Achilles' Heel

A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

Chapter 4

Andy makes an unexpected stand.

From the makeshift bed Andy Strawbridge blinked up at the chink of blue sky and resigned himself not to seeing its full expanse again in the way you could from the rig or his cottage. Or to feel the bite of the wind, rain or snow. The sun, when it did appear in this area, was special - warm and bright, glinting off the sea and turning the hills into a patchwork of muted colours. That would be missed, too.

Andy shut his aching eyes and tried to think clearly around the fog of whatever they'd doped him with. His weakness had given these people leverage and they'd left a trail of false evidence through his life which would ruin him.

He'd taken their beatings and questioning, in between giving them the run around. He'd bought himself and Bodie some time but now they'd left him with the means to carry on what they'd begun. Resisting them, he'd held out into a third day. But Andy was long out of practice for much more punishment and now came the crunch. Fight back or submit?

However strong, whatever his training, instinct, his morals told him, he no longer had the urge to break out of this stupor, let alone climb up to that hole in the roof and widen it to escape. His head was thumping; he was battered, cold and tired. Andy thought he'd left this feeling behind with the regiment and now he couldn't fight anymore. He had no reason to.

But he could set up one last act of sabotage.

Better that it ended now. This, the past, the drinking. The trouble he'd put others to. Especially Rachel, she'd taken enough. She could find a better partner and not be disappointed and unappreciated. He pictured Rachel, the times they'd been through together, good and bad. 'You are what you are, Andy,' she'd told him, as she packed her bags. 'I can't do any more.' But she was still there, despite his moods and drinking. Maybe there'd been a chance for them after all.

No, it was all gone now. There'd be no going back.

Andy reached for one of the bottles. He was going to make sure these bastards didn't get what they wanted. But he was sorry that the plans, which could have made such a difference to the men he worked with, wouldn't happen until there was a bigger push for safer systems on the rigs.

"It's not very good whisky, you cheapskates!" he yelled at the door. "But it'll do its job. You want me plastered? Well, I'll go along with that. Just be careful what you wish for!" The man added blankly to himself, "I'll make sure your little scheme backfires."

He hesitated and then took a swig. The liquid tasted bitter and burned in his reluctant throat but he took another and another.

-oo0oo-

"Mr Mallen? He's started."

"Good. Keep an eye on him, Higgs. Let me know when he's plenty drunk and we'll have another go."

"Yessir."

The thickset guard returned to his post outside the locked room. He peered through the grille and could just see his captive, hunkered into a corner. For the few moments he watched, the up and down motion of a scotch bottle was steady and methodical.

Higgs grinned to himself as he sat down and opened a newspaper. This was a completely different way of getting what they wanted.

Just menacing people usually worked. If not, a good beating did the trick with the more stubborn businessmen that his boss wanted to 'persuade' and Mr Mallen didn't even need to be involved. The local oil industry knew him to be a hard man and there were whispers of his dodgy dealings but, to the public eye, his hands were clean.

That assistant of his was behind most of the goings-on but Sykes wasn't up to getting his hands dirty, Mr Mallen knew that. Higgs drew himself up in the chair with pride. He and his fellow minder, Scottie, were the mechanics of the outfit. It was their work that the boss really appreciated when they brought another man around to his way of thinking.

But in this case, he realised, the boss was being very clever. This guy was really tough. Not just physically big and strong but strong-minded, too. Until it came to booze, it seemed. Yeah, this was going to be a walk in the park. Maybe he'd be back home in time for his Gran's birthday, see her open her presents.

A voice from the room caught Higgs' attention and he went to see what the prisoner was up to. Looking in, he could make out the man's back as he stood to one side, raising the bottle and making toasts.

"Well, Taffy." The voice was still quite clear, considering the bottle was already half empty. "Won't be long, son. This one's for you, from me. Make sure you set 'em up for when I get there." A slug went down.

"Bodie, mate." The bottle was flourished. "You may not turn up 'til this is over, but I tried my best." He drank again. "Agh! Who am I kidding? You won't bother coming for me. Me! The so-called friend who told you to go stew in your own self pity when you lost her." This thought seemed to warrant a longer draught of whisky and Higgs heard some spilled on the floor. "You went AWOL, then; seems only fair you're doing the same, now." The unseen people were saluted again.

"And you, Keller. Stupid git! Money did it for you, eh? You were good, Jimbo. Shame you're not, now. We all were, once..."

A few steps brought the figure to the far wall and he began kicking it, booting harder for every significant word that followed. "We dared and we may have won for others, but not... for... us!" Strawbridge swivelled, fairly skilfully for his state, leaned back against the offending stonework and slid heavily to a half squat.

Higgs drew back, knowing their prisoner wasn't yet ready for Mr Mallen. He found it funny that the man was talking to invisible mates, that he thought one might come to rescue him and he was going to be celebrating his escape. Higgs was sure that nobody would miss this mess of a man. Besides, with Scottie and he as jailers, there wasn't anyone who'd get through, was there?

Inside the room Andy Strawbridge was 'beasting'* himself, using the stress position so beloved of a particularly sadistic instructor who'd tortured them through evade and capture training; the building agony in his legs helping him concentrate on the task at hand. Sgt. Law had done his job well. His protégé even drank to the old bastard.

-oo0oo-

Half an hour later, Higgs checked the room again. Pressing his face to the bars, he could hear Strawbridge humming. It gradually became a tune and then a gravelly rendition of 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'. Higgs smirked at the contrast between the sizeable singer and his sentimental choice.

Little did Higgs appreciate that his prisoner was a naturally reserved man and that the song had usually appeared whenever he'd got totally smashed in his twenties. In those days, he'd held his drink better than his friends mostly due to his sheer size. But, at the point where Andy started to sing his ironic signature tune, Taffy and Bodie would have known it was high time to point their friend to his bed, before he became morose and told them that he 'loved them'.

But Taffy was dead and Bodie still on the trail. Nobody here could read the behaviour and Andy certainly had no love for these people.

By then, the singing was loud and raucous. Mallen appeared in the passage with his assistant close behind. Scottie brought up the rear and Higgs stepped aside so the boss could speak to their captive.

"Strawbridge?"

"Who's 'at?"

"Never you mind. Are you ready to talk to me, now?"

"What about?"

"You discussed this with my associates, earlier. The blowout preventer."

"Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

"Strawbridge...! Andy! Fair enough, it's your idea, but it makes no difference who does it. Just tell me where the plans are."

"Not likely! I'll sort it. Make sure it's done prop'ly."

"I thought you were a team player, Andy? Come on, I'll finance it and give you a cut of the proceeds."

"No thanks. Not 'bout money, it's 'bout the men."

"Of course it is. I'm as concerned about them, as you are."

"Yeah, right! So 'concerned' that you're keepin' me here 'til you get the plans off me!"

"I know it might look that way, but if you'd just be sensible and tell me where they are, we can all go home and forget this unpleasantness."

"Unpleasantness? Ha!" Andy scoffed, his voice nearing the door.

Mallen stepped back, unwilling to be identified.

"I'll show you 'unpleasantness'..." came from very near the grille in a tone that sent shivers through Mallen's spineless assistant.

Strawbridge was heard scuffing his way back across the dirt floor. Suddenly there was a smashing sound and the men outside instinctively drew back as splintered glass erupted through the holes.

"Whoops!" the man inside giggled. "Now look what you made me do. I'll have to start on 'nother bottle... Don't mind if I do," Andy politely replied to himself.

"Give him another half hour then we'll try again. This is going to take longer than I thought." Mallen stalked back to the more comfortable surroundings of his plush car, leaving the barn to his lackeys.

"Yeah, you shove off 'mate'! I have some serious drinkin' an' thinkin' to do," the prisoner finished.

-oo0oo-

There were two more bottles left and Andy made himself drink hard and fast, just as they'd force-fed him, two days earlier.

After a while, Higgs called Scottie, anxious that the drinker didn't become unconscious. They agreed that they really shouldn't have put all the whisky in the cell at once, and needed to get one back. Mallen was summoned from his BMW where he'd been trying to relax with some classical music and the henchmen went into the captive's cell. But when they moved forward to try and stop Strawbridge drinking, he'd shown them what his nemesis could do.

The ex special forces soldier held inside him all the rage of battles and loss, the private pain of a ruined relationship, of watching a father slowly dying, and anger at the oil industry. Big, tough guys like him weren't supposed to feel, to hurt. They weren't supposed to fail at anything. People saw the heroism and thought you were invincible, so tough men kept it together and didn't put it into words.

But the legend was wrong. There was only so much even the toughest man could suck up. Eventually, everything could spill out.

This final bender released everything within Andy. It bundled all his demons into one vast, violent tirade of self-abuse. But this was no pointless ending. He fully intended that no one would get anything from his mind or body, ever again.

Scottie tried to snatch the remaining bottle but, unable to get near, he and Higgs became astonished onlookers as the big man held them at bay. At first, they waited for the outburst to pass, but none of them had reckoned on the force that was Andy Strawbridge in drink. When it was clear they couldn't get control of him, they had to let the drinker grind himself to a halt. The jailers backed out of the room and locked him in again, grateful not to be the man they held.

Over the next hour they watched as he drank and stormed, drank and shouted, drank and beat himself thoroughly to a pulp. They'd not seen anything like it. Strawbridge threw himself around and onto the floor, time and again. The walls were beaten with his fists and feet. The smashed bottle cut him as he fell. Just when they thought he was spent and their chance had come, the man revived to start again.

This time he gave the wall a repeated Glasgow kiss, exchanging pain for pain until he fell to the floor, out cold.

-oo0oo-

Andy came round when icy water was thrown in his face. An even colder gun barrel was pressed to his temple and a blinding light pierced his gloom. The voice that had been outside the door was now up close and holding him by the shirt collar.

"Enough of this. I've been a patient man, but you will tell me about the blowout preventer. Now!"

The stricken man glared through a haze of blood-gummed and swollen eyes, recognising the company executive. "Mallen! S'you behind this, is it? Sorry, 'fraid I'll have to refuse."

"Tell me or I'll be forced to use this gun! Where are the plans?"

"You've never fired a thing in your life, 'cept people," Andy giggled. "Make it a good 'un, mate. Don't want me alive to identify you."

"Are you telling me you'd rather die than give me the design?"

"'S'right! 'S'all in me 'ead. I'll just keep it there, if it's all the same t'you..." Andy slurred and blacked out again. The frustrated boss dropped the man to the floor and nodded to his henchmen. "Get him over there and mind that he doesn't injurehimself any more. I want that information and it looks like he's the only one that knows it." He rose and looked disgustedly at theprisoner as he was hauled with difficulty to a pile of sacking. "Come on Sykes, we'll get hold of his girlfriend. That should make him talk. Iwanted to make it look natural, but if booze won't work we'll have to use her and the Pentothal."

-oo0oo-

"Bodie..." Doyle had stopped behind the cover of some bushes. As his partner came quietly alongside he nudged him, nodding ahead.

The stone barn was half derelict, walls crumbling and part of the roof gone. But one end had been spared and its empty windows were boarded up. A flash four wheel drive was on the far side and there were signs of activity with overgrown plants trampled, forming paths.

They'd been methodically working their way through a list of buildings and land which the helpful locals had steered them towards. During a second evening in the village pub, the partners had confirmed Speir's warning - no one around here liked Mallen Oil's owner. He provided a healthy number of jobs in these parts, so speaking out against him was obviously uncomfortable for some. But a few had no loyalties and were quite willing to dish the dirt in exchange for their drink of choice.

The upshot had narrowed down the day's focus, but it was already afternoon and both were growing concerned that they'd not yet come anywhere near finding Andy.

Now they were still, a voice could be heard. Then came the unmistakable sounds of an RT conversation. Bodie looked at Doyle victoriously, convinced they'd found the right location at last. Suddenly, each had to stifle his breathing and crouch down when a figure appeared.

The man signed off, pocketed the radio and lit up a cigarette. Standing still in the hush, they could hear his drawing and exhaling the smoke which drifted downwind to them. For some uncomfortable minutes, the cigarette was lingered over while the CI5 men's leg muscles began to cramp in their confinement.

At long last, the man called out to someone inside and they heard a motorbike start up. Under the noise, Doyle held up one finger to Bodie then questioningly wiggled two more. Bodie replied by pointing at the building and they scuttled closer.

As the motorcyclist roared away, Bodie threw back a bloodthirsty grin, whispering, "Two left. One each. Race ya!"

Doyle had to move quickly to keep up with his partner as he phased his progress to the building. Then Bodie made some signals: 'You go that way, I'll go this'. There was no time to debate it with him, he was gone and Doyle groaned inwardly.

Making his own sweep around one side, he couldn't help thinking that Bodie was damn good and in his element, here, but this could be a dangerous mix when a personal vendetta was included. Doyle felt an unusual nervousness as he moved. He trusted him with his life but Bodie could very easily become a loose cannon, right here and now. It had happened before. And then, as now, Doyle could be under fire too and not just from their quarry.

Arriving by the vehicle, to his relief, he found Bodie already there. They mutely exchanged information. Neither had seen anyone else, the end windows were all boarded up and this was the only vehicle.

At this, Doyle's jacket was tugged. Bodie was pointing at the four-by-four's wing. In the dust dulling its bodywork were more deliberate marks. The ex soldier motioned three fingers, copying the shaky swipe beneath. He mouthed 'danger' and Doyle marvelled, yet again, at the staying power of Bodie's friend in this deepening situation.

Doyle nodded curtly, no longer doubting anything that was happening. This was serious, now. Inside this building they would probably find Andy Strawbridge and whoever had taken him.

He trusted that the man's toughness had held out. Doyle feared for Bodie's own spirit, if it hadn't.

-oo0oo-

The last room. They'd reached the last one in their stealthy search through this building, finding food and a couple of sleeping bags but no sign of Andy or whoever was there.

In front of them was the only decent door in this half wrecked place, the only one bolted and locked. Peering in through the bars, they could make nothing out in the dark beyond. The padlock was soon picked and they undid the fastenings quietly. Without hesitation, Bodie grabbed the latch and was about to open up were it not for Doyle's sudden grip on his arm. Bodie jerked his head in agreement and joined Doyle in raising his side arm for a more controlled entrance.

The heavy door swung inward. No one was hiding behind.

Doyle dropped to a crouch in the opening while Bodie flattened against the door, sweeping with his gun. After a pause with no comeback they risked probing with a torch. There was no one in the room. Doyle stood, feet crunching on the floor. He looked down and saw a shower of broken glass, grateful that he hadn't knelt or needed to throw himself full length. Bodie was following the trail with his torch. They looked at each other, puzzled.

Considering what to do next, Doyle thought better of actually asking. As Bodie began slowly pacing into the room you could feel the expectation draining from him and hear it in the hollow dimness as he finally sounded defeated.

"I have no idea what to do now." Bodie's words hung as mist in the freezing air.

Conscious they were in a dead end, Doyle checked the corridor. If Andy wasn't here, they should move on. He tried a quiet suggestion. "Mallen's offices?"

Bodie didn't reply, suddenly turning on a sixpence. Standing out in the torchlight, his eyes were alert and quartering the room. "He's been here."

"What?" Doyle whispered, unable to sense what his partner had. "How'd you...?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no..." Bodie lunged for the near wall, torch beam picking out a pile of sacking. He threw himself to his knees, the torch to the floor and began working his hands across the pile.

"Bodie?"

He was pulling out a muscular arm. "I'd know this bloody tattoo anywhere," Bodie grunted, tearing the rags of a sleeve away. "Blade, flames, motto an' all!" As he sat back on his heels, his voice became hopeless again. "Oh, no..."

Doyle feared the worst. With no choice, he re-checked the corridor and went to Bodie's aid. He stood over him, shining the torch and could immediately see why his partner despaired.

Andy Strawbridge had been there for some time - filthy, beaten bloody, and lying in a distorted heap.

Doyle's heart sank. It was over, then.

-oo0oo-

* The British Military Open Dictionary defines 'beasting' as: 'a group or individuals are pushed to their limits or to see how far they go

before they jack ('jack it in' or give up). Not always nice to watch and a real bummer if you are the beastee. One reason for beasting is to

make sure that the person or group will be able to carry out a harder than usual task and it sorts the men from the boys. A group that

has been beasted and survived will have developed a comradeship between them, morale will be high. Beasting or to beast is probably

not PC in the Forces anymore.' Ref: . /wiki/Beasting .

Part of this chapter was inspired by song lyrics from 'Achilles' Heel' by Toploader:

Goodbye to the sky

I know I can't fly but I feel love

Do you know how I feel?

You are my Achilles' Heel

Hello to below

I feel love flow like a river flow

You and I standing still

You are my Achilles' Heel