"Good morning, sir "

Sir ? What was that about ?

He had been standing in the doorway for a while, waiting for the man to notice his presence.

He stepped forward, moving cautiously and stiffly, unnaturally upright, as he strove to walk straight and steadily. The long, hot shower had erased some of his hangover and eased the pain in his leg; he managed to reach the chair in front of Bodie, where he sat down with as much dignity as he could muster.

" Good morning Bodie. "

The lad was eying him with mild amusement. "Sit down and have a cup of tea."

"How gracious of you!"

"Oh? Am I not usually so?"

"Not that much."

"Grumpy, eh?" He filled him a cup of now tepid but strong beverage and pushed the plate of buttered toast and boiled eggs to his side of the table. "But I forgive you. You really don't look yourself today." He winked.

This elicited a frown from Cowley, soon followed by a smirk from Bodie.

"How do you know? Last time we talked, you hardly recognized me at all."

"Yes I did. And I told you so."

"You recognized someone you'd seen a long time ago; are you aware you are supposed to have lost whole swathes of your memory?" He bored his gaze deep through the other man's eyes, still as blue and candid as ever. "At a time you may not remember, you agreed to give me your full support to help you recover it, if it was in any way possible." He drank his tea avidly, not touching the toast. He was thirsty, his throat was dry and his voice not as steady as he would have wished. But his old masterfulness was returning.

The erstwhile genial face of the young man in front of him had stilled and become unreadable. Cowley pursued: "I must now ask you the same thing again."

Bodie raised his funny shaped eyebrow. "So, you assume I haven't recovered it already?"

"Have you?" -/- "Anyway, I must check."

The other shrugged. "As you please. What do you want to know?"

"Let's start at the beginning. Who am I?"

Bodie grinned, visibly relieved. "That's the easy part: you are George Cowley, that's how you introduced yourself when we met; or must I call you Major George Cowley?"

"When did we first met? And where?"

"Come on ..."

"Just answer my questions."

"I've already done so yesterday. This, at least, I remember. Have you forgotten?"

"Don't dither, it's important."

"If you say so ..." Bodie sighed ostensibly. "I saw you first in that stinky rat hole in Katanga, surely one of the devil's abodes."

"I don't disagree; when did it occur?"

"After I had been captured with two of my men; we'd been sold away I reckon." He pondered: "There was also that nosy bloke, who claimed to be a war reporter from The Guardian. What was his name? MacLeod?"

"MacLaren."

"That was it. You came for him. He was one of your mob, wasn't he?" Cowley didn't answer. "Whatever; it was lucky for me." The grin popped up again, wider. "The best luck I had had in weeks."

"Is that all you remember about MacLaren?"

"Well, he was with me, in the same bedroom at the hospital: the military hospital I mean, not the other one."

"You remember Repton?"

"Only too well." The youthful face shut up anew. "But don't ask; I won't tell you anything."

"I won't force you." Too soon, thought Cowley, I'll see to that later. "What happened next?"

"I guess I was released eventually; how, I don't know." He hesitated. "You took me from Repton and brought me to this place."

"You are not sure?"

"Sounds logical."

"Indeed. But don't you have a more precise recollection of the trip? Of your sojourn here?"

Bodie looked confused. "I do have some memories but vague, dreamlike."

That last word brought Cowley's mind to places he had no wish to explore. "Don't worry: it's not that important," he said hastily, eyes shifting to avoid the interrogative gaze of a perplexed Bodie.

"Really? Why were you so eager to know if I had recovered any part of my memory, then?"

"Not every part of it, only a specific period of time, before your engagement with the Katangese rebels." He had not intended to start the interrogation so early, especially without the control and support of Angus. But since Bodie was offering him such a golden opportunity …

The young man was now showing perfect composure. "The month before? It was the ordinary business in between missions: deals about money, equipment, that sort of thing; nothing thrilling." He paused. "Actually, I don't see what could be so interesting in my past to anybody but me."

Cowley stared at the fresh, innocent face. He spoke slowly and solemnly. "That part of your past happens to be of the utmost interest for a bunch of people who wield enough power to let you have a future … or not." He paused. "Think about it: The next deal you'll set might well be the biggest and the last one."

Bodie laughed: "I certainly expect the last deal of my life to be the biggest. "

His long experience of interrogations had taught him to sense when the moment of truth was close and when it was missed. This was clearly a miss. Bodie would tell him nothing more. Not now at least. It could become Angus' job to break his defenses, but later. In the meantime it was essential that his suspicious guest would feel safe from threat. He had no other means of keeping him at hand, and quiet, than trust.

Anyway, he had noticed a few details that were worth digging into: Bodie had feigned not to remember MacLaren's name, while he had mentioned it the day before. And "Major Cowley"? He was certain he had never introduced himself as such. Bart had called him so, once. Hmm …Were the lad's "vague memories" so vague actually? Two small lapses from a very guarded man; he would keep them in mind for further forays in those murky areas.

Bodie was looking at him curiously. The loud, insistent whining of a dog clawing at the door outside gave him the needed distraction. "Ah! Still this damned dog!"

Without asking, Bodie went to open the door. Cowley watched with some impatience the ensuing hullabaloo while helping himself to his share of eggs and toast. Feeling hungry again was like getting back to life, the return to normalcy after a short trip through insanity.

Still, the dog's joyous barking stirred in him a mix of impressions and fears he wasn't ready to face honestly. He hesitated. But the need to know was stronger. "You let him in during the night?"

"Well, yes. Why had you locked him in the shed? He was going mad when I freed him."

"He was too much of a disturbance, yelping and jumping all over the place; I couldn't get to sleep with his racket."

Bodie laughed. "Really! You didn't seem to have much difficulty sleeping when the din outside awakened me and I found you had blacked out on the cot, still clutching your empty bottle."

Cowley blanched. He suddenly thought of the key he had left in his trouser pocket after he had locked the main door. "You carried me to my bedroom!" And you undressed me too, he added for him, mutely, remembering with dread that he had woken up naked.

Bodie cast him one of his impish smiles. "Affirmative, Sir."

"Well, thank you." What else was there to say?

"Indeed, you can rightly thank me for that. I was in no shape to play the perfect manservant."

Given the state in which he was the night before, this was no surprise; Cowley fervently hoped he had not recovered enough to ...well, to do anything more than playing the manservant. "You didn't feel well?" he said innocently.

"I felt stoned. I was so dazed I hardly knew what I was doing." Bodie frowned, as if he was trying to gather streaks of flimsy memories. "I almost thought you had spiked my drink, but why?" He paused "Did you?"

"Certainly not." It was only half a lie after all. But some explanation was required. "You had an accident yesterday. It's one of the things you seem to have forgotten. I'll tell you the whole story later." His throat was still dry and he poured himself a refill of lukewarm tea. "You were in shock; my cousin gave you a light medication to relax you and to help you sleep better."

Bodie scoffed. "A very effective medication for sure! I wouldn't have woken up at all if the dog hadn't howled nonstop for half an hour and I was still so sleepy that I just collapsed on the bed."

"What bed?" Cowley asked, feebly.

"Yours, of course. I wouldn't call that damned bunk a bed." He may have noticed Cowley's consternation for he added: "Did I disturb you, by the way?"

"No. Hum, no. I ... I had not realized you were there." (A picture of a gloriously naked Bodie had suddenly popped in his mind and refused to leave).

Bodie's grin was blinding. "Fine. I pride myself on being a good bed companion."

It took a few seconds for Cowley to recover from the shock. However he managed to deflect the course of the discussion towards less perilous trends.

"If you pride yourself to be a good table companion as well, would you be so kind as to make me more tea? This one is definitely cold."

"OK." Bodie stood up. " What do you want: the plain tea or the herb tea? "

"What herb tea?" Sure, he had a strong hunch of what it was and the idea was not pleasant. Could it be that the man remembered it?

"The clay pot on the upper shelf; it's half-full of a dry mixture that smells funny."

"What's funny is your offering it to me in place of tea." He clicked his tongue impatiently, "I want the real thing, of course."

"There is only a little left. I wondered, perhaps you use the other stuff too sometimes."

"Not on your life!" He thought, maybe he should have seized the opportunity to make Bodie drink another dose of Angus' potion, which was meant to help him recover his memory fully, after all. But, precisely the lad seemed to have already regained all that was useful for them, even if unwilling to share it and, he had to admit to himself, he wasn't very desirous to have him too much aware of what had happened during the last two weeks.

"I'll get some more tea from Angus. You remember Angus?"

Bodie's expression was blank. "I've heard that name somewhere; someone I'm supposed to know?"

"Yes, my cousin; you are his guest. We'll see him here very soon, I guess." He wavered his hand towards the kitchen. " And now my tea, please."

"Understood, sir. I'm running, sir."

"Good lad. Make it strong. And drop the 'sir' ; I don't need a manservant."

It was raining. They stayed inside. Cowley retrieved a miraculously complete chessboard from a trunk full of mismatched junk and they played for a while. Bodie turned out to be a good player. But not the better, to Cowley's petty satisfaction. He enjoyed the victory and still more not having to think of anything other than the moves of the pieces. They didn't resume their previous conversation. Neither of them spoke much and not about the things of the past, were it remote and foreign or recent and common. Which in a way was strange: How was it that Bodie seemed to have no wish to retrieve the lost two weeks? Another suspicious bit to store.

Maybe it was time to call Angus. Hopefully the wily fox would find a way to sneak through the man's mental barriers, with no need of hypnosis or herbal potions; the problem being he probably would be able to get through his as well, if he could spot a crack in the wall. And Cowley was by no means certain of being up to the test in his current condition.

As unpleasant as it appeared at the moment to his weary mind, pondering about the situation and assessing all the possibilities was not something he could postpone much longer. The deadline he had negotiated with Willis was getting closer and he had to define the best or, at least, the least faulty approach before speaking to Angus. In his exhaustion the night before, he had been unwise enough to let him free to make the call and set the deal. Now, in the light of the day this simple move of trust looked to him like a tremendous hazard, a fragile thread on which his honour and his whole future was suspended.

Meanwhile, Bodie had recovered his joyous and carefree self; he was in a chatty mood and when he wasn't playing with the dog, he made all sorts of odd enquiries about the place and its sporting opportunities (Is there a river near-by? What about fishing? And what about hunting?) as if he had never set a foot outside, never caught sight of the loch. Ach! Even for a man less innately distrustful than George Cowley, this was difficult to believe.

Too many questions, too few answers. He needed to be alone. So, he sent the lad to clean the mess the dog had made in the shed. "And since you are so keen on angling, laddie, there's a job for you: having the fishing rods disassembled and packed in their containers and seeing that every small piece is sorted out and placed in the right box on the shelf." Two hours of peace saved, with luck. "You won't find any hunting stuff, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I think I saw something like a bow in a corner."

"It's an old toy, and it's broken."

"Too bad, I'm quite good at archery, you know. I'd like to have a try; I can surely fix it."

"Do as you please, but quick and soon!"

"I didn't see any arrows but they're not difficult to make; wouldn't you like to have some game for dinner? If there are rabbits out there, I can… "

Cowley almost shouted: "Shut up, for heaven's sake!" He collected himself. "Just try to make yourself useful at least once in the day and, for pity's sake, take this stupid dog with you."

Actually he didn't need that much time to realise he had only two choices, either help the man to run away (and deny he ever had him in his gun's range) or deliver him to MI6, in the hope that Willis would hold good the promises he had made when he was in a weaker position (providing that his seniors would endorse the agreement he'd set). The first part of the alternative was not seriously envisageable, for so many reasons (practical as well as tactical) while the second was chancy at best and likely to end pretty badly for the lad. Notwithstanding, it sorely looked like treason. He consoled himself by reminiscing he still had the resource of asking his political support in the government to pressure the head of MI6 in complying. But why would he grant him a second personal favour in such a delicate situation where there was little gain to expect and some blame to incur? His only ace in the game was that he could present himself as having Bodie's trust and thus being able to extort a confession from him. Yes, if he had some bit of information to offer, it would earn him a new respite. To all intents Bodie's interrogation had to start soon. And it had better get results.

As he had taken his decision and was on the point of calling, his RT beeped. Angus' voice was as even as usual. "Good morning cousin; Do you feel better after a good night's rest?" Being utterly infuriating while sounding perfectly benign and affable had always been one of Angus' most noteworthy (and less appreciated) talents.

Cowley gritted his teeth, and not purely metaphorically. "Night was neither good nor restful."

"Sorry to hear that, had a nightmare?"

"More than one, thanks to your diabolic concoction." He snorted: "don't tell me it was meant to soothe and relax; I've already heard that song."

"Your reactions are certainly not typical; you make for an interesting case."

"Spare me the medical talk. We have more urgent issues to deal with."

"I had MacGregor on the phone this morning; you know, the farmer? He's agreed to gather all the things we've left on his side of the loch yesterday. Bart will go to retrieve that stuff in the evening, or later; there's no hurry. And the boat may stay where it is all Summer."

"Angus! Don't pretend you don't understand what I was meaning!"

"And what were you meaning?"

"Stop this. I am not in the mood."

"Speak your mind, then."

"Angus, seriously, we must talk before calling Willis; I've done a lot of thinking about..."

"Don't bother; it's done."

At this point Cowley's mind was already on red alert. Angus was carefully, but not subtly, staging his grand effects. Seemed he had some big news to announce and in the current situation big news could only be bad news. Or so he thought, steeling himself for the worse. Yet he was caught unprepared.

"What? Really! I know I agreed you would do the call, but not without prior consultation. What's going on?"

"I told you: it's over."

"What's over?" If he ever felt stupid in his life, this was the moment.

"Everything. Game is over."

The sense of the words took a few seconds to sink in. Angus confirmed: " MI6 is not on the hunt any longer; Willis got orders to desist. They don't need Bodie anymore."

"Gosh! What happened?"

"I wasn't given much detail. Seems our Israeli friends have solved the whole affair on their own and are not interested in the young scoundrel's pursuits. He's not involved in this case; he may have been so long ago but not this time." He added "And the Queen's services have no money to waste on a wild goose chase."

"Are they not even curious about his provider?"

"I would be, but, from the little I was told, I got the impression the Israelis have identified him and, for some reason, didn't want him to be importuned. I wouldn't be surprised if they had made some sort of agreement with him, whoever he is."

"So to use him later for their own ends, in the Middle-East or elsewhere."

"Something like that. A smart and discreet arms-runner may be useful in some ops and it helps when the man has no known affiliation with your side." He mused: "As for the clients, they will be dealt with properly by Mossad, I have no doubt, but it's not our business any more."

"I see." The shock was slowly waning. He should have been happy and relieved but he was just feeling empty and dumb. There was no joy, only numbness and a sense of inadequacy. All he could think was "So, it's finished!" and "All that for this!"