him in the picture."
"Thanks, Murphy," said Doyle, very relieved. He knew he could rely on the tall calm agent. Murphy was very good at handling people and situations.
"Off you go," said Murphy, giving him a little push towards the ambulance. "Look after the lad, and give us a report when you can."
Gratefully, Doyle scrambled up into the ambulance just as the doors were being closed. His eyes searched the pale face, showing above the swaddling blanket. Bodie was still out cold, but as the medic had said, he seemed to be breathing normally, and wasn't showing any obvious signs of distress.
"Don't worry," said the watching ambulance man, seeing Doyle's anxious expression. "Hospital's only a few minutes away. The staff there are good, they'll sort him out."
A short time later, they pulled into the forecourt of the hospital. They were expected, so Bodie was very quickly unloaded and whisked away. Doyle was ushered into a waiting-room, and offered a cup of tea, which he accepted gratefully.
The door opened and he looked up expectantly, hoping he might be a report on his partner's condition. Instead it was the tall form of Murphy who swept in. He dropped into the seat beside Doyle.
"No news yet ?," he queried and Doyle shook his head.
"I've dealt with everything back there," reported Murphy, "Thanked everyone who helped, and put the police in the picture."
"And called the boss ?," queried Doyle.
"Yes," replied Murphy, pulling a face. "He's not exactly pleased, of course."
"He arranged help pretty quickly," said Doyle. "I was surprised."
"Ah, well," said Murphy with a grin, "When the Cow pulls strings everybody jumps, don't they ?."
He went on to relay the orders he'd been given. "Jax and I are to go straight back. Jax picked up a spare key to Bodie's car, so he'll take that back to base. You are to hang on here, till you have something to report."
He handed Doyle back his own set of keys. "Your car's about four along to the right of the entrance," he said, "Couldn't get any nearer."
"I'll find it, thank you," said Doyle gratefully, and watched the tall agent leave.
He waited. It seemed to him as if he sat there alone for ages.
But at last the door opened and a cheerful young doctor walked in."I'm sorry you had to wait so long," he began, "Only we had a bit of a job to remove that bullet without causing more damage. But it's done now, and all clean and tidy. He'd lost rather a lot of blood, but we did something about that and he responded well. He's very fit isn't he ?."
"Thank you," said Doyle, feeling very relieved.
"He's demanding to be discharged, "continued the doctor, "but there's no way I'll allow that yet. He needs to rest. Anyway, he's had quite a strong sedative, so he'll be asleep soon. Do you want a word with him before he drops off ?"
"Yes, please," replied Doyle eagerly, and followed the young doctor as he led him to a pleasant small side ward.
He gazed anxiously towards the bed, where his partner lay, left shoulder swathed in white bandages. Bodie did look a bit sleepy. The medication was evidently starting to work, but his colour was much better, and he looked comfortable enough.
Doyle moved towards the bed, and spoke cheerfully. "Well, you're a bright one aren't you ?" he teased, " Can't let you out on your own. You do need a 'nanny'."
"Ah, but you wouldn't come with me," retorted his mate, evidently well enough to respond to their customary banter. "Are you going to take me home.?," he demanded.
"Not tonight," replied Doyle, glancing towards the doctor, standing the other side of the bed. He responded to the look, and spoke to his patient.
"If you sleep well tonight" he said, "Maybe I'll let you go tomorrow."
He turned to Doyle. "I suggest you phone about dinner-time," he said, "and check how he's doing. I'll find you a card with our number," he added, and left the room.
"Be sensible, Bodie," said Doyle. He could see that in spite of his efforts to stay awake, Bodie's eyelids were drooping. "But before I go, tell me. Have you any idea who shot you and why ?."
"Not a clue," replied his partner.
"Well, I suggest you think about it in the morning," said Doyle, "it'll be the first thing Cowley will want to know, won't it ?"
Bodie nodded sleepily, let his eyes close, and succumbed to the enforced rest. Doyle gently patted the hand lying on top of the covers, and left quietly.
He found his car where Murphy had parked it, and slid into it, ready for the journey back. Before he started the engine, he reached for the car-phone and contacted base. He was quickly put through to Cowley, and made his report.
"He's not too bad, sir," he began. "Bullet in the left shoulder. He's resting comfortably now. We've to ring tomorrow midday to see if he's fit to be collected."
"I see," said Cowley, "Did he give you any idea about why this happened ?."
"No, sir," replied Doyle, "But I told him to think about it when he's more with it. He was too sedated when I saw him."
"Have you any idea about it ?," queried Cowley.
"Not at the moment," Doyle admitted.
"Well, you think about it too," ordered Cowley, "And report in the morning."
It was a pleasant evening, so Doyle didn't hurry back. He was relieved that his partner was not more seriously injured. He treated himself to a leisurely meal at his favourite eating-place, before returning to his flat. He was relaxed, as he thought over the events of the afternoon, but at the back of his mind there was still the question. "Why?"
And when he got up the next morning, breakfasted, showered and dressed, and set off towards Headquarters to report in, he still hadn't found an answer to the pressing question.
Who had shot Bodie and why ?
He was called into Cowley's office, and reported every detail he could remember of the previous day's events. His boss listened intently without any comment, till he had finished.
"Why did it happen, Doyle ?," he demanded at last.
"I don't know, sir," admitted Doyle. "I've given it a lot of thought, but I haven't come up with anything. It's not as if Bodie and I were particularly close on anything. We weren't breathing down anybody's neck."
"The Manx business ?." queried his boss.
"I doubt it," replied Doyle. "That didn't come to anything, did it ? And anyway that was more down to me than Bodie."
"I suppose so," agreed Cowley. "Well, we'll wait and see if he can come up with any answers himself."
Doyle was kept busy on paper work for most of the morning. Just before midday he was recalled to Cowley's office. He entered, just in time to catch his boss on the phone, having just dialled the number on the little card he was holding in his hand. The call was quickly answered.
"I'm ringing to enquire whether my man Bodie is fit enough to travel," he said, getting straight to the point.
"He had a good night," replied the young doctor. "He's very anxious to be collected. But he still needs medical care, sir."
"Oh, he'll get that," replied Cowley, "We have our own medical man and easy access to hospital treatment, if necessary."
This seemed to satisfy the young doctor, who then agreed to discharge his patient.
Cowley replaced the receiver and turned to Doyle, with almost a wry smile. "I've a feeling that young man will be quite glad to get rid of Bodie," he said.
"He's probably been pestering him," agreed Doyle with a grin, "and chatting up his nurses."
"I suppose you'd like the job of fetching him," teased his boss. "Off you go then !."
Doyle didn't need telling twice and shot off. He made a quick detour to his friend's flat to pick up some suitable clothes, then set off down to Marlowe.
He found his friend looking alert and cheerful, in spite of a heavily bandaged shoulder, and his arm in a sling. He helped him into some of the clothes he had brought.
Then they duly thanked the young doctor for his care, and went out to the waiting car. Doyle helped Bodie settle comfortably in the passenger seat, with a folded rug cushioning his shoulder against jarring. Then he set off at a steady pace to return to base.
"Have you had any thoughts on what you're going to tell Cowley ?," asked Doyle after they had been going a while.
"I have thought about it," replied Bodie, "but I have no idea who it might have been. I can't give him any sort of answer."
"No, neither can I," said Doyle, "he won't be too pleased, will he ?."
And that was still the case when they arrived at base and reported to Cowley's office. He eyed his man carefully, though his controlled expression did not betray his concern. He was relieved to see that Bodie did not seem too bad, though it was evident he would be out of action for some time.
He posed the question they had been expecting. "Have either of you any idea what this is about ?," he demanded. "Do you know who shot you ?."
And both of them had to admit that they had no answer to give him.
"Well," he said at last, "You'd better both be extra alert, in case there's another attempt."
He dismissed them then, ordering Doyle to take Bodie to be checked by their own medical man, and then to take him home.
But all three men were left with the question in the back of their minds.
"Who and Why ?."
Lannigan was still feeling jittery, especially as he had learnt that his action had not been totally efficient. He'd parked again near the C.I.5 Headquarters, and had seen Bodie, arm in a sling, riding with Doyle in their Capri.
He met Shroeder off the train from Newcastle, and drove him to the little rented flat that they were currently calling 'home'.
Lannigan made some tea, as his boss unpacked the small bag he had taken with him on his trip. He was feeling pleased with the result of his negotiations, and didn't notice that Lannigan was a bit subdued.
As they sat at the kitchen table, he asked his man how things had been going while he was away. Lannigan grabbed at the opportunity to tell him about seeing Bodie and Doyle. To his dismay, Shroeder didn't seem bothered.
""What were they doing ?," he asked.
"Making lists of lorries using the port," Lannigan replied.
"It'll be a long list," commented Shroeder, not really interested. Then he caught his man's anxious expression. "Oh," he exclaimed, "And you're worried they might be onto us ?." Lannigan nodded.
"It's very unlikely," said Shroeder dismissively, "They could be looking for dozens of things, drugs, dodgy cargoes, false papers, anything. Did they actually talk to any of the drivers ?."
"No, I don't' think so," said Lannigan.
"Well then," said his boss, "You're fussing over nothing. Our papers are all in perfect order."
Lannigan was taken aback at the way his fears had been dismissed. Then he began to remember how things had gone last time. Angelo had taken matters into his own hands then, and had tried to get rid of the two C.I. 5 men. But he had not succeeded either.
He recalled now, how furious Shroeder had been, raging at the man.
And then their clever scam had been brought to an end, and Boardman and the other men had been arrested, tried, and were now in prison
Suddenly, Lannigan made a decision. He would not reveal to his boss what he had done. There had been no witnesses, and none of the others knew about it, so if he kept quiet, it should never come out.
And so it was that this was a mystery that C.I.5 were destined not to solve !
The question in the back of their minds would not be answered, and would gradually fade away with time.
You can't win them all !