Trouble in the House

by Halcris

A meeting with an old friend, and co-operation to deal with a possible terrorist threat.

Trouble in the House.

As Doyle parked his car neatly in the yard at C.I 5 Headquarters, he glanced along the line of vehicles, looking for his team-mate's car. It wasn't there, so Bodie wasn't in yet. He'd beaten him to it today.

Still, he mused idly, perhaps he's had a heavy night. Come to think of it, he thought to himself, I don't think I know who he's seeing at the moment. They hadn't had a double-date for some time, as Doyle had been recovering from injury, and was only just back to full form.

But it's none of my business, anyway, he decided. He's my partner for the work we do together, but I'm not his keeper when we're off-duty.

He greeted the doorman and went on up towards the duty-room. As he passed the switch-board office, one of the girls there came out to intercept him.

"Doyle," she said urgently, "I've a phone message for you. It came in about ten minutes ago."

"Oh, who was it ?," asked Doyle, thinking it might have been Bodie.

"He wouldn't give his name, - said you would know," replied the girl.

"Right," said Doyle. "What did it say ?

"I wrote it down," said the girl, handing him a slip of paper.

He thanked her, and carried on up the stairs, reading the note as he went. It was a simple urgent request, saying 'Meet me, Norton's bar, 9-30 tonight. Vital, urgent and confidential.' The initials J.M. ended the terse message.

As Doyle considered all the implications of this, he heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. Bodie hadn't been that far behind him then. Quickly, he slipped the note into his pocket and turned to meet his friend.

Bodie greeted him cheerfully, and followed him into the duty-room. He crossed over to look at the list on the board. "Oh- oh," he said cheekily. "See Cowley. That's for us. I wonder what he's got in mind for us today. Not another stake-out, I hope."

He grinned widely, and slapped his friend on the back. "Come on, Ray, old son. "Our lord and master awaits !

Doyle followed his mate from the room as they made their way towards their boss's office. He's cheerful, he thought. He must be doing all right, whoever he's seeing.

Their boss was waiting for them, with a pile of folders on his desk. They spent the next hour going through them with him, and then left, each with a list of names of people that Cowley wanted them to check up on. This task kept them busy all day, asking questions, and writing reports on what they discovered.

So it was quite late when Doyle got back to his flat. But he did just have time to wash and change and get himself a meal, before he set out for his mysterious rendezvous.

He reached Norton's Bar about 9-15 pm, got himself a drink, and ensconced himself in a quiet corner alcove. He had been thinking all day about the message he had received. He knew several people with the initials J.M., but he was pretty sure he knew which one of them it was.

So he was not surprised when a stocky fair-haired man slid quietly into the seat beside him, greeting him with a smile and a firm handshake. Johnny Moulson, of course, his friend from M.I. 6 !

"Hi Ray," said Moulson. "How are you ?. We heard about that nasty Giordarno affair. Are you O.K. ?"

"Yes, I'm fully recovered," replied Doyle, "though it did take a while."

"Has that villain gone down yet ?," asked Moulson curiously.

"No, not yet," reported Doyle. "They're still piling up evidence against him for all sorts of activities. I reckon when he does finally go to prison, it'll be forever."

"Good," replied Moulson. "But, of course, that's not what I want to talk to you about."

"I am curious," said Doyle, and waited for Moulson to begin.

"It's about Bodie," Moulson began.

"What about him ?," demanded Doyle. "Bodie's all right," he added, almost belligerently.

"Course he is. I know that," said Johnny, secretly wishing that he had a mate that ready to spring to his defence.

"No, it's the girl he's seeing," went on Moulson. "What do you know about her ?"

"Absolutely nothing," replied Doyle instantly. "He hasn't said anything, and I haven't met her."

"Well," continued his friend, "Her name is Gerda Bronsen, and she's originally from Switzerland, although she's been in Britain for the last five years. She works for an export company. She does typing, and a lot of translating, for they deal on the continent quite frequently, and she's fluent in French and German."

"So ?," queried Doyle, "Sounds normal enough, though a bit different. I don't think Bodie's much into European languages."

"I seem to remember that," agreed Moulson. "She's very attractive, which is Bodie's style, but there may be a problem."

"What kind of problem ?," demanded Doyle.

"Well," said Moulson slowly, "We think she might be a 'sleeper', planted by an undercover terrorist group we've got our eye on. They have been gradually integrating themselves over here for the past year, hoping we won't notice, I suspect."

Doyle took a few moments to let all this information sink in. "I see," he said at last. "So you want me to gently alert Bodie."

"No !," exclaimed Moulson.

His voice was loud and vehement, and the hand he slammed on the table nearly upset their drinks. And he certainly caused several heads to swivel curiously in their direction. He quickly turned his back on his audience, and hung his head as if embarrassed.

But as Doyle glanced at him, he was surprised to hear a muffled snort, and a suppressed giggle from the man.

"What's so funny ?," he asked in a low voice.

Johnny turned a grinning face towards him. "I expect they think we're having a lover's tiff," he whispered.

Doyle grinned back at his friend. "No way," he retorted, "You're not my type !"

"Perhaps we should kiss and make up," joked Johnny, "Really give them something to talk about."

Doyle threw him a withering look, and he relented.

"Sorry," he said, "It just struck me as funny."

Then he calmed down and returned to the matter in hand. "No," he said, "We don't want you to alert Bodie - at least, not yet."

"Bodie's all right," repeated Doyle angrily. "You could trust him not to let on."

"Of course, I know that," said Johnny, "But I have some doubts about his acting ability, - he could slip up."

"Besides," he added thoughtfully, "Bodie's not the only one who is good with the ladies. A couple of our men have recently acquired new lady-friends, and we're suspicious of them too. So we may be totally wrong about Gerda."

"Well," demanded Doyle, still a bit annoyed, "What do you want me to do ?

"Get him to talk about her," replied Moulson. "See if what she's told him about herself agrees with what we know. Arrange a double-date if you can, so you can meet her, and form an opinion."

Doyle wasn't entirely happy with this prospect. "All right," he said at last, "I don't like it, but I'll play along for a bit."

"Good," said Moulson. "Meet me here same time next week, and we'll compare reports."

Doyle went home in a thoughtful mood. He didn't much like the task Moulson had set him. Secrecy that shut Bodie out went very much against the grain with him. On the other hand, if deceiving his friend for a short while could mean keeping him out of trouble, he would do it.

But the next day, when he steeled himself to implement the plan, he found that it worked out to be much easier than he had feared.

Bodie and he were sent out on a stake-out, watching a suspect house in Hammersmith. It proved to be as dull and boring as such jobs often were, so there was plenty of time for conversation.

Trying to speak as casually as possible, Doyle asked his mate who he was seeing these days.

To his surprise, Bodie was now perfectly ready to talk about her. As Doyle listened, he began to realise that all she had told his mate about herself correlated completely with what Moulson had said. So she wasn't being secretive about her background. Maybe Moulson's lot have got it wrong, he thought.

Doyle didn't like being devious with his mate, so he made a special effort, and forced himself to put a suggestion, which, although not quite a lie, was a bit of an exaggeration.

"You know, mate," he said, "I haven't had a night out since I was laid up, and I've sort of lost the touch. How about a double-date soon, to get me back into the swing of things ?"

To his great relief, Bodie welcomed the idea. "Great !," he said enthusiastically. "I'll contact Gerda, and see which day we can fix it. Who do you want to ask ?"

A bit taken aback by this quick response, Doyle hesitated. But his mate rushed on.

"How about Susie ?," he suggested. "She's always good company, and not demanding." Doyle nodded agreement.

"Right" said Bodie. "I'll fix it up, and we'll do it. On one condition," he added, with an impish grin.

"What's that ?," asked Doyle curiously.

"You don't make eyes at my girl," said Bodie.

Doyle grinned back. "I wouldn't dare," he retorted.

So a couple of days later saw the group out together, Bodie and Gerda, Doyle and Susie. Doyle was glad that his friend had suggested Susie to be his partner for the evening. She was a good friend to both of them, always amenable to making up a foursome, but not asking for any more than a pleasant evening spent in good company.

After they were introduced, Doyle studied Gerda covertly. She was a tall slim blonde, very much Bodie's style, and very pretty. But her manner was open and friendly, and she talked easily with all of them. The four spent a very pleasant evening, and by the end of it, Doyle was convinced that M.I.6 had made a mistake this time. Nothing Gerda did or said had given him the slightest cause to be suspicious of her.

Doyle took Susie home and returned to his flat in a much happier frame of mind. He was sure Johnny was wrong about Gerda, and he was looking forward to telling him so, the following evening.

Next morning, he and Bodie parked their cars and entered Headquarters together, as they so often did. As they walked up the stairs, Bodie was chatting, pleased with the previous evening's outing.

"Did you enjoy last night ?," he asked. "Did you like Gerda ?."

"Yes," answered Doyle happily. "It was a very nice evening, - did me good ! And Gerda seems very pleasant, - too good for you, mind."

Then Bodie put in a remark that spoiled things for Doyle. "You'll never guess where she has asked me to take her on my next day off," he said, "The Houses of Parliament, no less !."

Doyle was a bit shaken by this. Was it significant ? Why would a girl like Gerda want to go there ?

The thought stayed with him all day long, as they got on with the job assigned to them. Did it mean something or not ? People did go on guided tours of the Commons all the time, he knew. But as Gerda had been in Britain for five years already, surely she could have done the tour before if she was really interested.

Was the timing significant ? Or the fact that she'd asked Bodie to take her ? A niggling thought came into his mind. Bodie's high security clearance meant that he could have access to areas where the general public were not allowed. Was that what she was after ? Had Bodie been cultivated just for that ?

It's my suspicious mind, thought Doyle to himself. I'm getting a bit paranoid about it. But later that evening, when he met up with Moulson again, as arranged, and told him about it, he was very surprised at his friend's response.

"Now, that is significant !," exclaimed Moulson. "One of our men that we're watching has had the same request. It can't be mere co-incidence, can it ?"

"But what's the point of it ?," queried Doyle, very puzzled. "I know both your man and Bodie have high security clearance, but neither of them would be so stupid as to take the girls into forbidden areas. They wouldn't risk their jobs !"

"It is a bit of a mystery, isn't it ?," agreed Johnny. "It's as if, to use a slang expression, they were 'casing the joint'."

"To what end ?," asked Doyle. "Security at the Commons is about as tight as you can get. Surely the group are not planning something there ?."

The more he thought about it the angrier he became. Was his mate being unwittingly used by an unscrupulous gang of terrorists ?

His annoyance erupted into action and angry words. "Johnny," he said, "I'm fed up with all this pussy-footing around. I'm going to talk to Cowley !"

Before Moulson could even attempt to stop him, he got up and stormed out of the bar.

It was too late to disturb his boss now, but as he made his way home, Doyle resolved to be in early in the morning, to tell him everything. Doyle was in early, but Cowley must have been even earlier, for when Doyle tapped on his door, he heard a brusque "Come in."

He entered and strode purposefully towards the desk, but before he could say a word, Cowley held up a restraining hand. "I know what you want to see me about," he said, "I've just had a long and interesting phone call. And these have just been sent round from M.I.6."

"What are they ?," asked Doyle curiously, looking at the wad of folders his boss had indicated.

"All they have got on the gang calling themselves the Hertz-Bader group, and on the two girls they think were 'sleepers'."

Together they read through all the relevant material, - some very interesting information.

"Shouldn't Bodie be in on this ?," asked Doyle. "He's not going to like it, when he finds out we knew all this so long before he was told."

"Not quite yet," said Cowley. "We will tell him, of course. But just for the moment we're going to play it the way M.I.6 have planned it."

"Why ?," demanded Doyle. Such co-operation was unusual. Most covert departments tended to keep their own counsel.

"Because it's a matter of national importance," replied Cowley. "These two girls have asked to be taken on a tour of the House of Commons, and that fact has aroused our curiosity. It seems to suggest that this terrorist gang are planning something there. It won't be allowed to succeed, of course, security there is pretty tight. But the fact that they are considering it, makes us wonder if they've found a loop-hole that security haven't thought of yet."

"Yes, I can see that," said Doyle thoughtfully. His boss continued.

"So what M.I.6, with their man, and us with Bodie, are going to do, is let the outing go ahead, under very close surveillance. We want to know exactly what the girls do."

"That makes sense," agreed Doyle, relieved to hear that some action was going to be taken.

"Right," said Cowley briskly, "So you're on following Bodie and Gerda."

"Wait a minute !," exclaimed Doyle. "Bodie's no fool. He'll spot me easily."

"Then you'd better get yourself an effective disguise," riposted Cowley. "As I remember, you're pretty good at it – you made a splendid Indian once."

Doyle did remember. Under cover, he'd looked the part, but that particular exercise had very nearly cost him his life.

Doyle hated continuing to keep Bodie in the dark, and found it difficult to concentrate on the mundane jobs they were sent on together.

But fortunately, plans for the trip to the Commons went quite smoothly, so he had only a few days to wait.

When the due day dawned, Doyle was in early to visit the disguise specialists who had helped him last time. They all had other jobs, as their expertise wasn't often called upon. So they were pleased to have the opportunity to show what they could do, and set to with a will.

A grey wig flattened and concealed Doyle's curly mop. Some make-up and a few cleverly-placed lines added years to his age. The addition of a shabby trilby, and an ordinary-looking raincoat, plus a walking stick and an assumed stoop, and he was transformed into someone who wouldn't attract a lot of notice.

Doyle was quite amused by the transformation. Especially as, when he walked down the corridor to go to his car, his boss strode past him without a second glance.

But Cowley was an observant man. What was an elderly man doing in his Headquarters ? He turned back.

"Sir ?," he said questioningly. The man turned round, and a pair of bright blue eyes twinkled at the astonished look on his boss's face.

"Doyle !," gasped Cowley, momentarily taken aback and lost for words. He quickly recovered himself though.

"Excellent," he praised. "Now go and make good use of it."

So when the group of tourists and visitors assembled with the guide, to be shown round the House of Commons, Bodie and Gerda were there. But neither of them noticed the elderly man at the back of the group, and they weren't aware of how closely he was watching them.

Bodie was feeling highly amused. Gerda seemed so excited about this visit, showing an almost child-like eagerness. He had bought her a brochure, and she was scanning it very carefully. She folded it open at the page that showed a ground-plan, and was following with a finger as they moved along, listening to the guide recounting a huge number of historical facts about the place.

He was intrigued when she pulled out a pen, and began making little marks on the plan.

"What are you doing ?," he asked curiously, looking over her shoulder. She seemed to be writing letters of the alphabet at various points on the plan.

"Oh," she said, smiling at him. "There is so much to remember, and I will forget it. So I make little notes to help me recall. You do not mind I mark the book ?," she added anxiously.

"Course not," said Bodie. "It's yours to keep, after all."

Someone else was interested. I wonder what she's writing, thought Doyle to himself. He resolved to find out, if he got the opportunity.

Scanning the group, he spotted the M.I.6 man, whom he'd seen once with Moulson. His companion was a small dark-haired girl, who, he learned later, was called Irma. Being very observant, as was his task here, he spotted the quick exchange of glances between the two girls. It only happened once, for after that they seemed to avoid any contact, giving their full attention to their partners.

The talk was very interesting, but the amount of walking about was tiring for some, and after a while the guide intimated that there would be a break for coffee, etc. The group were to re-convene in an hour, to continue their tour down in the cellars, to hear among other things, the Guy Fawkes story.

The visitors moved to buy coffee, glad to have the chance to sit down for a while. While Bodie queued for coffees, Gerda booked them places at one of the small tables. She sat there, scanning her brochure avidly. When Bodie joined her, she chatted animatedly about all she had learned. Neither of them gave a second glance to the elderly man sitting at a nearby table, drinking his coffee and apparently engrossed in his newspaper.

Finally, Gerda, like several of the other ladies in the group, excused herself to go and look for the rest room.

Nobody noticed the elderly man fold his newspaper, rise from his seat, and follow in the same direction.

Time was getting on, so Gerda was in a bit of a hurry as she left the rest room to rejoin Bodie. As she came out into the corridor, she collided rather heavily with the man who was just passing the door, almost knocking him over. His stick fell down with a clatter, and he clutched her arm, as he staggered unsteadily.

Rather dismayed, she used the strength of her young arm to steady him. He clung to it for a moment, trying to regain his balance. Apologizing profusely, she bent to retrieve his stick for him. He assured her in a soft trembling voice that he was all right, and she hurried off to join the re-forming group.

They made their way down to the cellars, and the guide began perhaps the most interesting part of his talk, the story of the Gunpowder Plot.

Suddenly, Gerda clutched Bodie's arm. As she listened, she had been searching in the big bag she was carrying. "Bodie," she whispered, "I've lost my brochure."

"Never mind," he replied, "I'll get you another one."

"But that one had all my little notes," she said, looking quite upset.

"The talk won't be much longer. Then we'll look for it," said Bodie, trying to calm her down. After the tour, they did just that, searching where they had been last, in the tea-room, and the rest room in particular.

But, of course, they didn't find it ! How could they, when it was neatly tucked into an inside pocket of a very ordinary raincoat. !

Bodie was a little disappointed as he took Gerda home. She seemed to have lost all interest in the tour. She was obsessed with the loss of her brochure and the little notes she'd made on it. He'd bought her another brochure, but it didn't seem to satisfy her at all. She seemed to be abstracted, in a world of her own.

Doyle hurried back to Headquarters, and took his find to Cowley. He left him to look at it, while he went off to dispose of the disguise which had served him so well. A little later, when he returned to Cowley's office, he was surprised to find his boss was no longer alone.

Johnny Moulson was there with his boss, the head of M.I 6., who was deep in conversation with Cowley.

"Well done, Ray," congratulated Johnny, in a whispered aside. "Our agent didn't spot you."

"I saw him," said Doyle with a grin, "and the other girl."

They returned their attention to the recovered brochure which the two senior men were studying.

"I had a quick look," volunteered Doyle, "but I couldn't make much sense of the symbols. A's, B's, T's and an S. I couldn't think what they stood for."

Cowley almost grinned at his puzzled agent. "That's because you were thinking in English," he said. "But most of this group are German, remember. We've checked the ground plan with a fluent German speaker, and now it does make sense. A is for 'ausfahrt' which means 'exit', T is undoubtedly 'treppe', stairs, B is 'boros', offices, S is an interesting one 'sicherungskoten',- a fuse-box !

"Of course," said Doyle, understanding now.

"It doesn't get us that much further towards knowing what they are planning," mused Cowley, "But it's been decided that we are not going to let them get that far anyway."

Moulson took up the story. "The agent we had watching our man and Irma is female. We noticed that the woman was buying lots of postcards showing different areas of the building, so that was evidently her task."

He threw a quick grin at his friend. "She used tactics similar to yours, and planted a couple of 'bugs' on Irma, one in her bag and one in her pocket."

His boss continued, a stern grey-haired man. "She's under close discreet surveillance," he said. "Sooner or later, she'll lead us to the rest of the gang, and then we'll move in and arrest the whole lot before they do anything."

Doyle took all this in thoughtfully. Then he turned to Cowley. "Don't you think it's time we let Bodie in on this ?," he pleaded.

"Yes, I do," agreed his boss. "M.I.6 are alerting their man, so you can go now, and bring Bodie up to date."

The meeting came to a close. Doyle and Moulson left the room together.

"I don't envy you your job," said Johnny as they walked down the stairs. "I've a feeling Bodie won't take kindly to being kept in the dark."

Doyle pulled a face. He'd had the same thought.

"Still if anyone can stop him 'blowing a fuse', it's you," said Johnny cheerfully. "Best of luck, anyway."

As soon as he reached his car, Doyle called Bodie and asked if he could come round to his place. "I've something important to tell you," he said persuasively

"Fine," replied Bodie, "Gerda's busy tonight, so I've just ordered a pizza, and there are beers in the 'fridge. Come and share, mate."

Doyle delayed broaching the subject until they had made inroads into the pizza, and were companionably enjoying a beer. But he couldn't put it off any longer, so he set to, and told his friend all that Moulson had told him, about the terrorist gang, and the two girls suspected of being re-awakened 'sleepers'.

To his surprise, Bodie took it very calmly. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I was beginning to wonder about Gerda. She was so keen to make this visit. But after it was over, all she seemed bothered about was the brochure that she'd been making little notes on. She lost it, and we spent ages looking for it."

"She didn't lose it, mate," said Doyle with a grin. "I nicked it !."

"You were there ?," exclaimed Bodie incredulously. "I didn't see you."

"I should hope not," retorted Doyle, "after all the effort I put into my disguise."

He smiled at his friend's astonished look. "I bet she didn't tell you about the old man she nearly knocked over in the corridor," he said smugly.

He told Bodie the whole tale then, of how he'd taken the brochure back to Cowley, and his boss and M. I 6 had made better sense of the marks on it that he had.

To his great relief, he realised that, if Bodie had any feelings of resentment about being kept in the dark for so long, they weren't directed at him. They discussed things for a while, speculating on what the gang could possibly be planning in such a security-conscious building.

"What's going to happen now ?," asked Bodie at last.

"Well," replied Doyle, "Whatever they are planning, they are not going to be allowed to carry it out. M.I.6 have planted a 'bug' on the other girl, Irma, and they are tracking her very closely. As soon as she leads them to somewhere where all the gang congregate, there will be a combined raid, M.I 6 and C.I.5, and we'll grab the whole lot of them."

"Good," said Bodie, "I hope we get the chance to be in on that."

Knowing they would be contacted as soon as anything started happening, they settled down for a quiet evening together, demolishing the rest of the pizza, and taking their beers to sit and watch a football match on T.V.

Then came a sudden and unexpected interruption !

There was the sound of several gunshots, and then a loud crash, as Bodie's front door swung back against the wall.

They barely had time to get to their feet, before they were confronting a group entering the lounge, - three armed men, led by Gerda, who was also brandishing a very lethal-looking revolver !

It was a very different Gerda that they saw now ! The friendly pretty girl had become a hard-faced woman, with a steely glint in her eye.

"Stand still," she ordered brusquely.

The pair had no option but to obey. Bodie was unarmed. Having settled for a quiet night in, his gun was safely under lock and key in a small cupboard in the bedroom.

Having come straight from work, Doyle was still carrying his weapon, but, confronted by four guns, it would have been suicidal to attempt to draw it. So the pair raised their hands, and played a waiting game.

"Over here, Bodie," ordered Gerda.

Slowly he obeyed, moving forward towards the group. He was quickly grabbed by two of the men, and expertly searched for weapons.

"What do you want, Gerda ?," he asked quietly, hoping to calm the tense situation.

"I needed that brochure," she answered, "and the information my notes on it gave me. But I remember you saying you had often been to the place, so you can supply it for me instead."

Two of the men held Bodie's arms, and began backing out, pulling their captive with them.

Gerda swung round to glare at Doyle. "We don't need him," she snapped, and before anyone realised what she intended, she aimed her weapon and loosed off a shot.

Held by two men, and with the third's gun at his head, Bodie was helpless, and could only watch in dismay, as he saw his partner jerk back, spin round, and fall heavily to the floor, hitting a bookcase as he went.

"That wasn't necessary," he yelled, but Gerda ignored his protest, as she followed the three men dragging their unwilling prisoner with them. A large car stood outside. Bodie was bundled into it. One of the men took the wheel, with Gerda beside him, and the vehicle moved swiftly off into the night.

For a while, all was silence in Bodie's flat. Then came a low moan, as Doyle lifted his head from the floor. He felt rather disorientated, so shook his head to clear it. That was a mistake ! It only made him feel worse.

An idle thought crossed his mind. "Why am I not dead ?," he murmured. "Gerda meant me to be dead when she made off with Bodie."

Carefully rolling over and sitting up, he found the answer. The bullet Gerda had so callously flung at him, had hit his radio-phone, and been deflected downwards, creasing his ribs and his side. Cautiously he lifted the hem of the blood-stained T-shirt to inspect the injury. It was quite a deep score, painful but not serious.

The headache, and the bump that he could feel on his head, must be due to falling against the bookcase, as the impact of the bullet had knocked him over. He attempted to pull the radio-phone out of its pocket, but it fell to pieces in his hands.

He gazed round the room and spotted Bodie's home-phone sitting on the coffee table. That would still be working. He struggled slowly to his feet, and went over to it. It only took seconds to dial the special number that he knew, and very soon he was talking to his boss, telling him all that had happened.

"Do you need an ambulance ?," asked Cowley.

"No," protested Doyle, "It's not that bad. A bit of first-aid will do."

"Are you fit to drive ?," queried his boss.

"Absolutely," replied Doyle.

"Come into Headquarters," ordered Cowley.

"But I want to go after Bodie," protested Doyle.

"Don't worry, we will," came Cowley's decisive voice. "I'm in close touch with M.I.6, and they are tracking Irma, who is on the move. As soon as she links up with the others, we'll know where to find them. So you come in and get patched up. Then as soon as we have the information, we'll join the M.I.6 men, and mount a raid."

Doyle put the phone down, re-assured that there was some action in hand. He found his way to Bodie's bathroom, and let some good splashes of cold water clear his head.

Doyle moved towards the door, and was very surprised to find a man there, about to come in. But he quickly recognised him as one of their junior officers. The younger man looked anxiously at the stained T-shirt.

"Are you all right, sir ?," he asked anxiously.

"Yes, Philips, I'm O.K.," replied Doyle, who had a good memory for names. "But what are you doing here ?"

"I was in the area, sir," the man replied, "and Mr. Cowley sent me to keep an eye on Bodie's flat, till the team get here to fix the door."

Well, thought Doyle in amazement, how does Cowley manage to think of so many things at once ? He'd forgotten about the damaged door. He left Philips in charge, and went down to his car. He drove carefully back to base, and parked. His side was painful, so he reported straight away to their own medical man, who quickly treated the injury, and made him much more comfortable.

Then he went upstairs to Cowley's office, and was brought up to date on all the latest in formation. Those tracking Irma had reported that she had left her flat, crossed the Thames, and was driving south, presently in Lewisham, and moving on towards Bromley. She showed no sign of having noticed she was being followed, perhaps because using the 'bug' meant that the pursuers could maintain a discreet distance.

All Cowley and Doyle could do was wait, until she arrived wherever she was heading for. As soon as he reached her destination, the planning could begin.

Meanwhile, what had been happening to Bodie ? He had been forced out of his flat, when every instinct in him wanted to get back there, to see if his partner could be helped. But he had been bundled roughly into the back of the big car, constantly menaced by the gang's firearms. This vehicle also sped south, well ahead of Irma's car, and her trackers. Eventually, in one of the older areas of Bromley, they pulled into the driveway of a detached house set in a large garden, which secluded it nicely from its neighbours.

Gerda unlocked the door, which opened onto a small entrance hall, with a flight of stairs, presumably going up to bedrooms, and a passageway leading towards the back of the house. As two of the men hustled Bodie along this passage, the other went into one of the front rooms. As the man opened the door, Bodie caught a quick glimpse of the interior. It seemed to be some kind of workroom with a large bench strewn with tools and various bits of equipment. He was pushed on down the passage which led into a big old-fashioned kitchen. There was a large table set round with hard-backed chairs, and he was made to sit down on one of these.

Gerda had put her gun away, but the other two had retained theirs, and were keeping a watchful eye on him, so he sat still and waited.

Gerda slid into a seat opposite, and placed a brochure in front of him, the replacement one he had bought her. "Now," she said, "You will help me replace the notes I lost."

"Like hell, I will," said Bodie obstinately, folding his arms, and leaning back in his seat. "What makes you think I'll help you, when you shot my mate, for no good reason ?"

Gerda looked surprised. "He was of no use to me," she declared. "It's your knowledge I want."

"Well that's where you're wrong," said Bodie smugly. "He would have been more use to you than me. He was the one who took your brochure !."

Gerda looked startled. "How ? When ?," she demanded.

"You didn't tell me about the old man you nearly knocked over in the corridor," said Bodie, taking quite a delight in her discomfiture. "Well, that was him, in a very clever disguise. He took the brochure, it's been studied by experts, and he learned what all those letters stood for."

Gerda looked a bit taken aback by all this information. She had evidently made a bad mistake.

Just then the other man returned to the group. "Irma's just called," he reported, "for final directions. She's about ten minutes away."

"Good," said Gerda, "She's bringing a meal in with her, so we've just got time to set the table."

"What about him ?," asked one of the others, pointing at Bodie.

"We'll have another go at him later," said Gerda. "Take him up to one of the bedrooms, and tie him up securely. He will give me what I want, - though he may need a little persuasion," she added, glaring at Bodie.

I don't much like the sound of that, thought Bodie as he was roughly hustled up the stairs, and dumped on one of the beds, securely bound and gagged.

To both Cowley and Doyle, the waiting was difficult. Cowley alternately tried to concentrate on papers on his desk, and then got up and paced the floor. Doyle sat quietly, slumped in the only comfortable chair in Cowley's office, ordered there by his boss.

Cowley threw a sideways glance at his man as he paced back and forth. He's in some pain, he thought, and tired too, for he's had an active day. I could be heavy-handed, and order him off-duty, send him home to rest.

But I won't, he decided, for he'd only refuse and defy me. I know him too well. He won't take the rest he needs until he knows Bodie is all right. I took a gamble, he mused, when I put that pair together, but it's worked extremely well.

There came a tap at the door. Cowley, already on his feet, opened it himself. It was Moulson and he looked alert and excited.

"It's on, sir," he said, as he followed Cowley back in. "Irma eventually pulled up the drive of a place in Bromley. One of our men was on a slight hill, and was close enough, with field-glasses, to see her arrive. A porch light came on, and Gerda came out to meet her. Then two men came out and started un-loading something from the boot of her car. So we know that there's at least four of them in there, sir."

He paused, glancing over at Doyle, who hadn't stirred, and appeared to have fallen asleep. "My boss sent me round to tell you that his men have orders to hold off at a discreet distance till we get there. So, if you'll alert your force, sir, it's nearly action time."

"Great," said Cowley, making for his phone. "Wake him up and tell him, will you ?," he suggested, indicating Doyle.

Johnny went over to his friend, and shook his shoulder gently. "Wake up, sunshine," he said. "It's time for the 7th Cavalry to get going."

Doyle came awake with a start, and Johnny repeated all he had just told Cowley. They both looked towards Cowley, still on the phone, and issuing urgent orders. He put the receiver down and reached for his coat hanging on a nearby peg. When he said briskly, "Come on," the watching pair didn't need asking twice, and followed him from the room, both eager for the action that was about to come.

When they reached the yard, Cowley's car, with a driver, was waiting, the engine already running. They climbed in quickly, and the very competent driver revved the engine and whisked them out of the parking lot. On instruction, he then sped them off towards Bromley. As it was now the small hours of the morning, traffic was relatively light, so it was pretty easy to get through, across the river, and on, moving swiftly south, breaking quite a few speed limits on the way.

On arrival, Cowley swiftly went into conference with his opposite number, the head of M.I 6.

Doyle and Moulson joined the assembled group of men. Some of them were the M.I. 6 agents, who had traced Irma so successfully, and some were C.I.5 men, who, on hearing the direction Irma was taking, had anticipated the call they would get, and had already moved south. All seemed alert and eager for action. It was quite a large group, probably more than would be considered necessary, but both forces had learned from experience that you take no chances when terrorists are involved.

The two leaders came back to the waiting men, to issue orders. Cowley put himself forward as spokesman, being probably less reserved than his counterpart.

"It's been decided," he began, "that the main assault will be from the rear. The area has been reconnoitred, and there are woods that go right up to the back garden. As this is only short, we can get quite close with good cover. Also, the lights are on at the back of the house only, so it looks as if the group are gathered there."

Simple specific orders were issued, some men to the front of the house, the majority to go through the woods and round to the back. Watches were swiftly synchronised, and the eager men dispersed into the darkness of the night, to take up their allotted positions, and await the signal to move in.

The signal was given !

The attack was swift and deadly, and, aided by the element of surprise, efficient and successful. Simultaneous bursts of gunfire dealt with both back and front doors, and eager armed men swarmed into the house.

The four, sitting at the kitchen table, relaxing over their after-meal coffee, were taken completely by surprise. They were not given the slightest chance to draw weapons. Gerda and the two men attempted to fight off their assailants, but were soon over-powered by sheer weight of numbers, disarmed, and tightly held. Irma, who was not armed, gave in very easily and looked terrified.

The back of the house was secure, but it was a slightly different story at the front. Blacked-out windows had concealed the fact that the fifth member of the Hertz-Bader group, whose name was Max, had been working in the front room. The sounds of the attack had given him time to draw his firearm, and when the intruders opened his door, they were met with bullets. A couple of M.I.6 men were wounded and fell back, but Max's attempt at resistance didn't last long. More men piled in, led by Moulson, and their return fire was accurate.

But Max had one last card to play ! As he staggered back against his cluttered work-bench, his failing fingers reached out and touched a switch. Then he fell to the floor.

Moulson stepped forward and looked at the switch closely. Then he turned quickly back. "Out !," he yelled at his mates, as he dashed past them towards the kitchen. Reaching it, he shouted urgently.

"Everybody out, fast ! There's a bomb, and he's primed it."

The group began to hustle their prisoners towards the door.

Doyle grabbed Gerda's arm. "Where's Bodie ?," he yelled.

"Find out !," she retorted. "I curse you both." She and the two men glared defiantly at him.

But Irma was not made of such strong stuff."Upstairs," she whimpered.

Doyle didn't need telling twice. He shot out into the corridor, and took the stairs two at a time. He kicked open the first door, - the room was empty. But he had better luck with the second. As he flicked on the light, it revealed the bound figure on the bed.

Doyle's trusty little knife was out in a flash, and he was sawing at the ropes round Bodie's wrists. They gave under his attack, and he turned his attention to those round his ankles. As soon as his hands were free, Bodie tugged the gag from his mouth.

"I thought Gerda had killed you," he gasped.

"Obviously not," retorted Doyle. "I'll explain later. We've got to get out fast ! There's a bomb downstairs."

He helped his mate to his feet, and the pair made for the stairs, taking them as fast as they could. As they came out of the front door, they could see the rest of the group, who had retreated as far as the end of the drive, and were still moving away.

Then the bomb went off ! The windows of the front room erupted in a great burst of flame and noise.

The blast took the running pair off their feet, felling them to the gravel drive, and minor debris pattered down on their fallen forms.

But, fortunately, they had made it far enough to escape serious injury. As they scrambled back to their feet, Bodie noticed that Doyle's hand was pressing his side. In the light of the torches held by several of the men rushing back to assist them, he spotted the blood-stained T-shirt, and was alarmed.

"Are you hit, Ray ?," he asked anxiously.

"No," said Doyle, "Just fell a bit awkwardly." He saw the direction of his friend's gaze. "Oh, that's from earlier," he said. "I'll explain it to you later."

And he did just that, as they were in the back of a car on their way back to Headquarters. Bodie was amazed, and very thankful, to hear of his mate's extremely lucky escape.

There had been a lot of clearing up to do, but most of that had been delegated to others. The main priority of both C.I 5 and M.I 6 was to get the terrorist gang, now reduced to four members, back to secure accommodation, safely under lock and key. Interrogation would follow, of course.

Max had been the only casualty. Whether his demise was due to Moulson's bullet, or his own bomb, was a moot point, but hardly important. The two M.I. 6 men he had wounded had only minor injuries.

The element of surprise had served them well.

A couple of days later, Doyle was first into the duty-room, and scanning the duty-rota board to see what next task awaited them. He had seen the doctor again. His injury had been re-dressed and was healing well.

The door opened and Bodie came in, waving a piece of paper.

"What's that ?," asked Doyle curiously.

"For you," declared his friend, "The bill for a new radio-phone."

"What ?," exclaimed Doyle incredulously. "Why should I have to pay for it ? How much is it ?."

Then he saw the grin on his mate's face, and the twinkle in his eye

"It's not a bill," he exclaimed, "You're having me on."

"Course I am," admitted Bodie with a chuckle. "Got you going for a bit though, didn't I ?"

He passed the note to his friend. It was from Moulson, suggesting they met up for a drink to celebrate their joint success.

Doyle screwed the paper into a ball, and threw it at his mate, who had retreated to the far side of the room, in mock fear of reprisals for his teasing. Bodie anticipated and batted it back, just as the door opened and Cowley walked in. Their boss fielded the missile neatly, and glared at his two best men.

. Really, he thought, sometimes they behave like naughty school-boys.

"Just to let you know," he said, "I'm off to take part in the interrogation of the Hertz-Bader gang. At the moment they are being far from co-operative, but we'll break them eventually. They have information we need to know. It seems clear that their plans involved bombs, but we need to know how they planned to get them in past the tight security measures. The weakest link appears to be Irma, but she knows the least."

"What do you want us to do ?," asked Bodie, serious now. Doyle was also listening intently. Their previous frivolous antics were forgotten as they prepared to resume the work they were trained to do.

"Max rented the place in Bromley," replied Cowley, "and apparently worked there a lot. It was virtually a bomb factory, we think. But we've now got the address where the two other men were staying, and, of course, we know where Gerda and Irma had flats. So you can go to those, and take them apart. See if you can find anything helpful about contacts, suppliers, etc."

All three left the room, to get on with their task of making their sphere of influence a cleaner and safer place.