And then, he was there, just in front of him: a dark figure against the light, blurrily framed by the darker background of the copse. A moment before there was nothing to see but the barely quivering branches of the fir trees and a lonely rock in the foreground. The sudden clink of a stone behind him had distracted Cowley for a split second. Repressing a move of anger, he spoke gently: "Bodie? Why are you hiding?"

He still couldn't see him distinctly but he had a feeling the man was sneering. He got no answer. The silence stretched. Then a sardonic bark:

"Sure, I have no reason for hiding: I'm just being hounded by all the special forces in the country."

"Much exaggerated: it's only MI6, a team of three men who are under strict orders not to fire."

Cowley saw his opponent stiffen. "You're well informed."

"Not quite, not until I questioned the poor fellow you threw overboard into the silt, minus his weapons; a very upset fellow by the way, and nicely talkative.

"And of course you'd heard nothing from Angus."

"Not much, and too late."

"I don't believe you."

"Come on, Bodie..."

The young man stepped forward out of the shadow. He was indeed sneering.

"What's the fairy tale of the day? "I give you my word: Be faithful to me and I won't let you down, whatever happens," remember?

Cowley froze; those very words had haunted him since Angus called in the morning. "I remember; I never lied to you, Bodie. Trust me."

"I don't trust you any more."

The tone was final. Cowley swallowed painfully; he had a bad taste in his mouth.

"Don't be silly: when I got a warning from Angus, the chopper had already landed and you know perfectly well I had no means of contacting you."

"You fixed the meeting place and time. It was a set-up: by either you or Angus, I don't care."

"That's pretty unfair."

"Don't talk about fairness; you don't even know the meaning of the word."

Anger prevailed over caution. "If you cannot listen to reason, at least think of your interest!"

"I know my interest."

Cowley started. It wasn't the low growl out of Bodie's throat; it wasn't the fierce glow in his gaze: a gun had appeared in the other man's hand: the action so swift he hadn't even caught sight of the move.

"My interest is to be free and you're going to help me to just that."

"And what was I trying to do since I brought you with me?"

"Pulling your damned information out of me!"

"For your own good. That's how I rescued you from MI6; did it once and I can do it again."

"You certainly can. I'll make sure you do."

The gun was held firmly, and steadily aimed at his chest, straight at the heart. From this distance there was no chance of missing. In the same time, the man was too far for any foolhardy attempt at disarming him to succeed. Wise from him. Dangerous, fast and wise: what an agent he would make if...Damned it, you'll never learn...

But what had happened to the Bodie who had carried him for hours through hills and woods, and had taken care of him almost tenderly? What about the gently teasing companion who knew how to make him laugh and who himself laughed at his bursts of temper? Something must have snapped in the man's brain, or was it in his heart?

No, sentimentality was out of order. "What do you expect of that folly?"

"I've got nothing to lose."

"Stupid git! You've everything to lose, you idiot _"

"Shut up and listen to me: we're going back to the boat and you'll steer it to the other end of the loch, eastward; then we'll walk to the next village."

"And then what? What have you in mind?"

"Then, I'll decide."

"Bodie! If you have no consideration for me left, at least don't waste your last chance: any unlawful act would be your doom."

"You talk too much. Keep your big mouth shut and throw your gun towards me."

Looming out of his past, the ghost of a brash, reckless young Cowley popped up in his mind, foolishly suggesting he could deny having a gun on him, so to entice Bodie to come closer and search him, but he was dismissed at once by the older, more experienced Cowley. He would have other, less hazardous, opportunities to test his not unremarkable skills in the martial arts on his offender. The view of Bodie's finger softly nibbing the trigger of his own gun wasn't for nothing in his restraint.

Moving with extreme slowness, making sure that his every gesture would be constantly visible to Bodie, he retrieved his hidden weapon from his lower inside pocket and, with the same caution, he threw the gun in the required direction. With a gracious lob, it landed at the young man's feet, from where it was picked up with equal deftness. At no time was Bodie's gaze diverted from Cowley's moves or his gun-holding hand wavering. Even from that distance the unnatural feverish glow of his eyes was apparent. Cowley wondered if he might have been hit on the head, in some manner, by Preston during their fight. However there was no doubt about the man's perfect awareness and control of the situation.

"And now, do the same with your RT!"

"What?"

"Throw it to me. Now!"

"What do you want to do with this device?"

"Nothing; won't be of any use now. Throw it. Do not discuss my orders."

A wave of cold anger rolled over Cowley with renewed force; what is he going to demand from me next? Remove my shoes? The idea of being so powerless was infuriating. Never had it felt like this since his brief captivity in Korea. But there was no conceivable way to evade it. What's your defense against a mad man? A very resolute, clever and heavily armed mad man...

Teeth clenched to hold back a bout of nausea, Cowley took the RT hooked to his belt and flung it to Bodie, who made no attempt to catch it on the fly. He just made a step forward and crushed it under his boot with needless violence.

This view restored some of Cowley's confidence: the man wasn't as perfectly in control as he wanted to appear. And, Cowley thought with relief, Bodie didn't suspect he still had his own RT with him, not to mention the syringe of narcotic. Good that these fishing vests had so many large, deep pockets; very convenient...There was hope. Maybe.

What followed remained later in Cowley's hazy and sketchy remembrance as a long, harrowing, meaningless nightmare.

First Bodie went back to the old chapel to retrieve his package, never letting his attention falter for a second. Cowley wondered, with dread, if he was going to force him to take his share of the burden, for the weight of his own gear was the very most he could carry, and he already felt exhausted. But no, the man seemed made of steel; he shouldered his oversized stack of paraphernalia as if it was a kid's schoolbag.

Walking down the slope proved to be harder than climbing due to sliding stones and slippery grass, not to mention the traitorous outcropping roots, of infamous memory. Cowley made cautious steps, once at a time and his slow progress obviously irritated his captor, impatiently trampling behind.

"Wake up, dammit! We haven't got all day."

Cowley halted and turned round, facing the gun: "We? I don't know about you but, as for me, I'm not going anywhere."

His rather poor attempt at humour fell flat; Bodie was deadly serious. "You'll go with me, everywhere I go."

"Bodie, stop that nonsense: You do not stand a chance of getting out of this without my help."

"Precisely: you're helping me just fine; you're my safeguard, aren't you?" Bodie's smirk wasn't quite sane, Cowley thought with alarm.

"Must I infer from your statement that I am your hostage?"

"Oh yeah, you might put it that way."

Cowley's sense of alarm was growing fast. "Bodie! That's pure madness and you know it."

Bodie's face closed up. "Not your concern. Shut up and walk on."

"I can't. I'm knackered." Seeing Bodie frown, he hasted to add: "I need to take my pills. You remember? The medication Angus gave me: I have to take it every two hours." Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to mention Angus in that context. Bodie's frown deepened.

"I don't want any of your tricks. Open your jacket wide, slowly, and turn aside a little, so I can see every of your moves. Don't try to fool me if you value your life."

In spite of the threat, Cowley felt to some point reassured by Bodie's acceptance, though the man's strangely haunted look kept him worrying: he promised himself, if he managed to sort things out eventually, to ask Preston what exactly had happened during the fight on the boat. Bodie was in full light now and there was this suspicious bruise on the left temple, just above a bloodied eyebrow.

Meanwhile he did as instructed and retrieved the box of pills from one of his front pockets, the most easily accessible. At the tip of his fingers he could feel the syringe, in the same compartment. That was oddly comforting. There would be an opportunity some time later...before they reached the boat.

The slow walk down resumed, Cowley making no effort to hasten the pace, as much from a very genuine discomfort as in the hope to put Bodie on edge, to have him riled, enough to loose a little his vigilance. It might be foolish, it might be hazardous, but it was the only way to get him to come closer, to commit an imprudence.

At the moment, however, Bodie was very much in command indeed, of the situation as of himself; disturbed maybe, but not to the point of letting his guard down. For the first time Cowley could catch a glimpse of that part of the man's personality that had been covered but not suppressed by amnesia: the workmanship of the finely-adjusted killing machine, the ruthlessness of the jungle warrior. In other circumstances he would have been duly impressed.

Eventually Bodie seemed to be on the verge of losing his temper. "To hell with you! Do you think I can't see you're dragging your feet on purpose? Hurry up a bit and spare me the bullshit."

"What will you do if I collapse?"

"Nonsense! You're not half as tired as you try to look."

Which was only half wrong (damn the bastard and his devilish perceptiveness!) but Cowley still hoped his objection had hit the mark. Actually, what could Bodie do if he did collapse? Abandon him there? Possible, but he thus would lose his "hostage" (a stupid idea in itself but that was another matter, and since the fool seemed to believe in its feasibility...).

"Your call." He ostensibly quickened his pace.

Not for long: A few yards farther Cowley stopped walking and abruptly sat down on a welcoming tree-trunk, which he had spotted from afar. A shot rang out and reverberated eerily from hill to hill in the empty surrounding space: Bodie had fired, over his head but at the precise place where his head had been a split second before.

"I won't budge." Cowley stared at his opponent with cold resolution. For the shortest of whiles Bodie looked defeated. Then his face clammed up and he turned his gaze towards the blue-rimmed horizon, a mere gap between two hills.

"You have ten minutes, exactly." he said at last, still not looking at Cowley.

"How generous of you! Should I thank you for missing me?" He didn't ask if the miss was intentional. Bodie didn't answer. He didn't sit down either but lowered his gun. Stepping to and fro, he got closer but still out of reach.

Cowley stood up abruptly before the term of the allotted time. His back complained vehemently, in tune with his leg. He straightened himself with a wince of pain. When he recovered his focus, Bodie was pointing his gun at him again. "keep quiet; move slowly."

"Slowly? I thought I was 'ordered' to move faster?"

"Watch it! My reserve of patience is limited and you have already used most of it."

"Bodie, I am serious; I can't stand it much longer. What are you going to do when I'll stop for good? Carry me across your shoulders? You did it once but I don't think you want to make a habit of it. It would be somewhat harder this time, I guess!"

For the first time Bodie looked hesitant. " Let's see then. You're stronger than you pretend; you're perfectly able to walk to the boat at least." He shrugged: "Take your wonder pills!"

"I just did; a double dose would be toxic. And my pack is too heavy, I can't carry it any longer and you can't take both."

"Leave it then; soon you'll have no use of it anyway." Probably realising what sinister meaning his words could have, he hasted to add: " I've got enough of everything for two and there's other supplies left in the boat."

Cowley sniggered: "Glad you don't intend to get rid of me too soon."

"Don't tempt me too much."

Cowley couldn't tell whether that was a joke or a threat. He opted for threat.

So, as Bodie had decided, the heavy backpack was left on the spot. Cowley was relieved of his burden but not of his worries. They weren't so far from the boat now and something had to happen soon before they embarked. Once aboard everything would become infinitely harder: how to get through a fight on a boat? Not to mention if Bodie eventually succeeded in escaping for good he feared he might well be charged with complicity for providing the fugitive with means of flight; coercion isn't easy to prove when there is no witness and giving Willis such a card against him was the last thing Cowley would allow.

The next stop in their notably quickened progression had a cause that was as unavoidable for Cowley as it was unintentional: to put it politely it was a call of nature. Cowley's character could rightly be described as the epitome of decency and self-restraint, and the many years he had spent in the military amid a bunch of brash young men with no manners had done surprisingly little to loosen his inhibitions. He still hated promiscuity. However he was perfectly able to speak bluntly, and even crudely, especially when he was genuinely embarrassed. Which was the case.

Deviating from his way without warning, he walked to a nearby bush. «I need to take a leak», he said flat out, cursing the beers he had in the farmyard.

"Great! I should have expected it! What are you going to invent next?" Bodie's voice showed his exasperation but in a somewhat subdued way. The shooting incident seemed to have had a moderating influence on his mood. He let Cowley relieve himself without further comment.

The circumstances weren't favourable towards action. Bodie had stepped aside a few yards to give him more privacy while lowering his gun, perhaps even looking away like the good-mannered young man he basically was, but still alert and wary, no doubt. And too far, anyway. Pondering all the possibilities, Cowley took his time.

"Is your prostate annoying you?" Not so well-mannered, after all. But there was a thin streak of good humour in the taunt. Cowley felt no anger; he had got an idea.

"Maybe. As you like to remind me, I'm no longer in my prime. And my leg isn't improving either, especially while rushing around on rocky ground."

"Are you trying to soften me?"

It was precisely what Cowley intended, though without much hope. "Just saying I'm exhausted."

"You'll rest when we're on the boat."

Hopefully, a tad before: he smiled noncommittally.

Time was running short: soon they would reach the intersection between the hillside they were walking down and the flat path that led to the boat's location. On the boat, and especially while boarding, they would be at the right distance from each other to attempt a surprise attack but that would be excessively risky for a man in relatively poor physical condition, as Cowley was, whatever his fighting skills. He knew the place: going ahead, he had chosen this path over two other much easier ones. He had to make his move here, while they still were on uneven ground; seconds were ticketing in his head. Now? A few yards farther?

Actually things happened as he had planned, and where, but not when: the path had become steeper and more stony, very unstable in places, with gravel rolling and sliding under their shoes. As Cowley was still hesitating, the decision was forced upon him. Suddenly the ground gave way beneath his feet and he felt himself falling uncontrollably, swept away by the landslip.

The slope sank deeper. A rock was in the way. Cowley violently contorted his upper body to avoid it but failed. He braced himself for the crash. Instead he felt two strong arms around his waist and a pull backwards. The warning reached his ears a millisecond later:

"Hang on!"

Bodie had rushed to him with formidable speed. They fell together in a knot of limbs and packs, Cowley on top, Bodie beneath. Within a second Cowley had rolled aside, free and unharmed. Bodie lay still, impeded by his bag and winded, the gun he had dropped out of reach. Almost unthinkingly, Cowley slipped his hand in the lower pocket of his jacket and grasped the syringe. Bodie saw his move and tried to rise. He managed to get rid of the straps and to rest on his knees. The needle shot him in the neck. He shouted:

"You snake! I'll kill you!"

This time the dose was not enough to stop him instantly. He stood up and sprang, headlong. Closer to the gun, Cowley picked it up. His assailant was on him; he raised the gun and brought it down on Bodie's skull with full strength. The man collapsed, lifeless.

Cowley remained still for a little while, staring at the tall figure lying face down. The unseen face was pressed into the dirt. The dark head was bleeding profusely. So, Bodie had tried to rescue him finally. Well, that was the plan, the best and the worst he could have thought of. Nothing had been less sure at the time but, against all appearances, he had bet on Bodie's feelings to win and he had won. The victory didn't taste good, didn't bring the usual after-fight elation: it was necessary. He had to cling to this certainty.

He turned the limp body over and wiped the blood and the dirt off the soiled face with his handkerchief. Then he wiped the blood off his hands. So much blood for such a small wound. No need to look for a pulse: the man was visibly breathing. More or less steadily. Of course, that didn't say much about the severity of the injury but Cowley didn't want to think about it, not now, not as he was desperately looking for a way out of this predicament. He pondered. This time he had used half a dose: two hours sleep then, maybe a little more. Barely enough time to return to the boat and cross the loch back to the pier. But not alone. He had to ask for help: Angus, nobody else. He should still be at the farm, waiting for him to call through Bart. Yes, together, with a little luck, they might be able to carry the unconscious man down the last part of the slope and all the way to the bank. The farm was only a ten minutes walk from the foot of the hill, at a brisk pace. He took his RT.

He reached Angus directly, instead of Bart as he had expected. Ah, the sly old fox had brought his own RT with him without telling him so. Perfect, it will make things much simpler, especially since Bart had the same device at home.

Angus never needed much explanation, especially in situations of crisis but, as soon as he was free to speak, he loudly protested against the prospect of carrying an inert body for half a mile, even on the flatter and wider portion of the way.

"Don't be silly. Most of the dirt road, from the farm to the bank, is passable for vehicles. I'm going to borrow one from my friends. No problem: You have sprained your ankle and I have all my stuff at my place. They don't need to know more and they won't ask questions."

That was reasonable, Cowley had to agree, though reluctantly. The risk of indiscretion was minimal, the gain of time substantial. Moreover, the excitement of action subsiding, he suddenly felt weak and, to his shame, a little shaky; his previous confidence draining with the receding flow of adrenaline.

Fifteen minutes later Angus was there, hardly a whiff out of breath after his hurried bout of climbing. "Car's at the junction below and, before you asked, they lent it to me without a question." He put down a big box on a low rock, "With a first aid kit we must have the use of, though not for your ankle." His gaze focused on the body lying on the ground; he whistled softly: "Wow, you did a proper job on him; he's out for the count!"

"What do you think?" Cowley said curtly, "it's not just a bang on the head; I used this first."

Angus considered the small metal device with professional interest. "Ah, a stun dart? Much better than a simple syringe for wild animals...or wild humans. It works at very short range but it's enough to be safe."

"Angus!"

"Don't be impatient, cousin; I'm going to check him thoroughly; we've plenty of time; he's not likely to wake up soon."

"We don't have plenty of time; I used half a dose this time. Plus, we have to take him downhill to the boat and I want to know his condition before manhandling him left right and centre without even a stretcher."

"If you mean you want to be sure he hasn't got a concussion, well, I need him to be conscious to ascertain that. But I can get some indications from a first exam."

Cowley entirely trusted his cousin in that respect; the man had never bothered to have his medical knowledge validated by a diploma, but he was nevertheless quite competent in the basics as well as in some - less mundane - areas. Having performed the promised check-up of the casualty and dressed his wound, Angus declared himself cautiously optimistic. He smiled:

"Be happy, son! You haven't killed him, it seems."

"I'm not in the mood, Angus. What about that blow to the head?"

"I repeat, I cannot completely dismiss a concussion, but I think there's no danger in moving him carefully." He rubbed his chin pensively, "the problem being I don't see any practical way to do it; as you noticed, we've no stretcher at our disposal."

Cowley discarded the objection. "We can make one: Look at the stuff Bodie had with him: a sleeping bag, a tent and a lot of fishing wire."

"Clever! Georgie my lad, you've earned your boy scout badge!"

Cowley glared at Angus. "Spare me your poor jokes and make you useful instead: I give you fifteen minutes to help me dismember the tent and reconstruct it into something we can use as a stretcher."

Twenty minutes later the two men were bending over a thing with no recognizable shape, that no well-trained nurse in the world would have acknowledged as a proper medical appliance but that you could actually use as a stretcher...if sufficiently motivated.

Bodie, still unconscious, was slipped into the sleeping bag, and the bag strapped on the tarpaulin. The whole structure lacked a rigid frame and the roughly cobbled handles didn't award them the solid grip they needed to carry their heavy burden conveniently. Sometimes, in places where the ground was grassy, not rocky, they used the stretcher as a sled. There were bumps and holes all the same and the sporadic moans that issued from the reclining form under the wrap made Cowley wince.

"He's waking up," Angus stated, "sooner than I thought, but we've still got enough time to reach the boat."

They were at the foot of the hill, not far from the junction where Angus had left his borrowed vehicle. Carrying the stretcher to the spot, extracting Bodie from his makeshift straightjacket and settling him in the back seats of the car was just a matter of minutes, as was driving to the boat's location. However, dragging the boat from its cache to the water through bushes and branches offered more difficulties. Moving it with a body inside would have been simply impossible, let alone hauling the body into it first. It was necessary to lay the man on the the narrow shore and leave him alone while they were busy with their task. With a glance, Angus had confirmed he was very close to waking. The only precaution they could take was to bind Bodie's wrists behind his back to a low shrub. Which although it would have been nothing for a Bodie in good shape could be enough in his present diminished condition. Hopefully.

No launching of a boat into water was ever so hurried. Cowley felt exhausted and Angus was no better, both breathless and covered with scratches. When they returned to their prisoner, he was still tied up to the shrub but plainly awake. Angus went closer to unbind him and look for a possible concussion. He paused. The man was staring at him in obvious bewilderment. "Who are you?"

Suddenly alerted, Cowley brushed his cousin aside and squatted in front of Bodie. "Do you recognize me?"

"You? What are you doing here?"

"Bodie! Who am I? Do you remember?"

The confusion on the young man's face increased: "Yes, I remember you; you're Mr Cowley, George Cowley."

That was a meagre relief. Cowley insisted: "Do you remember when we met first? And when?"

"Of course I remember. But what am I doing here? And you?"

"Bodie, just answer my question: "Where did you see me the first time?"

"Well, in my cell, with MacLaren; we were prisoners. Have you forgotten?"

"And the second time?"

"But...at the hospital; the military hospital."

"And then?"

Bodie was trying hard to catch up. His efforts were almost painful to see. "I...don't know. It's possible I've seen you somewhere else, I don't know where. He closed his eyes. "But what am I doing here?"

"It's a long story, Bodie."

Angus sniggered: "And you just added quite a new chapter to it!"