Repeat Performance

by Halcris

Not fully fit for duty, Doyle is decidedly bored. But not for long.

Repeat Performance.

Although it was a bright sunny afternoon, and he was strolling in leisurely fashion in a small park in Kensington, Doyle was not best pleased with life at present.

Restricted to 'light duties' because of a nasty leg injury which, to his mind, was taking far too long to mend, he was having a most boring week. The first few days had been spent trawling through Records, searching out names and information for his boss. And today's task had seen him as a glorified 'message boy' for Cowley.

He'd been ordered to take a letter, written by Cowley, to a retired gentleman in Kensington, to wait while a reply was written, and then bring it back to Cowley's office. When he'd pointed out to his boss that he was not yet allowed to drive, and asked for someone to take him, he'd received a surprising reply.

"No," said Cowley, "I've seen your latest medical report. It advises plenty of exercise in the form of leisurely walking. So, as there's no hurry for this, you can use public transport, and a bit of walking. It's a fine day, and a pleasant area, so enjoy it."

So that was what he had just completed. The letter with the reply was safely tucked in an inside pocket, and now he was making a leisurely way back.

The little park he was crossing, to where he could catch the right bus, was very pleasant with its neat paths, flanked by colourful flower-beds and smoothly mown lawns. It was a place where the many 'Nannies' of the area brought their charges. Not ordinary nannies though. These were the kind who served the elite families of the area.

No 'buggies' here, but expensive coach-built perambulators, pushed by uniformed women, some in the distinctive style of the celebrated Norland Nurses.

Reaching an empty bench, he sat down for a rest, as he was in no hurry to get back. He surveyed the passing parade with no great enthusiasm.

How the other half live, he thought !

Then something happened which lifted his spirits and 'made his day'.

Coming towards him was a smart, black 'Silver Cross' pram. But it was the young woman pushing it who had caught his attention. He recognised her at once, though it had been over nine months since their one and only encounter. (See story called Wrong Place, Wrong Time.)

He stood up as she neared, and she instantly recognised him too.

"Hello, Fiona," said Doyle, stepping forward with a smile.

At once the man walking close behind her moved forward aggressively, one hand slipping inside his jacket. But she quickly stayed him with her hand. "Easy, Ivan," she said, "He's a friend."

"Ray, how lovely to see you, " she said in her soft Scottish tones, extending her hand to shake his. Then she introduced him to her companion. "Ivan," she said, "This is Ray Doyle, the man who saved us when the Embassy was attacked."

Ivan, obviously a foreigner, gave Doyle a small formal bow. "Honoured to meet you, sir," he said. "I was away with Senor Torrenz at the time, but I heard all about it."

Fiona drew Doyle back to the bench and they sat down together. Ivan took a stance a little way behind them and kept a watchful eye about him.

She rocked the well-sprung pram gently. Doyle gazed into it at the sleeping baby "He's grown," he said, rather stupidly.

"Of course he has," replied Fiona, making Doyle feel a bit of an idiot. "It's what babies do best." But her teasing was gentle and friendly.

"He looks well," said Doyle, regarding the rosy-cheeked infant..

"He's very well," responded Fiona, "He's grown out of his initial frailness, and is making normal progress now."

"How's Nanny ?, " asked Doyle, remembering the brave, older woman who had shared their experience.

"She's fine," replied Fiona, "She has completely retired now, and lives with the family. But she still helps out sometimes. If we have a wet afternoon, she'll come down and play with him, to let me get on with jobs, or to do a little personal shopping."

Doyle nodded his head slightly towards the man standing guard behind them. "What's with him ?," he asked in a whisper..

"Just a precaution," said Fiona, with a slightly worried smile. "There is still a lot of unrest in Senor Torrenz's country, and wild threats have been made there." Doyle mentally assimilated this information.

Reluctantly, Fiona stood up. "I'm afraid I really must go," she said, "They start to worry if I'm late, and young Master Bobby here will soon be shouting for his tea."

She shook Doyle's hand again "But it's been so nice seeing you again, Ray," she said, "For you slipped away so quickly that I never got a chance to thank you."

"Oh well," said Doyle diffidently, "The ladies were there, and besides, I was already two days AWOL, and I had to face my boss, and explain that."

With Ivan in attendance, he walked with her as far as the park gates, and watched as she hurried down the road towards the Embassy.

With a lighter heart, he walked on to catch his bus, made his way back to the office, and handed the letter over to Cowley. He made no mention of his happy encounter. It wasn't C.I.5 business, after all.

He didn't tell Bodie when he met him as they reported in the next morning. It wasn't his business either, and he wasn't going to lay himself open to teasing from his partner, with cracks about 'Ray and his nanny'. He could just hear him saying something like that !

Bodie seemed quite excited about something "I bet I know something that will be in Cowley's police report," he said.

"Oh, what's that ?," asked Doyle.

"I'm not telling you yet," retorted Bodie annoyingly, "but I bet I'm right."

The pair reported to their boss's office. As usual he was scanning the morning police report, and read out several items to them.

But Doyle, watching his partner's face gradually lose its animation, concluded that the one he was waiting for hadn't come up yet.

When Cowley put the folder back down on his desk, Bodie looked quite crest-fallen, and ventured a query. "Sir," he said, "You did know it's the big opening of Corelli's tonight."

"Yes," replied his boss, and added no further comment.

Bodie tried again. "Don't you think someone should have a look at it, to make sure it's all legal ?."

Cowley gave his agent a shrewd look.

"And you'd like the job ?," he said.

"Yes," said Bodie eagerly

"I already know what Corelli's is like," said Cowley. "A lavish, expensive club, a bar, with a licence for snack meals, and a limited back games room, with one roulette wheel, and four gaming tables, two for Black Jack and two for Poker."

Bodie looked taken aback. Cowley already knew a lot.

"I agree we need to watch it," he continued, "But not you, Bodie. I couldn't stand your expenses list. I do have it covered, however."

Doyle hid a smile at his friend's downcast expression. The boss knew his men so well !

But Cowley quickly changed the subject by picking up the folder again. "Now about this man, Mason," he said. "I'd like to know a little more about his business. As it's only enquiries, you can take Doyle with you. I think he's getting a bit bored with running errands for me," he added dryly.

Doyle flashed his boss a quick smile as he followed Bodie out. He didn't miss a trick, did he ?

Bodie was still grumbling as he led the way to his car. "I rather fancied a night out at Corelli's," he said morosely. "I might just go one night anyway."

"I shouldn't." advised Doyle, "It's far too pricey for you."

"I could save up," snapped Bodie crossly, and Doyle laughed. Sometimes, his partner behaved like a spoilt kid !

"He say's he's got it covered, so he'd know if you went," said Doyle. "You know how he seems to learn everything."

"I suppose you're right," admitted Bodie reluctantly

"So let's get on with enquiring about Mr. Mason," suggested his partner, and Bodie led the way to the car a bit more cheerfully. It would be nice to have Doyle back with him again, after all this time. He'd missed him, though he'd never tell him that.

Their enquiries took several days, as Mason seemed to have his 'fingers in a great many pies', but nothing to raise suspicions of a criminal nature came to light. But a little bit of activity helped Doyle. He began to make faster progress, and was soon back on active duty.

Doyle hadn't made any attempt to see Fiona again. She was just not the kind of girl that he and Bodie dated. She would never grace his bed, and he wouldn't even consider suggesting it to her either. But he would have liked to show her his London.

Apart from the fact that she was very conscientious, and only took limited 'off-duty', he would have hated to have arranged something, and then let her down by not turning up because of work, a frequent occurrence with many of the girls he and Bodie knew.

So for a couple of months he hardly thought about her. The pressure of work was considerable, and they were frequently called back from 'off-duty', and worked all hours.

So, when he suddenly had an unplanned afternoon off, because there were plans for an evening raid on a suspect warehouse, he surprised himself when he found he was driving to Kensington, and parking near an elite little park.

He strode into the pleasant gardens, found the bench where they'd met last time and sat down to wait. Doubt began to assail him. Maybe her routine has changed and she doesn't come here any more. Maybe she has forgotten me completely anyway.

I'm being a bit foolish, he told himself, but I do enjoy talking to her, and listening to her soft Scottish accent.

He was just considering giving up and leaving, when he saw her coming towards him, with Ivan in close attendance. Both looked pleased to see him, and greeted him warmly.

Bobby was not asleep this time, but sitting up boldly in the shelter of the hood. He was clutching a fluffy blue rabbit by one ear. He beamed widely at Doyle as if he knew him, showing just the first signs of erupting teeth.

They talked pleasantly for a while, until it was time for Fiona to make a move. Doyle walked with her to the gates of the little park, and stood watching as, escorted by the ever-alert Ivan, she moved quickly off down the road.

She had almost reached the bend that would take her out of his sight, and Doyle turned away to return to his car, parked in the side street round the corner.

A sudden yell alerted him, and he swung round. What he saw was a shock !

There was a large van parked on the bend, with a lowered ramp, and two men were pushing Fiona and the pram up into its open doors !

And on the pavement, Ivan was being fiercely attacked by a man wielding a large baseball bat !

An Olympic runner would have been proud of the speed at which Doyle covered the 100 yards before him.

He launched himself at the man who was belabouring poor Ivan, who was already reeling, with blood pouring down his face. He had seen the murderous intent in the assailant's eyes, and knew Ivan was in mortal danger. He managed to knock the man a bit off balance, probably saving Ivan's life, but he was big and tough, and recovered quickly, turning on him.

Using his arms to fend off the blows from the bat, he managed agilely to get in a few telling karate kicks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivan stagger back and collapse into the nearby bushes.

But then his opponent had company ! The man who had just lifted the ramp and closed the van doors on their captives, came to join in. He was wielding a big stick and knew how to use it.

Defending himself from both of them was hard, and when Doyle's foot slipped on the grass verge, the first man used his bat to good effect, and his blow sent Doyle to fall in an unconscious heap on top of the recumbent Ivan.

The attackers quickly piled into the front of the van, and it sped off. The whole action had happened very quickly, and, in that quiet area, there had been no witnesses.

Later that evening, at C.I.5 headquarters, a small group of men were assembling for a briefing on the planned warehouse raid. It did not take long, and soon they all knew exactly what they had to do. Half the group left to collect the necessary gear, and load it into the cars

Cowley strode up to the other group, the senior men. "Bodie," he demanded, "Where's Doyle ?."

"I don't know," replied Bodie. "I've been trying to raise him for the last twenty minutes, but I'm getting no response anywhere."

"Did he say if he was going somewhere, when you left earlier ?," asked Cowley.

"No. I don't think he'd anything in mind," said Bodie. "He just said he'd need to pick up some milk on his way home."

"And he's not at his flat ?," said Cowley.

"No," replied Bodie, "and not in his car, and his phone is turned off. It's not like him," he added, beginning to look a bit worried.

"Agreed," said his boss, "But we can't delay the raid, waiting for him to turn up." He turned to the group to amend his orders.

"Barton," he said briskly, "You take over as back-up for Bodie. Get going now and keep me informed."

Cowley watched as the men left. From his window he watched as they piled into the loaded cars in the yard He was quite confident that they would get on with the task exactly as planned. When they'd gone he turned to the phone and re- tried the numbers Bodie had called, but he got no response either. He sat at his desk, deep in thought. Although it was unusual for Doyle to fail to report in for duty, and to be so out of phone contact, he was only a short time overdue. It was too early to order emergency measures.

He might ring in at any minute, with a completely rational explanation of his absence. As if in answer to his thoughts, the phone on his desk suddenly shrilled. He reached for it quickly, quite expecting it to be Doyle.

But it wasn't !

"I'm Inspector Baker, sir," came an unfamiliar voice, I am at Kensington Hospital. A man walking his dog found two unconscious men in some bushes. He called an ambulance which brought them here. A search in their pockets for some sort of identification, found this special I.D. card. They sent for the police, and I contacted you. Raymond Doyle. Is he one of your men, sir ?."

"Yes," said Cowley. "Can I have a word with him ?,"

"Neither man is conscious yet," replied the Inspector. Just then there came the sound of raised voices nearby.

"Just a minute, sir," said the policeman. "I think he's awake now. He seems to be arguing with the doctor."

"Bring him to the phone, please," ordered Cowley.

A few seconds later, came a voice he knew. "Sir, I need to talk to you urgently," said an agitated Doyle, "to explain."

"Go ahead," said Cowley briskly.

"It's too important to say over the phone," replied his man, "but the doctor here won't discharge me, and he won't give me my car keys !."

Another voice interrupted, sounding angry. "He won't let me examine him, and he shouldn't drive after a head injury !."

"Calm down, all of you," said Cowley in an authoritative tone. "Doyle, I'll come and fetch you. Let the doctor look at you while you're waiting," he ordered, and put the phone down.

Practical as ever, he took a few quick steps. He spoke to his secretary, telling her where he was going, he alerted his driver to bring his car to the door, collected the first man he saw in the rest room, who happened to be Jax, and within half an hour, was striding in through the doors of the small hospital.

He was met by Inspector Baker, and the doctor in charge, and was led to a small side ward. He found Doyle, looking rather pale, sitting at a table while an efficient nurse dealt with an open wound on his head, snipping away a bit of blood-matted hair. He made to stand up, but the nurse stopped him.

"He's not too bad,," said the doctor, "But he shouldn't drive for 24 hours, just in case there's delayed re-action."

"I'll get our own medical man to keep an eye on him," said Cowley.

He turned to Doyle. "I co-opted Jax on the way," he said. "If you'll tell him where to find your car, and give him the keys, he'll take it back to the yard."

Doyle quickly accepted this practical solution, and spoke a few words to Jax, who left straight away.

The nurse completed her ministrations, and cleared her stuff away.

Doyle got to his feet warily. He wasn't feeling at his best, but he had to tell his boss what had happened as soon as possible.

Cowley turned to the Inspector. "I realise you are looking for answers," he said. "But this may well turn out to be a C.I.5 investigation. So take it no further yourself at present. I will let you know later."

He led the way to his car, which his driver had waiting right by the front door, and helped a rather shaky Doyle into the back. During the short drive back to Headquarters, Doyle told his boss all that had happened.

"I was too late to save Fiona," he said at last, "but I thought the man was about to kill Ivan. I think he is quite badly hurt."

Cowley had listened intently to all his man had had to tell him, and now his astute mind was in overdrive. This was a serious situation, and could well involve C.I. 5. He could see that Doyle, at least, was desperate to do something about the kidnapped baby and his nanny.

Fortunately the lift was working. As they exited it, Cowley issued swift orders to Doyle. He was concerned, for his man didn't look too well.

"Go to the rest room," he said briskly. "Get yourself a coffee, and sit down for a bit. I have some serious phone calls to make. I'll get back to you."

Doyle was only too glad to obey. He felt decidedly rough, but mostly it was that he was consumed with anxiety about Fiona and the baby. What was happening to them ?

With considerable effort, Fiona was keeping calm and coping pretty well. When the van eventually stopped, the back doors were opened, the ramp was let down, and she was helped to wheel the pram down. Then with some difficulty, the pram was taken up a short path, through the door of a small terrace house, along a narrow passage and into a small back room. Fiona heard the click as the door was locked behind her.

She gazed about her. She was in a rather dingy 'bed-sit'. There was a divan against one wall, a sink and a small stove along another, a table with a few items of crockery and cutlery, and in the far corner, a curtained off alcove, presumably hiding a toilet.

Bobby, who had been remarkably quiet during their journey, now began to wail. She undid the harness, lifted him out of the pram, and sat cuddling him on the bed, trying to calm him. But thoroughly unsettled, he continued to cry.

The door re-opened and one of her captors came in. "Can't you keep him quiet ?," he demanded, looking annoyed.

"He's hungry," explained Fiona. Then anxious to placate the man, she added, "If you let me heat some water to warm his milk, I might be able to calm him."

Like most sensible nannies, Fiona had a few emergency supplies in the large bag attached to the pram. A bottle of milk, some rusks, one jar of pureed fruit baby food, and of course, several spare nappies.

The man looked a bit doubtful, but decided to comply. He lit the gas under a battered saucepan of water, and watched carefully to see that she didn't do anything untoward.

Fiona warmed the bottle, and used some of the milk to mash a couple of rusks with some of the fruit puree. It made a mushy-looking mixture, but Bobby liked the taste of it and gobbled it down without protest. Then safely held cradled in his nanny's arms, he polished off most of the rest of the milk. His wailing had stopped, and he was now looking sleepy and contented.

Fiona looked towards the man keenly watching her. "That will satisfy him for a while," she said, "But I will need some more supplies tomorrow, if you intend to keep us here for long."

Although he did not show it, the man was rather impressed with this young woman's calm efficiency. Grudgingly he pulled a sheet of paper from a notebook in his pocket and handed it to her with a pencil.

"Make a list," he said, "and I'll see what we can get. "He left, locking the door again.

Fiona laid Bobby on the bed, and changed him skilfully. She managed to wash his face and hands. By the time she had finished he was only half awake. She reached into the capacious well of the pram and retrieved a couple of items, a soft blanket and the rain-cover. Then replacing the base and the mattress, she settled Bobby down to sleep, tucking the blanket round him. She couldn't put the harness back when he was lying down, but as soon as he was well asleep, she snapped the rain-cover over the body of the pram, in case he stirred in the night and was in danger of trying to climb out.

The man came back bringing her a cup of tea and some toast. She thanked him calmly. She pushed the meagre pillow up against the wall, and sat against it, pulling the pram close up beside her, before applying the brake. Then she sat back to wait. Having done all she could, she felt drained and very concerned, both for her charge and for herself. What would happen to them now ?

Cowley strode into his office, his mind working overtime. He was concerned about Doyle, but he knew his man very well. If there was a chance of doing something about the situation, and he attempted to exclude Doyle from it, he would meet with mutinous rebellion. He'd met it once or twice before.

There was a report lying on his desk, called in by Bodie. It merely said that the planned raid had been highly successful, with no shooting and no casualties, and that they were now on their way back to submit a full report. That's good, he thought to himself. One less thing to worry about.

So he set to, to make his phone calls. The first, of course, was an attempt to contact Senor Torrenz at the Embassy. It took a while, but when he finally got through, a very earnest and serious conversation followed.

Bodie was leading his team back to Headquarters, feeling very pleased with their night's work. It had been very successful. Using the element of surprise, they had moved in and taken control without having to fire a shot. A great deal of stolen property had been found, which would give an answer to many on-going burglary cases. Three 'light-fingered' individuals were now in police custody, and one other, found in possession of a considerable quantity of hard drugs, was now on his way to the Interrogation Centre, where hopefully, he would be persuaded to answer a few telling questions.

The only niggle at the back of his mind, spoiling his elation, was a concern about his partner, and why he hadn't turned up to join the raid.

But as the cars neared the entrance to the yard, he spotted something. "That's Doyle's car ahead of us, isn't it ?," he said to Barton in the passenger seat. "So he's turned up. I wonder where he's been ?."

But as they turned in, Barton's reply disturbed him. "Yes, it's his car," confirmed the man, "But it's Jax driving it !."

When both cars were safely parked, Bodie was out of his seat in a flash and dashing to waylay Jax. "What's going on," he demanded anxiously. "What's happened to Doyle ?"

Jax quickly told him all he knew. "He's with the boss," he said, "and his car's there," he added, pointing to the far corner.

Bodie made record time up the several flights of stairs, and pounded along to Cowley's office. He gave an almost perfunctory knock and went in. Cowley was on the phone and held up an imperious hand to stop Bodie interrupting. Bodie summoned up all his patience to wait.

At last, his boss put the phone down. Before his man could get a word out, Cowley put in his word. Doyle's all right," he said, not quite truthfully. "He's in the rest room. Go along there now, and I'll be along in a minute to explain what's going on."

Bodie didn't need telling twice. He shot out of the room, and along the corridor. He found his mate sitting at the table, with his head down, resting on his folded arms, a tousled head sporting a neat white dressing. He stirred as Bodie shot in, and sat up slowly. He looked pale and tired.

"Mate, you look rough," said Bodie, not exactly helpfully. "What on earth has been happening ?"

"It's quite a long story really," replied Doyle wearily.

"And, as I said, I'll tell it to you," said Cowley appearing in the doorway. And he proceeded to do so, accurately and succinctly, passing on all that Doyle had told him. When he had completed that, he added some information of his own.

"I've been on the phone to the Embassy," he said. "They are in a bit of a state, as you can imagine. Soon after they realised that Ivan and Fiona and Bobby had not returned at the usual time, they got a surprise phone call. All it said was, "Don't involve the police !" and then it rang off. Fortunately I had already told the Inspector at the hospital to hold off till he heard from me."

"And there's been nothing more since ?," queried Doyle.

"Do you think it's a ransom they are after ?," asked Bodie, now fully interested in the story.

"Perhaps," said Cowley, "But I think it's more likely to be to do with the insurrection in Senor Torrenz's own country. And that's worse, because he may not be able to fulfil their demands."

"However," he said briskly, "We're going along to the Embassy now to offer what assistance we can. Bodie, you're driving, but pick up a car from the pool that you don't normally use. We don't want to advertise our involvement." Bodie shot off at once, knowing exactly what he had to do.

Doyle got up from the table slowly. The news that Cowley was prepared to involve C.I.5 had heartened him greatly.

Cowley looked at his man, consideringly. "You're far from fit, Doyle," he declared. "I ought to send you home to rest, but I know I would be wasting my breath. Just try not to pass out on us."

He led the way down to the yard, where Bodie was waiting with a little, inconspicuous black Ford. It was smaller than they were used to, but Cowley and Doyle climbed carefully into the back, and Bodie set off.

They were expected, so a man was waiting to open the gates to let them in to the forecourt. Another man was waiting to escort them up the steps and into the house. He led them along several corridors towards Senor Torrenz's study. They found him pacing up and down agitatedly. But he calmed himself sufficiently to usher them to seats and offer hospitality.

"Have you had any further messages ?," enquired Cowley.

"No, not yet," replied the worried-looking man. "Nothing at all !."

Doyle, who had been relaxing in his comfortable chair, suddenly sat upright. "Ivan," he exclaimed, "I've just remembered. He knew one of his attackers ! He was shouting a name." He rubbed his forehead, and spoke in an agitated voice. "What was it ?. I can't remember !,"

Knowing his unfit partner was getting worked up, Bodie took charge. He left his seat and knelt beside Doyle's. He grabbed his friend by the shoulders and made him meet his eyes. "Steady down, mate" he ordered. "Now, concentrate ! Go through the alphabet slowly and think."

The control he was trying worked. Doyle took a deep breath, and began to think sensibly. "M," he said at last, "It began with an M. Ma something "

Then he let out a triumphant shout. "Manfredo, that was it ! Does that mean something ? "

Senor Torrenz, who had been listening intently, gave a deep groan and sank back in his chair. "Indeed it does," he said, and his voice was bleak. "The Manfredo family are the leaders of the insurrection in my country, and they are evil, hard men. They will ask the impossible !."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged glances. This sounded bad. Kidnap for ransom they had tackled before with some success, but this was different..

Cowley was looking thoughtful. He stood up, ready to leave. "Senor Torrenz," he said, "I am offering you C.I 5 s help, although I can promise nothing as yet. "

"What can you do ?," asked the man despairingly.

"Maybe more than you think," muttered Cowley under his breath. "Sooner or later you are going to be contacted with their demands. Let me know as soon as you hear. And don't worry too much. They will not harm them, while they are still so valuable to them. And we will do our best to find them before there is any danger."

As they were walking back down the corridor, a door opened and an older woman came out. She moved towards Doyle and clasped his arm. "Oh, Mr. Doyle, Ray, I thought it was you," she said. "You will save them again, won't you ?"

Doyle smiled wearily. "We'll do our very best, Nanny, I promise," he said.

Cowley took the opportunity, while Doyle's attention was elsewhere, to have a quick word with Bodie. "First job for you," he ordered. "Take him home and get him to bed. He's no good to anyone in his current state. You steadied him over the name, so perhaps you can get him to rest."

"I'll stay tonight and manage something," replied Bodie, "even if I have to force a sleeping pill down him. I've never seen him so uptight. Leave it to me, sir."

He was as good as his word. He dropped Cowley back to headquarters, retrieved his own car, bundled Doyle into it, and set off towards his mate's flat. Cleverly, he tried to defuse the situation with idle conversation. "So," he said, teasingly, "You've been seeing this girl on the sly, and holding out on your old mate, shame on you."

"No, I haven't," protested Doyle. "I encountered her again, two months ago, quite by accident, on an errand for Cowley. It was nice talking to her though, so I admit that I did go yesterday on the off-chance of seeing her again"

"Sounds as if it's a good job you did," replied Bodie, "At least you saved Ivan, and, even better, got us in on the situation. I bet when we report in tomorrow, the boss will have some ideas. So let's see what we can do to get you feeling better."

When they got to Doyle's flat he turned on all his persuasive charm, and set to work to help his friend relax, to good effect. When he drove them back the following morning, to report to Cowley's office, Doyle had regained his normal self-control, and was much more his usual self.

Cowley got straight down to business. "I called the hospital this morning," he began, "And Ivan is greatly your first step is to visit him and learn all you can. Confirm the name that you heard him say, Doyle. Take an Identification expert with you and see if you can get some sort of picture of him, and any others he might know. That would give us somewhere to start."

The pair hurried off, pleased to have something practical to do, that might be very helpful. And they had a very profitable morning. Ivan, still looking battered and far from well, was however very alert and anxious to do all he could to help. He produced two names he was certain of, and worked extremely well with the identification expert, producing one picture he was absolutely sure about, and two good but less positive ones.

Considerably heartened with the thought that they now had something to make a start on, the pair hurried back to take it all to Cowley. Their boss scanned their morning's work avidly, and was pleased.

"Good," he said, "Now we can get moving. Have these pictures copied and distributed. I'll get everyone available out looking."

Just then his phone rang. He signalled to the pair to wait as soon as he learned it was from the Embassy. He then listened intently to what Senor Torrenz had to tell him. He put the phone down and turned to tell them the news.

"Apparently a demand has come in the post from the kidnappers. It seems that Manfredo senior and two of his sons have been arrested back in their own country and are in prison on insurrection charges. This group, led by another of the sons, want them released in exchange for Fiona and Bobby"

"That's quite a demand," said Doyle, with a worried look.

"And almost impossible, I would say," added Bodie.

"There is no deadline suggested yet, as they know that will take some arranging" continued Cowley. "But the sooner we get some results the better, before they start to threaten."

As soon as they got the pictures they wanted, Bodie and Doyle were out on the streets, talking to every contact they could think of. They knew the areas with the highest concentration of people from the many different South American countries, and began their enquiries there.

They got very little response. Although Doyle suspected that some of them did recognise the names and pictures, they had nothing to say. They didn't even ask what the men were wanted for, and didn't want to know either. They knew very well that there was plenty going on, drugs trafficking, prostitution, and violent muggings were all common in the area. But they had learned the hard way that the safest thing for personal safety was to keep 'your head down and your mouth shut.'

Both Bodie and Doyle found their lack of co-operation very exasperating. At last, stressed beyond bearing, Doyle lost his temper as they got up to leave, and said more than he ought to have done.

"We need help," he exclaimed. "These are evil vicious men. They've taken a baby, and they're threatening to kill him !."

A subdued murmur ran round those listening. They didn't like the sound of that ! Although many of them were minor villains, they had a strong sense of family, and loved their children. But no-one spoke up. Fear still held them in thrall.

Enquiries continued all over London, as every agent contacted their best informants to see if they had heard anything. But although every effort was made, there was little progress,

And then something odd happened to Jax. He was travelling up on a Tube escalator, when he sensed someone coming up close behind him. Before he had time to turn, a female voice whispered in his ear. "Don't turn round," it said urgently, "but please listen. It's about the baby !."

Jax instantly froze, but obeyed the request. The voice went on, "I want to speak to the one with the curly hair, Do you know him ?"

"Yes," replied Jax. She meant Doyle, of course. "I can contact him for you."

When they reached the top of the escalator, he moved unhurriedly over to a dark corner beside a cigarette machine. He felt her following behind him. He pulled out his radio-phone and soon got put through to Doyle.

"Someone wants a word, Doyle," he began, but was interrupted as the female voice spoke over his shoulder,.

"I can't say who I am," she said quickly, "My man would kill me. But I care about that baby."

Doyle didn't ask any questions. "Go on," was all he said.

"I saw one of those men in your pictures," she said. "He was in a local supermarket, buying nappies and baby food." She reeled off the name and location of the super-market.

Then she suddenly pushed Jax hard against the wall, nearly causing him to drop the phone. By the time he'd recovered his balance, and swung round, there was no woman in sight anywhere. "She's gone, Doyle," said Jax. "What did you make of that ?"

"She clearly wanted to help," said Doyle, "And it's the only lead we've got. I'll take it straight to the boss. You'd better come in too."

The pair hurried in to report. As Cowley took in what he was being told, his expression lightened. "I think we're beginning to make a little progress," he said.

"Now, Doyle, I know you are desperate to be in on any action, and you will be, I promise, but for the time being you and Bodie are to stay completely clear of that area."

Doyle looked a little puzzled, so his boss explained. "If that man is one of those who attacked Ivan, and he recognizes you as coming to his aid, then it might blow the whole scene and put them in danger."

"Yes, sir, I see that now," said Doyle. "but you will take action ?."

"Of course," replied Cowley. "I'll get one of our girls in on a check-out, with someone less conspicuous ready to follow if the man comes again."

"And we'll make enquiries in that neighbourhood, but very low-key," he added. "I know having to play things slowly is galling, but safety comes first."

"I hate to think what conditions Fiona is having to endure," said Doyle. He and Jax left to pass the new information round the other agents, while Cowley got busy on the phone to implement his plans.

In truth, Fiona was not having a very good time. The change in his diet and routine was upsetting Bobby, and he was having teething problems too. He was changing from a happy, good-tempered baby into a miserable, grizzling one.

Fiona couldn't put him down to crawl about as he did at home, for the dirty floor was only rough wood, with the peril of splinters. If she put him in the pram, and wheeled him about the room, he soon got bored, and if she picked him up and carried him about, he wriggled to get down and protested when she wouldn't allow it. She was getting worried that the amount of crying he did, in spite of all her efforts, would upset their captors before long. In addition, poor food and lack of sleep were making her tired and irritable.

She was concerned about Ivan too. He had tried to defend them but was being viciously attacked. Was he still alive ? She had been vaguely aware of someone running towards the scene, but had not realised that it was Doyle, before she had been pushed right into the van and the doors were closed on her. So she had no idea of what was going on in the world outside her small prison.

Cowley quickly got his ideas put into action. One of his clever female agents slipped easily into the role of check-out girl, and the man collecting trolleys soon had a quiet effective helper. They were at the named super-market, but he also had observers posted at several other shops in the neighbourhood, just in case.

A day passed and nothing happened. Every customer who bought baby supplies was carefully, but unobtrusively scrutinised, but none of them looked like the pictures they had.

Doyle was kept off the streets, in case he was recognised and alerted the men that had seen him. He hung about the office where the reports were coming in, and avidly read every one. Although he was very quiet and in control, Bodie could see, each time he encountered him, that he was getting very stressed and up-tight about the situation.

"We've lost our chance," he complained bitterly to Bodie as they met up in the rest room for a coffee.

"Give them time," suggested Bodie, "They probably bought enough supplies for several days. But babies need an awful lot of stuff. They'll surely have to shop again soon."

And he was right. The very next day, a report came in, saying that the same man had been in again, buying baby food, milk and nappies. By luck he came to the check-out where the C.I.5 girl was working. She served him in the normal fashion, but observed him carefully. Only once did her eyes stray from her work, but that was to make visual contact with a man outside, pushing trolleys into place.

A surreptitious but well-hidden signal gave him the alert. He retreated to a hidden corner and made a quick call.

When the man emerged from the shop door, carrying a couple of large carrier bags, and set off down the road, he had no idea that the quiet man with a newspaper clutched in his hand, was following him, or that a hundred yards behind, another man was quickly moving up, to take over, if the quarry showed the least sign of unease.

Trailing a suspect was something that the well-trained C.I.5 men were particularly good at !

Fortunately, the man being trailed did not go for a parked car, and did not board a bus, but walked steadily for quite a distance. He came to the corner of a small side street. Only then did he stop, and look round carefully.

The man with the newspaper kept on walking, passed the man, and then crossed over the road towards another turning. But someway further back, a man in overalls, carrying a tool bag, moved on slowly, consulting a piece of paper, as if he was looking for an address.

And he was the one, moving down on the opposite side of the narrow road, who saw and registered which house the watched man went into. Taking a chance he moved up a nearby garden path and knocked on the door. An elderly lady answered. Consulting his paper, he gave her a name, which, of course, she knew nothing about. This gave him the excuse to turn round and walk out of the street again. (An example of the devious skills of successful surveillance.)

It wasn't long before Cowley was in possession of the suspect address, and implementing the next steps.

Bodie and Doyle had been sent on an enquiry to the outskirts on the far side of the river, deliberately to keep them out of any possible contact. When they returned and went to the canteen for a bite to eat, Doyle overheard something that alerted him. He immediately accosted another agent, and asked him about it, but was disconcerted by the answer.

Bodie, who was carrying their food to a table, was surprised to see his mate rush to the door and disappear. Doyle charged upstairs, tapped on Cowley's door, and barely waiting for a response, charged in. "Sir," he said, "I've heard they've got an address. I asked Fordham, but he wouldn't tell me !," "

"I told him not to," said Cowley, calmly.

Doyle looked astonished."Why not ?," he demanded angrily.

"Because I want their rescue to be a quiet, carefully-planned mission," said Cowley, making strong eye-contact with the over-excited man before him.

His forceful personality prevailed. Doyle recovered his self-control and let his anger dissipate. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, "I wasn't thinking straight. Have you any plans in mind yet ?."

"One or two," replied his boss, "which won't be revealed until I'm ready."

"I'll try to be patient," said Doyle, "and I won't do anything rash, I promise."

Cowley relented on his stern attitude. "I know how anxious you are," he said, "but this must be done carefully, to ensure the safety of that child, and his nanny."

"Yes, I do understand, sir," said Doyle, as he left to return to Bodie and his fast-spoiling food. Bodie looked at him questioningly as he joined him at the small table, but his mate just got on quietly with his meal, so he let the moment pass. He'd learned that it was better not to push Doyle.

It soon became evident to Doyle that nothing was going to happen that night. He'd half-hoped it might, but he knew from experience that the missions that Cowley arranged were successful because of the careful investigation and planning that preceded them.

So he took himself off home, declining Bodie's invitation to go for a drink. He told himself that the best way he could help Fiona was to be fit and ready when the call came. So he had an early night, and made himself sleep well.

He was in to work in good time and went to scan the duty rota on the notice board. His heart lightened instantly as he saw a list of men called to attend a briefing at nine. The names told him at once that this meant something was on. Cowley had selected an elite team.

By ten to nine an expectant group had assembled in the briefing room. They had guessed what was coming, and were eager to hear what Cowley had planned.

He swept in promptly at nine and immediately got down to business. He took his stance by a display board on an easel, and flipped over the top page, which revealed the ground floor plan of a house. He began to speak, and there was complete silence from the men before him, listening intently to every word.

"We received this address yesterday, and immediately made a few enquiries," he began. "The area is a run-down residential area of small terrace houses. The residents are mainly low-paid workers, many of them foreign. The house next door was empty, expecting new residents next week, so I had a team go in to have a look. We learnt quite a lot, including this ground plan, for the places are all almost identical. We took in one 'boffin' with sound equipment. He picked up the sound of a crying baby, and located it to this back room on the ground floor. He estimates that there are four, maybe five, men in the house, which is why I have assembled this formidable group."

He paused and looked round the room at the intently listening audience. "As this is a quiet area, I do not want a heavy-handed raid. I want a stealthy careful intrusion with as little violence as possible, while remembering that these are dangerous, violent men. Access at the back is easy. There is a lane with gates opening into small back gardens, most with high stone walls. So a simultaneous back and front entry with the element of surprise is in order."

He turned to a man sitting in the front row. "Doyle," he said, "As this young woman already knows you by sight, your priority is to find her quickly, and ensure her safety, and the baby's."

"Yes, sir," replied Doyle instantly. This was exactly the participation he wanted. The rest of the group would find the men and deal with them.

Another hour was spent taking in all the relevant information and planning final details, and then the group dispersed, primed to return later that night, suitably clad and ready for action.

The night was dark and overcast, with occasional breaks allowing the light of the moon to shine through, when the group re-assembled. They were now suitably dressed in dark clothing and armed. A final word from Cowley, and they set out.

The cars were carefully parked in side streets, and the final approach was made on foot, half the party, including Doyle, slipping down the lane which led round the back of the houses and had access gates to the small gardens. They quickly found the right gate, eased it open and slipped like dark shadows into the over-grown garden, making their way towards the back door. The other group hung back for a bit to give them time to reach their target, and then moved stealthily in towards the front door.

They had already learned that the locks on both doors were very basic, and would cause them little trouble. And that information was accurate, for it only took seconds for the locks to yield to their special tools. Silently the two groups began to move in. The house was very quiet, with only the faint sound of snoring coming from somewhere upstairs.

Remembering the plan he had studied, Doyle moved swiftly to the small back room. There was a key in the lock, and he turned it carefully. The door opened without a sound, and he slid in quickly.

Pale moonlight showed him a figure lying on the divan by the wall, with the big pram drawn up close beside it. Moving as stealthily as a cat stalking its prey, he crept across the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed. The movement was felt by Fiona. As she began to stir, Doyle grabbed hold of her, whipping a hand over her mouth.

"Easy, Fiona," he whispered, "It's me, Ray."

Her eyes were open now, and although the light was very dim, she knew him at once. Relief flooded through her. Help had come ! She lay still, ready to do whatever he told her. No sound had come from the rest of the house. Doyle actually began to think that they might possibly leave without hindrance.

He whispered to Fiona again."Do you think you could lift him without waking him ?," he asked. "Then we might be able to sneak out as quietly as we came in."

Fiona nodded, and did as he had suggested. Swinging her legs down she reached out to remove the rain cover. Then very gently she lifted the sleeping child into her arms, wrapping the soft blanket round him. Standing up, Doyle nodded his approval, and made to move back across the room.

But the silent escape was not to be.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose in the rooms upstairs !

There was loud shouting, and more ominously, the sound of gunshots.

Then came the sound of running feet in the passage outside. The door was suddenly thrown open, and there, silhouetted against the light from the hall, was Manfredo, looking crazy and wildly waving a pistol.

Doyle moved fast. He pushed Fiona and the baby down behind the meagre shelter of the pram, and crouched over them.

Manfredo couldn't see very well. Clouds had blocked the moonlight, and the room was dark. But driven by mad thoughts of revenge, he began to loose off shots haphazardly.

Two plunked into the body of the pram, and the third caught Doyle high at the top of his left arm.

But that was all he managed, before a rain of fire from the C.I.5 men cut him down. They were furious that he had emerged from a front room, and moved too fast for them.

The light was suddenly snapped on, and there was Bodie in the doorway. He dashed across the room to help. Doyle was getting to his feet, and struggling to help Fiona up, hampered by only having the use of one arm.

"Quick, mate," said Doyle, "Grab the baby before we drop him." Bobby was wide awake now, wailing loudly and struggling to free himself from the swaddling blanket.

"Who me ?" exclaimed Bodie, a bit taken aback. A yelling, struggling baby daunted him somewhat.

"He won't bite," said Doyle, "Oh, I don't know though, he might. He's just getting his teeth."

Bodie had holstered his gun, and was reaching down to grab the squirming bundle. Surprised by being lifted up high by strong firm hands, Bobby's yells stopped abruptly, and he gazed at the strong face gazing somewhat worriedly at him.

A toothy smile spread over his face, and he uttered the one word he had so far learned. "Da-da," he beamed.

The expression on Bodie's face produced a burst of laughter from Doyle, and some quiet giggles from Fiona. Fortunately, the couple of men now in the doorway, had arrived too late to hear Bobby.

(Which was just as well, for Bodie would have been teased unmercifully if they had heard.)

Fiona was back on her feet now and moved to take back her charge. But as Doyle stepped out of the way, she suddenly spotted the glistening wet patch on the sleeve of his dark wind-cheater.

"Ray, you're injured," she exclaimed anxiously. Then her training as a nurse took over. She reached into the pram bag, and pulled out a clean terry-towelling nappy. She folded it into a pad, and placed it over the wound, pulling Doyle's hand up to hold it in place.

"Press firmly on that," she ordered. "It needs looked at," she added, turning to Bodie.

Bodie handed the baby back to her. "I'll see to it," he said.

"It's not that bad," protested Doyle. "I've had worse."

"But you're bleeding like a stuck pig," retorted his mate. "It needs fixing."

He turned to the rest of his group now filling the doorway and the hall beyond, and began issuing orders to clear up the situation.

"Jax," he said, "If you'll go and fetch my car, we'll see about getting these people home, after I've had a word with the boss."

As Jax hurried out, he addressed two others. "Williams, Johnson, will you get the other car, and take Doyle to Casualty. One of you stay with him, and the other bring the car back for the rest."

"What about the injured men upstairs," asked one of the men.

"I'll get Cowley to arrange an ambulance and a police guard for them," said Bodie. He moved back towards the door and activated his phone. He was soon in earnest conversation with Cowley, telling him all that had happened.

Fiona was gazing at the damaged pram with a couple of bullet-holes marring its smooth side panel. If Bobby had been in there, she thought !

"I shouldn't bother with that," said Doyle, from his perch on the bed. "I'm sure you'll get a new one."

"Yes," added Bodie, moving back towards them, "Leave it now. We'll get it collected in the morning. Let's get you out of this wretched place."

Fiona fished the fluffy blue rabbit out of the pram, glad to see it was not damaged, for it was Bobby's favourite.

She turned to Doyle. "Thank you, Ray," she said, "Once again we owe you everything." And to his great surprise, she leant forward and planted a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek.

Jax re-appeared in the doorway, and Bodie turned to Fiona. "I've orders to take you straight back to the Embassy, Cowley has phoned to let them know you are both safe, so they are waiting eagerly."

Fiona flashed a smile at Doyle. "I wonder if we'll meet again," she said. "In better circumstances, perhaps."

I rather doubt it, thought Doyle, wistfully, as he watched them go. You won't be walking in that park for a while, I suspect. And my life-style doesn't take me into your world.

He stood up as Williams came in to collect him. Back in the old routine, he thought, hospital to be patched up, time to heal, and then back to work.

Still it was what I took on, when I signed up for C.I. 5.

A smile came over his face, as a sudden thought came to him. But I am going to have some real fun though, teasing Bodie about being hailed by Bobby as "Da-Da"."

The expression on his face. Priceless !