George Cowley set aside the puzzling report and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with one hand. Kate Ross had earned his respect for her sharp and often too-accurate diagnoses of the inner mental conflicts of his men, but there were times when he felt she was jumping at shadows. Her expressed concern over King and Mathieson hadn't really troubled him greatly; to tell the truth he had found it difficult to grasp the concept she was offering him. Was it really possible that a minor undercurrent of unexpressed emotion could cause so many major problems? He knew she had been greatly exercised over Mathieson's seeming inability to let slip the tight rein he held on his feelings after Rachel Cook's death, but could such a thing really have threatened the excellent working partnership Mathieson had with King?

Not that it mattered, really. Mathieson and King had fallen victims to a campaign of mad revenge and had been dead some months. Doyle and Bodie, however, were very much alive. He knew that they had had their difficulties recently, but he found it hard to conceive of any trauma sufficiently severe to be capable of breaking up one of his most successful teamings. He found it impossible to grasp the concept Kate Ross was offering him if it related to Mathieson and King: related to Doyle and Bodie, it was simply ridiculous.

Cowley invited Kate Ross to his office the following day to discuss her report. She sat opposite him, obviously alert and with her facts and opinions marshalled in good order ready to supply him with the information he needed. However it was not easy for him to know which questions to ask. It was as if the whole matter was a coded document he could not understand without the key.

"Doctor Ross," he began slowly. "Frankly, I'm not at all sure I under stand the implications of this report. I remember you expressing a vague concern about 3.1 and 8.2 about a year ago, but even at the time I was unsure exactly what you were getting at."

"If you remember, sir," she responded, sitting on the edge of her chair in a display of professional earnestness, "I told you at the time that I didn't know where the situation was leading but that I would begin a continuous monitoring of them and try to let you have something more definite."

"Yes," Cowley acknowledged. "And we also decided that the situation as described by you had nothing whatever to do with their deaths."

"On the face of it that's correct, sir, but I want to come back to that later. Their deaths do have a relevance to this matter."

"Indeed?" he asked, coolly. "It's good to know that their deaths are relevant to something."

"Bad choice of words," she said, grimacing. "The point is, whatever was affecting them is now beginning to affect Bodie and Doyle - and they're your best team."

"Quite so. But, Doctor, all you've given me so far are generalisations. There's nothing I can fasten onto, nothing I can work on. I don't understand the problem as you see it. Please - explain it to me."

"That's difficult."

"Try." His voice was cold and almost threatening, adding a silent 'or else'.

"The main stumbling block in this case is that I have no concrete evidence. I admit that Psychology is largely a study of the intangible, but in this case I would like to be able to produce something ... some test result, some personal interview ... to back up what I have to say. There's nothing. The test results have shown an odd fluctuation, but that can be explained by their unstable private lives. However in both cases I would have expected those factors to have more or less stabilised by now. In particular I would not have expected Doyle still to be suffering the aftermath of his broken engagement several months after the event."

"You're saying that it's taking him too long to get over it?"

"In a way. But he seems to be replacing the relationship he had with the girl with another relationship, even more dangerous. He's becoming too dependent on Bodie."

"My men are supposed to be dependent on one another. It's part of their training. Or are you suggesting that this is a one-sided business?"

"By no means. Whatever it is, Bodie's in it just as deep."

"Then you're suggesting that their relationship is becoming ... too close for comfort?"

"Too close for our comfort, yes. In fact, if not carefully handled, it could develop into a full-scale sexual liaison."

Cowley spluttered his amusement. "Doyle and Bodie?" he demanded incredulously. "Doyle? Bodie?"

"Sir," the doctor returned, not dismayed by his mirth, "it does happen. They are both very attractive ... "

"But not to each other, surely?"

"I don't know. It's possible. Look, sir, will you at least hear what I've got to say before you dismiss it?"

There was something in her voice that convinced him she was deadly serious, no matter how odd or unconventional her theme. "Very well. Please continue."

She squared her shoulders and seemed to take a moment to review her argument before speaking. "Are you familiar with the concept of body language?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Then you'll appreciate that sometimes our bodies convey signals of which we are not consciously aware - signals which a trained person can often read and comprehend." She waited for him to nod again before continuing. "In the case of 3.7 and 4.5 I've noticed an increase in physical contact between them. Obviously at first it was a very gradual thing as their working partnership and their friendship both developed, but in the last seven or eight months the increase has been dramatic. In fact I'd go so far as to say that they now touch at times when it is not strictly necessary for the pleasure of touching."

Cowley was disturbed by this. "Are you saying that there's already some kind of sexual relationship between them?"

"Not as such. I think it's possible they've been involved in group sex and therefore have, shall we say, a sexual awareness of each other - but I don't suspect any incident between the two of them yet."

"Yet? You mean that's how it will develop?"

"If I've read the signs right, almost inevitably."

"And this dates from Doyle's affair with the Holly girl, does it?"

"No, it predates that. That was an accelerating factor."

"Hmmm. Presumably you are trying to alert me to the difficulties and dangers of such a relationship? Well, I've a pretty fair idea of those. Why d'you think I made the non-fraternisation rule?"

"It's not as simple as that," she chided gently. "Mathieson and King, remember? They were on a similar course. Like Bodie and Doyle, they had no idea what was happening to them but the signals were there with them, too. The altered condition of their personal relationship put a strain on their operating partnership. There was something off balance, some eccentric cog throwing the whole mechanism out of gear. Mathieson and King set out to get themselves killed."

"You're trying to tell me they deliberately walked into that trap and got blown up?" Cowley demanded, fiercely.

"No, of course not - but there was something ... a sort of despair. They'd reached the end of their rope; the brink. From such a point of sexual tension only something very dramatic and cataclysmic can be called progress. Either a total bond, or a total split. Or in their case, total destruction. Make or break time, to put it crudely. It was no conscious decision," she went on, forestalling his interruption. "It was simply that due to this undercurrent, unidentifiable to both of them, they were less alert than they should have been. They became careless. That is what could happen to Doyle and Bodie - unless something is done."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Split them. Separate them. Do it now, or you'll lose them both."

"Doctor Ross, it will take more than 'body language' to convince me to break up my best unit. If that's all you have to go on ... " He waved a dismissive hand.

"It's not all. Remember the speech patterns I recorded and analysed when we had that trouble with Bodie? Well, I've done a new series of recordings, this time of the two of them."

"And?"

"And as you said, they're your most successful teaming. Almost too successful. They out-guess and out-think each other in a way that verges on telepathy. It used to be just a double-talk routine - but they seem to be operating as a single intelligence, almost. One mind inhabiting two bodies. It's Twinspeak - a sort of code, a verbal shorthand they understand but no-one else does."

"Other teams have that," Cowley objected. "Langley and Fields, for example."

"To a certain degree, yes, but in no other case is it so well-developed."

"Even given this ... increased closeness ... "

"Intimacy," she insisted. He winced.

"It still doesn't follow that they're ready to jump into bed together," he protested. "They're both normal, heterosexual men. So were Mathieson and King. I don't follow your line of reasoning."

"Which means that it is incorrect?" she snapped. "Sir, what I'm telling you may sound unbelievable, and of course you're within your rights to reject it utterly, but I'm not doing this for the good of my own health, you know. Bodie and Doyle could be in danger; I'm alerting you to the fact, so that you can take the proper action. Their lives could well be at stake."

Cowley was silent for a long moment, weighing her words and his own vague feeling of disquiet. He had to allow for the possibility that she was correct. He had to make his own observations and draw his own conclusions, but at the same time he had to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Very well, Doctor," he said. "Until the situation clarifies one way or the other, I'll re-team them. I'll partner Doyle with Edwards and Bodie with Gregson. Will that satisfy you?"

She smiled. "Bodie would be better solo," she commented. "But it's a start."

Procrastination was not one of George Cowley's more noticeable vices, but even so he delayed separating Doyle and Bodie. He allowed himself twenty-four hours to observe for himself the phenomena Doctor Ross had reported, then called them into his office.

"Gentlemen," he began, smiling. Doyle and Bodie stiffened automatically, having learned to distrust Cowley in his expansive moods.

"What have you been up to now, Bodie?" Doyle asked.

"Me? I thought it was you ... "

"Thank you, Morecambe and Wise," Cowley put in icily. "Gentlemen, I've brought you here because I have a particular job that must be done, and you two are the only ones who can do it."

"Makes you feel like 007, doesn't it?" Bodie quipped.

"Yeah. Licensed to thrill."

"Cut it out!" Cowley demanded, beginning to appreciate what Kate Ross had been trying to tell him. "I'm not sending you out to get killed for Queen and Country this time. If you get killed, it will only be through your own stupidity."

"As ever."

"Doyle, I'm teaming you with Jack Edwards. Bodie, you'll be teamed with Mike Gregson. They're both good, but they lack your experience. Escort them round a bit, show them a few short cuts, introduce them to a few contacts. We're getting too insular. We must open up a bit, encourage new talent."

Bodie and Doyle had groaned simultaneously.

"How long for, sir?" Bodie asked.

"As long as it takes. If it works out ... it'll be permanent."

"Permanent?" Bodie echoed, stunned. "But I thought ... I mean, I thought I was supposed to be teamed with Doyle?"

"You are, for now - but I make the teams, Bodie, and I break them. It's true you work well together, but I'm not convinced you wouldn't work better with other partners. I'm separating you to find out, and I'm bringing in Edwards and Gregson so that you can get some experience working with others - in particular, new operatives. Because if new operatives don't get the benefit of your sort of experience, they'll never live to be old."

Doyle groaned. "Babysitting."

"Someone had to do it for you," Cowley reminded him.

Bodie tried one last gambit. It was all he had left. "But sir ... I like working with Doyle ... "

"All the more reason for splitting you," Cowley snapped back. "I don't want you getting complacent, losing your edge. You're not a person, Bodie, you're a fighting machine. I want you running at your peak efficiency at all times and I'll do whatever I have to to ensure it."

"When does this new arrangement start, sir?" Doyle asked, defeat in his tone. He had learned not to try and best Cowley. It didn't work.

"Eight tomorrow morning. As of then, you each work to your new partners. Now, get out of here and stop cluttering up my office."

"Charming," Bodie grumbled, levering himself out of his chair and heading for the door.

Outside in the corridor, the two looked at one another in disbelief.

"He's lost his marbles," Bodie said, rolling his eyes.

"For once I think I agree with you," Doyle replied. "Well, it's been good working with you, mate."

"Come on, you're not just going to accept it are you?" Bodie demanded, incensed.

"What choice have I got? He gives the orders, we obey. If not - we get out."

"Well maybe we should. I never had you down as a defeatist, Doyle."

"I'm not a defeatist, I'm a realist. Cowley's got the power of life and death over us. We knew that when we joined."

"Yeah, but ... Look, Ray, I'm not used to working with a partner. I've always been a loner. But if I've got to have a partner ... well, I'd rather it was you than that spotty little erk Gregson."

"Very flattering," Doyle smiled. Then, as Bodie began to protest: "No, I know. But you'll get used to it. When I was on the force I had about six or seven different partners in as many years." As Bodie was silent, he didn't pursue the point. Instead he asked: "Wanna go for a drink?"

Bodie shook his head. "No. You go. I'll see you around."

Doyle watched him for a minute, then extended his hand towards Bodie. "Okay. Thanks for keeping me alive, Bodie. See you."

Bodie looked at him as if he were mad, then grasped both the idea and the outstretched hand. They shook hands in silence, then Doyle turned and walked away down the corridor. After a moment, Bodie shrugged, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"Well, Doctor Ross. It would seem our re-teaming of Doyle and Bodie is not as successful as we'd both hoped?"

"Fifty per cent successful so far, sir. At least that's better than having the pair of them blown to pieces, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure Bodie would agree with you. I've had him in here twice already this week complaining about Gregson. In his case, at any rate, the experiment isn't working."

"I did mention at the time," she reminded him, "that Bodie would be better solo. My tests reinforce that opinion. He's not the type to be teamed."

"Aye, you're right - at least where Gregson is concerned."

She smiled. "Gregson will make a very good operative," she informed him.

"Oh? And how do you work that out?"

"He's survived three weeks of Bodie's most evil moods and he's still in the service. He's obviously made of stern stuff.

"Maybe so." He allowed himself a smile. It had been a little like throwing a Christian to the lions, but the lion had obviously had better things to think about than food at the time. "What was that in your report about a second opinion? Do you want me to call in another psychologist? A psychiatrist?"

"No, nothing like that. Only ... well, last time we had a problem with Bodie, you consulted Master Shusai, didn't you? I just thought he might have something valuable to contribute this time."

Cowley frowned. "That man talks in riddles," he complained. "I'm never sure whether he's giving me his own opinion or quoting some proverb of his."

Kate Ross smiled at him. "Don't look so downhearted, sir. We've got half the problem solved."

"Aye," he responded, "but there's half left to solve."

Later the same day, Cowley followed Kate Ross' suggestion and sought out Shusai, the Japanese Martial Arts master who instructed many of Cowley's operatives in Kendo and the less polite arts. He was a perspicacious man, with a way of seeing and understanding the workings of another man's mind that Cowley could only envy, while at the same time being infuriated by Shusai's inscrutable double-talk. As he would have expected, the Japanese was the first to broach the problem.

"Mister Cowley, you are deeply concerned about one of your men."

"Aye, that's right."

"If I were you, I think I would be concerned about Bodie."

Cowley nodded. "What can you tell me about him?" he asked.

"Only that he is sick and he does not know why. You have recently terminated his partnership with Doyle, I think?" Cowley nodded. Shusai almost smiled. "The sickness has its origins further back than that. He is still trying to exorcise those demons which plagued him last year."

"What's in his mind, Shusai?" Cowley demanded, brusquely.

"I think you know. Bodie is learning what it is like to experience great depths of emotion - such as he never suspected existed. If he can channel that emotion into his work he will be the better for it - and so will CI5. Unharnessed emotion can only be destructive."

"Are you telling me Bodie needs someone to hate?"

"To hate ... or to love. The choice, ultimately, is yours. Any positive use of this unchannelled emotion will be beneficial. Bodie is a machine of destruction - a powerful and versatile bringer of death. If not correctly handled ... " Shusai made an expressive little gesture with his hands. " ... so much scrap metal."

At least, thought Cowley as he left, we were spared the sayings of the prophets.

The telephone rang in Doyle's flat just as he was getting ready to go out. He bounced down the wrought-iron spiral staircase, fought his way through the inevitable clutter of packing crates, and disinterred the phone from beneath a pile of paperbacks.

"Yeah?" he said into it. Then, as an afterthought: "Doyle here."

"'Allo, sunshine," the breezy voice at the other end said cheerfully. "Missing me, are you?"

"Bodie! Where the hell have you been, you clown?"

"Babysitting Gregson, and getting thoroughly sick of it. That's why I'm ringing."

"What ... Gregson?"

"Yeah, well ... the old man's finally seen the light and teamed Gregson with Marley. About bloody time, too. He was giving me headaches."

"Oh, he'll be all right. Give him a few months, Bodie, he'll be better than you."

"That I would like to see. Anyway, mate - you doing anything tonight?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting Sal in half an hour."

"Sal? Which one is that?" Bodie asked, flicking through his mental card index.

"The medical student. Fair hair, blue eyes, long legs ... drives a Cortina," he added, so that Bodie wouldn't confuse her with other fair-haired, blue-eyed, long-legged transients.

"Oh yeah, Sally Wright. Oh well, I won't interrupt now that you've found Miss Wright."

"Idiot," Doyle chuckled. "What did you have in mind?"

"A foursome. Been ages since we did that."

"Who've you got in mind?"

"Linda!" Bodie said with elaborate care and the air of one pulling a rabbit from a hat.

"What, that red-headed little raver you picked up in Harrods?"

"That's the one."

"Sounds good. I'll need some time to talk Sal into it though - she's not really the type. We all know Linda won't object," he added slyly. Bodie laughed into the telephone, a sound Doyle appreciated for its rarity value. "Tell you what, Goldilocks, we'll arrange a meet. If you're not there with Sal, I'll know the deal's off. Now, how about 'Alice's Restaurant' at about ... eleven?"

Doyle looked at his watch. Ten to eight. "Make it half past," he said. "I'll have to get her pretty mellow before I try and persuade her."

"Right. It's a deal. See you later, Ray."

"Yeah. Bye." Doyle put the phone receiver back on the rest, noting with amusement that some of Bodie's jauntiness had returned, and that his expressed confidence in Doyle's chatting-up abilities had not diminished. As he let himself out and drove to Sal's flat, he reflected on the first time a double date had turned into a foursome.

They had met a pair of twins, dancers from a nightclub act. The girls were far from their usual type, being loud and colourful as befitted their profession, not cool and unobtrusive. It became clear very early on that, like themselves, the girls hunted as a team. For Bodie and Doyle it had been a new and interesting experience to be tracked down by two skilled operators - made all the more intriguing because the girls were identical in every respect, and seemed to be completely interchangeable.

The two girls, Glenda and Wanda, had taken Bodie and Doyle back to a small but comfortable flat just off the Goldhawk Road and had there explained that they shared absolutely everything. Even their men. Slightly boggled by this, Doyle and Bodie had each independently decided that whatever they were in for, they would see it through. They hadn't reckoned on the evening turning into a semi-orgy. Fortified with wine and brandy, they had drifted through a red-lit haze of foreplay, only to find themselves both stark naked in the living room separately making love to two girls who were so alike it was impossible to tell which was which. Added to that there had been the unexpectedness of each being a spectator to the other's lovemaking - something that had only added to their mutual respect. In those days they'd been a team, and the experience had sharpened them beyond all recognition for a few days. After that, Doyle and Bodie had been left to find girls who would, if the time, circumstances, and chat-up technique were all right, accept the idea of a foursome. It hadn't been easy at first, but now they knew a few girls who were prepared to do it occasionally and a few more they were intending to talk into it.

Sal, when he broached the subject later in the evening, was startled. She looked into the bottom of her drink and said, a little shakily he thought: "So, that's where it is. I always wondered."

"I'm sorry?" he asked. "What?"

"Swinging London. I've lived here nearly five years now - since just after I left school - but in all that time I could never understand where all this promiscuous behaviour went on that my mum warned me about. Now I know."

"Who, me? Promiscuous? Never. I'm utterly faithful - to whoever I'm with at the time. You know the saying, don't you?"

"What saying?"

"If you can't be with the one you love ... "

" ... love the one you're with," she finished for him. Then: "Okay. I'll try anything once."

"Great!" he beamed, signalling the waiter to bring her another drink.

Back at Ray's flat much later, the four of them picked their way unsteadily through the crates of half-packed belongings towards the stairs. Sal had been well primed and was flying on a woolly pink cloud of alcohol. She was clinging to Doyle as if her life depended on it. Doyle turned at the foot of the stairs and grinned at Bodie, who winked back.

"You need any help with her?" he asked.

Doyle, carefully setting Sal's feet on the lowest step, responded with something suspiciously like a giggle. "No. I think I can manage. If I need help, I'll give you a shout."

"I'm counting on it."

Linda was about to follow Doyle upstairs, but Bodie grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Not so fast," he said, drawing her into his arms and kissing her thoroughly. "I know you're lusting over Ray, but save some for me, too."

She smiled happily. "Willingly," she replied, kissing him hungrily.

Eventually, some minutes later, they followed Ray and Sal upstairs into the main bedroom. Doyle was sitting on the side of the bed, bare-chested and minus his shoes, looking down at Sal as she lay on the bed. He looked up at their entrance and gave Bodie a look of utter disbelief.

"She's passed out," he said.

Bodie got a fit of the giggles. "Must be your technique, mate. Your bedside manner."

"Yeah, very funny. Help me pour her into the spare bed, will you?"

"Aren't you going to try and wake her up?" Linda asked, beginning to remove her own clothes.

"What do you think I've been trying to do?" Ray almost snapped. Then: "Sorry. I just don't like sleeping on the couch."

"You don't have to," Linda said. "Does he, Bodie?"

"What?" Doyle asked, looking up from the somnolent Sal with blank amazement.

"Just because Sal's flaked out, doesn't mean the deal's off," Linda said, dropping her dress to the floor.

Doyle shook his head violently, as if trying to clear it. "No," he said, lifting Sal and gesturing to Bodie to help him. "Thanks, Linda, but no thanks. I don't like being a gooseberry at the best of times. In my own bed ... " He left the sentence hanging as Linda hauled the door open and the two men carried Sal into the spare room. Then she turned and stripped away the rest of her clothes, crawling into the middle of the wide double bed.

In the spare room, the two men laid Sal out like a corpse on the single bed. Doyle began to strip off her clothing almost savagely, while Bodie drew the curtains.

"Bit of a sell, eh mate?" he asked, sympathetically.

"Yeah."

"I think Linda was serious, you know. You don't have to be a gooseberry."

"I couldn't do it."

"What's the difference? We share two girls, we share one. She's willing, I'm willing ... it'll be different, anyway."

"Yeah, I know. And what if you change your mind half way through? Or in the morning?"

"Have I ever lied to you? Have I? No." Bodie answered his own question. "It'll be all right."

"What about Sal?"

"Her fault for passing out, isn't it?" Bodie said, callously. But he belied his words by the care with which he settled the duvet round the now nude Sal. Doyle was folding her clothes neatly onto a chair.

"Well ... " Doyle said slowly. He caught Bodie's expression and melted. "Okay," he said.

Bodie slapped him across the shoulders. "Knew you would," he said with a grin. They left Sal to sleep it off, and returned to the main bedroom where Linda was waiting. "Ray changed his mind," Bodie informed her.

"Good," she replied. Doyle and Bodie exchanged looks from where they now stood, on opposite sides of the double bed. Then without another word, Ray stripped off the rest of his clothing and climbed in beside Linda, who turned and kissed him. Bodie, who had been fully clothed, took a little longer to undress, then switched off the light before he, too, got into bed next to Linda. He reached his left arm around her and his hand encountered the broad smoothness of Ray Doyle's shoulder. Instead of drawing away, he let the hand rest where it was and a few seconds later felt Doyle's right hand settle on his waist. Both were moving closer to Linda, who moaned softly. Doyle's arm strayed a little further around Bodie's waist, and Bodie stopped worrying about him and began to concentrate on Linda.

Bodie awoke to find himself being violently shaken. "Ray, come on, wake up," a voice was insisting. A male voice.

"What the hell ... " Bodie groaned. Then he recognised his assailant.

"Edwards. What the fuck are you playing at?"

"Bodie?" Edwards gasped, incredulous. "Where's Doyle?"

"He's in here somewhere. Just a minute." He reached across the bed and shook Doyle, who had gone to sleep wrapped in Linda's arms. "Come on, Goldilocks, your new boyfriend's here to take you to the ball."

"Shut up, Bodie," Doyle groaned.

"Work, Raymond," Bodie told him, getting out of bed himself and beginning to climb into his clothes. "What's happening, Edwards?"

"It's McGraw," Edwards explained. "They've got him penned up in a warehouse but he's sitting on a couple of hostages and, would you believe, a large crate of dynamite? He wants to talk to Doyle. Cowley didn't say anything about you," he added to Bodie.

"He wouldn't - but I go, just the same." Bodie looked across at Doyle as he stepped into his shoes. "Armoury?"

"In the cupboard," Doyle replied, indicating one of a series of wall units. Bodie threw the cupboard door open, grabbed Doyle's gun and one he himself had previously used, and threw one across the bed to Doyle. Linda was stirring, watching the three men in the darkened room through half-open eyes.

"Bodie?" she asked, sleepily.

"Got to go to work, luv," he told her.

"What time is it?"

"Quarter to five," Doyle supplied. He was just strapping on his watch.

"Funny time for civil servants to start work," she commented lazily.

"Our boss is very funny about flexi-time," Bodie said. He leaned over and kissed her. "Thanks, Linda," he said softly. "I'll call you."

"Any time," she responded.

Doyle, too, kissed her. "Yeah, thanks," he added. "Better get some sleep. You deserve it."

And with the stunned Edwards in tow, they galloped down the stairs to the car.

Dawn was just breaking as they reached the riverfront warehouse, which was surrounded by uniformed police. Cowley spotted Edwards' car and stepped forward to speak to Doyle. He was surprised to see Bodie, but then mentally corrected himself. He should not have been surprised.

"He's got the night-watchman and a dockyard copper tied up in the paint store," he said, addressing Doyle and dispensing with preliminaries. "There's no question that he's had access to dynamite - probably got a whole crate of it in there - and blasting caps. You don't need to be Blaster Bates to make a nice mess with that little lot."

"What's he want?" Doyle asked.

"Wants to talk to you. He wants your assurance on the drugs thing before he'll talk to us about his involvement with Freddie Hill's gang."

"Yeah, but I've told him before about that. We can't drop it altogether but we'll only do him for possession, not for pushing the stuff."

"He's not just pushing. He's using," Edwards put in. "He's high as a kite. He could do anything."

"Very unpredictable," Cowley added. "You go in, but not without backup. Edwards, that's you."

"But sir ... " Bodie protested, speaking for the first time.

"Bodie, you'll stay with me. This isn't your case and I don't want you involved. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Bodie muttered glumly.

"Is he armed, sir?" Doyle asked.

"Apart from the obvious?" Cowley asked with a lift of the eyebrow. "Yes. He's got a forty-four. Your friend McGraw doesn't do things by halves, does he?"

"He's not my friend," Doyle protested automatically. "He's just a grass."

"He'll be a dead grass if you don't get moving. And he's likely to take two good men and half the dockyard with him," Cowley added as Doyle and Edwards started to move towards the warehouse. "I don't need to tell you just what sort of a mess that lot'll make when it goes up - and I'm a trifle too close to it myself."

With this parting shot he returned to the car and stared, with Bodie, at where the dark figure of Doyle was entering McGraw's field of fire.

"I hope Edwards knows what he's about," Bodie growled to himself.

"What was that, Bodie?"

"Nothing, sir."

Doyle was standing in front of the warehouse now, facing McGraw square on. "I'm here, Charley," he said. "What do you want?"

"Oh no. I want you in here. In here with them." Charley's gun wavered for a second as he used it to indicate the door of the paint store where he was keeping his two hostages. "In here, Doyle," he repeated. "I want to talk to you."

Doyle began to walk forward.

"STOP!"

Doyle obeyed.

"I'm not quite that stupid, Doyle. Get rid of the jacket - and the armoury."

With exaggerated care Doyle removed his jacket and laid it on the ground, then unwrapped the shoulder holster and laid it down on top of the jacket. He raised his arms to shoulder level in a classic shrug, to indicate he was no longer armed.

"All right. Walk in, slowly."

Doyle walked forward and disappeared into the huge dark maw of the warehouse.

"Come into my parlour," Bodie murmured softly.

This time Cowley caught the remark but did not comment on it. He looked swiftly at Bodie and discovered that his keen eyes were focussed not on the entrance to the warehouse but on the darkened window of the paint store.

McGraw opened up the paint store and waved Doyle in with the gun. Doyle looked around him but could see very little. When his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he made out the figures of the two captives tied up to the stanchions of the metal shelving.

"You two okay?" he asked, off-handedly.

Charley chuckled. "You hear that?" he asked the two figures. "He's asking if you're all right. They're croaked, Doyle. I cut them." Charley flourished a wicked curved lino-knife in his free hand.

"Why? Why them?"

"Who cares? We've all gotta die some time, haven't we? For you and me, that's tonight. Never mind them. They done nothing - got in the way, that's all."

"What have I done, then?" Doyle asked, his ears catching a faint whispering sound that could have been rats - or Edwards moving into position to jump McGraw.

"You've been sniffing round trying to get me to shop Freddie, haven't you? Well he found out. He cut my old lady. Slashed her up with a razor and pushed her in the river. Somebody fished her out, but she died anyway. That was last night, Doyle, while you were out screwing your bird. That was your bloody protection."

"Did you try and call me?"

"No. I didn't. I went round to Freddie's house and blasted him."

"Blasted?"

"With the forty-four." Charley smiled. "I don't know why I didn't do it before."

Doyle's heart sank. Charley wasn't just high, he was insane. He was on a revenge trail and it didn't matter who got in his way. What was more, Doyle himself was one of Charley's prime targets. The last. Then it would be Charley himself. Nothing to live for, with his funeral pyre already arranged around him.

"It wasn't my fault, Charley," Doyle tried, hoping Edwards was on his toes. He lunged for the gun, but Charley sidestepped and slashed at him with the knife, cutting Doyle's left arm open almost to the bone. Charley's gun discharged and, with a little explosion, the can of paint the bullet had penetrated burst into licking blue flames. A second followed it.

Bodie saw the flicker of the flames across the window and broke away from Cowley, kicking in the door of the paint store just as Charley was taking aim at the fallen Doyle. In a single swift movement he kicked Charley back against the stanchion. The flames were beginning to take hold now. Bodie gripped Charley's coat and hauled him to his feet, doing the same for Doyle with his free hand. He propelled the pair of them roughly towards the exit, shouting as he went.

"Edwards! Where the fuck are you, prat?" He threw Doyle and Charley towards the waiting police, then turned to stop two officers going into the building. "Leave it," he said. "They're dead. Where's Edwards?"

"Here," Edwards said, running round the building towards him.

"You alright?" Bodie asked.

Edwards nodded.

"Not any more you bloody aren't!" Bodie informed him, smashing a savage punch into Edwards' face.

"Bodie!" Cowley roared, running towards the tableau.

Bodie stared at his boss with utter contempt. "Piss off," he said, and strode away without waiting for more. He did not even look back to see if Doyle was alright.

"Sir ... " Edwards began, through what Cowley suspected were tears.

"Sir, I ..."

"Not your fault, Edwards," Cowley said abstractly, watching Bodie's retreat and seeing to the police loading Charley into a squad car. "Never send a boy to do a man's job. They'll pinch his bike. I don't think you're altogether cut out for CI5, lad."

"Me?" Edwards yelled, fuse finally coming to an end. "What about that maniac there?"

"He's one of my best men," Cowley said smoothly.

"Well if that's CI5's best ... I don't want any part in it," Edwards said forcefully.

"That can be arranged," Cowley told him, and turned to check up on the first aid Doyle was being given.

"Doctor Ross." Cowley began the interview a little snappily. "You're still urging me to take action over Bodie and Doyle. Surely, whatever it was between them has solved itself by now?"

"A problem like this doesn't just go away if you ignore it," Kate Ross insisted. "Did you debrief Edwards fully before you let him go?"

"Naturally."

"And did he tell you what happened when he went to collect Doyle that night?"

"No. What?"

"He found Doyle and Bodie in the same bed, with a girl between them."

"What are you saying?"

She sat back in her chair, appraising him before replying. "Sir, I'm aware of your Calvinist upbringing. The shadow of John Knox still looms large in areas of Scotland."

"Don't patronise me, Doctor. I've been in Intelligence for thirty years. There's not much that I haven't seen or heard of - even if I haven't participated."

Kate Ross was aware that she'd upset him. "I'm sorry. I was going on to say that in my opinion, three in a bed is more dangerous than a foursome."

"Dangerous? In what respect?"

"Well, it's simply a question of mathematics," she answered coolly, totally un-blushing. "With a foursome, two couples pair off and apart from the element of voyeurism involved everything's more or less normal. There's little contact between same-sex participants. With three in a bed, the same-sex participants are by definition almost as involved with one another as with the third party."

Cowley shuddered. This frank young woman's clinical attitude to sex made even the most acceptable practices sound degenerate.

"So you see this as a step nearer the sexual relationship you predict?"

"Inevitably, I must see it that way," she replied. "Whether by accident or design, Bodie and Doyle are now conscious of one another's sexuality. A relationship between them would be the next step. Unless, of course, we prevent it."

"And how do you suggest I do that?" Cowley asked, accepting the 'we' in the spirit in which it was intended.

"Diversionary tactics. Introduce a randomising factor."

"A spanner in the works?" he mused, wishing that for once she'd call a spade something rather less high-flown than a broad-bladed digging implement.

"Precisely."

Bodie strolled jauntily round to Doyle's flat as soon as he heard his partner had been discharged from hospital. Sal let him in, then disappeared to the kitchen to make coffee for them all.

"See you've got all the comforts of home," Bodie remarked. "She staying here, is she?"

"Not really. But she's trying to make up for the other week."

Bodie chuckled. "Tell her not to bother," he said. "It was pretty good as it was."

"Yeah," Doyle said, reflectively.

"How's the arm then, mate?"

"Not too bad. Sore. I've got to go back to hospital on Friday to have the stitches out, and then they reckon a week before I can really use the arm - but I can go back to work after I've had the stitches out."

"So you'll be back on Monday, eh? Light duties only?"

"That's right. Why, you been missing me?"

"Oh, yeah. desperately. Cowley's got me mucking about in archives. An intensive course in filing, he said."

"That's to pay you back for slugging Edwards, I suppose."

"Oh, you heard about that, did you? Well, he dropped you in it."

"I couldn't miss it, could I? I was there, remember. I presume that's why Edwards quit?"

"Well, if he's the type to quit when he gets thumped, he's not much good to CI5, is he?" Bodie demanded defensively.

"No. And what about Cowley, then? What did he say about you mouthing off to him like that?"

"Not a lot. He knew I was under extreme provocation."

Doyle laughed. "Whatever. You got me out of the warehouse. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. By the way, that silly bastard Charley didn't have dynamite, or anything like it. Those bloody coppers got all their wires crossed. The dynamite showed up in Hendon two days later."

"Well, we didn't know that at the time. You didn't know it."

"Didn't even think about it," Bodie began. Then he changed the subject as Sal entered. "Ah, young Florence Nightingale. Coffee for the wounded - and for the faithful visitor. You know, Sally, it's a shame that a lovely young lass like you should be wasted on a cripple like him. How would you like to come to dinner with me tonight?"

"Bodie ... " Doyle said, warningly. "Leave her alone ... "

"Calm down, calm down," Bodie chided, a roguish gleam in his eyes. "Did you ever see such an impatient patient?" he asked Sal.

Cowley studied the files carefully for a full afternoon, then made a telephone call to an associate in the publishing business. He had the absurd picture of himself as Cupid or a Machiavellian string-puller. Whatever his Intelligence training had fitted him for, it was not the role of matchmaker. However, he was not really furthering the course of true love. It was more like lighting the blue touch paper ... and standing well back.

The telephone rang in Doyle's flat late one evening, just as he was settling down to a war movie and a can of Guinness.

"Hello, Doyle," he said, replying.

"Hello Ray," a cool voice said. A voice he recognised, dimly.

"Ann? Ann?

"Yes. How are you, Ray?"

"Fine. Where are you?"

"Actually, I'm back in Kensington. I just wondered how you were."

"Fine. I'm fine. You?"

"Fine."

"Good. Are you in town for long?"

"I don't know," Ann replied. "I'm here for the Book Fair, but I'm supposed to go back at the end of the month."

"How's New York?"

"Busy."

"Would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow evening?" Doyle asked, not too hopefully.

"Yes." Her voice held all the warmth he remembered. "Thank you, Ray. I'd like to see you again."

"For old times' sake?"

"Something like that."

"Okay. I'll pick you up at eight."

As he returned the phone receiver to its rest, Doyle smiled to himself in something approaching disbelief. Ann Holly. Ann Holly. After all this time!

The following day he kept completely quiet about his date with Ann. He could well imagine the teasing he would get from Bodie if he even admitted to thinking about Ann, let alone arranging to see her. Bodie, however, seemed to have other things on his mind.

"What's the matter with you?" Doyle asked, looking up from his latest batch of files to catch Bodie's impression of a sick cat.

"Nothing. Yes, there is. First, I don't like pushing paper. If I wanted to do this sort of thing for a living I would have joined the Post Office or something."

"Yeah, I know. Some of these files date back to Mansfield Cumming himself. I've even seen the file on Macklin's Hong Kong operation, and that's not even our department. Supposedly. Anyway, what's the other problem?"

"Huh?"

"You said 'first'. That means there's a 'second'. Give."

"Oh. Yeah, well ... second is ... I'm taking Sal to the pictures tonight."

Doyle, to Bodie's eternal amazement, grinned. "Are you?"

"Yeah. Don't mind, do you?"

"No. Not at all. In fact, it's a weight off my mind. I was wondering how to crawl out of seeing her tonight."

"You got something else arranged, then?"

"Yes. I've got a very special date tonight."

Bodie grimaced. "You've been reading Barbara Cartland again," he accused.

"Not at all. But something's ... well, I've just got another appointment, that's all."

"Not going to tell me?" Bodie asked.

"No."

Bodie shrugged. "Keeping secrets from your partner, Doyle," he teased. "It's not on, you know. Share and share alike, I thought. Like Linda."

Doyle, for a moment, remembered Linda. He grinned. "Not this time," he said - and Bodie began to get crawling feelings at the back of his neck. He'd heard that phrase before but he couldn't quite remember where.

"So you don't mind about Sal?" he reiterated.

"Not at all. In fact ... " Doyle took on a solemn, po-faced expression, " ... bless you, my children."

Bodie hefted a four-inch thick buff folder and made as if to throw it at his partner's head - but at that moment the door opened and Cowley strolled in, so he swiftly returned the file to his 'in' tray and assumed an air of angelic devotion to duty.

If Ray Doyle was even slightly nervous when he set off to collect Ann from her Kensington flat he didn't admit it even to himself. The most he would allow himself to acknowledge was a slight apprehension and an unwillingness to think past the first few minutes of what could prove to be an awkward interview. However his first sight of Ann in nearly a year immediately set his mind at rest. Her long oval face softened into a smile as she took a good look at him, and he was unable to prevent himself grinning back.

"Ray," she said, stepping back to let him into the flat. "You're looking very well."

"Funny you should say that," he replied with a chuckle. Then he added: "You look great, Ann. How's the job in New York?" As he spoke, he leaned towards her and kissed her cheek, holding her lightly.

"Very exciting, actually. I'm getting opportunities to meet some of the authors now, and to interview them about their plans. You know," she said, automatically pouring a drink for him, "there's something very satisfying about following a book through from the first glimmer of an idea in the author's mind right up to the time the first edition hits the bookshops."

"Yeah, must be." He nodded, then: "So, where d'you want to eat?"

"Here."

"Here?"

She laughed. "My cooking's improved out of all recognition," she rebuked. "Besides, it's for selfish reasons, too. If this evening doesn't work out - well, at least I'm at home already."

He frowned. "Is there any reason why this evening shouldn't work out?"

"I don't know. Last time we were together it wasn't all sweetness and light, was it?"

He watched her warily. "It's the job," he said, by way of a reply. "It won't change."

"I know. I've had my eyes opened in the last few months, Ray. I've seen the FBI in operation in New York and ... well, they make your organisation look like a Sunday School class. It made me realise I'd been pretty ... well, insensitive."

"No, it wasn't that," he said, shaking his head. "People just aren't prepared for the consequences of living with an outfit like CI5. The problem is ... nobody could take the consequences of living without it. We're as necessary as the GLC when it comes to getting rid of the rubbish."

"I know. But you do understand what I'm saying, don't you? I'm sorry I made such a fuss about that checking-up business. I've realised since how it must have looked to you. It was a shock, obviously, but ... you were only doing your job."

"I'd hate to think I had to fall back on that as an excuse."

She smiled winningly. "Fresh start?" she suggested.

He responded with a broad grin. "You're on."

When he reported for duty the following morning Doyle was in a more than usually buoyant mood. Indeed, there was very little wrong with his world. Ann was back in his life, so was Bodie - and by way of a dividend, he was due back on active duty today.

Bodie picked up on the mood immediately. "Good night?" he asked.

"Goodnight," Doyle replied breezily, sweeping past him into Cowley's office.

Cowley took no more than a brief glance at Doyle's expression before initialling the document returning him to active duty. He assigned both of them to a surveillance operation, keeping tabs on a suspected KGB operative with links to Scotland Yard. It was a comparatively dull task as the man behaved as if he had a totally unblemished conscience and at the end of the day they were able to report to Cowley that as far as they were concerned he was pure as the driven snow. Cowley 'harrumphed' eloquently and did not betray by even so much as the lift of an eyebrow whether he was pleased or otherwise by this disclosure.

On the way out of the office at the close of the day Bodie had to scurry to keep up with Doyle.

"Hey, what's the hurry?" he demanded. "I wanted to ask you something."

Doyle stopped in the doorway, a tolerant expression on his face. "What?"

"Well ... whether you wanted to go to 'Alice's' tonight - with Sal and your new bird."

Doyle shrugged. "You've moved in on Sal, have you?" he asked carelessly. "Whatever happened to Linda?"

"She's still around, if I want her. Anyway, you going to bring whassername to 'Alice's'?"

"No, I don't think so. You go with Sal, and have a good time. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure ... " Bodie replied vaguely, as Doyle bopped happily away to his parked car.

Doyle giggled as he related the story to Ann later in the evening. "He looked like a gaffed fish," he chortled.

"Then he doesn't know I'm back in town," she said, with a distant smile.

"No. But I'll bet Cowley does. He doesn't miss much."

"I like your Mr Cowley," she said, remembering their brief meeting several months before. "And Bodie, come to that."

"Yeah, Bodie's all right," he agreed. "So's Cowley. I trust them both. Got to, really, my life depends on them."

"I know. That's a lot easier to cope with than I expected. Are you going to tell them about me?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Does it matter?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't suppose it does.

"Unless, of course," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "you've changed your mind about marrying me?"

Ann regarded him quizzically. "I don't know," she said, echoing him. "Does it matter?"

"It might. You see, I'd really like to be married to you. Better than anyone else I can think of."

"But Ray ... " she protested gently, some part of her counselling caution. "I've only been back in the country a couple of days. We haven't seen each other for ... eight months or more. Don't you think we should wait a while?"

"Do you want to wait?"

Ann laughed. "You snake," she accused. "You make it impossible to refuse you."

"Does that mean 'yes'?"

"Yes, it means 'yes'."

The following morning Doyle presented himself in Cowley's office at an hour when he would normally have been in the gym or fighting off the last remnants of sleep, and looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to an almost dazzling degree.

"Sir," he began. "I would like to ... "

"Doyle," Cowley interrupted. "I take it this is something serious?"

"Yes sir."

"Then would you please sit down? Looking up at you makes my neck ache."

Doyle grinned, and sat. Cowley waved a hand, gesturing for him to continue.

"Sir, I want to apply for permission to get married."

"Oh, indeed?" Cowley's response was a masterpiece of understatement.

"This is a mite sudden, 4.5. Anyone we know?"

"Yes sir. Ann Holly."

"Ann? I didn't know she was back in the country."

"Well she is," Doyle said, almost defensively, then noticed Cowley was smiling.

"Indeed," Cowley said again. "Well, we'll have to update our vetting of her of course. Check her contacts in the U.S. Has she mentioned anything in particular that happened when she was over there? Anything we might be interested in?"

"Only one thing. She said she'd seen the F.B.I. in action - but that could be something and nothing."

"Unlikely to be serious, I agree. Did you have a date in mind?"

Doyle shook his head. "No. We've only just decided. I suppose ... as soon as possible."

"Mmmm," Cowley mused thoughtfully. "Well, it should take no more than about three weeks to finalise the checking procedure and get all the documents completed. Unless you'd like me to make it 'rush' priority, for any reason?"

"Not necessary, thank you, sir. Ann will have to go back to New York anyway, to tie up loose ends there - and there are arrangements to be made, obviously."

"Naturally. Well, I'll definitely be able to give you your answer before she flies out."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ah, don't thank me until you've got your clearance, Doyle. But congratulations, all the same." Doyle grinned, getting up to leave. "By the way ... " Cowley called after him as he reached the door. "Have you told 3.7 yet?"

"No."

"Ah."

Doyle shrugged, grimaced, and left the office.

After that morning's gym session Bodie flopped onto a bench in the changing-room, sweating and out of breath.

"Christ!" he swore. "Doesn't get any easier, does it?"

"If you can't take the heat ... "

" ... stay out of the kitchen. That's what I like about you, Doyle. Never short of an original line."

"Sorry. Anyway, what were you and Langley talking about?"

"Getting jealous, flower?" Bodie camped - to be repaid by a thrown towel landing around his ears with great rapidity and even more force. "Actually, we were taking bets on whether you would throw Fields into orbit or merely into the next county. What's come over you, Raymondo? Been eating 'Super-weeties' for breakfast again, or was it all those secret sessions with the bull-worker and the Charles Atlas book?"

"Aha, that's pure virtue that is, Bodie. My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure."

"Yuk!" Bodie said, disgustedly. "You smug bastard, you've got something up your sleeve. Give."

Doyle grinned. "How long have we been partners?" he asked. "Four years?"

"About that. And it don't seem a day too much."

"And in all that time you've knocked yourself out to convince me you're my superior in just about everything, right?"

"Just trying to help you along, that's all. Leading by example."

"Well, you've convinced me. I admit it. You're the best man."

"Took you long enough," Bodie preened. Then he did a long, slow take. "I'm what?" he asked suspiciously.

"The best man."

Bodie looked up to heaven and sighed. "I knew it. Spring is in the air, and Raymond can hear bells again. I should get that checked, mate."

"Bodie, I'm marrying Ann Holly as soon as Cowley gives his consent. I'd like you to be best man, but if you don't fancy it I'll ask my brother."

Bodie groaned. "I suppose it means wearing a suit," he complained.

"You can wear your birthday suit for all I care," Doyle spluttered, amused by Bodie's discomfort. "Do I take it you'll do it?"

"Lead you like a lamb to the slaughter? It's against my better judgement, mate, but if you insist on marrying the bird ... well, I'll be there to make sure you get it right."

"Thanks. I appreciate your faith in me. Maybe you'd like to come on the honeymoon as well?"

"Sure. But do you and I share Ann, or do Ann and I share you?"

"Whatever takes your fancy, sweetie," Doyle cooed, heading towards the shower.

Kate Ross interviewed Ray Doyle a few days after submitting her report to Cowley. She privately thought, as she watched him enter her office and seat himself opposite her, that she had seldom seen him looking so sleek and contented. She almost expected him to purr at any moment. In the back of her mind a bell rang, a little sign lit up with the word 'COMPLACENCY' - and she sharpened her senses to detect the smallest flaw in his confidence.

"Well," she said, smoothly. "I understand congratulations are in order."

He smiled, finding her searching gaze a little uncomfortable. "Thank you," he said.

"You have nothing to thank me for yet," she replied, a fraction caustically. "This is just a routine interview, you understand. The one tomorrow is also routine - when we see your fiancée and assign her a security classification."

"Yeah, I know all that," he nodded.

"Very well. Just a few questions, then. First - why do you want to marry Ann Holly?"

"Because I love her."

She tapped the top of the desk impatiently. "4.5," she reprimanded, "we won't get anywhere if you insist on giving me answers out of a Hollywood film-script. I expect a proper detailing of the reasons for your decision, not some pat phrase like that. Now, why do you want to marry Ann Holly?"

"Because you weren't interested and Bodie snores too much," he snapped.

"Indeed. Very well, we'll move on. Second question: why now?"

"Because we've just decided."

She sighed. "Why did you decide now?"

"Because Ann's just come home after eight months in New York and I realised how much I'd missed her."

"And why do you actually want to get married? Leaving aside," she said hurriedly, "the person of your intended. What, to you, are the advantages of getting married?"

"A settled, permanent relationship with one person," he said slowly. "Things like coming home to a cooked meal and having all my housework done for me don't count. I've lived on my own long enough to be able to manage things like that for myself, and I'd very quickly lose my self-respect if I thought I was depending on someone else for that."

"You're a gift to the Liberationists," she said, smiling for the first time. "Go on."

He, too, grinned. "Thanks. Well, to me marriage is just a background sort of thing. My work is very important to me, as you know. I feel I need something in the background to balance it out. I've had a series of not-very-satisfactory affairs as you probably also know. I suppose I've just got the urge to ... settle down."

"And you feel very strongly that whatever decision you make at this time will have a permanent effect on your life? If you marry, it's for life. If you stay single, that too is for life?"

"Yes."

"But you don't have any religious views on marriage, do you? What I'm getting at is, why have you decided on marriage rather than a live-in relationship which would be just as permanent? Are you planning on having children?"

"No, we don't want children - but I think I'm a bit old-fashioned, really. If there was anything to prevent us getting married I'm sure we would just live together and it would have the same value to both of us as a proper marriage. Assuming there's nothing to prevent it - well, we might just as well do it properly."

"Then how would you react if, after our screening, Mister Cowley declined to give his consent to the marriage? Would you defy him, or would you leave CI5?"

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. Is it likely to happen?"

"Not very," she admitted. "Have you thought about the effect this is likely to have on 3.7?"

"Bodie?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't know. I mean, he doesn't like the idea, but he'll get used to it. He's agreed to stand as best man, so he can't be that dead set against it."

"So you think he'll come round in the end."

"Sure of it," Doyle grinned.

She sat back. "Well, that's about all," she told him. "We're seeing Ann tomorrow and of course I'll have to talk to Bodie at some stage, but it is just a formality at this point. Congratulations," she said, holding out a hand to him across the desk.

He shook her hand, smiling to himself, muttered "Thanks" once more and left the office.

Ann was understandably nervous at the prospect of walking into the heart of 'enemy territory' and facing up to the forbidding George Cowley. Although Ray had reassured her, she spent the evening prior to the interview in a state of tension which was not reduced by a phone call Ray made to his mother informing her that he was coming to see her at the weekend. It wasn't until after he had put the phone down that he turned to Ann and informed her that she would be going with him. She'd called him a 'snake' again, and then laughed and asked to be told about his family - which reassuring conversation had helped to calm her.

By what could have been a staggering coincidence but was, in fact, a piece of subtle and intelligent stage-managing, Bodie's interview was scheduled to take place half an hour before Ann's at a time when Cowley had ensured that Doyle was occupied attending a Special Branch liaison meeting in another part of the building.

Bodie started off the interview with a huge grin in Kate Ross's direction, to which she replied with a faint smile.

"3.7," she said. "You know why you're here. And you know it's just a formality."

"Yeah. You want to check me out before Ray gets shackled. To make sure I'm not going to use it as an excuse to commit suicide, presumably."

"Something like that. You and he are fairly close, aren't you?"

"In a way. Not that close, though," he laughed.

"Then you're quite happy for this to go ahead?"

"Oh yeah," Bodie replied carelessly. Then: "Yeah, I like Ann. She's got class."

"You think she'd make him a good wife?"

"Oh yeah, no question."

"Mmmm," she responded thoughtfully. "So, from your point of view, no objections?"

"No."

"And how do you see it affecting the working relationship? Do you think Doyle will be a bit more concerned with saving his own skin if he's got Little Wifey waiting at home for him?"

"Oh come on!" he objected. "Ray's not like that and you know it. That's just bloody sour grapes where you're concerned."

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.

"You know what I mean. Have you finished asking me stupid questions?"

"No. Wait in my outer office, will you? I've got some reaction tests I want to run on you. There's been a foul-up on the paperwork concerning your last series and I can't use the figures we got then."

"Alright," he said, getting up and trailing out to the outer office.

Kate Ross opened a drawer in her desk as soon as Bodie had left the room. Instead of the usual selection of paper, the drawer contained a solitary blue-bound folder, which she lifted out and placed on the centre of her blotter. Returning her attention to the drawer she withdrew a metal plate and set it on top of the folder. Beneath the plate lay a series of switches and controls which she operated swiftly, setting in motion a sound and video system with a camera concealed in the wall of her outer office. She snapped a fresh cassette into the recorder, switched on the screen, and sat back and waited for the fun to begin.

Bodie was reading a well-thumbed gun catalogue when Ann walked in.

"Hello, Bodie," she said warmly. "I didn't expect to see you here. Is this the right office for Doctor Ross?"

"Yeah, take a seat," Bodie said, setting the gun catalogue down with reluctance.

"What's he like?" Ann asked.

"Who?"

"Doctor Ross."

"Oh, he's terrifying," Bodie assured her sagely. "Big butch and hairy."

"Thanks. How have you been, Bodie?"

"Oh not bad, you know. You've been off to the high life in New York I hear? When do you go back?"

"A couple more weeks. I've got a few days holiday attached to my business trip, so I can go back more or less when I like. I don't suppose it matters, since I'll be leaving anyway."

"Yeah. You're a fool getting tied up with him, you know."

"Why?"

"Oh, Ray, he's a bundle of neuroses. A walking psychiatric textbook. He's got every -oid and -ism in the book."

"You're kidding?" she said.

"No, it's all true. Listen, did you know he can't go to sleep without his Teddy Bare?"

Ann laughed. "You're putting me on," she insisted.

"Not a bit of it. Seriously - Ray is a bit of a mess these days. I don't honestly know how he'll cope with marriage."

"He seems fine to me."

"He would." Bodie's expression was intensely worried, with just a hint of vague sadness. Kate Ross, watching, could only admire his acting ability. "Look, Ann, I'm serious now. This is a serious business, right?"

"Extremely."

"Well, I'm worried about Ray."

"I'll take care of him."

Bodie laughed. "He's a lucky bastard," he said. "I don't suppose you'd consider letting me buy you lunch when you're finished here?"

She grinned. "Thank you, Bodie," she replied. "I'd like that. Ray's busy all day so he can't take me."

"Great," Bodie grinned back. "It's a date."

Much later that day, Kate Ross played the videotape through to Cowley in his office.

"As you'll see," she said, "Bodie's reaction to the girl went through three distinct phases. First, disinterest or dislike. Second, discouragement. Third, persuasion."

"You'll have to explain that, Doctor," Cowley told her.

"Very well. First - well, look at Bodie's expression as the girl walks into the room. He's not very pleased to see her, he doesn't want to have to make the effort to talk to her. Second ... at this point he's realised he's got an opportunity to get at her, but he hasn't been able to form any sort of a plan because it's happened too quickly. He starts trying to discourage her on the basis of Doyle's supposed mental instability, but the girl is too loyal to accept it. Third, he turns on the charm and asks her out to lunch. I'd be willing to bet that, over lunch, he confessed to being attracted to her and asked her to have dinner with him some evening - on the basis that what Doyle didn't know wouldn't hurt him."

"Three distinct reactions," Cowley mused.

"Yes. Intuitive, defensive, strategic."

"Which is the most reliable from our point of view?"

"Oh, intuitive, every time. Bodie doesn't like Ann Holly, and he's doing his best to wean her away from Doyle. By the practised ease with which he tackled it, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he'd moved in on Doyle's girlfriends before and headed them off - taking them over for himself, then dropping them. He's trying to disrupt the relationship and prevent Doyle marrying her."

"When you spoke to him, though, he seemed to be all for it. He said Ann would make a very good wife."

"He was telling us what he thought we wanted to hear, and what he himself wanted to believe. He desperately wants Doyle to be happy, whatever the cost to himself."

"Then the approach to Ann?" Cowley asked, with the air of one picking his way through a minefield.

"Purely a reflex action. Automatic defence mechanism. It's the same as the mechanism that operates in the working partnership. Doyle's threatened, Bodie moves in and gets him out of it. He's got so used to protecting Doyle, he's now trying to protect him from himself, too."

"So that ... ?"

"So that what I've been saying all along still holds good - and your unwillingness to believe it is something I could write a treatise on!"

"Let's leave me out of this, shall we?"

"If you insist. Bodie is still too close to Doyle. The submerged emotion is still there. We may have distracted Doyle ... but we've only succeeded in making Bodie distracted. In other words, and without frills - where before the problem was equally distributed, it now falls squarely on 3.7's shoulders. He's the one at risk in this situation."

"Thank you, doctor," Cowley replied, gloomily.

Doyle drew his car to a gentle halt outside a large semi-detached villa in South London, switched off and looked at Ann.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," she smiled, gathering up her bag and climbing out.

They strolled up the path together, hand in hand. Ray opened the front door and let them both in, calling out as he did so.

"Mum? Cath?"

"In the kitchen, Ray," a woman's voice called back.

He pushed open the kitchen door to reveal chaos within. Two women were working at the stripped-pine table and various children of assorted ages seemed to be in the process of organising a major motor-racing event with the start line in the kitchen and the chequered flag somewhere in the vicinity of the rose bush at the bottom of the garden. A freckle-faced girl of about nine years old was claiming in a loud voice to be Emerson Fittipaldi, while a boy who was obviously her brother disputed this equally loudly. A three-year-old boy sat under the table with a toy tanker-lorry and 'brrrm-brrrm-ed' to himself happily.

"Hello there," Ray said. "I've brought someone with me."

"Bodie!" the young girl yelled, pushing past Ray into the hall and looking around for his partner. The toddler, too, pushed himself to his feet and padded into the hall chanting: "Mine see Bodie, mine see Bodie."

"Jane ... Davie ... come back here," Ray laughed. "It's not Bodie. It's Ann. This is Ann, everyone. Ann - my niece Jane, my nephew Davie, my sister Cath, and my mum."

"Hello ... " Ann said, vaguely stunned by her introduction to the Doyle clan en masse. At that point the young boy came belting back in, skidded across the vinyl of the hall flooring, cast a quick glance at his uncle and demanded: "Where's Bodie?"

"Come on, Rob, I don't keep him in my pocket, you know. Bodie's not here. Come and say 'hello' to Ann."

"Hello, Ann," Rob said. "Do you want to play stunt-bikes? You can be Evel Knievel if you want and I'll be Eddie Kidd."

"I'm Evel Knievel," Jane yelled, grabbing at her brother's arm. "You said I could be."

"Er - thank you, Rob," Ann said smoothly. "Maybe later. I'm going to talk to your mummy now."

There was a painful silence. Finally Rob said, with a thunderous look on his round face: "Go on then, clever-clogs."

Before Ray or anyone else could recall him, Rob had barged upstairs and locked himself in the bathroom. When Ann looked away from him to see what Jane was doing, she discovered that the child had returned to the racetrack in the garden and was furiously pushing cars through its plastic loop-the-loop with a panache Knievel would have envied. Davie padded to the front door and turned back, bewildered, to his uncle.

"Where's-it Bodie gone?" he demanded with an expression of puppy-like faith.

"Not here," Ray said, taking command and swinging Davie up in his arms. "Bodie's not here today. He's working."

"Gone to work?" Davie echoed.

"Uh-huh. Come and say 'hello' to the pretty lady."

"What on Earth did I say to upset Rob?" Ann wanted to know as she entered the kitchen with Ray and Davie in tow.

"You mentioned his mother," Barbara Doyle said. "She was killed in a crash on the M4 just about two years ago."

"Jane and Rob are twins," Ray explained. "Davie is their younger brother."

"Oh, I see. I'm very sorry, but I assumed that ... " she indicated Cath.

"That's my big sister Cath," Ray grinned. "She's got two children as well, real horrors they are - but they'll both be out today, right Cath?"

"Right - and I wouldn't call them children, though you were right with 'horrors'. Andy's eighteen, Ann, and he's off at a football match. Watching Fulham get crucified again, or so he said. As for Sally, she's sixteen, and she's round at her friend's house mooning over somebody called 'Sting'."

"Some tea, Ann?" Barbara Doyle offered, dumping the last of the cooking utensils in the sink and rinsing her floury hands under the tap.

"Oh, no thank you," Ann replied. "I'm afraid I can't drink tea. Have you any coffee?"

"Coffee coming up," Barbara smiled.

"Alex will be home tonight, Ray," Cath called from the sink where she was beginning the washing up.

"Great!" Ray said, enthusiastically.

"Who's Alex?" Ann wanted to know.

"My brother. Jane and Rob and Davie's father. He's a Marine Commando based near Exeter. And he can't stand Bodie," he added as an afterthought.

"He seems to be just about the only person in the family who can't," Ann observed with a sharp smile. It was clear to Doyle she felt that she was second best to his partner.

"Oh, the kids are crazy about him," Ray agreed. "He tells them all sorts of daft stories and gets himself filthy playing stunt-cars or whatever the latest craze is." He was smiling at the memory of Bodie turning up one day in a cap with 'Nikki Lauda' written across the front and proceeding to devastate Rob and Jane and take the World Drivers' Championship for himself by a margin of about 100 points. Bodie always played to win, no quarter asked or given, and the children worshipped him for it.

"Well, Ray," Barbara Doyle was saying gently, setting out coffee cups and saucers as she spoke, "to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Oh yeah," he said, snapping back to the present and not sure why he was reluctant to do so. "Well, it's Ann, really. I wanted you to meet her and her to meet you. You'll be seeing a fair amount of one another over the next few years so ... anyway, Ann's daft enough to have agreed to marry me, so you'll just have to get used to her."

The next few minutes were a flutter of the usual sort of female congratulations and plan making that generally coincides with the announcement of a forthcoming wedding or similar happy event. In the middle of it all, Rob arrived from the bathroom looking red-eyed and fierce and was told to say 'hello' to his new auntie, which he did with poor grace before stomping off into the garden to rescue his best cars from his sister. Davie, meanwhile, climbed on to Ann's lap and proceeded to try and get her to hold a conversation with him about his tanker-lorry ... in the midst of which he forgot entirely about his potty training and in the excitement of the moment succeeded in making a large wet patch on Ann's dress.

Barbara Doyle shepherded Ann upstairs to sponge away the mess, while Cath swept Davie up and bore him into the living room and began, competently, to undress and re-clothe the unrepentant imp.

"What do you think of her?" Ray asked, following his sister and shutting the door after him.

"I think ... I think she's quite nice, Ray, but I can see you won't be having any children. I thought she was going to throw up when Davie disgraced himself."

"Yeah, I know. She'll get used to it, though. But you're right, we don't want any kids of our own."

"No, I thought not." Cath skilfully applied talcum powder to Davie's backside and then helped him squirm into his drawers. "Remember to tell gran or Auntie Cath if you want a wee-wee, Davie," she said gently.

"You don't like her, do you?" Ray asked.

"I don't know her - but you're right, what I've seen I don't like. She's hard, Ray. The kids don't like her either."

"No, they prefer Bodie," he answered forcefully. "Well, I can't marry Bodie!"

"Maybe it would be better if you could," Cath said, fastening the strap on Davie's bib-and-brace.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Come on, let's finish that coffee."

Much later, when he'd taken Ann home and left her at her flat, he returned to his sister's house and found that Alex had arrived. He'd wanted Ann to stay on and meet him, but she'd pleaded a headache brought on by the children and he'd agreed to drive her home and then return to see his brother. Obviously Alex had only just arrived, because his kitbag was parked in the hall and he'd gone straight upstairs to see the twins.

As he came belting down the stairs sounding like a herd of elephants, Alex caught sight of Ray.

"Hello, Raymond," he called out. "Where's your shadow, then?"

"Hello, Alexander. What shadow?"

"That lout you hang about with. Bodie."

Doyle did not know whether to laugh or cry. "Look, I don't live with him you know. We're only partners at work ... we don't sleep together or anything. Why does everybody expect me to have Bodie in tow all the time?"

Alex, astute in observation as his brother was, wondered exactly what had brought that slight flush to Ray's face - and what had caused the unwarranted outburst of temper which, mild as it was, was out of character.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I only asked. Had a tough day?"

"You could say that. I brought Ann home. Ann Holly, the girl I'm going to marry. The kids set up a howl and demanded Bodie, Cath didn't like her, nor did mum, and Davie ... " despite himself he chuckled, then could hold the laughter back no more. "Davie ... wet himself ... all over her lap. She was furious ... " he fell back on to the sofa, giggling like a drain.

Alex, tired from a long journey, seized the excuse for a laugh himself. "Oh god, Ray, I'm sorry. The little prat!"

"Don't be daft, Alex. What could you have done? Christ, poor Ann. She's going to hate being married to me, you know."

"Then why put her through it?"

"I don't know, really. I just wanted to be settled."

"I thought you were settled," Alex said slowly, recovering from his laughter. "Aren't you?"

"I don't know. Huh!" he said, remembering Cath's words and beginning to giggle again. "Cath thinks I ought to marry Bodie."

"Oh God, you get worse!" Alex spluttered. "I don't know what this Ann's like, but she couldn't be half as argumentative and bloody-minded as him!"

"That's true."

Nonetheless, Alex was surprised to notice that, for a moment, his brother's face took on a thoughtful and remote expression as if he were actually weighing the one idea against the other. Actually considering ...

Bodie came bouncing out of Cowley's office after the day's routine briefing with a look of pure pleasure spread across his features. A few days ago, Doyle mused, that look would have been a rarity. Now, the cat-got-the-cream look was back in fashion with Bodie, and he positively glowed.

"What's your trouble?" Doyle asked him, amused.

"You should have my problems, mate," Bodie grinned. "But then, that sort of thing doesn't happen to old married men like you."

"I'm not married yet, Bodie," Doyle reminded him coolly. "So, what's the matter?"

"Well, if you must know, it's Sal. She's been talking to Linda, apparently. Remember we left the pair of them alone in your flat?"

"Yes. So what?"

"Well Sal's getting at me to try and talk you into an action replay."

"Action replay hell. She passed out, remember? Besides, my flat's out of commission now. In case you'd forgotten, I'm moving back into the other place this weekend."

"They've finally got the central heating fixed, then, have they? I thought it would take another ice-age to get them all sorted out."

"Would've done, if Cowley hadn't given maintenance a good blasting. Told them he'd had a complaint from the KGB that they couldn't get in to fix the bugs."

Bodie laughed briefly. "Well, my place is still available," he reminded Doyle.

"And I'm not."

"Faithful type, aren't you? It doesn't suit you, you know. You won't last a year."

"I'll last a bloody sight longer than that."

"Want a bet?"

"No. And stop getting at me, Bodie. If I want to marry her I'll marry her, and neither you, nor Cath, nor Alex, nor anyone else is going to talk me out of it."

"Cath and Alex, eh?" Bodie echoed thoughtfully. "They trying to put you off?"

"Yes," Doyle acknowledged, accepting Bodie's peace offering.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Forget it. Let's talk about something else."

But as they scrambled for the car at the start of the day's assignment, Bodie was secretly elated. Suddenly, Doyle's resolve to marry Ann was showing distinct signs of beginning to crack. For some reason, that pleased him.

Bodie met Sal that night and took her to his favourite restaurant, plying her with red wine and brandy. He escorted her back to her flat and stayed the night, and then in the morning, which was Saturday, he talked her into going with him to Doyle's place and helping him with his move.

When they got to the flat, they discovered that the athletic Linda had already arrived. She and Sal greeted one another like sisters, and together the three of them invaded the flat and shook Doyle free from his sleeping bag.

"What time's the van coming?" Bodie demanded of the corpse, as Sal put the kettle on for tea.

Doyle looked at his watch. "Not for two hours yet, you bloody lunatic. Why'd you have to wake me up so early?"

"Rise and shine," Bodie said, maddeningly. "Work to do. Snail's on the wing, lark's on the thorn."

"You got that wrong," Doyle advised, crawling out of the sleeping bag and into a pair of jeans while the girls were busy in the kitchen.

"Did I?" Bodie was unconcerned. "What is there still to be done?" he asked.

"Nothing much. Pack the kitchen stuff into the big crate, cart the bedding downstairs, pile the stereo and the records into the car ... and then take the carpets up."

"Flitting you is a major operation," Bodie remarked.

"Flitting? I thought that was something you did to garden pests," Doyle said.

"Yeah, well ... I could comment. It's Scots, all right? From my little old auntie in Aberdeen."

At that point, Sal and Linda arrived with the tea, and the four of them sat in a patch of sunlight and drank, regarding warily the work that surrounded them.

"Did you have to get so settled in here?" Bodie groaned, thinking of all the lifting and fetching and carrying, and all the dust and fuss involved in moving. "You've only been here ten months."

"What did you expect me to do, sit around on packing crates and eat from tins heated on a spirit stove? I like my home comforts, you know."

"Well why's it taken them so long to get the other place finished, then?"

"Why don't you ask them that, Bodie? Cowley told me I was moving out, Cowley tells me I can move back in. The place belongs to CI5 so I do what Cowley says."

"Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on."

"What's CI5, anyway?" Sal asked. "It sounds like a detergent."

"It's like MI5, only meaner," Bodie informed her. She snuggled in to his shoulder and seemed to have other things on her mind than moving ... moving house at any rate.

Linda put her arm around Doyle's shoulder just as the door opened and Ann walked in. Doyle turned and faced her dumbly.

"I just came to see if you needed any help," she said, coldly. "But it seems to me you're managing very well without me. I'll see you later, Ray." Doyle scrambled to his feet, realising how bad it must look. He was bare-chested and when Linda moved in on him, she didn't mess about. "Ann, wait a minute..."

"No."

He belted after her, grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the flat. "Listen..." he began.

"Let go of my arm," she insisted sharply. He did not.

"What's the matter with you, anyway?" he demanded. "Why have you gone all holier-than-thou? Just because Bodie and I are here with a couple of girls? Can't I associate with girls any more, just because I'm engaged to you?"

"It's not your associating with them I'm worried about," she shouted. "You can associate with whoever you like - but what am I supposed to think when I come here and find a scene like that?"

"Don't you ever give anybody the benefit of the doubt? Don't you ever see the innocent explanation? Are you always jumping to conclusions? You did that before, remember?" he said, knowing as he did so that it was a cruelly low blow.

"I had good reason to, before," she snapped back. "And it looks like I've got good reason now."

"You're just making a fool of yourself," he told her, trying to calm both her and himself and aware of both Bodie's amusement and Sal and Linda's embarrassment.

"And I suppose they're not past conquests of yours," Ann hissed. "I suppose I'm jumping to conclusions there as well. I suppose you haven't slept with both of them?"

Appalled by her vitriol, Ray let her go. "No," he said. He wanted to hurt her, say the cruellest thing he could think of, pay her back for hurting and embarrassing him and making him examine his motives more closely than he would have liked. "No," he said again, waiting for her look of relief before adding "all three of them."

Ann looked briefly towards the living room area where Bodie sat on the mattress on the floor with a girl either side of him. She looked back at Doyle. His shocked scowl could only mean that he was telling the truth. She'd obviously wandered in on the tail end of a night of debauchery. She turned then, white-faced, and stalked off.

Bodie got up and walked over to his partner, leaving the girls behind in the sunlight.

"What d'you have to say that for?" he asked.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Want to go after her?"

"No. If she wants to think I've been ... unfaithful ... let her think it."

"I don't know why you let her crucify you like that," Bodie murmured, half to himself.

"No. Neither do I."

The day was a busy one, and if Doyle spared a thought for Ann before the last lot of furniture was unloaded at the new flat he didn't mention it to the others.

"What happened to your pinball machine?" Bodie wanted to know. "Have you got rid of it?"

"I sold it to Fields," Doyle replied with a tired grin. "He gave me £250 for it. I was going to use the money for ... " he stopped. "Well, I had something in mind."

"Yeah, I know. Well, are you stopping here tonight or do you want to come back to my place?"

"Well, there's still a lot of work to be done here ... "

"All work and no play makes Raymond a dull boy," Bodie informed him lightly. "Come on, we can come back here tomorrow and get everything straightened out, can't we? Have some time off and charge your batteries up a bit. I'll even buy you a meal."

"Okay," Doyle agreed, "but you'll have to lend me something to wear if we're going out. I wouldn't like to try and guess where my suitcases are."

"No sooner said than done. Come on, sunshine ... hey, Linda, Sal, let's go. We're taking this man out for some decent food and a little entertainment."

They dropped the girls off on the way to Bodie's flat so that they could change, and arranged to meet them in town. As the car roared away after dropping Linda at her parents' house, Bodie glanced at the empty back seat and said "Action replay?"

"You're joking," Doyle told him with a laugh. "I'm exhausted."

"You won't be by the time those two start work on you. How about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe. See how I feel later on, eh?"

"Right." Bodie was silent for a while, then asked softly: "So why did you tell Ann you'd slept with me?"

"Just to shock her."

"You bastard."

"I know. I don't like myself very much sometimes. Anyway, it wasn't true."

"I know it wasn't true," Bodie informed him. "I was there, remember?"

On the evening of the day Doyle moved back into his first floor flat, with help and/or hindrance from Bodie, Sal and Linda, Cowley too had an engagement. He took cab to a little-known restaurant just off Wardour Street where the decor was Spartan and the food remarkable. He walked in apprehensively, eyes raking the room for his dinner partner of the evening - Shusai. A discreet waiter took Cowley's overcoat and escorted him to a table no more than eighteen inches or two feet high, where Cowley lowered himself gingerly onto cushions on the floor. Shusai was already at the table and watched him with veiled amusement. The two men were of exactly the same age, but Shusai was the better preserved by virtue of the Eastern disciplines he followed.

"Old age," Cowley observed wryly. "It comes to us all in the end. Even you, Shusai."

"In Japan," Shusai said conversationally, "age is revered. In your country the old are not treated with respect."

"Unfortunate, but true," Cowley agreed. "I must say, I'm not looking forward to my retirement. Nothing to do, no-one to talk to."

"You should have married."

"I did. I married my career - and I don't regret an instant of it," Cowley informed him with a smile.

"It is regrettable that not all your associates can share your fortitude," the Japanese observed with a slight bow. A waiter appeared at his elbow. "Fugu," Shusai said, briefly, and the waiter bowed and departed. "I have ordered you fish," Shusai told his guest. "The dish is a great Japanese delicacy and can only be prepared by an expert."

"Aye, I know. It's a type of blowfish. The liver contains enough poison to kill a man. Naturally it's served raw," he added with a small flourish, indicating to his host that he knew his subject.

"You have eaten fugu before?" Shusai asked, intrigued.

"In one of the best Japanese restaurants in the world," Cowley replied. "In Honolulu. That was in 1963 - I don't know if the place is still there." "Everything changes."

"People most of all. Shusai, tell me about Bodie."

"Again, 'tell me about Bodie'," Shusai said, with a shake of the head. "I can see more of his heart than many can, George, but I am not omniscient. He has something buried within that he hides even from himself. I cannot read it."

"Then who can?"

"You already know, or you would not be asking."

"Doyle?"

Shusai nodded - a formal nod that was more of a bow. The waiter brought rice-wine and set it on the table with two exquisite little porcelain cups beside the bottle. "No sake," Shusai informed his guest. "For fugu, the palate must be clear. Sake is too strong for the fish."

"Bodie, Shusai," Cowley prompted.

"Bodie is no longer suffering as he was," Shusai said thoughtfully. "I believe he has found that focus he sought - although he does not yet know it is there. He has never thought to seek so close at hand for that which has always eluded him."

"Are you telling me he's in love?" Cowley gasped. "The very idea's....."

"Ridiculous? Possibly so, to Western eyes."

"And to you? To Eastern eyes?" Cowley worried at the phrase like a terrier at a rat.

"In some of the ancient disciplines of which I have been a student such a thing is not unknown. Many civilisations have encouraged such a relationship in paired warriors. In ancient times ... "

"Aye, ancient disciplines, ancient times," Cowley interrupted. "But not in Twentieth Century London, Shusai. It could never work out."

"Surely such a thing is best left to the individual? The ways of the heart are beyond the control of any government."

"The ways of the heart," Cowley muttered, annoyed. "The point is that Bodie's got no idea what's happening to him. I'm supposed to give consent to Doyle marrying this girl and at the same time Bodie's ... what do I do, Shusai?"

"If I tell you what you must do," Shusai asked softly, "will you do it and not ask why? Will you accept what I say and not try to argue about it?"

"I've run out of ideas," Cowley confessed. "Anything I do now will make the situation worse. I separated them; that didn't work. I brought Ann Holly back - and it's only started up a new set of problems. I'm willing to try anything anybody suggests that will put an end to all this argy-bargy and let us all get on with some work."

"You will do as I say?" Shusai persisted.

"I will do as you say. What must I do, Shusai?" For a moment, Cowley felt that, old as he was, he was a disciple at the feet of a monumentally wise teacher whose words would ultimately change his life.

"You must do absolutely nothing," the Japanese counselled.

"What?"

"You have given your word. Do nothing. Wait. Observe. Watch as the hunting-cat watches the smaller creatures. Observe their movements. Allow them to proceed as they will. Sit and wait, and make your plans accordingly. There will be no need for you to move, to interfere. Even the stupidest creature in the world is capable of choosing its own mate. Doyle will make a decision; Bodie will accept it. Whatever it is."

"It would mean waiving the non-fraternisation rule," Cowley mused.

"Rules are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men," Shusai quoted.

Cowley nodded. "The prophet?" he asked.

"Lord Nelson."

The night at Bodie's flat passed as smoothly as any night could have done under the circumstances. Doyle and Linda managed to grab the bed, while Bodie and Sal made do with the couch - where Doyle found them huddled in the morning, sharing a single blanket and both looking distinctly unhappy.

"I hope you're feeling better," Bodie grumbled, rolling to the floor and trying to straighten his permanently damaged back.

"He's feeling very well," Linda said brightly. Then: "God, Bodie, you're a mess."

"Thanks. Well, Raymond my lad, I only hope it's all been worth it from your point of view. Showing you what you'd miss if you married Ann."

"I'm still engaged to her, you know," Doyle reminded him, seating himself carefully on the arm of the settee. "I mean, yesterday wasn't final or anything."

"Ah, but you've been unfaithful to her now, haven't you? The Iron Lady won't like that."

"Shut up, Bodie," Linda advised, seeing Doyle's expression. He was obviously working that one out himself and didn't need Bodie's comment.

"Yeah, shut up," Doyle added for good measure. "And for Christ's sake get dressed, Bodie. You're not the most appealing sight first thing in the morning you know."

"I'll be alright when I've got my face on," Bodie lisped, queening off towards the bathroom stark naked, gathering his scattered clothing as he went.

Doyle leaned over and shook Sal. "Hey," he said. "Time to wake up. Work to do."

"Work?" Sal shot upright with a jolt. "Am I late for work?" Then, realising where she was, she sank back and pulled the blanket round her again. "You rotten slimy toad, Ray Doyle," she pouted. "It's Sunday."

"We've still got work to do," he insisted. "Got to get my new flat sorted out so that I can stay there tonight. Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours, then we can go off somewhere for the rest of the day. Fishing or something," he added thoughtfully.

"Ugh, fishing," Sally grimaced. Doyle turned to look for Linda and discovered she was battling her way around Bodie's illogical kitchen trying to put together some sort of breakfast.

They spent most of the day installing Doyle's possessions in the new flat, but when they had finished none of them had any energy left to go out - fishing or otherwise. So they sat around and talked and listened to music as the sun crept towards the horizon again and Linda decided she really ought to go home. Her parents, she said, would be worried about her. With good reason, Bodie thought. He undertook to drive her home and buy her a meal on the way, which left Doyle and Sal behind in the flat. As soon as the other two had gone, Sal crossed to Ray and kissed him very firmly on the mouth.

"What was that for?" he asked, bemused.

"For looking lost," she said. "What do you think's going to happen about Ann?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. Do we have to talk about her?"

"Not if you don't want to. I'm sure we can think of something else to do." The gleam in her eye was unmistakable.

"What about Bodie?" Ray asked her.

"I'm not Bodie's property any more than I'm yours," she told him. "I belong to both of you equally. Or not at all. Whichever you feel suits you at the time."

"Totally impartial, huh?" he asked, pulling her closer.

"Totally."

Bodie bought Linda a quick meal and then swept her back to her parents' house before eleven that night. It was something of a record for him - he couldn't remember delivering a girl before midnight since he was seventeen - but she'd seemed very insistent that her parents would be worried about her, which left him to ponder on the paradox that must be her conscience. She obviously HAD a conscience, since it occasionally gave trouble - but it couldn't have been much of one.

At a loose end, he returned to Doyle's flat, to be admitted by a towel-clad Doyle.

"Anything interesting happening?" Bodie asked with a leer.

"Nothing unusual," Doyle grinned back. "Sal's in bed."

"Is she asleep?"

"What do you think?"

Bodie laughed. "Well, I'll see you mate," he said, patting Doyle's shoulder lightly. He turned to let himself out again.

"No, hang on a minute," Doyle said, feeling his heart thud dangerously and wondering why. Embarrassment? Fear? "I think Sal wants you to stay and ... well, join us. Hold on while I ask her." He went into the bedroom and Bodie heard the low rumble of voices.

I should let myself out, he thought. Get back to the car and go home. No reason why not. Except that I don't really want to ...

Doyle reappeared. "Yeah," he said with an awkward smile. "It's okay."

"You don't have to ... "

"I owe you. Besides, you know what Sal's like. She's turning into another Linda."

Bodie laughed. "Two Lindas would be more than one man could cope with," he said. "I doubt if even working as a team we could handle them!"

"Not until we get in a bit more practice."

"Practice, eh?" Bodie echoed. "That's the best excuse I've heard in a long time."

Sal was being pursued. She was being chased down dark corridors by a figure that bore a strong resemblance to Darth Vader - tall, menacing, cloaked in black - but unlike the Dark Lord this being had a remarkable turn of speed and a supernatural ability to get around in front of her, make her change direction. She twisted and turned, ducked and dodged through the corridors of her mind until she was on the point of exhaustion when the figure out-guessed her again and she fell, screaming, hundreds and hundreds of feet to land with a jolt squarely in the middle of Ray Doyle's bed.

She opened her eyes quickly, as much to shake off the last fragments of the dream as to check on her surroundings. What she discovered was reassuring. The bedside clock ticking gently was the only sound in the room. They hadn't set the alarm, but her own in-built alarm system had wakened her at the right time. It was almost seven and she had to be on the other side of London by nine. She looked back at her companions. Bodie, on her left, was flat on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow, snoring contentedly. Twisting round slightly she managed to see Ray, who was sleeping on his left side, one arm flung lazily around Sal's waist. She smiled regretfully at the pair of them, then with elaborate care extricated herself from Ray's embrace and slid out of the bed, not disturbing the two sleepers. She washed, dressed, made herself a cup of coffee, and then returned to the bedroom to see if they were awake. Neither had stirred. Sal turned to leave - then turned back, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. She would love to be a fly on the wall when they woke up ... Returning to the bedside she lifted Ray's arm from the patch of empty bed she had inhabited, and let it drop onto Bodie's broad back. Then, with a severe attack of the giggles threatening to give her away at any minute, she retreated and let herself out of the flat.

The click of the closing door penetrated into Doyle's sleeping brain. The warmth that had been beside him had gone, moved away - but there it was still, under his hand. He snuggled closer, arm reaching around the warm hard body and pulling it closer. There was a gentle snuffling sound close to his ear and the warm body shifted. A pair of comfortable arms closed around him. He nestled into the embrace and drifted deeper into sleep.

Bodie woke slowly and gently, unsure where he was but knowing instinctively it was a good and safe place. Gradually the memories came floating back of the previous night with Sal and he tightened his hold on her at the recollection. Once again he and Doyle had shared a girl - and made love to her simultaneously. This time it had been better than with Linda. More stimulating, more exciting, more fulfilling. Was that the difference between Sal and Linda, he wondered? Was Sal a better lover? No, she was just a body. It was the fact that they'd shared her that was the powerful aphrodisiac. It was seeing Ray Doyle in action, watching the way his strong body moved and reacted, that had been the unusual and electrifying factor this time. Sal, he thought as he again tightened his grip, was a good lay but last night had been something else.

Sal let out a sigh and shifted slightly, and Bodie wondered idly when she had put on so much weight and how come all of a sudden her heavy curls were brushing against his cheek? When they'd gone to sleep she'd had fine, flyaway blonde hair. It was still as soft, but different somehow. Then with simple clarity the thought formed. It's not Sal. It's Ray. Bodie did not move. He knew then that he did not want to move. Let Ray make the effort to pull away when he woke up.

"You awake?" Doyle asked. There was a deafening silence while both of them lay still, neither daring to shatter the moment.

"Yeah." Still Bodie did not move. Still Ray stayed exactly as he was, face resting in the curve of Bodie's shoulder.

"How did we end up like this?" Ray wanted to know.

"I don't know," Bodie replied, and his voice was hoarse. Windows were beginning to open, new vistas spreading before him, new possibilities blinded him with their simplicity.

Doyle briefly considered moving - but reasoned that if Bodie wanted to move, he'd move. If he didn't want to, he'd stay right where he was. The moment stretched on, tense at first, gradually relaxing and calming between them until Ray Doyle felt completely at ease - more at home in these arms than in any that had ever held him.

"I remember what you used to be like," he said softly, seeming to pluck the words from nowhere and use them in a way he had never visualised. "When we were first teamed, you were a son-of-a-bitch. You were only trying to impress Cowley - all that sharp gear you used to wear. Those fancy birds. The flash cars. That was all done for Cowley's benefit, wasn't it? Like the bright-eyed intelligent bit."

"Cowley's benefit and yours," Bodie corrected in a semi-whisper. "I couldn't fool you for long. Anyway, you weren't all sweetness and light yourself in those days."

"I know. I was knocking myself out to impress, too. By the way, I couldn't stand you."

"I didn't think much of you, either."

"Mmmm. So how did this happen?" Ray asked moving, if anything, a little closer.

"Don't ask me, mate. How about ... 'fate'?"

Doyle chuckled softly, the movement sending wisps of curly hair scurrying across Bodie's cheek. "Now who's been reading Barbara Cartland?" he accused.

"I deny it, m'lud. It was wrapped around my fish and chips, that's all."

"You're a fool, Bodie."

"No, I'm not," Bodie said, gently but firmly, "but I would be a fool if I didn't use this opportunity. A chance like this doesn't come twice in a lifetime, Raymond my boy."

Doyle lifted his head then, and for a terrifying moment it seemed to Bodie he would crawl away, get out of bed. Bodie's hands clutched convulsively at the bare shoulders and an expression of dawning fear flickered into his eyes - but Ray Doyle only examined his partner's face carefully, smiling to himself at what he saw.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.

"I bloody well hope so," Bodie replied. "Because if not, it's 'goodbye' to Cowley's best teaming." With exquisite care he slid one hand across Doyle's damaged cheek to tangle in his hair. Gradually, with an air of heavy, slow solemnity, Doyle lowered his head and lightly touched his lips to Bodie's - and Bodie lifted towards him, holding him carefully as if afraid he might break.

They drew apart only with the greatest possible reluctance. Each wanted - needed - to look into the other's eyes and gauge his reaction. It was some time before Doyle's eyes opened, and when they did he saw that Bodie's eyelids were still lowered and his face bore an expression of tender bewilderment that took years off his age. His fingers still clung to Doyle's body with unshakeable determination, but there seemed to be some inner battle being fought.

"Hey," Doyle whispered, kissing his partner's cheek softly. "Look at me."

Bodie's eyes opened. "Sorry, I was just ... " ... dizzy. Fighting for breath ... drowning slowly in sweetness ...

Doyle's heart was thudding ferociously. Whatever was happening between them had been building up for four years, since their first meeting. His mind supplied a replay of the first time he'd ever seen Bodie, when Cowley had sent him round to collect Bodie and to dragoon him into helping CI5. A CI5 of which Doyle himself had been a member less than half an hour. They'd been a team since then, sharing, as time went on, just about everything.

"You know, Bodie ... my family don't want me to marry Ann. They'd rather I married you."

Bodie smiled, wondering if the unfamiliar warmth in his eyes could really be the harbinger of tears. "So would I."

"Is that a proposal?" Doyle chuckled, moving closer.

"If you like."

"Then I accept."

Bodie studied Doyle's face once more, reading what was so plainly printed on every line and curve and shadow. Then in a swift movement he took command, pulling Doyle roughly into his arms and pushing him down on to the mattress, moving on top of him with rapid ease and kissing him thoroughly. Despite his initial boisterousness, Bodie made love to Ray Doyle with subtle and delightful care, bringing them both to climax together and afterwards gathering the shuddering Doyle into his arms and holding him as if both their lives depended on it.

"Ray ... "

"Mmmm?" Half asleep, Doyle nestled into his partner's arms and tried to banish all thought.

"Cowley's going to kill us."

"If Ann doesn't."

"Oh Christ. I'd forgotten Ann," Bodie said, feeling guilty.

"I wish I could."

"Do you still love her?" Bodie asked gently.

"You can lie here with me and ask that?" Doyle wanted to know, slightly shocked.

"Yes. I've got no claim on you - she has."

"Legally, possibly. Morally ... I don't know. I did love her. I thought I did. It all seems to have vanished."

"I think you should give her another chance," Bodie told him in a whisper.

For a moment Doyle was puzzled. "Why?"

"I don't want you making the wrong decision. If it's going to be you and me ... then I'm not going to have any rivals, Ray. Not Ann, not Linda ... Sal ... anyone. I'm not expecting you to live like a monk," he added gently, "but don't get involved with anyone. Please."

The note of anguish in Bodie's tone reached deep into Doyle's heart. "Are we involved?" he asked. "You and me?"

"There's a Chinese proverb," Bodie mused. "Though I am different from you, we were born involved in one another."

"I knew it!" Doyle laughed. "You're a romantic!"

"I wasn't. Where you're concerned ... I could learn to be."

"I'd better stick around," Doyle mused, beginning to place small, teasing kisses on Bodie's throat. "That should be worth seeing."

"Doctor Ross!" Cowley did not stand on ceremony but bounded into Kate Ross' office as if he'd just sighted a Russian tank in Whitehall. "Doctor Ross, have you seen ... ?"

"Mister Cowley," Kate Ross responded with a cool smile, setting her coffee cup down. "Please take a seat. You look a little - disturbed."

"Disturbed? I haven't been so disturbed since my grandfather bought a ticket on the Titanic! Have you seen 3.7 and 4.5 this morning?"

"No. Have I missed something? Formal announcement of their engagement? Are they strolling around hand-in-hand?"

"All but," Cowley acknowledged with a nod. "And," he continued, relishing her surprise, "4.5 has withdrawn his application to marry Ann Holly."

"What reason did he give?"

"Said he'd changed his mind, that's all."

"Well," she replied coolly, gathering her wits together. "I don't know why you're so amazed. I've been telling you about this for weeks now."

"You think this is it, then, do you?"

"Mister Cowley - you've seen them, I haven't. What does it look like to you?"

"It looks ... " he began. "It looks very much as if I owe you an apology."

"Accepted," she smiled back. "Tell me more."

"I don't know any more, but I think you should see them both as soon as possible."

"I'll see them later today," she promised. "By the way - Ann Holly. Do you think she knows she's no longer engaged? Only she's scheduled for second interview tomorrow."

"I should cancel it," Cowley advised, swinging back across the room to the door. "I'll speak to you later, Doctor."

Doyle found himself late that evening standing outside Ann's Kensington flat with his thumb firmly on the bell push. After a few long minutes, Ann finally opened the door.

"Oh it's you, is it?" she demanded, with the same hostility she'd shown so long ago when their relationship had first dawned.

"Can we talk?" he asked her cautiously.

"Do you want to talk - or shout?" she demanded.

"Talk. Just talk."

Reluctantly she admitted him to the flat. As he passed the bedroom door he noticed that her suitcase was open on the bed. He had interrupted her in the middle of packing.

"Are you leaving?" he asked gently.

"I'm going back to New York. The Book Fair's over and I've got work to do back there."

"What about us?"

"There isn't any 'us', is there?" she asked, a sob beginning to shake her voice. "There's you and there's me ... and there's Bodie."

"What's he got to do with anything?" Doyle wanted to know.

"I wish I knew, but he's done his level best to get between us. He doesn't want you to marry me - or anyone. Does he?"

Doyle shook his head. "No, he doesn't."

"Am I supposed to ask why?"

"You can say or think what you like," he said smoothly. "Whatever's between Bodie and me is between us and no-one else."

"I see. I think it's just as well I'm going home then. Don't you?"

He regarded her pityingly. "For your sake, I think so. I'm sorry Ann."

"Oh yes, you're very good at being sorry," she wailed, turning away from him. "And I'm stupid enough to go on forgiving you. I let myself get involved with you twice. Well I should have known better, Ray. I walked right in with my eyes open and made a fool of myself again."

"It's not like you think, you know," he said.

"Isn't it? You're going to tell me you don't sleep with Bodie, I suppose?"

"I can't tell you that," Doyle replied gently. "It wouldn't be true."

"At least it's better than breaking up over some slag of a girl. Better. But not by much."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out, Ann. I'm sorry you got hurt again."

It was her turn now to feel pity for him. Pity that blended into contempt. "It was never going to work out, Ray. You're one thing and I'm another. I said that before. Bodie ... he's something different again."

Doyle nodded. "I know what you mean." He turned to the door. "Well, I won't stay and make matters worse. Goodbye, Ann. Good luck."

When he'd gone she pottered about her flat a while longer, packing despite the tears that were almost blinding her. Eventually she gave way and sat on the bed, crying over another lost opportunity - another chance that was gone beyond recall.

Two days after Ann Holly's return to New York - this time, presumably, for good - Cowley called a small meeting in his office. Shusai and Kate Ross both attended, but it was to the Japanese that Cowley first addressed himself.

"Shusai," he said, waiting for the inevitable explosion. "Tell me about 3.7. Bodie. How is he now?"

Shusai smiled, a slow catlike smile. "Mister Cowley," he said, with a lift of one inscrutable eyebrow, "how is it that the Westerner will so often refuse to see what is plainly demonstrated to him?"

"Shusai, would you please answer the question?"

"Impatient as ever," Shusai rebuked. "I warned you to watch and wait and be patient. The answer is that he is happy."

"Happy? Is that all?" Cowley asked, incredulous. It could not be that easy. Could it?

"It is all any man can ask," Shusai observed sententiously.

"And are you satisfied?" Cowley said, ignoring the pointed remark.

"I have told you before, Mister Cowley. Such things have long been known in the 'mysterious East'. It is only the Western civilisations that set great store by these taboos. I have no worries. Let it continue."

"I agree," Kate Ross put in. "From what I've seen ... and from the observations I've made for my latest series of reports ... I'd say that the relationship is fully viable and should be allowed to go ahead and follow its own course. I have no serious doubts whatsoever."

"It seems I'm outvoted," Cowley observed wryly.

"Four to one," Kate Ross rejoined.

Doyle stood in his sister Cath's living-room, sniffing in the familiar odour of drying washing and air-freshener, and looked out of the window to where Bodie was teaching Rob to shoot sucker-tipped arrows into the heart of the ring-target tied to the apple tree. Jane was dressing-up, with a box of clothes scattered across the lawn. She had decided to be Maid Marian. Davie was grubbing about in a flower border and slowly turning the same colour as the soil. Ray was watching for his youngest nephew to start sampling the flavour of the worms, at which point he would intervene, but just at the moment it was pleasant to stand and watch them all play - Bodie like some overgrown and boisterous child, for whom he felt an immense and immeasurable tenderness.

Cath wandered in and stood at his elbow, sharing in his enjoyment of the scene. "Penny for them," she said gently. "Thinking about Ann?"

He had told them his engagement was broken, but not why. "As a matter of fact, no. I was thinking that some children are more trouble than others."

"Meaning Bodie?"

"Yes."

She squeezed his arm. "You're stuck with him like that," she said. "He's got a lot to catch up on."

"I know. I just hope ... I hope he lives long enough to do it."

There was no answer Cath could give to this so she stayed silent for a long time.

Eventually Ray said "You'll have to know some time, I suppose. I ... " He shrugged. "It's not easy to tell your own sister ... "

"Then don't tell me."

"But ... "

"I might have guessed," she chided him gently.

"Yes. I should have thought of that."

"One thing, Ray," Cath said, noticing that the Archery Contest was over and that the Sheriff of Nottingham had won. "If I was you I'd tell Alex how you feel. You know what he's like with Bodie."

"Not likely! He'll probably give Bodie an ultimatum. 'You hurt my brother and I'll beat you to a pulp'."

"It would be a great fight," Cath laughed.

"Yeah, it would," he agreed with a trace of pride. "But Alex wouldn't stand a chance."

Bodie looked across at them and caught Doyle's gaze, and winked. Rob had produced a filthy football from the bottom of the hedge and was dribbling it artistically across the lawn towards Bodie. "Wanna game?" Bodie yelled.

Doyle grinned. "Football?" he called with an air of mock-innocence.

"Of course football, what else?"

With an obscene chuckle that Cath Parker remembered for a long time, Ray headed out of the room and into the back garden to play football with the children and Bodie.

Cowley did not even bother to read Kate Ross's final report. He slid it into the file he'd kept since the initial expression of her concern and put that file securely into his own safe. The fewer people who knew about this, the better. If Doyle and Bodie ever found out that he knew about their relationship but had at first actually tried to prevent it - well, he could visualise the reaction. He often wondered what some of his operatives would have to say when they discovered that he knew more about them than they knew themselves. In this case, he'd known about their relationship long before it had developed - something that gave him a crawly, out-of-synch feeling and that he knew would appal them.

He began to clear his 'out' tray, methodically, back into the safe. The last two files he lifted - beneath the cancelled consent form, beneath Ann Holly's closed pack, beneath Gregson's active and Edwards' inactive files - right at the bottom of the tray were two well-thumbed and well-used folders stamped TERMINATED, with a date in 1979. Mathieson and King.

Ah, Mathieson and King, he thought wistfully. If only you'd managed to stay alive a couple more years - who knows?

He returned the two files to the safe, closed and locked the safe door, picked up his briefcase and left the office - and went home alone.

* * * * *

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