Professionals
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- 5 -
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Over the next few days, they stabilised Doyle’s medication and were able to take him off the drip and just administer twice daily injections in order to maintain the level. Now that he was no longer a danger to himself, or the staff, he was released from the restraints and allowed to move about the psychiatric wing.
He spent a large part of every day being counselled by Al Parker and his staff. It was harrowing, both for Doyle and for the staff.
At first, he refused to believe what they told him about what had happened at the docks, or about the guilt and anger that had driven him to seek revenge, not only against Mottola and his men, but also, subconsciously, against CI5, for the deaths of not only Julia, but his partner and Marianne too.
But, eventually, he began to acknowledge the reality of their words, which caused him to question everything he thought he knew about himself and his life so far. He couldn’t believe that his grief had driven him to kill Gianni DiCaprio and almost Mottola too, or of how far he’d been prepared to go in order to satisfy his quest for revenge. Nor could he believe that he could have such feelings of hatred and bitterness inside him.
He sank into a depression and was consumed with self loathing for the person he had unknowingly become. Every day, he was reduced to a sobbing wreck as he struggled to come to terms with it all, and even Al Parker was becoming concerned that maybe Doyle wasn’t going to be strong enough to deal with it. Losing Julia, after losing Marianne and Bob Peters in such similar circumstances, had all but destroyed him, and, with all that he’d learned about himself, Doyle, in his confused state, could see no reason to go on. To his mind, he was no better than the criminals they hunted. He had killed, in cold blood, taken the law into his own hands, strayed from everything he believed in, for personal revenge. All the things that CI5 had pledged to stamp out. He didn’t know if he wanted to continue with the squad or not - he hadn’t reasoned that far ahead - but he doubted they would even want him back given all that he’d become.
At the end of the second week, Cowley phoned Parker to see how things were progressing. Parker was sending twice weekly reports, as Cowley had requested, but they were all written in professional jargon, and Cowley wanted to get his personal opinion on Doyle’s progress.
“How’s it going?” Cowley enquired, after exchanging pleasantries.
Parker sighed. “Pretty much as I expected.” he replied, “He’s very depressed, confused. He doesn’t know what to think about anything. All the values he thought he lived by have been totally wiped out. He can’t believe he has all these feelings of anger, and hatred, and bitterness, or what they drove him to do. At the moment, he’s burning with hatred, for the men who murdered his girlfriend, for CI5 and for himself. He thinks he’s no better than the criminals he works to eliminate and, in his grief stricken state he’s struggling to find reasons to go on.”
“You said you thought he was strong enough to handle it.” said Cowley, “Do you still think so?"
“He’s struggling more than I expected.” admitted Parker, “The next few days will be the test. He’s pretty much near rock bottom now. Hopefully, he’ll turn a corner and start to fight his way back.”
“And if he doesn’t?” asked Cowley.
There was a lengthy silence at the other end of the line before Parker said gruffly. “Then he’s beyond our help.”
In his office, Cowley closed his eyes, a frown of anguish creasing his brow.
“I see.” he said finally, his Scottish burr pronounced, “I want you to call me as soon as you have any news.” he added.
“Of course.” replied Parker.
* * *
The six agents working on the information obtained from Mottola’s men had traced the supply chain of some of the drugs procured by them and had information about a ‘drop’ planned for the end of the following week.
Bodie and Taylor, along with Reece and Turner, the two men Bodie had argued with about Doyle sabotaging the stakeout at the docks, were assigned to cover it and, hopefully, round up all the dealers and, if possible, the drugs themselves.
They set themselves up in readiness for the drop, which took place exactly as planned. After a confusing gun battle, Bodie and Taylor set off in pursuit of two of the dealers, while Reece and Turner, after being temporarily pinned down by return fire, finally got back to to their car and set off in pursuit of a van in which Mottola’s agent had brought the drugs.
Bodie and Taylor chased the other suspects’ black Ford into a run-down area of London's East End, weaving in between derelict buildings.
With less experience of car chases than Bodie and Doyle, Taylor, who was driving, began to lose ground.
“Step on it!” growled Bodie. He would have liked to stop and change places with Turner, but there wasn’t time.
“I’m going as fast as I can.” gasped Taylor, slewing the car pool’s gold coloured Granada the around a sharp bend.
Bodie grunted in disgust.
They came back into a residential area which, luckily, since it was evening, wasn’t too busy. They roared past a row of shops, keeping their eyes on the black Ford up ahead. Suddenly, the Ford turned off up a side street half a mile ahead of Bodie and Taylor’s car.
“Move it!” yelled Bodie impatiently.
They reached the junction and screeched around the corner, practically on two wheels.
The street ran straight for around half a mile and then appeared to make a sharp right hand bend. There were several parked vehicles in the street, but no sign of the black Ford.
“Shit!” Bodie thumped the dashboard angrily, scanning from right to left, in driveways, as they roared up the street.
In a cul-de-sac on the left, which was hidden from the CI5 agents’ view by a parked van, the black Ford waited, its lights off, barely visible in the shadows of the fast approaching night.
By the time Bodie spotted it, it was too late to do anything. The Ford shot out of the side road and hit the Granada just in front of the front support.
Bodie just managed to yell, “Look out!” before the car hit.
They were travelling at more than 50mph and the force of the impact sent the car careering out of control across the road, where it struck the kerb, the steering wheel jerking so violently that both of Taylor’s wrists were broken. The car took off, clipping a parked car as it flew past, which flipped it over to crash down onto the road on its roof and then skid into a brick wall at the bend in the road.
The black Ford, which had sustained relatively minor damage to the front wing and bonnet, sped off back up the street and disappeared onto the main road.
Alerted by the crash, several residents ran out of their houses to see what had happened.
The front of the car was compacted to half its length by the impact against the wall, and part of the wall had collapsed on top of it. The roof was mangled, as were both front doors and wings, and all of the windows were smashed.
Back at HQ, the dispatcher, who had been in radio contact with the car, was concerned at the sudden buzz of static on the line.
“I’ve lost contact.” the dispatcher announced. “I think something’s wrong.”
“What’s that?” asked Cowley, who had just entered the room.
“I’ve lost contact with 2-6 and 3-7” said the dispatcher, "It just went dead.
“Switched off?” asked Cowley.
“No, the line’s still open. Its more like the radio has been ripped out, or smashed.”
“What was their last position?” demanded Cowley.
“Primrose Avenue, E17.”
“What about 2-2?”
“Still in pursuit, heading towards Stoke Newington.” said the dispatcher.
“Too far away.” snapped Cowley, “You two,” he pointed at two of the other men, “come with me.” turning to hurry out of the door towards CI5’s car pool, with the two CI5 men on his heels.
* * *
Cowley’s heart sank when they arrived in Primrose Avenue to find it full of police, ambulance and fire crews, all gathered around the wreckage of a vehicle, their assorted lights flashing garishly.
Although Cowley knew that the vehicle must be the one that Bodie and Taylor had been using, it was so badly damaged that he didn’t recognize it until he was a few feet away.
The vehicle was surrounded by firemen who were using cutting equipment to dismantle the wreckage in order to free its occupants.
Cowley introduced himself to the senior man and asked what had happened.
“Residents say a vehicle pulled out of that cul-de-sac and hit this one. It looks like it careered across the road, bounced off the kerb, hit that parked car, flipped onto its roof, and slammed into this wall. From the look of it, they must have been going at a fair speed. Both occupants are trapped by the legs. The fire service is trying to cut them free. I’m afraid the driver is dead, and the passenger looks pretty bad. Neither were wearing seatbelts I’m afraid.”
Grim faced, Cowley thanked him and, ducking under the chequered tape sealing off the area, hurried across to the wreckage, showing his I.D. to anyone who tried to prevent him.
With his heart in his mouth, he peered into the vehicle, fully expecting to see Bodie’s body in the driver’s seat. His eyes widened when he saw, not Bodie, but Taylor’s body in the driver’s seat, hanging upside down, trapped by his legs, his head resting on what had been the roof of the car but was now the floor. His clothes were bloodstained, and there were several cuts on his face from flying glass. Blood trickled from his mouth. He had been crushed to death by the steering wheel.
Cowley closed his eyes, saddened but, at the same time, relieved that it wasn’t Bodie. He hated himself for the feeling – to lose any of his men was a tragedy, but, Bodie… Bodie and Doyle were special; his best men. And, if Bodie had been killed it would have finished Doyle completely and then he’d have lost two men, not one. Not that they were out of the woods yet, he thought, as he looked across to the passenger seat where a fireman was supporting Bodie’s unconscious form while his colleagues attempted to cut the tangled wreckage from around his legs. There was blood all over his face, neck and arm.
“How’s he doing?” Cowley asked the fireman supporting his weight.
“Not good.” the fireman replied, glancing at a portable monitor that the paramedics had hooked Bodie up to, “He’s out for the count, and his vitals are poor.”
Cowley moved away from the vehicle, to give them room to work, and stood watching, anxiously, while the other two CI5 agents questioned the residents, praying that Bodie wouldn’t die before they could get him to hospital.
Eventually, the fire crew freed Bodie from the wreckage and the paramedics swung into action, administering emergency first aid.
Cowley stood, looking anxiously down at his unconscious form as the paramedics worked on him. The light brown trousers he was wearing were torn and covered in blood, and one shoe was missing.
As they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, Cowley asked which hospital they were taking him to and then watched as it raced off, sirens wailing, reluctant to leave until Taylor’s body had been removed from the wreckage and despatched in a second ambulance. Only then did he get into his car and head off to the hospital, leaving his two agents to finish their investigations before calling in to HQ for someone to come out and pick them up.
At the hospital, Cowley had to wait for some time before a consultant came out to speak to him about Bodie’s condition.
“Mr. Cowley?” I’m Robert Fleming.” He offered his hand, “I’ve been assigned to Mr. Bodie’s case.”
“How is he?” asked Cowley, as he shook the surgeon’s hand.
“Not good. We’re just preparing a theatre. He has extensive leg injuries, a fractured pelvis, a fracture to the radius and elbow in the left arm as well as the collar bone on that side, possible chest trauma, but, more seriously, he has a depressed fracture of the skull that requires immediate surgery. I can’t give you a prognosis for recovery at this stage. His vital signs are poor and he could have other injuries that we don’t yet know about. I’ll give you more information as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.” said Cowley, and Robert Fleming left to prepare for surgery.
Cowley fetched himself a cup of coffee from a vending machine and sat down to wait for news. An hour or so later, Reece and Turner turned up to see if there was any news. They had apprehended the suspects in the van and had learned about the crash on bringing them into HQ.
“I know we’ve had our differences with Bodie,” said Reece, “but he’s a good man. I wouldn’t wish this on him.”
“They said he was hurt bad?” asked Turner.
Cowley nodded. He’s in surgery now.” He recounted what Mr Fleming had said.
Both men looked shocked at the extent of Bodie’s injuries. They stayed a short time longer before bidding Cowley goodnight with a request for him to give Bodie their best wishes.
“I will.” promised Cowley, fervently hoping he would have the chance.
He contemplated going home, since there was nothing he could do here, but he was reluctant to leave before he had some definite news about Bodie’s condition, so he sat in the waiting room, drinking coffee, dozing from time to time, but, mostly, thinking about Bodie, praying he would survive.
Dawn was beginning to break when Robert Fleming approached him, still clad in his theatre gown.
Cowley stood up and studied his face anxiously.
“How is he?” he asked.
“We’ve just taken him up to ICU.” Fleming told him, “His heart stopped during surgery. We had to resuscitate him.”
Cowley looked shocked.
“We’ve operated to relieve the pressure from the skull fracture but we’ll have to monitor it closely.” Fleming continued, “There was some internal bleeding, but we’ve controlled that, and we’ve set his arm. It was trying to repair the damage to his legs that took the time.” he explained, “Both legs and ankles were broken, and there was crush damage to bones in both feet. There were several deep lacerations and his left leg was all but severed just above the ankle. We’ve managed to repair it, but it’s impossible to say how well it will heal. We’re going to keep him under sedation for a day or two, while his system recovers from the trauma.”
“May I see him?” Cowley asked, gruffly.
“For a moment. Visiting in ICU is 10 minutes in every hour.”
Cowley nodded, and followed Robert Fleming to the ICU unit.
Cowley had seen many grizzly sights in his time, especially since starting CI5, and thought himself hardened, but a lump rose in his throat as he entered the ICU to see the normally vibrant and energetic Bodie lying there, bloodied and broken and as still as a corpse.
He was hooked up to what seemed like dozens of machines, and drips, and he was attached to a ventilator. His head was heavily bandaged and there were several cuts on his face which was deathly pale. His left arm was encased in plaster from wrist to shoulder, set at a 45 degree angle. A cage supported the blankets off his legs, which were heavily splinted and bandaged. They would be set in plaster later, once the flesh began to heal.
As Cowley stood looking down at him, an alarm went off on one of the machines.
“BP dropping.” said one of the nurses. Another shouted, “He’s arresting! Crash cart – now!”
Cowley was pushed aside as the room filled with nurses and medical staff. Robert Fleming put two paddles on Bodie’s chest, from a portable defibrillator on a trolley. The machine hummed as it charged up.
“Clear!” shouted Fleming before administering an electric current to Bodie’s chest that caused his body to jerk and then flop. Everyone watched the monitor for a signal. The line stayed flat.
“Again.” said Fleming, “Clear!” Again he zapped Bodie with the current, and again all eyes turned to the monitor. No-one breathed, including Cowley.
“Come on.” muttered Fleming, his eyes glued to the monitor screen. A moment later, a little hillock appeared in the flat line, then another, and another. Robert Fleming blew out his cheeks.
“44 beats per minute.” intoned one of the nurses.
“Could be better but at least its steady.” said Fleming.
“Is he going to be alright?” Cowley asked, when things had calmed down.
“Impossible to say.” replied Robert Fleming, “He’s arrested twice, he may do so again, and, if he does, there’s no guarantee that we can re-start his heart. We just have to wait, and hope.”
Cowley nodded, casting an anxious glance at Bodie before he was asked to leave the ICU.
He decided to go home and get a few hours sleep, after extracting a promise from the staff to call him, immediately, if Bodie’s condition deteriorated, but although he was tired, after his night’s vigil at the hospital, he slept only for about four hours before getting up and going to his office via the hospital, where they told him that Bodie’s condition was stable at present, but still critical.
When he got to his office, he phoned Al Parker and told him what had happened.
“That’s terrible.” said Parker.
“Yes.” agreed Cowley, “The reason I’m calling is… well… Bodie’s condition is critical. Do you think Doyle is up to visiting him?”
“No.” Parker replied, flatly, “I don’t think it’s a good idea even to tell him about it right now.”
“But, Bodie could die.” said Cowley, “He’s arrested twice already. If anything happened to Bodie and Doyle wasn’t there… he’d never forgive himself.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying,” said Parker, “but, Doyle is in an extremely fragile state of mind just now. When he finds out Bodie’s been hurt, and hurt doing ‘the job’, it’s just going to compound his hatred for CI5. Emotionally, I just don’t think he’s able to handle something like this right now.”
“And I appreciate what you’re saying,” said Cowley, “but, if we keep it from him and Bodie should die, that really will crack him up.”
Parker sighed, heavily. “Yeah, I know. This is lousy timing.” he added, worriedly.
“I know it is,” sighed Cowley, “but, he has to know. Can you break it to him? Gently.”
“I’ll try.” said Parker, “But I can’t be responsible for the outcome. It could send him over the edge completely.”
“I understand.” said Cowley. He sighed, “Do it now. I’m on my way over. If he’s up to visiting - if he wants to visit - the sooner the better… just in case.”
“Very well.” replied Parker.
Doyle was in the middle of a therapy session when Al Parker entered the room. He dismissed the therapist and sat down opposite him.
“Ray?” he called softly.
Doyle looked at him, his eyes bleak.
“Ray, I have some news to tell you.” Parker told him, “It’s not good news I’m afraid.” he added.
Doyle looked fearful.
“Your friend, Bodie? I’m afraid he’s been in an accident. A car accident.” Parker paused, studying Doyle’s face.
“A… car accident?” Doyle repeated, slowly, looking anxious.
“Yes. He’s in the hospital. I’m afraid he’s been seriously hurt. Mr. Cowley wondered if you’d like to visit him?”
Doyle stared at him, trying to take it all in. He was still on fairly strong medication and his thought processes were much slower than normal.
“What happened?” he asked presently.
“I’m not sure.” Parker lied, not wanting to risk his reaction if he told him Bodie had been hurt working on a case.
“How bad is he?” Doyle asked presently, having begun to fathom out that they wouldn’t be asking him if he wanted to visit unless Bodie was in a bad way.
“Pretty bad I think.” said Parker, “Critical.”
Doyle shook his head, his eyes bright with tears.
“What happened?” he asked again.
“I don’t know all the details. Mr. Cowley will be able to tell you more. He’s on his way over here now.”
“He’s… not… going to… die?” Doyle’s voice was a whisper.
“They don’t know.” Parker put a comforting hand on Doyle’s shoulder.
Doyle looked away, as a tear spilled over onto his cheek to slide silently down his face and drip unchecked onto his shirt. He made no sound, or movement, just staring straight ahead, his eyes full of torment, and Al Parker knew that he thought he was going to lose yet someone else.
Cowley arrived and was shown to Doyle’s room.
“Hello, Doyle.” he said gently, “Has Al told you about the accident?”
Doyle nodded, looking distraught.
“Would you like to visit him?”
Doyle nodded again.
Cowley and Parker escorted Doyle out to Cowley’s car and Cowley drove them to the hospital, while Parker sat in the back with Doyle, who had that look of a wild animal about him again.
They climbed out of the car and steered Doyle into the hospital. At the door to the ICU, Parker waited outside while Cowley and Doyle went in, since only two people were allowed in at one time.
Doyle was in such a fragile emotional state that, as soon as he laid eyes on Bodie, he broke down in tears.
Cowley put an arm around his shoulder as Doyle grabbed hold of Bodie’s hand.
“Don’t die.” he choked, “You can’t die… not you too…”
“Ssh.” Cowley squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
“What happened?” croaked Doyle, his eyes fixed on Bodie’s motionless form.
Cowley sighed. “They were chasing some drug dealers.” he told him, “The drug dealers pulled out of a side road and rammed their car. It flipped over and crashed into a wall. They had to be cut from the wreckage.”
Doyle stared at Bodie as his drug fuddled brain tried to analyse Cowley’s words.
“Who was with him?” he asked, some moments later.
“Mark Taylor.” replied Cowley.
After another pause, Doyle asked “How is he?”
Cowley sighed. “I’m afraid he was killed.”
Doyle screwed up his face in anguish. The damned job was responsible for yet more deaths. He shook his head, pushing Cowley away from him.
“How many more?” he choked, “How many more have to die?”
“Doyle…” Cowley took a step towards him.
“I hate you!” Doyle spat the words, “I hate you!” He was just about to lunge at Cowley when Al Parker, who had been watching through the window, stepped into the room and put both arms around Doyle in a bear hug.
“Calm down, Ray.” he said, “It’s not Mr. Cowley’s fault.” He nodded for Cowley to leave the room, as Doyle sat down, onto a chair by the door, looking at Bodie with tortured eyes.
“How many more?” he muttered, “How many more?” He broke off on a sob.
Parker squeezed his shoulder, comfortingly.
A few moments later, Doyle got up and crossed to the bed. Taking Bodie’s hand once more, he bent close to his ear and, squeezing his hand, whispered. “Hang on, Bodie. Don’t let them get you. You can make it. You have to make it. I can’t lose anyone else…”
A nurse approached. “I’m sorry, time's up.” she said, apologetically.
Parker nodded and then crossed to Doyle.
“We have to go.” he told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“No…” gasped Doyle.
“Yes. The nurses need to look after him. You can watch from the outside.”
He steered Doyle back out into the corridor and over to a row of chairs. Cowley stood up and looked anxiously from Doyle to Parker and back again. Doyle ignored him, staring anxiously through the window of the ICU, tears still damp on his cheeks. Al Parker shook his head to Cowley indicating for him not to antagonise Doyle any further by trying to talk to him at this moment.
Cowley nodded acknowledgement and went out into the main corridor. A few moments later Parker joined him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I did warn you he might react badly.”
Cowley nodded. “I understand.”
“This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.” said Parker, “It’s really compounded his feelings of hatred… and, if Bodie should die…” Parker shook his head, “…it could very likely send him over the edge and, at this stage of his treatment… I’m not sure he could recover.”
Cowley nodded. “Let’s pray Bodie makes it.”
Parker tried to take Doyle back to their hospital, but he wouldn’t be moved until after they’d allowed him a second visit, an hour later, and then only when Parker promised to bring him back for another visit.
They drove back to the psychiatric unit in silence. Doyle was lost in his thoughts and Cowley was afraid to speak to him in case he got hysterical again, and Parker didn’t want to inflame things by making idle conversation.
* * *
Cowley called back at the hospital, that evening, to be told that Bodie’s heart had stopped, a third time, earlier in the afternoon, but that they’d managed to restart it. They were now attempting to stabilise it’s rhythm with drugs and, so far, it seemed to be working. The next morning, Cowley phoned Al Parker to find out how Doyle was getting on.
“Not good.” Parker sighed, “He’s so agitated, it’s impossible to reason with him. We’ve had to increase the strength of his medication to calm him down. All he can think of is that CI5 is responsible for killing everyone he cares about. It’s going to take a lot to persuade him away from that view and, if Bodie should die… I don’t think it will be possible. He wants to visit Bodie again, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Hopefully, now we’ve increased his medication, he’ll forget to ask about visiting.” Parker added,“How is Bodie now?”
“Still critical. His system is still reverberating from the shock of the impact.”
When Cowley called at the hospital that evening, they told him that Bodie’s heart rhythm had remained steady for twenty four hours and that, if it remained so, they would begin weaning him off the sedatives the following day, which would take up to forty eight hours, after which time, hopefully, he would regain consciousness.
He phoned the next day, to be told that Bodie’s condition was still stable, and they were going to begin reducing the level of sedative and take him off the ventilator.
It was some 50 hours, after they’d begun to reduce the sedative, before Bodie began to show any sign of moving towards consciousness, with some random eye movement, and another twenty four hours before he finally opened his eyes. But, even then, he was so groggy, and disorientated, he was unaware of anything going on around him, lapsing in and out of consciousness, and it was six days after the accident before he finally became lucid enough to be aware of himself and his surroundings.
Cowley had purposely arranged time to be there, wanting him to wake up to a familiar face.
After spending the morning drifting in and out of consciousness, he finally opened his eyes and gazed vacantly around the room for several minutes before his gaze settled on Cowley, who was seated at his bedside.
He stared blankly at Cowley for several moments, and Cowley wasn’t sure if he recognized him or not. His lips began to move, as he tried to ask where he was, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words.
Cowley smiled. “Hello, Bodie. Nice to have you back with us. You had us all worried for a while.”
Bodie frowned, and licked his lips, before trying, and failing, once again, to speak.
“Ssh.” said Cowley, “Just relax. You were in an accident and you’re in the hospital. You got pretty banged about, but you’re going to be fine.”
Bodie licked his lips again and finally managed to mouth, “Thirsty.”
They’d been feeding him through an intravenous tube, and his mouth was dry after six days without a drink, especially after being hooked up to the ventilator.
Cowley looked to the nurse, who went to fetch a feeding cup containing some water. She lifted Bodie’s head a little and tipped the feeder to his lips, for him to drink a few mouthfuls, before gently lowering him back down. Bodie grimaced as pain shot through his head.
“Better?” asked the nurse.
Bodie gave a vague nod and the nurse moved away, to check the monitors displaying his vital signs, before going to tell one of the other nurses to advise Bodie’s consultant that he was finally awake.
“L-legs…” croaked Bodie, his voice barely a whisper, “H-hurt…” He screwed his face up in pain. He hurt all over, but the pain from his legs was agonising.
“You were trapped in the car by your legs.” Cowley told him, “The fire department had to cut you free. Can you remember anything of what happened?”
Bodie gazed at the ceiling for a moment, before giving a slight shake of his head.
“It’ll come back to you later.” said Cowley, “You just relax and concentrate on getting well."
Bodie made no response, still teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
Robert Fleming arrived a short time later, to assess his condition.
“Mr. Bodie?” he called, after he’d checked all the monitors, “Mr. Bodie, can you hear me?” He touched his shoulder.
Bodie’s eyes fluttered open and focussed on Robert Fleming.
“I’m Mr. Fleming, your consultant.” he told him, “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks. Now, can you tell me your full name?”
After several moments, Bodie croaked, “Bodie…”
“No, your full name.” said Mr. Fleming.
“Bodie.” Bodie repeated.
Cowley touched Fleming’s arm. “That’s all you’ll get out of him.” he told him, “He doesn’t answer to anything other than Bodie.”
“Oh.” said Fleming, looking somewhat puzzled. Then, turning back to Bodie, he said, “Do you remember your date of birth?”
Bodie thought for several more moments before saying, “May… 31st… 19…” he paused, thinking, “19…” he shook his head, a frown furrowing his brow as he tried, and failed, to recall the year.
“Its alright.” said Fleming, “Don’t worry about the year. Do you know who this is?” He pointed to Cowley.
“George… Cowley…” Bodie ground out, his face contorting in sudden pain. “Oh…”
“What’s wrong?” asked Mr. Fleming.
“L-legs…” croaked Bodie, “Hurt… bad…” He bit his lip, trying to stifle a howl of pain.
“We'll give you something for the pain.” Mr. Fleming told him. He turned to the nurse and gave an instruction. She left the room and returned a moment later with a syringe and a phial. Mr Fleming filled the syringe and administered the injection.
“There, you should feel more comfortable in a few minutes.” he told Bodie, “Now, can you try and wiggle your fingers for me?” Bodie did so.
“Good… and now your toes?”
Bodie tried moving them a fraction before giving a moan of pain.
“Well done.” said Mr. Fleming, “Now, rest a while.” He smiled and got up to leave. Cowley followed him outside into the corridor.
“Well, he seems reasonably lucid, considering.” Fleming confided.
“He doesn’t remember anything of what happened.” said Cowley.
“That’s quite normal.” replied Fleming, “People generally lose the memory of such traumatic events, and quite often a period of time prior, or afterwards, too. He may remember it later, he may not. But he knows who he is, and who you are, which is encouraging. With that kind of head injury, he could have brain trauma that could cause amnesia, paralysis… but the fact that he is lucid, and can move, and feel pain, is a good sign that there’s no permanent damage.”
“Thank God.” said Cowley, “But, what do you think are his chances of a full recovery?”
“It depends what you call ‘full’.” said Fleming, “A full recovery by our standards may not be equal to your standards. He’ll be able to walk, in time, but whether his legs will be strong enough to pass your tests, only time will tell.”
Cowley sighed. Bodie was in a bad state, but at least they knew the extent of his injuries and the nature of the battle he would have to recover. Doyle, however, was another matter. The bad timing of Bodie’s accident, coming, as it did, when Doyle was at his most vulnerable, had had a devastating effect on him, and Cowley was worried that not only might his career with CI5 be over, but he might not even recover enough to live a normal life away from the job, having to be institutionalised, maybe, or even certified insane.
Hearing of Mark Taylor’s death had inflamed his hatred for CI5 to such a degree that counselling had become impossible and, to calm him down, they’d had to increase his medication back to such a level that he was barely able to communicate and unable to perform anything other than the most basic of tasks.
Cowley bid Robert Fleming good day and left, a frown creasing his brow as he contemplated the future.
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