Bodie came down from the gas tower in a blaze of fury. He'd pushed the gun into Doyle's arms when, instead, all he really wanted to do was beat him over the head with it. "Make sure your own house is in order," Cowley had said to Doyle. Doyle's house was in order as far as he knew. No skeletons of girlfriends past or present likely to come out and bite him – again, as far as he knew. His main problem now of course was Bodie. It was clear that Bodie hated him for spying on him; hated him for setting him up (as he saw it); hated him and blamed him for Marikka's death. From Bodie's point of view, Doyle could go hang. Cowley too for that matter. He was bound to be at the bottom of it somewhere. He'd certainly wound Doyle up and pointed him in Marikka's direction and, like an automaton, he'd blindly followed orders. Spineless bastard. Bodie had gone off and got drunk that night. He'd woken up some time in the late morning to a hangover and a message that Cowley didn't want to see him until Friday. That gave him nearly a week to sober up and sort himself out. He knew he'd lost Marikka; he felt he'd lost Doyle too; and he couldn't even begin to work out how he felt about Cowley and CI5. Had he also lost that? After a late breakfast, he reached for the whisky again. Then he thought about it and went to the loo and poured the contents down the pan. He was strong enough to know that the answers didn't lie in the bottom of a bottle.
Doyle felt dreadful about the whole episode. He'd been mortified to discover that Bodie had caught him spying on him at the hotel, and even worse when Bodie came down from the gas tower. He couldn't get out of his mind Bodie's look of fury and loathing when he'd pushed the gun into his arms. He thought Cowley would have given him a few days off to sort things out with his partner but instead he'd given him a new assignment and a new recruit to go with it, Mether. Doyle knew that it was unfair to take his pain out on his new and temporary partner, and the end of the day left him exhausted with pent-up anger. He went for a long jog. The next day was the same. He hadn't heard of Bodie or from him. He didn't ask but was worried that the Old Man had suspended him. Would he be told if he'd actually fired him? He tried very hard to imagine how he could mend this particular fence; what it would take for Bodie to trust him again – if ever he did.
At the end of the third day, Doyle dropped Mether off home. He knew that he should make an effort to get to know the man but couldn't dredge up the energy somehow. All his strength was taken up controlling himself, pushing Bodie to the back of his mind, and getting on with the job in hand. He felt empty and drained. Later that evening, he got bored of his own company and was fed up with reading the same page of a book he was trying to get through and still not taking it in. He drove over to a pub he knew. It wasn't his local, but would do. He met up with a couple of blokes he vaguely knew and spent a more agreeable evening than he'd expected. In a calmer frame of mind, Doyle said goodbye to his drinking buddies in the car park. In the still evening air they heard a row over the hedge on the towpath. They couldn't see the protagonists but it sounded like a 'domestic' between husband and wife. The men smirked and made obvious jokes, but Doyle was distracted. Was it something about the voice, the cadence, or the verbal signature that he recognised? The voice put him in mind of Bodie. Perhaps it was just that the last time he'd seen him he'd been in a raging fury and this row had simply brought his former friend and partner to his mind.
The golden rule is never to get involved in other people's domestic rows. Doyle was never one to follow rules however, and told his mates that he'd forgotten something in the pub which he needed to go back for and he'd maybe catch up with them again at some time. That was the first and second lie. In fact, Doyle slipped round to the side of the pub and got onto the towpath unseen that way. The row had escalated. He saw the woman take a swipe at the man. He blocked her blow and walloped her one, or pushed her – Doyle couldn't see from where he was. In any event she tottered backwards into the canal with a scream and a splash. It became clear quite quickly that she couldn't swim. The man stood looking at her for a few moments before beginning to take his jacket off slowly. Doyle however got there first. Flinging off his jacket he didn't hesitate in diving in. Despite the warm day the water was freezing. He got up behind her and put his hand under her chin to lift her face out of the water and swam with her to shore. The man was on his knees reaching out for her. It was Bodie. For the first time Bodie realised that it was Doyle who was her rescuer. He was furious. He took the girl and dragged her onto the towpath. Doyle could go drown as far as Bodie was concerned. As Doyle was making his own way out of the canal, having seen the contempt in Bodie's eyes, they were aware of footsteps heading their way. They looked up to see a local constable ambling along the towpath. "Great. That's all we need," Bodie snarled to himself. The girl was coughing her lungs up. Doyle had put his jacket round her shoulders while trying to get her to breath deeply and regularly. Bodie was looking at the copper so didn't see the spark of recognition as the eyes of rescuer and rescued met.
"What's going on?" asked the constable authoritatively.
Doyle took charge of the situation before Bodie could say anything. "My friend and I were walking back from the pub, officer, when we saw this woman fall into the canal. Mr Bodie can't swim and, it turns out, neither can she. We saw her wobbling on the cobbles in her high heels and the next thing is she fell in before we could reach her."
That was a lie from start to finish, but Doyle was happy to look the copper in the eye and make up any old nonsense that was likely to be believed. However, the officer needed confirmation.
"Miss?" he asked the woman.
Do you really think she'll go along with that? Bodie thought contemptuously. He noticed that the woman hadn't taken her eyes off Doyle. She dragged her gaze away and turned to the policeman.
"Yes. Stupid I know. I'd had a row with my boyfriend and I just stormed off. Don't even know where I was heading for."
"Fortunate that we were here," Doyle added, looking pointedly at the girl.
Bodie knew then that there was an undercurrent here he didn't understand but didn't question it. It didn't stop him being angry though that Doyle was trying some heavy lifting to get him off the hook and, miraculously, seemed to be managing it with the girl's help. Bodie wasn't about to shoot his foot off though in order to appease his pride so went along with the charade.
"I'd like you all to make a statement. We don't want anyone getting sued or accused of anything later on. Makes it easier don't you know?" the copper said, leading the trio to his car. On the way Doyle had dropped back in line with the girl and Bodie thought he heard Doyle whisper to her something like, "You'd better keep singing the same song, sweetheart." The tone didn't sound like an endearment.
At the police station they were guided to an interview room. Before they got there, Doyle was waylaid. "Ray. Long time no see. What are you up to now?" Doyle and stranger seemed delighted to see each other and shook hands heartily.
Doyle turned back before replying. To Bodie's increasingly sensitive antenna it seemed to him that Doyle was making sure that the girl was within hearing distance. "Security guard," he said easily.
"How the mighty are fallen," the man countered.
"It pays the bills, William," Doyle said happily. He turned to his one time partner. "This is my friend, Mr Bodie. Bodie, DI Wilks."
As they reached for each other's hand Wilks noticed that his hand was covered in blood.
"I think you're leaking old friend," Wilks said, showing his palm as proof.
Doyle, with the others looking on, gave himself a cursory glance and saw what Wilks meant. "I'll put a plaster on it after I've written up a statement. This lady here fell into the canal, William, so what else could I do but leap in to save her?" He boasted, grinning broadly. His bravado appealed to Wilks who shook his head and clicked his tongue.
"Better look after him, Mr Bodie. He's always trying to make a name for himself."
"Don't need to Wilks. It's already made," Doyle jumped in before Bodie said anything to break the mood of back-slapping bon ami.
Wilks gave up with a grin and said he'd find a first aid kit to stop Doyle bleeding all over their forms. After their statements were duly made, signed and believed, and Doyle had been patched up, they headed out. The threatening storm had broken and the rain was hammering down. It made no difference to Doyle and the girl who were drenched anyway. Bodie reached for his wallet and pushed some money into her hand telling her to get a taxi. It seemed that he no longer wanted anything to do with her. While he was arguing with her – again – Doyle wandered off. It seemed to him, from Bodie's reaction at the canal, that all was far from well between them. He hadn't, in honesty, expected it to be otherwise. He was depressed and angry despite putting on a show for the coppers back at the station. He was glad that Bodie had gone along with his lies and not asked questions. It was all for his benefit anyway. Bodie caught up with him as he looked around for a cab to hail.
"You won't get a taxi in this weather," Bodie commented, coming up behind him. "We can call one from the café over there." Bodie was right and Doyle had to swallow his pride and allow himself to be led hastily across the road as thunder rolled overhead. "How badly are you cut?" Bodie asked, getting his priorities in order while getting the teas in. Doyle said he didn't know. He hadn't realised that he was bleeding until Wilks pointed it out. He confessed to an upset stomach though. Bodie was about to comment that the canal wasn't the cleanest of places to go for a swim when Doyle quickly got up and out as the teas were served. Bodie thought he was doing a runner rather than get into conversation with his former friend and partner but when Bodie looked outside he saw Doyle retching in the gutter. Bodie went back to the table and hoped that Doyle would rejoin him. Doyle came back in and tried to finish his tea. He managed to keep it down till the taxi came. The driver was reluctant to take him – he didn't want vomit on his upholstery – but the hospital wasn't far and Bodie made it worth his while.
Doyle emerged from Casualty after quarter of an hour. The doctors had given him something and he said he felt better for it. Bodie had to trust him on that at least. He ordered another taxi which Doyle insisted on paying – until he examined his sodden wallet. Bodie said he could pay him back later. Doyle suggested returning to the pub to pick up their cars but Bodie pointed out that Doyle wasn't fit to drive and they'd go back to his place. Bodie's counter-orders were annoying the hell out of Doyle and he had difficulty swallowing his anger. He also knew that they needed a conversation to clear the air but he really didn't feel up to a row. He felt every muscle tensing.
Back at Bodie's, Doyle had a hot shower while his partner put on some soup. Now that the initial crisis had passed and the woman, he assumed, was home safe and dry, he could begin to try to sort out how he felt about his other problem – Doyle. It was clear that Doyle was ready to scream, but it was also clear that he wasn't well enough for a deep discussion at the moment. Which reminded him -
"3.7 to Base," Bodie announced on the phone. Base responded and Bodie reported that he and Doyle had rescued a female from the canal tonight. Bodie was already on leave, but Doyle wouldn't be well enough for work as he'd taken in too much canal water. The operator understood and would report his sick leave to Cowley in the morning.
Doyle emerged from the bathroom in shirt and pyjama bottoms, and feeling better – physically at least. Bodie had soup ready for him.
"Bodie, I know we need to talk but would you mind if we left it tonight?" Doyle seemed unable to meet Bodie's eye and toyed half-heartedly with his soup. It seemed that he was still feeling nauseous. "Don't think I'm just putting you off –"
Bodie looked at his former friend and partner and saw the tension in him. Bodie wasn't ready to forgive him yet. He wasn't sure that he would ever be able to. A small part of him wanted it, but it was as yet too small a part. Doyle was holding his head up with one hand while scraping his spoon round and round his bowl with the other without getting anything as far as his mouth. It was getting on Bodie's nerves. He snatched the spoon off Doyle. "For God sake," he snarled, "stop making a milkshake and go to bed." He took the bowl off him too. Doyle slid off the chair silently like a child who's been dismissed for bad behaviour. He watched Doyle pad off without a word or a backward glance. There was anger there, too.
After finishing off the soup Bodie cleared up, got fed up trying to watch the telly, and headed off to bed. On the way he hovered on the threshold of the spare bedroom looking across at his one time friend and partner, trying to sort his feelings out. Bodie heard Doyle whimper and fidget in his sleep. It seemed that he was still hiding his injuries. Perhaps a subject to add to the growing agenda for a tomorrow that Bodie wasn't looking forward to?
Bodie took some strong painkillers to help him sleep and didn't wake till nearly 9. He wandered into Doyle's room and saw that he'd gone. The bed clothes neatly folded. Damn, he thought. He then drifted into the kitchen where, to his surprise, Doyle was calmly reading a newspaper. There was a very pleasant smell of cooked bacon. He must have gone out shopping. Bodie looked suspiciously at Doyle who smiled tentatively and told his former friend and partner to sit down and he'd get him breakfast.
"I thought you weren't feeling well."
"So HQ told me when I phoned up," Doyle said dryly, "only to discover that you'd got there before me last night."
"Well, you were vomiting all over the place and have more injuries than you're telling me about," fished Bodie.
Doyle didn't rise to the bait and put a cooked breakfast and tea in front of his host. Doyle let him get on with his meal as he continued to read the paper over a cup of tea. The clatter of cutlery on plate and the sporadic rustle of the newspaper is usually a peaceful Sunday morning sound, but the silence became increasingly oppressive - to Bodie at least. He was determined not to rush his breakfast and loitered just to be awkward. He stole occasional glances at his one time friend and partner. He seemed to be immersed in his reading and happy to wait all day for Bodie to finish. After breakfast, Bodie did the washing up. He suddenly found Doyle at his elbow with a tea towel. Doyle could move very silently when he chose to. As the last piece was put away, Bodie sighed.
"Ok, let's get on with it."
Before Doyle could respond, Bodie had moved into the living room. Doyle decided to start off, though he wasn't sure which end to start with. He told Bodie what he knew about Krieber, Marikka and Marikka's husband, Max Schuman. He described the shooting of the East German delegate, Bierman, as he watched it unfold near the hotel. He described the interview with Marikka at his flat. (Bodie had witnessed that from the garden and was strangely relieved that Doyle had chosen to tell him. It confirmed that Doyle was at least telling him some truths; but all of it?) Doyle concluded that he believed that Marikka had been set up by her husband, Krieber and also perhaps by Willis too; though he didn't know where exactly Willis fitted in. Bodie asked why – why Doyle believed her.
"When I spoke to her, she said that she believed in your innocence Bodie. She was prepared to proclaim it from the highest rooftop, even if it meant going against the KGB, her husband, her country or the whole world. I believe she meant it."
"She's an actress, Doyle," Bodie snarled scornfully.
"I think she loved you," he replied softly, still not able to look at his former friend and partner.
"And you think that makes me feel better?"
"No," Doyle replied simply. He gave Bodie time to think things over before he continued. "I believe that Krieber and Schuman also knew that Marikka was going to carry out her threat of telling everything she knew to whoever would listen. The irony is that I don't think she knew very much at all. She was just a patsy. Same as you were. Cowley wouldn't let Willis trump up a charge of murder against you so Willis' next plan was to kill you. Perhaps he meant to do that anyway and make it look like an accident, or anything else he thought he could get away with. Cowley was straining every nerve to get ahead of the game Bodie, but only Schuman seemed to know the rules."
"So who pulled the trigger – Krieber? Schuman? Willis? Or even Cowley?"
"I honestly don't know Bodie. Cowley was slightly ahead of me and to my left. It certainly wasn't him. The other three were behind me when the shot was fired. It could have been any of them. And, for the record, it wasn't me either."
Bodie got up and started pacing. Doyle continued with a sigh, "Look, I don't know very much either. I'm making wild guesses and assumptions. I think there's a deeper game here than either of us care to know about. I think we should stop asking dangerous questions. It won't bring Marikka back Bodie." He got up and put a tentative hand on Bodie's arm. Finally, he was able to look his former friend and partner in the eye. Bodie met his gaze, trying to control his anger. "And I am sorry about all this," Doyle said sincerely.
Doyle was getting very cold and tired. His mental gymnastics had worn him out and he wanted to go back to bed, but this was far more important. Eventually he asked the question uppermost in his mind from the beginning. Now, perhaps, was the time to ask it.
"Bodie, do you still trust me?"
Bodie looked at him for a long time. He was fighting anger and trying to be dispassionate. He knew that if he and Doyle didn't trust each other, then they had no future together. Doyle knew that too. Did he blame Doyle for Marikka's death? He thought he did. Now he wasn't so sure. 'You must believe me,' Marikka had screamed before she was gunned down. Doyle was asking the same thing of him. He wasn't sure he believed either of them.
"Give me time, Ray," Bodie said finally.
Doyle nodded sadly and went to bed. It was the best he could hope for. As he was crawling between the sheets, he noticed Bodie loitering in the bedroom doorway. "When you've had your beauty sleep, Doyle, you can then tell me who the hell that girl was on the towpath."
Doyle sleepily watched Bodie retreat and wondered if they might have a future after all.
Chapter 2
Bodie was restless. He went out shopping, though he didn't need much since Doyle had done most of it. He did some chores around the house, aware that he had a sleeping guest, and then the phone went.
"Bodie. Alpha One. To remind you, in case you'd forgotten, that you're due to see me tomorrow. I thought I'd jog your memory." Cowley didn't sound too pleased.
"No, sir, I hadn't forgotten," lied Bodie.
"But if you're free in the next half hour, I'll see you at my club instead."
"On my way, sir," Bodie replied reluctantly. Cowley had already been generous so Bodie didn't want to push his luck even though he was still very sore at the Cow. Doyle believed that Cowley had been trying to help not hinder but then he would, wouldn't he?
Cowley signed Bodie in at his club and led him into the dining room. "I don't suppose you've had lunch yet?"
Bodie didn't know why Cowley had jumped to that conclusion, but wasn't going to question it. There were bigger issues here. Cowley sat him down and ordered lunch for them both.
"I am sorry about Marikka, Bodie, really I am," he started off. Even to Bodie, he seemed genuinely sorry. Bodie just grunted and shifted in his chair, not able yet to look his boss in the eye – pretty much as Doyle had over what past for dinner last night. "You do know why I had to have you followed, Bodie? I don't have favourites. You know that. I couldn't let it pass. A married woman, and East German at that?"
"Why Doyle? How did you get him to swallow that assignment?"
"I didn't need to threaten him. He understood why him. He didn't like it, but he understood. He wanted – as I did – to keep Marikka between the three of us if at all possible. Did you really want another operative to follow you, Bodie?"
After some thought Bodie had to concede that Doyle was the only man for the job – rotten though it was for all concerned. "I'd like to know," Cowley insisted as lunch was served, "what happened when you came down from the gas tower."
"You mean that Doyle hasn't sent in his report yet," Bodie growled bitterly.
"After Marikka was killed there was no reason for Doyle to follow you – except to make sure that you didn't do anything wild. But that was a decision for Doyle alone. I told him that the assignment was finished as far as I was concerned. He's been reassigned, as he's probably told you." Cowley was fishing. Bodie wasn't biting. "So, tell me." Cowley was no longer giving his operative an option. It was now an order.
Bodie dug into his salad for a while before replying. Sighing deeply, he began. "I strolled off after our little drama at the gas tower and got blind drunk." Bodie waited to see if that would be sufficient. Cowley's silence told him it wasn't. Bodie knew that he could simply get up and walk out, but there would have to be a reckoning at some point so it may as well be now. Another sigh. "After nursing a hang-over next day, I went for a walk. I hadn't heard anything from Doyle. I had thought he'd come round to apologise. You know what his conscience is like. When he hadn't, I assumed that he was lurking in the bushes somewhere reporting back to you. I gave him the run-around which, it seems from what you've said, was a pointless exercise as he wasn't there in the first place." The 'if you're to be believed' hung in the air unspoken.
"Next day at the market I met this woman. We got chatting. She seemed a good listener and, I guess, I needed someone to talk to. As a total stranger, she was a good person to offload onto. I changed Marikka's name to Maria to make her sound less foreign and gave her a different story, but dead all the same." Cowley heard the pain in Bodie's voice. He waited. "The woman's name is Janet Thurston if you want to know. Anyway, the cup of tea turned to lunch which turned into a pint in the pub. It seemed that my antenna was on the blink. I just wasn't picking up her signs." Bodie looked away, embarrassed, but continued. "It turned out that she wanted what I wasn't ready to give. Christ, what did she think? I'd just spent the day telling her that my girlfriend had died. Did she really think I'd want to jump into bed with the first skirt who came my way for the asking?" Bodie looked round, aware that his raised voice was attracting unwelcome attention. He muttered an apology to his boss. The lunch had finished – though if you'd asked Bodie what he'd just eaten, he probably couldn't have told you. They adjourned to a quiet snug where they wouldn't be overheard.
"Go on," Cowley urged quietly once they'd settled.
"Well, I tried to let her down gently. But she clung like a limpet. We walked along the towpath away from the pub. She grabbed my sleeve as I was trying to ignore her and then she was going to land me one. I blocked the blow. It was instinct. But I stopped just short of punching her one. Really I did. I swear that I didn't make contact with her. Perhaps she ducked the imaginary blow, or perhaps I accidentally pushed her. In any case, she went backwards into the canal. I was angry and I thought I'd be happy to see her drown. When it became obvious that she was going to do just that, I got even more angry that I'd have to jump in and sort her out. The day couldn't have got any worse. Or so I thought. As I was taking my jacket off to get in the water this bloke dived in. He must have been close by and close enough to have seen everything. He seemed to know what he was about and as I reached to get Janet off him, I saw that the bloke was Doyle."
Bodie stopped in his narrative as Cowley sat back with an 'I see' and a distant look in his eye. Unknown to Bodie (because he hadn't yet added up the dots) Cowley had read the police report and the three statements. He had accepted Doyle's account that he and Bodie were in the pub together; that a rapprochement of sorts had been reached. It seemed though, remarkably, that Cowley was wrong in both respects. It was a salutary lesson to him not to take things at face value – even from his trusted agents.
"Go on," he said when he'd processed these new facts and rearranged the picture in his mind.
"Well, I was still very sore at Doyle. I'd kind of pushed him to the back of my mind but when I saw him again, well it all came back. I'd assumed that he was still watching me – either with your blessing or on his own account. So he could go drown as far as I was concerned. Anyway, as we were sorting ourselves out on the towpath, this copper comes along. They're always lurking about just when you don't want them to. ''ello, 'ello, 'ello,' says the fuzz, 'what's all this then?' As you know, Doyle's a fluent liar [isn't he just? Cowley smiled to himself] and he comes up with this old nonsense about the two of us – me and him – in the pub. We're strolling along the towpath, woman falls in, I can't swim, Doyle does his heroism bit. All well and plausible, but I knew Janet wouldn't go along with it. Why should she? I was the villain of the piece as far as she was concerned. Then it all got very weird. Janet went along with every word Doyle said." Bodie could see that this was certainly news to Cowley. He looked very interested indeed as his eyes bored into Bodie's. He clearly had his boss's attention.
"Well, of course, I went along with it too. I wasn't going to shoot my foot off – or my mouth either. On the way to the patrol car, I was sure Doyle whispered something to Janet. It sounded like a threat for her to continue to go along with his stories. Anyway, we made our statements at the station – all of us writing the same baloney. I paid for a taxi to take Janet home – wherever that may have been - and I took Doyle to the hospital as he'd cut himself in the canal, and the river water didn't seem to be agreeing with him either. [Cowley had read Doyle's medical report as well.] So he stayed over with me. He wasn't up to a heart-to-heart then – even I could see that – so we had a chat this morning. And it was a chat, sir, not a row. I wouldn't have believed that a few days ago, but I guess I've calmed down a bit; accepted Marikka's death." Bodie didn't seem to have anything more to say and his eyes glazed over with memories of Marikka as he nursed a cup of cold tea. Cowley took the tea off him, signalled, and a waiter shimmered into view with a fresh pot.
"Doyle's assignment wasn't only to observe, Bodie, but to cover your back. He saved your hide."
Bodie wasn't ready to accept that yet. He was still too raw. Into the silence, Cowley asked, "What did Doyle tell you?" He was very interested to know how much the very sharp and shrewd Doyle had put together.
"He told me he believed that we'd been set up by her husband, Max, and Krieber, the Cultural Attaché. And that she was prepared to yell from the rooftops all that she knew. And that sealed her fate didn't it, sir?" Cowley nodded and Bodie continued. "Doyle didn't think that Marikka actually knew very much but it seemed that any finger pointing at all, however untrue, wasn't going to be tolerated. Doyle also believed that Willis was going to kill me one way or another in case Marikka had told me anything or that I'd guessed anything. Doyle didn't know where Willis fitted in with Krieber and Schuman but warned me off asking any further questions, such as who actually pulled the trigger."
Bodie looked at Cowley expectantly. He was fishing and Cowley knew it.
"Doyle's right, Bodie. It's safer that you don't push for answers. You're not going to get any and you may get killed trying. And it won't bring Marikka back, or any justice for her. He's also right that Marikka couldn't be allowed to live. If she hadn't been killed here in England she would have returned, willingly or otherwise, to East Germany and been killed there where there'd be even less questions asked. And Willis? I don't know about him either. So leave it Bodie." Cowley was pleased that Bodie nodded assent, albeit reluctantly. He didn't like lying to Bodie but it was for his own good.
"Where's Doyle now?" Cowley asked.
"Still at my place sleeping off the effects of the River Went."
"Is he alright?"
"I'll see when I get back, sir. If he's glowing in the dark, I'll take him back to Casualty."
"Did Doyle tell you how he knew this Janet of yours?"
Bodie snorted derisively. "She's not mine, sir. Turns out she's a bit of a nutter."
"Or just very lonely?" Cowley suggested kindly.
Bodie shrugged. It seemed that he could at least entertain that theory. "I'll wheedle the Janet story out of Doyle when he's at least able to stand up and focus. It'll probably date back to his time in the Force."
Cowley nodded. There was something else he needed of Bodie. "Do you know that I've teamed Doyle up with a new recruit, Mether?" Bodie shook his head. "I could make that permanent if you want, Bodie?"
"What does Doyle want?"
"I'm asking you."
Bodie sighed and, without too much hesitation, said; "I'd like to give it another go, sir, if Doyle's willing."
"Well, providing he's not glowing in the dark and is able to wake up by Monday, I'll give you both your assignment then." The Cow seemed more confident than Bodie of what Doyle's response would be. Bodie smiled tentatively. Cowley reciprocated. It was good to have his agent back, and even better that the pair would be back in harness together where they should be. It had been a close call.
7