Bodie peered into the impenetrable darkness as he nosed the small boat into ever deeper water. He was navigating by the stars. By his calculations they should be finding Beaver Naze pretty soon. Sweep round that and they should be close to their rendez-vous. It felt good to have the wheel in his hands and the sea under his feet. He breathed deeply again, enjoying the salty tang in his nostrils and the gentle bucking of the craft. There was nothing like the sea for a deep cleansing of the soul.
Doyle wasn't enjoying the trip as much as Bodie. He was feeling increasingly unwell as he rechecked their kit for the final phase of the operation. As nausea and cold sweat washed over him again, he thought it might help if he got out for some fresh air. He lumbered up the short stairs to the deck. It was as though he'd climbed a small mountain. His legs refused to go any further and his head felt ready to explode. He clung to the hatch frame for a while as the cold, stiff breeze got amongst his clothing. After a few minutes he felt a little refreshed and braced himself to stroll to the wheelhouse. He didn't want to share his woes with is nautical partner. He knew how much Bodie had been looking forward to this particular assignment and why. The sea had never completely left his partner's veins, and any opportunity to embrace the Briny was grabbed with both hands. However, as Bodie's silhouette in the wheelhouse came to view, Doyle had to divert quickly to retch over the side. Bodie noticed a quick movement over to his left. He automatically reached for his gun even as logic told him that it was impossible that there'd be pirates around without him noticing. He squinted through the darkness and saw his mate clinging to the railing. He shook his head and anger began to rise as he saw Doyle vomiting. However, his anger turned to concern as he watched his partner then sink slowly to his knees, still clinging to the railing. Neither of them was wearing a safety harness. Doyle lowered his head as though praying to King Neptune. Bodie couldn't afford to take his hand from the wheel. Correcting a drift would take too much time. Bodie was relieved when he saw his pal drag himself off the decking. Doyle wasn't aware of being watched - Bodie alternating between observation and navigation - so took his time at the rail before bracing his shoulders again. Bodie smiled. You don't fool me, landlubber, he thought smugly to himself. Seeing Doyle's direction, Bodie fixed his eyes ahead and pretended he hadn't seen anything. He was interested to see what Doyle would do next. They hadn't known each other long and were still testing each other out.
Doyle made his unsteady way to the wheelhouse. Clinging to the door frame he gasped. "Sorry, Bodie. I'm not feeling too good at the moment."
Bodie's concern readily turned again to anger. "Fine time to get bloody sea-sickness. Why the hell didn't you tell Cowley that you throw up at the sight of a boat?"
Doyle tried to raise his anger to match Bodie's but he was too weak for high emotion. "I don't have sea-sickness. For your bloody information I've never had sea-sickness. I …"
"Time of the month then is it?" Bodie snarled sarcastically.
"Has food poisoning ever occurred to you?" Doyle snapped back.
"Yeah, like hell!"
Doyle was going to continue the row, but needed to gag again. He couldn't make it to the railing, so just turned his head away.
Beaver Naze had come into view now and Bodie corrected his position.
"Well you better get yourself together, Doyle, cos we're at rendez-vous in 8 minutes."
Doyle had never felt less like completing his assignment. Taking a few more deep breaths, he headed back down to the lounge. He tried to get a glass or two of water down him, but he was bringing up more than he was keeping down. He cursed his body for betraying him. He sat down and put his head between his legs but that didn't help much and just increased his headache. He'd suggested to his unsympathetic partner that he'd been poisoned as it was the only alternative he could reach for. He reflected on that as he dragged the equipment to the stairs, and wondered how he could get the kit up to the deck. In other circumstances he could have done it with one hand.
That afternoon he and Bodie had been trailing round the backstreet pubs picking up final bits of information. They'd met up with Cowley in a particularly dubious dive for a quick meal and a summary of their findings to date. The information they'd given Cowley was useful, and confirmed some of Cowley's theories. They would stick to the plan. As Doyle went over their afternoon he wondered whether the pub food had been off. He remembered that they'd all eaten different things and that his salad had tasted ok. Doyle shrugged. It was all academic now. The fact was that he was of little use to either Bodie or Cowley. They'd be better leaving him behind on board. Cowley would not be pleased - and Bodie certainly wasn't - but Doyle couldn't hide behind his pride or his ego. If an agent's not cutting it, he was a danger to himself and his colleagues (to say nothing of Jo Public). Doyle heard the engine cut out and the boat bobbed along at its own pace. They'd arrived. He made one final effort and heaved the equipment to the deck. Bodie saw what an effort it was for his normally strong, fit partner but he was too angry to help him or to sympathise.
"I'll stay here, Bodie. I'm sorry, but I'm no use to you."
Even through his anger, Bodie realised that this confession must have taken some courage. Doyle's honesty quelled Bodie's disgust a little.
"The Cow .." But Bodie stopped speaking when he saw a light flash on and off from shore. He took the equipment and heaved it down onto a lighter without saying anything further.
"Can you manage to cast me off?" he asked, at least trying to still his anger.
Doyle felt like a naughty schoolboy and wanted to rail at his mate's smugness but had no ammunition to hit back with. "I think I can manage that at least," Doyle replied moodily.
The little boat caressed the water with barely a ripple or a sound. Bodie took the oars and rowed confidently to shore. Doyle watched him disappear into the darkness with some wistfulness. The boat murmured its arrival on the wet sand and two pairs of hands reached out to drag it further up the beach as Bodie lept deftly ashore.
"Where's …?"
Bodie had been prepared for Cowley's question but hadn't come to any answer as he'd rowed the short distance from ship to shore. "Ill," was all he was prepared to betray. "I've left him aboard."
The Cow said nothing but Bodie knew that Doyle was in for a hard time when this was all over. And was it for Doyle now - all over, that is? Well, Bodie didn't have time to reflect on someone else's career now. He needed to focus on this assignment. He hadn't been in the squad long and still felt a need to impress Cowley with his unsurpassed expertise - but not over dead bodies. He was no squealer.
There were four of them on the job - Cowley, Bodie and a pair whom Bodie couldn't make out in the darkness. He didn't recognise their outlines. They rounded a headland and walked close to the cliff edge for about a mile until they saw it. A small fishing boat was bobbing just off shore. A group of four, no five, men were dragging heavy crates up the beach. CI5 could occasionally catch the low ticking of a diesel engine - perhaps a lorry - above the whine of the wind, which had been gradually picking up speed. The fishing boat seemed to have difficulty keeping its position. The CI5 team watched for a few minutes, assessing. Then Cowley got on his pocket radio to the team above them on the road. They too were lurking in the shadows, waiting.
"Now!" whispered Cowley urgently.
The order included his own team on the beach. Adrenaline had already been building up and the men surged ahead, taking the gang off guard. During the short battle of guns and fisticuffs, the CI5 team heard the roar of an outboard engine. Bodie and Henson glanced up briefly from their skirmish and saw a boat turning in a wide arc back to Beaver Naze and away. They hadn't seen the craft; it had been hidden from their view by the fishing boat. The vessel was too far away for any of them to get a shot at it. Bodie thought first. Finishing off his man, and scouting quickly the scene before him, he saw that the gang had been subdued. What was going on on the road above was out of his hands. He grabbed his radio.
"4.5, 4.5 can you hear me?"
The radio crackled, reflecting Bodie's anger.
"Doyle, get out of your bloody sick-bed!"
"All right. Keep your shirt on. What …?"
"There's a speedboat heading your way. Take it out!"
"Yeah. All right," came the almost bored response.
Bodie looked across at his colleagues who'd heard the exchange. They were grinning like Cheshire Cats at Doyle's languid reply. Bodie felt a smile spread slowly across his face despite his best efforts not to. All the team could do now was to keep the gang subdued and wait for relief which, Cowley had been assured, was on its way.
Then McCabe had an idea. "Ray might like a bit of back up. How about that fishing boat?" he suggested to Bodie.
It was a good idea. Bodie's rowing boat was over a mile back around the coast. Taking a deep breath, the two agents swam out into the dark, icy water to the yacht. They silently dragged themselves on board. Bodie had a knife between his teeth. They climbed slowly up the side onto the deck. They hadn't yet been seen. They saw a flare of a match being lit and a cigarette being drawn. Target number one. They soon, and silently took him out. Then they went in search of any other prey. Five minutes later, and two men now tightly bound in the galley, Bodie felt a different wheel under his hand, staring hard out of another wheelhouse. He turned the vessel round in a lazy arc as Cowley and Henson looked on from shore. The fishing boat wasn't designed for high-speed chases and Bodie got the thing up as fast as it would go, but it was still depressingly slow. It was like chasing a Jaguar with a tractor. It seemed to take forever just to get Beaver Naze into view, and then Bodie spotted the familiar sight of their own boat.
"There she is!" Bodie pointed out excitedly.
Soon they were alongside their vessel. Bodie noticed the speedboat drifting forlornly further out to sea. It seemed not to be under command. Bodie was still angry with his partner, so put his finger to his lips at McCabe, who understood the gesture. He smiled wolfishly in the darkness. They were going to storm their own boat! Bodie kept his knife in its sheath and climbed aboard as softly as he had not half an hour before; McCabe not far behind. Bodie waited till they were both on board, then straightened slowly from his crouching position to walk stealthily towards the wheelhouse. He drew his gun - useless now from the wet - but with the safety catch still on nevertheless. His aim was to frighten his partner, not to murder him! Bodie looked back for McCabe and was surprised not to see him at his shoulder. He was a little puzzled, but dismissed it from his mind. Perhaps McCabe had his own surprise for Doyle. Bodie poked his head slowly around the wheelhouse door, but didn't see anyone there. He entered and quickly checked their position. The wheel had been locked on a course and the vessel just ticking idly along. Doyle did know a bit more about boats then than Bodie realised. But where was he? It was only now that he considered that Doyle, ill as he was, had been overcome by the guy in the motorboat and that Bodie should be looking for an enemy not a colleague. Cowley had always tried to drum into them not to assume or jump to conclusions. Bodie's playfulness turned to the cold determination of an agent following a spoor. He tensed and turned towards the hatch and thence to the lower deck. As he turned, he saw a figure at the doorway. He drew his gun in the blink of an eye and took aim.
"Knock it off, Bodie," Doyle returned tiredly, leaning lazily against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest. "You couldn't hit a barn with a gun in that state - and with the safety catch on."
Bodie straightened up some more, his lower jaw rolling with anger and embarrassment. He shouldered the gun, not realising that Doyle was bluffing. He hadn't known the safety catch was on, but he did know a flooded gun when he saw one.
"Where is everyone?" Bodie asked, to deflect the situation.
Doyle turned away from him and pointed towards the hatch.
"And McCabe? What have you done with him?"
Doyle winked and shrugged. "I don't think he's feeling too good either. Sea-sickness seems to be catching round here!"
Bodie didn't like the sly look on Doyle's face and the secret smile that went with it.