Pros Fic: Beginning Again
A while ago my muse decided to explore the many different ways our lads might have met...here's one idea.
Disclaimer: All things related to The Professionals belong to others. I simply borrow them now and again for my own entertainment.
“Forgive me for asking, sir, but what the hell are we doing here?” Ray Doyle asked his employer as he stared at the pale scarred body in the hospital bed.
George Cowley took his time responding, looking first at his operative and then at the unconscious man in the bed. “This is Sergeant William Bodie. SAS,” he added.
“What the hell happened to him?” The younger man asked as his eyes took in the cage keeping the blanket off one knee, the tightly wrapped ribs, the neat two inch set of stitches just below the right collar bone and the bandages that covered one eye.
“He was working undercover to shut off an IRA pipeline of guns when word of his true identity was passed to the IRA.”
“Bloody hell! Thought those SAS blokes were supposed to know what they were doing.”
“There were only four people who knew of the sergeant’s assignment: his commanding officer, Major Nairn; Sergeant Keller who served as his contact; the Home Secretary, and myself.”
Doyle turned luminous green eyes to look at the controller. “He was sold out?”
Cowley nodded solemnly. “I want the man who did this, Doyle, and I plan to have him. Your job is to make sure the Sergeant stays alive while I find him.”
“This is a problem for the SAS, not CI5…sir,” he added as he watched the gray eyes harden.
“Sergeant Bodie has been seconded to CI5. That makes it our problem. This was to be his last assignment for Nairn. I’ve had my eye on the lad for the last year. He finally agreed two months ago to join but the major insisted he finish this assignment first.”
“Maybe the major doesn’t like his men leaving without his say so,” Doyle offered.
“Wrong, Sunshine,” the hoarse voice from the bed startled both men. “Old Freddy couldn’t wait to be rid of me. Problem was he didn’t have anybody with the, shall we say, unique set of skills necessary to pull off this job.”
“Wouldn’t say you actually pulled it off there, Butch.” Doyle responded as he stared at one bright blue eye.
“Sergeant, how do you feel?” Cowley asked stepping to the bedside.
“Be good as new in a bit, sir.”
Doyle was taken aback by the smile that flitted across the controller’s face. “Aye that you will, lad, that you will. Have you remembered anything else?”
“Sorry, sir. Think it’s the drugs they keep feeding me.” He tugged ineffectively at the I.V. in his right hand. “Can’t seem to think straight.”
Cowley gently patted the muscular forearm. “Don’t worry. It will come back to you. This is Raymond Doyle; he’ll be keeping an eye on you until this matter is concluded. Doyle, you’ll stay with the Sergeant here in hospital tonight, and go with him tomorrow when we move him somewhere a bit more secure.”
“Doyle,” the patient acknowledged, his one eye carefully scrutinizing his new keeper, “no offense, but I don’t need a bloody nursemaid.”
“Yeah, like you’re capable of doing anything more than lying there given that they’ve strapped you to nearly every piece of machinery in the place,” the CI5 agent responded, green eyes not quite as hard as the tone in which the words were delivered.
“Sergeant, you’ll have to excuse 4-5’s lack of tact. But he is correct. And I need to know you’re safe while I’m stirring up the hornet’s nest.”
Disclaimer: All things related to The Professionals belong to others. I simply borrow them now and again for my own entertainment.
“Forgive me for asking, sir, but what the hell are we doing here?” Ray Doyle asked his employer as he stared at the pale scarred body in the hospital bed.
George Cowley took his time responding, looking first at his operative and then at the unconscious man in the bed. “This is Sergeant William Bodie. SAS,” he added.
“What the hell happened to him?” The younger man asked as his eyes took in the cage keeping the blanket off one knee, the tightly wrapped ribs, the neat two inch set of stitches just below the right collar bone and the bandages that covered one eye.
“He was working undercover to shut off an IRA pipeline of guns when word of his true identity was passed to the IRA.”
“Bloody hell! Thought those SAS blokes were supposed to know what they were doing.”
“There were only four people who knew of the sergeant’s assignment: his commanding officer, Major Nairn; Sergeant Keller who served as his contact; the Home Secretary, and myself.”
Doyle turned luminous green eyes to look at the controller. “He was sold out?”
Cowley nodded solemnly. “I want the man who did this, Doyle, and I plan to have him. Your job is to make sure the Sergeant stays alive while I find him.”
“This is a problem for the SAS, not CI5…sir,” he added as he watched the gray eyes harden.
“Sergeant Bodie has been seconded to CI5. That makes it our problem. This was to be his last assignment for Nairn. I’ve had my eye on the lad for the last year. He finally agreed two months ago to join but the major insisted he finish this assignment first.”
“Maybe the major doesn’t like his men leaving without his say so,” Doyle offered.
“Wrong, Sunshine,” the hoarse voice from the bed startled both men. “Old Freddy couldn’t wait to be rid of me. Problem was he didn’t have anybody with the, shall we say, unique set of skills necessary to pull off this job.”
“Wouldn’t say you actually pulled it off there, Butch.” Doyle responded as he stared at one bright blue eye.
“Sergeant, how do you feel?” Cowley asked stepping to the bedside.
“Be good as new in a bit, sir.”
Doyle was taken aback by the smile that flitted across the controller’s face. “Aye that you will, lad, that you will. Have you remembered anything else?”
“Sorry, sir. Think it’s the drugs they keep feeding me.” He tugged ineffectively at the I.V. in his right hand. “Can’t seem to think straight.”
Cowley gently patted the muscular forearm. “Don’t worry. It will come back to you. This is Raymond Doyle; he’ll be keeping an eye on you until this matter is concluded. Doyle, you’ll stay with the Sergeant here in hospital tonight, and go with him tomorrow when we move him somewhere a bit more secure.”
“Doyle,” the patient acknowledged, his one eye carefully scrutinizing his new keeper, “no offense, but I don’t need a bloody nursemaid.”
“Yeah, like you’re capable of doing anything more than lying there given that they’ve strapped you to nearly every piece of machinery in the place,” the CI5 agent responded, green eyes not quite as hard as the tone in which the words were delivered.
“Sergeant, you’ll have to excuse 4-5’s lack of tact. But he is correct. And I need to know you’re safe while I’m stirring up the hornet’s nest.”