Dilemma

by Halcris

An army officer seeks help for a despairing friend, and there are far-reaching consequences.

Dilemma.

Ted Dutton rose from his desk and strolled over to gaze out of the window of his poky little office. The view was not inspiring, being mainly of the dark walls of old warehouse buildings. But the bright sunshine reflected his mood.

It was almost a year since he had left the Army, and returned home to help his aging father with the family firm, importing coffee from Colombia. He hadn't really wanted to give up his career, but he had become very concerned about his father's state of health. It seemed to him that he had gone down rapidly after the death of his wife, three years ago.

So he had come home and had set to work to improve the small firm's business. He had spent some money on a trip out to Colombia, and had managed while there to find two more coffee growers who were keen to find an outlet for their product. Contracts had been drawn up, and he had returned home. On the strength of the promised supplies, he had rented more space, and taken on some more workers.

And it seemed to be paying off. The first consignment from his new contacts had arrived three weeks ago. It had been of excellent quality and had sold well. Another delivery was expected in two days' time. If the standard of quality was maintained it looked as if the firm would be doing so much better.

And what pleased him more than anything was that the promise of it all had given his father a new lease of life. He was taking a real interest now and coming into the office more frequently. His health had really improved too.

So, all in all, life seemed pretty good. Little did he know that things were about to change, and his peace would be shattered !

Half-way through the next morning, a girl came up from the warehouse below. "Mr. Dutton," she said, "You have a visitor."

And she ushered in a gentleman who stood in the doorway behind her.

Dutton jumped to his feet, very surprised, for his visitor was one of the contacts he had made on his visit to Colombia

"Senor Perez !," he exclaimed. "I am so surprised to see you. I hope nothing is wrong ?"

The olive-skinned man beamed widely, as he stepped forward to shake Dutton's hand.

"No, Senor," he replied, "I think all is well with our business. No, I am merely a visitor."

Dutton ushered the man to a seat, and looked at him enquiringly.

"I will explain," continued his smiling visitor. "I am an excited tourist on his first visit to London. I have a relative, a distant cousin, who has property in London. He was coming to complete a sale, and asked if I would like to come with him. As I have never travelled to Europe. I seized the chance eagerly."

"Of course," said Dutton, "What a splendid opportunity for you. I hope you enjoy your visit."

Just then they were interrupted by the girl from downstairs who had come to ask if they would like refreshments.

"Tea or coffee, sir ?," she asked politely. Dutton looked enquiringly at his guest.

"Do you know," responded Senor Perez, "I have developed a liking for your English tea. May I have that ?"

"Of course," replied Dutton hospitably. He nodded to the girl and she hurried away, to return a few minutes later with a loaded tray.

As they settled to enjoy their break, Perez began to talk.

"Now to tell you the real reason for my visit. I come with a hope to help one of my workers. He is Rico Gomez, a 17-year-old boy still at school. His father, Enrico was my right-hand man till he retired. Rico works part-time for me. He is a clever boy and is saving all the money he can, for he hopes to come to London to study. His mother is English. Ill-health forced her to come home but she keeps in touch with letters. She lives in London with her daughter."

Dutton listened to the story politely, wondering what would come next. He hoped that his guest was not going to ask him to subsidise the boy. The firm was beginning to do well, but was not that affluent yet.

"But the poor lad has met with a set-back. Three months ago, sadly, his father died. It has made him even more determined to succeed in his dream. In the meantime, he has been putting together some souvenirs for his mother. Photos, some of the funeral which she could not attend, some of happier earlier times, and most importantly, letters, his father's last ones to his wife and his daughter. He had assembled a neat little package, sealed and addressed, ready to post. Then, a few days ago, he came to me in great distress. He had lost the package. Together we searched high and low, and others helped, but we could not find it. Then the boy thought of a possible answer.

"Senor," he said to me, "It might be possible that it dropped from my pocket when I was working on packing the crates going to England."

Perez stopped for a moment to allow this thought to sink in, then continued.

"So Senor Dutton, I come to ask a favour. Please will you allow me to be present when the crates are un-packed, in case it is true. ?"

Dutton had been listening with interest to this story and was moved to grant the odd request.

It would be very nice if they could restore his lost treasures to this unhappy young man. Personally, he thought it was rather a long shot, but it would do no harm to look.

"I wouldn't mention it to anyone else," suggested Perez, "It would be disappointing if it all came to nothing."

Dutton nodded. He thought personally that that would be the likely outcome but it wouldn't hurt to try.

So he agreed and it was arranged that Senor Perez would come in the following afternoon, by which time the crates should have arrived.

He arrived on time, accompanied by a rather morose-looking man whom he introduced as his driver. Dutton led the way down to the warehouse floor. There were four large crates sitting there and workmen with tools were just moving forward to prise them open. Soon there was much activity round all four crates as workers moved in to extract the contents. Packet after packet was lifted out and carried away to different corners of the space to be re-packed in the appropriate quantities to fulfil their orders, ready to be sent out to different places all over the country.

Then came a break-through. One of the girls, busy unloading, picked up a small packet she didn't recognise. She carried it over to her boss.

"Mr. Dutton," she said in a puzzled tone, "I don't know what this is."

But the two watching figures did, and pleased smiles lit their faces.

Dutton looked at the neat item in his hand, which felt like a pack of papers. It was neatly sealed and addressed to a Senora Gomez, with an address in East London.

He turned to his visitor. "Success, Senor Perez," he said cheerfully and handed it to the man.

"Wonderful," replied Perez, "I will see that it is posted, or I may even deliver it myself. It would be nice to see Senora Gomez again."

He declined the offer of hospitality, gave repeated thanks for Dutton's help and departed. Dutton returned to his office to get on with the paper-work with a feeling of satisfaction at the happy outcome.

The next day the consignment from his other client arrived and was very satisfactory. The coffee it contained was made from a different variety of bean. Dutton was pleased about that. It would give his customers a wider choice. He tried it himself and was impressed, thinking it would be well received.

So all was going well and the future looked promising.

Then, without warning, came the fateful day when his world came crashing down !

The third of the consignments from Senor Perez had arrived on time and was duly being unpacked.

Then un-expectedly there was a knock on his office door.

It was opened and in strolled Senor Perez followed by the man who had accompanied him before.

"Senor Perez ?," exclaimed Dutton in a startled tone, "I didn't expect you."

"I have come to introduce you to Moreno," said Perez, indicating the morose dark-skinned fellow beside him. "He will come regularly to collect the package."

"What package ?," queried Dutton, totally bemused.

"Why, the one contained in our consignment, of course," replied Perez.

"But we found that last time," protested Dutton, "The boy's letters."

To his astonishment, Perez and Moreno looked totally blank.

"What are you talking about ?," Perez looked at him straight-faced. "We know nothing about any letters."

Dutton stared at him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. But with his training and experience in the army he was not a stupid man. Quite suddenly, he saw the whole scene.

"Drugs !," he exclaimed. "You're smuggling in drugs."

The expressions on the two faces before him confirmed it.

"No ! No !," he shouted, "This has to stop. I am not getting involved with drugs."

"You are involved," retorted Perez. "The first package was only small, but by the time it was divided out and 'cut', it made over a thousand pounds."

"But I thought it was letters," protested Dutton.

"Who will confirm that story ?," asked Perez with a smirk.

And Dutton recalled that he had been persuaded to tell no-one.

"I'll go to the police," threatened Dutton desperately

"Will they believe you ?," queried Perez. "Half your work-force saw you hand the package to me cheerfully, without duress."

"And what will the police do ?," he continued, "They'll arrest you, and close the firm down. And what will your poor father do then ?"

Dutton collapsed onto his office chair, feeling utterly defeated. He had been well and truly 'stitched up'.

Perez turned and spoke a few words to Moreno. The man immediately left the office and went down to the warehouse floor where the workers were busy unloading the crates. He searched quickly for one bearing a tiny special mark, and stood beside it. When it was half empty a different package came to light. He grabbed it quickly, and left, hurrying back up the stairs to the office.

He only came as far as the office door. He stopped there, showing Perez the package, he held. Perez nodded, then moved towards the door. He turned and spoke a last word to Dutton.

"Think very carefully, Mr. Dutton," he said, "and don't do anything foolish. Consider the consequences for your poor father."

Dutton did not reply. There was nothing he could say. The picture was all too clear. Unless he accepted it, he would face total ruin. And the shock of that might well kill his father.

He didn't know how long he sat slumped in his chair. He was only roused when the girl bringing his morning coffee knocked and entered.

Desperately, he made a determined effort, and pulled himself together. He must keep this dreadful situation to himself, until he could think more clearly.

He was only partly successful.

"Are you all right, Mr. Dutton ?," queried the girl, noticing her employer's strained look.

"Yes, thank you," replied Dutton, "A bit of a head-ache, that's all."

"Perhaps the coffee will help," said the girl sympathetically as she left.

If only it could, thought Dutton.

He didn't know how he got through the long dreary afternoon, but somehow, he did. The rest of the consignment was skilfully un-packed and re-allocated as usual. To the busy work-force everything was going normally.

Eventually it was home time, and Dutton could close his office and go home. He didn't know how he was going to face his father, but fortunately he was spared that. A note on the kitchen table informed him that his father was going to a local whist-drive with his friend from the day-club, and would be staying overnight with him.

Looking at the calendar on the wall, Dutton suddenly remembered that he had a date tonight too. Once a month regularly he met up with a friend he had made while in the army. They met for dinner at a military club, and ended up with a night at the bar. Usually he thoroughly enjoyed these sessions, in spite of the resultant hango, but tonight he was tempted to ring up and say he couldn't make it.

Then he had second thoughts. Why not ?, he told himself. If he drank hard enough, he might earn himself a few hours of oblivion, an escape from the nightmare he was presently living. So he pulled himself together and made the effort.

Jack Ferguson was at his military club, waiting for his friend Ted Dutton, to arrive. They had become good friends while serving together. He personally thought it was rather a shame that his friend had left the army. He had been well on the way towards a good career. But he couldn't fault him for putting his father's needs before his own.

And to give him his due, Dutton had set to with a will, and was making a success of the business. Last time he had seen him he was cheerful and growing into a confident business-man.

So he was rather shocked when his friend turned up, a bit late, and walked in to join him. Dutton was not the same man ! He looked pale and drawn and full of nerves.

"Hullo, Ted, "he greeted him. Then anxiously added, "Are you all right ?."

"I'm fine," replied Dutton, trying to respond better, "Just a bit of a headache."

Jack could see this was not the whole truth, but he forbore to push any further. But he watched carefully as they ate their meal. He enjoyed it, as he always did, but his friend toyed with the treat, behaving as if his mind was elsewhere, and only half emptying his plate.

They retired to the comfortable lounge with access to the bar, and found a comfortable secluded corner.

Ted was usually quite a leisurely drinker, so Jack was surprised when his first order was a double scotch. And even more so when his friend tossed it down rapidly, and immediately ordered another.

Something was very wrong !

He decided he would hold off no longer. He rose from his comfortable armchair, and went over to his friend. He reached out and grabbed him by both arms

. He shook him quite fiercely and held him so that he had to look him in the face

"Ted," he said in a fierce whisper, "Something is very wrong with you, I can see. I'm your best mate. Tell me, please."

It was all too much for Ted. With almost a sob, he shook himself free and collapsed back in his chair, his head in his hands.

"You're right, Jack. Something is wrong, very wrong. I'm in a terrible mess and I don't know what to do."

And with an unstoppable torrent of words he poured out the whole story.

Jack listened to his friend with steadily mounting dismay. As the details emerged a growing anger was added.

How could something like this happen to a man as honest and upright as Ted Dutton ?

He knew that he and Ted shared a strong dislike for the drug scene and all the misery it brought. For him to be so tricked into involvement was dreadful, and beyond belief.

At last Ted finished his account, and collapsed back in his chair, utterly spent. But in an odd way, telling his friend about it had brought some slight relief.

Although he could see no way that Jack could help, at least his friend's concern and sympathetic understanding eased his despair a little.

Jack was silent for a long moment. Then he reached forward to lay a hand on his friend's arm.

"What a mess, Ted," he whispered, badly shaken by the revelation, "But there has to be a way out of it. There has to be !," he repeated, as much to re-assure himself as his friend.

"I can't see it," said Ted dully.

With a tremendous effort Jack pulled himself together, instinctively knowing that he must stay strong for his friend.

"Ted, don't despair," he said firmly. "Let me think about it for a bit."

Then he pulled his friend to his feet, putting a supporting arm around his shoulders.

"I'm going to see you home now," he continued, "and I want you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid. It will be an effort, but do your best to carry on as normally as you can. I'll keep in touch."

Ted nodded, and allowed himself to be shepherded back to his home. He had little hope that his friend would be able to do anything, but somehow telling it all to him had helped a bit. He slept through sheer exhaustion.

Jack Ferguson retired too, but sleep eluded him. He lay awake for a long time turning his friend's plight over and over in his mind.

He tried desperately to think of anyone he knew who might be able to help. He had lots of army friends in various different units, but this wasn't their scene.

Then suddenly something crept into his mind, a memory of a conversation he had heard in the mess one wet afternoon.

Several officers were laughing and joking about a man they knew. A chap who had been a mercenary out in Africa, but had come back to join the army, and had risen meteorically, becoming first a 'para', and then in the S.A.S.

Some of them were expressing surprise as they told their colleagues that they had heard he had now left the army and was working with some rather specialised group.

What was his name ? Cody ? Coley ? No, Bodie, that was it !

He sounded as if he was something special, and so did the group they said he was working for, some sort of 'secret police' by the sound of it.

Might drugs be something they would be interested in ?.

Maybe they could do something. But how could he get in touch ?

Then a slight idea came into his mind. He knew one of the men who had been talking about Bodie quite well. Perhaps he could help. He knew the man went more often to a different officer's club. He would go there tomorrow in the hope of finding him.

So the following afternoon saw Ferguson talking to the man he had thought of, seeking his advice.

"I very much want to get in touch with this man Bodie." he explained.

"That's not so easy," said the man thoughtfully. "They tend to keep a low profile, anonymity for security reasons, you know."

His brow was furrowed in thought. "I have no idea at the moment who I might ask for you, but if I do come up with anything. I'll contact you at your club."

As he was speaking, he was gradually ushering Ferguson across the large wide hall towards the door.

Ferguson thanked him anyway, hiding his disappointment as well as he could and reached out to push the swing door in front of him.

Suddenly, his arm was grabbed and an excited voice was whispering in his ear.

"This must be your lucky day !," the man said, as he pointed across the wide hall. "That's him, over there !"

"What ?," exclaimed the startled Ferguson.

"That's him," repeated his informant. "That tall dark-hared man following that older man down the private back corridor. They must be going to see Colonel Tranter. He has an office down there where he keeps a lot of military records."

"Thank you," gasped Ferguson as he hurried across the floor after the fast disappearing pair.

As he turned the corner Ferguson saw his quarry standing as if on guard outside an office door.

As he moved nearer Bodie stepped forward to bar his way.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said politely, "This is a private area. I must ask you to leave."

"It's you I want to speak to," said Ferguson agitatedly.

But Bodie wasn't listening. He was moving forward steadily, trying to urge Ferguson back.

"Please leave, sir," he repeated.

Desperately Ferguson blurted out a few more words.

"I was hoping for your help for my friend who has been tricked into smuggling drugs," he begged.

The last word had an effect and Bodie stopped in his tracks.

For the last few weeks Cowley had been driving his agents mad with his continual grumbling about the state of the drugs scene in 'his city'

The police, the Drugs squad and even C.I.5 waged a constant war on this. Every so often there would be a rush of action, when numbers of 'dealers' and 'pushers' would be removed from the scene. But no sooner had they gone, than others moved in to take their places, and the slight improvement was wiped out. And to their intense disappointment, all their efforts usually failed to get them any nearer to the men they really wanted, the 'big money' men, the importers and distributers.

Bodie suddenly saw the chance of a new lead. If it led somewhere, Cowley would be interested. He thought fast.

"Look," he said, "I can't talk now. I'm working. Do you know a pub called the Black Horse in Lambeth ?."

"I'll find it ," gasped Ferguson, finding a glimmer of hope.

"Meet me there about 8 tonight," said Bodie. "I'll listen then."

He swung Ferguson round and gently propelled him back the way he had come.

"Now go," he ordered, "before I'm in trouble with my boss."

Ferguson took the hint, turned and retreated, as Bodie resumed his post outside Colonel Tranter's door.

He drove straight to Landsdowne Road, and made his way up to Dutton's office. He quickly hid his dismay as he looked at his friend. The man looked so down and beaten. I do hope I've done the right thing, he thought.

"Come on, Ted," he said, "I think I've found someone who might help you. We're meeting him tonight."

Dutton roused a little at these hopeful words, as his friend continued. "Do you know a pub in Lambeth, called the Black Horse ?," he asked.

"Yes," replied Dutton instantly, "I have a cousin who lives in Lambeth, and I think that's where we went on his stag night."

"We'll find it then," replied Ferguson cheerfully, and went on to make arrangements to pick his friend up later in the day.

And as it turned 8 o'clock, the pair duly entered though the door of that establishment. They paused in the doorway for a moment as Ferguson's eyes sought anxiously for his quarry, and found him, over in a far corner.

He led the way over to where Bodie was sitting in a well-chosen secluded booth. The tall man rose to greet them, and politely asked what they would like to drink. Both settled for halves of lager, and having ushered them into seats, he went off to get them, leaving the other occupant to initiate introductions.

"Hi, I'm Ray Doyle," began the quiet curly-haired man. I work with Bodie."

Jack Ferguson completed the introductions, giving his name and that of his friend, Ted Dutton.

Bodie returned with the drinks, accepted the names, and all four settled down quietly. He had spent quite a while earlier, persuading his partner who had had other plans, to come with him

"It sounds interesting," he had wheedled," and if we come up with a new lead we'll score 'Brownie points' with the Cow."

"And get him off our backs," said Doyle, finally convinced.

Bodie initiated the conversation,

"You said something about someone being tricked over drugs," he began, "What was that about ?"

It was all Ted Dutton needed. Something about the two men facing him impressed him greatly.

"I was tricked," he blurted out, and proceeded with a torrent of words to tell his story. The pair listened quietly as he related how he had left the army to help his father, to resuscitate the coffee importing business, how he had gone to Colombia to drum up more business, and thought he had succeeded.

Them he went on to tell them the story, fed to him by Senor Perez, about the boy and his lost letters, and how he had been foolishly sympathetic enough to believe it.

Finally, in emotional words, he told of his shock on the second visit of Perez and the man Moreno, when they had callously told him bluntly of the situation he had got himself into, denying the former story, and warning him of the consequences if he didn't comply with their plans.

"I can't go to the police," he gasped out finally, "They will swear I was in on it from the start. They said they could put false money into my bank account to confirm it. If I went to prison, it would kill my father."

He collapsed back in his seat, his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do," he moaned.

It was Doyle who responded first.

"Don't despair, Mr. Dutton," he said re-assuringly. "I've a feeling that our boss will be very interested in your story. I think our next step is to tell it to him."

Dutton's head came up. "Do you think something can be done ?," he asked eagerly.

"Well, you have given us a new 'lead' and those have been in very short supply recently," replied Doyle thoughtfully.

"A 'lead' is just that, something to follow, which hopefully will take us on to further revelations, more important facts."

"What do you want me to do ?," asked Dutton.

"Nothing !," replied Doyle quickly. "Try to behave completely normally. Protest feebly, but give the impression that you have begun to accept the situation, because of fear for your father."

"Don't try to contact us," Bodie put in quickly, "We don't want to alert them. We'll reach you if we need to."

The group split up then.

Bodie and Doyle, off-duty, stayed for another beer, then made their way home, talking over on the way exactly what they would say to Cowley in the morning to engage his attention.

Ferguson took his now much calmer friend home. He hoped he had done the right thing. But both he and his friend had been impressed by the two men they had met. They now had a little hope stirring, a hope that something would be done.

Both Bodie and Doyle were in early the next morning, anxious to tell their story to Cowley, and at the same time a little nervous about how it would be received by their strong-willed boss.

When they knocked on the office door and were called in, they were very relieved to find that Cowley appeared to be in a calm, relaxed mood.

So Bodie took the first step.

"Sir," he said, "We would like to tell you about something we learned last evening."

Cowley looked from one man to the other and registered the intent look on both faces.

"Important to the work we do ?" he queried.

"We think so, sir," said Doyle quickly.

"Go on then," replied Cowley. So Bodie began his report.

"A man called Ferguson contacted me. He was seeking my help for his friend, Ted Dutton."

"Dutton ?," Cowley interrupted, "That's a strong army name. I met a Major Dutton some months ago."

"Probably a relation," put in Doyle, who had done some research. "Dutton and his father are both ex-army , and he has two uncles and several cousins in the service."

"We met them last night," continued Bodie, "and heard Dutton's story. He is a man desperate with a real dilemma."

By now Cowley was intrigued, and let them continue without further interruption.

Between them Bodie and Doyle related the story that Dutton had poured out to them, including the deception of the letters, the subsequent denial of this and the strong threats as to what would happen if their victim went to the police.

As the tale unfolded, the shrewd Scotsman relaxed back in his chair and listened intently.

"Dutton hates the drug scene," said Doyle at last, "But his first concern is for what will happen to his father."

"Commendable," commented Cowley.

"And he has given us a lead," added Bodie eagerly, "Two new names that we can follow up."

"They will certainly be followed up," agreed Cowley, "but not by you two."

Bodie looked very taken aback. He had been looking forward to some interesting new enquiries with some success at last.

Cowley explained,

"Moreno and Perez don't know you," he said, "but they are very small fry and new on the scene. They will have contacts much further up the chain, and many of them will certainly know you and Doyle. We are after the top men and we don't want them alerted before we are ready. I'll put agents on it they won't know and warn them to be excessively discreet."

Taking in Bodie's downcast look, he added a rider.

"Don't worry," he said, "When it eventually comes to a showdown you'll be part of it."

To be on the safe side he sent them off on some totally different enquiries. Bodie was decidedly irked by this and grumbled a lot, but Doyle pointed out to him that their boss did have a point.

"It's going to take time for Moreno and Perez to be followed up," he said, "so we might as well do something useful while we wait."

But their shrewd boss wasn't waiting. He immediately made his choice of operatives who would be the best ones to investigate Moreno and Perez, using the utmost caution, and got them started.

Riley and Carter were quickly on the job. They were very careful with their enquiries but soon were handing in very informative reports.

Perez had told the truth about one thing. He did have a distant cousin in the property business, and he and Moreno were living in one of the flats he owned, a small but serviceable place in Lewisham. Their enquiries revealed that while Moreno stayed there all the time, Perez did not. He was absent for two or three days each month. As these days were found to coincide with the dates of deliveries to Dutton's. they followed a hunch, and checking discreetly, found that as they had guessed, Perez paid quick visits back to Colombia, presumably to oversee the packing of the drug packets into the designated crates.

As the days went past, and they were kept constantly busy on other tasks, Doyle and especially Bodie, began to wonder what was going on. Hearing nothing began to irk them.

So much so, that as he was handing in his latest report to his boss, Doyle, risking a rebuff, ventured to enquire. Fortunately, it paid off.

"It has been careful and slow," said Cowley, "But progress has been made.

We are now sure that Perez and Moreno are very minor players. They are not involved in processing or dealing with the stuff. In fact, they are no more than messenger boys, seeing that the drugs arrive, collecting them and delivering them elsewhere. So the next big step is to follow Moreno, to see where he takes them and to whom. And that must wait for the next delivery, which is not till the day after tomorrow."

He looked at the two agents before him, and sensed their supressed impatience.

"I know you are eager to follow this up, but a false step could lose us everything."

"And put Dutton in danger," added Doyle.

"I wouldn't want to do that," exclaimed Bodie, "He seemed a very decent man."

A couple of days later, Riley and Carter were ready to begin their task. Having been well warned about not alerting their quarry, Carter had the car and Riley was on his motor-bike, so that they could vary and change places as they followed Moreno.

Moreno duly emerged from Dutton's warehouse clutching his package. He made no attempt to conceal it, climbed into his car and set off. Riley eased his bike into the traffic to begin the 'tail', while Carter followed at a discreet distance.

After a while the pair began to feel that their careful precautions had been unnecessary. Moreno made no attempt at evasion, and seemed totally unaware of their presence. Well, thought Carter to himself, either he's a clever 'pro' or he's such an amateur that he hasn't thought that he might be followed.

He found out later that the second part of his thought was the truth. Perez and Moreno were complete beginners and had only just started their life of crime.

Moreno led them down into the area of the docklands, extending along the banks of the Thames.

He eventually pulled up out side a very large imposing building, one his followers knew well.

Brettner's was a very large warehouse, housing a thriving business. The owner, one Louis Brettner, was continuing the profitable business his father had begun many years before. Old and broken tractors were cheaply bought, repaired and refurbished, and sold on to the Middle East and Africa.

But Louis Brettner was not the upright, honest hard-working man his father had been. He took little personal interest in the business, leaving it in the hands of the long-serving work force and the conscientious and efficient managers, most of whom had worked there for years.

Brettner lived a very extravagant social life, and there were strong suspicions as to how it was funded.

But he was not an importer, as many drug lords were. Only once a year did the firm hire a ship to take tractors to South Africa. The trade with the Middle East and Europe was done with road transport, using huge container lorries. These were regularly examined and checked and nothing suspicious had ever been found. The firm's reputation was extremely good.

Carter managed to slip into a convenient parking place almost opposite the gate that Moreno appeared to be making for.

Because of its very valuable contents, Brettner's had a pair of large metal mesh gates, electronically controlled by a gateman in a small office.

But Moreno went towards the gateman's office, and was evidently recognised, for the man rose and opened the small side gate to let him in.

But to the watching Carter's surprise, Moreno did not go to the main door, which was next to the office, but carried on along the side of the large building and disappeared round the corner to the back and out of his sight.

At this point, his partner Riley joined him and he told him about this very annoying observation.

"I can't see where he's gone now," he complained bitterly.

"There must be something round the back, out of our sight," said Riley.

Then he had an idea. "There's that big block of flats", he said.

The flats, only a couple of years old, had been put in when an old warehouse whose roof had collapsed, had been demolished, and the site re-used.

"If I can get up to the roof of those flats," said Riley with some eagerness, "I should be able to look down and see what's round the back of Brettner's."

He hurried off to attempt this, leaving his partner to watch out for Moreno's re-emergence.

Carter sat quietly to await his partner's return. After a while he saw Moreno emerge, let out by the gateman. As he was now empty-handed there was little point in following him. They knew where he lived anyway. So he made no move. And it was lucky that he had made that choice, for as he waited for Riley, he observed two more men turn up to be admitted by the ever-watchful gateman. One he didn't know, but he had the feeling that if he looked in Records, he might find the other, as there was something vaguely familiar about him.

Then his car door opened and Riley slid into the passenger seat.

"Find anything ?," asked Carter.

"I think so," replied Riley, "There's a building out behind the main part. It's a fairly new single storey large pre-fab. I didn't see Moreno, but I saw another man, carrying a package, go in there."

"Interesting," said Carter. "I think we'd better get back to base right away and make our report to Cowley."

"Agreed," said Riley and shot out of the car to return to his parked Yamaha, as Carter turned his key in the ignition and set off.

Cowley had been studying the report put in by Carter and Riley. In made for interesting reading and evoked much speculation. He decided to bring Bodie and Doyle back in on the case. He had no doubt that Doyle's quick mind would pick up the same thoughts that it had given him.

He called them in, handed them the report and waited as patiently as he could while they read it.

He was not disappointed by Doyle's response.

"Crafty beggar !," he exclaimed, " I wonder who thought that up ?"

Seeing his partner's blank look, he explained.

"In the short time Carter was watching, three men went in. Think how many that could mount up to in a week."

Bodie caught on quickly. "And although each is only bringing in a small amount, the total could be huge !."

Cowley was secretly impressed, though he said nothing. His best team had brains as well as physical prowess.

"And the cleverest thing about it is that it is so discreet," went on Doyle, "so simple that it's beneath the notice of people like the police or the drugs squads."

"I'd like a look in that building," said Bodie, "I bet it's a little drug factory, cutting and re-packing the stuff ready to go out on the streets."

"More than likely," agreed Cowley. "But," he added firmly, "for the moment that is pure speculation."

Reluctantly. Bodie and Doyle nodded in agreement.

"There's got to be proof," said Doyle thoughtfully, "and if possible, some way of positively connecting Brettner into it."

"I've been checking on Brettner," said Cowley. "As an only child, he inherited the firm when his father died. He doesn't show much interest in it, rarely goes there. Married once, divorced ten years ago, and no children to inherit."

"Apart from his extravagant life-style," commented Doyle thoughtfully, "there's nothing to suggest he even knows about it."

"So all we really know," said Bodie, in a disgusted tone, "is that stuff is delivered there. "We don't even know how it comes out and is distributed."

He began to pace about the room, exhibiting the signs of his frustration. Angrily he turned back to face his partner and his boss.

"So what can we do about it ?," he demanded.

"Very little," said Cowley. "The only option is 24 hour surveillance of both Brettner and the visitors to the firm, and I resent the need to deploy so many of my men on this."

Nevertheless, he went ahead and set up the action. As results would take some time, he put it to the back of his mind and got on with other work.

But the following day he got an unexpected break-through. Carter asked if he could have a word, and came to the office.

"Sir," he began, "I was sure I recognised from somewhere one of the men I saw go into Brettner's. I've been searching through Records. It has taken a while because he's changed his name. I knew him as Wilson, but now he's calling himself Robinson. He's done time for drugs offences, and so has the man he's now working for. He's called Carson, and he runs a very small firm, importing Panama hats from Ecuador. Sells them to men's outfitter's and markets."

"Interesting," said Cowley. "Good work, Carter, though I'm not sure how it will help us much. We are likely to find several small firms involved either voluntarily or coerced as Dutton has been."

"I've thought about that, sir," said Carter eagerly. "This is a tiny firm, and only has stock imported twice a year. As they have only just made a delivery, they won't be expected to go there for another six months."

"I see," exclaimed Cowley, his shrewd mind catching on quickly, "So if they were picked up in the meantime, they wouldn't be missed."

"Yes," said Carter, "and as he's already got a record, Robinson might well be persuaded to be helpful, don't you think ?."

Cowley quickly went into action on this suggestion.

A few days later, he called Bodie and Doyle to meet him at the Interrogation Centre. He hadn't given them any further information, so they arrived feeling decidedly curious.

They entered the stark briefing room, where their boss was waiting, and saw seated at the table, a rather sullen-looking man they did not recognise.

"Gentlemen," began Cowley in a deceptively amiable tone, "meet Miles Robinson, who is going to help us." The name meant nothing to them, so they waited for their boss to continue.

Robinson scowled at the three men facing him.

"I don't know why I'm here," he grumbled. "I haven't done anything."

Cowley turned to his agents to enlighten them.

"He was seen taking a nice little package into Brettner's," he explained.

"So what ?," snarled Robinson.

"But we were watching someone else doing the same," said Cowley mildly, "and we know what was in his package."

Robinson slumped back in his seat. He realised now the trouble he was in. These men knew too much. Rapid thoughts raced through his mind. Was there anything he could do ? A sudden idea came to him. He sat up quickly and put on the best smile he could manage.

"I could tell you a lot you would like to know," he said, "for a small favour."

"With your record you are hardly in the best position to ask for a deal," retorted Cowley, "but I'm listening."

"I've wanted to get out of this scene for ages," began Robinson, "I've a brother who runs a garage in South Africa. I could go there and work for him legit."

"What about your boss ?," asked Cowley.

"Have you looked at him ?," demanded Robinson, "He's a sick man. He lives on pain-killers. He won't go to the doctor's because he knows it will be the worst news. He hasn't got long. So it is going to stop soon anyway."

Cowley assimilated all the man had said. The man was very small fry, and if he could give them real information, it would hardly matter if he just disappeared.

"What can you tell us ?," he said at last.

"The building round the back of Brettner's," began Robinson.

These first words immediately grabbed the interest of the men listening. Since Riley had reported on the mystery building he had seen, they had been extremely curious about it. So they listened expectantly as the man went on.

"At first sight it looks like a storage room, labelled boxes piled up and shelves with all kinds of spare parts for the tractors. But one set of shelves conceals a hidden door, which leads into the back room. And that holds a busy little drugs factory. That's where the stuff we take in is cut and mixed, and sorted into small packets ready to get distributed."

"Who takes it out ?," demanded Cowley.

"Brettner himself, of course," replied the man, eager to tell all he knew. "He comes, late at night, on the last day of the month and takes away all that is ready."

This last item was especially gratifying to the listening trio. Brettner was involved, and might well be caught in the act.

Doyle had a sudden thought.

"How come you know all this ?," he questioned. "Surely it was kept pretty secret, wasn't it ?"

"Because I made it my job to find out," replied Robinson with a smug grin. "I thought it would be something useful to know when Carson 'popped his clogs'."

"So you planned a bit of crafty blackmail," commented Bodie.

"I don't know all of his dealers and pushers," went on the voluble man, "but there are account books and lists in the back room, so I expect the names are all there."

Cowley was taking in all this information and looking very thoughtful. His shrewd active mind was already considering the options for his next moves.

"I think that's all I can tell you," said Robinson at last, an eager look on his face, "but it is useful, isn't it ? And worth a bit of consideration ?."

"I am making no promises," said Cowley, "But something might be arranged. In the meantime, you and your boss will have to put up with our hospitality."

He turned to Bodie and Doyle.

"Take them and see to that," he ordered.

The pair hurried to do just that. They knew very well that Robinson needed to be kept secure, for the devious man was just as likely to play both sides and alert Brettner, if he was free.

They returned to Cowley's office, keen to find out what would happen now. But their boss dismissed them.

"We have a few days till the end of the month," he said firmly, "I will call a briefing session when I am ready."

He already had the beginnings of a plan in his mind, but would take his time to work out all the finer details. Having come so close, he wanted to be absolutely sure. He did not want the risk of Brettner slipping through his fingers because of a careless oversight.

Two days later, Cowley called a select few of his top teams to a briefing session. When all were settled and listening intently, he began to inform them of his plans.

"Acting on the evidence we have accrued, we will make a late-night raid on Brettner's. As we do not require a warrant, we will enter first to secure the building round the back, and to prevent Brettner from leaving. The Drugs Squad and the Metropolitan Police will follow and take over the proceedings. The investigations that will be required are likely to be long and extensive and much more in their line than ours."

He then went on to give precise orders, assigning specific tasks to different men, and bringing all of them up to date on what had been learned from Robinson.

Finally, he dismissed them, ordering total secrecy. There must be no risk of Brettner being fore-warned.

"There will be another session here the same time tomorrow," he said, "at which I will expect to deal with any questions or queries you may have. But not a word outside these walls."

With quite a lot to think about, the group filed out.

Bodie and Doyle followed their boss back to the office. Bodie had a scowl on his face, and Cowley noticed.

"You have a problem, Bodie ?," he asked.

"This started out as our case," Bodie blurted out, "and you've given it away."

Cowley stared at his disappointed agent, knowing how keen an 'action man' he was.

"Did you fancy weeks and weeks of paperwork then ?," he asked mildly, "day after day checking on all his customers, and his dealers and pushers."

Bodie hadn't considered that aspect. It was not inviting.

"Besides, I have something else lined up for you two," their boss went on.

"I have negotiated an amnesty for Dutton, as it was his reluctance to handle drugs that brought this all to light. As soon as Brettner is safely in custody, you can pick up Moreno and Senor Perez. We'll deal with them, personally."

Bodie's face brightened at once.

"That's more like it," he said happily.

Doyle and Cowley exchanged glances, sharing a moment of understanding of this impetuous man.

The following day's briefing was well used to iron out minor queries and to finalise things in meticulous detail. And because of this, a couple of nights later, it all went beautifully to plan.

A considerable number of watchers, hidden by the darkness of the night, saw Brettner's big black car sweep up to the large metal gates. These were instantly opened for him by the man in the gatehouse. The car shot in and disappeared towards the back of the main building and out of sight round the far corner.

The gateman closed the gates, and settled back in his chair to read his paper. A sudden click alerted him. It sounded as if his small side gate had been opened. Surprised, he rose from his seat, and went to look. He stepped out of his office and was shocked to find himself gazing down the barrel of a gun !

Anson completed his delegated task by pushing the man back into his office and into his seat, and then standing over him, to ensure he did nothing to alert Brettner.

Meanwhile, several dark-clad figures edged along the wall of the main building, moving cautiously towards the corner. Two waited close to the office, ready to complete their assigned task at the right moment.

They were listening intently. The sound they were waiting for, was the purr of Brettner's big car.

It swept back round the corner towards the gates. Brettner was expecting the gateman to jump to it and open them for him. It didn't happen !

He jammed the brakes on and pulled to a halt.

He was totally shocked when both the front doors of his car were pulled open and he was faced with men pointing guns at his head. Murphy and Jax had timed their intervention exactly as planned.

Brettner, complete with his priceless cargo, would not disappear into the night.!

Cowley, with Bodie and Doyle and several others at his heels, moved forward, close to the wall of the main building. Reaching the corner, they halted and peered round cautiously. There was no-one in sight, so they advanced towards the door of the building before them.

It was not locked, so alert for any re-action they eased it open. Nothing !

Emboldened, they swarmed in. The room was just as Robinson had described it, ostensibly a store room, with piled boxes and shelves lined with spare parts for machinery.

It took only a few seconds to locate the fake shelving that concealed the hidden door. They opened it and moved in, to find what looked surprisingly like a small science laboratory.

They met with three startled and scared faces, but no resistance !

Cowley stood by the door and gazed round, totally satisfied with what they had found. He moved towards a nearby shelf and leafed through the book he found there. A comprehensive account book, complete with dozens of names and addresses.

Dealing with all this evidence would bring an end to this particular villain's business, and ensure he received the prison sentence he deserved.

But interesting as this work would be, it was not for C.I.5 and his men !

Reluctantly, he pulled out his radio-phone and made a call to the other forces waiting outside.

Within moments the whole place was swarming with dozens of eager men, some in uniform and some not.

Murphy and Jax relinquished their prisoner into the hands of a couple of burly policemen, and re-joined the gathering group of C.I. 5 men.

Cowley led the group towards the gate.

"A very successful night's work, gentlemen," he said, "Well done !"

He dismissed them all except Bodie and Doyle.

His next words were rather whimsical, unusual for him, perhaps because of his pleasure in a successful operation.

"Since you have lost half your night's beauty sleep," he began, "I suggest you go and do the same for Senor Perez and Moreno. You know where they live.

Take them to the Interrogation centre, into charge of whoever is on duty, and meet me there at !2 tomorrow. A few hours worrying should do them good."

He smiled inwardly at the pleased looks that crossed the two agents faces, as they swept off eagerly for this task.

At that time of night there was little traffic on the roads, apart from late night party-goers, so they made good time to the suburb where their quarries lived.

They parked the car in a quiet side street and made their way towards the block of flats.

But as they approached the door, what they saw was annoying. Although the flats were far from modern, the owner had taken the safety measure of having a security door fitted. Disturbing that would arouse all the occupants.

Bodie pulled a face as he turned to his mate.

"Fire escape ?," he suggested.

"Bound to be," replied Doyle, and as one, they turned to find the alley that would take them round the back of the property. And sure enough, there was a fire escape, old and slightly rusty but still sound.

"They are on the second floor, back right," said Doyle, as they swiftly climbed up the iron steps. Access was easy. With a little easement, they were in and found themselves on the second-floor landing. They approached the door they were looking for. Easy again, a simple Yale lock, which yielded silently to their skilled ministrations.

They stood for a moment in the narrow hall, eyeing the various doors to assess which led to bedrooms. Sounds of loud snoring immediately identified one, and deciding which was the other only took a second.

They took up their stance outside the two doors, drew and checked their weapons, and on a count of three, entered.

Finding that his target was not the snorer, Doyle guessed correctly that it was the younger man, Moreno. He moved to the side of the bed, and sat down on the edge, shooting his free hand out to cover the man's mouth.

The eyes of the startled man shot open.

"Moreno," said Doyle, with menace in his voice, "We are going on a little trip, so I suggest you get some clothes on. But not a sound, if you please."

Moreno, though scared stiff, was not a fool, and a gun pointed at his head was sufficient to make him do meekly as he was told. He slid out of bed and dressed quickly.

Bodie was equally successful with Senor Perez. The loud snores stopped abruptly, as a hard hand poked his chest. He shot awake quickly and stared at the tall hard-faced man beside his bed, and especially at the gun pointed squarely at him.

"My boss would like a little chat with you," said Bodie mildly, but his tone was ice-cold. "I suggest it would be rather rude to go visiting him in your pyjamas."

He glared at the startled man before him. His mind was recalling the distress of that decent man, Dutton.

"Get up and get dressed," he snarled, yanking the covers off the cowering man.

A few minutes later Bodie and Doyle met in the narrow hallway, each driving a cowed prisoner before them.

"I suggest we leave the way we came in," said Doyle, "no need to disturb the other residents."

All went smoothly after that. They hustled their prisoners back out of the window, down the fire-escape, and round the corner into their waiting car.

Half an hour saw the job completed. The two subdued men were handed over to the staff, alerted by Cowley, at the Interrogation Centre.

And two satisfied agents were on their way home, hoping to catch up on a few hours sleep, before reporting to their boss later.

A few minutes before !2, Bodie parked his car out the Interrogation Centre, and he and Doyle entered the building. They found their boss standing in the hallway.

"Go down and get Moreno and Perez into a briefing room," he ordered briskly. "I have to make one more phone call. Then I'll join you."

The pair hurried down the dark stairs, collected the two men from a holding area and shepherded them into a briefing room, furnished with a table and chairs.

They pushed them into seats, then stood back by the doorway to wait for Cowley.

The two seated men eyed their captors warily. Then Senor Perez found his voice.

"Who are you ?," he demanded angrily, "what do you want with us ? I'm a Colombian citizen, just a visitor. You have no right to treat us this way."

Neither Bodie nor Doyle replied. They did not as yet know what line their clever boss would take with these two. Because of the amnesty he had arranged for Dutton their names had been removed from the lists that the police and the drugs squad would be dealing with. But both of them knew very well that Cowley would not let them go scot free. The cruel deception of Dutton had angered him considerably.

Cowley swept into the room. He had a very satisfied look on his face. His phone call had won him the result he wanted.

He turned to his two waiting agents.

"I'll speak to them privately," he announced, "Wait outside. I'll call if I need you."

Very surprised, the two obeyed, exchanging a puzzled look as they went out, closing the door behind them. What was the 'old man' up to ?

Doyle had a scowl on his face.

"I wish sometimes Cowley would let us in on his plans," he grumbled, "He keeps them all to himself."

"Let's face it, Ray," replied his mate, "We're just 'hired hands'. To do what we're told."

They waited for ten minutes, before the door opened and Cowley stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He issued brisk orders.

"Take these two back to their flat. Let them pack a few belongings. Then take them to London Airport. Don't let them out of your sight till you've seen them onto a plane."

"Which plane, sir ?," Bodie ventured to ask.

"Whichever one they choose," snapped Cowley tersely, and strode off down the corridor.

The pair stared after him. Didn't this just confirm their earlier words ?

However, they opened the door, collected two very shaken and subdued -looking men, shepherded them upstairs and out to their car. Considerably puzzled, they took them back to where they had brought them from, and stood over them as they hurriedly put a few possessions together.

Then they took them to the airport, and watched them board a plane, and saw it take off.

"I thought they were from Colombia," said Bodie, with a puzzled look, "but that plane is going to Argentina."

"Are you going to question the boss about that ?," said Doyle. "I wouldn't dare. We've followed orders, and that's it, as far as I'm concerned."

They returned to base and put in a short report. Cowley was not in, so they left it with his secretary, and went off-duty.

When they reported in next morning, the notice board merely said report to Cowley. They hurried along the corridor, tapped lightly and were called in.

To their great relief they found their boss in a much better mood. He was holding several reports in his hand.

"Developments," he announced. "First, Brettner's will be all right. A cousin, one John Brettner, an established business man from Bradford, is coming to take charge. So the firm will go on as usual."

He turned to deposit that report in the 'out tray' on his desk.

"Next, the drugs squad looked for Carson and found him in a hospice, and Robinson appears to have left the country."

That report followed the first, done with.

The third paper was their report.

"I see that nasty pair opted for Argentina. They are welcome to them.

I couldn't give them to the police without involving Dutton," he said, "So I gave them some options, including being deported back to Colombia where their own police were waiting for them. Evidently they chose to cut and run."

He turned to his desk and picked up a final folder.

"A nice job for you this morning," he said, "You can go and see Dutton and tell him his troubles are over. Perez's firm has been taken over by the workers, who are going to run it as a 'co-operative'. And it will be clean."

This was good news, and the pair lost no time in making their way to see Dutton. As they relayed the news to him, the relief on the man's face was a real pleasure to see.

As he read the folder they had handed to him, he gave a wide smile.

"It says that the manager, Fernandez is taking charge. I have met him. His grasp of English is a little odd. He made me laugh, but he's an honest man. I liked him."

He turned to Bodie and Doyle.

"I'll never be able to thank C.I 5 enough," he said.

"You should thank your friend who chased after me," said Bodie. "Without him we would never have found out about what was going on."

"Oh, I will indeed," replied Dutton. He knew he owed his friend a real debt of gratitude for what he had done.

Then three pleased men sat down to a minor celebration, as Dutton called his office girl and ordered coffee and cakes.