Chapter 4

It was several hours later before Bodie emerged into the world again. He felt very woolly-headed and wondered just what had been in those tablets. He looked round for Ivor but he wasn't in sight. Bodie hadn't really expected him to be but was disappointed all the same. Again, no-one took any notice of him. He had a cold wash and retraced his steps to the surgical ward. A different nurse was on duty. As Bodie took his place at the bedside, he noticed that the standard issue chair was as hard as those in England. It wasn't long before Doyle stirred. Bodie tried not to rush him, but was anxious to have his friend by his side again. He was getting tired of being alone in a foreign country, battling bureaucracy and language; fatigue and fear. Eventually Doyle focussed and was relieved that Bodie had survived the riots and was at his side.

"Where am I?" he slurred.

"Army hospital."

"England?" Doyle asked hopefully, though a quick scan along the ward suggested otherwise.

"You should be so lucky, sunshine."

"What happened to your face? Did someone gave you a black eye?" Doyle was concerned that Bodie had got into some very non-diplomatic hand-to-hand stuff while he was somersaulting off the tank.

"No. Head-butted some masonry."

Doyle nodded, as though this was quite normal for his mate. "Any news of Cowley?" was Doyle's next anxious question.

Bodie explained that a senior Sirenstani officer was looking for him. Doyle put into words the fear that Bodie was hiding.

"Do you think he will? They've got a lot on at the moment."

Bodie shrugged. "We haven't got a lot of choice have we, sunshine?" he commented sadly.

The men looked at each other quietly. Doyle was beginning to doze off when something behind Bodie suddenly got his attention. Bodie turned round and looked into the face of a haggard Cowley.

"Sir!" Bodie gasped, rising to meet his boss. He didn't try to disguise his relief or the grin splitting his face.

Cowley smiled back. "Glad you remember me."

Bodie looked sheepish. "I was a bit tied up sir, and the language …"

"Aye, well, here I am. And I've got something to say to you two." Cowley's mood and tone changed from badinage to his usual gruffness. "How do you explain this?" he asked, reaching into his trench coat and throwing down a newspaper on the bed.

Bodie gathered it up. He couldn't read the headline (one word) but clearly recognised the photo. It showed the tank lit up against the night sky of a world torn apart and in flames. It showed Bodie clearly silhouetted against this backdrop with a hosepipe in his hand, water gushing to dowse the flames. Above him, on the tank, was Doyle looking like a fire god summoning his demons. It was a very powerful photo and one that would no doubt earn the photographer a great deal of money and accolades. Bodie tossed the paper to Doyle.

"You couldn't recognise us …"

"What were our orders?" Cowley asked rhetorically. "Bring out Abrahams quietly and discreetly. Tell me, gentlemen, what is quiet and discreet about this, this …?" Cowley ran out of adjectives.

"We couldn't …"

"I am still speaking, Doyle," Cowley rumbled, though his men had thought that he'd ground to a halt. They weren't that lucky. "No doubt this will be in all the international papers as well." As Cowley drew breath, he noticed a young lad standing quietly in the shadows. "Who's this?"

"This is Ivor, sir," Bodie explained. "He's been translating for me."

The men didn't know how long Ivor had been there, or how much of the conversation he had understood.

"Thank you, Ivor," Cowley said sincerely. "I'm glad that someone's been looking after these two."

Ivor smiled uncertainly.

"Come on," he barked to his agents, making Ivor jump. "I can't wait around here all day gossiping, there's a plane waiting for us." Cowley turned to leave, expecting his men to follow him. They didn't dare ask about Abrahams - or the lack of his presence.

"Sir," Doyle called from his sick bed. Cowley turned back. Doyle looked very embarrassed. "Er, well, I've got nothing to wear, sir."

Cowley raised a surprised eyebrow - his only sign of wonton emotion.

"You mean you're starkers?!" Bodie grinned, enjoying Doyle's embarrassment.

"I think even you can grasp that much, can't you?" Cowley snapped. "You were there, man. What have the staff done with his clothes?"

"They had to cut him out of them, sir."

Doyle and Cowley looked frustrated. Cowley, as usual, took the lead. "Ivor, come with me lad. I've a job for you." Man and boy wandered off.

Bodie turned serious as he watched them disappear. Cowley had his arm around the young lad's shoulders. "I think he'd have made a great dad," he commented wistfully.

Doyle was surprised. "You could always get yourself adopted!"

Bodie broke his gaze away as the pair disappeared from view. He sighed as he drew himself back to the here and now and turned to practicalities to divert his mind.

"I don't know when the Cow will be back Doyle, but I'll try to find you something to eat."

"Stop fussing."

But Doyle was glad that Bodie was distracted from his nakedness and he was starving after all.

.

"Sorry, mate. This was all they had," Bodie said when he eventually returned.

He had a bowl of something that he handed to Doyle, who'd shuffled himself painfully into a sitting position. Bodie fished a spoon out of one pocket, and a hunk of bread from another. He handed both to Doyle who was trying to balance the bowl on his lap.

"Do you need help?" Bodie offered seeing his friend struggling with bandaged hands.

"What the 'ell's this?" Doyle complained, lifting a spoonful up and letting the revolting liquid fall back into the bowl.

"Somewhere between soup and stew I guess." Doyle looked at him angrily. "There was nothing else, honest."

Doyle bravely tried a spoonful and screwed up his eyes as the liquid slid down his throat. "Salt and pig fat. That's what that is," Doyle declared, offering the bowl back to Bodie.

Bodie looked around to see what he could do with the stuff now that he'd brought it. An old man in the next bed was watching keenly. Bodie got up and offered the food in his best German. The man gratefully took the soup off him, not caring if Bodie were speaking German or Swahili. He tucked in with great relish. Bodie wondered when the man had last had a meal - and what the retirement age was in the armed forces round here. He returned to Doyle's bed. He was manfully trying to chew his way through the heel of bread. Bodie wandered off to find a cup of tea to help it down. He missed Ivor.

The doctor had been given instructions to detach his foreign patient from the plasma bag that was doing him so much good. He was going home, that was the main thing. The doctor was relieved, but worried for the man's health all the same as he rebandaged his patient's hand and packed up the IV feed. Doyle was asleep when Cowley arrived with Ivor and some clothes. Cowley didn't hesitate in shaking Doyle's leg violently. Doyle prised his eyes open.

"Here, put these on. They're all we could find. Where's Bodie?"

"Dunno," Doyle slurred, trying to wake himself up. Would he ever get any peace?

"Find him," Cowley ordered, and the boy marched off.

"He's only a kid sir," Doyle gently protested as he tried to get the trousers on under the bedclothes.

"Do you need help?" Cowley asked reluctantly, turning his back on his agent.

"I can manage," Doyle gasped.

The pain in his injured hands had returned tenfold as he grappled with the flies. Eventually satisfied, Doyle swung his legs off the bed and his head seemed to rotate and his shoulder wound sent shockwaves through his body. He waited for a few moments to recover before tackling the shirt. In the end, Cowley had to help him with the buttons. He was easing his man into the jacket when Ivor and Bodie turned up. Doyle slid his feet into the shoes. They were the only items that fitted him. He looked lost in the oversized clothes. He didn't ask where Cowley had got them.

"You never could wear clothes," Bodie commented, shaking his head sadly.

"They're not your cast-offs are they?" Doyle countered.

"We do have a plane to catch," Cowley reminded them.