(no subject)
Visions of Bodie and Doyle:down but not (quite) out
[Also posted to AO3]
The next step in the plan was to ditch the surveillance team....A lot of people on the pavement would help but these blokes were damned good. Passing by a shop selling televisions, Doyle came to an abrupt stop. Bodie had walked on a few paces until he realised that Doyle wasn't beside him. He retraced his steps. Doyle seemed mesmerised by whatever was on the half-dozen televisions on display. Bodie's stomach lurched and if he hadn't clamped his lips tightly together, he would have vomited on the spot.
On the multiple television screens were pictures of he and Doyle. Under there photos were their names and text running across the bottom of the screen. Bodie read: Dangerous Men! Killers! Followed by instructions to contact the proper authorities if the criminals were seen at large, along with what Bodie knew was the usual Commie rhetoric about duty to the state, more blah blah blah.
“We're in big trouble,” Doyle said.
Bodie shuddered. The idea of spending his life locked away in a prison cell behind the Iron Curtain was not a happy prospect, to say the least.
The idea of spending his life locked away from Doyle was even worse than thoughts of incarceration and torture.
“You don't bloody say,” Bodie muttered, snagging Doyle's sleeve and dragging him away. “We have to find some place to regroup...” I Will Follow You:LilyK
It feels like he’s been there days.
He’s certainly thirsty enough for it to have been days and very hungry.
Arms aching, head pounding, leaden cold draining the life from his limbs; Doyle knows that the situation is beyond his control and has been for a long time. He’s spent hours pulling on his restraints, hours trying to attract attention, hours silently calling for Bodie, hoping against hope that in a minute, a moment, Bodie is going to come bursting through that door with all his devils loose.
Bodie only ever lets his devils free for Doyle.
Bodie will be looking for him, he knows that...
Bodie would be coming.
He’s so thirsty. His throat hurts. He wants Bodie to be here. He wants Bodie to hug him close and tell him everything will be alright...
Captive:Agent_Talis
They’d blown themselves up, then, as well as Doyle. Fanatics. He looked down at the ground, struggling to control the useless rage. Funnel it. But there was no one to take vengeance on, no survivors to focus on. There wasn’t even an organization to take down. Moran had been a lone wolf terrorist, with a few hired thugs. There was nothing but ashes and death and the stopping of everything. The end. He tightened his jaw... Don’t move. Wait for it to pass. Don’t think. Breathe. For now. He looked up again, saw Cowley and Murphy dealing with the fire brigade and police. An ambulance crew passed close by him, ferrying Stuart to one of the ambulances. He almost wished he’d been injured, so he could sink into drugs-forget. But it would only delay, not help. He flashed onto a picture of Doyle glancing at him sideways, half smiling- He closed his eyes.
Rebirth:PFL
Having his hands tied behind his back made getting out of the van awkward, but Bodie managed and kept his footing. He was then shoved around the side of the vehicle.
"Known better, sir," he said in response to Cowley's question, but his eyes sought those of his partner. Ray was controlled, and to anyone watching, he appeared alert and ready for action. That much was true, but Bodie knew the suppressed anger that was also under that facade. Feeling responsible, he is. Ray'll be blaming himself for this, and he'll know this load around me neck is explosives...
"He had better be up to it," Cowley said.
"He'll be up to it!" Bodie, be ready, Ray silently commanded.
From his vantage point, Bodie studied the two; CI5's director and top agent. They had something planned, of that Bodie was sure. And he knew that all he had to do was be prepared to act when the time came.
In the next instant something by the plane exploded...
Requiem for a Fugitive:Lois Welling
...the trial went ahead. I had no idea that when I stood in the dock I was by that time suffering from clinical depression. I was in all probability, unfit for court but I found some of the revelations so fascinating that I probably appeared rather lucid. Someone had obviously done their homework on me. Every death that I had caused within my CI5 career was documented. Though none of these losses were admissible, they all served to show the jury what an out and out thug I was. By the end of the prosecution speeches I was ready to throw away the key myself...
My thoughts were in disarray, swimming between the trial, Bodie, Cowley’s heart attack, Bodie, what might await me in jail and of course, more Bodie. The judge’s words will always echo through my mind.
“Raymond Doyle you have been found guilty…”
‘So you shall hang till you are dead…’
The imagined phrase plagued my head but the truth was even more brutal. Somehow I had to find a way to survive if I possibly could... I was truly, absolutely and completely terrified.
My Time:Pale Rider (Boothros)
If holding out was impossible, they had limited options: run or get rescued. Since the cavalry wasn’t responding by R/T, running was the only choice left. Bodie’s eyes moved rapidly from the warehouse’s far doorway, where through the gloom he detected pale outlines of men entering stealthily, to up above, where through grimy skylights he saw two others sprinting and stopping on the exterior catwalk in jagged alternation, moving shadows marking their advance. They were getting damned close.
Hemmed in, with time running out, Bodie made a decision. “I’ll test the stairs. If I can get the door open, you follow...”
It wasn’t encouraging: no railings, cracked boards, and at least a twenty-foot drop to some sort of concrete floor he could make out between the multiple treads that were missing entirely. He’d have to chance going down, crossing those gaps, without the whole staircase collapsing-time was running out, for now he heard Doyle’s gun firing more rapidly behind him, joined by the barking report of Cowley’s snub-nosed shooter...
Creeping gingerly, Bodie kept off the centre of each step, hoping the strength of the wood remained strongest where it connected to the stair’s sides. Even so, each time he shifted his weight the wood creaked and shuddered horribly....Just when he was congratulating himself on reaching the other side and saving his balance, an ominous crack began...
Endlessly:FJBryan
"Who do you reckon's faster, you or me?" Doyle asked, trying to make the question seem casual, trying to hide the fact that it was death or life.
"Faster at what?..."
"At running, you berk." Doyle barked out in frustration.
"I suppose you are." Bodie looked at him suspiciously, suddenly paying close attention to his partner. "Why?"
"You're not gonna like it."
"What are you up to, Doyle?"
"If a bloke was fast enough, he could get across the warehouse to those crates over there, distract the uglies at the doors."
"Or said bloke could get shot."
"We stay here much longer, and we're both gonna get shot."
"Butch and Sundance, that's us." It was a last, very Bodie-like attempt at humour.
"I don't want to be Butch Cassidy..."
Live 'Til You Die:PR Zed
“It’s him!” The accusation, accompanied by a cold swirl of air and an abruptly slammed door, sliced sharply through the ribald banter that had marked the poker hand. “Duncan’s the plant - a bloody copper.”
The voice was Bodie’s, - or rather Williams’, Bodie’s undercover persona - as was the accusatory finger pointed straight at him. A myriad of thoughts raced through Doyle’s head, each more ludicrous than the last. His cover as Duncan was in tatters - that was clear as day. It was Bodie who’d grassed him...
'Betrayed', Doyle thought to himself bitterly. It was actually rather ironic. He was being placed in the Judas role, while it was Bodie - or rather- the trusted Williams - who was going to actually do the act. Or was he? Doyle looked over at his partner. The face turned toward him was expressionless; the eyes were cold; the lips set in a thin line. No comfort to be found there. Was Bodie going to betray Donnelly, or was it Doyle that was going to be hung out to dry?
Old Habits:merentha13
"Doesn’t sound like there’s anyone around."
"When have we ever been that lucky?"
"First time for-"
Bodie was cut off by the sound of gunfire in the distance, and was instantly alert...They could hear shouts and the sound of running feet, sporadic bursts of gunfire...
Bodie ... tensed, waiting for the sound of a key in the lock, the turn of the knob. He watched Doyle’s face as the door started to open...
"What the hell are you doing here?" Doyle asked, and Bodie caught his first glimpse of their rescuer.
Once in a Good long While:Lacey McBain
He moved quickly and silently to the house. He should call for back up but he didn’t want to take the time. It felt like time was running out for Bodie. He needed to get to him as fast as possible. He crept up to a window at the back of the house and heard voices.
“We need to get rid of ‘im”, the voice was low, but filled with anger.
“He’s CI5. You don’t just kill those guys...Doyle chanced a look through the window. There were four men in the room. Bodie was stretched out on the floor, a small puddle of blood near the cheek pressed against the carpet.
“Can’t just leave him. He’s seen our faces, heard our names.” The first voice again. Ray looked on in horror as the man raised his gun and pointed it at the back of Bodie’s head...
Words Finally Spoken:Merentha13
The creature snarled and whipped around, bounding through the too-small gap. The wood around it yielded depressingly easily. It landed lightly in front of the two agents, fur glowing with a crystalline blue light and its eyes coals from Hell itself…. It began to pad towards Bodie and Doyle. The stench of it hit them like a physical blow. Somewhere in the distance, Bodie could hear Jadis gleefully urging the beast on…
Their attackers were getting closer and closer. Bodie blinked the water out of his eyes, his gun still directed at the wolf-dog. He wasn’t going to die here... he wasn’t going to die here ...
he wasn’t going to let Doyle die here...
Here Be Monsters: Agent_Talis
Hearing the squeal of car tyres, Bodie ran across the smooth white curve of the gasholder to the railed gangway. From his vantage point, he could see the spy convention forming at the foot of the tower. Cowley was there with Willis, a pack of his MI6 men, and the two watchful East Germans; Kreiber and Schuman.
Cowley must have got Willis to call off the attack dogs snapping at his ankles. The old bastard was up to no good, but he was probably the only thing standing between Bodie and - what was it? - a grenade launcher.
Cowley shouted to him to come down, that he was cleared; his words just audible at this distance. Bodie gripped the rail, trying to discern the truth from his craggy features.
He demanded to see Marikka. She had betrayed him, but instinctively he feared for her. Doyle, our very own Mr License to Thrill, brought her...
It had started before he saw her, playing the glamour girl outside the Gloucester Hotel. He had known she was coming, from an article in Doyle’s film magazine, and the past came rushing back. He had shut down; he knew he had, though it was scarcely within his control. He had gone quiet and let Doyle make all that noise to compensate.
But where did it leave him? Hanging about on a gasholder like a fairy on top of a poorly defended Christmas tree... Firebird:Jackie Thomas
Doyle’s future suddenly narrowed to a tiny pinprick of light in the far distance. He was in a relationship with a selfish bully who also happened to be boss. He had no real money of his own, nowhere that he could call home apart from Hayter’s house and no true friends except Jamie. He had lost his ideals, his health and his self-respect. Suddenly the shutters fell from his eyes and he faced the true horror of what he had done. Walking away from his own life had been a monumental mistake. Bodie and Cowley had both tried to warn him but he had ignored them both, his dearest and most trusted allies, to strive for a love that he now knew he could never realise. He’d never seen what he was losing, or at the very least chosen not to look. He’d hadn’t really loved his job in CI5 but he’d been good at it and felt that he’d made some sort of difference. He’d not made a fortune but he’d been able to support himself. He’d never suffered fools gladly but now he was the biggest fool of all. He’d lost his sense of self, he’d lost his hopes and dreams and most painful of all, he’d lost Bodie...
Coming Home:Pale Rider (Boothross)
“What in all bloody hell are you doing?” Doyle asked, seething. The least Bodie could do was untie him first.
Breathing heavily, Bodie found a knife from the kitchen supplies and trotted across the room. “Saving your sorry hide.”
“Me?” Doyle roared, too irritated to care that he’d wake the sleeping beauties up. “I came here to get you out of a jam, and look what happened!”
“You ended up piggy-in-the-middle?” ...He sawed through the ropes binding Doyle’s all but numb hands. “Smartish, now, Raymond. Time to leave. D’you have your r/t with you?”
“Your mate Conal tucked it in his pocket.” .... His right knee shot pain up his leg but he wasn’t about to give Bodie the satisfaction of seeing that he’d needed rescuing. His fingers were thick, clumsy sausages and the returning blood felt like thousands of needles. Of all the fucking luck, of course he couldn’t bend them dexterously enough to fish the r/t out of Conal’s mackintosh...
An Agent's Christmas in London:Dawnwind
George Cowley was one of those unique men who could be categorized as both a doer and a thinker. Deceptively small, Cowley was clever and resourceful, cursed with a game leg while blessed with a silver tongue. A natural born leader, he was one who commanded loyalty and gave the same in return. However, when faced with a situation where he could neither think, nor do, the wily George Cowley became nothing more than a caged tiger.
He'd found himself in just such a situation for four days now, locked in a concrete room...
The door swung open and two men looking rather the worse for wear were roughly shoved to the floor at Cowley's feet, after which the door was slammed shut and bolted...
"We've come to rescue you," explained Doyle, who promptly passed out.
"For God's sake," Cowley growled, shoving himself to his feet and crossing the floor to kneel next to his injured operatives...he felt along Doyle's neck until he found his pulse. It was slow but strong and Cowley motioned Bodie to help him turn the unconscious man on his side..."Take it easy, Doyle. Lie still," he said, gruffly.
Doyle responded to the voice, eyes opening blearily, attempting to focus. "Must have been some party," he muttered, drunkenly... Saving George:Annie
[Also posted to AO3]
The next step in the plan was to ditch the surveillance team....A lot of people on the pavement would help but these blokes were damned good. Passing by a shop selling televisions, Doyle came to an abrupt stop. Bodie had walked on a few paces until he realised that Doyle wasn't beside him. He retraced his steps. Doyle seemed mesmerised by whatever was on the half-dozen televisions on display. Bodie's stomach lurched and if he hadn't clamped his lips tightly together, he would have vomited on the spot.
On the multiple television screens were pictures of he and Doyle. Under there photos were their names and text running across the bottom of the screen. Bodie read: Dangerous Men! Killers! Followed by instructions to contact the proper authorities if the criminals were seen at large, along with what Bodie knew was the usual Commie rhetoric about duty to the state, more blah blah blah.
“We're in big trouble,” Doyle said.
Bodie shuddered. The idea of spending his life locked away in a prison cell behind the Iron Curtain was not a happy prospect, to say the least.
The idea of spending his life locked away from Doyle was even worse than thoughts of incarceration and torture.
“You don't bloody say,” Bodie muttered, snagging Doyle's sleeve and dragging him away. “We have to find some place to regroup...” I Will Follow You:LilyK
It feels like he’s been there days.
He’s certainly thirsty enough for it to have been days and very hungry.
Arms aching, head pounding, leaden cold draining the life from his limbs; Doyle knows that the situation is beyond his control and has been for a long time. He’s spent hours pulling on his restraints, hours trying to attract attention, hours silently calling for Bodie, hoping against hope that in a minute, a moment, Bodie is going to come bursting through that door with all his devils loose.
Bodie only ever lets his devils free for Doyle.
Bodie will be looking for him, he knows that...
Bodie would be coming.
He’s so thirsty. His throat hurts. He wants Bodie to be here. He wants Bodie to hug him close and tell him everything will be alright...
Captive:Agent_Talis
They’d blown themselves up, then, as well as Doyle. Fanatics. He looked down at the ground, struggling to control the useless rage. Funnel it. But there was no one to take vengeance on, no survivors to focus on. There wasn’t even an organization to take down. Moran had been a lone wolf terrorist, with a few hired thugs. There was nothing but ashes and death and the stopping of everything. The end. He tightened his jaw... Don’t move. Wait for it to pass. Don’t think. Breathe. For now. He looked up again, saw Cowley and Murphy dealing with the fire brigade and police. An ambulance crew passed close by him, ferrying Stuart to one of the ambulances. He almost wished he’d been injured, so he could sink into drugs-forget. But it would only delay, not help. He flashed onto a picture of Doyle glancing at him sideways, half smiling- He closed his eyes.
Rebirth:PFL
Having his hands tied behind his back made getting out of the van awkward, but Bodie managed and kept his footing. He was then shoved around the side of the vehicle.
"Known better, sir," he said in response to Cowley's question, but his eyes sought those of his partner. Ray was controlled, and to anyone watching, he appeared alert and ready for action. That much was true, but Bodie knew the suppressed anger that was also under that facade. Feeling responsible, he is. Ray'll be blaming himself for this, and he'll know this load around me neck is explosives...
"He had better be up to it," Cowley said.
"He'll be up to it!" Bodie, be ready, Ray silently commanded.
From his vantage point, Bodie studied the two; CI5's director and top agent. They had something planned, of that Bodie was sure. And he knew that all he had to do was be prepared to act when the time came.
In the next instant something by the plane exploded...
Requiem for a Fugitive:Lois Welling
...the trial went ahead. I had no idea that when I stood in the dock I was by that time suffering from clinical depression. I was in all probability, unfit for court but I found some of the revelations so fascinating that I probably appeared rather lucid. Someone had obviously done their homework on me. Every death that I had caused within my CI5 career was documented. Though none of these losses were admissible, they all served to show the jury what an out and out thug I was. By the end of the prosecution speeches I was ready to throw away the key myself...
My thoughts were in disarray, swimming between the trial, Bodie, Cowley’s heart attack, Bodie, what might await me in jail and of course, more Bodie. The judge’s words will always echo through my mind.
“Raymond Doyle you have been found guilty…”
‘So you shall hang till you are dead…’
The imagined phrase plagued my head but the truth was even more brutal. Somehow I had to find a way to survive if I possibly could... I was truly, absolutely and completely terrified.
My Time:Pale Rider (Boothros)
If holding out was impossible, they had limited options: run or get rescued. Since the cavalry wasn’t responding by R/T, running was the only choice left. Bodie’s eyes moved rapidly from the warehouse’s far doorway, where through the gloom he detected pale outlines of men entering stealthily, to up above, where through grimy skylights he saw two others sprinting and stopping on the exterior catwalk in jagged alternation, moving shadows marking their advance. They were getting damned close.
Hemmed in, with time running out, Bodie made a decision. “I’ll test the stairs. If I can get the door open, you follow...”
It wasn’t encouraging: no railings, cracked boards, and at least a twenty-foot drop to some sort of concrete floor he could make out between the multiple treads that were missing entirely. He’d have to chance going down, crossing those gaps, without the whole staircase collapsing-time was running out, for now he heard Doyle’s gun firing more rapidly behind him, joined by the barking report of Cowley’s snub-nosed shooter...
Creeping gingerly, Bodie kept off the centre of each step, hoping the strength of the wood remained strongest where it connected to the stair’s sides. Even so, each time he shifted his weight the wood creaked and shuddered horribly....Just when he was congratulating himself on reaching the other side and saving his balance, an ominous crack began...
Endlessly:FJBryan
"Who do you reckon's faster, you or me?" Doyle asked, trying to make the question seem casual, trying to hide the fact that it was death or life.
"Faster at what?..."
"At running, you berk." Doyle barked out in frustration.
"I suppose you are." Bodie looked at him suspiciously, suddenly paying close attention to his partner. "Why?"
"You're not gonna like it."
"What are you up to, Doyle?"
"If a bloke was fast enough, he could get across the warehouse to those crates over there, distract the uglies at the doors."
"Or said bloke could get shot."
"We stay here much longer, and we're both gonna get shot."
"Butch and Sundance, that's us." It was a last, very Bodie-like attempt at humour.
"I don't want to be Butch Cassidy..."
Live 'Til You Die:PR Zed
“It’s him!” The accusation, accompanied by a cold swirl of air and an abruptly slammed door, sliced sharply through the ribald banter that had marked the poker hand. “Duncan’s the plant - a bloody copper.”
The voice was Bodie’s, - or rather Williams’, Bodie’s undercover persona - as was the accusatory finger pointed straight at him. A myriad of thoughts raced through Doyle’s head, each more ludicrous than the last. His cover as Duncan was in tatters - that was clear as day. It was Bodie who’d grassed him...
'Betrayed', Doyle thought to himself bitterly. It was actually rather ironic. He was being placed in the Judas role, while it was Bodie - or rather- the trusted Williams - who was going to actually do the act. Or was he? Doyle looked over at his partner. The face turned toward him was expressionless; the eyes were cold; the lips set in a thin line. No comfort to be found there. Was Bodie going to betray Donnelly, or was it Doyle that was going to be hung out to dry?
Old Habits:merentha13
"Doesn’t sound like there’s anyone around."
"When have we ever been that lucky?"
"First time for-"
Bodie was cut off by the sound of gunfire in the distance, and was instantly alert...They could hear shouts and the sound of running feet, sporadic bursts of gunfire...
Bodie ... tensed, waiting for the sound of a key in the lock, the turn of the knob. He watched Doyle’s face as the door started to open...
"What the hell are you doing here?" Doyle asked, and Bodie caught his first glimpse of their rescuer.
Once in a Good long While:Lacey McBain
He moved quickly and silently to the house. He should call for back up but he didn’t want to take the time. It felt like time was running out for Bodie. He needed to get to him as fast as possible. He crept up to a window at the back of the house and heard voices.
“We need to get rid of ‘im”, the voice was low, but filled with anger.
“He’s CI5. You don’t just kill those guys...Doyle chanced a look through the window. There were four men in the room. Bodie was stretched out on the floor, a small puddle of blood near the cheek pressed against the carpet.
“Can’t just leave him. He’s seen our faces, heard our names.” The first voice again. Ray looked on in horror as the man raised his gun and pointed it at the back of Bodie’s head...
Words Finally Spoken:Merentha13
The creature snarled and whipped around, bounding through the too-small gap. The wood around it yielded depressingly easily. It landed lightly in front of the two agents, fur glowing with a crystalline blue light and its eyes coals from Hell itself…. It began to pad towards Bodie and Doyle. The stench of it hit them like a physical blow. Somewhere in the distance, Bodie could hear Jadis gleefully urging the beast on…
Their attackers were getting closer and closer. Bodie blinked the water out of his eyes, his gun still directed at the wolf-dog. He wasn’t going to die here... he wasn’t going to die here ...
he wasn’t going to let Doyle die here...
Here Be Monsters: Agent_Talis
Hearing the squeal of car tyres, Bodie ran across the smooth white curve of the gasholder to the railed gangway. From his vantage point, he could see the spy convention forming at the foot of the tower. Cowley was there with Willis, a pack of his MI6 men, and the two watchful East Germans; Kreiber and Schuman.
Cowley must have got Willis to call off the attack dogs snapping at his ankles. The old bastard was up to no good, but he was probably the only thing standing between Bodie and - what was it? - a grenade launcher.
Cowley shouted to him to come down, that he was cleared; his words just audible at this distance. Bodie gripped the rail, trying to discern the truth from his craggy features.
He demanded to see Marikka. She had betrayed him, but instinctively he feared for her. Doyle, our very own Mr License to Thrill, brought her...
It had started before he saw her, playing the glamour girl outside the Gloucester Hotel. He had known she was coming, from an article in Doyle’s film magazine, and the past came rushing back. He had shut down; he knew he had, though it was scarcely within his control. He had gone quiet and let Doyle make all that noise to compensate.
But where did it leave him? Hanging about on a gasholder like a fairy on top of a poorly defended Christmas tree... Firebird:Jackie Thomas
Doyle’s future suddenly narrowed to a tiny pinprick of light in the far distance. He was in a relationship with a selfish bully who also happened to be boss. He had no real money of his own, nowhere that he could call home apart from Hayter’s house and no true friends except Jamie. He had lost his ideals, his health and his self-respect. Suddenly the shutters fell from his eyes and he faced the true horror of what he had done. Walking away from his own life had been a monumental mistake. Bodie and Cowley had both tried to warn him but he had ignored them both, his dearest and most trusted allies, to strive for a love that he now knew he could never realise. He’d never seen what he was losing, or at the very least chosen not to look. He’d hadn’t really loved his job in CI5 but he’d been good at it and felt that he’d made some sort of difference. He’d not made a fortune but he’d been able to support himself. He’d never suffered fools gladly but now he was the biggest fool of all. He’d lost his sense of self, he’d lost his hopes and dreams and most painful of all, he’d lost Bodie...
Coming Home:Pale Rider (Boothross)
“What in all bloody hell are you doing?” Doyle asked, seething. The least Bodie could do was untie him first.
Breathing heavily, Bodie found a knife from the kitchen supplies and trotted across the room. “Saving your sorry hide.”
“Me?” Doyle roared, too irritated to care that he’d wake the sleeping beauties up. “I came here to get you out of a jam, and look what happened!”
“You ended up piggy-in-the-middle?” ...He sawed through the ropes binding Doyle’s all but numb hands. “Smartish, now, Raymond. Time to leave. D’you have your r/t with you?”
“Your mate Conal tucked it in his pocket.” .... His right knee shot pain up his leg but he wasn’t about to give Bodie the satisfaction of seeing that he’d needed rescuing. His fingers were thick, clumsy sausages and the returning blood felt like thousands of needles. Of all the fucking luck, of course he couldn’t bend them dexterously enough to fish the r/t out of Conal’s mackintosh...
An Agent's Christmas in London:Dawnwind
George Cowley was one of those unique men who could be categorized as both a doer and a thinker. Deceptively small, Cowley was clever and resourceful, cursed with a game leg while blessed with a silver tongue. A natural born leader, he was one who commanded loyalty and gave the same in return. However, when faced with a situation where he could neither think, nor do, the wily George Cowley became nothing more than a caged tiger.
He'd found himself in just such a situation for four days now, locked in a concrete room...
The door swung open and two men looking rather the worse for wear were roughly shoved to the floor at Cowley's feet, after which the door was slammed shut and bolted...
"We've come to rescue you," explained Doyle, who promptly passed out.
"For God's sake," Cowley growled, shoving himself to his feet and crossing the floor to kneel next to his injured operatives...he felt along Doyle's neck until he found his pulse. It was slow but strong and Cowley motioned Bodie to help him turn the unconscious man on his side..."Take it easy, Doyle. Lie still," he said, gruffly.
Doyle responded to the voice, eyes opening blearily, attempting to focus. "Must have been some party," he muttered, drunkenly... Saving George:Annie