Wrong place, wrong time.
For once, Bodie and Doyle were on separate assignments. Bodie and Barton, a senior man, were off down to a training camp in the country. They were in competition, each leading a team of newer men, endeavouring to train them up to succeed in one of Jack Craine's very difficult assault course trials.
Doyle hadn't been included, for although passed fit for duty, he had only just come off convalescent leave after a serious injury, and their own doctor had advised against such strenuous work too soon.
So, a little reluctantly, Doyle had waved his friend off, wished him luck, and reported in for whatever his boss had lined up for him instead. He then spent a couple of boring days, going through records searching for some elusive details. But the next day he was told to report to the office
"I've a man I want you to investigate," said Cowley, and proceeded to give him all the necessary information.
And so he had spent most of the day trailing this man around, noting where he went, and who he spoke to. It had been particularly tedious, as the man didn't have a car, so Doyle had had to leave his, and follow him on foot, using the same public transport as he did.
It was late afternoon as he emerged from South Kensington Tube Station in pursuit of his quarry.
He was now beginning to have serious doubts about the man he was following. Was he really, as he seemed, sublimely unaware that he had a 'tail', or was he cleverer than he had given him credit for, and had deliberately been leading him on a 'wild goose chase' all day ?
He continued to follow the man cautiously, as he walked away along the street. Eventually they came to the Science Museum. Doyle ducked into a doorway as the man halted, stood still, and looked at his watch. He began to pace up and down, glancing up the road.
He's waiting to meet someone, Doyle decided, and made ready to take careful note of who that was.
Suddenly a silver-grey Escort came swiftly down the road. It stopped beside the waiting man, who quickly opened the door and climbed in.
Doyle barely had time to note the number plate, and some details of the make and the driver, before it shot off and was gone !
Well, that's that, he thought to himself. I've done all I can for now. He found a secluded corner, and called into base, giving them all the details he could. Now someone else could check the car-owner and take it on from there.
He was now officially 'off-duty', and facing the prospect of a long trek back to pick up his car. It would take a while, for he'd picked his man up in the morning well south of the river. He could, of course, ask to be collected and conveyed there, but he knew how busy everyone was at the moment, with so many men away on this special course.
So he decided he would have a sit-down and a nice cup of tea first, and then set off. He knew of a small café near the Science Museum and made his way there. It was very crowded, and when he'd finally got his cup of tea, and a fruit scone, he looked round for somewhere to sit.
The only empty seat appeared to be at a small table for two, which was already partly occupied by a girl. He walked towards it.
"May I sit here ?," he asked politely. "Do you mind ?."
The girl smiled shyly, and moved her bag from the seat. He sank onto it gratefully.
"You weren't waiting for someone ?," he asked.
"No, I'm not," she said. "I do not know anyone in London yet."
Her accent was soft and musical. Doyle was intrigued. "I think it sounds as if you are a long way from home," he commented in a friendly manner.
"Indeed I am," she replied.
"May I be so inquisitive as to ask where you are from ?," asked Doyle.
"My home is In Portree, on the isle of Skye," she answered, surprising him greatly.
"Indeed, a very long way from home," he said.
"My name's Ray, Ray Doyle," he continued, as he held out a friendly hand across the table.
His gentle words and friendly smile charmed her, and in a moment she was telling him her story.
"My name's Fiona McKay," she began. "I'm a fully-trained children's nurse. I trained in Edinburgh, and worked there for a couple of years. Then the family I worked for emigrated. I applied for a job here in London, and now I'm working just along the road. She named an Embassy, and Doyle knew it for one of a small country, under British protection.
"I think I've heard of the Ambassador there," he said. "Senor Torenz, Isn't it ?."
"Yes," she said, very pleased to find that he knew of it. "His wife is British, and lives there with her daughter and sons."
"But his family are all grown up," queried Doyle. "A children's nurse ?"
Her laugh was soft and musical, amused by his puzzled look. "Yes, they are," she agreed. "The two sons work with their father, as does his son-in-law. They are all away at the moment, for there is considerable un-rest in their country."
"I think I read something about that in the paper," said Doyle. "But go on, please."
"Their daughter has just had a baby, a dear little boy called Robert, only four weeks old. But he is a very delicate child, and is going to need 24 hours a day nursing for some months."
"You're not doing it all, surely ?," asked Doyle.
"Oh, no," she replied, "Nanny, who used to look after Miss Patricia and her two younger brothers, has come out of retirement and is caring for him during the day, while I do the night duty. Later, when he grows stronger, she will retire again, and I'll be in sole charge."
"Sounds as if you're doing a very special job," said Doyle, quite impressed by this quietly-spoken girl, so far from home.
Emboldened by his friendliness, she ventured to ask a favour. "Mr. Doyle," she said, "Perhaps you could help me with something ?."
"Certainly, if I can," he replied instantly.
"I need to find some shops, a chemist, a super-market," she explained, "but I don't know where to go."
Doyle understood immediately. The shops in the Kensington area were not what she needed. They were far too up-market.
"Let me think a minute," he said, and delved into his wide knowledge of London to work out something that would be easy for her to do and remember, until she found her feet a bit more. At last he settled on his best thought.
"Right," he said, "I'm going to take you somewhere suitable, and make sure you know how to go there yourself another time."
"But, Ray," she protested, "I cannot ask you to spend so much of your time for me."
"Why not ?," he replied, with a cheerful smile. "I've finished work for the day, and I choose to help a friend."
So although she did protest a little more, he did exactly as he had said he would.
He led her to the right bus-stop; made sure she took in the correct bus number, sat by her, and told her exactly which stop to ask for. Then he patiently escorted her round the super-market he had located for her, while she made several feminine purchases. Then he supervised the journey back, making sure she knew which bus, where to catch it, and which stop to get off at, to be back where they had started.
He insisted on walking her back to the Embassy, and brushed aside her profuse thanks, saying truthfully that he had enjoyed doing it. He was hoping he would get the chance to ask to see her again, on a purely friendly basis. He had the strongest urge to show her round his London, to take her places she would enjoy.
They approached the solid Embassy building, but Fiona led him past that.
"I have my own entrance," she said. "The nursery wing is like a little flat on its own."
They came to where a few steps led up to a door. Fiona began to feel in her bag for her keys, when there was a sudden turn of events.
Two men shot up from the steps leading to the basement, and began pushing them up the steps. The door in front of them opened, to reveal a man in combat fatigues, cradling an automatic machine gun !
They were hustled in and the door was closed behind them. Quick hands ran over Doyle and relieved him of his gun and radio-phone. He was powerless to resist, for he knew from experience that the pressure on the back of his curly head, was the muzzle of a gun.
One of the men snatched his I.D. from his inside pocket and handed to a tall dark-haired man, who appeared to be his leader, uttering a few words.
"He's some sort of policeman," he said. "Shall I get rid of him now ?."
Doyle stood stock-still. He didn't know the language his captors were speaking, but he did know, with absolute certainty, that just at this moment, his very life hung in the balance.
The leader studied the I.D. for a moment. "No," he replied, "If he's police, he's had hostage situation training. He could be useful."
The pressure of the gun-muzzle moved away, and Doyle breathed again.
The leader stuck the I.D. back into Doyle's pocket, and tapped him firmly on the chest. "You keep the women calm," he said in his stilted heavily-accented English, "Understand ?."
Doyle nodded, spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
He and Fiona were hustled forward along the short hallway and further into the flat, into the main room. The first thing they saw was an older woman, looking very scared, sitting down with one hand on the large cot, which held the baby, who seemed to be asleep.
Fiona started forward. "Nanny, are you all right ?," she asked anxiously, "And Bobby ?." she gazed down at the child.
"He's fine, he hasn't stirred," said the older woman, "but I don't understand what is happening."
"Neither do I," replied Fiona. "But we must look after him."
The leader came closer, and pushed Fiona to one side. She was all ready to re-act, but stopped when she saw the expression on his face, as he gazed down at the tiny sleeping infant.
"Baby," he said carefully. "He is not well ?." Fiona nodded. The man reached down into the cot and one gentle finger stroked the pale cheek.
He turned, and, in his own language shot a string of fierce words at his man, standing in the doorway, with his gun trained on the captives.
They had no idea what he was saying, and would well have been surprised if they had, for his fierce order to his man was "Do nothing to prevent them caring for the child."
He swept out, followed by two of his men, leaving the one standing in the open doorway, with his machine-gun at the ready.
Fiona turned to Doyle, looking very anxious. "Ray," she whispered in a rather shocked voice, "Do you know what's going on ?"
"I've a pretty good idea," he replied. "You said there was unrest, and that the Ambassador and several of his officials were away, presumably trying to sort it out. I think these men are part of the rebel group, who have seized this opportunity to invade the Embassy, to capture the staff and remaining officials, plus the ambassador's wife and daughter."
"What will they do ?," asked Nanny.
"Make a lot of demands, I expect," explained Doyle. "Release of rebels in prison out there, changes in the laws, that kind of thing."
"What about us ?," asked Fiona. "What do we do ?."
"Nothing," replied Doyle instantly. "There will be a great deal of talking and negotiation going on. It will take a lot of time."
He turned to look at the man on the door, taking in the scowling expression on his face, and the eager way he was clasping his gun.
"The leader seems a fairly sensible type of man, but I don't like the look of this one. He looks like a fanatic, and could be dangerous. We must do nothing to annoy him. But I don't think he understands English."
He turned back to the two women, who seemed to have instantly accepted his control of the situation
"Now," he said, "Give me some idea of the lay-out of this flat. Is that door the only access ?."
Fiona nodded, so he continued, "Connection to the main part of the building ?."
"The door opposite, across the hallway," replied Fiona.
"The rest of the flat ?," he queried.
"Kitchen," she said, pointing to an alcove, sealed off with a heavy beaded curtain. Turning, she indicated two doors on the opposite side of the large room. "My bedroom and the bathroom."
Moving very slowly, and keeping an eye on the man at the door, Doyle moved towards the first door and opened it. He made no attempt to go in, remaining in full sight of the watchful guard. It was a compact room with a divan bed, a small dressing table, and a neat wardrobe. He closed the door again and moved towards the bathroom. It was a bit of a surprise. It was quite a large room, dominated by a huge free-standing cast-iron bath. When the flat had been modernised, it had been decided not to get rid of this old-fashioned treasure. As there was plenty of room, they had left it 'in situ', and had added a neat modern shower cubicle in one corner.
Doyle eyed the bath speculatively, pleased to have seen it.
He had not been totally truthful with the women, as he was trying to keep them calm and relaxed.
But he knew from experience that it was British Government policy not to accede to demands made by terrorists. It was very much on the cards that there would be an attempt to re-take the Embassy by force, and his total aim was to do anything he could, to keep the child and his two nurses safe, if such an event took place.
For he also knew that frequently, a thwarted terrorist, in a final show of bravado, could spray bullets indiscriminately, regardless of any innocent lives he might take. And the man on guard at their door, watching them intently, looked as if he could be such a man.
Replete with a nice lunch at a country pub on his way back, Bodie had finally arrived in London, early afternoon. He drove into the yard at C.I.5 Headquarters, parked his car neatly, and made his way in to report to his boss, Cowley He was feeling good, for although he and Barton had both worked extremely hard, training up their respective teams, when it came to the actual trials, his team had triumphed, albeit just by one point ! It had been a very enjoyable exercise, and he was looking forward to telling his team-mate all about it.
He knocked at the office door and was called in. He made his report with considerable enthusiasm. He was a little disappointed that Cowley didn't make any comment. He seemed a little abstracted. Perhaps there was something going on that he hadn't heard about yet. But Cowley didn't enlighten him. I'll find Doyle, he thought to himself, and get him to bring me up to date.
He turned to leave. As he reached the door, he turned back. "Where do I find Doyle, sir ?," he asked, thinking Cowley might have sent him to Records, or the Computer Centre.
"I wish I knew," replied Cowley tersely. That brought Bodie up short.
"His car's in the yard," he said in a puzzled tone.
"I know," replied his boss. "I had it fetched in. It was parked in Croydon, which is where he picked up the man he was trailing, on foot."
"When did you last hear from him ?," asked Bodie, a little anxiously.
"Tea-time, day before yesterday," replied Cowley. "The man he'd been trailing was picked up by car outside the Science Museum in Kensington. Doyle gave us the number and a description of the car and driver, and then signed himself off."
"And you haven't heard from him since ?," said Bodie incredulously.
"No," said Cowley. "I've had calls and enquiries made, of course, but there's been no trace of him."
"That's very odd," commented Bodie. "What can he be doing ?."
Actually Doyle was doing very little. He knew very well there was very little he could do, yet. But his mind was racing over all the possibilities of what he might be able to do, if the opportunity arose.
To his considerable relief, for he'd had little time to eat during his day trailing that man, they had been fed.
The door across the hallway had been opened to admit another of the terrorists, cradling his gun, and propelling before him a small man bearing a large tray loaded with three covered dishes. The little man hurried forward to deposit his load on the table, and turned anxiously to the two women.
"Madam and Miss Patricia are very concerned about you and the child," he said, looking from one to the other.
"We are quite all right, Anton," replied Fiona quickly. "You may tell them that we are looking after Bobby very carefully, and my friend, Ray, here, is looking after us."
The new man with the gun hustled the little man back out, allowing him no more conversation. He went back through the door to the main part of the building, followed by the original guard.
The new man took up his stance in the doorway, and scowled at them in a very unfriendly manner.
Nanny and Fiona uncovered the dishes, and the cutlery, and the three sat down round the table to eat.
"That was Anton, the chef," she explained. "He's been with the family for years. We get a main meal sent from the kitchen every evening. Breakfast, lunch and tea we deal with ourselves."
Doyle kept the conversation very light as they ate, for there was no way he could tell how much English their new guard might understand. But he was very anxious to talk seriously with the women about what might happen.
So he was quite relieved when, some time later, the door opened again, and a different man, wearing an apron was brought in to collect the empty plates. He didn't say a word, and was looking very scared.
But when he left, the second guard went with him, and the original man took up his stance again. Doyle was pretty sure that he would not understand what he wanted to tell the others.
Nanny went to the cot, and did what was necessary for the baby, feeding him and changing him. The man at the door watched stolidly, but made no attempt to stop her as she went into the other rooms, the kitchen and the bathroom.
But when she had the child settled again and returned to sit down with the other two, she was unable to stifle a yawn. Fiona immediately looked concerned.
"What are we going to do, Ray ?," she asked. "At this time, Nanny usually leaves. She has her own bed-sit in the main building."
Doyle looked towards the forbidding figure in the doorway. "I can't see us explaining that to him," he said.
"I don't want to go," came the surprising reply from the older woman. "They might not let me back again, and Bobby will need me tomorrow." The other two looked at her in some surprise. The older woman was showing remarkable calm and resilience.
"I will need to rest though," she said. "Fiona, may I use your bed ?."
The younger girl was impressed. "We're in this together, Nanny," she replied.
Nanny stood up, walked to the door of the bedroom and opened it. She turned to look at the watchful guard, and putting her hands together and bending her head over, mimed 'going to sleep.' To the great surprise of the other two, the man nodded his head, and waved her to go in. He had understood that, at least. So she went in, and closed the door.
Doyle realised that he had missed his chance to talk to both the women, to reveal to them his occupation, and to alert them to his fears. But having second thoughts, it might be just as well, for nothing was likely to happen immediately. There would still be a lot of talking and negotiation going on, somewhere up in the main building, and maybe he shouldn't arouse their fears just yet. But his active mind was thinking through what he could tell them, and how soon.
Fiona went over to the cot and looked at the baby. Satisfied that he had settled nicely, she turned back to Doyle. "What about you, Ray ?," she asked. "I slept this morning, as I usually do. But you've been working all day."
"I am getting a bit tired," he admitted. "Maybe I ought to try to catch some rest, so that I'm ready for whatever tomorrow brings." Fiona was gazing round the room with a slightly puzzled look.
"Oh, don't worry about me," said Doyle, "I can sleep anywhere. If I move that rug over by the radiator, I'll curl up there for a bit." She found him a pillow, and a light blanket, and with these added comforts he was soon fast asleep, curled up like a child. She dimmed the lights, and got on with her job of caring for the delicate baby through the long night hours.
Doyle woke to the smell of coffee, and the sounds of a table being laid. He glanced at his watch, and was surprised to find that he had slept the whole night through. So evidently nothing untoward had happened.
He ran his hand over his chin regretfully. The ladies would have to put up with him looking a bit rough, for he doubted whether there would be any facilities for him to shave in this very female environment. He got to his feet, shot a quick glance at the man on the door, and then made his way into the bathroom. He could at least have a wash. When he came out, he looked again at the man on the door, and got the familiar scowl.
"Has he been here all night ?," he asked.
"No," replied Fiona, "Another man was here soon after you went to sleep, and this one's just come back."
That pleased Doyle, for he was sure he could speak in front of this one, and he needed to talk to the ladies soon
Nanny and Fiona, working together, had produced cereals and toast and marmalade for breakfast, and they all sat down to eat it. Doyle engineered it, so that the chair he took possession of left him with his back to the man, just in case. He wouldn't hear him if he spoke quietly. He waited till breakfast was almost at an end, and they began to rise to leave the table.
"Ladies," he said quietly, "May I ask you to sit a moment longer ? I know you are ready to go off to bed, Fiona, but I have to talk to you. And I want you both to keep perfectly straight faces, as if it was an ordinary breakfast conversation. Try not to show shock or fright at what I'm saying. He watches so closely."
Nanny nodded gently. She was remarkably calm.
"Whatever you say, Ray," said Fiona with a faint smile.
So he told them first who he was, and what he did for a living. Then he went on to tell them about his fears about a surprise attack, and what might happen. "It's most likely to be at night," he said, "Though it could happen at any time for they like the element of surprise. They may be talking to them at the moment, but there is no way they'll give in to terrorist demands."
He nonchalantly helped himself to the last bit of toast, and buttered it. "Try your hardest not to show shock at what I'm going to ask you to do when it happens. It may sound odd, but I do know what I'm doing, and your lives may depend on it."
To his great relief, they were doing as he had asked, and behaving in a very normal fashion. Fiona even poured herself some more tea, and sipped it, but her eyes showed she was all attention to every word.
He told them exactly what he wanted them to do, and when he finished, they both nodded agreement.
They all got up from the table. Fiona retired to the bedroom. Ray helped Nanny clear the table. Then he washed up the dishes in the little kitchen, making quite a lot of noise about it, so that the man on watch would know what he was doing.
Nanny got on with her tasks for the care of the baby, who, as a complete innocent, was behaving most naturally of all of them.
Doyle came back into the room. He was feeling very frustrated by the enforced inactivity. He had looked hard at the man on the door, considering whether there was some way he could get the better of him, and make for the door to the outside, which was so tantalizingly close. But he had reluctantly given up the idea, first because he had no guarantee that the door wasn't locked, but mostly because he had realised that there was no way he could leave the women and the child. He had to be patient, to wait till there was some action, and then to do the best he could to protect them.
Bodie will be back from the country by now, he thought. He'll be wondering where I am. Well, they all will, and they'll no doubt be searching, but they won't have any clue where to look. He was right, of course. C.I.5 always made extensive efforts when one of their own went missing.
Bodie was talking about it to Murphy. "Where the heck can he have got to ?," said Bodie.
"We haven't found a trace anywhere," replied Murphy. "His last report came from Kensington, didn't it ?. You've heard about this terrorist siege going on there, I suppose."
Cowley had been kept well informed about what was happening there, but his force had not been asked to become involved.
"Yes, I've heard about it," replied Bodie. "But I can't see any reason to suppose Doyle is involved in that. Why would he be ?"
"I don't know," agreed Murphy, "But it is a bit of a co-incidence, isn't it ?."
And with one voice, they both echoed their boss's favourite saying.
"We don't believe in co-incidences."
Doyle passed the time during the long day by becoming 'Nanny's little helper'. He helped her set up the little bath on its stand, carried jugs of water from the kitchen to fill it, and watched as she very carefully gave Robert his bath. He was surprised at the size and fragility of the little infant, but Nanny assured him, that although small he was making good progress. She very soon had him dressed, fed and settled again.
Doyle cleared away the bath, thinking to himself how his friends would laugh when he told them about what he'd been doing. If I get the chance to tell them, he thought sombrely.
Nanny offered him the 'freedom of the 'fridge'. It was well-stocked and Doyle occupied himself by concocting a tasty lunch for them both.
The guard on the door was changed from time to time, but none of them spoke to them, and no-one else came near them, until much later, when Fiona was up again, and their evening meal was delivered.
They sat together and enjoyed it, keeping the conversation trivial as there was a different man on the door. But when the dishes were collected and removed, their regular man was back again.
"You will keep in mind what I said," queried Doyle, and both women nodded.
"Good," he said, "For it could be tonight." And he was right. It was exactly midnight when things began to happen.
Muffled by the closed door across the hall, but still audible, a burst of gunfire sounded from somewhere in the main building.
Doyle was instantly awake. He did not move, but lay still, tense as a coiled spring, waiting his moment. It came quickly.
The startled guard, who had been leaning on the doorpost, idly watching Fiona moving about as she tended to the baby, straitened up. He looked totally astounded and confused.
He turned, moved across the hall, and opened the other door. The noise of gunfire was suddenly so much louder.
Doyle seized his chance, was up on his feet, across the room and behind the beaded curtain in a flash. Out of the corner of his eye, as he dashed across, he saw Fiona move swiftly to the big cot.
The bewildered guard then re-acted as Doyle had feared. He turned back to look in the room. When he realised that none of those he was supposed to be watching were in sight, he went berserk. He advanced further into the room and started spraying bullets round indiscriminately !
They rattled the bead curtain, all but demolished the flimsy bedroom door, and tore through the open door of the bathroom, 'pinging' noisily off the large cast-iron bath.
Doyle left his hiding-place, shot across the room, and brought the man down with a flying rugby tackle. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. For a few seconds the man's finger remained on the trigger, and bullets shot in all directions round the room, embedding themselves in the walls or ricocheting off more solid objects. Doyle used all his skill to wrench the gun from the man's hands, to stop its deadly fusillade.
At last he succeeded. The firing stopped as the gun landed on the floor. But the man was a tough customer and it took Doyle quite a while to overcome him. At last he got a break and delivered a blow that finally knocked his opponent out.
He was quite out of breath and exhausted, but he managed to do a bit more. He dragged the man out into the hallway, then came back in and shut the door. He fetched a chair from the table and wedged it under the door handle, as there was no key to lock it.
Then he picked up the gun, checked it, and took up a good position, covering the doorway. The door would not hold long if there was a determined assault upon it, but he would hold any assailants at bay as long as he could.
The sound of gunfire still came sporadically from the main building, but as he crouched ready and listened, it gradually ceased.
There was no sound from either of the other rooms. He hoped this was a good sign, meaning that the ladies had obeyed his instructions not to re-emerge until he told them it was all right to do so.
The waiting seemed to go on for ever. Then suddenly a hammering on the door startled him. A very English voice yelled, "Are you all right in there ?."
His relief was tremendous. He shot over to the door, yanked the chair away and opened it. The sturdy dark-clad figure revealed was very re-assuring. He thrust the gun he was holding into the man's arms, turned and ran towards the open bathroom door.
"Fiona," he yelled, as he entered, and was immediately relieved to see her head as she sat up in her hiding-place, the solid cast-iron bath, the baby cradled safely in her arms.
"We're all right," she said. "Nanny ?"
"I'll check," said Doyle. He dashed round to the damaged bedroom door, and entered, calling "Nanny, are you all right ?."
A hand appeared from the far side of the divan-bed, and a voice answered him. "I will be, if someone helps me up," replied the brave older woman. He moved round and helped her to her feet.
"Fiona ? Bobby ?," she queried anxiously. The pair of them hurried back in time to see Fiona being helped out of the bath by two men, one of whom looked as if he might be an officer.
"I have two ladies very anxious to come down here," he said, "But I had to check first." He turned to his man. "Sergeant," he said, "You may go back now, and escort the ladies here. Tell them that everyone is fine."
"Thanks to Ray," said Nanny. "He told us what to do."
The officer turned to Ray, with an enquiring look. "Who are you, sir," he asked.
Doyle produced his I.D., which the man scanned quickly.
"C.I.5 ?," he said, "I didn't know your lot were involved."
Doyle quickly explained who he was, and how he came to be there. "We're not involved," he said, "I'm here by accident."
"A very lucky accident for these ladies, I think," commented the man.
They were interrupted by the sudden invasion of two concerned-looking ladies, who hurried across the room. Fiona instantly surrendered Bobby into his mother's anxious arms. There was a lot of gentle conversation as four women fussed over the precious child.
Doyle took the opportunity if their preoccupation to speak to the man who appeared to be the officer in charge. "Did you happen to find a radio-phone and a hand-gun, ?," he asked hopefully. "They took them off me."
"Oh, those are yours, are they ?," replied the man. "Yes, I know where they are. Come with me and I'll find them for you." He led the way out of the room, and took Doyle to one of the main rooms were the missing items lay on a shelf. Doyle pocketed them gratefully.
"You're limping," said the man suddenly, "What have you done to your leg ?"
Doyle looked down and saw the stain on his jeans. He sat down on the nearest chair, and pulled the hem up a bit. "It's not that bad," he said, inspecting the deep score above his ankle. I must have copped a ricochet without realising it."
"Do you want to go to First Aid ?," the man enquired.
"No," replied Doyle quickly, "Our own man will see to it. I've got to go ! I'm already two days AWOL."
The man grinned understandingly. "I hope your boss is a reasonable man, and will listen while you explain."
"Depends what kind of mood he's in," retorted Doyle.
"Hang on a minute, though," said the man, "and I'll get a driver to drop you back."
Doyle thanked him for this help, and a little while later saw him walking down the yard towards the door at C.I 5's Headquarters. He was pleased to see, as he passed it, that his car had been recovered and brought back. The doorman admitted him, looking rather surprised to see him.
"Is Cowley in ?," asked Doyle, for it was still early morning.
"Yes," replied the doorman. "I think he stayed overnight."
The lift was working, so Doyle went straight up to the top floor, and walked along to his boss's office, encountering no-one on the way. He knocked and was called in. Cowley lifted his glance from the file he was looking into, and started visibly as his gaze fell on his dishevelled operative.
"Where the heck have you been ?," he demanded.
"It's a long story," said Doyle, feeling suddenly rather weary.
Cowley, getting over his first shock, swept his man with a searching gaze, taking him in from top to toe, from the untidy growth of beard to the stained trouser-leg.
"Sit down," he ordered gruffly. "I'll get you a drink and then you can tell me."
So Doyle proceeded to tell him his story. How he'd met Fiona quite by chance, how when he escorted her back to the Embassy they'd both been captured. He told how he'd spent the last two days in the nursery wing of the building, keeping a very watchful eye on the menacing guard set to watch them.
"Then last night," he said, "the Special Forces moved in and sorted things out. I grabbed the one chance I got, to have a go at the guard, and managed to take him out. Then I waited, ready to defend the ladies if necessary, but it all worked out all right, and none of us were hurt."
"Except you," said Cowley pointing to the blood-stained leg of the jeans.
"That's only a scratch," said Doyle. "I don't even remember it happening. I'll get to have a look at it."
Cowley had a feeling, correct, of course, that he hadn't heard the whole story, but he could see that his man was too tired to say much more.
"Right," he said, "You get off home now, get yourself cleaned up, have a rest, and then report back here this afternoon."
Doyle rose from his seat gratefully and left, going down in the lift again. He still had his car-keys, so he slid into the familiar seat and set off.
As soon as he had gone, Cowley was on the phone. He wanted to hear more about this siege at the Embassy. He felt there was more to know. And he learned a lot. He was put in contact with the officer in charge, and learned from him how Doyle had saved the women with his instructions, telling the one to grab the baby and hide, lying flat in the huge cast-iron bath, and the other to roll off to the far side of the divan bed. Actions which had kept them unharmed when the terrorist had sprayed bullets everywhere.
Bodie coming out of Records, casually glanced out of the window down in to the yard where all the cars were parked, then looked again as he saw Doyle's car pulling out and going off. He spotted Murphy coming out of Cowley's office, and grabbed his arm.
"Doyle," he exclaimed, "Is he back ? Is he all right ? Where's he been ?,"
Murphy disengaged his arm from the fierce grip. "Yes, he was here a few minutes ago," he confirmed. "As to where he's been, do you remember our conversation about co-incidences ?."
"The Kensington business !," said Bodie. "Well, I take back all my doubts about Cowley not believing in co-incidences. Does he have second sight or something ?."
"Is Doyle all right ?," he went on, "I'll call him."
"I shouldn't." said Murphy, "He's gone home for a rest, but he'll be back this afternoon, so wait and see him then."
Back at the Embassy things were settling down again. Fiona and Nanny had elected to stay where they were, as all the baby's things were there. Discreet repairs would be carried out around them, to deal with the damage, fortunately not too bad, that the flying bullets had caused.
Their shared experience had caused the two women to lose entirely the slight sense of rivalry they had had before, and they were now on the best of terms.
As they sat over a cup of tea, Fiona spoke rather wistfully. "I never saw Ray go," she said sadly. "He saved our lives, Nanny, and I never got a chance to thank him." Nanny nodded.
"I liked him, didn't you ?," said Fiona.
"Very much," replied the older woman. "And he liked you, my dear. I really shouldn't worry," she added thoughtfully. "Just be patient till all the fuss dies down, and I'm very sure he'll find a way to contact you again."
"Do you really think so ?," said Fiona and her face brightened.
A shave, a shower and a change of clothes did wonders for Doyle. After a rest and a self-prepared meal, he felt more himself. In his hurry to get back to the comfort of his own place, he'd forgotten to call in on the doctor, but the shower had revealed that, as he'd said, the injury was only minor, and his own first-aid was quite enough.
As ordered, he returned to Headquarters late that afternoon. He tapped on Cowley's door and was called in. As he moved to enter, Bodie shot out of the rest room and joined him in the doorway. He couldn't resist teasing his mate.
"You're a fine one, aren't you ?," he said with a grin, as they moved into the room. "Leave you for five minutes and you get into trouble."
"It was hardly my fault," protested Doyle, "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Cowley, who had heard this exchange, looked up from the paper he had been studying.
"Quite the contrary," he declared. "The grateful people at the Embassy think that, for them, you were very much in the right place at the right time."