A light mist of rain drifted down on the group of mourners assembled around the grave, leaving a sheen of dampness on their clothes and hair as they watched the coffin lowered to its final resting place.  One or two of the women wept softly into their handkerchiefs while the men stood, hands clasped in front of them, sombre expressions on their faces.  Standing a few yards separately from the main group, George Cowley and several CI5 agents also watched the proceedings sombrely as the vicar intoned “We therefore commit his body to the ground: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.”

A few Amens were muttered, before the vicar passed around a plate bearing a mound of soil for each of the mourners to toss a handful down onto the coffin.

Someone passed the plate to Cowley, who followed suit before passing it on for the CI5 agents to do the same. Then, not wishing to intrude on the family’s private grief, he and his men quietly withdrew.

Doyle and Bodie followed a few yards behind their boss as they headed to where their cars were parked, catching him up a few moments after he reached his own car, parked directly in front of Bodie’s.

“Bad business.”  said Cowley, shaking his head.  “He was a good man. Killed for no apparent reason.”

Doyle and Bodie nodded, but refrained from commenting.

“But there must have been a reason, and we have to find out what it was.”

Two weeks earlier, the man in question, CI5 agent Mark Dawson, had been shot and killed as he was walking down the steps from his apartment building to go to work.

A passer-by had seen him fall and come to his aid, but when later questioned about what he had witnessed had been unable to give them much to go on.  The man thought he had heard a car drive off behind him in a hurry, but had been too busy trying to help Dawson to pay it much attention.  Subsequent investigations had revealed no apparent motive for the killing.

“What do you suggest, sir?”  ventured Bodie.

Cowley raised his eyebrows in a resigned shrug.  “That’s your job.  Sniff around, see what you can find out. I don’t like losing any of my men.  I want to know why he was killed and by whom.”

With that, he got into his car and drove away, leaving Doyle and Bodie staring thoughtfully after it.

“Sniff around he says.” said Bodie.  “And just what are we supposed to sniff?  Nothing Dawson was working on gave any motive for anyone to kill him.”

“Well, like the man said, there has to have been a reason, even if we can’t see one yet.” said Doyle. “We’d better dig a little deeper I guess.”

Bodie gave him a withering look and unlocked the car for them both to get in.

“I feel sorry for his wife.” Doyle said presently, as they headed back towards headquarters.  “Got a five year old, not long started school.”

Bodie nodded agreement. “His parents too. You’re conditioned to expect your children to outlive you.”

Doyle nodded. “He had quite a big family.” He stared out of the window for a moment before saying, ruefully “If it was you or me, there’d only be Cowley and a few of the other men to mourn us.” in reference to their virtually non-existent love life, thanks to their jobs.

“Speak for yourself. I’d have a number of young ladies mourning my passing.” Bodie smirked at him.

Doyle rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I don’t plan on going anywhere just yet.” Bodie added.

“Neither did Dawson.” Doyle said flatly.

Bodie raised his eyebrows in a shrug of acknowledgement.  “Point taken.”

They drove in thoughtful silence for a few moments, as they contemplated Dawson’s demise, before Bodie said.  “Forget going back to headquarters. Let’s go and get out of these monkey suits and go get a drink.”

“Good idea.” nodded Doyle.

*    *    *

“3-7?” Bodie’s R/T burst into life.  It was Saturday, eight days after Mark Dawson’s funeral, and he was just on his way to the gym for a workout.

Bodie picked up the R/T. “3-7.”

“You are asked to meet with Mr. Cowley, immediately.” the dispatcher told him.

Bodie frowned, wondering what was so important to call him on his day off.

“Where?” he asked.

“The London Clinic. Devonshire Place.”

“Where’s 4-5?” Bodie asked.

“The same message has been relayed to 4-5 too.”

“O.K. 3-7 out.” Bodie hung up the R/T and turned the car around, wondering what was going on.  Cowley was supposed to be at an off-duty meeting with the Secretary of State for Defence this morning, at some gentleman’s club near Oxford Street. So why he would now want to meet them at a private hospital was a mystery.

He arrived at the clinic twenty minutes later and went in search of his boss.  After asking at several reception desks he finally came across Doyle, who’d had similar problems in finding where they were supposed to go.

“What’s going on?” Bodie asked.

“Dunno.” Doyle shrugged.  “I’ve been told to wait here.”

Bodie rolled his eyes. “It would be nice to get just one day off to ourselves without having to run around on Cowley’s wild goose chases.” he grumbled.

Before Doyle could answer, a door opened and a doctor in a white coat ushered them into a small room.  There, sitting on an examination bed, was Cowley, minus his jacket and shirt with a bandage on the upper part of his left arm.

“What happened?” asked Doyle.

“As you can see, I was shot.” Cowley nodded towards his bandaged arm.

Because of the bandage they couldn’t see, so took their chief’s word for it.

“I met with the Secretary of State, and as we were leaving the club someone fired a shot, hitting me in the arm.  Whoever it was fortunately didn’t hang around to try a shot at the Secretary too.”

“Not a pro then.” commented Bodie.

“What?” Cowley asked, distractedly.

“It obviously wasn’t a professional hit, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting here now.”  Bodie clarified.

“Nor would the Secretary of State in all probability either.”  Doyle reinforced.

“Since it’s only been a few weeks since Dawson was shot, there would seem to be the possibility of CI5 being targeted.” Cowley suggested.

Doyle and Bodie exchanged glances.  It had been just under a year since CI5 had been targeted by Philip Cattral, resulting in a number of their agents being killed. The last thing they needed was another lunatic out for revenge on the organisation.

“It would seem a little early to assume that.” Bodie ventured.

“Aye.  But it can’t be ruled out either.”  Cowley stood up and put his shirt and jacket back on, wincing as he pulled the jacket over his injured arm.

“One thing, I did see a car speeding away, which is what the witness to Dawson’s killing reported.  I couldn’t see the badge, unless it had been removed, but it was black.”

“That narrows it down then.” Bodie muttered under his breath, while Doyle attempted to stifle a smirk.

“So, what do you want us to do, sir?” he asked.

“Firstly, you can give me a lift home.” growled Cowley. “Then you can look into where the bullet that hit me came from.”

“Straight home, sir?” ventured Bodie.  “Nowhere else you want to go first? He raised a questioning eyebrow.

Cowley paused, as he re-fastened his tie, a slight smile coming to his face.  “Well, I do know a nice little pub on the way, where we can get a particularly good malt whisky.  Purely for medicinal purposes of course.”  he added.

“Of course.” smiled Doyle.

Bodie caught Doyle’s eye and winked. He had hoped to induce the thought of stopping for a whisky on the way home.  Cowley never needed much of an excuse to partake and it meant that they could have a drink too. After calling them in on their day off, Bodie felt it was the least they deserved.

Later, after they’d dropped Cowley off at home, after first stopping for his medicinal malt and a beer each for themselves, they picked up a Chinese takeaway and headed to Bodie’s flat to eat it.

“The old man does have a point though.” Doyle said, as they discussed the day’s events.  Two shootings in - how long’s it been since Dawson was killed? - three, four weeks?  A car speeding away from both.  It would seem as though there’s a connection.

“Does that mean we’re all going to have to watch our backs again, like before?” asked Bodie, remembering back to how someone had wired explosives to his telephone which he’d luckily spotted before letting go of the dial and Doyle had managed to defuse.

“Probably a good idea.” acknowledged Doyle.

“So much for our weekend off.” growled Bodie.

*    *    *

A further week of investigations into the two shootings revealed no further clues as to the reasons for them, or any possible perpetrators. Examinations of the bullet that had struck Cowley had shown no link to any other recorded shootings, and Doyle and Bodie were ready to give up on it and move on to something else, but Cowley was obsessed with the idea of the two incidents being connected and was unwilling to let it go.

“We’ve gone over every possible clue and every possible permutation and found nothing.” said Doyle, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Yes. Unless anything else happens, there really isn’t anything else to go on, Sir.” agreed Bodie.

Cowley sighed, exasperatedly.  “I just know there’s a connection somewhere. My gut tells me.  And I would like to be able to find a reason for Dawson’s death, to be able to give his family some sort of closure.  But, you’re right, there are other cases we need to be working on.”

Doyle and Bodie heaved a mental sigh of relief.

They excused themselves and headed out of the building, hoping that this weekend they would actually manage to get two whole days off without interruption. Bodie had a weekend in the country planned, with his latest flame, and Doyle was planning a climbing weekend in Snowdonia national park.

For once, their weekends were uninterrupted and they had almost forgotten about the shootings when Bodie came to pick Doyle up on Monday morning to head into headquarters.

“So, how did it go?” Doyle asked, as they drove, in reference to Bodie’s self-confessed ‘dirty weekend’.

Bodie smirked.  “Do you even have to ask?”

“That usually means the girl played hard to get. Or else turned you down and went home early.”  Doyle teased.

Bodie merely grinned. “How were the hills?” he enquired, changing the subject.

“They were mountains, not hills.”  stated Doyle.

Bodie snorted.  “Three thousand feet?  After Kilimanjaro they’re just hills, mate.”

Doyle opened his mouth to protest but then closed it again, knowing it was an argument he wasn’t going to win. Bodie was the mountaineer of the squad, having climbed Kilimanjaro and various other peaks during his time in Africa, and was scornful of what he called Doyle’s ‘hill’ climbing hobby. Trying to justify three thousand feet as a mountain to him was a waste of time.

Bodie grinned at the victory and pulled the car into the car park at headquarters.

When they entered the building however, it was obvious something was going on.

“Doyle, Bodie.”  Cowley beckoned them over, as they entered the operations room.

“Something wrong, sir?” asked Doyle as they reached him.

“Paul Medford has been killed.”

“What?” Doyle exchanged shocked glances with Bodie at the news that another one of their agents had been killed.

“How?  When?” asked Bodie.

​

“Just over an hour ago.  He was in his car, presumably coming into headquarters, and was shot in the head while waiting at traffic lights.  I was just about to go over there and speak to the police.  You two come with me.”

They headed out to Cowley’s car, Doyle and Bodie getting into the back seat. No-one spoke on the ten minute drive to the scene of the incident, each preoccupied with their own thoughts about the tragic news.

The junction where the incident had happened had been cordoned off by the police, who were conducting forensic examinations.  Medford’s blue Ford was still at the traffic lights, the driver’s side window shattered by the bullet that had struck him, the seats splattered with his blood.  Medford’s body had been taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital.

“Any witnesses?” Bodie asked one of the police officers, flashing his ID card at him.

“A man and a woman who were waiting to cross the road. Unknown to each other.  They’re over there in the back of that police car.” the officer pointed in the direction.

Bodie nodded his thanks and he and Doyle headed across to the police car, Bodie getting into the driver’s seat and Doyle the passenger's.

Doyle showed them his ID card.  “We understand you saw what happened?” he asked.

The woman nodded, looking pale and shocked.

“Yes.” the man said.

“What’s your name, miss?” Doyle smiled, gently, at the woman.

“Marylin Cope.” the girl muttered, while Bodie took out a notebook and began to make notes.

“And you, sir?” Doyle addressed the man.

“Graham Wilkes.”

“Can you describe what happened?” Doyle looked at Marylin Cope.

“We were waiting at the pedestrian crossing, for the lights to change, and suddenly there was a loud bang and then the car took off, through a red light.”

“Mr. Wilkes?”  Doyle switched his gaze to the man.

“That’s about it.” he nodded.  Two cars were alongside each other at the lights.  The bang made me look up and I saw the car in the second lane shoot off at speed.  I didn’t realise the bang was a gunshot. I thought it was a car misfiring or something. Then she started screaming” he pointed at Marylin “and when I looked, I could see a man slumped over the steering wheel, covered in blood.”

“Did you see what kind of car it was”? Bodie asked now.

Marylin Cope shook her head, but Graham Wilkes nodded.  “It was black.  A Mercedes saloon of some sort I believe.”

“Did you get any of the registration number?”

“No. It all happened too fast.”

“Which way did it go?” asked Doyle.

“It turned left at the next junction, I think.  That’s all I remember.”

“Well, thank you both.  The police will take you to the station to make an official statement and then you’ll be free to go.”

Bodie pocketed the notebook and they both got out of the car.

“A black car. Leaving at speed.” said Doyle, as they headed back towards Cowley who was speaking with the senior officer on site.  “Cowley said he saw a black car leaving at speed, and the witness who saw Dawson’s killing also mentioned hearing a car racing off.  I’m willing to bet it was the same black car.”

“Not only black, but a Mercedes.” Bodie interjected.

Doyle nodded.

They relayed this information to Cowley, who’s eyes gleamed.  “I knew there was a connection between these shootings.”

“Going to be difficult to make any progress without the registration number.” Doyle pointed out. “There must be thousands of black Mercedes’ in London.”

“Find out.” said Cowley. “And if necessary, we’ll check out every one.”

​*    *    *

“How many?”  Cowley glared at his men, thinking he’d misheard them.

“Twelve thousand, four hundred and seventy two Mercedes cars registered in Greater London.” Bodie reiterated.  They had spent the last couple of days collating the information.

Doyle waited just long enough before his boss blew a fuse to add “But only two thousand, three hundred of them are black, sir.”

“That we know of.” added Bodie.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” growled Cowley.

“Well, some may have been repainted - either from black, or to black, without advising the DVLA of the change. Plus, criminals change plates on cars all the time.  Not all of those on the list might be genuine.”

“Well, start checking.”

“Yes, sir.” Bodie said, resignedly.  Checking out thousands of cars on the off chance they might come across the one they were looking for, wasn’t a job they relished.

“When’s Medford’s funeral, sir?” Doyle asked now.

“A week from today.  All available agents will be expected to attend.”

“Yes, sir.”

And so, the following Wednesday, Cowley and eight other agents, headed to the church where Medford’s funeral service was to be held. Despite the sombre occasion Bodie and Doyle were glad of the break from checking out the credentials of the owners of every black Mercedes in London.

The priest spoke at length about the young, twenty-six year old man cut down in his prime in a senseless act of violence. A man who had pledged to uphold the law, but would never now know the joy of getting married, and having a family of his own thanks to this criminal act. He also spoke of the grief his family would now have to live with for the rest of their lives because of it.

After the service, they adjourned to the graveside, along with the mourners, to witness the burial.

“It’s a sobering thought, to realize he was younger than us.” Bodie commented, as they made their way towards the cemetery gates after the burial.

Doyle nodded. “Mark Dawson was the same age as me.”

Suddenly, a shot rang out, followed by screams from the mourners.  All of the CI5 men dropped instinctively to the ground while the mourners and the priest turned and ran frantically back towards the church.

Doyle and Bodie lifted their heads and looked around to see one of their men, Andy Winters, crumpled on the ground holding his shoulder.

Quickly, they scanned the area and Bodie pointed. “Look”

Doyle followed his gaze to see a figure running away between the gravestones.

“Sir!” Doyle called to Cowley, who looked to where they were pointing.

“Get after him.” yelled Cowley.

They didn’t need telling twice and jumped to their feet and took off after the assailant.

As they exited the cemetery, they spotted a black Mercedes roaring off up the street.

Racing to Bodie’s car they set off in pursuit.

Doyle radioed their position to Cowley, who had now returned to his car and called an ambulance for Winters.  He instructed four of the other agents to head off to assist, following Doyle and Bodie’s directions via radio.

The Mercedes driver obviously knew the area well and made numerous turns, trying to throw his pursuers off the scent, and Bodie had a hard time keeping him in sight while Doyle radioed updates on their location as they raced through the streets.

They were heading towards a rundown area of the docklands and Bodie knew it would be difficult to keep track of him amongst all the old, derelict factory and dock buildings.He pushed the car harder, hoping to get closer to their quarry.

Suddenly, the Mercedes made a ninety degree turn, and as Bodie slewed his car around the same corner he spotted the car disappearing into a large disused warehouse down on the dockside.

Doyle drew his gun as Bodie followed the Mercedes into the warehouse.  It was an old building, no longer with a roof, just steel support pillars and roof struts open to the sky.

The Mercedes had headed down to the furthest end of the warehouse and now turned back towards them.  It was then that they realized there were two men in the car, not one.  The man they had chased from the cemetery, who was wearing a black hooded jacket, was seated in the passenger seat and now hung out of the window, aiming a gun at them while the driver drove headlong at them.

​

Doyle got off some shots before Bodie slewed the car around ninety degrees as the gunman returned fire, his bullets shattering the rear passenger window of the Capri before the Mercedes spun around in a circle to make another run at them.

Bodie straightened up the car and headed back towards the Mercedes and for a few moments they circled around each other in a figure of eight, each trying to get in a kill shot. Then, one of the gunman’s bullets took out the front tyre of Bodie’s Capri sending it into a skid to slam headlong into a steel pillar, crumpling the front. Steam began rising from the engine, probably from a damaged radiator.

As the Mercedes raced headlong towards the Capri, Doyle jumped out of the passenger side, which was facing the oncoming Mercedes, and ran for cover, while Bodie jumped out of the driver’s side and hid behind the front wing of the car.  Pulling out his gun he aimed at the driver who quickly spun the car around and Bodie’s bullets whizzed past it.

Bodie paused to reload his gun while the Mercedes roared down to the other end of the warehouse and then turned around for another run, obviously intending to wreck the Capri, to prevent pursuit, and hopefully disable the CI5 agents in the process.  Doyle, who had been firing shots from behind a couple of old, steel barrels twenty yards away, saw the Mercedes making straight for him.

Realising he was a sitting duck where he was, he jumped up, intending to run back and take cover behind Bodie’s car, but slipped on a patch of oil on the ground and went sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, but the Mercedes was right on him, and hit him a glancing blow that flipped him into the air to land heavily a few yards away, the vehicle scattering the steel barrels like skittles in the process. The driver sideswiped the rear end of the Capri as he spun the Mercedes around to avoid Bodie’s bullets, pushing it several feet sideways and nearly pinning Bodie underneath it, before sashaying out of the warehouse and back up the road it had entered by.

Leaping over the bonnet of the Capri Bodie ran to the door and emptied his clip at the Mercedes, but it turned the corner and disappeared from view.

Pulling out his R/T he yelled into it. “All units. Black Mercedes, registration Oscar, Echo, Echo 8-7-9 Sierra, heading east on Albert Road.  Two suspects, armed.  My car’s out of commission so can’t pursue.”

With that, he turned and ran back inside and over to Doyle, who remained motionless on the ground.

“Doyle!”  Bodie dropped to his knees and bent to examine him.  There was a large wound on the side of his head, just above his temple, his face and neck smeared with blood.

Bodie reached out a hand to check for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt one, albeit somewhat erratic.

“Doyle?” he called again, but he was out cold.

Bodie pulled out his R/T again and called for an ambulance, before checking Doyle once again for a pulse.

“Hang in there, mate.”   he said, to his partner’s unconscious form.  “Don’t you die on me now.”

Getting to his feet, he left the warehouse and ran down to the corner of the street to watch for the ambulance’s arrival.

*    *    *

George Cowley strode purposefully down the hospital corridor, his expression anxious.

Presently, he came upon Bodie sitting on a bench seat in the hospital waiting area, hunched over, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together, staring at the floor.

“Bodie.” Cowley stopped in front of him.

Bodie returned from his reverie and looked up at him.

“How is he?”

Bodie shrugged.  “He’s in surgery now.”

Cowley moved to sit down next to him.

“What happened?” he enquired.  Bodie quickly filled him in on the details.

“He didn’t regain consciousness on the journey in here.” he added, worriedly.

Cowley nodded, thoughtfully, but made no comment.

“How’s Winters?” Bodie asked.

“He’ll be O.K.” said Cowley. “I’ve just come from visiting him.  He took a bullet in the upper part of his chest, but it didn’t hit anything major.”

“That’s good.”  muttered Bodie.

They sat, mostly in silence, for another hour and a half before a surgical consultant came to speak to them.

“You are here for Mr. Doyle?” he enquired.

“Yes. How is he?” asked Cowley.

“He has a depressed fracture of the skull, on the right hand side, and a broken arm on the same side.  We’ve operated to elevate the depression and relieve pressure within the skull.” the consultant explained.  “He was hit by a car allegedly?”

“That’s right.” said Bodie.

“Given that he only sustained those two injuries and none anywhere else, I would guess he was probably struck by the door mirror of the vehicle as the wound is consistent with a sharp blow from a small surface area, rather than from a collision with the whole vehicle, otherwise there would be more bruising and broken bones.”

“That’s possible.” Bodied nodded.  “He had slipped and fallen and was just getting to his feet when the car hit him.”

The consultant nodded. “We’ve put him into an induced coma for a couple of days, to allow any swelling to subside and to let his brain rest.”

“But he’ll make a full recovery?” asked Cowley.

“75%- 85% of patients make a full recovery. From what I saw of the injury, I would expect him to make a full recovery, in time, but of course there are no guarantees. Keeping him sedated for a couple of days should help with the healing process.”

“May we see him?” Cowley asked now.

“He’s in ICU. Visiting is ten minutes in every hour. If you want to head there now, you can see him briefly.  Go along here and take the third corridor on the left. ICU is at the far end on the right.” the consultant pointed in the direction.

“Thank you.” said Cowley.

“I will see you in a day or two.” The consultant told them before turning and heading back to his office.”

Cowley and Bodie followed his instructions and located the Intensive Care Unit a few minutes later.​​