Doyle lay cold and limp on the lawn. Bodie grasped him by the arms and Doyle's head lolled back. He managed to open his eyes briefly. He was unfocussed and blood was still pouring from his mouth.
"Ray!" Bodie screamed at him, still shaking him, as though that would do any good. He knew how bad the injury was and felt so hopeless and helpless.
Doyle tried to smile, which set off a bout of bloody coughing. Bodie then felt his friend's body shudder and become limp under his hands.
"Hold on!" Bodie yelled, cradling him tightly in his arms, trying to keep the life within. But that precious life was flowing through his fingers like water. His friend's eyes began to glaze, and no amount of shouting or shaking could stop that horrific chain of events.
Then Bodie felt some shaking of his own body; his own arms being squeezed tight.
"Bodie, for God's sake will you shut up!"
Bodie woke from his nightmare to see Doyle's eyes - those beautiful, glowing, living eyes - staring at him with a mixture of anger and anxiety.
"Must have dozed off." Bodie swung his legs off the camp bed, throwing the blanket angrily on the floor. He still felt very shaken. The dream had been so real. Doyle knelt next to the bed trying to catch his partner's eye, but Bodie was too embarrassed to meet it.
The two agents were in an empty bedsit opposite a house they were keeping an eye on. Three Arabs were under constant observation there. Bodie and Doyle had been here three days and four nights now. Cowley had promised relief but they were shorthanded and that promise seemed a distant memory. The agents took four-hour shifts each, the inactive one either sleeping, stretching the legs outside, or eating at one of the nearby cafés. The flat below theirs was occupied by a Malaysian couple. They had been checked out and Cowley was as satisfied as he could be that they were clean. Since the CI5 flat was meant to be unoccupied, Bodie and Doyle had to be as quiet as they could, which was why Bodie's nightmares weren't helping the situation.
Doyle sighed and got up; he couldn't afford the luxury of taking his eyes from the window for long - or, really, at all. He hoped he hadn't missed anything. He raked the all too familiar building opposite with his binoculars and saw nothing amiss; the car was still parked at the front. Doyle heard Bodie move about and then leave the flat altogether. Doyle sighed again. Bodie had been having nightmares for the last few days. He wouldn't tell his partner what it was about, but that he was shouting his name was quite worrying. Doyle formed the impression, from Bodie's words while he thrashed about, that he was the star of the show and that he didn't fare too well in the film of Bodie's imagination. Doyle dragged his mind back to the job they were being paid for. He soon saw one of the men leave by car. He radioed in his movements and made a note on his record sheet. He was told by HQ that two other agents would now tail him. This journey had become routine. One of the Arabs would drive to a particular petrol garage and go into a back room there. After an hour or so, he would leave and take a different route back to the house, and then Bodie or Doyle would radio in his arrival. They couldn't tell from their vantage point whether it was the same man. Doyle wondered, not for the first time, how long he and his partner would be stuck here observing their comings and goings.
After a few hours, Bodie returned and relieved Doyle at the window. Doyle said nothing and went outside for fresh air and food. When he came back he found Bodie looking quite intensely out of the window. Doyle glanced at the record sheet and saw that Bodie had noted ten minutes ago that two of the Arabs had left this time and taken a different route. What had happened to change their routine? Was this leading to a culmination of their plans - whatever they happened to be? The agents knew that they were merely one part of Cowley's complex web which was gradually being drawn around these men. Doyle silently joined his partner at the window with the other binoculars. Bodie seemed engrossed in his surveillance. Doyle wondered whether he was being particularly conscientious or just avoiding conversation. The R/T crackled and Doyle answered it. It was Cowley to say that he and Dickenson were coming to join them since the Arab routine had now changed.
Ten minutes later, Cowley and 6.2 quickly and softly took the back stairs and joined Bodie and Doyle in the small bedsit.
"Still one in there as far as we can make out, sir" Bodie reported quietly.
"Good," Cowley said, taking a pair of binoculars and checking for himself. "We're going to move in. Surprise is of the essence, gentlemen. We are going to try to take him alive." He looked pointedly at Bodie. Rather than looking embarrassed, as he usually did on such occasions, he looked angry. Doyle knew he was on a short fuse at the moment. "Doyle, you and Dickenson go round the back. Bodie, you're with me at the front."
Bodie looked as though he were about to object, changed his mind, then looked appealingly at his partner as though silently asking him to take up the challenge. Doyle wasn't sure what Bodie wanted of him, but whatever it was it would have to wait. Cowley had given his orders and that was final.
They moved cautiously down the stairs. At street level, Cowley moved forward and, as Doyle was about to join him, he felt his partner's restraining hand on his sleeve. He looked into a pair of very anxious eyes.
"Take care," Bodie whispered.
Doyle stared at him a moment, then the penny dropped. In Bodie's dream, Doyle hadn't survived the final credits. He then remembered Bodie's mate, a CI5 operative, who'd had a premonition a while ago. Unfortunately he'd told Bodie about it and had been killed the very next day. It didn't fill Doyle with confidence in what they were about to do.
"I'm always careful," he said softly, smiling back and winking at his partner, trying to lighten the mood and give them both reassurances.
Cowley hissed and Bodie dutifully trotted to his side. Hidden in a doorway, the pair watched Doyle and Dickenson slip round the side passage. They counted off 30 seconds for them to get into position - it seemed an eternity, but that was procedure - and then they approached the front door and rapped on the knocker with the confidence of salesmen. There was no answer. Bodie quickly picked the lock and put his shoulder to the door. Cowley followed in behind. There was a rustle of feet heard upstairs and, surprisingly, also a noise from a room to their right. There was only meant to be one man here. Cowley and Bodie burst into the front room and were confronted by an Arab brandishing a sword. He looked as though he knew how to use it, too. Cowley and Bodie split up, but the room was small and had too much furniture in it for them to move too far apart to take the man off balance. Bodie charged first, causing the man to move in his direction, sword held high, ready to do serious damage. But Cowley was quick and rushed at the man. Bodie grabbed the man's wrist and wrenched. There was a sickening crunch as the wrist gave way under Bodie's iron grip. The man screamed in agony and the sword clanged to the floor. As they grappled him to the ground an exchange of fire was heard from what sounded like the back garden. Bodie froze. It was just as in the dream. He kneed the Arab in the groin, perhaps harder than he should have done, but he was in a hurry and panic was at his elbow. The man screamed again and Bodie left Cowley to deal with him as best he could.
Bodie tore through the house, checked the kitchen quickly, and then out into the garden. He saw Doyle on his knees with his back to him. He ran to his partner and grabbed him fiercely by the arms and, twisting, dragged him to his feet and off the ground. Doyle fought back automatically.
"Ray, Ray, are you all right?!"
Doyle didn't often see panic in Bodie's eyes, but he certainly saw it now. His fear was naked and clear.
"For God's sake Bodie. Put me down. I'm all right - apart from a dislocated shoulder." He was exaggerating, but at least his partner backed off.
Bodie was breathing hard as he prised his fingers away from Doyle's biceps, and tried to regain some composure. Then he looked down at their fallen comrade. That's why Doyle was kneeling in the garden - to attend to Dickenson. Ray Dickenson. Bodie felt his world tip upside down. Cowley came through to the garden in a blaze of fury as Bodie tried to reassemble his thoughts.
"What the hell's going on? What on earth were you thinking of Bodie? You damn near killed that man in there." Cowley threw an arm in the general direction of the house. He didn't often swear but his anger carried him beyond reason.
"We need an ambulance, sir," Doyle said, turning to Dickenson.
"Damn right we do," Cowley exploded, still glaring at Bodie. "Fortunately one of us is thinking, and there's one on its way."
"Dickenson's got a graze to the head, sir, but his pulse is steady," Doyle persisted, "I think he'll be ok." He was trying hard to deflect Cowley's anger. "The shot came from the back window, but I think we got him."
"You mean he's ok?" Bodie choked, still looking at Ray Dickenson.
"Yeah," Doyle said gently, at last understanding his partner's fear and confusion. "Both of us are ok, Bodie."
Doyle put a hand on his shaken friend's arm in support. Bodie looked deep into Ray's eyes and saw that he understood. His premonition had been close, but skewed all the same - wrong 'Ray', and not dead but unconscious. Doyle knew that Bodie had a hell a lot of explaining to do when Cowley got him alone for a 'wee chat', but he'd be there with the tea and sympathy after Cowley had chewed him up and spat him out.