Thanks to Brenda for helping me out the way she did - this wouldn't be the same without her.

PART ONE    PART TWO    PART THREE    PART FOUR    PART FIVE

PROLOGUE

The man held the ice pack pressed against the side of his head. Gratefully, he accepted the drink that was offered while a doctor checked his injury. The gash was sore and two stitches were needed to stop the bleeding. The officer in front of him observed him carefully while asking him a series of questions, and then typed his replies rapidly into the computer. Age 48, British origin... and somebody who provided such a detailed description that the policeman rapidly realised this was not an ordinary bystander. Such an eye for detail. You'd think he'd been specially trained for this sort of observation. But nothing from his profession seemed to indicate that.

He printed a hard copy, and the man signed it.

"Thank you very much for your co-operation, sir. I have already put my best men on the case."

The other man just nodded and let out a sigh. The officer put the paper in a file.
"I will not bother you any longer. The doctor says you should take some rest."

Again just silence. The man stood up, moved his head carefully from left to right and then extended his hand to shake the officer's. Time to accompany the man to the door - but his curiosity was finally too hard to resist.

"May I ask if you were perhaps a police officer yourself, once? A detective, maybe? You have excellent eye for detail."

A small smile reached mild, sapphire blue eyes.

"Something like that. I used to work for CI5." he answered and left the puzzled officer behind.

CI5?.

 

PART ONE

"What's she like?" Chris Keel asked.

Sam Curtis had his eyes closed, sipping a glass of excellent Sauternes.

"Makes a change to work with someone smart after all this time with you."

"Ha! But she's not as good-looking me, I bet!" Chris grinned.

Sam opened one eye and looked at him. The colour of his eyes seemed to change all the time: sometimes they would seem almost pure green, and then you saw glints of grey or even silver.

"And what self-respecting lady would want to look like you?" he sighed, airily, and then ducked away just in time to avoid the flying cushion. "Touchy, are we?"

"C'mon Sam. Just tell me. What's she like. Not a dog, surely?"

"Attractive, tall, fast reactions - and no, not a dog. In fact quite the contrary. There's only one problem.

Chris leaned forward, suddenly worried. "Whaddya mean? You're not happy? When it sounds like you're being partnered with Miss World who can shoot?"

"Nope. Not happy. I know I'm gonna get YOU back as a partner one day...." Sam grinned broadly.

Chris chuckled and relaxed. It was difficult to be off work, forced to accept that his partner and closest friend was teamed up with a rookie. Although he knew it was temporary, it still felt awkward. Several months ago, Sam had saved his life and now he, Chris, could only sit it out while somebody else had his partner's wellbeing in their hands.

It had taken him months to recover from the injuries he'd suffered at the hands of an Irish IRA splinter group. If it hadn't been from Sam and Backus, he wouldn't be sitting there at all. He'd been through weeks of intensive care and physiotherapy, and it was only now that his body was slowly coming back to life. Six weeks in a coma hadn't done much for his muscle tone, but now, slowly, Chris could feel his strength returning.

Malone had been making noises about some more rehabilitation in a couple of weeks, but at least the end was finally in sight. Another few weeks, and he'd be fit again. And he would be teamed up with the Brit again. Now that would be good - better therapy than all he had to endure the past few months.

The doorbell rang, disturbing his thoughts, and he opened it to see Backup, who most surprisingly gave him a kiss. She didn't make a habit of that, so it was all the more welcome. But then she'd been away and hadn't seen him since he was out of hospital. He'd not seen much of Sam, either, so the evening was meant as something of a celebration.

"Glad to see you on your feet, Chris. Sam here? He was supposed to bring the wine, and I've got some French bread and cheese and stuff..."

Chris grinned, nodding towards his living room. "Yeah. He's here. And nobody's gonna turn me into a wine connoisseur, especially with that weird stuff he's brought this time. Wish I could have a beer, but I'm trying not to hurt his sensitive feelings. "

Backup chuckled and patted his arm. "Nice to see you again, Chris. Looks like you're really on the mend."

"Yeah. Soon be making Sam's life a misery again." I'll sleep more comfortably knowing I'm around to watch his back, instead of some pretty rookie who will most likely make Sam think with his crotch...

*****

"Good morning, sir."

Backup and Sam turned to see Malone's surprise. Chris Keel was doing his best to look nonchalant.

"Mr. Curtis, Miss Backus, good morning to you. Mr. Keel - you do not have permission to come to work yet, I believe?

"Not exactly, sir. I was just calling in... to say hi to everybody and - uh... I do have an appointment with the doc later on."

"And although you know quite well that agents on sick leave are not generally welcome, I presume you've come out of curiosity to see who will be partnering Mr. Curtis?

Malone wasn't stupid - he knew that. And the tone wasn't quite as icy as it might have been.

"Well, sir..."

"Well then go and satisfy your curiosity, if it means you can then respect orders until you are here ready and fit to work. And Mr. Curtis, please try not to take all day about it."

Heck, Chris decided. Much more and Malone was going to become human.

Sam was staring, and Chris, typically was blushing as Malone disappeared into his office.

"Roberta's at the firing range. Come on, Chris, I'll introduce you before Malone changes his mind and kicks you out. " Sam slapped his friend on the shoulder. "He's probably hoping the competition will spur you on to greater efforts to get back here and save him the sick pay." He couldn't hide his amusement.

"Get that grin off you face, Sam Curtis, or I'll hurt you." Chris hissed.

The firing range was noisy and busy, but Chris realised where Sam was heading very quickly. The woman was dressed in black jeans and jacket, and was indeed tall and slim. As she turned, he realised she certainly was attractive, too, and Sam hadn't just been laying it on. A mass of thick blonde curls framed an oval face, brown eyes, and even features. She hadn't seen the two men approaching thanks to the ear protectors, and looked up in surprise.

"Chris, Roberta. Roberta, this is my partner, Chris Keel."

They shook hands, eyeing each other, and Roberta spoke after a second or two.

"Your ex-partner, Sam."

Chris drew a sharp breath, trying to hold back the sharp reply. And failing.

"Well I hope your shooting is better than your tact and diplomacy, Miss Holmes. Because before very long the ex-partner will be you. Oh - and I thought you said she was an excellent shot, Sam?"

Sam looked uncomfortable, but before he'd had time to speak, she reached for another pistol, fired off ten rounds in rapid succession, and then nodded towards the target. To Chris' fury, they were all perfect hits. She turned back to him, pushing the yellow goggles up into her hair, a silent challenge in her eyes

Sam stepped forward, anxious to dispel the tension, but Williams, the manager of the firing range, got there first.

Unaware of the tension, he grinned at them all.

"Hey, Roberta, how's that piece doing?"

"Pulls to the right a little - the balance still isn't right." She pouted prettily and pointed to the first gun she'd been using. "But it feels good. Once it's been corrected, I'll give it another trial. "

Ignoring Chris completely, she gave Williams a charming smile, picked up her bag and offered Sam an even more eloquent look.

"See you this afternoon, Sam. We're due with Mr. Malone at two. "

Chris Keel watched her in ill-concealed amazement as she walked out of the firing range, confidence oozing from every step.

"Who does she think she is? First ever to have a good shot? Shit, Sam, that is one extremely self-important lady. Or can she be REALLY rude if she tries?

Sam shook his head.

"Look, Chris - maybe you made her feel insecure or something..."

"Insecure? It wasn't her trying to make ME feel like some sort of washed-up invalid, of course..." Chris said, sarcasm biting into the usually soft voice.

"Leave it, Chris. Malone's paired us, and that's all there is to it."

"You're welcome to it. If you ever decide you want a real partner back, just let me know."

Chris, in turn, walked out.

The anger stayed with him the whole afternoon - she'd hit his most sensitive point as nobody knew for sure yet just how long it would be before he was back. But Sam had gone solo for months - just why was Malone pairing him now? And why with that arrogant little bitch? Well, he'd just have to make sure it was an extremely short-lived partnership, because he'd be back at Sam's side, and fast. There was more to a partnership than just being able to shoot holes in a piece of cardboard.

Sam finally unearthed Roberta in the computer room, startling her.

"Hi. Where's the enemy?" she asked airily.

"Chris? Gone home after seeing the doc, I suppose. You didn't exactly hit if off with him, did you?"

"I'm direct. HE was hostile." she replied calmly.

"Maybe. But go easy on him, he's had a bad time."

"It's all right, Sam. You don't have to make excuses for him. I can look after myself."

Sam was quite sure she could, but he was still disappointed the encounter had been so difficult. Time to change the subject, he decided, watching her slim fingers manipulating the mouse with quick, efficient gestures.

"What are you doing?"

"My homework - I like to know whose footsteps I'm following," she said abruptly, then softened her words with a smile. "Care to fill me in on these?"

She pointed to the computer, where pictures of past and present were stored. Sam took a chair next to her and began to tell her what he knew. Suddenly, he was very aware of her presence - Christian Dior tickled his nose and just for a second, he was caught up in her femininity more than he usually allowed himself.

"Here's the old guys. Murphy - Malone's predecessor. He came after Cowley."

He took the mouse from her. Their fingers touched lightly for a millisecond, and Sam double-clicked quickly, trying to concentrate on the screen rather than on his new partner.

"Then there's a few more of them. Flanagan still works here, on electronic equipment. Williams, too, but here's he's got a bit more hair than today."

Her eyes were following his movements with unusual intensity. She seemed unstoppable - a sponge for information.

"What's the fascination?" Sam said, puzzled. He was surprised she'd even been given authorised access to the files, but decided she must have filed a request with Malone. The old fox didn't readily allow his agents to nose around in personnel files, but there must be a good reason for it.

"Just professional interest. Looking to see some of the legends of CI5."

"Of which you intend to become one?"

"Who knows?" she grinned suddenly. "I'll leave my mark, though, you can be sure of that"

He continued watching her, fascinated at the mixture of concentration and the sheer femininity of her that more than worrying about procedures.

He clicked the mouse again. "Here's Doyle. That haircut's quite something. He was the 4.5 before Keel."

She looked with unconcealed interest at the man on the screen again. Sam noticed her eagerness to learn more about the earlier CI5 agents and realised she really did want to do her homework.

"And here's my predecessor as 3.7, Bodie. He's got some sort of a rehabilitation centre - Malone often sends people to him. I think there was even talk of Chris going there."

"Ahaa." Roberta nodded understandingly. "So being out of active duty doesn't mean he's lost touch with CI5."

To Sam's silent nod, she rewarded him with a breathtaking smile. Shit, she is beautiful, he thought, delighted. He chuckled inside - Chris, she definitely IS better looking than you.

"Hmmm. So there you have them," she flicked from one to the other. "To all accounts Cowley's top team. Probably gone to seed by now."

Sam had heard plenty about the two himself. Ex-army and ex-police, renowned for being tough and intelligent and apparently also for being unruly and rebellious. But they were still alive, whether they had indeed gone to seed or not.

Roberta finally closed the files and turned to him, suddenly all smiles.

"So, that's enough memories for one day. Let's get back to the present."

*****

"Miss Holmes, Mr. Curtis, we have the following situation on our hands," Malone began. Sharp and precise as ever, his explanations left little room for misunderstanding.

He paused and frowned, however, as Sam sneezed a number of times in a row and then blew his nose.

"Hay fever, sir. Sorry."

"Hardly life-threatening, Mr. Curtis, but take the necessary measures to make sure it doesn't interfere with your performance."

"Yes, sir. I..."

"Thank you, Mr. Curtis. Now if I may continue?" Malone wasn't in the mood for conversation, nor being interrupted by Sam's nose.

"I have received a letter from Donald Atkinson, attaché at the British embassy in Madrid. He has asked us, on behalf of the Guardia Civil, to assist on the following case. There has been a hold-up of an armoured vehicle transferring money from a bank in Barcelona. Witnesses heard English speaking bank-robbers, which is why the Guardia Civil went to Interpol in the first place. But it came to CI5 as the slugs and the shells from the weapons of the type used by terrorists. And one of the weapons that has been identified was most likely a Ziegler F14-S."

Sam whistled. That was certainly no child's toy.

"The criminals have apparently fled into the Pyrenees, but the local police have now lost all trace of them. You will go there and find out what is going on and where these weapons have come from. Clear?"

Both agents nodded and stood up at the same time. Malone raised a hand to stop them.

"Miss Holmes. Do you know Donald Atkinson personally?"

"Yes, sir. We spent a year in police academy together. Why do you ask?"

"Because he asked specifically for you. Is there some reason you are aware of?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid not." For once, the self-assured woman was frowning.

"Do you speak Spanish?"

"Not a word. Maybe he remembered I was top of my year. Or maybe he remembered my legs. Maybe you should ask him, sir."

Sam tried to conceal his amusement, anticipating Malone's reaction to that one. He wasn't disappointed.

"Don't be cheeky, Miss Holmes. Dismissed."

"You are what?!"

"Going to Spain, to warm and sunny weather, tiny bikinis, beach and water."

"Jeez.... I wanna come too." Chris paused, then frowned. "Is the barracuda coming with you?"

"Yep. Imagine her in a bikini..." Sam said dreamily.

"No thanks. Bikini or not, you're welcome to her, Sam. Hey..." Chris was grinning. "Good news, though. I talked to the doc, and I'll be working 50% in two or three weeks. Maybe the last week on a rehab course up north somewhere. But I'm gonna be breathing down your neck again before you know it."

And exit Miss Roberta Bloody Holmes - Sam could almost see the words in Chris' mind

"Great. But don't go thinking Malone will put you in the field right away," Sam warned him gently. It wouldn't be good for Chris to get his hopes up too high.

The problem with Chris was that he did never knew where and when to stop, pushing himself to the limits and beyond. At the only person who could usually stop him would - with a little luck - be back from sunny Spain by that time. All the same, tracking down arms and bank robbers was hardly something they could resolve overnight. He'd do his best, though. The idea of having Chris around again was more important to him than the American realised, but then he wasn't going admit to that now, not after the comments about Roberta.

"Mr Cautious, as always," Chris shook his head at Sam. "You just watch me. I'm on my way back, like I said. And Sam?"

"What?"

"Be careful okay? It's a jungle out there... and I'm not just talking about the bikinis."

PART TWO

"Miss Backus, in my office please."

Tina Backus moved with her usual speed.

"Close the door and take a seat." Malone looked preoccupied, a deep crease between his brows. As usual, he came straight to the point.

"Miss Backus, what do you know about a certain Mr. Bodie. William Andrew Philip Bodie. I presume the name is familiar to you?"

Backup nodded.

"Only what I've seen in the profiles, sir, and not much else. I've heard about his rehab centre, of course, but I've never met him. He worked with Doyle, didn't he?"

"Indeed he did. Bodie was 3.7 and Doyle 4.5. Anything else?"

The attractive woman knew about the numbers, just as she knew how people compared them with Sam and Chris. But what else could she come up with? She'd read some of the reports the pair had filed, years ago, but they didn't tell her much about the men behind them except that they'd been involved in some very tough cases. Besides, most of them had been written by Doyle, who as she remembered had been in the police before coming to CI5 and was probably more used to the paperwork. She grinned to herself. Here, it was the other way around. Chris, today's 4.5, was well known for prodding and pushing Sam to do all the paperwork, which had been the source of many a squabble. A involuntary smile appeared around her lips when she thought of all the times Chris had secretly shoved the paperwork onto Sam's desk - especially when Sam wasn't around to tell the American to do it himself.

"Something funny, Miss Backus?"

She blinked rapidly to shake the thought from her mind, answering her boss with her usual efficiency.

"I - ah - heard from some of the older guys that they were considered to be a good team."

"Correct. Among Cowley's best. He had hoped they would continue with CI5. I remember talking to George Cowley about them..."

Malone paused for a moment or two, obviously lost in memories.

Backup tried hard to picture them, and then grinned, remembering Doyle's mop of curls and some comment she'd heard about Bodie calling him a bionic golly. Yes, that was right. He had a strange face, with slanting eyes and what looked like a damaged cheekbone. And then there was Bodie. Dark-haired and surprisingly good looking in a seventies sort of way. She'd once heard Anson doing an impression of him at a party, looking smug and saying something about having been born tall dark and beautiful and engagingly modest. Remembering that with a grin, she suddenly noticed Malone's inquisitive expression.

"Another private joke, Miss Backus?" Malone was back to business again suddenly.

"Not a joke, sir. I was just remembering something somebody said about Mr. Bodie."

"I see." Malone looked up at her. "And perhaps you would like to share it?"

Backup decided she had perhaps better not. But she did remember one more thing.

"Apparently he didn't like being called Mr. Bodie. It was always just Bodie."

"Really." Malone looked less than impressed. "Well, yesterday evening I had a young lady contact me asking us to find Mr. Bodie."

Malone was obviously not going to play the "no-mister-just-Bodie" game for anybody's benefit.

"I told her that we are not a detective agency, but nevertheless the young lady had an interesting story. Apparently, Mr. Bodie is her father, but she has never met him. In fact she has only just found out, and is now dying from AIDS. Her mother - who is dead - once mentioned he had worked with us. Miss Forbes now wishes to contact Mr. Bodie, before her illness will make further contact impossible."

So it's now or never, the young Canadian woman thought to herself, but she said nothing, trying hard not to let her eyebrows raise inadvertently. What was this? Malone, showing compassion for an unknown woman? Well, well.

"I'd like you to investigate the young lady in question before taking the matter any further. I made no promises - you know our security procedures about contacting former agents. However, we also need to find where Mr. Bodie is at present. He is travelling, his staff tells me, and he's not in contact with them. So I shall contact Mr. Doyle and see if he can enlighten us. In the meantime, please find out everything you can about a certain Miss Elizabeth Forbes, and see what links she may have, in your opinion, with Mr. Bodie. That's all. "

Backup went back to her computer, still wondering about Malone's willingness to help the girl find Bodie. Did he have a heart somewhere after all?

A familiar voice startled her, and she shook her head.

"I thought Malone told you to go home and stay home, Chris."

"Yeah, he did. But believe it or not I'm waiting to find out about going up to Bodie's rehabilitation centre - the doc's trying to organise something for the middle of next week."

"Bodie," she frowned. "He's out of town."

"Yeah? How d'you know?"

"Because I'm doing a little research on Bodie and his family for Malone. Now quit breathing down my neck."

Chris sat at one of the terminals, fretfully fiddling with the mouse. Backup could still see the frustration there, so she left him to it. After a while, she looked over and saw what he was doing and was less than surprised to see Bodie's profile up on the screen.

Tina started working on Beth Forbes from the little material Malone had given her, and then glanced over to the screen again.

"Sheesh..." she breathed, looking at the small photograph in front of her then back to Bodie's face.

Chris stood up, seeing what she was looking at, and came over.

"His twin sister?"

"No. Perhaps his daughter. And you haven't seen this, Chris. You're not..."

"... supposed to be here. But she sure looks like him."

Backup nodded, still looking. Both had the same straight dark hair, the same deep blue eyes, a mouth with a slight pout to the lower lip and the same jawline.

"Wow," Chris repeated. "So Bodie's looking for her?"

"The other way round. She's looking for Bodie, and he's out of town. Malone thinks Doyle will know where to find him."

And Malone would probably be right, she thought. The two of them were still partners, but in business now. Doyle had originally worked as a security consultant, but had also invested in Bodie's business, which had flourished. Bodie spent a great deal of time at his rehabilitation centre near York, but had opened another centre near London that was mainly in Doyle's hands. Both men were in regular contact, and seemed to split their lives between London and the north these days.

Chris was still standing over Backup's screen when Malone appeared, and discovered the wayward American was still at HQ.

"Mr. Keel? Were my orders earlier not clear?"

"Perfectly clear," Chris grinned, refusing to lose his temper. "I'm just waiting for details of my session up at Bodie's place..."

"Indeed. And you no longer know how to use a telephone?"

"Sorry, sir."

"Go home, Mr. Keel. That's an order."

"Understood, sir."

Chris slid off the desk he had been perching on and waved.

Malone sighed at the disappearing figure, then turned back to Backup.

"Miss Backus, what did you find so far?"

"Miss Forbes is the daughter and only child of one Alexandra Bates and Jeremy Forbes. Forbes married Bates when she was seven months pregnant, 24 years ago. The birth certificate is inconclusive: name of the father: unknown. Forbes died when Beth was only seven. She's got one brother. Bates died three years ago from ovarian cancer. Her full name is Elizabeth Christina Forbes, and she's a student in criminal behaviour. You want me to try and get some more background from her friends?"

"And her illness? Anything on that?"

"No, sir. Her medical file is with her doctor, who I did trace. Normally, it'll be on his system, but I doubt if we can ask him for details without good reason. But sure I can...?" She threw Malone a sly look.

"I'm sure you can, too. Please do so. I don't wish it to become too obvious that CI5 is taking a personal interest here - at least until we have more details.

"And Doyle, sir? Did you reach him?"

"Not yet, Miss Backus. But I will."

Backup didn't doubt that for a moment.

Malone rose to greet the slim figure Backup showed in, noticing the obvious interest his visitor was generating among his staff.

"Good to see you, Ray. How's life?"

Ray Doyle grinned.

"I'm still not missing ducking bullets, if that's what you mean, Harry. Although you seem to be thriving, from what I hear."

Malone sighed. "If I'm thriving, so's the criminal world."

"It always did. And I bet it's not getting any easier."

"No, it's not."

Doyle took the seat Malone offered, and the CI5 controller found himself observing the former agent, sizing him up, even as he dispensed with the formalities and pulled out the Elizabeth Forbes file.

George Cowley had been disappointed when both Doyle and Bodie had resigned on his retirement, hoping they would stay on within the squad even if they were no longer in the field. Malone, as he had worked on building the organisation up to its present international strength, had toyed with the idea of approaching them to join him, but Cowley had dissuaded him. The elderly Scot had shaken his head. "No, Harry. Don't even try. They've given all they wanted to give, and they've deserved peace and quiet now."

It certainly looked as though peace and quiet suited Doyle. The man looked alive, fit, and a good deal younger than his 50 years. The scruffiness that had leaped off the photograph in his files had been replaced by casual clothing and a slightly more discreet haircut, but the green eyes, misshapen cheekbone and chipped front tooth were still there.

"So, Harry. What can I do for you?"

"I need a favour, Ray."

Doyle frowned, looking at the file on the desk, but Malone started off by explaining Beth Forbes' visit. Doyle didn't seem convinced at first, and Malone realised he wasn't ready to buy a word of it and was even starting to look irritated at this incursion into his partner's privacy. Then he saw the photograph.

It startled Doyle. He sat still, his eyes fixed on the picture, and after a while shook his head, speaking almost to himself. "Oh, Bodie. What have you been missing..."

Malone was patient for a moment, knowing there was no sense in hurrying. Doyle was flicking through the file with practised ease, reading rapidly and glancing at Backup's notes.

"Okay, Harry. I'll see what I can do. You want me to confront Bodie with this and see if he's prepared to see her, right?"

"Exactly. I have considered contacting Bodie directly, but apparently he's not in the country. I'll leave the decision up to you: you can either ask him to contact me or deal with it yourself." "First I have to try and find out exactly where he is," Doyle grinned, suddenly. "He's off shinning up mountains and down potholes again like a big kid. I don't even have a fixed itinerary for him. But don't worry, I'll track him down and get back to you."

"Just keep me informed," Malone rose as Doyle stood to leave. "And thank you for coming in."

"Don't mention it, Harry. Always good to see what the place looks like these days. I usually leave Bodie the pleasure of coming in here so he can flirt with all your female staff, but maybe I should take a turn now and then."

A slight touch of humanity surfaced on Malone's face - the corners of his mouth betrayed what could nearly have been described as a smile.

"Don't distract them. They're busy."

"You remind me of Cowley in his heyday," Doyle sighed. "Take care, Harry."

Sam and Roberta Holmes reached their starting point, which was a small hotel, just outside Barcelona. Sam sneezed again, cursing the hay fever that assailed him every year. Roberta was ignoring it, but after yet another bout that left his head ringing, he glanced in the mirror and caught sight of the red nose and watery eyes. Hardly the stuff dreams were made of, and definitely not the ideal way to intensify relations with the delightful Roberta.

Maybe he'd have to go for the series of injections the staff doctor had suggested after all, despite his hatred of needles. The great Sam Curtis, he mused. Catches all the bad guys, comes out in one piece, but is beaten by grass and pollen. Now there was a lesson in humility: don't underestimate an enemy, however small.

Roberta glanced over to him as they worked over the file in his room.

"You look like shit," she muttered, almost irritably. Sam waved it away.

"It's nothing."

"If you say so." She didn't look convinced, and continued flipping the pages. She'd been constantly on edge all through the flight and the drive, he reflected, almost like a predator poised to make the kill. He'd tried to sleep or at least relax on the plane, but every time he'd opened his eyes she'd been wide awake, obviously concentrating hard.

"Okay, Roberta. Let's call it a day on the paperwork. We've to meet Donald Atkinson in a couple of hours, so we've got time to change and freshen up."

"Sure." She rose, picking up the key to her room. "Meet you at reception in an hour."

She disappeared before he had time to even suggest a cool beer on the terrace, and Sam sighed, opening his case to find clothing more appropriate for the hot Mediterranean sun. This was certainly a far cry from chilly, foggy London.

They drove towards Barcelona itself, and Sam watched the arid landscape and heat radiating from the tarmac. Roberta didn't seem particularly chatty, and he found himself missing the usual casual chat with Chris, and the jokes, and the companionship in general. The American's "barracuda" accusation was beginning to seem more appropriate with every moment that passed, but maybe she was just nervous. And the idea of those shapely curves in a bikini still seemed like an attractive prospect.

Atkinson had agreed to meet them in Barcelona rather than Spain's capital, since he was there on business anyway and it would save them all time. Sam had been delighted to have another opportunity to visit a city he liked a great deal for its liveliness and colour. They drove along the Ramblas, the well-known boulevard spanning the city to park near the Plaça Reial, and the nostalgia made him - at least for a moment - forget the inconvenience of a constantly streaming nose. As always, the pavement cafés bordering the sunlit square were filled with a noisy crowd enjoying cortados, coca cola and tapas.

A sun-tanned man, dressed in an expensive-looking cream suit and linen shirt emerged from under a huge parasol, stretching out a hand to Sam after embracing Roberta on both cheeks.

To his fury, Sam was unable speak for a moment as another uncontrollable bout of sneezing took his breath away.

"Bless you!" Atkinson grinned, but even as he tried to regain control, Sam realised Roberta looked angry. He glanced across at her, questioningly, but she made no comment and slid into a seat at the nearest empty table without comment.

Atkinson pulled a file from his briefcase, together with the ballistics report. Sam skimmed through the pages quickly, all the time listening to Atkinson.

"I decided to call upon your services as ballistics showed that the slugs were from a Ziegler F14-S. To all accounts - and from my own experience - this is a very unusual type of machine gun..."

"...used by terrorists, mostly." Roberta finished his sentence, obviously anxious to show off a little knowledge, Sam decided.

"Exactly. In the folder you will find more information on where the gang was last spotted, some basic information on the terrain, plus a guide you could contact and who can be trusted. "

"Thanks," Sam said before pausing to sneeze yet again. Maybe the air in the mountains would be less thick with pollen.

PART THREE

Doyle slept little that night, reading the file, staring at the photograph and thinking about Bodie. Sure, it was possible that both he and his partners were fathers. Maybe several times over. So in a way, this shouldn't have been such a surprise. Twenty years ago AIDS was virtually unknown, and they'd certainly had a few conquests in their time. But to see what seemed like a female, younger version of Bodie had still been a shock, if he was honest.

How was Bodie going to take it? He'd known Bodie long enough to have observed him in every possible situation, but not this one. Not as a father.

The more he thought about it, the more Doyle decided that anything could happen. Bodie could laugh it off, be nice to the woman and refuse to believe a word, of course. More likely, though, knowing that his ex-partner's tough exterior belied a sensitivity few others ever saw, it would hit Bodie like a ton of bricks. And the best person to tell him probably wasn't Malone.

Doyle sighed, gave up ideas of sleeping and made himself a cup of tea. He'd spent so many years with Bodie, yet the man never failed to amaze him, even after they'd both decided to call it a day at CI5. First there had been his decision to invest in a fitness centre and his skill at persuading Doyle to join him - Doyle who had toyed with many ideas but had never seen himself investing in anything more than a long, long holiday. Then he'd seen both Bodie's pleasure and infectious dedication carry him along, too, as the small business had become larger and geared to specialised rehabilitation and had gained in size and renown among the various forces.

Nowadays, CI5 agents rubbed shoulders with other injured men and women from MI6, the police force and even the armed services. And the Bodie who had once flitted from girl to girl and from place to place seemed to have found his niche.

Part of Doyle had wondered if, upon leaving CI5, his ex-partner's wanderlust would take hold once again, but he'd been wrong. Like he'd often been wrong about Bodie, especially at the start. But then their partnership had been so strong that continuing working together after CI5 became history had seemed somehow natural.

Neither of them trusted many other people, yet that perfect synergy between them had kept them going for years - and still did. Bodie had nagged, wheedled and cajoled Doyle into joining him in his new venture, and it had certainly worked. Basically, they were enjoying life immensely, and if he was honest with himself, Doyle admitted, he owed Bodie for that. Left to himself, he'd probably have drifted, not really knowing where to put his time and energy. Now, though, he had a purpose, a healthy income, and even time to live a little.

Such a lot had changed, but a few things had stayed the same nevertheless, Doyle grinned to himself. Bodie still made rude noises about Doyle's fascination with art, criticised his girlfriends, and teased him about his whole food cooking. Doyle, in turn, still considered Bodie to be a menace to Britain's roads, a monument to unhealthy eating and, more lately, was incapable of understanding the man's fascination with climbing.

They'd inherited a climbing wall in the first gym they'd set up. Bodie had immediately decided to try out the coloured foot- and handholds, the anchors for the climbing gear and the safety equipment, and - as always - acted like a kid with a new toy.

Unlike many of his passing fancies, however, this one turned into a love affair. Once Bodie had tried it, he was hooked. First, it was wall climbing, and then he moved on to mountains. He'd wax lyrical for hours to Doyle every time he came home from his latest expedition, and Doyle would feed him - as he always did - and listen, oddly content to hear his partner's happy enthusiasm. Often, he'd look back on the day Bodie had attacked the chimney with Murphy so many years ago. That was probably what had started it all, he supposed. Of course, Bodie tried to persuade Doyle to climb rocks rather than sculpt them for once, as he so elegantly put it, but this was one adventure Doyle was not willing to share with his partner. Heights were all very well if you liked them, and he most certainly did not.

Idly, Doyle remembered the postcard that Bodie sent him a couple of years ago during one of these expeditions of his. The few words scribbled on it, in Bodie's inimitable style, had born ample witness to his passion. Doyle had watched him once, climbing up a sheer rock face, and seen the strange mixture of jubilation and concentration there. Perhaps it compensated for the adrenaline kicks they'd known for all those years in the field, but whatever it was, it made Bodie happy.

Then, one of his fellow climbers introduced Bodie to potholing, and that soon became yet another aspect of this all-embracing love of rock faces, climbing, ropes and the challenges they involved. So when the latest opportunity had come up - to explore various climbs and potholes in Europe in the company of group of - at least in Doyle's opinion - equally foolhardy enthusiasts, Bodie had gone with them.

Doyle sighed, putting the mug of tea down. He'd encouraged Bodie not to copy his itinerary to his staff, deciding that to be completely free was as essential to his partner as it was for himself when he needed to devote himself to his passion for sculpting. The business could more or less run itself in both cities with Doyle keeping an eye on things, but even without Doyle it would survive for the few days it would take to find his partner and break the news gently. He owed that to Bodie - and if he was honest, it suddenly seemed like an excellent idea to get out of cold, grey London for a day or two. No Cowley was going to cancel it at the last minute - even after all these years he had to remind himself of that.

He switched on the computer, brought up a search engine, and started bringing up the climbing clubs Bodie had contacts with. An hour later, pleased with himself, he returned to bed, wondering what he was letting himself in for.

Chris had felt a nagging feeling inside, from the moment Sam had told him he'd be off to Spain. With - for crying out loud - that blonde bitch who called herself his partner. His partner...

His real partner, Chris thought as he looked at himself in the mirror, would soon be doing something constructive towards getting back out there. Exercising, training, working out in the gym - and soon, with Bodies help, he would be back at Sam's side and she would be out of the picture, for good.

He bent to tie one of his shoelaces, making the loop with fast, impatient movements and standing again quickly, still fuelled by anger. The rapid movement was stupid - he knocked his head against the sink - not hard - but enough to lose his balance.

And immediately, he was punished.

The sink swung from left to right suddenly and dark spots clustered across the image in the mirror. Quickly, he grasped onto the cool porcelain of the sink, took a few deep breaths and waited, eyes closed, until the feeling subsided.

When he opened them again, he saw his own reflection - and didn't like what he saw. He suddenly looked ten years older, his skin ashen and beads of sweat starting to run down his face.

Unbidden memories of the moment when he'd first opened his eyes after six weeks in a coma, and Sam's face watching him came to mind. Then it was the images of boredom and frustration in that hospital room that started to crowd in. He forced his mind on to better moments, like the day he'd been released from the last convalescence clinic, trying to recapture the thrill of knowing that getting back into active fieldwork was finally - although still distantly - in sight. But that day was still too damn far away for his liking, and he was anxious to start some real work on the weak, clumsy body that refused to co-operate as he wanted it to.

Malone had given him Bodie's name a week or so back, well before the coincidence of seeing Backup call up the file earlier that day in such a different context. His special program for getting injured agents back into shape was becoming legendary, and he'd been delighted at the prospect. The fact he had to wait for another week before going there was just another in a long series of irritations, he sighed to himself, remembering the phone call with Bodie's centre. The former CI5 agent was abroad, and had - at Malone's request - agreed to supervise Chris' programme personally.

Abroad. The American took a towel from the sink after washing his face. What was it that the woman on the phone had told him, when he'd decided to call the guy personally? Come on, Chris, he said to his mirror image. You can do better than that. His short-term memory wasn't as brilliant as he'd like it to be, but they'd assured him the forgetfulness would disappear like all the other symptoms. But things would never move fast enough for him.

Frustrated and irritable, he spent the evening racking his brains to no avail before reluctantly giving up the struggle and going to bed, still thinking about Sam, no doubt admiring the Holmes woman's curves and thinking with his crotch.

He woke up in the middle of the night as the word jolted into his sub-conscious thoughts.

Spain.

That was it. Suddenly, the angry words on the other end of the line floated back, his recall suddenly perfect. The woman had spat out her fury about "being stood up by Mr. Bloody Blue-Eyes, who'd rather torture himself climbing up a mountain wall in the Pyrenees than trying to make a relationship work. And when you do find the selfish bastard," she'd added, "you can tell him not to expect me to be waiting with open arms."

Spain. Why the hell did it take him so long to remember?

And there, in his bed, in the cool silence of the night, the first seeds of doubt were sown. He didn't believe in coincidences. Why had Bodie's daughter turned up while the man was in Spain? It had to be a coincidence. Didn't it?

The sleep he found, after a long time, was superficial and far from refreshing. At least, though, he'd reached a decision.

Chris bumped into a middle-aged, curly headed man in the hallway of the HQ talking to Backup, and cursed himself yet again for his clumsiness. Bending to pick up the papers that had dropped, he met a pair of green eyes and realised with surprise that he was looking at Ray Doyle, Bodie's partner. He'd seen the man's profile when Backup had been working on Bodie's, and all these years later he hadn't changed much. It was strange, in a way, looking at the "original" 4.5, but he realised he was staring.

"Sorry. Wasn't looking."

"No problem." Doyle was grinning faintly, already taking the pages from him. Chris didn't miss one thing, though. One of them was a handwritten address, in Spain.

For a couple of seconds, Chris was tempted to strike up a conversation with the man, but Backup soon put a stop to that.

"Chris, just what are you doing here? If you get in Malone's way today, he'll go crazy. It's all systems go here."

"And good morning to you too, Backup. I came back for my sunglasses." And found exactly what I was looking for, without even snooping, he thought.

"Okay, Chris. Take them and go. You got everything you needed, Ray?"

"Yeah, thanks, Backup."

Interesting, Chris noted. Ray and Backup? Very chummy, and Backup was looking at the guy with definite appreciation. But Doyle was already turning to go.

"I'm out of here. Don't want to get in the way."

Backup frowned at Chris again.

"I tell you, Chris. This is no time to hang around. Everyone's on full alert."

So he could see. He'd do as he was told, but made sure he'd scribbled the address down before he forgot it.

Doyle had also left CI5 HQ rapidly, knowing full well that outsiders weren't welcome at moments like this. The lovely miss Tina Backus had greeted him on his arrival, obviously completely focused on a case, so he'd been equally brief.

"I've located Bodie, Miss Backus. Just wanted to get Beth Forbes' file, and I'll be on my way. I won't disturb Harry."

"He'll appreciate that. He's pretty tied up... and you can call me Backup. Everybody else does."

"Ray, then. I'll call in once everything's sorted out. I'll pick up Beth as soon as I can and get over there. Good luck on the case."

She'd grinned, and thoughtlessly pushed a string of dark brown hair behind her ear, a gesture that was so feminine that Doyle had just enjoyed it for its pureness.

"Thanks. We may need it. Where is Bodie, anyway...?" she'd said, breaking off mid-sentence as a voice yelled Backup in a tone that left little to the imagination.

"Spain," Doyle had started, but realised her mind was already on the job. So maybe he'd have to find another opportunity to call in once all this was over to find out a big more about her.

"Uh-huh," she'd said distractedly, obviously trying not to be rude, but the frown was deepening as she saw the American he'd just bumped into get the rough end of her tongue.

Doyle left, watching the general atmosphere of tension and almost wished he was a part of it again, rather than accompanying Bodie's daughter - a girl who was dying - for a confrontation that promised to be at the very least tricky.

Beth Forbes, when he called her, seemed to accept who he was and why he was calling with remarkable speed. She didn't need much persuading to go to Spain, either, so he arranged to pick her up later that afternoon, after making the reservations.

When he collected her, he was amazed at the resemblance to Bodie yet again, and noticing her eagerness to meet this father she'd never seen. In fact, she didn't look particularly ill, just a little pale, and had surprisingly few questions to ask, although she was quite aware that he and Bodie had worked together for years.

Once on the plane, during the flight, she must have felt tired after all and dozed off. Her head slowly sank, coming to rest on his shoulder, where it remained during the rest of the flight. Doyle became very aware of her presence, and he could smell her body scent, the shampoo she used and even a touch of a light perfume that rose from her slender neck. He felt her warmth through his shirt, and decided it wasn't unpleasant. But for Christ's sake, he reminded himself, this was Bodie's daughter. A woman dying of AIDS. This was hardly time to indulge in fantasies.

He rested his head against the seat, closed his eyes and soon drifted off to a light sleep in which vague faces from the past were mixed with the situation he was in now. And there, amidst it all, he saw his friend and partner. A man he had learned to trust and who he had come to rely on in any and every situation. Bodie..

What a partnership it had been. And, in fact, still was in a very different way. But how was Bodie going to take this? Was he going to maintain that remarkable calm that rarely failed him? Or was it going to break him apart? He was going to find a daughter and yet know he would lose her again. Whatever it happened, Doyle told himself as he awoke, still with the two faces of his partner and her daughter in his mind, he'd be ready to pick up the pieces. Bodie had always been there for him in the past, his solid, reliable presence an essential counterpart to his own fiery, unpredictable nature.

A few hours later they arrived in Spain. Beth seemed nervous, which was logical enough, of course. She certainly looked worried, too. Deciding the best thing to do was to leave her in peace, he hired a car, drove to Girona and checked them into a hotel for some rest while he paid a visit to Bodie's last known address. He hadn't been able to get through to Bodie by phone, but the tour operator had given him the name of a villa most of the participants were staying in.

A friendly, middle-aged housekeeper opened the door to him and appeared eager to help when he explained that he was trying to find his friend. Pilar - was that really a name, Doyle wondered? - hardly spoke English but as soon she understood why he was there she stabbed at a large map on the wall. Doyle obediently scribbled the words down, and she shoved some kind of tourist brochure into his hand, too. "El muro pesado" and the descent of "la Ratonera" near Riudaura, some 40 kilometres from Girona. The English translation was a little approximate, but it looked as though Bodie was definitely halfway up a mountain or halfway down a pothole. And according to the helpful Pilar, he wouldn't be back to the villa that night, as he was camping out there.

It was already evening, so Doyle decided on leaving it until the following day before going ahead with the confrontation. Let the girl have a rest, and Bodie too.

She didn't want to join him for dinner, she said, eyes nevertheless lighting up when Doyle told her he'd finally located Bodie. Doyle took himself off into town, enjoying the tiny streets, the appetising smells and the cheerful, noisy evening life of the Spanish. He wished Bodie was with him, and that the circumstances were different, he admitted to himself.

Spain was hot. Not just a little, but really hot. And Chris wasn't one for heat, at least not to that particular extent.

For heaven's sake, how could people live in a country where taxis had no air conditioning? And the lousy flight didn't help much. The pilot had been so bad he'd felt like getting into the cockpit and telling him so. And how the hell did they pack so many people into a tired old 737? Okay, he'd been lucky to get a standby on a cheap charter flight, but all in all it hadn't been much fun. Malone's love of economy class was bad enough, but at least they weren't crammed in like that.

Okay, he admitted to himself finally. He wasn't in brilliant shape, and was irritable. If Sam had been there he'd have left his partner in no doubt about that. Chris liked having Sam to complain to, if he was honest, and to let off a little steam about the journey would have been more than welcome.

Shit, this was frustrating. Usually heat and cold didn't particularly bother him. He'd never taken such a personal dislike to an airline or a pilot before. But then he didn't usually feel as much below par as this. Broken bones or a few stitches were one thing, but this was like the unknown enemy - you never knew when it was going to strike next.

What in hell had he come here for? Because he thought this Spain business was just too much of a coincidence, of course. But what if it WAS just a coincidence, and Sam was happily fooling around with the blonde Barracuda in Barcelona, and Doyle just playing the good Samaritan, escorting Bodie's daughter to her long-lost father? Suddenly, Chris felt a complete fool.

Maybe it was a bad idea to come over here. Maybe he should have just stayed at home, watched the World Series and give his body time to heal.

And miss all the fun here? Something devilish inside whispered.

The small hotel where the taxi driver had taken him to was comfortably cool and pleasantly calm. Or at least the lobby was. The room was tiny, and felt like a sauna.

The American took off his dark T-shirt, dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

A fan. Well, that could make a difference, he thought, and got up to turn it on.

"Great", he grumbled to himself as the fan slowly came to life with a shudder, and then squeaked its way around in a leisurely manner. "Just great".

The previous night's sleeplessness finally came to his rescue, and despite being sure that sleep would never come on the ridiculously soft mattress, it came almost instantly.

Sam Curtis and Roberta Holmes sat in the rental car after an equally tense evening and breakfast the following morning, where very little had been said. Roberta had taken herself to bed early, calmly insisting she needed sleep. Sam had ended up enjoying Barcelona anyway, but was becoming increasingly annoyed with his new partner. If Chris had been there, they'd have painted the town red. Discovered a few bars, chatted up a few girls... but Chris wasn't there. And he was beginning to think the American was better company than Miss Barracuda Holmes after all.

Once on the road, though, watching the delicate features studying the map, he softened again a little. The woman was a rookie. She was allowed to have nerves. Sadly, though a new bout of sneezes seemed to simply bring on another cold stare before he could try and make conversation. Eventually, it stopped.

"Sorry. Must be irritating you."

She didn't contradict him.

"Doesn't usually last long. I think it was at its worst on the Plaça Reial yesterday. And talking about that, you've been pretty edgy ever since"

"Maybe I'm worried about us getting killed. You only need to sneeze at the wrong moment," she answered bluntly.

"Somehow I think that's unlikely," Sam snapped despite his intention to restore a little of their former complicity.

She didn't bother to say any more, turning to the material Don Atkinson had given them.

It was a good 70 kilometres to the site, near a small village named Juanetas. There they met Arturo Bailantes, a small, kindly-looking guide who looked both worried and relieved to see them. Señor Atkinson had said they would be coming, he sighed, and he knew there had been a great deal of activity in the hills around and particularly near a large cave. Sam listened carefully, Catalán, not being one of his finer skills with languages, but he found he understood most of it, including the fact that Aturo would take them there immediately.

Roberta did not understand one word of the Spanish language, she'd told Sam. While he was listening and talking to their guide, she turned away from them and was completely caught up in studying the rough landscape around them. Shit, Sam thought with irritation, if she can't understand, she might at least show some interest. But when they finished, she turned to them, with a bright smile that came as a pleasant surprise after the chilly mood she'd been in earlier. It looked as though she was delighted they were heading towards the caves. Sam decided that what he had thought of earlier was indeed true: she liked action, rather than talking.

"Or it's just a case of PMS." He could almost hear Chris' remark. And despite a growing irritation towards his new partner, the thought of the ever-optimistic American lightened his mood again. "Get back on your feet soon, Chris," he found himself thinking.

The surroundings of "la cueva brillante" seemed quiet at first, except for a small group of men and woman sitting in the sun drinking hot tea. Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead, wondering how on earth they could enjoy sitting there in such heat. He soon found out, however, as he climbed down the rope ladder into the cave, where it was barely 5 degrees Celsius. He looked around, using a torch to shine into the deep darkness of this recently discovered monument from the past. It was very impressive - the name was well chosen. Stalactites and stalagmites glistened in the light of the torch, the salt in the water crystallising and sparkling in the dark. All around the constant sound of dripping water was heard.

He shivered, deciding it was too cold to stay here without proper clothing, and that and if they wanted to do something in the vast net of corridors beyond this chamber, they had to be well prepared. Roberta came out of the cave just behind him and when she stood in the warmth of the daylight again she was shaking her head. "Anybody going in there without a guide has to be crazy. But you've got to admit, Sam, it would be a great place to hide money from a robbery. I think we should get in there and take a look."

Sam hesitated, pleased to hear her tone was a little warmer.

"You know, Roberta, I think you're right."

PART FOUR

"We're all set to go." Sam moved his backpack a little, swung a huge bundle of fluorescent yellow rope around his shoulder and looked at Holmes, who was dressed the same way. She nodded silently.

Arturo knew his way around the cave, and set off purposefully, nodding in approval at their solid clothing and boots. Little was spoken on the way in, but Sam found himself translating back and forth for his partner and the guide. They would start off where the gang had supposedly been spotted for the last time, near to the entrance of the huge cavern.

Down there, time seemed to lose its meaning. They explored several chambers, but the area that Arturo pointed out as where the robbers had been seen revealed nothing, despite a thorough search using their powerful torches.

Slowly, they penetrated deeper into the mountain, inky darkness ahead of them and the eery trickle of dripping water the only sound that accompanied their careful footsteps. Sam's thoughts were fully occupied with the case, going over and over it again as he so often did. At times like these, it almost seemed as if his mind separated from his body and began analysing the things around him.

He had read the report: three persons (gender unidentified) had held up a money transport van just outside Barcelona. They had killed two security guards, using the unusual Zieglers to do so. Then they had fled towards the Pyrenees, the vast and impressive chain of mountains in the north of Spain. What would they be doing now? Would they really have stashed the money to come back for it later? Did they just use the cave to hide their weapons? Or were they hiding down there? That didn't seem likely, but he instinctively patted his Beretta. Maybe both they - and the money, and the weapons - were thousands of miles away from there by now. If it hadn't been for the Zieglers, he'd have been convinced they were running around doing work that had nothing to do with CI5, but the very fact they'd used them brought up a whole lot of questions. How had a group of bandits got hold of terrorist weapons?

"．iga, Aturo, para!", he ordered their guide to stop as they came at a cross section somewhere deep down under ground and asked him a few questions.

Roberta turned to look at him, looking surprised and irritated - her body language was clear even in the light of the torches.

Sam was trying to rationalise the robbers' actions still, and had decided that if indeed anything was still down there, they must have known the entire cave system very well indeed.

"I think they knew their way around, or they wouldn't have come in here. Bear with me a minute. We've looked at all the better-known parts of the system, Arturo says. So our friends - if they decided to hide anything at all - wouldn't choose the area that tourists go to. So there's only one solution - we'll have to go deeper."

Roberta nodded, and Sam noted with relief that she was actually agreeing with him, which was a change from the stiff, determined face and frown she'd been throwing his way ever since they'd been down there. Maybe she was just nervous - he didn't particularly like this place himself.

He turned to Arturo again, and the Spaniard nodded briefly. Yes, he knew what was beyond these passages. There were a few high chambers, sealed off with yellow safety ribbons to prevent amateurs straying into them. They hadn't even been fully explored, and even he, Arturo, did not know every twist and turn of them. He believed there were four chambers to the left and another two to the right.

Roberta looked at her watch.

"Sam, why don't you take the ones on the right? Then I'll see where this leads to. We can't stay down for too much longer. We have to be out before sundown and report to Malone, and we'll need some time to get back."

Sam nodded in agreement. He turned to Arturo and told him to go with Roberta, who began to argue with him that she could do it on her own and she didn't understand him anyway, but Sam shook his head firmly.

"You go together."

The last thing he needed was Roberta going astray in the darkness that surrounded them. She seemed so on edge - Sam was not certain she would stay calm enough to find her way back if she would wander off into the confusing net of rooms beyond. Besides, it did give him a minute alone to think in peace.

Arturo nodded, telling Sam the route through the caves to the left and agreeing where to meet up. Roberta set off with the guide in tow, looking irritated just for a change.

Sam started to explore the caves in the order Arturo had mentioned. The first one was as huge as the first one they had explored, but was equally impressive. Bats hung from the ceiling, silently, almost invisible. The colours of the walls seemed to change constantly under the moving torches. The ever-present dripping faded to a soothing background noise.

It made a man feel humble, Sam reflected, looking at the sheer volume of vaulted rock. Exploring carefully, however, he soon realised that there was nothing there. Both the chambers and their niches and hollows were empty, and only pools of salt water and mud on the ground broke the relief of the rock. Turning to leave, his torch caught a dull gleam in an area of sand and he bent to pick it up. It was a bullet.

As he started to turn it in his fingers, half-knowing it was going to be ammunition used for a Ziegler, he heard a cry and a splash. He flew along the slippery ground, ducking to get through the small tunnels and openings, ran over the intersection and reached the next chamber. He was forced to stop by clutching wildly at a stalagmite, or he would have toppled straight over a ledge. Roberta was hanging from the edge, frantically wrestling to get up on to the ridge again.

Heart pounding wildly, Sam reached her with some difficulty and pulled her up and away from the slippery edge - but she shoved him aside, dropped down on her belly, the upper half of her body over the edge, frantically searching the dark water which was at least 30 feet lower.

"Arturo! Arturo!" No answer came.

"Arturo!" She kept on shouting, until Sam silenced her.

"Stop, Roberta. He's gone," his voice was gentle, trying to calm her as he saw her eyes dark with fear.

"He was in front of me, and suddenly he just went over," She sounded matter-of fact, but was shaking all the same. "I tried to catch him but I couldn't... and he dragged me to the edge as he went... and then he fell... "

"Ssshhh." Sam pulled her close, buried his fingers in her curly hair and stroked her neck. She pressed herself against him from a brief moment and gave a long, shuddering sigh.

Suddenly, though, she pulled away, frowning as she saw Sam pulling out chocolate and his water flask.

"You need it. Give you energy. And you should drink, too."

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" Sam asked her, puzzled over the strange detachment.

"Yes. Let's go on. No use crying over spilt milk. C'mon, Arturo said the main path would lead us through several big chambers and then a way out."

She took a deep breath, hauled her backpack on and set off.

Spilt milk? Sam shook his head in utter disbelief. They guy had died, she'd been obviously shocked, and then she called it spilt milk?

Suddenly, he remembered Chris' instant dislike of her. Had the American seen a part of her he'd not seen - or chosen not to see? Or was she just acting professional?

No, he decided. There was a streak of hardness in her that struck a false chord, somehow. People called him cold, dispassionate, even, but that last little display had really taken the biscuit. Professionalism was one thing, but this woman was something else. And he'd find out just what drove her before all this was over. Much as he liked an efficient partner, he found himself wishing that hothead of an American was beside him. He remember the way the soft voice would be barely controlled when innocent bystanders were injured or killed, and that look in his eyes that betrayed Chris' genuine compassion. All Roberta Holmes' eyes had revealed recently were relief at Sam's timely arrival, coupled with a total lack of concern.

Silently he followed her to the next chamber, where he noticed that Holmes' backpack wasn't tied properly. While Sam lifted it a little, Holmes put the straps on correctly. Underneath his hands, through the cloth of the backpack Sam felt an R/T. He recognised the shape immediately.

Why did she bring an R/T underground? Sam's was locked in the car - it wouldn't be much use underground. Something was starting to niggle Sam seriously, now, but he kept silent, his mind once more working like a well-oiled machine as they walked through the rough, dark caves.

Suddenly, Sam's nose itched and he sneezed again, rapidly. Shit, it had seemed to stop when he had stepped into the cool, moist caves. Reaching into his pocket for the handkerchief, he stopped short as his fingers touched the bullet, forgotten for a few minutes after the guide's fall.

Instinctively, he brought it out to mention it to Roberta, now purposely heading for the still unexplored chambers, but something stopped him.

Without their guide, things were extremely difficult, and Sam was constantly noting their direction, aware that if he once lost it, getting out of there would be no laughing matter. The path was slippery and treacherous, and yet Roberta turned out to be sure-footed and suddenly confident of her directions. In fact, she was retracing Sam's steps that he had taken when he had saved her and was now taking exactly the turns Arturo had described to Sam as they had parted ways.

And then he knew what was wrong.

"You don't speak Spanish. So how come you suddenly know your way? What's the game, Roberta?"

She didn't reply at first, and suddenly Sam's anger started bubbling to the surface.

"Just what's the idea of pretending you don't speak Spanish? And how come Arturo - who knows his way around here - managed to step over a ledge?"

Sam was reaching for his gun as he spoke, but before he did she was suddenly facing him, her own tiny Beretta pointing straight at his head.

"Drop your gun, and your torch."

There wasn't much else he could do. She kicked them away.

"Clever, Sam. Very clever. But unfortunately for you, too clever. You see: the money and the weapons are in the last chamber. I didn't want our friend Arturo to find them. I knew you would be chivalrous and send him along with me. I was damn lucky that he didn't recognise me right away, because I was a summer tour guide here a few years ago. Oh, I do know my way around here very well. And you're right - I do speak Spanish, and speak it fluently."

"Bitch," Sam muttered to himself, furious at his own slow reactions and his refusal to listen to the niggling voice. He was no coward, but no fool either. Her hands were steady on the gun, and if he even tried to go for his own he hadn't the slightest doubt she would use it.

"So, you see, I had to give him a little push. But it almost went wrong - he grabbed onto me as he fell, so I needed the dashing Mr. Curtis to come to my rescue. And I owe you for that, so I'll at least explain a couple of things before I must be off."

Sam moved instinctively, but her finger tightened on the trigger.

The gunshot made a terrible noise in the high, hollow space of the cave. Its echo died away slowly, long after Sam was thrown back and landed hard against a high stalactite. She'd shot him in the leg, just above the knee. Blood bubbled out quickly, seeping through his fingers as he clenched his hands around his legs. And Christ, it hurt.

"Why?" he managed to grind out between clenched teeth, forcing himself not to pass out as the pain washed over him in ever-increasing waves.

"Why? Money of course, Sam. My brother - you already met the delightful Mr. Atkinson on the Plaça Reial this morning -, his girlfriend and I robbed an armoured car full of money. It was a piece of cake - imagine an injured, attractive woman by the side of the road, me in the bushes and Don behind the wheel. You wouldn't think security guards could be so gullible, but they were," she allowed herself a small, cold chuckle of contempt. "We decided to leave the money in one of these caves until we could come back. Then this stupid bastard who was climbing there interfered while we were at the top of the "cueva brilliante". He saw us with both the Ziegler and one of the moneybags. I should have taken him out, but he was fast. Luckily Don was close and knocked him out - tried to throw him off the rock, but he was caught in the safety harness."

"You like throwing people off rocks," Sam muttered bitterly, but she ignored him, obviously enjoying her story.

"Unfortunately, he was rescued and made a statement that described both Don and myself pretty well, and Don made a few enquiries - he has some friends who have access to police records. It turned out that the guy was Bodie - ex-C15. Of all the stupid coincidences, he belongs to the organisation that hired me before I decided there were easier ways to make money. Obviously, we needed to take Mr. Bodie out, so Don used his friends to forge a few papers from the Spanish authorities and made a special request for me to work on the case. Because the problem was that we lost Bodie - he's camping out and not keeping in touch with anyone. So we came up with the whole Beth Forbes story. Clever, wasn't it?"

Sam didn't answer, still fighting not to lose a grip on consciousness.

"You see, once I reach the exit at the other side of the cave, I'm going to meet up with Beth - who just happens to be Don's girlfriend. She's already left me a message to say where Bodie is heading for Riudaura, and Doyle's on his way to meet them. Touching, isn't it?"

"Why don't you just take the money and go?" Sam asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as weak as it felt.

"Because Bodie annoys me. So does Doyle, and you, and that stupid American partner of yours. We'll set Bodie and Doyle up and make it look like they killed each other - that should keep the fools at CI5 happy for a while. You, Sammy boy, will never find your way out of here alive. You're bleeding heavily now, and you have absolutely no idea how to find the way out."

Sam swallowed, watching her idly playing with his gun.

"My only regret is that we didn't manage to finish off your beloved ex-partner at the same time. But maybe I'll find another opportunity for that."

"You're sick," Sam managed.

"No. Just smart. Very, very smart. I know enough about CI5 to make some people very happy, too. You see I can never have enough money or excitement, Sam, and working for Malone's pompous little outfit just didn't give me enough kicks. So I was patient long enough - I'd have stayed on for a while if Bodie hadn't poked his nose in, and made sure I made some more interesting discoveries that were worth selling.

The agent saw her smiling, her beautiful regular teeth lighting up in the shady darkness. Despite the pain, Sam could hit himself over the head because of his own stupidity.

"Well, enough with the chit chat for now. Must be off. And oh - you should have that hay fever checked Sammy-boy. I told you that one day someone would shoot you because of it." She laughed as she turned to leave, and Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. She took a step back, looked it him thoughtfully for a second and said:

"I am not completely without compassion, Sam. Here, catch!"

Sam caught a small object in his lap. It was a torch.

"That should last almost as long as that leg of yours. Goodbye Sam. You're good - but too lightweight for me."

She disappeared into the darkness, and Sam finally allowed himself to moan aloud, gripping his leg and trying desperately to fight the agony. The light of her torch bobbed away, and suddenly the blackness was complete. In utter despair, he allowed himself to keel over. Panicked, he forced himself to let go of the leg and feverishly scanned his overalls and the wet ground around him for the torch. His bloodied hands trembled when he hit it and switched the weak light on.

Doyle and Beth Forbes took longer to reach Riudaura than they had hoped. To Doyle's fury, one of the hire car's already semi-bald tyres finally gave out. The spare wasn't much better, the jack had seen better days, and the heat was fierce. Eventually, however, they were able to continue.

Beth Forbes wasn't saying much, but Doyle supposed she probably wasn't feeling good. However, she seemed to perk up a little when he finally located the spot the woman had showed them on the map - a tiny path leading down to "el muro pesado". The imposing wall of stone rose up steeply in front of him, and Doyle shook his head again, thinking of Bodie actually taking pleasure in climbing up that sort of thing. A few tiny figures were clinging to the rock face, but even with binoculars their helmets disguised anyone who might have been Bodie. In the end, he nodded at the girl.

"We can get a bit closer."

"Fine."

She most certainly wasn't talkative, but she was taking a great interest in the figures. Probably trying to imagine the encounter with her father, Doyle decided.

Driving up the mountain, Doyle caught sight of a plateau that would give him a better view of the climbers - enough to make sure Bodie really was among them.

Getting out of the car, he decided there was only one way to find out more, and that was to climb up to it. Before he'd got very far, however, he was extremely glad he'd kept in shape - it was steep and rocky, but at least nothing like the walls ahead. Reaching the flatter section, a small group of people were sitting down, resting, drinking and talking. Scanning the various faces, he decided that if Bodie were up there he'd have spotted his partner already, that much was sure.

But he hadn't. As Doyle stepped around between the climbers, he spotted a well-known figure a little up ahead, staring out at the scenery and sipping at a bottle of energy drink. Bodie looked serene - something that tended to happen a little more often these days, and it was something he liked to see. His ex-partner loved the mountains, and suddenly it seemed unfair to drop the bombshell, as he was now forced to do.

He approached the sitting man from the back carefully, knowing Bodie could be sitting on the edge of a cliff for all he could see. With every step, he felt more clumsy, more unwilling to break this peaceful moment where Bodie seemed to be in harmony with the world. But in the end, Bodie broke it for him, hearing his steps.

"Time to go back?"

"Yeah, Bodie, it probably is," Doyle said softly.

Bodie whirled around, in amazement. His shoulders tensed, his drink suddenly unnoticed.

"Hello, Bodie."

Bodie jumped to his feet, his eyes alight with a mixture of pleasure and concern.

"Well, of all the people.... what's wrong, Ray?"

Doyle looked at him, wondering how to start although he'd thought of a dozen different ways of approaching it on the way up. Damn, Beth Forbes really did look like him. Age had been kind to his partner - and the suntan and grey hairs among the darker ones only added to his charm.

Doyle sighed.

"Came to find you, see how things were going..." That sounded weak, Doyle told himself.

"Feel like a holiday, did you? When did you arrive? You finally gonna try some climbing or can I lure you underground?" Bodie was grinning, now, but as he turned his head, Doyle frowned.

"You hit that head of yours against one rock too many?"

"What? Oh, that... " Bodie touched the tender spot near his ear and wave it away. "Something like that. So come on, what brought you? You burned the gym down or something?"

Doyle thought the time was right.

"I've got somebody with me, Bodie - but I'll have to get back to the car and bring her..."

"Don't tell me you've gone and got married?" Bodie's tone was still light, but Doyle shook his head.

"No. Somebody I think you'd want to meet, though. Just bear with me."

He spoke with carefully chosen words and Bodie looked at him, puzzled by his sudden seriousness, but then waved his hand to towards the road.

"If you follow the road and turn off left, on the T08, it reaches another plateau a bit like this one. I'll wait for you there. But seriously, Ray, is everything all right?"

"I'm fine, Bodie," Doyle said, wishing he was sure his partner would be fine too once he knew what - or who - was waiting for him.

"Mysterious, eh? Well, it's good to see you, Ray."

"Same here, sunshine. Same here."

Chris was definitely feeling much better than the day before. Despite the heat in his lodgings and the noise outside, he had slept like a log and woken up early, feeling fit. He'd eaten an enormous breakfast, really enjoying the typical Spanish rolls and strong coffee he was served.

The American did speak Castillian Spanish - the remains of a friendship with a Hispanic fellow-SEAL. He'd noticed how enthusiastic the Spanish reacted to his probably clumsy and almost certainly weird way of speaking Spanish. Even so, the fact that he tried to address them in their own language made them really open up to him.

And Chris wouldn't be Chris if he didn't make full use of that. The kind grandma-type who had served his breakfast was very helpful indeed. He showed her the address he'd scribbled down a few days ago at HQ, when he had literally bumped into Doyle. Did she know what and where it was?

In good Spanish tradition the woman called her entire family around his table and in rapid, loud Catalán dialect they discussed the address. Amused, Chris noticed how passionate it was all becoming, their body language emphasising the expressions on their faces. When "grandma" eventually saw he could not follow the rapid dialect, she gave him a big smile and switched back to Castillian, explaining that the name and address belonged to a tour-operator specialising in extreme sports.

Extreme sports? His blue eyes narrowed just a little. Bodie? From what he heard of the he and his partner, Bodie was probably the calmer of the two. It was hard to picture him skydiving or bungy jumping, but then he'd never really met the guy.

On the other hand, Bodie had years of active service behind him before he got that rehab centre of his going - so maybe it was no wonder he was still looking for some action.

Extreme sports, Chris sighed to himself. A 50-year old man wouldn't be that extreme, now, would he? He chuckled, suddenly visualising a group of middle aged men with beer bellies performing water-aerobics.

No, perhaps not that sort of extreme. It was time he paid the tour operator a visit.

The man behind the counter was young and as helpful as the family that morning. Chris concocted some kind of story about a passion for extreme sports, preferably new and exciting and something he hadn't done before.

The representative immediately shoved papers and folders over to him, and Chris pretended to be interested in it all, while all the time planning every step ahead, little by little getting closer to what he wanted to know.

Ideally, he would like to find something in the area, he told the young man, preferably with other English-speaking people around. Did he perhaps know of any suitable groups?

Chris decided he was definitely in luck as the young man nodded.

"There was an Englishman here yesterday, looking for his friend. My mother gave him a flyer of Riudaura. I think he's gone there. You could try going over there - there's a group from England potholing and climbing. Ask one of the instructors - maybe it might still be possible to sign up for part of the course."

Bingo!

Satisfied, Chris left the office.

Nice people, the Spanish, he thought contentedly, as he stepped into the air-conditioned rental car. The fact that he found a US-Army radio station lightened his mood even more.

And as the miles of tarmac disappeared underneath the wheels, he sang loudly as he headed for the mountains.

Sam forced himself to stay conscious, somehow, after crumpling against the wall of the cave. He cursed his hands for shaking as he shone the precious torch onto his leg. It looked just about as bad as it felt. Cursing his clumsiness, he managed to cut one of the straps from the rucksack, and a buckle, pulling them tightly around his leg just above the wound. The sudden jolt of even more blinding pain nearly made him pass out, but he gritted his teeth again and tried to move, crying out at the effort it took. Panting, he leaned back against the wall for a few seconds and then looked down at the wound again, glad to see that the improvised tourniquet had slowed the bleeding down.

Think, Sam. Think.

Despite the cold, sweat was streaming off him, and he grimaced, realising with joy at first, that there was another light on his helmet and then with sheer frustration as he realised the battery was nearly dead. They'd used the helmet lights at first, but quickly decided to use the more powerful halogen torches. He switched if off, and the torch too, knowing he needed to save his rapidly dwindling resources. A wave of claustrophobia swept over him like a graveyard wind.

Scared and totally disorientated, with trembling fingers, he switched the light back on again. Think, think, think. What was most necessary of all? Getting out of here alive. Don't let panic take control. Don't get lost here. Don't run out of light. Don't run out of food and drink. Don't move your leg. Don't... don't...

His head was spinning with thoughts and he closed his eyes, desperately trying to keep his mind under control.

Holmes had said that she would go out the other way of the mountain at... at... what was it again? Riudaura. So that must have been intending to head that way all along. She had been here before, she knew her way out. And so his only way out would be to follow her.

The backpack provided him with two aluminium rods that he tied around his leg, using the straps, to make a support. Then he took a sip from a small flask of brandy that was in the pack too, and stuffed some of the food in his pockets. Finally, he started to cut the yellow fluorescent rope into pieces about 15 inches long - the old, old trick of leaving a trail to find the way back. At least it this trail wouldn't be eaten by birds or mice or blown away in the wind....

Carefully Sam got up. He knew the bullet must have broken the bone- he couldn't put any weight on the injured leg at all. So, stumbling, staggering and hopping on the other leg, he held on to the slippery walls, crawling when necessary, and absolutely determined to find the way out of this cold, wet pit. Holmes was so confident she'd won, but she didn't know Sam Curtis that well. He'd show her.

PART FIVE

Chris had followed Doyle's tracks, passed him by as he'd replaced a flat tyre and then drove upwards to a plateau that gave him a fantastic view of the scenery around him. He could see for miles around. It was a hot and beautiful sunny day with no mist or smog to spoil the visibility.

The route to Riudaura wasn't so easy, though, and Doyle passed him again later, after Chris had ended up getting lost and making a long and irritating detour.

Finally, however, he reached his destination. He parked the car, took out his binoculars and walked over to a giant rock, from where he could see what was happening.

Why was he doing this? He'd been asking himself that ever since he got on the plane, but still didn't have a clear-cut answer. Something about this affair between Bodie and his daughter? Well yes, that fascinated him. But it was more likely about his partner, or rather his partner and that Holmes woman, and the sheer coincidence of Bodie and Sam being so conveniently in the same country.

So what? The little voice that sometimes came to niggle him took over, whispering to him. Spain IS a big country. Go home. Stop making a fool of yourself. But this time Chris would not allow his alter ego to take over. He pushed the voice away and answered to the one thing that had never betrayed him: instinct. His instincts were telling him that something was amiss, but they hadn't decided to tell him exactly what. At least not yet.

His eyes, through the binoculars, scanned the place. He saw Bodie and Doyle - so Doyle had found him - talking. Then the slender, curly-headed figure went back to the car and helped a young woman get out. The Forbes girl, Chris thought, wishing he could see in more detail, because from that distance Bodie and she looked like twins.

He blinked, suddenly, his eyes catching a flash of light from somewhere. Looking down, he saw what it was: the sunlight was reflecting on something 30 feet below. Focusing on it, he stiffened, his instincts on full alert suddenly. Bringing the binoculars around just a fraction, he saw it was metal. An alarm bell rang inside Chris' head...metal... shit, this was a rifle - a sniper's rifle!

Behind that rifle, finishing assembling it, was a person taking off heavy, dark green overalls. As the blonde curly hair swung loose, Chris recognised her. Roberta Holmes. If she was there, than Sam was out there too. He had to be! So whatever Sam was doing, Bodie was somehow involved. It wasn't a coincidence.

Chris continued watching her for a moment or two, and then drew in a rapid breath of surprise to see Holmes sliding ammunition into the rifle and turn onto her belly, flat on the rock. She started to take aim.

The rifle was pointed at Doyle, Bodie and Bodie's daughter.

And Sam was nowhere in sight.

Bodie stared at the almost mirror-like image facing him.

Doyle's voice was quiet. "Bodie, this is Beth Forbes. Your daughter."

The sheer silence between the three seemed to turn into something solid - something Doyle could have reached out and touched. He saw his ex-partner's face turn pale beneath the tan and sensed the mixed emotions welling up.

Gently, he tapped Bodie on the shoulder.

"Ill leave you two to talk. I'll be near the car if you need me."

From where he was crouched, Chris saw Doyle turn to walk away, and - unbelievably - saw Holmes' shoulders tense, ready to fire.

"DOYLE! BODIE!!!" Chris screamed, the last syllable running on and on as he jumped forwards, almost falling the 30 feet down.

Doyle reacted with lightning speed in the same second he heard the warning - and the two shots. He dived towards Bodie, who took a split second longer to react, distracted as he was from the sudden, unbelievable news. Bodie tumbled from the weight of Doyle's body and his head came into contact with a rock, knocking him unconscious even as he fell.

Doyle gasped as one bullet sliced straight through his upper arm and the other took him in his side, like a hot knife through cold butter. He felt no pain, not yet - that would come. Rolling aside, his instincts took over, the years of training and fieldwork suddenly rising to the fore. That instinct had saved his life on more than one occasion - and it would have to do so again.

Somehow, his brain registered that Beth wasn't taking cover, and was simply standing looking at Bodie. Moving to pull her down, Doyle had another shock coming. She reached into her bag and took out a gun, pointing it in Bodie's direction.

She hesitated for a second, which was enough for Doyle. He grabbed for a stone the size of a tennis ball and threw it - and it hit its mark, connecting with her jaw. She crumpled, and Doyle dived for her, knocking her out completely. This was no time for remorse about hitting a woman, he told himself, as the pain started to make itself felt. He grabbed the gun from her hand and crawled back towards Bodie, who was groaning and groggily raising his head.

"Christ..." Bodie stammered, holding his hand over a mark as big as an egg. Then, suddenly realising that something was very wrong, looked over at his partner.

Doyle tried a half-grin at Bodie, knowing he was on the point of passing out. He could feel the blood seeping into his shirt, now, and the ground was swaying under his feet.

"Bodie... 'm gonna pass out ..."

Bodie's eyes had flown to the flowers of blood and the concern was written clearly on his face as he grabbed his former partner and stooped to pick up the unconscious girl's gun.

"Ray, for Christ's sake...c'mon, not now, sunshine. What the hell's going on? Who's doing the shooting? Is it bad?"

"Bloody hurts..." Doyle's knees buckled.

*****

Meanwhile Chris was caught up in a desperate fight with Roberta Holmes. She had unexpected strength and certainly knew her martial arts. His warning to Bodie and Doyle had made her jump and she had whirled round, with the rifle, slamming the butt hard at Chris' elbow. Something cracked inside his left arm and suddenly his fingers didn't respond to his mind anymore. But he wasn't beaten yet. Like a rugby player in a scrum, he took a dive at her legs, felt the butt part his hair lightly but brought her to the ground. She was fast, though. Chris screamed as he felt the sharp cold steel of a knife in his upper right arm - the one arm that had still worked. Now suddenly both arms were useless.

Chris was frightened, suddenly, knowing he couldn't match her any more.

She stood up, walked a couple of steps from him and slowly raised a small gun - the unusual Beretta he had seen at the firing range.

"I never liked you in the first place, MISTER Keel." she said, ice in her voice and fire in her eyes. "And just like Sam Curtis, you're too lightweight for me."

No.... no.... no.... no... . Involuntarily Chris closed his eyes.

He heard the shot, and yet felt nothing. Surely she couldn't have missed?

He opened his eyes to see Holmes inelegantly collapse into the foliage. And where she had been standing, he saw Bodie, gun raised.

For a moment everything stood still. Chris got up, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a moan as a white-hot stab of pain shot through his left arm. But then he saw a movement behind, and a pair of raised hands holding a stick, bringing it down on Bodie's head.

"Behind you!" Chris cried out.

Bodie swung around and fired at Beth Forbes, with her own gun, in the same second.

"、ada! 、o quiere nada decir!" Jesós Ruíz, the Spanish policeman angrily slammed the door. Chris was being treated at the moment, Doyle had been taken to surgery, and "Beth Forbes" to the morgue.

Holmes was sitting in a small ward that had been changed into an interrogation room but she was keeping silent. A bloodied bandage was tied around her shoulder.

After a while, Bodie finally lost his patience.

"May I speak to her? Alone?"

She looked at him with contempt, and the Spaniard frowned, then finally nodded.

Five minutes later Bodie came out again.

"Curtis is the caves of "la Ratonera". And we'd better move fast - he's injured. The bitch shot him. "

The Spaniard looked at him in amazement. "How did you do that?" he asked curiously.

"I told her I didn't like her shooting me. And that the fact that she hurt both my colleagues really pissed me off."

Ruiz eyed Bodie with interest, obviously deciding that this menacing figure was not to be taken lightly.

Very quickly, a team of cave exploration specialists was formed, and within 30 minutes they were ready, with equipment and blankets, in front of the hospital. Chris came out, the stitching done, and the effect of the painkillers starting to make itself felt. And, as Bodie could see, fear for his partner was keeping him on his feet. He knew the feeling. At least Doyle's injuries didn't seem dangerous, but that didn't mean he wasn't downright furious himself and more than happy to lend a hand with finding the young American's partner.

"You better stay here." Bodie said, knowing he could just as well ask the American to bake a cake.

"Yeah, when pigs fly..." was the curt reply.

Sam just couldn't go on. The sheer exhaustion, coupled with the pain, finally brought him to a halt. The fear had kept him going so far, but the headlight had finally dwindled and died, and the torch was slowly becoming fainter. He lowered himself to the ground, cursing the agony in his leg that made it impossible to even think straight. He'd lost track of how many caves he'd crawled through, and how long he'd kept going, from one slippery path to another. But at every turn, he'd left a piece of yellow rope.

He closed his eyes, just for a second?

One group entered from "la Ratonera", another search party from "la cueva brillante", each with portable phones and what seemed like kilometres of cable.

Only half an hour later, one of the telephones connecting the second group to the first rang. Ruíz, Bodie and Chris were part of the latter team, and Bodie saw the American jump. Ruíz spoke rapidly and then turned to them. A body had been found in the water, in the underground river.

Bodie looked over and saw the younger man sway, and grabbed him.

"Easy Chris. C'mon, sit down."

Bodie felt deeply for him. Losing a partner was a terrible thing - one he had been afraid of many a time. Instinctively, too, he had taken a liking to this young agent with his stubborn determination that reminded him so much of Doyle.

Chris, he realised, was fighting to keep his feelings under control, and not managing it at the moment. Bodie said nothing, knowing that no words could ever bring comfort if the man's partner had died in there.

They sat quietly together for a while, the silence only emphasised by the dripping water. Then, Bodie guided Chris out of the dark cave and into a perfect sunset of scarlet, purple and velvet blue. A few early stars were visible, only faint now but soon they would seem to brighten and multiply as the sun set.

Jesós Ruíz motioned to a group bringing a body out, zipped into a bag. Chris instinctively headed towards it, still unsteady on his feet. Bodie stayed beside him, knowing the man's pain and grief were threatening to overwhelm him, and that his physical condition was far from good after those two arm wounds.

Respectfully, Ruíz moved away a little and Bodie reached out to open the zipper. Chris swallowed hard and looked, then stumbled again. Bodie reached out for him, but the American's voice was incredulous and suddenly jubilant.

"It's not Sam!"

Ruíz was the first one to act.

"．yé! ．ara! ．ara! −amos aquí!" he shouted at the small group, then issued a torrent of orders in rapid Spanish.

Chris was still sagging with relief.

"He's still in there, Bodie. There's still hope."

"Sure," Bodie answered, seeing the blue eyes suddenly alive again and hoping they would not just find another body.

Like zealous ants, people were suddenly running and moving about, their searchlights disappearing as they went back into the caves again. Just as Bodie wanted to go down too, he was called back to answer the telephone again. Chris stiffened again, but this time it was Doyle.

"'Lo, Bodie. What's happening over there? Any news?"

"Still searching. And how about you?"

"'M okay. Bit weak and groggy, but if the nurse looks the other way, I'll sneak out the back door."

Doyle, Bodie knew, wasn't joking - the silly bugger was quite capable of doing just that.

"Don't even think of it. You're probably drugged up to the eyeballs and it's gonna hurt. You just stay in bed and rest, and I'll get back to you."

"You'd better. That Keel guy bearing up?"

"Just about. He'll be better when we find his partner."

"Aren't we all," Doyle chuckled faintly. "You keep an eye on 'em then, Bodie."

"Count on it. And behave yourself."

Bodie broke the connection, aware of Doyle's own concern and of that fact that both of them owed the young American for his sudden appearance and fast reactions. He just hoped that Chris' partner was still alive down there.

The search continued for hours, and "la Ratonera" - meaning the mousetrap, was certainly living up to its name.

Despite the American's increasing weariness, he insisted on searching with them, chamber after chamber, tunnel after tunnel, slowly shining their lights around into the deepest caverns, hollow spaces and hidden pits. Chris refused to stop. He used only the arm that had been treated, more or less confident that the stitching would hold. The other he couldn't even move - he knew that he had broken something in the fight. The slightest movement made him wince with pain.

Bodie stayed with him, sharing in the meticulous search yet all the time keeping an eye on his newly-adopted partner. Although he had never met Bodie before, Chris had started to appreciate the man's genuine concern for Sam, asking about his height and weight and taking that into consideration as he looked around, rejecting routes that were too low or too narrow or too precarious for an injured man of that stature.

Suddenly, Bodie saw something that glowed faintly in the light of his torch. He tapped Chris on the shoulder, pointing to it.

"Look over there... what's that?"

Chris and Ruíz peered over a ledge and down into a chamber on a lower level.

"There's something over there," Bodie said slowly. He jumped down the ledges over to it, knelt down and picked it up before looking upwards to the others.

"A piece of a safety rope. Looks like somebody's left a trail."

Chris needed no more bidding.

"That has to be Sam. That's exactly how he'd think... let's move."

Sam was swimming an ocean of red fluid. It was thicker than water. It was sticky and attached itself to him like treacle. He found it harder and harder to raise his arms to continue, to swim towards solid ground, to keep his head from going under. The colour changed as he struggled on, turner darker with frightening intensity.

"Sam?"

He heard a voice, softly saying his name, coming from very far away. He stopped the fight in the darkening goo for a minute to see where it came from. Then a hand grasped his and he clenched it, suddenly feeling a sense of relief that someone had come to drag him out.

"Sam, open your eyes. Come on, buddy."

Chris' heart had missed a beat when the light from Bodie's torch had fallen on Sam's crumpled form. He had seen his partner in pretty dire circumstances before, yet every time he was shocked by that bitter flavour of fear. And the more he got attached to that calm, cool partner of his, the worse the taste got.

His blood was pumping loudly in his ears, drumming like a marching band below his skull, and felt his skin break out into goose pimples. He didn't even care that his voice was breaking with anxiety as he finally reached Sam and sank to his knees beside his motionless friend.

"Sam?"

He reached for Sam's hand, vaguely aware of Bodie feeling for a pulse in Sam's neck. Voices began to speak behind them and he heard them, but couldn't understand what they were saying. He was focused only on the pale, wet and bloodied figure on the slippery ground.

"Sam, open your eyes. Come on, buddy."

He wasn't sure if his own imagination was fooling him, but he could swear he felt Sam squeezing his hand faintly.

"That's it. Come on, Sam. You're gonna be fine."

In the light of his cave helmet he saw the eyelids flicker and Sam's eyes finally opening to meet his, gratitude and relief expressed wordlessly in them.

Bodie had taken Sam's helmet off, and had stepped back, gesturing to the others to hold on a second and was obviously waiting for the two men to come to terms with their emotions. Chris ran his fingers through Sam's damp hair, gently pushing a lock aside.

"Didn't I tell you to be careful, hey?"

The answer came slowly and sounded weak, but the words showed the strength that was still there.

"D'you mind my hay fever?"

Chris chuckled with mild surprise.

"I couldn't care less. Why?"

"Promise not to wear bikinis 'n' you can come with me next time I visit Spain.'

Crazy idiot, Chris thought, a warm feeling flooding through him. You crazy, stupid idiot.

He felt Bodie touching his shoulder.

"Chris - they're ready to take Sam. We've gotta go." Bodie helped him to his feet.

"Yeah, Bodie. Let's get him out of this hell hole."

Chris couldn't sleep. After all that happened, his mind and body were still running on adrenaline - the rush felt like a raging bull inside him.

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. A bit unstable for the clumsy weight of the heavy plaster around his left arm and the other arm in a sling as well, he got up and walked to the room next door. There, he sat down on a cold, plastic, uncomfortable chair and looked at the figure in the bed.

Sam was sound asleep, but considering what he'd been through he was not looking too bad. He had come out of the caves having lost a great deal of blood and a chipped bone, and the leg was strapped into a traction device that hung from the ceiling. But he would mend.

Chris studied his partner carefully, at length. He'd though he'd never see him alive again, but now he could watch him sleep and know he'd wake up, safe, and no longer threatened by the Holmes bitch. He took in the dark hair, long lashes hiding the grey-green eyes, the suntan and the pallor beneath it, and was glad to see the man's face looking calm and serene after the ordeal, his breathing deep and regular.

Although Chris would not easily admit it, he cared for his partner deeply and sincerely. It hadn't been easy getting close to someone after the brutal slaughter of his wife and unborn child. His anger, combined with suspicion towards the world in general and powerful men in particular, didn't make him somebody easy to get to know. But Sam had been able to break down the protective façade - and Chris had found himself letting him. Reluctantly at first, but more and more as he learned to know this patient, calm partner of his better, Chris appreciated him more and more as time went on.

The utter relief he'd felt when they'd found Sam was immense, particularly after the shock of finding that first body. He'd felt a loss and an emptiness that threatened to engulf him, knowing that nothing could ever replace the closeness between himself and the Englishman.

Now, though, he was still feeling the agitation that came from the euphoria and relief, and sleep just wouldn't come.

Chris let out a deep sigh, got up, clumsily switched off the lights and pushed the door open with his shoulders as Sam's suddenly spoke, quietly.

"Leave the light on, Chris, please...."

He flicked the light back on and turned back to his partner, seeing just a momentary flicker of fear in his eyes. After what must have been hours, trapped in intense darkness, he understood.

"Sure. Will you be all right, Sam? Need anything?"

"Mmm... "

Chris frowned, not knowing what the mutter meant.

"Sam?"

"Sorry. Feel a bit woolly. But thanks? for coming after me. You know Malone's gonna crack your skull for this?"

"I'll borrow your cave helmet then," Chris smiled, realising Sam was already virtually asleep again. "Good night, Sam."

"G'night, Chris."

The moment Bodie stepped out of Doyle's room he met Chris coming out of Sam's. Their eyes met - two shades of blue, two deep pits of emotions.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Bodie asked.

Chris nodded and grinned, caught in the act.

"How's Doyle?"

"Fast asleep. Apparently he tried to get out of here, so the doctor has given him something that'll make him sleep till tomorrow afternoon. He was lucky - they were only flesh wounds."

"And Sam?"

"He's lucky too. Chipped the bone but it'll heal. No permanent damage." The relief in the young American's voice was almost tangible.

They walked into the garden together. It was a pleasant, warm night and the air carried the smell of roses and bougainvillaea.

"They found everything, you know," Chris said. "The money and the weapons. There was a lot stashed away down there."

"Yeah..." Bodie seemed elsewhere. After a few paces, he stopped and turned to Chris.

"I haven't had a change to thank you yet. You saved my life out there." The simplicity of Bodie's words gave them all the more meaning to the American.

"You put Holmes down before she could finish me off. That makes us even, doesn't it?" Chris replied with studied ease. "But I'm sorry about Doyle. If CI5 had seen this com..."

"They couldn't have", Bodie broke off Chris' declaration of guilt. "It was done all too beautifully. That Holmes character is really something. She fooled us all. And so did Forbes."

"Yeah. She does look like you, doesn't she?" Chris posed it as a question, his voice softening with sympathy for the older man, though he didn't really expect an answer. And Bodie didn't give him one.

For some time they walked together quietly, both mixed up in their own thoughts. Chris broke the silence.

"Thanks for intervening with Malone, as well. I thought he'd go ballistic."

"What makes you think he didn't?" Bodie grinned. "But don't worry - he's more or less got it out of his system now."

"That's a relief."

"I bet. He wasn't pleased about you breaking that arm, though, and keeping you off work even longer. But give it a few weeks - besides, you'll soon be seeing what Doyle and I can do to torture you ourselves. Maybe Sam as well, with that leg of his."

"Can't wait," Chris chuckled. "I'm off to get some sleep then." Then he turned around and headed for the doors, but paused as he stepped into the welcoming light.

"Bodie?"

Bodie turned back, wondering what else the young agent had on his mind, but it was hard to see the expression on his face as he was surrounded by a halo of light from the opened hospital doors. Strangely, though, and not for the first time that day, the young American reminded him of Ray Doyle. The stubbornness, of course, and yet the gentleness and compassion inside, all alternating rapidly without visible transition. The kid certainly had guts too, he admitted to himself, rushing into trouble just like his partner had once done.

"Look, Bodie... I was just thinking..." the soft voice was serious and thoughtful, suddenly.

"Can be dangerous, that," Bodie tried to keep it light, but Chris was not to be stopped.

"If you really want to know about Beth Forbes, that's a piece of cake, you know. A blood test would... I mean, I'm sure Malone..."

Bodie raised his hand and Chris stopped immediately.

"I know, Chris. I'll only have to say the word." Absentmindedly, he scratched a mosquito bite.

"Don't you want to know?" The American couldn't resist.

"I'm not sure I do. On the other hand..." he didn't finish the sentence.

He realised that Chris understood his dilemma. Could Beth Forbes be his daughter? She was Holmes' sister-in-law - Sam had told them that much on the way to the hospital. Surely it was just a criminal playing a role to trap him? But had Holmes been telling Sam the truth? Wasn't it too much of a coincidence - first for him to see the bandits and then for his real daughter to be involved in it all?

It had all sounded so feasible when Doyle had handed him the file and his eyes had met another pair so much like his own. But if she was his daughter, why had she turned a gun on him?

Was there another, real, Beth Forbes in the world outside?

Or had Bodie killed his own flesh and blood?

*****

Eventually, Chris made to go back into the hospital. Bodie seemed to appreciate it when the younger man had gently suggested keeping him company for a while longer. But he shook his head.

"Get some sleep. You must be dead beat by now. And as I said before, I still have to patch you up. You don't want Malone on your back any more than you have to, either..."

The twinkle in the blue eyes was obvious, and Chris grinned.

"You're starting to sound like Sam."

Bodie looked puzzled, but Chris decided this wasn't the time to explain. But like Bodie before him - and fully unaware of the comparisons the older man had been making between his own partner and the young man he'd just got to know, Chris was making a few observations of his own. Bodie reminded him a great deal of Sam in many ways - methodical, cool, and logical. Reserved, too, but not without warmth in there.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Bodie said.

Chris hesitated for a second. "You know, Bodie, that I got sick and tired of being compared to the both of you? Some folks just don't want to see me and Sam for what we are."

Bodie's eyes showed mild surprise at this, making Chris think he'd probably never even given it a thought. Apparently he was not aware of that.

"But... I think I can rest assured now. Could have been worse people to be compared to."

"I'll take that as a compliment as well then," Bodie chuckled.

Chris laughed, the last shred of tension disappearing. His partner was safe, and he'd discovered the former 4.5 and 3.7 were human beings after all.

"Go to bed, Chris." The older man waved kindly in the direction of the doors. "You've had enough action for one day."

Finally, Chris went back inside, still smiling to himself.

Bodie sat down on a marble bench in the garden. A small lantern threw a warm yellow light on the path, the beds of flowers, the bench... and the folder that he had been carrying and now opened slowly. He looked at the photograph of Beth Forbes again, and for the first time since Doyle had given it to him, read the information that Backup had found on her a few days earlier.

He remembered Alexa Bates well, even after all those years. It had been a short affair, but she had been one of the few women in his life he had really cared about. A warm, kind, generous, person, she had been able to accept his role in the violent surroundings of Angola, where they had met when he had been recuperating from a severe gunshot wound. She'd been a nurse there during his mercenary days, and neither judged him nor accused him. She had simply nursed him, talking sense and making him smile. She had been the one who pushed him to move out of the mercenary fighting and try his hand at joining the Army. God, he'd been young then. And when he did just that - left Africa and its bloodshed behind - she had refused to follow him.

He remembered that last night so well. She had kissed him, had taken his hands in hers had looked him straight in the eye. "Bodie, you're special, and you always will be to me. I can't follow you - neither of us have room in our lives for each other. Not now - maybe not ever. But I'll always remember you, Bodie, and part of you will always be with me."

Twenty-four years ago. And just what had she really meant by those last words? Had she been carrying his child? He shook his head, and his vision clouded suddenly, making the words on the file blur. The identity of the father, despite the woman's allegations, was neatly marked in a hand that had to be Tina Backus': inconclusive. And yet the resemblance...

With a deep sigh he pushed the photo of the young woman who had tried to smash his brains in, back into the folder. Would it make a difference if he started digging further? Beth Forbes was dead - there was no doubt about that. Was the information on the daughter genuine, or had somebody been manipulating the files?

But whatever the case, the young woman with his eyes and - he hardly dare admit it - with Alexa's smile, was gone, dead. Killed by a bullet from his own gun. Nothing in the world could make her come back.

He knew that the question would be in his mind for a long, long time. Should he follow it up? Or should he let those images slowly start to lose their sharp edges until one day he would wake up and not think about it at all. That, he decided finally, was a decision he would make another day. Right now, he'd go and check up on three patients, all lying in hospital because of their jobs, because of some ruthless, murderous people, and perhaps because he, Bodie, had become involved in it all by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or had he?

He hated hospitals, and always had done. But by some strange turn of fate he was the only one of the four of them who didn't need to stay there. Before he escaped to the relative comforts of a local hotel, however, he looked in on each of the three rooms, his thoughts back with CI5, its young agents of today and the young agents he and Doyle had been so many years ago.

Doyle was sound asleep, a little colour returning to his cheeks as sleep worked its magic. Bodie wondered how long they were going to try to keep him there, and who would win the battle of wills once his ex-partner was on his feet. He thought he knew the answer to that one.

Sam was off to another world too, his breathing calm and quiet. He was still pale, emphasised by the dark hair on the white pillows. He'd been remarkably lucky, and was certainly tough - enough to joke with his partner after such an ordeal. Bikinis? Bodie shook his head at that one.

He opened the door to Chris' room, finally, and heard the steady snoring before he saw the mobile face finally at peace in sleep.

Bodie couldn't resist a smile as he quietly stepped out into the corridor. Before long, all three of them would be back on their feet. An irresistible image crept to mind - one of them all busy recuperating then testing their skills and strength at his gym - all determined to prove something to each other, and to Bodie in his role as their taskmaster. It was a vision that appealed to him, he admitted.

The boundaries between the two generations of CI5 agents had blurred and merged a little over the past few days, though, and he'd realised that he and Doyle had a great deal in common with their younger counterparts.

There had been times that he had felt old. Really old, when injured agents from the service had been put into his care at the gym. They seemed to come straight from school, and then a gunshot wound or a severe beating messed up their lives. He would find himself musing about their age, how young they were - and how over the hill it made him feel. Secretly even, he would sometimes doubt his own capacities as he witnessed their fast recovery, and realised he would never get back into shape that fast. He was getting old.

But what happened here made him step back into reality again. He was older indeed, but shared the same intensity that these youngsters had. He had seen the trust the young American had put in him and at the same time he realised he had done exactly the same. They had relied on each other, the confinement of ages and generations forgotten. He couldn't resist a smile - he liked this conclusion.

Somehow, Bodie knew - just as the others would discover for themselves - that an invisible, unbreakable bond now tied the four of them together.

And something that went beyond four individuals and two pairs.

Partnerships, he told himself.

Elsa © june 2000. Feedback? Yes please: mail me!
This story sometimes refers to events in "Double Trouble".